Conclusion: The Psycho Revenge and the Unluckiest Man Alive

Have you ever seen cockroaches scurry around at night after turning the lights on and watched the mad, frantic dash for cover before they were squished by the giant shoe?  That's exactly what we looked like - only different. We were wearing underwear and had tribal markings duct-taped across our naked upper torsos scrambling for cover in our tents.

Seriously, though the duct tape- was the personification of cool!

After the snakes had been let loose in the tents of the other Boy Scouts, we scurried like those cockroaches- only with chonies on - back to our tents, and pretended to be like other normal Boy Scouts.  Ray and Alan had used an entire half roll of the duct-tape on Cockrell - securely fastening his underwear to his stomach. The last thing they wanted was Cockrell running around naked. We giggled in anticipation and then hit each other and shushed each other and giggled and hit and shushed each other in the thrill of anticipation that couldn't be contained.  

Then it happened!

1:37am: "The screech that was heard around the world."
                   
One 14-year-old from Troop 34 screamed like a 10-year-old girl on the drop of a roller coaster when the snake slithered across his face in the middle of the night (or like that lady in the shower scene of Psycho).

This acted as the ALARM and was exactly what we had hoped for. The terrified screaming woke everyone up at Camp Slauson (everyone, expect for us of course). This was when one of the girls from the Santa Monica Troop also discovered the garter snake that had nestled in between two of them (Did I say "one of the girls"? - darn it, I meant one of boys).

Oh well, Panic ensued. Chaos! Mayhem! When the girls oops boys began shooting out through the flaps like cannonballs, they caught the rope, which the recon-team had tied 4 inches above the ground in snare like fashion. Not only, did the stealth rope trip the first kid out, but it also pulled the tent poles along with them - collapsing the tent and trapping the other kids inside.

Perfect and utter pandemonium - couldn't have worked out any better.  Boys fighting inside the shrouds, that had now covered them in pitch blackness, were frantically trying to claw their way out. The death-shrouds were in a tug-of-war match - anchored to a foot of the stupid troglodytes on the outside who were crawling in the dirt thinking that a Zombie had him by the ankle (which was only the rope he had tripped over and on the way out and was now tangled up in).

Santa Monica - same thing.

Beverly Hills - they just started crying thinking it was a Zombie Apocalypse and paid no attention to the empty rolls of duct-tape and pieces of rope lying in their otherwise, pristine camp.

Thank goodness the noise was so loud that our Scout Masters couldn't hear our laughter.  And on cue, this was when we went into our Oscar award winning act. We emerged from tents screaming and running around as if we were casualties of the same prank. We carefully collapsed a couple of the poles when everyone was out of their tents to make it look like we had been victimized as well, by the troop we had framed. ONLY!


Only, on the way out of his tent, Ray FORGOT!

 Ray forgot that we had tied ropes to the front poles of our tents in a ruse that had caught the poor guy right across the ankle (the unluckiest and the luckiest person alive). Down he went with a thud!  Our Troop 32 cabin was on a hill. Down Ray rolled! Bouncing from one dirt terraced step to another - pulling the tent behind. Poor "unlucky" Ray was sure to die. There was no way he could live through this.


Then  WHAM- Ray shot up into the air like an animal in a hunter's snare.

When setting up the tent, Ray had decided to take a shortcut and tie-off the top peak of his tent to a tree branch. Rolling down the hill to his sure death the branch stopped the tent which suspended the "luckiest-man-alive" in mid air.






Ray proved to be the perfect cover up! There was no way Troop 32 could have been involved in the greatest Boy Scout caper of all time, placing blame squarely on Troop 33 from Beverly Hills.

The laughter we had at Ray, who was precariously dangling from the branch - covered the laughter we couldn't contain at the snitches...the cake-eaters and (as Jeffery Lennon called them) the bottle-feeders from the other three troops.

Unfortunate Bridge Crossing

Branch Cracking

Truck Smashing

Ray Skewering.

Arms and Legs Flailing

Markie D Singing

Cockrell mooning

And Little Wiener Cooing.

Some Kids applauding

Cake-eaters snitching

Tribunal meeting

And Jeffery Seething

Payback Brewing

A Plan Ensuing

Paraphernalia Gathering

And Snipe-Hunt Pursuing.

Snakes Slithering

Boys who need Mothering

Zombies Reaching

And Death-Shrouds Smothering.

Venice Scheming

Mar Vista Bleeding

Santa Monica Weeping

And Beverly Hills Pouting.

