that one post about the summer science camp and the kids covered in shaving cream eating the watermelon alien eggs in the middle of the night isnt even surprising. Like all the comments on it are like “wtf is this” but those people have never been to a summer camp. As someone who went to one from 8th to 12th grade, summer camps are surreal and just plain weird like
that one year where the entire group had an intense obsession with old bay seasoning. old bay got put on everything. pasta. sandwiches. chips. pudding. a guy snorted it
same kid also drank dirty taco dishwater on a dare
flies on leashes
one of the guys had 4 pairs of decorative boxers. he shared them with 3 other guys and they wore them over their shorts for at least 3 days. they wore them in public. theres a picture of them doing model poses in front of a waterfall wearing fluorescent decorative boxers over their shorts
a girl deadpan goes “i am the captain now” and then pushes our counselor out of the raft into the white water rapids. he was cool with it
the 2 guys that shared a canoe and tipped their boat 7 times in 30 min
everyone imitates a velociraptor when you cross that specific field on the hike. no one questions it
the indestructable piece of firewood that became a minor deity
hearing coughing and screaming in the tents at 12 am because someone decided to kill all the bugs on the ceiling of their tent with a 10 second long spray of 40% deet aerosol bug repellent
someone put a frog in a kids shower. he let it stay in there with him. he kept it for the next 5 hours. it sat by his bowl at dinner
pillow fight using entire couch cushions in a shabby 1800′s log cabin
on the last night at camp we go back to the main property where the hotel is. the hotel kitchen has a cookie jar. we wanted cookies. so logically, we dressed in all black, put black mesh kits over our heads, grabbed a bunch of pool noodles, and “snuck” up to the half mile to the hotel, dropping to the ground anytime a car passed vaguely in our direction. we send a kid into the kitchen through a side door. he is acting as a decoy to get the staff out of the kitchen. he says he is a guest and cannot find the bathrooms (especially not the one in his guest room). he is still wearing the mock ninja attire. the last 2 staff leave to show him where the bathroom is in his own room that he doesnt actually have. everyone else in our group goes into the kitchen to get the cookies. the cookie jar is empty. we end up taking a half eaten loaf of wonder bread instead. we run back away from the hotel waving pool noodles in the air holding a loaf of wonder bread. no one questioned any part of this entire event.
basically dont underestimate the surrealist hive mind of a small group of people cut of from all social conventions for a week
Your house was built in 1920. It has been marked historic. It will now stand here untouched until the end of time. The bridge has been marked historic. It was built in 1930. No one is allowed to drive on it. Your neighbor’s fence has been marked historic. He built it three years ago. You go to church. The church falls down. It was built in 2005. No one will clear the rubble to save you. It has been marked historic.
You get in your dinghy. You motor to town. You tie up your dinghy at the docks. You buy your government mandated industrial carton of Old Bay and Old Bay seasoned UTZ chips at the Royal Farms. You can’t remember the taste of water. You don’t remember sunlight. There is only Old Bay.
You are on a mountain. The fog is too thick to see the road in front of you. You wait for it to clear. You drive until you reach a town below sea level. The fog is still here. It has followed you.
Your friend from out of state asks if you want to go swimming in the Bay. You say no. You’ll be too busy contacting their next of kin.
You are driving. The DC NPR station signal is growing weaker. You are not yet in range of the Baltimore NPR station. The signal is growing fainter. Fainter. Fainter. You flip between the static of both stations. Nothing. You are trapped. You pass a road sign that reads: New Market. Your flesh melts from your bones as Rush Limbaugh comes in loud and clear.
You sailed your preposterously large yacht into Ego Alley. All eyes are upon you. You approach the dead end docks. The tourists look on in confusion. The dockside bar patrons begin to take bets. It is time to turn around and motor your way out. There is no space left. You cannot turn. You are stuck. The harbor patrol calls the Tugboat Of Shame. In the end, your body is strung up with the others.
You are in Severna park. A woman approaches you. In one hand she holds a field hockey stick. In her other hand, a lacrosse stick. You must chose. You do not know how to play lacrosse. You do not know how to play field hockey. With a heavy heart, you say, “I don’t play sports.” The woman smiles. She brandishes the lacrosse stick. You close your eyes. You feel your nose break. You see your own blood staining your Sperrys. You do not resist. It is your own fault for entering Severna Park without the proper training.
