Camp Husky Mountain

Some producers who are working on a new musical abotu a Fat Camp are considering me as a co-writer of the book. They asked me to write a scene as an 'audition' of sorts. So here it is!

Scene attempt
By Mike Albo

Camp Husky Mountain, cabin 8.

Scene takes place in the interior of cabin 8, which has 5 beds circling a central area where a jumble of exercise equipment exists -- including handweights, big puffy pilates balls, elastic bands, abdominizers and five treadmills. Above and center is a large skylight fixed into the roof of the cabin.

Kay Welterwhite – head counselor. Southern and polite, secretly in over her head.
Samantha Bacon, 13, smart, defiant, self-confident
Michael Bacon, 15, paranoid, panicky, overdramatic
Espin Gravlar, 14, chauvanistic, cocky, full of sports-rage
Bridget Brushly, 15, divaesque, in denial, secretly needy
Princess Annie Haleakala, 13, regal, obtuse, manipulative

In the previous scene Samantha and Michael’s stepmom, Brynn, drops them off at Camp Husky, and they discover that they weren’t going to an International Peanut Butter Convention like they thought, but a camp for extra large youth, Camp Husky Mountain.

Samantha, Michael and Kay enter

Kay – Here’s your cabin! You each have a bunk, and you will find your names on your designated bed, spelled out in nice, healthy stalks of celery! Isn’t that cute?

Samantha – We’re in the same cabin? Isn’t there a girls cabin or something?

K – No! It’s all co-ed here at Camp Husky Mountain.

S – But… Where are we going to get changed and stuff? We’re teenagers.

K – You’re not just teenagers, Samantha. Youre Husky Teens.

S -- That doesn’t quite answer my question.

K – Husky teens have replaced sex or intimacy with food. Studies have shown that you would rather French kiss a cruller than a boy. So we can be sure there won’t be any naughty behavior.

[Michael walks over to the kitchenette.]

M – Oh wow! Look the fridge is fully stocked! Hot Damn! Cheesecake! [he quickly stuffs a piece in his mouth and spits it out] Yuck! This tastes like puke!

K – It is!

M – Oh my God!

K – Well it isn’t puke per se, the medical staff genetically altered the flavor of every sweet you see here in the fridge so that they taste nauseating, like vomit or earwax. It’s to help ween you off unhealthy choices!

S – That’s perverse!

K – It’s effective! I promise you in a month you won’t want anything in this fridge. We have plenty of healthy crunchy ruffage behind the junk food! See? Behind the drawer of Little Debbies that taste like a rancid dumpster, there’s apples and sprouts and watercress!

S – I want to call our father!

K -- Your parents know everything we are doing here. They signed waivers when they dropped you off, and we give them constant updates.

S – They? When did you talk to them.

K – Just this morning. Your mother was very positive about you two spending time at Camp Husky.

S – That’s not our mother. It’s Brynn, our dad’s girlfriend. She’s an anorexic D-list actress with stick arms and fake boobs that look like leathery brown rugby balls.

M – She’s the one who brainwashed our dad into imprisoning us in this Gustatory Gulag!

K – Well she is also concerned about your health. And she told us she wants you two to be happy and to treat you with care.

S – Yea, while she siphons all of Dad’s hard-earned money. They are vacationing in Cancun right now in a four star hotel that he can’t afford.

M – I walked in on them having sex last week. It was so damaging I immediately wiped it from my memory like sexual abuse and I live in fear it will return in a flood of photographic detail when I lack the necessary nutrients I need for mental stability, which is NOW! I need donuts or I will dissolve into blubbery psychosis!

S – We need to talk to our father. He doesn’t want us here, I know if I talked to him, and he knew this was a camp for fat –

K – Husky. We use the word husky here

S – Husky teens, he would send us home immediately.

K -- Don’t worry! You are in good hands, Samantha Bacon! We have been running Camp Husky Mountain for nearly three mon--…years now. I promise you, in two weeks you will be full of energy and craving an orange and not Orange Fanta. Listen, get settled, go for a walk, breath in the lovely New Jersey air. Dinner is served at 7.15.

