Grover is Gone! – Letter 9

Dear Mr. Conroy,

You’ll be pleased to know that we’ve located your son. He strolled back to camp yesterday after apparently having gone on a multi-week Oreo milkshake bender in one of the neighboring towns. He explained to us that the local Applebees waitresses thought he was “sooooo cute,” and they “just had to keep him.” So he lived in the restaurant and was fed nothing but free Oreo milkshakes and french fries because these extremely dense individuals felt it was appropriate to keep a child as a pet for a couple of weeks. He presumably got so tired of the same two foods everyday for a couple of weeks that he just up and left one day without saying goodbye. I sincerely apologize for the oversight of only exploring the surrounding woods and not visiting any of the surrounding neighborhoods. Once again, I’d like to thank you for choosing Camp Kerchoki, the North West’s premier summer excursion for teens of abnormally large size, and hope you will choose us in the future.

On a more personal note, you’ll be pleased to know that ever since I turned your face into the North West’s premier summer excursion for my fists, I’ve been living in a type of hell normally reserved for child molesters and people who hit priests with baseball bats. My wife (formerly yours, if you recall) Estella has been a bit testy ever since I thrashed you in the Tri-Battle for her custody. She’s been saying some very hurtful things like “I’m still married to Leslie you dumb shit,” and “I only pretended to show interest in you so you’d find my son.” When I explained to her that she wouldn’t be going home once we found Grover, she ran down to the mess hall and threatened to break every bone in poor Rusty Bunckle’s particularly round body if I didn’t let her leave.  Needless to say, Les, Estella is none too pleased with the Tri-Battle results.

And so, with a heart heavier than Grover after weeks of 1,000+ calorie beverages for breakfast, lunch and dinner, I’ll be sending Estella and Grover home in a few days. Please, take good care of my wife. For these past 2 weeks, she’s been everything to me.

Sincerely,
Chief Chesterfield

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Grover is Gone! – Letter 4

Chief Chesterfield,

For the second time now, I have read a letter you sent me and have been both disappointed and frightened that my son’s whereabouts have not yet been discovered. Being left alone to tend to my cheeses has been rewarding, yes. However, I can not shake that feeling that hits a man when his son may or may not be dead, and his wife has taken on a manservant at a summer camp in order to search for him. It is a feeling of remorseful, angering confusion.

There is an old cheese monger saying that goes “if it has not aged in the natural Combalou caves of Roquefort-sur-Soulzon, it is not Roquefort.” It’s a saying because the name Roquefort has a protected designation of origin; therefore, no cheese may be called Roquefort unless…well…you know the saying.

I bring this up because I always liked to think of Grover, my son, as having a Protected Designation of Origin. His PDO was his house — my home. I want Grover returned to my home as soon as possible. Right now, I am feeling the same anxiety I would have if I were to open a shipment sent to my cheese shop that was labeled Roquefort, and notice that it came from WITHIN THE UNITED STATES!

But enough of cheese-related figurative speech. The stool sample you mentioned containing Ring Dings is a good sign. I am going use that to cling to hope with reckless abandon. My son is still alive, still in good health, and I’ll be back to making him macaroni and cheese at knife-point again in no time!

The information you gave me about my wife is the part of your letter that comes as no surprise. Estella once threatened a security guard to drive her two thousand miles to attend a Poison Concert. Once the Stockholm Syndrome faded, their new marriage ended as quickly and strangely as it began. I still stand by my statement that I am the most caring of her 3 previous husbands.

I am pleased that she will be paid (I assume) for doing your job, and doing it better than you all have been; yet, at the same time, I am annoyed that she has taken you on as a “manservant.” This is often the way she flirts. When I first read that, my fists clenched so tightly that even the most aged cheddar would have crumbled under their power.

Once my VERY ALIVE son has been found, I will have to challenge you to a Tri-Battle for the love of Estella, my beautiful and deadly wife. The Tri-Battle will be in the areas of: Boxing (to prove our manliness), Cheese Connoisseurship (my specialty), and an area of your choosing…I don’t know…using a positive attitude to support the dreams of America’s youth or some bullshit.

Excuse the swearing. I am just a bit emotional now between my wife slapping you on the rear and my son’s HAPPY AND VERY PLANNED, NOT AT ALL DANGEROUS WOODLY EXCURSION.

Please let me know when you found my son. Also, keep me updated on our Tri-Battle. I will begin making a spreadsheet and a binder about it, so I would like to know what area you have in mind for the third round. Having a binder labeled TRI-BATTLE with only two Divider Tabs looks pretty absurd.

Sincerely,

Leslie Conroy

Grover is Gone! – Letter 3

Mr. Conroy,

I suppose we’ll start with the matter that you are probably most concerned about: No, we haven’t found your son yet. We even checked the caves, as you had asked. However, we’ve found a couple of clues that are very good signs that he is still possibly alive. First off we found his “Camp Kerchoki” Hat dangling on a branch 3-4 miles from camp. Although this is no guarantee he’s alive, It’s a much better sign than finding the hat dangling off a bear’s ear.

We also found a stool sample consisting almost entirely of Ring-Dings that was only 2 days old (we have a fairly sophisticated science and nature cabin, as you may have read in the brochure). Apparently Grover had been a very untruthful Husky Hawk. This makes us almost certain he is still alive and frolicking through the Kerchoki Forest! Unless, of course, a bear tore your son open and ate only the contents of his stomach and we found the bear feces. But… um… I doubt that happened.

