The Male Hole

A long time ago, in a place far, far away (the Poconos), four boys were assigned a cabin for a school camping trip. One of the boys, we'll call him Brian, stepped out of the cabin in the middle of the night. He walked a few steps towards one of the girl's cabins, and stopped. He then unzipped his fly and took a wiz.

Meanwhile, back in the cabin, an intense game of poker was just about to get pretty real. I (yeah, believe it or not, I was there too!) pushed all of my M&M's into the center of the dusty floor, exclaiming, "I'm all in, suckas." Sixth grade me had no idea how to play poker, so he thought he could win the hand off of a two, a three, a four, a six and a ten. In fact, current me also has no idea how to play poker. (Don't tell those guys at the casino.) Fortunately for sixth grade me, the other three guys had no clue how to play poker either, so I happened to take the pot.

Little did we know, hundreds of miles away in New Hampshire, someone was pointing a gun in our general direction. Probably. I don't know for sure, but every story needs a problem, right? Anyway, the man fired the gun, an apple fell off of some little girl's head, and the boys fell asleep in a pile of candy and cards.

In the morning, they woke up and did the usual stuff you do on a sixth grade camping trip. They roasted two marshmallows each (there's gotta be enough for the whole class, so no thirds), went on a hike and got lost in thorn bushes, and flirted with their crushes (especially Brian). So what's the Male Hole? It's a sacred bond of brothers, which will never be broken. It's also what Brian thought the graffiti on the wall of the cabin said, when it actually read "mole hole." Brian isn't the brightest.

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