Johnny liked money. Making money, holding money, smelling money, he even liked losing money because, hey, at least it meant he had some to lose. He and his brother Lincoln were always coming up with new ways of getting their hands on cash, sometimes working together and sometimes on their own. One of Johnny's personal hustles was betting on Dreamboat, a cheesy, dating based reality show set on a cruise ship. Every season, ten men (or ten women) vied for the affection of one woman (or man, or transexual, or, to quote Jim Cornette, animal, vegetable, or mineral). Each week, one lovelorn sad sack was voted off until the season finale.

Every Thursday night, he and Lincoln moseyed on over to the Loud house and watched Dreamboat with the Loud girls. They were huge fans and also extremely competitive, which made them bigger marks than Meltzer and Alvarez. All you had to do was trash talk their favorite guy a little, then hit them with I bet he'll lose. They would get mad, put up five or ten bucks, and boom, there you go. Last season, Johnny won fifty dollars from the Louds, and the season before that, it was almost seventy.

Lincoln never placed bets on Dreamboat, he just watched it for dating advice; since it was such a huge hit with women, he figured he could learn something from it. Maybe he did, Johnny didn't know; Maggie hadn't dumped him yet, so at the very least it wasn't hurting.

Anyway, on a rainy Thursday night in May, Johnny and Lincoln sat on the Louds' couch with Lori, Leni, Luna, blah blah blah for a new episode of Dreamboat. Johnny had ten bucks riding on Brandon, the hunky farmhand from Iowa, and Lincoln jotted down notes like a kid in second period chemistry..and brother, notes counted toward your grade.

Five minutes after the show started, Mr. Loud came in from the kitchen in a frilly pink apron and oven mitts, a tray of cookies in his hands. He flitted across the room and sat them on the coffee table. Johnny raised his eyebrow and pursed his lips. Maybe he was old school or something, but...really, buddy? Look, it was 2020, there was nothing wrong with dudes cooking, cleaning, and doing other "feminine" things, but once you start wearing pink aprons, it gets to be a little much.

"Cookies are done," he sang.

Johnny couldn't help himself. "Thanks, Mrs. Loud. I mean Mr. Loud."

The girls giggled, snorted, and chuckled. Mr. Loud started to say you're welcome, then realized that Johnny's slip was intentional. "And what's that supposed to mean, young man?"

"Dude, you're wearing a pink apron, come on," Johnny said. "Look at you, you're a bigger woman than your wife."

Mr. Loud's face darkened. "That is not true," he said. He put his hands on his hips and weaved his head sassily from side to side. "I am all man. Right, girls?"

"No," Lori sniffed.

Leni looked confused. "But you're one of the girls."

"I am not," Mr. Loud snapped. "I am very manly."

"You could have fooled me," Lola said.

"Yeah, Dad, you're not very manly," Lynn said, "sorry."

"I am," he whined.

"You are the least manly one here," Luna said.

Mr. Loud's face turned red. "That's not true...is it?" His hand fluttered limply to his chest and panic crept into his eyes. He started to hyperventilate as his fragile masculinity crumbled around him.

"You polish your fingernails and carry a purse," Lana pointed out.

"It's not a purse," Mr. Loud argued, "it's -"

"A totes cute handbag," Leni said. She was trying to help his case.

Mr. Loud let out a strangled sob, spun on his heels, and minced away. "I'm not a man!" he cried.

"That was pretty messed up," Lincoln said and shot Johnny daggers. "The guy made us cookies and you ripped his head off."

Johnny started to argue, but Lincoln was right, he did rip Mr. Loud's head off. He didn't mean to, honest, he was just kidding with him. He couldn't admit that out loud, though. "He shouldn't have come in here wearing a pink apron then."

"You're one to cricize someone's fashion sense with that retarded paper bag on your head." He flicked the bag with his finger, producing a sharp crinkling sound. "Maybe you can pull it down to cover up your ugly, heartless face."

That was it. Johnny lunged at Lincoln, and Lincoln met him halfway. They toppled off the couch and wound up rolling across the floor in a confusion of slaps, grunts, and kicks. In moments, Lynn, Lana, and Lori pulled them apart. Johnny's cheek stung from one of Lincoln's blows, and Lincoln's right eye swelled slightly closed, the flesh raised and purple. "That's enough," Lori commanded. "If you guys wanna get into a little pissy slap fight, do it at your house."

"I'm done," Lincoln said, "I wouldn't wanna rip his precious paper bag."

Johnny pulled against Lynn but she held tight.

"That's it," Lori said. She grabbed Lincoln by the ear and dragged him to the door. Lynn twisted Johnny's arm behind his back and marched him after like a POW. Lori opened the door and pushed Lincoln onto the porch, then stepped aside. Lynn shoved Johnny, and he stumbled over the threshold. "And stay out until you guys learn not to be such jackasses to each other."

"Look who's talking," Lincoln said archly.

Lori flipped him off and slammed the door, plunging them into darkness.

"Nice job, Linc," Johnny said.

"Shut up, this is your fault for roasting Mr. Loud. He's a nice dude and you and those loser daughters of his treat him like garbage."

Johnny sighed. "I'm sorry, okay? But he's the least manly guy in the world. It's just a fact."

