Afternoon Death Camp
Afternoon Death Camp
As the clock strikes 2:45 I drag my withered corpse of a body into the dank, foul-smelling locker room. The smell of sweat, urine, and blood permeates this prison. I change into my trusty red sweatpants that have the smell of comfort laced into its seams. Now I move into the hallways to begin the Gestapo-esque death march. Fifteen laps and several pounds of sweat later, I flounder into the training cage, which feels not unlike a death camp. As I begin to stretch my weakened muscles, which have been eaten away due to forced starvation, I plop myself onto the filthy ringworm infested mats. Amidst the filth of the mats I look down and nearly fall asleep only to be jarred by the shrill cry of der Furher. ACHTUNG! he demands. As he gives us the days drilling procedures we mount our partners shoulders to initiate the squatting sequence. He then instructs us to select a fellow victim. SMITE HIM! he commands in a malevolent tone. We grudgingly follow like lambs to the slaughter.
The malodorousness of this dungeon brings a tear to the eye and chills you to the
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