The stink bugs are here. The stink bugs are here. The stink bugs are here. Ț̠̠̻̤́̍̅͊̑ͧ̊h̍̏͊ͤe̻ͬ͋̽ͤ ͖̦̼̣̰̝͙s̮̬̦̜͌ͭ̍͋͒̔ť̫̲̞͖̈́̅ȉ͉̓͌̈͌n̤̩̭̲ͣ̔ͧ̿k̲̝͓̠͓̥̙ͥͤ ̣̺̤̻ͩ̊̅̍̄ͯb̠̈́́͊̈́͗u̜̭̔͑̚g̘͎̼̪̳͌̍̅ͥ̋ͅsͨ́ ̒͛͌̂ͫ̾ă̬̣̹̲̠̠̘̋̇͊̋r͈͈͓͆͊ͯͧ̎ͯ̈́ě̯̒̓ͩͥ̽ͥ ̠ͭͦ̉h̬̘͓̉͆̋ͤ̚ë̻̟͉̊r̤͙̱̠̝̮͇ͬ́̋̿̄e͕̯̯͔͈.ͫͩ
On Monday morning, Claire called her advisor to tell him she’d
miss the entire week of classes. Which, in the big scheme of things, wasn’t
that much of an issue – she needed to process the data she’d collected in Dr.
Beaton’s clinic by the end of the semester, but that was still six weeks away.
And there was no power on earth that would part her from
As she had made the necessary arrangements – sitting in
bed, the Fraser plaid wrapped around her shoulders, sipping the strong black
coffee Jamie had brewed for her – she watched him pack away clothes and books
for the trip.
They didn’t know how long he would stay – only that they’d
use the car trip to figure it out.
To figure *everything* out.
So quickly they had come back to each other – so quickly
everything in their separate lives had to be merged.
But there was no fear that it wouldn’t be figured out –
just confidence that it *would*.
On Monday afternoon, with their suitcases and a basket of
food safely tucked away in the bed of Jamie’s battered pickup, she had kissed
Ian and Jenny goodbye. Jamie made his farewells with Murtagh – the older man
clasping his godson in a long embrace – and then they were rumbling down the
gravel driveway, pausing at the gate to wave at the Murrays and Frasers still
standing on the front porch of the big house.
And then Claire had flipped on the car radio, and they glided
through the trees, Jamie’s right hand resting on her thigh, both of them
quietly humming along to The Eagles:
Cause I got a peaceful easy feeling // And I know you won’t
let me down…
They made it to the quiet, hazy mountains of Shenandoah
National Park by dusk. Jamie parked the truck at one of the many scenic
overlooks, and Claire slid over on the bench seat, resting her head on his
shoulder, watching the last tendrils of sun sink below the horizon.
“I don’t know how we’ll make it work, Claire – but we
will. I promise you.”
His thumb traced a mole at the top of her right arm,
darting beneath her shirtsleeve for a caress.
“I know we will. We are neither of us whole, alone.”
He kissed the crown of her head. She wrapped her arms
around his middle, hooking her thumbs in the loops of his jeans.
One mile over we’ll be there and we’ll see you // Ten
true summers we’ll be there and laughing too…
“I don’t want to be half a person again, Claire,” he
whispered, so softly. “I couldn’t bear it.”
“Hush,” she soothed, leaning up and quieting him with a
kiss. “You won’t have to. We’ll get to Boston, figure out how long you’ll stay.
I only have a little over a year left – that’s not terrible. Not when it took
us so long to find each other again. And then we’ll go back to Lallybroch – for
He brought her closer – a long, deep kiss.
“And we have to plan our church wedding,” he breathed
against her lips. “I can’t wait to marry you again.”
Even in the half-dark, her smile was dazzling.
They slept in the cool, fresh air that night, soothed to
sleep by the rustling trees, nestled under a pile of blankets in the back of
Sometime in the darkness, Jamie woke Claire and made love
to her, slowly and tenderly, not speaking. She watched stars winking through
the lattice of black branches overhead, and fell asleep again with his
comforting weight still warm on top of her. Praying this wasn’t all a dream.
Overjoyed with the dawn to find that they were still
Celebrating with a wake-up kiss.
They passed through Maryland that morning, stopping for a
steaming, mouth-watering bucket of crab by the side of the road. Jamie
delighted in licking the Old Bay seasoning from her fingers.
