Badges and Sashes

This one scout master with mint crumbs in the corners of his mouth, not humbug mints, but those white pocket-mints that old people chew on like candy, I didn’t care much for, not in the least, really. When some of the other scouts, the ones with way more badges sewed on they’re sashes used to whack me in the ass with they’re moccasins he’d just keep chewing and chewing like the fat bastard he was, fat shitty bastard. I had all these welts on my backside, moccasin-shaped welts that hurt like bee stings, and that fat shit scout master just sitting on his fat ass chewing on mints and making hacking coughing sounds when he swallowed one down the wrong hole. I almost got the orientation badge but lost my compass just near the end so they said I was way too clumsy and didn’t deserve a badge for something that meant you were well-oriented.