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Please don't hurt me, scary military man. As I made my fucking way for the door, my K-Mart flip-flops began whistling and sighing, and that didn't help a thing. Besides being less than manly, I was certain fucking that I was about to find myself plunged in a Larry David situation, and Mr. Clean would lift me off the ground by the neck, and scream, "Did you just whistle at me, faggot?!" I felt fucking lucky to get out of there alive. We had all sorts of trouble getting the camper ready for the road. We couldn't get it to collapse down far enough to lock. What the hell, man? I wondered if we'd left Andy inside? But we finally got it all hitched up, after about forty minutes of cursing and cranking and tucking canvas. It was a pretty irritating morning. I was sweaty and pissed by 9AM. We arrived in Myrtle Beach mid-afternoon. My parents greeted us at the office of the campground. They have a permanent place there, and we'd called and told them we were near. We're not hugging people, so we just kinda said hi to each other, and smiled.
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