As a kid in England I did something that a lot of boys did growing up. No, not that – I joined the Scouts. Actually I joined the Cub Scouts first, until I turned eleven, when I got to move up to proper Scouts and wear long trousers. Scouts wasn’t bad – we played dangerous games, tied knots, saluted a lot and, most importantly, we got to go to camps.
Every Spring we’d go off to Tappington Hall Farm and camp in a field for about four days. We pitched tents, dug holes, built fires and cooked sausages in the rain. It was good wholesome fun, apart from the vicious hazing rituals (called “christening”) visited upon those making their first camp. In theory we developed strong character, discipline and useful outdoor skills. Whatever the reality of that, we definitely spent considerable time swapping dirty jokes. These were the kind of kid jokes that don’t seem funny now but which had us rolling out of the tent at the age of eleven. A typical example would be:
A man was traveling and needed a place to stay the night. He reached a remote farmhouse and knocked at the door. When the farmer answered the man asked “Have you got a room I could rent for the night?” The farmer thought for a bit and replied “Well, I don’t have a spare room but you could share with my daughter. Understand, though, if you get up to any funny business I’ll make you sorry you stopped here.” The man went up to the room and, well, the daughter was beautiful. He couldn’t resist, so he fucked her. The next morning the farmer comes into his room and drags him out of bed, down the stairs and out the back, into a small shed, where there is a workbench bolted to the floor. There he pulls out the man’s dick and sticks it in a vice, tightens it up and breaks off the handle. He then reaches up to a shelf and takes down a rusty saw. The man screams “You’re not going to cut it off are you?” “No” replies the farmer, handing him the saw, “but you are, because I’m going to set fire to the shed.”
This is what passed for Grade A humor in our tent. Well, that and farting, which was a fact of life after four days of sausage and beans, and was guaranteed to get a laugh. Even after all those camps, I still have no idea how to lash two sticks together with a rope. My sausages are always black on one side and pink on the other, and if you’re counting on me for first aid I’m afraid you’re probably going to die. The humor didn’t go away though. I don’t think anyone really forgets the jokes they leaned growing up. I remember my very first boss telling me the best camping joke I ever heard:
Boss: “If you woke up in a field, stark naked, with grass stains on your elbows and knees, and a used condom hanging out of your arse, who would you tell?’
Me (after thinking): No-one!
Boss: “Do you want to come camping then?”
If I’d known that one at age eleven I’d have been the funniest boy in the tent.
Copyright 2007 Edward Bison