Your first name was actually Thomas, but your middle name was Champion, so everybody called you Champ. It's weird calling somebody Champ day in and day out, even weirder working as a subordinate to such a person. You stood about five feet tall and had shortish dark hair. Add to that your penchant for jacked-up pickups and your impatience with people who didn't follow your orders to a tee, and it's no surprise that you were frequently referred to as "Napoleonic." Which is just a silly way to be when you're running a summer camp. It's not like we were operating a nuclear submarine.
One summer, I took The Reverend Horton Heat's classic tune "Bales of Cocaine" and turned it into a campfire song. Its rhythm just lends itself nicely to such a transposition. Of course, this song was not intended for camper consumption, but just as a special treat for the staff. By the end of the summer, most of the staff knew every word. It drove you up the wall, but everybody else loved it. Just my little way of saying "Fuck you."
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