Then through Harrisburg and Scranton, Pennsylvania. Forests.
They listened to country western, and hymns, and rock,
and whatever they could find on the radio.
Talked about Boston – and Boone – and what they would
name their children.
Somewhere near Binghamton, New York that song came on.
And Jamie wordlessly pulled over on the interstate, turned on his flashers, and
Shaking hands and unyielding belt buckles and a burst
seam in Jamie’s jeans were no match for their sudden, desperate hunger to
Outside in the cold distance a wildcat did prowl // Two
riders were approaching // And the wind begins to howl…
Gasping for breath when it was over – quick, but not so
quick that Jamie didn’t see to her needs – Claire insisted they find a place to
stay for the night.
The Bonnie Motor Inn was run by a fellow veteran – he gave
Jamie a 20% discount on a room that was small, and clean, and theirs.
They shared a bucket of fried chicken at the small diner
down the block – then a long, restorative shower. And sleep, after giggling
over Johnny Carson, ridiculously entwined on the twin mattress.
They made it to Boston by late afternoon on Wednesday, Jamie
faithfully following Claire’s directions through a leafy residential
neighborhood that didn’t quite match his mental image of where she would live.
But then they pulled into a driveway – and Jamie saw Dr.
Joe Abernathy sweating over his lawnmower – and Claire threw open the door,
racing across the garden to tackle him in a bear hug.
Jamie couldn’t hear them until he cut the engine –
“…still can’t believe it, Joe. I swear I must be living in
some kind of fairy tale – ”
- and saluted the man who had helped Claire save his
Joe wiped his sweaty brow on his sleeve, straightened,
and returned the salute.
“Bout time you two wised up,” he smiled. “Come on – let’s
see what Gail’s got cooking for dinner.”
Whats up dudes!? My name’s Christian, I’m from Pittsburgh, PA and you’re watching Disney Channel. No I’m kidding.Um, I make short Sci-Fi films, something which I’m currently studying in college.I have dreams of seeing one of my films play out the big screens. Uh I have a weird obsession with boardwalks. I like how they’re always crowded and if you’re lucky, you can run into some guy selling lizards and Hermit Crabs or some woman selling pizza slices as big as Bigfoot himself. Not to mention all of the delicious food like : Old Bay Seasoned Cheese Fries, Oreo Funnel cake and Ice Cream Sundaes With Slices Of Cheese Cake On Top. Well I have nothing left to say lmfao so um bye?
Why does nobody ever talk about how weird Maryland is?
Nobody ever talks about Maryland, period. It’s like they forget it’s a state. There’s no real stereotypes about people from Maryland, because it’s right in the middle of the east coast, EXCEPT everyone from Maryland is obsessed with crabs and Old Bay seasoning. You may think I’m exaggerating, but my friend’s brother used to actually drink Old Bay straight. The only time I ever saw my boyfriend look at me with anything other than pure love and respect was when I said that I thought crabs served in the shell were overrated. McDonalds in Maryland serves Filet-o-Fish WITH OLD BAY SEASONING. Once I saw a production of The Little Mermaid in Maryland, and the actor playing the chef sang “now some Old Bay!” instead of “now some flour,” and the audience burst into rapturous applause in the middle of the song. Old Bay is as essential to Marylanders as flour.
The official state sport of Maryland is jousting. No joke.
And once, I went to a McDonalds’ down the road from Camp David while George W. Bush was staying there, and there were free-range chickens who lived in the parking lot. It made me uncomfortable.
Edgar Allan Poe, John Waters, Frank Zappa, and F. Scott Fitzgerald are all from Maryland. Oh, and John Wilkes Booth. Something weird is in the water there. My money’s on Old Bay.
I'm really fucking angry shallies have been cross tagging their stuff in the anti shaladin tag and their posts have been in our tag bc they haven't bothered to try and keep their stuff out of the tag. We censor and give nicknames to stuff so that it doesn't go into their tags but they're so inconsiderate and they don't do the same thing
Then they better not get fucking mad when people bash on them about it.