Ray Dangling

Our Kids Laughing

Jeffery Proclaiming...

              ...The best Boy Scout Outing! 

You think I jest! But, 96.34% of this story is absolutely true.

Just find Jeffery and ask him yourself. He would tell you, "No Reserve. No Retreat. No Regrets"

To me, it was just another lousy day in paradise on Harding avenue. And that's just the way it was... until the next true of adventure of Markie D and growing up on the best street and the best city in the world.

Snakes. Ropes. Zombies and Troop 32

Continued: Last time, we had left off with Senior Patrol Leader, Ray, dangling inside the back compartment of our Scout Bus as if on a rotisserie inside of a BBQ. It was like he had been shish-kabobed by the oak branch that had crashed through the front window.

The chants of "Don't cross the bridge" morphed into "Monkey in the middle" as the toxic-fumed minions began swatting the helplessly flailing arms and feet of our new object of ridicule!  Meanwhile, the "do-gooders" of the other normal troops, grabbed their neatly packed first aid kits and rushed to the scene of the crash hoping to earn accolades and merit-badges.

We were "ill-equipped" for the attention we were suddenly flooded with! I was on top of the moving van(slash)Scout Bus singing about "Tapp crossing the bridge and the skewered Senior Patrol Leader" to the tune of "Like a Bridge over Troubled Water," but the Scout Master from Troop 34 and his flock of rescuing vermin thought my brilliant parody was inappropriate and tasteless.

"Ill-equipped" ...because we had no rocks to throw at the other regular kids (like we had at our disposal at the National Jamboree when Dego and the rest of the boys tried to kill Bill Gates)!
("at our disposal" meant that at the National Jamobree last summer we had both -  regular kids and rocks - lots and lots of normal kids who weren't from Venice and a billion river rocks!)

Behind their Scout Master's back, the pasty cake-eaters sneered and scowled at us with the expression of disdain written on their namby-pamby faces - that irked Jeffery to no end.    He was fit to tied!

FLASHBACK:  Even though we had tamed down the secret-induction "ritual" ever since the brawl of my induction malfunction - it was still very clear to Jeffery in the new "safer" ceremony - that loyalty to the new "people group" was of paramount importance and that snitches and "rats" were not tolerated.

Even though Jeffery Lennon did not start a riot at his induction like I did, he got the message loud and clear.

BACK TO OUR STORY: The kids in Troop 34 needed payback for violating the code! After we ran everybody off and took care of the mess ourselves we eventually made camp in front the best cabin at Camp Slauson. We were TROOP 32, we were from Venice and we were proud!

The planning began.  We found both of the snakes - one by accident, when it fortuitously bit the annoying "Little Wiener." We removed the snake from his arm, Kissel sucked out the pretend venom - and we praised Little Wiener for his contribution in finding the last snake, which had made its way into his backpack. Secretly, we assembled the ropes and the snakes for the midnight caper that would take place after the traditional "snipe hunt."   I hated the snipe hunts.  Supposedly, this charade is to test the resolve of the new kids and put hair on their chest. I've been on snipe hunts some 20 times, but sitting in a bush in the middle of a moonless night in complete blackness still scared the bajeebers out of me (AND I still didn't have hair on my chest).  I could not admit to my new Boy Scout tribe that I was afraid of the dark! I was afraid of being smothered....buried...suffocated...big brothers and anything that had to do with being tied up in ropes.

Oh, and Zombies!  (That's because my family had opened a Porthole to Hades that was channeled through the mysterious space in my bedroom wall).



For a new little "Pimple-Squeeze" like Jeffery - he actually had a very good plan (it was probably better planned than my payback attempt at Chewbacca - that had left me tied up by a rope and dangling from the third story window of our house IN MY UNDERWEAR on a school morning, in front of ANDREA and every other kid at Saint Marks school).

This was either going to be really good, or else, someone was going to end up in prison (I figured that I would probably have to go to confession next Saturday for not offering up a prayer for those soft kids from Mar Vista and Santa Monica).

Cockrell wanted to do the raid naked  - of course - but thankfully, we settled for duck tape and Tighty-Whities!

Next time:  "THE WHITE ANGELS"  True story!

Like a Bridge Over Troubled Waters and 20 Intoxicated Rats!

We had an excuse in the back of the Boy Scout truck for being crazy. We had been freely inhaling carbon dioxide, carbon monoxide, nitrogen and other hydro-carbons that got belched out of the tailpipe of the old moving van that blew over the half barn-doors filling the prison space we inhabited for the duration of the slow moving - hour and a half drive to Camp Slauson. BUT, the guys in front - the two Scout Masters and Pinky Parlett had no excuse for what was going to happen next. Mr. Tapp was a novice in driving the horrendous beast - this was his "solo" checkout flight - per say!

