(dedicated to Pierce Ford)

I never wanted to be in cub scouts. Unfortunately, what I wanted didn’t matter to my Dad. You see, when he was a kid (late 50’s to early 60’s) that was normal thing young boys did. Join Cub Scouts.

I wasn’t even close to being a “normal boy,” but my Father was determined to mold me into one. Looking back I can’t help but feel his efforts were driven by his own creepy needs to relive his youth vicariously though me.

Anyways, there I was… Standing in line, wearing my wrinkly, short sleeved, blue, button down shirt. My faggoty, yellow neck tie, which I had tied improperly was blowing into my face by the wind. My khaki shorts were too short for my taste and the trucker hat that matched my ridiculous outfit was itching the hell out of my forehead. Not to mention it was July in central Virginia, so I was sweating profusely before we even started the days festivities.

The rest of the maladjusted 3rd graders bounced around like little rubber balls on the sidewalk. For whatever reason those kids ate all that Cub Scout shit up. None of them cared for me much. They were the same kids who actually liked going to church and Sunday School. Fuck that.

Speaking of the word fuck… I was the only kid in the group who even knew how to use the word properly in a sentence. I remember on our over night Cub Scout trip I was forced to sleep away from my fellow scouts because I dropped the “F-bomb.”

One of the nerdy, little Cub Scout fuckers told on me. Since that day, the parents prohibited their kids from interacting with me. They didn’t have the heart to just kick me out of the scouts, plus they feared the wrath of my Dad if they did so. Instead, they just ostracized me hoping eventually I might just wander off alone and disappear.

Actually, I did have one friend by default. What I mean is that he was the fat kid everyone picked on. So naturally, us two being the outcasts of the group, we had to stick together to preserve our sanity. His name was Fat Brad. Everyone called him Fat Brad, kids, teachers, parents, everyone… even his own parents called him Fat Brad.

Fat Brad didn’t mind being called Fat Brad so much, it was all the mean tricks the others played on him. Kids can be so cruel. They would build his hopes up and pretend they liked him (regularly) just to make him the butt of a humiliating joke. Poor guy.

I could have managed through cub scouts on my own, but I hated seeing kids pick on weaker, defenseless kids. Needless to say I ended up in a lot of fights as a kid.

So Fat Brad and I became friends; I figured that way they might ease off of him. Not because I was so big and strong mind you; Hell, Fat Brad was bigger, stronger, and taller than me.

Kids didn’t pick on me and wouldn’t pick on my friends because they were scared of my rage. I had it real bad growing up. All it would take is one joke at my expense and I’d snap. I’d see red and usually end up being restrained by adults until I calmed down.

When I was 7, I beat a kid in the face so badly that we both had to go to the hospital. He went for stitches over his left eye and a broken nose. I had to go to get splints for my 4 broken fingers and to have my knuckles x-rayed for fractures. Needless to say, kids didn’t mess with me or my friends.

“Hey Tony!” Fat Brad beamed, patting me on the back. I looked him up and down wondering how long it would take before the buttons on his shirt exploded off and shot Cub Scout uniform shrapnel all over me. He knew instantly I was in a bad mood. “What’s wrong this time?” Fat Brad lifted off his trucker hat and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his plump little forearm.

“You know I hate this shit.” I said nodding toward the yuppie offspring yelping and giggling about twenty feet to our left.

Fat Brad spun around wide eyed looking for any adults that might be near by. “Can’t you at least make sure no one can hear you if your gonna talk like that?” Fat Brad tolerated my swearing, although he never swore himself.

“Awe, who gives a fuck? Let’s get this over with.” I began to walk towards the my fellow Cub Scouts when Fat Brad yanked me back by my shirt sleeve.

“Look man, if my Mom or Dad hear you say stuff like that they won’t let us play together anymore.” Fat Brad looked really worried. I didn’t really care, but I knew it meant a lot to him.

“Sorry, I’ll try not to cuss.” We both turned and walked towards our group making sure to stick to the back. Our Den Leader and Cub Master were quieting all us Bear Cubs (Bear was the animal associated with our Age group or something like that).

“Alright guys!” Cub Master Fred was way too enthusiastic for my taste. The worst part about it was that he was always overly enthusiastic. “Today is a special day kiddos! We’re all going to earn our Service Badges!” Half the kids cheered like idiots, another third of the kids didn’t know what the word “service” meant, and then there was me and Fat Brad.

