Camp Mexico

Campers include: Troy “Teckno” Tecklenberg, Shaun “2Pac” Ward, Brandon “Glowsticks” Guilmette, Nate “Natehog” Yeomans, Tom “Tom Shit” Carey, Noah “El Burro” Snyder, Jesse “Hawahines” Hines, Matt “Biff” Gilligan, Richard “Skinny” Gilligan, and videographer Brian “Townie” Townsend.

CalloutsIf you’ve ever seen a CKY video or MTV’s Jackass, that’s child’s play in comparison to what can go down on a surf trip when the daily temperature reaches 95 to 100 degrees, the water temperature makes your warm piss feel refreshing, and the surf goes to shit for weeks at a time.

Up until now, Camp Mexico seemed easy-going and relaxing¿leaving El Burro and I well rested and ready for war.

There, lo and behold, was the biggest f¿kin’ poop anyone’s ever seen¿the thing was large enough to be a piece of dinosaur shit.

Camp fever set in, so our surf camp became an “activity” camp.

We’d also read about this point back at our camp. It said that shark sightings there are “definite” and attacks are “likely.”

Later that night, what had seemed like innocent fun became a blazing inferno of pranks that’d soon set the standard for our stay at Camp Mexico.

If you tried to hit the switch, it’d literally electrocute you¿no shocks, just straight volts. I never felt anything like it, and the new crew was just begging us to electrocute them.

When Biff gets amped, he punches himself in the face and smacks the back of his head repeatedly.

The unlucky soul sitting shotgun would be impaled with fists, fruit, wax, toilet paper, or whatever all six backseat passengers could conjure up for the entire car ride both there and back.

Sure, you can always take a nap at Camp Mexico¿if you enjoy your buddy placing his butt less than an inch from your face, blinding you as a fart is forced down your windpipe.

Hola, Happy Campers!When thinking of summer camp, you think of fun, friends, outdoor activities, and good times for everyone¿boys and girls alike. So when our crew set out for Mexico in search of summertime surf, our expectations were sky-high and Camp Mexico was there¿awaiting us. Some of our crew split up mid-trip due to conflicting schedules, but not before Camp Mexico inflicted wounds that would scar us for the rest of our lives. You see, this was no ordinary camp¿at Camp Mexico, it’s every troop for themself. If you’ve ever seen a CKY video or MTV’s Jackass, that’s child’s play in comparison to what can go down on a surf trip when the daily temperature reaches 95 to 100 degrees, the water temperature makes your warm piss feel refreshing, and the surf goes to shit for weeks at a time. Although the surf never actually went flat, we still managed to fall victim to camp fever immediately. Tom Shit and his crew had already gotten a couple of days of good surf under their belt, so they were in no real hurry the following morning after El Burro and I arrived. On the other hand, we were pretty eager to get wet. We ended up surfing Chas¿a fun left point that was somewhat inconsistent but fun on the set waves.Six people deep in the crew, we decided to do shifts¿some ate, some surfed, and others fished off the boat we rented. Teckno and Natehog were out punting huge frontside airs, while Glowsticks was having his own backside air show. El Burro and 2Pac were linking combos that made the waves far better than they actually were. Later in the session, Natehog fell victim to a bottom-bounce and came up with fifteen urchin spikes in his foot. He sat on the boat for over an hour digging the spikes out with a fishing lure. We then took it easy, because when the sun set¿the fiesta began.

Beginning Of The High JinksAfter a couple days of mediocre surf, watching Teckno slay fish, and multiple pranks going on, El Burro and I masterminded many a prank for the second crew who were scheduled to arrive later that night. Having just met the first crew on this trip, El Burro and I felt limed on how far we could take our pranks, but with the second group of troops on their way¿all good friends we’ve known for years¿it was our duty to make up for lost time. Up until now, Camp Mexico seemed easy-going and relaxing¿leaving El Burro and I well rested and ready for war. When 2Pac, Natehog, and Glowsticks headed back home, they took the remnants of the swell with them. On Teckno’s last night, we had all hoped he’d go big and sacrifice himself in exchange for some bigger surf. Going out in a true warrior-like fashion, Teckno said his farewells to everyone Camp Mexico style. Later that night, Teckno disappeared to vomit as Tom chased him down and shot a sequence with my disposable camera. Was Teckno pissed at Tom’s obsession for capturing such a Kodak moment? Not at all. He simply mumbled, “F¿k it, Tommy¿Tom Shit” as he ordered another round on Tom’s hotel-room tab.

