Boy Scout Dinner:

R2 was such an all American boy, he literally was a Boy Scout. Other than the one time he showed me his uniform, and him being the designated knot tier for the gang, his Scout membership didn’t really effect my life at all. Well, he did invite me to attend one of his meetings once. It was one of the most horrifyingly boring hours of my life. Nevertheless, when the time came, I was invited to join him for some sort of yearly dinner and awards ceremony. I was promised homemade root beer though, and that was an offer which I was unable and unwilling to refuse. The dinner was spaghetti slopped onto a paper plate with a piece of garlic bread added almost as garnish. It was tasty, if uninspired. The promised root beer was as underwhelming as the coolers it was served from were questionable. Still, it was nice to see my friend so happy, and his parents so proud. Sadly, however, that’s about all I remember of the evening. Though feeling miserable had become the standard at that point in my life, by the time we filed out of the auditorium-cum-cafeteria, I could tell that something was wrong… more wrong than usual. I felt dizzy and confused. My vision was blurred, and I felt heavy and tired enough to lay down on the floor and sleep. I probably would have, had my stomach not been threatening to empty itself all over the place. The recent embarrassment that was the back seat of GG’s car was still fresh in my mind as I did everything in my rather insignificant power to command my body to keep everything inside which currently was inside. Somehow I made it home, where I promptly vomited into the most appropriate location I could reach. Crawling out of the bathroom on my hands and knees, I laid down on the carpet, and with a weary groan, lost consciousness.