Letters from Camp By Peter Soucy
June 5, 2018 June 2, 2018 Hello Mother and Father, Thanks for the condoms. You were right. They are much more comfortable than scotch taping my peepee hole. Camp other wise is going swimmingly. We’re tenting, making fires, kayaking, har vesting pseudoephedrine from cold medicine tablets, and eating boogers! I also broke a chair and now the counselors won’t let me shower, but it’s okay! Love you, Joshy
June 15, 2018
Dearest Joshua, It was lovely receiving your letter the other day. Glad to know you’re having a lot of safe camp sex. I regret to tell you that your mother and I have had a fight about the social implications of father-son mouth kissing, and now she’s out in Italy somewhere with your rifle instructor, the one with the 21.5inch finger. I’m upset, young one. I ate a whole stick of butter rolled in orange Tic-Tacs. I’m going to try and win her back, so you might not hear from me for a while. I’m also wiring you 13 million dollars, and I need you to not lose your debit card under any circumstances. All my love, Father
June 9, 2018 Father, My tears for you and mother fall swiftly, and I wish you well on your trip. This news comes at an inconvenient time for me. All the trees turned out to be a paramilitary group in disguise and they started all-out guerrilla warfare with my counselors. They keep yelling things like, “bonjour parmigiana,” or “auf wiedersehen tamales,” or “Sushi compadre“ or “we are Seal Team 6 and we are here to save these kids from working as slaves for you meth dealers.” I can’t make sense of any of it! I’m scared, papa! Also, head counselor Joni took my debit card after the “Breaking of Our Left Hands Ceremony,” but I’ll find it! I hope my falcon finds you well, Joshy
My darling starry-eyed son,
June 21, 2018
Your falcon flew right into my private plane’s engine and we crashed landed on an island filled with pens and paper and bottles. Everything on the plane burned, but your letter floated down from the air unscathed and gave me a little kiss. I now use it to cover my peepee from the perverse sun. Read this carefully: I need you to get your debit card back from your counselor at any cost. Prove your worth as my son that platonically kisses me on the lips. It’s okay! Tom Brady and his son do it! Get that debit card and get me off this island!
Delectable Father,
July 3, 2018
I’ve killed. I killed someone dead. I ate her kidney. It was Joni, Father. Big, bald, Joni. She came at me with a bottle of water and a violent looking sandwich, so I gutted her with a sharp crayon and ate her kidney. Raw. There was no choice father. There is no other food. There was a terrible explosion. The science lab. All that red phosphorus we did experiments with. The paramilitary group took one shot at the lab and everyone exploded except for Joni and the other kids. The kids have taken the mess hall for themselves, and then they sent Joni to try and kill me! But I showed them. Good news though, father. I found my debit card and melted it onto my forehead for safe keeping.
Zip zip,
I hope that Joshy gets my message in a bottle, Father
12
XOXO, Joshy
Where is my tan son? Where is the water? Pieces of tiny spiders all strung up on thread hang from my hut. I need a hero. I need my wife. Wilson! The sun likes to dance on my little butt with his warm feet. It’s so hot, Father