M – That’s almost an hour from now!

K-- Here is a little snack to tide you over till dinner: a rice cake and one grape.

M – Oh great. A feast for the senses.

K – OK, I gotta go. One of your bunkmates requires special assistance.


Michael –This is like Red Code alert-level scary. I feel like I am on Surivivor Palau. But at least they had Powerbars. Oh god we’re toast. No, you know what, we’re not even toast because we would contain carbohydrates. And I certainly don’t contain any now! All I have had today is a hideous unsatisfying fruit cocktail. I’m just going to close my eyes and pretend this celery is a big crunchy rice crispy treat with peanut M&Ms mixed in! Mmm. Wee!

S – Would you get yourself together?

M – Oh easy for you to say. I snuck downstairs this morning, and I saw you loading up on cookie dough. It’s like you were a camel. Or a cement mixer full of frosting.

S –I was trying to look like I was busy while I tried to get in touch with mom.

M – Samantha. You know you can’t do that. Mom’s not around anymore.

S – I know. I know. [she tries to shake them out of sadness, getting up and perusing the other bunks and the names spelled out in celery] “Espin Gravlar from Green Bay Florida” “P. Annie Haleakala from Molokai Hawaii” “Bridget Blushly from Los Angeles California”

M – Bridget Blushly? No way. Hilarious there’s a fat kid here who has the same name as that teen pop wench Bridget Brushly.

S – God that must be tough. She’s scary skinny. People must always look at this one and say, “Hey, I thought you were bulimic.”

[suddenly a huge girl in huge sunglasses and a Prouenza Schuler sundress appears at the door, a bodyguard carries three huge suitcases. She is on her cellphone]

B – [into cellphone] Yes. Yes. Well they know my negotiating salary [to bodyguard] Manzo! Manzo! Put the bags over there. Wait for me outside. [He exits. She speaks into into the phone again] Excuse me, but do you want your job? Do you? Well then get on the phone and makes sure that Sony drops the album when my film comes out a WEEK before, do you hear me? And I want to be booked for New Years Rockin Eve. And TRL. And you can tell that little twit manager of mine I will only work with Babyface. Oh. I have to go. It looks like my dressers are here. [To Michael and Samantha] Hi! Nice to meet you? Are you my valets? Are you Mexican? Estas Meheecano? Well me gusta my luggage unpacked, pero por favor, el steamo everything, and please arrange-endo todos according to color.

S – What are you talking about? We’re your cabin mates.

B – Well hello then! I’m Bridget. Surely there are assistants or a concierge? I’m here for a little rest before my next tour. I’m very dehydrated.

M – oh my god it IS bridget Blushly!

B – please respect my privacy…

M – I’m like your biggest fan

S – Oh please…

M – No I am! My favorite song of yours is “Who Stole my Halter Top”

B – Thank you. Thank you so much.

M -- [sings a few bars of song] “Who stole my halter top, who stole my halter top, when is this madness gonna stop, I guess I’ll hafta go back and shop…my halter top, my halter top.”

B—OK, yes, that’s enough, thank you so much. Do you know where my deluxe suite room is?

M -- …But I think I really started respecting you after your reality show when you did that benefit for dogs with Lymes disease. You are such a humanitarian. And I can’t believe you are here! You are…an inspiration to extra-large sized youth everywhere

B – Thank you, thank you. But I’m not fat.

S – Ha!

B – Uh. I’m sorry?

M – Don’t listen to her. My sister is like some kind of angry feminist person who thinks that she has a right to be large.

S – Michael! You just called her a teen pop wench ten minutes ago!

M – No I didn’t! No I didn’t! I said, “teen pop mensch!” mensch, not wench.

S – Well unlike my sycophantic brother, I find your music insulting to women.

B – It is not! I am totally celebrating and empowering women to not give into men and …shop for new tops! I have sex appeal, I can’t help it. You wouldn’t know, but being desirable and famous really jangles your nerves, And I am just looking for a little beauty rest before my next album comes out. So that’s why I am here at this um, spa.

