On this dark and stormy morn I am refreshed at the thought of the weekend that lies before me – yet another strange and mysterious visit to my grandparents’ cabin. Long the site of many of my life’s most cherished secrets and depraved straddlings, this cabin is a mighty monument to the innocence I lost so long ago.
Travelling with a few ill-chosen companions, my wife and I will make my way down the wandering road of despair to the cabin on Saturday morning and return at some point on Monday. It is sure to be an unpleasant, dispiriting weekend riddled with awkward pauses and remorseful silences. It will be like listening to the live studio audience during a taping of “Just Shoot Me”.
Once there, our time will be filled with frolicking in a filthy lake ringed with dead fish, throwing darts at an obnoxiously verbose electronic dartboard, and sucking on limes to stave off scurvy. Also, we will consume approximately 9,000 calories per day. There is literally nothing good that can come out of this.
If you could, please refrain from telling the three teens wearing oversized white t-shirts and black do-rags who wander through our neighborhood with a basketball shouting at passing females of our weekend absence. They might get the wrong idea and decide to rape our cats or something.