Peace on Earth and Good Will Towards Men

Thanks to everyone who let me get creative on the asses of all 
these jobs in 2009.
Let's do it again next year!

The Boy Scout Chronicles Volume 1 - The Hixon Street Miracle

Like most small town boys of my era I was a Boy Scout.

Standing at attention in my beret and sash, flashing the official Lord Baden-Powell two-fingered salute, I was sure I looked just as cool as Sean Connery in "Dr. No," or maybe Clint Eastwood in "Where Eagles Dare."  Dashing... manly... debonair.  After all, what girl can resist a man with the words "Fruitbelt Camporee" emblazoned across his shirt?

However, before you get too far in forming a mental image of idyllic, Rockwellian youth, I should take a moment to point out that, just a few jamborees down the line, I was unceremoniously expelled from the troop and my scouting career ended in Nixonian disgrace.  Much later in life, I was also kicked out of a Sex Pistols concert and to this day I'm not sure which incident I'm more proud of.

Now, Scout Leaders have earned a reputation as being second only to Catholic Priests in the pedophilia department, but in our troop, the only thing they were guilty of was extreme stupidity.

Our first illustrious leader was Mr. P. (I'm playing it safe here, as I'm a little fuzzy on the legal ramifications of pointing out someone's idiocy on the internet.)

Anyway, Mr. P. had us going door to door for about two years, collecting old newspapers and magazines to sell to recyclers at something like 2¢ a ton. One day, a guy gave us a large stack of Playboy magazines.

I don't know if I can properly convey in words how significant this was in the days before the internet. It was possibly the single most exciting moment of my young life. It was like finding the Holy Grail.

Unfortunately, like most good things, it was too good to last. We would have been okay if we'd just played it cool and hidden them quietly, but word of the miracle spread through the troop like wild fire and there was no controlling us. Soon we were all gathered in an excited huddle, marveling at the glorious new world Heff was opening up for us, a world of buxom beauties, witty repartee, and velvet smoking jackets.

Suddenly, Mr. P. burst into our midst, nearly frothing at the mouth in his religious fury. He angrily snatched the magazines away and hurled them onto the top of the nearest recycling truck.

It was a crushing, heart-breaking blow and I swear I heard old Baden-Powell roll over in his grave as it happened. I feel certain that Lord Robert shared our appreciation for tastefully posed women with air-brushed breasts, even if Mr. P. didn't.

We finished that paper drive in a daze, our hearts heavy with the knowledge that a once in a lifetime opportunity had been stolen from us. I think a little part of me died that day, and from that moment on, the Boy Scouts were never quite the same for me.

To be continued...