I was pissed.

I leaned over and whispered in Fat Brad’s ear, “I fuckin hate doing service.”

“What’s that Tony!?” Den Leader Phil shot out at me. He had always hated me. He hated everything I represented. I was the bad kid, the rotten apple, the one kid making faces in his utopian group photographs. He watched me like a hawk waiting for a reason to bounce me out of his perfect little world.

“I said what a lovely day for doing service!” I piped out obnoxiously chipper with my tone smiling as fake as I could at the bastard. Cub Scouts was like a bad video game I didn’t want to play. Try to survive the assholes and morons while participating in retarded activities you don’t want to be a part of. They should write that on the Cub Scouts brochure somewhere.

Den Leader Phil rolled his eyes and then he and Cub Master Fred continued briefing us on our Service Mission. Apparently, we were all taking buses to the Richmond International Speedway to help clean up the after math of the race the day before. Then after a couple hours of cleaning we could all go home and dream about the thin piece of aluminum we would be awarded at the Pack Meeting. Fabulous.

On the ride over Fat Brad convinced me that it might not be a total loss, he pointed out that we would be by the Race Track and we might get to see some cars. I tried to stay positive, mostly for his sake.

We unloaded and I began laughing hysterically. Den Leader Phil and Cub Master Fred hadn’t anticipated the wreckage that would be left over after the race. Liquor bottles, cigarette butts, bras and panties, beer cans as far as the eye could see, disgusting remnants of food festering in the sun. It made me happy to see the look of defeat and shock on their faces. I was watching the slow corruption of their perfect little world and their sheltered children… honestly, it made my day.

A man in blue coveralls came sauntering over and spoke with Den Leader Phil and Cub Master Fred. They all chatted for a good bit and totally forgot about us 8 and 9 year olds; fragile little cubs fumbling about the heaps of explicit garbage left over from the race.

Unfortunately, Fat Brad’s curiosity had him examining a large Styrofoam cup he had found on the ground. Fat Brad had also drawn in the other cub scouts who were fascinated by most of the garbage surrounding them. I rolled my eyes and shuffled over to see what all the ruckus was about.

Fat Brad had definitely found the crowned jewel of the Richmond International Speedway. It was a Styrofoam cup, half full of dip and dip spit with a used condom floating in it with a mess of what looked like bits of vomit.

I choked back my urge to puke.

“What is that thing?” Tommy Henderson asked staring hard at the condom. Tommy was Den Leader Phil’s kid.

“It’s what your parent’s forgot to use the night they made you.” I sneered.

“Very funny jackass.” Tommy shot me an evil eye, but I was too amused with the whole scene to get angry.

Then an evil light bulb went off above my head and before I could think twice the manipulative words were coming out of my mouth. I slithered back into the crowd of innocent Cub Scouts.

“Well, if we want to figure out what it is, we gotta smell it.” I offered trying to sound as sincere as possible.

“Yeah right, that stuff looks gross.” Billy found his voice this time; he was Cub Master Fred’s kid. Billy would later go on to become the most famous producer in the gay, male pornography industry, but that‘s another story.

“Look, Billy…” I grabbed his arm. “Tommy…” I grabbed his arm, and brought them both towards the cup Fat Brad was holding. “Well all learned about the Wolves and other forest animals during our overnighter. Animals have the best senses! Even your Dads’ admitted that they have better senses than Humans.” Billy and Tommy looked at each other and couldn’t deny the truth in my words.

“So the animals always smell things to figure things out. They can tell if something is good to eat, or if there are other animals around, or even if something is poisonous.” Again the two boys couldn’t deny my logic.

The other 8 boys just watch silently, as I spoke. “Now that cup might have poisonous stuff in it.” Fat Brad almost dropped the cup. “Hold steady Fat Brad! You don’t want to poison the earth! We’re here to clean it.”

“I don’t want to hold the cup anymore.” Fat Brad looked like he might cry. I felt bad, but I knew that my plan would do him more justice than the slight discomfort he felt at the moment.

“Well, you should have thought about that before you picked the cup up.” I stated bluntly. Fat Brad’s squeamish face was making me feel like a piece of crap.