(Picture above of "boy scout" truck in background with dent over driver side)

We already looked ridiculous pulling into campground!  We didn't care. We liked being different! We like to proudly say we are from VENICE to every other smug Boy Scout in the Boy Scout Universe (you know - the other regular kids who were actually there to learn something and to do something constructive).  We had our plans, which did not include anything to do with merit badges nor anything  remotely considered constructive.

                                     (pictured above- regular kids from Troop 34 pictured at camp Slauson)

Since my over-achieving Eagle Scout brother, Kurt, had left the troop last year and went away to Humboldt State University where he went into rigorous training to become a full fledged hippie, we were not about to let small details like merit badges and rank advancement get in the way of having fun.

In the meantime, Ray Vandenmark, who had been to Slauson a billion times, had his face pressed up against one of the two porthole windows that had been cut in front of our cargo compartment, (one either side of the cab), when Mr. Tapp was faced with the decision of crossing over the creek bridge to take the back route up to our Troop 32 cabin or to take the road most traveled that would put us below the cabin on main road.

Pausing, to contemplate the decision - wondering what direction to take... Ray began screaming into the glass window not to cross over the bridge!  His screams became the fuel for a chant the rest of us intoxicated kids in the back which only made the noisy arrival of Troop 32 even more inglorious and obvious to every camper within 16 miles (give or take 15 miles).
                             "Don't cross the bridge"
                             "Don't cross the bridge"
                             "Don't cross the bridge"
                             "Don't cross the bridge"
Louder and louder the cacophony grew as Kissel began pounding on a bucket while Mosquito Bait and Cockrell pounded on the inside walls of the converted moving van, like drums beating in unison to our new song!

We had reason... We were drugged  - but Tapp chose the bridge. Pinky was too large and was squeezed in so tight - that he had his arms pinned between Mr. Tapp and Mr. Sarosi - rendering him powerless to grab the wheel in order to prevent Tapp from driving the oxidized, blue monster over the creaky, wooden bridge.

There could be no greater entrance like ours, with boys at full octave - blaring off key,  "Don't cross the bridge," buckets pounding, walls resounding the thuds of enthusiastic fist like the beating of African drums... Ray screaming and bridge squealing in protest under the load.          

Venice had made it's way to Topanga - and everyone knew it!

Headlong with confidence, without heeding the wisdom of the 20-drugged-rats making noise in the back to the contrary - Tapp drove "boldly where no man has gone before."

In one final gasp Ray screamed at the top of his lungs before ducking to take cover...

...went the sound of a branch shattering the window where Ray (a mere nano-second) previously had been watching the awful event unfold before his very eyes.  Ray, was both, the most unlucky person alive and the most lucky! Somehow he had escaped death more times than me, but was like a magnet for near-death experiences without needing any help from older brothers. He did this all by himself and didn't need anyone else to shove him in hampers, bury him in pits, dangle him out of windows, tie him to trees, throw him over cliffs or electrocute him - like I had been privileged at the hands of my older brothers.

In an explosive crunch of twisting metal, the low hanging branch crushed the top driver-side of our juvenile delinquent containment box (other-wise known as"Scout Bus"). The branch shot through the window and slid along the flesh of Ray's back - under his uniform shirt that subsequently dangled him in mid air as though he was a large piece of meat on a Sish-Kabob!

Arms flailing and feet kicking, Ray dangled as the impaled truck was pinned between the large oak and the old bridge... the snakes had gotten away in the chaos while all of the other normal Boy Scouts on the planet watched in horror at our arrival.




So far, this is turning out to be just the kind of trip that Jeffery Lennon is going to love!  He was tired of being normal and wanted a dose of "Dahlin" to spice his life up, and believe me, he was going to get his share of "crazy"this weekend in the Santa Monica Mountains.

Just saying!

Seeing that we were stuck on the bridge, I climbed out on top of the scout bus and began an "air-guitar" rendition of the new Simon and Garfunkel song, "Like a Bridge over Troubled Waters"

Next time: "The White Angels"


  
   
                         

Venice Invades the Boy Scout Universe!

I don't know what was worst...the Dahlins headed out of Venice to the zoo (post 5/3/2103) or Troop 32 headed to Farragut State park in Idaho to meet up with 35,000 other Boy Scouts.

