Here's the semi-annual reminder for this year's annual group camping trip. It will be on August 11th, 12th, and 13th. That's right, for the millionth freakin' time, it's the second weekend in August!! Mark your calendars now. Next month's camping announcement will spill all the juicy details.

We do have a group site, but in order to protect our special field agents, we can't divulge the exact location just yet. They are already scouring the grounds in preparation for the big event.



Maestro of Mayhem


Any now here's a look a little further into the future. Much further…


The future. It’s the year 2045. The 58TH annual group camping trip.

Group Camping as we know it no longer exists. In its place is a bizarre mutation, many generations removed from the original concept. It is…





Here's a preview of what we can expect 45 years from now:


Trackball baseball will be an Olympic sport, and Mason Chesla's son "Chester" will be take the silver medal



As a result of being scared by a bear, both of Jeff’s hairs turn permanently white



  After several campers mysteriously disappear, new campers are warned not to accept Jeff's traditional welcome gift: a sleeping bag made of french bread



 Rob Kaplan's brain will be revived by scientists and kept alive in a jar--a jar full of tequila!



 New partially-digested iced-oatmeal cookies will eliminate tedious chewing



 Scientists will dissect the body of Johnny Kaplan, despite his horrific screams



 A 92-year-old Janet Burke will finally say, "what the hell, count me in"



 Authorities discover a foolproof means of identifying the clinically insane: tracking the campers who participate in the annual group camping trip



 Mosquito's will be an endangered species, but they will have evolved into giant predators








And yet, some things remain disturbingly the same...



 Paul will still be willing to put his face into a cake for a price, but that price will be...(click on Paul to find out)


 Although transporters will be the most common means of transportation, Tom Burke will still somehow manage to get lost



 "Jason Takes Big Basin" will again be considered funny and fresh


Oh, how I pity those future generations.




And now for something completely different


Top 10 Least Popular Summer Drinks

10. Frozen Markaritas

9. E. Coli Colada

8. Amaretto di Castellon

7. Kraft Root Beer 'N Cheese

6. Lyme Disease Rickey

5. Crapple

4. Dr. Myers medicated tequila

3. McBourbon

2. Fermented Mrs. Butterworth

1. Smirnoff chunky-style vodka



Here's an e-mail from Sarah Castellon from last summer on the subject of our camping trip:

to: my dearest jeff i really reallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreally want to know when our camping trip is and i bet it is talking so long to me because i want to see jonny+denise jennifer tamar mashpotatomolly kelly haley jake and robby.vicky brian even though he +she is not related to me and kristy of course mark bucket head the rest of the dudziak family and jill mason christopher jim and paul and heidi clancy pepper you Haley the dog. All the other people and dogs I missed. Well bye bye love sarah marie





Click below to hear Homer talk about nature

(don't forget to come back)



An essay by Chris Castellon

I Enjoy Yelling At Things


You'd think, judging from the way people react, that a good old-fashioned screaming at the top of one's lungs in the middle of the campground is some sort of breach of etiquette. These days, even something as innocuous as yelling, "Holy shit, where are the iced-oatmeal cookies!?" to no one in particular is liable to get you tossed out of the whole park.

That's the message our uptight, repressive society sends: The mere act of expressing yourself with a good, healthy holler is bad, an impulse that should be stifled. Well, I'm sorry, but freedom of speech is one of the basic principles of our democracy, and what is yelling but a fun, high-volume form of speaking?

If I live to be 110, I'll never understand why people get so upset about my little hobby. You'd think they never heard a high-decible cackle in their lives. Excuse me for living, all you tiptoeing church mice, but yelling is an enjoyable and exciting part of my day!

Why in the world would I want to meekly intone, "Pardon me, could you please direct me to the bathrooms?" in a measured, modulated tone, when I could instead let out a hearty cry of, "Hey lady! Where the hell can a lady find a crapper in this place? Yeah, I'm talking to you! Who the hell else would I be asking?" See how much more enjoyable it is when you allow yourself to put a little enthusiasm into the exchange?

Pardon me for trying to inject a little excitement into people's dreary, workaday lives. I mean, walking around on eggshells all the time, worried that your voice might accidentally carry a few extra hundred yards--what kind of a life is that? Only when you let loose with a roaring bellow from across the street at someone you've never met do you really start to feel alive.

You only go around on this crazy merry-go-round once, and I want to be noticed. I want to make a mark while I can. And I'll be damned if any park ranger, psychiatric professional, or state-appointed social worker is going to tell me I'm not allowed to make myself heard.

Take waiting in line at camp showers. Pretty dull, eh? Well, for most people it is. But for a "go-for-the-gusto" type like myself, even something as mundane as that can be an adventure. And it can be for you, too! Next time you're stuck in some long line, don't just stand there like a dumb post. Shout, "Come on! What's the hold-up, you assholes? I don't have all damn day!" Believe me, you'll be glad you did.

So the next time you feel the urge to raise your voice beyond a level considered acceptable in decent society, don't hesitate: Start yelling away. Yell at the cat, the neighbors' kids, the jet soaring across the sky 35,000 feet overhead. Who cares if the passengers can't hear you? The important thing is that you know who's yelling. I really enjoy yelling things and, believe me, you can, too. I'm sure if more people yelled unnecessarily every now and then, we'd all be the louder for it.




Michael row the boat ashore, Alleluia!

Michael row the boat ashore, Alleluia!

Michael row the damn boat ashore, Alleluia!

Brian threw up in the picnic basket.



Coming next month: The search for the new name of our group camping trip for the new millennium and beyond.