Your wife has been here for only 3 days, but ever since she pulled up to the camp on her motorcycle (which she apparently “procured” from a gentleman when her car ran out of gas), the camp has been VERY different. In a good way, mostly. Your wife has certainly taken a leadership role in not only finding your son but in the weight-loss regime of the kids, as well. The campers have been losing weight at a record pace thanks to Estella’s “Terrify the Chub Out of Them” program. Basically, this program consists of your wife threatening to give the campers a “back-alley liposuction” if they didn’t get their acts together. I’m not entirely sure what that means, but I’ve never seen the Large Lemurs run so fast!

She’s quite an aggressive lady, Leslie. In the time that she is not searching for Grover or pointing knives at the campers, she has basically harangued me into being her personal manservant. I’ve been personally preparing and delivering her meal of whatever animal she decided to kill that day as well as massaging her feet. After every massage she gives me a robust slap on the rear and yells “Mission Complete, Soldier!”

I hope this letter brings you comfort that we are still hard at work finding your son and your wife has settled in quite well here. I’d like to thank you again for choosing Camp Kerchoki, the North West’s premier summer excursion for teens of abnormally large size. Keep in mind that losing children is NOT a company policy and is a very rare occurrence. I look forward to hearing from you soon.

Sincerely
Chief Chesterfield

Grover is Gone! – Letter 2

Chief Chesterfield,

I must admit that while I am appalled that your camp has lost my son, Grover, it does not come as much of a shock to me. Grover’s weight problem was always fueled by his attitude problem. There have been many days where he would hold me up at knife-point and force me to make him a homemade Macaroni and Cheese. Given my passive nature, I would oblige until my wife came home to disarm him.

My wife, Estella, is an ex-marine and martial arts expert. I own a cheese shop, and while I must say that my Macaroni and Cheese made with abelgian Chimay a la Bier, Swiss Gruyere, and a Montgomery farmhouse Cheddar would certainly knock your socks off, I’m sure it has done nothing but aid to my son’s weight problem.

That being said, I convinced Estella against military school for Grover, in the hopes that a summer at Camp Kerchoki, the North West’s premier summer excursion for teens of abnormally large size, would help him slim down and improve his attitude. However, the stabbing of a fellow “Husky Hawk” leads me to believe I was as wrong about this as I was when I began burning Limburger incense in my store.

Upon reading your letter, my wife got in our car and started driving the long trek towards Camp Kerchoki in order to get Grover back herself and “make that camp understand how it is you whip people into shape.” I must say, she’s a bigger fan of unpleasant boot-camp styled programs over ones that try to promote self-confidence and use happiness to further help achieve your ultimate goal.

I am not sure if this letter will reach you before Estella does, but if it does, just be forewarned: when she’s serious about something, she means business. Don’t get me wrong, I love my wife. When things are pleasant (such as when Grover is on a sedative), we’ve been known to laugh and enjoy some Appenzeller cheese with an aromatic Gewürztraminer wine. But, when push comes to shove, she doesn’t hold back the punches.

As for the whereabouts of my son, I must admit that I am worried. If there are any nearby caves, you may want to check those out. Grover has learned a thing or two from me about the ancient art of aging homemade cheese in caves. I wouldn’t doubt it if he gathered himself some animal milk in the hopes of beginning this process.

Even though my wife will be there shortly, I ask if you can please keep me informed as to the progress towards finding my son. Even if she managed to smuggle a working phone onto your premises (I am aware of your strict “no phone calls” policy and cell-phone reception blockers from your pamphlet), she tends to be very short with details when she is “on a mission.”

Please find my son. He is the only thing whose meticulous upkeep I valued over my cheeses.

Sincerely,

Leslie Conroy

Grover is Gone! – Letter 1

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Conroy,

Greetings from Camp Kerchoki, the North West’s premier summer excursion for teens of abnormally large size! We would like to thank you for choosing us as the destination for your son, Grover. We here at Camp Kerchoki are dedicated to being a safe and comfortable environment for your son to shed those unwanted pounds.

We would also like to assure you that we are dedicated to finding Grover. You see, while on one of our patented “Chub Treks,” our counselor seemed to have miscounted his campers on their way back. He apparently assumed he had all his campers and returned for very healthy lunch of a banana and trail-mix back at the mess hall. It wasn’t until later that night when the campers were required to return to their bunks that we noticed that we were one “Husky Hawk” short of a tribe.

Since then, which is now three days ago, I have been personally searching every inch of the Kerchoki Forest to find young Grover. I urge you to not yet panic, as there is no doubt in my mind that Grover is alive and well (or at the very least alive and passed out from heat exhaustion). The fat stored in his body can easily last him a month or so and there are a number of fresh water brooks for him to drink from.

From my experience, the local wildlife only poses a very small threat. The Grizzly Bears that inhabit the area only attack when provoked or the target is fat, dumb and clumsy enough to be considered “a gimme.”

I understand that this will be a very difficult time for you, but I must inform you of one other thing. There has been a disturbing amount of apathy towards Grover’s disappearance throughout the entire camp. Grover, as it turns out, is quite the son-of-a-bitch bastard. He’s been quite the trouble-maker since his arrival. While there have been a number of minute instances, his stabbing of a fellow camper with scissors stands out as probably the worst of his deeds.

While this can easily be considered attempted manslaughter in most states, we believe that rule-breakers should be judged by a jury of their peers in order to teach our campers a lesson in the justice system and to keep the authorities from meddling in our business. While the evidence was stacked high against Grover, the young man was found not guilty. I have my suspicions that he bribed the jury with smuggled Ring Dings, but this has yet to be confirmed.

As I’m sure you are aware, Camp Kerchoki still maintains a strict “no phone calls” policy in order to prevent whiny campers from convincing their parents to take them home. Due to this, I await a written response from you shortly.

Again, I apologize for losing your kid. I’m really trying extra, extra hard to find him.

Sincerely,
Chief Chesterfield