Trace Guest Fiction: "Trace Goes To Summer Camp" by Hurricane Shirley

“It’s nine-thirty in the goddamn morning and I’m down to a jar of instant, what the fuck do you want?”

“Is that any way to answer the phone? You need a vacation, Trace.”

“How can I afford a vacation when I can’t even pay my rent? There better be a point to this call, Norman.”

“I saw an ad this morning I have to read you. Check this out: Enjoy a week in the magnificent Cascade Mountains…”

“I don’t do mountains.”

“Rejuvenate body and spirit with fresh air, organic food…”

“I don’t do health retreats, asswipe.”

“…all in the supportive company of your fellow flakers from across America…”

“Psoriasis summer camp! Are you fucking kidding me?!”

“…The world’s first and only psoriasis nudist camp offers bird watching hikes, organized outdoor games…”

“Stop! Psoriasis nudist camp!? I’m hanging up, Norman. Call me back when you’re not stoned.”

“Speaking of organized outdoor games, I need a script ASAP. We’re doing another Wet T-Shirt Contest.”

“No fucking way. I told you, no more porn.”

“T and A isn’t porn. Besides, you just said you can’t pay your rent.”

“So?”

“So you neeeeeeed to write this script, Trace.”

“I knew there was a reason you called.”

“What else do you have to work on today?”

“I’m busy all day.”

“Busy! Doing what, watching your bills pile up?”

“Watching the clock. Only six hours to go until Happy Hour at the Acapulco. I’ve got a favorite stool at the end of the bar.”

“Ah, that’s your idea of ‘camping out’, is it?”

“Yep.”

“Listen, finish your damn coffee and write me a Wet T-Shirt script … Trace? Hello? Trace?”