When I saw Estella, my wife, walking up the driveway with Grover, our chubby, hate-filled yet so-lovable son, I shed a tear. My son used this showing of emotion as an opportunity to give me a swift punch to the stomach. I fell to my knees, half in thankful praise, half in winded-pain.
Estella told me the truth about the whole debacle. The truth that I always suspected and that you had confirmed in your previous letter: she was only using your fragile please-love-me emotional state to acquire more information about the whereabouts of our son. She told me that she had suspected you may have kidnapped Grover in the hopes that she would come to the camp and fall in love with you.
I so desperately wanted to believe that you had kidnapped our son so that I could hate you EVEN MORE than I do now. You humiliated me, Chief. Even though it was a façade orchestrated by the symphonious Estella, it hurt watching you win her in our Tri-Battle. It hurt more than taking a wheel of Stravecchio Parmigiano-Reggiano to the head.
But now, I have my wife back, my son back, and my cheeses…well, still. My cheeses were the one thing I always had. It truly is a man’s best friend.
So, I will end this letter by saying that while I hate you, and while you caused me nothing but trouble, I must admit that Camp Kerchoki, the North West’s premier summer excursion for teens of abnormally large size, has done nothing but help my family.
Yes, Grover is still “of abnormally large size,” but his attitude has changed for the better. After he punched me in the stomach he whispered “I missed you Dad” in my ear. Estella and I have been having a large amount of passionate hugs, kisses, and “bedroom-time.” This whole situation has made everyone more positive.
Grover told me that he learned from his time spent living in the kitchen of an Applebees that he truly does value our family — even if I am “a weird cheese dork.” Before that, the nicest thing he’s ever said to me was “make me some mac and cheese, Cheeseballs!”
Thinking about it now, it is actually impressive the way that you martyred yourself to bring the Conroys closer together. We all despise you and your camp; but your camp has given our family unit a stronger bond.
So, thank you, Chief. But please remember, I still hate you and never want to speak with you again.
I will, however, give you a good rating on camprate.com.
Filled with hate, cheese, and respect,
– Leslie Conroy