In the words of the robot on Lost in Space "Danger Will Robinson"

Stardate: July 6th 1969

Captains Log: We had our heavy-duty, 1959 Chevy moving-truck converted into a "scout bus" by cutting the back doors in half,  installing some porthole windows and hard wooden benches along the sides. This left the center floor section open for transporting all the tents and backpacks and camping gear and for staging cage fighting. Miraculously, no one had fallen out of the back doors on any of the trips to Camp Slauson or Josepho so far, but we came close a couple times.

This half-open, barn-door (at the rear of the truck) arrangement had its advantages and disadvantages.

ADVANTAGE 1) On one trip, Charlie climbed out of the back of the truck onto the tongue of the trailer and slid himself onto the fender of the little cargo trailer, we were pulling in order to appropriate something we "desperately" needed inside the truck that was a matter of life and death.  Like a spider monkey, Charlie, climbed up on top of the little white trailer and slowly scooted himself very carefully towards the rear. I voted against the rope. I kind-of-felt like Charlie would have been better off without a bowline tied around his waist. I figured that if he fell off without the rope then at least he might have a chance of survival, but with the rope - it would be like being dragged behind a horse at 57 miles per hour on hot rough asphalt (not a good ending - if you know what I mean)!  Believe it or not, Charlie actually made it inside the trailer grabbed the bag of marshmallows and made his way back into the back of the "Scout Bus" without the scout masters being none-the-wiser.

ADVANTAGE 2) Another thing this particular arrangement afforded us on long trips, was that we could stand on the bench seat and hang our talliwackers out the back, when some small-bladder'd tenderfoot had to take a pee-pee between potty-stops!

ADVANTAGE 3) This gaping hole in the back end also allowed us to "full-moon" passerby's, especially if there were pretty girls and grandmothers in the cars trapped behind our slow-moving, smog-belching, billboard of a truck  - representing the Boys Scouts of America (Hey, I was twelve and at least we thought it was pretty cool - though, I'm pretty sure our scout masters might have felt differently - had they known).

DISADVANTAGE 1) Potential for falling out of the back - especially when leaning out to take a leak or when "giving the moon" to an old Mormon grandmother from Utah.

DISADVANTAGE 2)  Was the fact that carbon monoxide FUMES blew into the large open back. Carbon monoxide poisoning includes light-headedness, confusion, headaches, vertigo and can lead to the toxicity of the central nervous system. This might EXPLAIN WHY we sent a Boy Scout crawling out on top of a trailer on the freeway, pee'd on the cars behind us, indiscriminately exposed our bare butts to grandmas and fought with one another all the way to Idaho.  And... it might also explain why we always looked like dazed, refugee-rats whenever the truck finally rolled into a rest stop.




The other normal Boy Scout troops did not travel like us... they had air-conditioned travel-coaches with a restroom on board and drove through McDonald's on their way across country.












Although the carbon-monoxide poisoning could be blamed for a lot of things, in our case, however, I don't think the toxic fumes we were breathing could be blamed for mass constipation. I think that was due instead, both to the menu, and to the fact that the Scout Master's son never rinsed the pasta which ended up sticking to the insides of our intestines like the heavy paste on paper mache!

It's not like something we compared notes on.  "Hey, Kissel..have you taken a poop yet?"  That would have been ridiculous.

But, after 4 or 5 hot, sweaty days of traveling and camping the two scout master finally put two and two together when everyone began to moan and groan about stomachaches which they figured was more than just the ordinary toxic confusion, vomiting associated with minor carbon monoxide poisoning that was driving us all mad.

AND SO... the night after the infamous spaghetti incident, on the very same day I rescued David Cockerel from drowning in a small muddy lake outside Rock Springs in Wyoming...is when the proverbial "poop would have hit the fan" except for there was no poop and the scout masters came up with a diabolical plan.

I'll have to leave you hanging on this one... and come back and share how this interrogation tribunal got us a Highway Patrol escort... (well, kind of anyway)... to the embarrassment of the Entire Boy Scout Universe and to which (I'm sure) Lord Baden Powell was rolling over in his grave.  

AS I leave you until next time-  there are many of you right now saying, "Oh, this guy is just making up stories for sensationalism!"

I guarantee that every single bit of this is the "Straight Up TRUTH!

And I would ask, or dare anyone who is reading this - especially if you were a member of the illustrious Troop 32 from Venice California to weigh-in and corroborate these stories for the rest of the disbelieving world - at least for those in the 78 countries who read this BLOG!

Until next time...  Du är älskad!