D) Go eat because you’re really fucking hungry all of the sudden.
Sam is really hot, but you just can’t get over the part about being from the trashiest part of the continental United States. You make up a lame excuse: “I’m saving myself.” It’s not really that much of a lie, though; you like sex but never, like, had COMPLETE sex, but, like, you know about it.
“Pssh, suit yourself!” Sam says with a wave of the hand. “I’ll find someone else.” Sam walks off and inspects another counselor from behind, offering up a montage-esque nod of approval. Probably dodged a bullet there.
You head to the mess hall because your stomach is practically eating its way out of your body. In the kitchen, you open up the fridge to a particularly odorous stench. There’s a huge slab of meat sitting on the refrigerator rack; someone must have forgotten to put it in tupperware. I’m sure it’s good, you think; sometimes turkey smells like fart too. You grab the meat and a pan and start frying it up on the stove. A couple more counselors begin to pour into the mess hall, most likely drawn to the appetizing smell.
“That smells like shit!” a tough guy says. Sometimes people like to put down others for no reason, you think.
Eventually the meat is done and cooled enough for you to eat, and you begin shoving your face. It’s different; it’s got a gamey taste, somewhat tougher than beef. It’s not bad though, and you’ve certainly eaten worse. Once it’s gone, you find that the food isn’t sitting well in your stomach. You make it to the bathroom just in time for a gallon of slimy black tar to escape from your asshole. The smell is putrid, and you hear someone shuffling outside the doorway.
“It’s going to be a while!” you yell. “Bring some air freshener ASAP!”
There’s no movement from outside the bathroom door. You can see under the crack that someone’s size 15 workboots are puddling on the floor.
“Who is it?” you call. “I need some privacy!”
You rip a mighty fart even though trying to squeeze it back. The person on the other side is unfazed. Then a large spear blasts through the middle of the door, mere inches from your nose. You uncontrollably let out a bit more diarrhea before jumping up from the toilet seat. There’s a window to the right of the door, and you think you can squeeze out. You don’t have a chance to wipe, so you shuffle to the door with an uncomfortable squishy feeling in your buttcrack. If you make it out of this alive, you’re heading straight to the shower. You manage to get through the window just as the bathroom door explodes into splinters.
You see about 500 yards away a group of counselors sitting at a fire. To the opposite side, you see your car sitting in the drive of the campground. Do you