It was a simple game of capture the flag

It was a simple game of capture the flag at a Boy Scout camp. Picking my team, how was I to know that this was the start of a future world-wide conspiracy by captains of industry?

The flags we hoped to capture were composed of labor contracts and release forms, and the Scoutmaster was a Tongan oil magnate. Upon winning, my team was shipped in a holeless box

turtle to the island of Tonga. At first I hated it because I was an urban Jewish kid who'd never camped. The Tonganese villagers looked down on me because I was afraid of

chubby anti-Semitic fourth-graders. The Tonganese didn't even have a 4th grade, so they couldn't relate. As the only urban Jew on the isle, I shared my raps with them about fasting

in order to achieve a Santa Monica Pier-worthy figure. The Tonganese did not understand Yiddish, but they appreciated my rhythm and enthusiasm. Adam Yauch would have felt proud.

The rat tails were ubiquitous.

Ubiquitious and soft and sweet they were. I have sympathy for the rats. Since they were everywhere, always. They ran on my bed when I was sleep, on my chest i felt their softness.

I loved those soft, furry little animals. I used to let them nibble on my toes, until one got bitten off. Frequently, I would let them eat out of the plate, share my bath with me

and even my bed sometimes. Of the many furry critters that lived with me, Mr.Bobkins was the most special. He used to produce bubbles from his whiskers that I liked to inhale