The Muskequeers have recently gone exploring (exactly what verb describes the actions of a Muskequeer?) in a most magnificent fashion.
First, we queered it up at a three-day yearbook ["We're not in yearbook!"]--excuse me, journalism camp, where we made a wonderful friend named Cathy. Cathy (just Cathy--her last name is either nonexistent or too long to remember) is the journalism adviser at Timberland High School and our instructor at the camp. She is simply the opposite of our adviser, Mr. Kuchno, except for the fact that they are both very informative. That is where the similarities end. While "Da Kuch" is physically incapable of answering a question in less than a fortnight, with Cathy, you get it straight up.
Example:
"Mr. Kuchno, do you like this masthead?"
"Well... I think we would have to look at the other options. We should probably discuss it with the other staffers. I'm not quite sure if this is the direction we're looking to go in. Did you talk to your editor? Chicken parm and Sportscenter." Etc.
versus...
"Cathy, do you like this?"
"Ew. It reminds me of O'Riley's Auto Parts"
Another difference: humor. Cathy's short discussions were filled with more of it than all of Kuchno's lectures combined. In fact, we struggled to remember a time when he actually laughed. Even their hair (Kuchno: bald on top, short on sides; Cathy: frizzy blond mane) are perfect contrasts.
But enough about Cathy. The camp was extremely enjoyable (at least I thought so) even when we weren't with Cathy. As fun as the forcedly symbolic team-building games were, the real fun came from the company. The Lesbian Hag was substituted by Natalie Bram, who can never be a real hag due to her cheerfulness, according to the real L.H. Hag or not, she completed a very entertaining foursome of newpaperness. (Also, I absconded approximately six packages of Pop Tarts on the final day, which made the camp even more worthwhile.) (Also, I just inserted that last sentence because I wanted to use the word "abscond.")
Between the second and third days of camp, the queers set off on another (to borrow a Shrek term) whirlwind adventure: The No Doubt concert featuring Paramore. We (including Brooke Morrison, aka Lesbian Hag Sub II, aka my girlfriend, aka cover) scooped up tickets to the show, figuring it would be cheap ($10 lawn seats) and fun. Can you say understatement? [of course you can, what a stupid question]. Paramore was great, despite the facts that they played for less than an hour and lead singer Hayley Williams asked us out of the blue if we were on Twitter. After they performed, many idiotic tweens texted on the Megatron (ALL HAIL MEGATRON!) that everyone could leave now because Paramore was done. Oh no, my ignorant little poser prepubescent friends, the show was just about to begin. From the moment Gwen Stefani swaggered on stage in her wife-beater halter top (which, much to Joel's enjoyment, she quickly sweat through, revealing a lime-green bra) the feeling was simply electric. The music was great, as was the setup, the dancing and every other aspect of the show. No Doubt was undoubtedly [get it? get it?] spectacular. So spectacular, in fact, that the Three Muskequeers purchased No Doubt shirts and subsequently donned them in a most unqueer fashion the next day (except Joel, who bought a girl shirt "accidentally," he claims). And, [SHAMELESS PLUG WARNING] if you'd like to read more about this and other concerts I've been to, check out my blog in a couple days. It should be up by then. I think that's all I have to say. I'm sure the other queers will give their accounts as well.
Until next time,
Brandon (The Blond Muskequeer)
P.S. !!!! (Sorry Cathy)
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