The Brown SnakeThe next morning, we awoke to the sound of Tom screaming. He claimed there was a huge snake in his bathroom. He begged us to wake up and come check it out. So we stumbled out of bed half asleep and into Tom’s bathroom. There, lo and behold, was the biggest f¿kin’ poop anyone’s ever seen¿the thing was large enough to be a piece of dinosaur shit. We ran out of his room in disbelief¿Teckno’s turd was the size of my torso.We spent the remainder of the day searching for new surf spots. We checked this one left point called “Points.” It was tiny, but we gave it a go anyway. There was also another point a couple miles up the road that was located directly in front of a fishery. I’ve heard stories about this place¿people say the spot goes off and is never crowded, but the locals refuse to surf it. We’d also read about this point back at our camp. It said that shark sightings there are “definite” and attacks are “likely.” We all agreed to surf the first spot. After a quick surf, we then headed back to camp to see Teckno off before he caught his flight home. Lounging around camp, we awaited group two’s arrival. As the sun set, the second crew showed up with flight horror stories, but all seemed in good spirits and ready to surf. Later that night, what had seemed like innocent fun became a blazing inferno of pranks that’d soon set the standard for our stay at Camp Mexico.

Fever For The FlavorPlagued by small surf for nearly a week, we surfed the same beachbreak every day. Camp fever set in, so our surf camp became an “activity” camp. As the surf slowly got worse, the jokes quickly got better. With little to no surf, we began nonstop activities to keep our sanity: Fishing, water basketball, kayak jousting, kayak surfing, volleyball, and wrestling were now on our new agenda at camp Mexico.After our newfound activity schedule, we were eating up to five or six times a day. You see, our meals at Camp Mexico were all-inclusive, so we’d usually eat out of sheer boredom or just to sabotage a friend’s meal when they weren’t looking. After eating everything on the menu a few times over, we decided to fish for a change of flavor. The fishing there was insane¿we caught fish all day long. Roosterfish, needlefish, ladyfish, sea bass, and trevelle were all daily catches.

Gimme Gimme Shock TreatmentThe on/off switch to the fan in our room was jacked¿jacked with volts of electricity, that is. If you tried to hit the switch, it’d literally electrocute you¿no shocks, just straight volts. I never felt anything like it, and the new crew was just begging us to electrocute them. Each victim was videotaped by Townie as they unsuspectingly got zapped. First up was Hawahines¿it literally knocked him off his feet, into the wall, and straight to the ground. As we all died laughing, he just lay there in disbelief. I believe El Burro was actually the one who initially discovered this prank, getting me as I got Townie, and Townie got Tom Shit. Tom later zapped Teckno¿a couple times.Next was Biff, I think he actually enjoyed being shocked. When Biff gets amped, he punches himself in the face and smacks the back of his head repeatedly. Soon after Biff’s shock therapy, Skinny got his. Skinny doesn’t say much¿ever. Never in a million years would you suspect these two guys were brothers, the only visible resemblance is how well they both surf. El Burro got a little carried away on a couple of the guys¿he made sure there was a puddle of water directly underneath the fan switch. By the time we’d all been zapped, we eventually invited the camp’s bus driver as well as some of the other staff into our room to watch them fry. We were on our third day of flat surf, and shit was about to hit the fan.

Car Therapy, Fish Hooks, And Soggy Toilet PaperKeep in mind the beachbreak we surfed was a solid forty-minute drive from our camp, so the drives were entertaining. The unlucky soul sitting shotgun would be impaled with fists, fruit, wax, toilet paper, or whatever all six backseat passengers could conjure up for the entire car ride both there and back. At this point of the trip, car rides became far better therapy than surfing, that is if you had a seat in the back. If you were in the front, however, it was a true test of your tolerance¿we all had to pay our dues individually. Back at camp, the pranks grew in full force. Little did I know the smaller, minor pranks I was doing to my roommates Townie and El Burro would come around to me full circle, as showering and even taking a leak were mostly about timing and survival. Sure, you can always take a nap at Camp Mexico¿if you enjoy your buddy placing his butt less than an inch from your face, blinding you as a fart is forced down your windpipe. Why not give your buddy a friendly little shove so he loses his balance and falls directly into the fan switch and gets electrocuted for the twenty-fifth time in three days? Pour a little water in front of your friend’s door and watch their heels go over their head as they slip and bust ass on the hard tile floor. These are just a few pranks that went on daily¿the list goes on and on. Just another day in the life at Camp Mexico.

