TOO LONG TO MAKE IT TO PRESS ON TIME...

The longest blog post due to the expertise of friends as well as the goal of hitting an imaginary word limit.

It was a dark and stormy night on the day of October 9^th, 2025, in the beautiful countryside of the island of Hispaniola. 18 Americans sat around a table. The first one spoke: “------, tell us a story.” So ------ began. Eating San Concho. Suddenly, while they were eating chicken chest, cavities, and legs, music began to play. Immediately Dominicans and Americans alike sprang up to dance while it gently bucketed the beautiful autumn rain over the Dominican Republic. One of the Americans began to tell a story. (Yooooooooo, it's Oliver.)

He began: It was a dark and stormy night; 18 Americans were sitting around a table. The second one spoke: “------, tell us a story.” So ------ began. They were eating breakfast while Carol described the work of the day. We were to dig the biggest trench known to mankind to lay marvelous amounts of PVC pipe to stretch the length of the Dominican Republic countryside. But at the end of the rambling description of the work that they must accomplish, Carol stood at the head of the table and exclaimed, “I need a team of 18 people from a different country, that would be willing to take on the long and treacherous journey of 2 football fields to the work site.” Immediately, 18 hands sprung into the air with an exclamation of their triumph. But their calls of valor were quickly cowed by the wonders of Dominican coffee. The wonderful hosts of the campo decided to delight the brave young group with the most exquisite coffee known to the face of the earth. After “Los Gringos” finished their coffee, they grabbed their picks/picos and shovels/palos and began the long, 20 minute hike to their work site. The hillside was perilous, and the Americans were tired. They ran pipes to two houses in the Campos. In total this trip, they finished one stage of the aqueduct (water source to the edge of the campos), connected to 2 houses that did not have water before, and re-trenched piping to one house. As they worked, one American began to sing:

It was a dark and stormy night; 18 Americans were sitting around a table. The third one spoke: “------, tell us a story.” So ------ began. 6am. The sun rose in beautiful oranges and reds in the sky. The mountains shone beautiful greens and greys as the sky brightened. Only one American was awake to see it. He thought to himself:

It was a dark and stormy night; 18 Americans were sitting around a table. The fourth one spoke: “------, tell us a story.” So ------ began. The girls had their hair washed by a Dominican woman in the traditional customs of the Dominican Republic. They had their heads massaged and their hair washed thoroughly, and to quote one of the American women in an interview later, “It was like being drowned, but it lowkey (see Glossary) felt good." Meanwhile the boys of the group had their hairs cut by one of the finest barbers this side of the Dominican Republic. He was well-versed in the usage of the razor and the scissors with hands so deft he could undo an old pair of wired headphones faster than your kid could switch tabs off their video games in class (which is to say very fast). The actual makeup of the haircuts will remain undisclosed due to continual denial of publicity by the press. One of the Americans began to tell a story:

It was a dark and stormy night; 18 Americans were sitting around a table. The fifth one spoke: “------, tell us a story.” So ------ began. During the treacherous sun of the hot and humid day, one singular teenage American boy decided that they would stand against the social norms of passing under the fence through the blatant opening in the wiring. He would instead jump over the fence and land 4 feet below in a shallow dust bowl. Bravery was in his heart. He lined up his jump perfectly and began to run at a breakneck pace; jumped over the fence and absolutely ate (seven letter word, four letter word) on the barbed wire. Ripping open his arms, he managed to land on both feet in the dust bowl showing off his insane foolishness and stupid bravery, questioning if he has good insurance. His arms bear battle scars to this day. As he stood up, he began to think of a new story to tell:

It was a dark and stormy night; 18 Americans were sitting around a table. The sixth one spoke: “------, tell us a story.” So ------ began. It was a humid late afternoon in the Campos of the Republica Dominicana; the clouds had just begun to roll in from over Santiago. They crested the mountains bringing in bands of heavy rain. But it also brought about a worry in the hearts of some of the Americans. Three of them had yet to drop off their gifts for their host. La Abuela is also known as the mother of the absolute GOAT Juan. (Flynn says “hi mom and dad”). La Abuela had fallen ill the day before “los Gringos” entrance into the campo. She is a sweet woman who loves her coffee. We shall keep her in our prayers. Now while our brave travelers prepare themselves for the difficult journey from one campo casa to another, they had to prepare their water flasks and grab their coats. Unfortunately, one teenager, the same that had attempted the amazing jump over the barbed wire fence just hours earlier did not bring his rain jacket. He thought of a story:

It was a dark and stormy night; 18 Americans were sitting around a table. The seventh one spoke: “------, tell us a story.” So ------ began. The group of intrepid teenagers and their Dominican Republic friends began the 5-minute walk to the campo casa. As they walked, the aforementioned teenager was able to translate various questions towards the Dominican hosts, asking about school, social life, and other things. But while they made their trek across the slick land that had been lightly sprinkled by the drizzle of rain that had started just minutes before, they looked out across the lush green mountains and realized that a very large thundercloud approached rapidly. This reminded him of a story:

It was a dark and stormy night; 18 Americans were sitting around a table. The eight one spoke: “------, tell us a story.” So ------ began. They then unlocked the gate to the house where three boys were residing to obtain their gifts for La Abuela. The drizzle became a torrential downpour. The tin roof made it sound like it was hailing ice balls the size of coffee beans. They all grabbed their raincoats and prepared to exit the campo casa, but the foolish teenager that could occur in multiple stories remembered that he had left his raincoat at the Gran Casa. But as the group mustered their courage to brave the rain, they realized that the dirt path that they loved so dearly had become rushing rapids, rapids the size of the Amazon River. They reentered the home and sat down with their Dominican friends and shared a bag of Lays Blanco Queso chips and chocolate-filled Oreos. They sat there for a total of 30 minutes in silence listening in awe of the power of the sky. But eventually the rain died down, and the group was now able to set out once more through the Misty mountains to find their home. Except they lacked the 11 dwarves that were needed to make this a copyright violation. But as the group made it back to their cozy home, they battled a Dragon whose name was Smog (Not Smaug, this is his environmentally-evil brother). And they had been escorted by a cat (99% gray, 1% white) whose name was Candalf (again, copyright violation). They were greeted by open arms and happy smiles, so the group of 18 teenagers could finally enjoy their meal of chicken chest cavities and chick legs.

It was a dark and stormy night; 18 Americans were sitting around a table. The nineth one spoke: “------, tell us a story.” So ------ began. While one brave and adventurous young American decided that it was time to go on one adventure that would change the course of history... Andrew Brennick decided to ride a brown horse for a whopping total of 2 minutes.

It was a dark and stormy night; 18 Americans were sitting around a table. The tenth one spoke: “------, tell us a story.” So ------ began…

Glossary:

Really? You couldn’t just ask your favorite teenagers when they get back home?

Other:

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There was talk of the RJ CloakSquad^© at the next game…

 

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