S – This is a fat camp, little Miss Delusional! You’re not at a spa. There’s no one around to unpack your clothes or cut your meat or doctor your photos so you can fool the public into thinking you have some sort of impossible figure like you did for your last video.

B -- What are you saying? Are you saying they photoshopped me? I wasn’t digitally enhanced at all! I just look three times as large because…because your eye is used to seeing me in two dimensional form and real life adds…150 pounds. Maybe I am only here at Camp Husky because I want to be closer to my normal-sized fans. Like you guys!

[a boy walks in, wearing a triple extra large football jersey. He is holding a PDA and furiously, with earpods in his ears. Two huge football player guys are behind him carrying duffel bags. The boy looks around very quickly, finds his name, and motions to the football players, who walk over and dump the duffels beside the bed in a synchronized motion, then leave]

Espin – [to the handheld screen] Go. Gogogogogogogogogogo! No! You IDIOT! That wasn’t a pass!!! Jesus! [to himself] Ah! 200 dollars down the tubes. [notices the others] oh hey.

S – Hi. You must be Espin.

E – It’s not Espin, sweetie. It’s ESPN. My parents named me after the sports network. My dad owns five different sports teams. Can you get me a Diet Coke? They’re on the top shelf behind the fart-flavored potato chips. Thanks doll.

S – Get it yourself!

M – Wait, you’ve been here before?

E – Yea. Every summer. I always come between Basketball and Football season. My parents think it’s a good idea for me to slim down so I can have more to eat at the tailgate parties in the Fall. [noticing Bridget] Hey! You’re that singer. I saw you perform at the Superbowl Halftime.

B – Thank you so much. Please respect my privacy.

E – You sucked.

B – Hey!

[A sound of a helicopter increases in volume, and bright roving beams of light come in from the window overhead. Kay walks in wearing a contrived lei and headdress. She is carrying a walkie talkie. She is followed by three men in sarongs. Two of the men are scattering flower petals and the other is beating a drum. The Flower Scatterers are carrying an array of satchels and trunks. Performing a hula choreography as the drummer beats out a rhythm, the two men unpack the trunks and decorate their subject’s bed in a gorgeous draping of silk nettings and orchids, and then unpack a cockatoo, marble table and ornate tea set. They look bored of doing this.

Kay – [into walkie talkie] Is she overhead? [a staticky mumbled voice emits from the walkie talkie] OK well I’m ready. I’ll open the skylight.

B – Hello there, Miss Welterwhite? Hieee. There seems to be some kind of mishap. I am sharing a room, with other people? And I think my personal assistant Wendy provided you with my 6 page ryder which strictly stipulates that—

K – Sorry Bridget, my hands are a little full right now. [she walks over to the wall and flips open a console, punching numbers into a keypad, then says into walkie talkie] OK, the roof is retracting!

[the skylight above their heads powerfully, telescopically retracts. The light beams get brighter and the copter sound louder as a strong wind rushes down into the cabin. The three men position themselves deferentially as if a goddess is about to descend from the open space in the ceiling. The drummer begins a frantic beat.]

S – What in the heavens is happening?

K – Your last bunkmate is arriving.

B – All this for a bunkmate? Why didn’t I get this kind of service?

K – You aren’t a Princess. [the walkie talkie mumbles] Gotcha, over.

[Kay pulls out a piece of paper, kneels and blows into a conch shell, reading the following with a stiff awkwardness]

K – Oh great gods of Polynesia, bless this earthly domain so that it is fit for the feet of thine’s most royal daughter, empress of rain, queen of rainbows, goddess of earth, the beautiful and…um…delicate blossom of human perfection, Princess Annie Haleakala!

[descending from the helicopter above, Princess Annie is airlifted down into the room, wearing a huge purple mumu, chowing on a large drumstick. She is set down perfectly on her bed.]

