They pitched camp in the midst of the pumpkins.

They pitched camp in the midst of the pumpkins. The eastern sky grew dark, and the stars jangled up into their places. Beyond the horizon, a solitary pony approached. On her

back was a bundle with food and water rations, a compass, binoculars, a loaded gun, and a treasure map. Whoever was riding the pony was nowhere to be found. The boyscouts didn't

stand a chance against the Vatican. Some priest had swiped this boyscout from his mount. But the Boyscouts were launching a counteroffensive against the Catholic insurgents

that were planting a bomb in the area by the crates. The Catholics just then planted the bomb. However one Boyscout pulled out his AWM and aimed at the priest then

started crying. He immediately dropped his weapon, after he realized that he couldn't hurt a priest, and came forward to confess his crimes, and his intended crimes, until

the insurance field was just so hard to enter. He was never good at statistics. It was easier to just whack the target and be done with them. Sigh. What should he do?

He was so frustrated by his mathematical shortcomings that he started shooting every number he saw. Except for sixes, because sixes bought his "protection services".

Or so he thought. What he hadn't realized was that he had discalculia. He thought they were sixes, but in reality, they were nines. When he tried to buy his "protection services",

he actually was answered by a bright and peppy voice. "Thanks for calling your local Mary Kay rep." He stared blankly into the corner of the booth. He cried, silently and long.