FantasylandBy now we were debating taking a seven-hour cab ride to Pasquales in search of better surf. This could make or break us¿we were on the brink of losing it. Seven hours of bumpy roads and wax wars sounded mentally undoable. Tom Shit asked around and was convinced he had the answer¿Chamella: “The plan of all plans.” We were supposed to drive three and a half hours to a place that Tom Shit “heard” gets really good. According to local legend, Chamella picks up three times the swell as everywhere else around here. Somehow convinced, we all agreed¿at this point we had nothing to lose. Three-hour ride, mistake number one: letting Biff ride shotgun. Mistake number two was a three-and-a-half hour bus ride anywhere in our present state of mind. But hey, according to Mr. Shit, “The place fires. I’ve seen photos.” So we rolled the dice. About an hour into the ride, wax balls started flying again. By the second hour, El Burro chewed up a stale donut and spit the entire thing into Tom Shit’s face. By hour three, rolls of toilet paper flew and the back of Biff’s head was the bullseye. The bus driver temporarily halted the commotion to speak his mind¿”Smell my shit!” he said as El Burro hit him in the back of the head with a toilet paper roll. We saw a sign for Chamella and Biff punched himself in the face and smacked the back of his head. We all eagerly tried to mellow out as we were finally approaching our descent into Tom Shit’s “secret spot.” “There’re waves, baby! I can taste it!” said Tom. We were all amping when we pulled into the driveway that led us to … a windblown bay! In front of us was a huge bay that was dead flat with sideshore winds blowing twenty miles an hour. Biff punched himself.

The Bus Ride Back To CampAfter a round of “We told you so,f, I think he actually enjoyed being shocked. When Biff gets amped, he punches himself in the face and smacks the back of his head repeatedly. Soon after Biff’s shock therapy, Skinny got his. Skinny doesn’t say much¿ever. Never in a million years would you suspect these two guys were brothers, the only visible resemblance is how well they both surf. El Burro got a little carried away on a couple of the guys¿he made sure there was a puddle of water directly underneath the fan switch. By the time we’d all been zapped, we eventually invited the camp’s bus driver as well as some of the other staff into our room to watch them fry. We were on our third day of flat surf, and shit was about to hit the fan.

Car Therapy, Fish Hooks, And Soggy Toilet PaperKeep in mind the beachbreak we surfed was a solid forty-minute drive from our camp, so the drives were entertaining. The unlucky soul sitting shotgun would be impaled with fists, fruit, wax, toilet paper, or whatever all six backseat passengers could conjure up for the entire car ride both there and back. At this point of the trip, car rides became far better therapy than surfing, that is if you had a seat in the back. If you were in the front, however, it was a true test of your tolerance¿we all had to pay our dues individually. Back at camp, the pranks grew in full force. Little did I know the smaller, minor pranks I was doing to my roommates Townie and El Burro would come around to me full circle, as showering and even taking a leak were mostly about timing and survival. Sure, you can always take a nap at Camp Mexico¿if you enjoy your buddy placing his butt less than an inch from your face, blinding you as a fart is forced down your windpipe. Why not give your buddy a friendly little shove so he loses his balance and falls directly into the fan switch and gets electrocuted for the twenty-fifth time in three days? Pour a little water in front of your friend’s door and watch their heels go over their head as they slip and bust ass on the hard tile floor. These are just a few pranks that went on daily¿the list goes on and on. Just another day in the life at Camp Mexico.

FantasylandBy now we were debating taking a seven-hour cab ride to Pasquales in search of better surf. This could make or break us¿we were on the brink of losing it. Seven hours of bumpy roads and wax wars sounded mentally undoable. Tom Shit asked around and was convinced he had the answer¿Chamella: “The plan of all plans.” We were supposed to drive three and a half hours to a place that Tom Shit “heard” gets really good. According to local legend, Chamella picks up three times the swell as everywhere else around here. Somehow convinced, we all agreed¿at this point we had nothing to lose. Three-hour ride, mistake number one: letting Biff ride shotgun. Mistake number two was a three-and-a-half hour bus ride anywhere in our present state of mind. But hey, according to Mr. Shit, “The place fires. I’ve seen photos.” So we rolled the dice. About an hour into the ride, wax balls started flying again. By the second hour, El Burro chewed up a stale donut and spit the entire thing into Tom Shit’s face. By hour three, rolls of toilet paper flew and the back of Biff’s head was the bullseye. The bus driver temporarily halted the commotion to speak his mind¿”Smell my shit!” he said as El Burro hit him in the back of the head with a toilet paper roll. We saw a sign for Chamella and Biff punched himself in the face and smacked the back of his head. We all eagerly tried to mellow out as we were finally approaching our descent into Tom Shit’s “secret spot.” “There’re waves, baby! I can taste it!” said Tom. We were all amping when we pulled into the driveway that led us to … a windblown bay! In front of us was a huge bay that was dead flat with sideshore winds blowing twenty miles an hour. Biff punched himself.