P – [She finishes the drunmstick and tosses it to the ground, and then says to her royal helpers] The Princess Speaks!

Helper One – Yes, oh…um…spritely flower petal!

P – Go get me three liters of Mister Pibb and three pounds of fudge!

Drummer – Princess needs fudge!

Kay – Oh, no. I’m sorry Miss. Princess Annie. We don’t allow that here. You can have a lovely pear. Or maybe some snappy cabbage?

P – [trying to be demure, putting on accent] Oh, pretty lady of the North, me no comprehend. Princess Annie no like vegetables. Princess Annie want sugar. Please provide your royal higness her fudge. NOW!

K – I’m deeply sorry Your Honor. That’s not possible.

P – Please provide me such fudgey treasures or I will order you to be flayed alive by my royal followers!

Drummer – Bring Fudge or be flayed!

K – Uh. Well I’m sorry but it’s against Camp Husky policy.

P – Flay her!

[the followers get up awkwardly and walk towards Kay.]

Helper One – What does flay mean?

Helper Two – Um. Hya. [tries pathetically to flay]

Kay – Listen. I’ll take it from here. Just go. Go take a vacation.

Helper One – Really?

Kay – Yea. You are released.

Helper Two – You mean we can go shop for pants?

Helper One – Oh my god I can’t wait! Let’s go to Diesel!

Drummer – Oh my God thank you. My upper arms are killing me.

Kay -- I’ll distract her and you guys run out, OK. [Kay goes to kitchen and gets fudge] But hurry, before she notices! [She hands the box to Princess Annie, who grabs it and rips it open without looking at her]

P – Hm. This tastes like horse dung. Oh well. [She keeps eating while her assistants sneak out] Get Princess soft drink! Hello? Where are my followers?

Kay – They left, Princess. You’re a Husky Teen camper now.

P – A what.

Kay – You are at a camp for Husky Teens.

P – Me no comprehend Husky Teen.

Espin – Fat camp. You’re at Fat Camp. A camp for fatsos.

K -- Your mother, Queen Haleakala brought you here to have us get you into shape. From now on, you will have no servants or access to junk food, you will only be allowed to eat fresh, wholesome food.

P – But…but…Princess Annie needs processed foodstuffs to survive. Queen Mother abandoned her only daughter?

K – She didn’t abandon you! Your mother only wants to see you get well, and is powerless to your bad habits!

P – I am alone?

K – No! Look at all these fun new people for you to meet and befriend.

[everyone stares at her with a mix of fear and disgust]

[P begins to sob and burrows into her mumu]

K – Oh, sweetheart. You’ll be fine.

P –Do not try and comfort me, lowly mainland scum.

Kay – [looking at the other campers] She’ll be fine. This is a normal reaction. Separation anxiety.

E – Ha! What a bunch of wimps. [to screen] That was a foul ref! You’re an IDIOT! That was a foul!

Kay comes back in, takes it out of his hand

Kay – This year we are also going to work on your addiction to TV so I’ll be taking this!

E – Why? It’s not like I can eat it.

Kay – But you essentially gorge on as if it were food, and it’s time we really got to the core of your issues, Mr Gravlar. Anyway, we are prohibiting the use of any electronic devices this year because last summer people kept ordering pizza.

B – [whispering into cellphone]… put anchovies and extra cheese on one half and chocolate brownies on the other. Yes, brownies, I don’t care if you’ve never done it before, just slap on a whole layer of brownie down on top…and send it to Cabin 8, Camp Husky Mountain, and –

Kay wrenches the phone out of her hand

B – But I am expecting a call from my A&R rep!

Kay -- OK Huskies! Get changed…dinner’s at 7.15pm, and don’t be late or you wont receive raisins!

She exits.

E – No TV.

B – No phones?

S – No fair!

M – No food…

P – [popping out of her mumu] No fudge!

They all lay on their bunks. Michael’s stomach grumbles loudly. Then Espin’s stomach joins in, Then Bridgets, then the others. Soon all their stomachs are grumbling in a strangely musical cadence.


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