Campfire Tales: The Legend of White Fang

J.D. had recently relocated back home to the Farm with his new girlfriend, both moving into the luxury lean-to that had been attached to the steel barn. Kellie had been well on her way to making a fine impression amongst all the Farm’s residents, to the point that as she and J.D. approached the campfire that night everyone groaned at the upcoming hell they all knew they were about to have to endure. Some drunks get happy, some get quiet, some need to fight, and some get loud and like to incite a riot. Kellie would be the latter.

Sporting her trashy biker bitch clothing which consisted of skin-tight black jeans, combat boots, and a Def Leppard black lace shirt to show off all her arm tats, Kellie was feeling no pain and was in fine form. Normally, Kellie would start talking about her successes using Catch & Release, and how she had tried all the online dating sites including the “fuck” sites, going into vivid detail about her dating experiences. Dropping f-bombs numerous times with each story of lust and its satiation, this usually went on until Gabriella would get up and walk away in disgust. George would just sit there saying “Hmm” and ponder on how his son’s standards could be so vastly different than his own. As his mom would be getting up to leave, J.D. normally would tap Kellie on the shoulder and say, “That’s enough Honey Bunny.” Tonight, however, would be much, much different.

As the two Stumble Buddies staggered, leaned, and tripped their way to the fire, George was heard to say, “Hmm, nine o’clock. I think it might be my bedtime.” But Kellie had seen George start to stand up, or maybe it was just a vague outline of George through bleary alcohol-infused eyes, and she yelled “Oh no you don’t! We just got here!” George dejectedly plopped back into his fine used one-dollar lawn chair and said, “Well, fiddlesticks! Maybe I should stay for just one more.”

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