As a conscious, self aware individual, I find that I am
in constant danger of being brainwashed.
Simply walking down the high street can cause numerous assailants to
approach me and try and adopt me into their little cults. No I don’t want a leaflet on the Socialist
Workers Party. No, I don’t want to join
your wildly specific denominational church.
No, I certainly don’t want to sponsor a dog for £2 a month. That puppy is probably a puppet for the
Illuminati, and I’m not having anything to do with it.
However, as I was strutting through town whilst wearing
the shiniest of my tinfoil hats (an accessory which tends to deflect even the
most adamant salesman), I found myself confronted by a man in a rather long
overcoat. He was wearing a pair of
sandals, but seemed to lack socks and trousers.
As I studied him quizzically, he opened his overcoat and exposed his
gentleman’s bits to me. He had a tattoo
on his chest that said “Wouldn’t you like to live free like me?”
This message resonated with me. Yes, I would like to live freely and
nudely. Some of my favourite things
happen to me whilst I’m nude. Being nude
all the time would greatly increase the chances of those things happening more
often.
The streaker informed me that was part of a club called
“the Society of Anonymous Serial Streakers” or “SASS” for short. After filling in an application form (which I
found odd considering it was an anonymous society), I was enrolled for a 7 day
nudity initiation course. I was told to
pack a bag and report to a specific address, a remote location in the
woods. I decided to keep a journal of my
time there to track my progress:
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| Picture of a notorious flasher. |
Day 1: On arrival,
we were forced to empty our bags and place all our clothing on a big bonfire. We were allowed to keep our footwear, which
was a relief until I realised that my Transformer wheelies were not really
suitable for country gravel tracks. I’m
still picking the pebbles out of my penis.
Aside from that, the day has involved sitting around
singing campfire songs. I’ve made a
friend called Chad who is also new to all this nudity business. Hopefully his support will help me through
the week.
Day 2: For some
unknown reason, the whole morning was spent doing trampoline practice. The afternoon was then spent on a bouncy
castle. I’m beginning to think that the
nudist lifestyle mostly involves activities that make you jiggle a lot. I’m not sure what I’m learning here, but it
will probably become apparent by the end of the week, like having an epiphany
at the end of a spiritual journey.
Day 3: While
talking to Chad about which girls we liked, Chad revealed that he had a massive
crush on a girl called Sandra in the women’s dorm. He then revealed that infatuation in a
physical manner in front of the whole camp while watching her take pogo stick practice. Our trainer says that if Chad gets physically
aroused again, he will be expelled.
“Never raise yourself in the presence of a lady” is rule number 1 here.
Day 4: We’ve been
taught some naked theory today.
Apparently, a successful nudist never sits on white furniture. Our enemies are sock manufacturers, and many
of our kind have exploded themselves outside the gates of Cotton Traders. Death to the clothed ones! Death to the flesh deniers!
Day 5: After
abseiling and limbo classes, Chad expressed to me some doubts he was having
about the Society. He thinks we’re being
radicalised for some sort of jihad against people who wear clothes. This is of course nonsense. Chad is just struggling to accept a lifestyle
in which he is truly a free man, in every sense of the word. If he wants the government to put him back in
a box where they’d stop him doing naked lunges at PTA meetings, then that’s his
choice.
The evening saw us gents engage in a rousing game of
Johnson Jousting. After defeating my
opponent, I leaped onto the top bunk and shouted “My dick’s like Pride Rock,
cuz it’s always in the Circle Of Life!” and everyone thought I was great.
Day 6: Chad has
been expelled today during another incident where he had to queue behind Sandra
on the diving board. He was forced to
wear the pull-tie bag of shame around his privates, and had to walk home as we
threw stones at him for a few miles.
What a lightweight! I knew he
wasn’t cut out for this lifestyle! When
I get out of here I’ll dangle myself through his letterbox, just to show him
what he’s missing!
Day 7: Ah, home time. After some awkwardly exchanged hugs (you
can’t make too much skin contact) we all piled on the coach back to town. Roughly 40 seconds after stepping off the
coach, we were all rounded up by the police and arrested. I knew those fascists would get to us
eventually, and that’s why I hid an IED in my crevice. Goodbye cruel world! Remember me as I am, naked and proud! Nude not prude!
