Camp Torture

Hello Muddah, Hello Faddah, greetings from Camp Torture. I thought maybe I'd give you a little insight into this "day camp" where you leave me each day. I was under the impression camps were supposed to be fun. Apparently I've been enrolled in some sort of communist training.

First, the camp director, we'll call her El Jefe, wakes me up by shoving this long, blue, squeezy thing up my nose, in what I can only presume is an attempt to suck my brains out. She claims I'm congested and need the snot removed to ease my breathing, but I know better.

After the administration of the torture device, we have exercise time, which basically consists of me saluting El Jefe and all of her awesomeness:

This is followed by some tummy time:

Today, El Jefe did a lot of cheering when I lifted my head a wee bit off the mat. I'm not sure what all the fuss was about, I was simply moving my face so it wouldn't lie in the vomit.

I would have thought El Jefe would have been appreciative of my face avoiding the vomit. But nooooo, she still insisted on giving me a bath afterwards. Something about curdled milk and poop being an acquired smell that the general public doesn't find appealing. Whatever. I know it's just another effort to break me. After the bath, I was NOT happy:

But, in spite of my protest, I know I'll get another one some day soon.

So, I hope, my dear Muddah and Faddah, that you enjoy your day, because clearly, mine is less than stellar. I'm seriously considering strapping my Baby Bjorn to the furry beast they call Amos and making a run for it.

Love, Thomas