October 1, 2014
It all started the day Grandmother TNUC threw him out of her basement for not helping out with rent and for biting the heads off the neighbor’s chickens in the middle of the night. This didn’t sit well with Grams, so she threw together a comfort bag of butterscotch candies, cream of wheat and one pack of Sweet n’ Low…plus his boots, leathers, some VHS tapes and his saxophone…and sent him on his way.
With not much of a plan in sight, he took off on his bike for the big city. He figured once he got there, he’d find work at one of the local hellraiser bars or meat-packaging factories. The Manimal hadn’t worked a day in his life, but reality was rapidly setting in. If he ever wanted to ever see a quaalude, horror comic or frozen pizza from the grocery store again, he’d have to work for it. He soon found out that finding a steady gig was more difficult than it looked. Based on his overall appearance and civilian wardrobe, he was rejected everywhere. No one dared to hire a guy that looked like he just stepped off the Santa Carla boardwalk, circa 1987. It didn’t help that he tore up all his job applications, figuring instead he’d impress these ‘suits’ face to face. During one job interview he jumped up on the manager’s desk and ripped a few chords from his saxophone. His trench-coat swayed back and forth, knocking over the manager’s family pictures and spilling hot coffee all over his lap. Then he finished his mini-performance – sat down – kicked his legs up on the desk, and lit a cigarette…
While the Manimal was failing miserably with job searching, he found shelter in an abandoned nuclear waste plant, because c’mon…WHERE ELSE? It was far cry from the hearth and home of Grandmother TNUC’s, but it would do for now. He sure did miss the ol’ hag…even the times she’d whack him with her cane when he’d try to switch channels from Little House on the Prairie to TNT’s Monstervision. Inside the plant he found a large drainpipe that looked good for nestling in at night and hopefully wouldn’t be bothered by any of the kooks and critters that came out after dusk. He also noticed that every night exactly at midnight a large flow of ‘city steam’ (you know the type) came pummeling through the pipe and he thought his silhouette in the steam looked ultra-cool.
Still, this is what life had become? The Manimal had hit an ultimate low. He would’ve given just about anything to bask in that once-haunting aroma of moth balls and peach schnapps at Gram’s house. Now starved and living in a cold, damp, nuclear waste plant, he started to scavenge for food. He made friends with a rat named “Bobby the Rat” and the two of them made a blood oath to split every inch of food they found. One night after licking way too much marshmallow crust out of old Twinkie packaging, they wandered back to their sleeping quarters, feeling lightheaded. Suddenly a group of tranny hookers appeared and started whipping them weapons that looked straight out of Children of the Corn. Manimal lost his balance, grabbed Bobby the Rat and fell straight into an open vat of toxic chemicals!
The Manimal woke up dazed and disoriented in a sludgy pile of stinky muck a few days later. He stood up but could barely move his muscles. He tried doing a roundhouse kick, a crotch-thrust and a few of his other signature moves but couldn’t produce. There was an oozy, radioactive looking material dripping from his flesh which burned and blistered. He began to slither around for a while until he passed a broken window where he caught his reflection and let out a war cry that must have woken up every person in a 10 mile radius.
He was paralyzed with shock. Gone were the brute, chiseled Manimal-traits that he was born into this life with. Gone was the award-winning jawline that won “Foxiest Facial Features” on the Boardwalk three years in a row back in 1985. His skin pigmentation had turned murky green. Nuclear waste had melted the left side of his face, leaving it permanently slanted. All the narcotics he had consumed throughout the years were pouring out of every orpheus on his face. He smelled like raw sewage. Flies buzzed around him at all times. This was no longer the life-of-the-party Manimal we’d all been so accustomed to. He had morphed into a toxic terror known as the MANIMAL MUTATION! His vile appearance sent him into a sadistic rampage and made his blood boil to the point where he decided everything in his path needed to be slaughtered. He looked at the markings on the wall and realized today was OCTOBER 1ST – the first day of the annual festivities at CAMP TNUC. Not only was he disfigured and mutated, but he was also late for camp! Knowing that he had a responsibility to uphold as lead counselor for one of the most savage sleepaway camps in America, he grabbed Bobby the Rat (who had also survived the toxic chemical submersion and was now the size of a Husky), jumped on his Harley and took off into the night.
Now he’s returned…and because of the recent MANIMAL MUTATION incident, he’s in NO MOOD for whiny, promiscuous skinny-dippers causing a ruckus down by the lake. But make no mistake, we still encourage you to make your way down our dusty path and claim your lakeside cabin at CAMP TNUC. For the next 31 days we have a whole mess of activities planned, including TNUC’s “How to?” exercises on how you can become an expert on – surviving in the forest alone, eating raw meat, safe use of power tools, stalking showers, peeking into windows, popping up at the right moment, cutting phone lines, hiding under bunk-beds, swimming under water at night, stealing canoes and more!
P.S. What’s that I hear? Limited edition CAMP TNUC t-shirts on the way? STAY CLOSE. REAL CLOSE.