I will cuss a bitch out for it and I fucking dare them to try and explain their bullshit. I’VE LITERALLY BEING USING SLASHES TO REPLACE L’S AND I’S. SO THEY AIN’T GOTTA SEE MY SALT. I WILL BE PETTY AND FLAVOR THEIR TAG WITH MCFUCKING OLD BAY SEASONING IF I HAVE TO
You can go out to eat and pay a fortune for crab cakes, or
you can stay in on a rainy Saturday night and eat the absolute best crab cakes
in the world, while watching a movie on large screen television. The refrigerator
in the garage is stocked with icy cold beer and bottles of Prosecco, and your
favorite red blanket is tied around your waist. I’ll stay home, thank you very
This recipe for crab cakes is my favorite. The crab cakes
are lightly seasoned and filled with big pieces of lump crab. The exterior is
crisp and hot. I savored mine last night slowly, eating one amazing bite after
I’ve read that roughly one quarter of the weight of a
Dungeness crab is meat, so I decided to test that theory. The crab I took home
from the store weighed 1.84 pounds. After cracking it open and carefully
extracting the good from the bad, I had exactly 8 ounces (one half pound).
Lucky for my family that I bought two
crabs – enough delicious, succulent crabmeat to make crab cakes.
Amazingly, we have one crab cake leftover – just enough for
me for breakfast!
Baltimore crab cakes,
a recipe modified only slightly from Epicurious.com.
¼ cup mayonnaise
2 scallions, thinly sliced
1 large egg, lightly beaten
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
2 teaspoons fresh lemon juice plus wedges for garnish
1 ½ teaspoons Old Bay Seasoning
½ jalapeño, seeded, finely chopped
1 pound lump crabmeat, picked over
1 ¼ cup panko (Japanese breadcrumbs), divided
1 tablespoon thinly sliced chives
¼ teaspoon kosher salt
1/8 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
Whisk first 7 ingredients in a medium bowl. Add crab; fold
to blend. Stir in ¾ cup panko, chives, salt, and pepper. Divide into 6 equal
portions. Form each into 1"-thick patties. Refrigerate for at least 10
minutes. Line a platter with lettuce leaves.
Heat oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Place
remaining ½ cup panko on a plate. Coat cakes with panko. Fry until golden
brown and crisp, 3-4 minutes per side. Arrange atop lettuce; serve with lemon
every year you go down to the bay for sailing lessons. the instructors greet you with pale, gaunt faces full of teeth. “let’s start with a capsize test,” they say. they do this every year. you’ve never made it back into the boat.
a friend from out of town makes a joke about old bay seasoning. you laugh with them, but your smile doesn’t reach your eyes. they don’t know. they can never know.
the stinkbugs are back. you open your door to a sea of stinkbugs. you close the door. behind you, the stinkbugs continue swarming through your house. you’re getting tired of stinkbugs.
the bikers line both sides of the street. you think they’re training for a marathon. you think they’ve always been training for a marathon.
a grey cloud hovers over baltimore. when your school bus passes underneath it, every single light on the bus goes out. when they come back on, you are no longer driving into baltimore. “wasn’t that a nice field trip?” your teacher asks. you realize this isn’t your teacher. you realize this isn’t your bus.
you used to take horseback riding lessons every saturday. you quit once you realized what they were feeding the horses.
linganore and urbana have been rivals for years. you ask your friend what happened. they shake their head. “doesn’t matter,” they say. “it’s not like they ever found the bodies.”
the summers are getting colder and the winters are getting warmer. everyone blames it on global warming. you glance at the sigil carved into the cracked asphalt. it’s glowing a color you’ve never seen before. damn global warming.
you’re having crab cakes for dinner. you bite down on something hard. you reach into your mouth and pull out an entire crab shell. you wonder why there’s a crab shell in the crab cake. everybody knows they aren’t made from crab.
visit historic annapolis! a sign says. visit historic downtown mt. airy! another says. visit your family before it’s too late, another says. you laugh to yourself. it’s already too late.
the stinkbugs are still here. in fact,they never left.
one time at camp a guy snorted a fist-full of old bay seasoning on a dare and while he was doubled over hacking his lungs out this other guy down the table jumps up and goes “oh my god. you snorted old bay…YOURE MY HERO” and if that aint bakugou and kirishima
i did it!! i made too much rice like a goddamn fool so the initial shot looks boring, but after the first layer, you find the mashed up salmon burgers! it looks pretty boring and almost unappetizing, but trust me, i seasoned with black pepper and old bay seasoning and this shit is good. new objective for next time: put a vegetable in it. (also: less rice, you fucking animal)