The Bus Ride Back To CampAfter a round of “We told you so, Tom Shit” was served, it was back to the bus. We’d lost all hope and festered back into our seats. None of us were driving the bus, but for some reason, everyone had some pretty significant amounts of road rage. The crew was a little skeptical about stopping at this shady taco shop for lunch, but Tom Shit claimed he had an “iron stomach.” We cautiously doused our fish tacos with lime in hopes of killing any forms of bacteria present. Tom called us out: “This food can’t phase me¿my shit’s bulletproof!” Refusing to knock on wood, we wished him the absolute worst Montezuma’s Revenge known to man. There was silence on the ride home until someone broke the ice and asked what was in the cooler¿”Bread, peanut butter, and drinks!”¿the ideal field trip lunch at Camp Mexico. A round of drinks circulated and wax began to fly again. So did more toilet paper and anything else within arm’s reach. Biff had been hit for the five-hundredth consecutive time as he whipped around and grabbed a loaf of unopened bread. He looked back at Tom Shit with a grim smirk, and then pelted him in the face point-blank with four balled-up slices of bread. Everything broke into anarchy¿even Skinny snapped and retaliated. Loaves of bread, ice, cups, fruit, wax¿shit was flying everywhere.

Tom Hot ShitEventually, we made it back to camp and were in awe when we realized how badly we’d thrashed the bus driver’s ride. As everyone regrouped, I went downstairs to use the phone, and there was Tom Shit also in line to make a long-distance call. Seeing none of the boys around, he fessed up that those tacos gave him the hot shits. Tom paced back and forth while waiting to use the phone. His nervous pace picked up as he said he was in pain and about to drop ass. I seized the moment¿I ran up to his room, and took a huge crap in his toilet without flushing. I then tied fishing line to his doorknob and shower-curtain rod. I scattered his socks in front of his door so he’d focus on them coming up the stairs. This way he wouldn’t see the full trashcan and shoes on top of his hotel room door that was strategically lined up to hit him square in the head. I had “MacGyvered” his ass and the trap was set.Tom fully sprinted up the stairs¿damn near shitting his pants. The socks distracted him as he dashed into his room only to be hit in the head with a full trashcan and stinky shoes. Tom screamed, “Die, Pollo!” at the top of his lungs as he frantically jammed into the bathroom. He pushed the door open and the fishing line pulled the shower curtain rod down on top of him. Tom screamed again as he ripped his trunks off, nearly shitting himself. He lifted up the commode cover only to find a toilet full of my shit. With no time to flush, he pushed me out of the way and sprinted into my room, locking me out behind him as he shit fury in my bathroom. We all died laughing, and Tom was pretty impressed by this sabotage, too.

Kayak BiffWhen the smoke cleared, we all took some rented kayaks down the beach¿a wedging little shorebreak that dumps in between two rocks right in front of Camp Mexico. This area has too small of a radius to surf, so we gave it a go in our huge yellow-plastic kayaks. Biff went first and took a nosedive on a two-footer, throwing himself out of the kayak onto dry sand. It looked fun, but it was a little too dangerous for kayaking, so we ended up bodysurfing instead.Biff paddled back out on his kayak and waited for a set wave while facing in the wrong direction. He back-paddled into a three-footer and went over the falls backward. We thought he broke his neck because his kayak was pinned up against the rocks upside down. But Biff came to the surface with only minor sand burns and a huge smile.New Swell Hits Camp Mexico!We were all up by 7:00 a.m., and the waves were the biggest and best they’d been the entire trip! Still a little woozy from the night before, Tom, Townie, and I were bombarded with wax balls the entire cab ride to our boat dock. The swell was even bigger than we thought! As we rounded the bend at Chas, there was flawless head-high surf with no one in sight. Everyone was so amped that they didn’t take the time to wax their boards, or apply sunblock evenly¿within the blink of an eye, we were all out there