“Just wait until Tommy and Billy find out if it’s poisonous or not.” I got Fat Brad to relax a bit. “That way we can all get Bravery Badges! If we risk our necks to save this place.” I nodded at Fat Brad and he nodded back; he understood, and held the cup out steady.

Billy and Tommy protested at first. I had a plan for that. “Come on guys, your Dads are the leader’s of the Den and you have the most badges.” Once again they couldn’t argue with my facts. All it would take is a little buttering up to get them where I wanted.

“We look up to you guys! You gotta help us!” And a little more butter. “Just think, our Den will be the one that gets bravery badges next Pack Meeting!” They hesitated for a moment.

Too late, they were sold.

Billy and Tommy moved forward towards the cup. I stood behind Fat Brad and watched the other Cub Scouts gather in close behind Billy and Tommy. Billy got the first whiff and all I saw was his head shoot up and wide eyes immediately go blood shot. Tommy delved in a little too quickly after Billy not wanting to be left out of the spot light. As a result he actually snorted some of the dip spit, vomit, condom mess into his nose.

Tommy screamed and flailed his arms wildly. He smacked the dip spit, vomit, condom cup all over the other 8 curious Cub Scouts. I, instinctively, grabbed Fat Brad who was a deer in headlights… scratch that; a calf in head lights. I pulled him back next to me, safe from the horror that followed.

After Tommy launched the dip spit, vomit, condom cup all over his little buddies he began projectile vomiting all over the place. He was screaming about something burning in between heaves of vomit. But he was soon upstaged by his buddies.

The 8 spectator Cub Scouts began puking all over one another once the smell of the cup had been let loose. Then, they too began running amuck; projectile vomiting every which way they went because the smell was in their clothes.

Den Leader Phil and Cub Master Fred came bounding back into the picture grabbing their kids trying to find out what happened.

Billy, tried his hardest, god bless his soul. But I could see him turning green as his Dad approached him. Cub Master Fred got on one knee to look at his sickly son in the face, grabbing Billy’s arms to pull Billy’s face close to his own.

“What is it son!? What happened?” Cub Master Fred’s mouth was still open when Billy vomited all over his father’s face. It was at that point; the combination of heat, the over whelming smell of vomit, and the visual of Billy puking in his Dad’s mouth… It was at that point that Fat Brad turned to his left and I turned to my right and we both threw up.

Den Leader Phil had managed to stop his son from puking and now had Tommy on his hip carrying him like a baby. He was goose stepping towards me robotically with hate in his eyes. Tommy had been crying from the looks of things and obviously the story of what had transpired was out.

“Tony!” Den Leader Phil snarled at me and shook his one free hand scolding me silently. He adjusted Tommy’s weight on his hip. Before Den Leader Phil could say anything else, right after he adjusted Tommy’s weight onto his hip, Fat Brad and I threw up again.

See, Tommy had snorted some of the dip into his nose. The dip in turn had dripped down the back of his throat into his stomach. Combine the fact that Tommy was a 9 year old kid with the metabolism of a cheetah and the fact that he had never had nicotine in his system and the result is only natural. Tommy upon being readjusted on his Father’s hip had unloaded the most foul smelling diarrhea all over his dear old Dad.

Den Leader Phil literally tossed Tommy off of him; I’m sure it was an accident. You know, just the first reaction that popped in good, old Den Leader Phil’s head. Den Leader Phil grabbed at his diarrhea soaked clothing, caught one whiff of the smell, turned to his right and vomited profusely all over his son Tommy.

“Holy Shit!” Fat Brad exclaimed pointing at our Den Leader as he threw up on his son.

That was the last thing I ever heard Fat Brad say. After the Speed Way Incident (that’s what they called it) his parents moved him half way across the country and forebode him from communicating with me. I never even got to say good bye to him.

I Don’t really know what all happened to my other fellow Cub Scouts. I never had to go to Cub Scouts again. Which is a nice way of saying they banned me from the organization for the remainder of my life. I couldn’t have even done Boy Scouts if I had wanted to. Fucking absurd… I was 9.

Anyways, the best part about it all was that two weeks after the “Speed Way Incident” I got a letter in the mail from Cub Master Fred. There was no actual letter, no writing or words, nothing like that. The only thing inside the letter was a Cub Scouts’ service badge. I keep it framed in my office to this day.

Want to comment on this Short Stories? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Short Stories and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...