'Yeah? And it's just a fact that you wet the bed as recently as six months ago. Should I put that on blast?"

"Alright," Johnny conceded, "okay, I see your point, it was wrong of me to do that, I'm sorry."

They were crossing the street now, their heads ducked against the rain. Water sluicded through the gutters and hissed on the pavement. A strong wind blew over them, and the trees swayed violently against its onslaught. A peal of thunder spread through the sack cloth sky and lightning crashed in the distance. By the time they got inside, Johnny's paper bag was sopping wet and starting to shred. When he tried to take it off, it tore into a million little pieces and he spent ten minutes plucking pieces of saturated paper out of his hair.

As he did so, he thought of what he said to Mr. Loud. Yeah, Lynn Sr.'s lack of manitude was kind of annoying, but he was a cool dude; he had always been kind to Johnny, and Johnny repaid him by making him run away crying.

Now he felt like total crap.

Eh, it was okay, though. Mr. Loud was a grown up.

He'd get over it.


Only he didn't.

Friday morning, Johnny loaded a cooler and fishing poles into the back of Dad's station wagon and slammed the hatch. Lincoln stood there with his pack at his feet and texted Maggie that he would be gone for the weekend.

See, one of Dad's favorite things besides pro wrestling and old school rap was camping. The guy lived for the outdoors and every weekend from May to October, he drove up to Meadow Lake in the rugged Huron Mountains where he owned a vacant parcel of land. Mainly, he went alone, but sometimes he brought the whole brood along. And every so often, he forced Lincoln and Johnny to come with. He called it "Father-son bonding time." Johnny called it "get sunburned and eaten by mosquitos time."

That morning, at breakfast, Dad informed them that they were going camping. "We leave as soon as we're done."

Johnny and Lincoln both tried to wiggle out of it, but Dad wouldn't take no for an answer, so here they were, Lincoln torn from Maggie's loving arms and Johnny torn from his beloved cat videos.

The front door opened and Dad came out. Picture this: A 300 pound black man dressed in khakis, a red plaid shirt, a desert tan vest with a thousand pockets, and a fishing hat boasting jigs and lures. In one hand was a tackle box and in the other a plastic WWE Monday Night Raw title belt. Johnny rolled his eyes. That belt was lame...not like his belt. He looked proudly down at it and patted the buckle. Selling for 99.99, the Ultimate Belt was the final word in belt-based survival technology. Sleek and stylish, it came equipped with the following:

Panic "HELP" button, shouts "Help" over and over

Central piece with radon/lie detector, holds a compass inside, and has two buttons with "LEFT/RIGHT" light indicators for turn signals

"Emergency Use Only" button, releases a "Call police" sign with parachute

Whistle attached to a retractable cord

Box holding a little saw (probably something else as well)

Sphygmomanometer

And turn signals, shaped like an arrow.

It was sick. Much better than Dad's dumb old fake replica of a fake title.

"You guys ready?" Dad asked as he stowed his rod and box in the back.

"Yep," Johnny said, "I -"

A familiar voice cut him off. "Hey."

He turned to see Lynn Sr. standing there and looking bashful. "What are you guys up to?"

"We're going camping," Dad said. "Two days of roughing it the wilderness like real men." He clapped Johnny's back and Johnny stumbled forward, almost going to his knees.

"Sounds...manly," Mr. Loud said.

Dad slammed the back door and leaned against the car. "It is. We fish. We hunt. Nothing like a little time in the wilderness to put some hair on your chest."

For a moment, Mr. Loud looked conflicted, then, in a meek, halting tone: "You...you think maybe I, uh, I could tag along?"

Johnny and Lincoln looked at each other. Say what?

"Sure," Dad said after a moment's thought, "why not? We've been living across the street for years and we barely know each other."

Mr. Loud's face lit up. "Let me get my gear."

He spun on his heels and sashayed off. When he was gone, Johnny looked up at his father, confused. "I thought this was a father/son bonding trip."

Before Dad could reply, Lincoln cut in: "So? Mr. Loud wants to go camping, let him go camping."

Johnny held his hands up, palms out. Alright, fine. He didn't have anything against taking Mr. Loud with them. Mr. Loud was great (if a little annoying). It just stuck him as a little...he didn't know...strange? Like Dad said, he and Mr. Loud barely knew each other and when you got right down to it, Lincoln and Johnny didn't know him all that well either. What kid hangs around with their friends' dad?

Oooh, he had the perfect analogy. It was like your teacher coming over to your house on a Saturday and hanging out on your couch. Up until the last year or so, Johnny was convinced that teachers were actually robots and went into a storage closet at the end of the day. On the rare occasions when he did see one out and about, he was blown so far away he needed two buses and a cab to get back.

But like Lincoln said, the guy wanted to camp, so...let him camp.

Fifteen minutes later, they left Royal Woods heading north on Route 10, Mr. Loud riding shotgun and looking giddy. He had changed out of his signature green sweater and into a yellow plaid shirt. He wore a Mailbiu's Most Wanted tier visor and his nose was pure white with sunscreen. His purse sat in his lap and Dad kept looking at it strangely. "This is gonna be great," Mr. Loud said, "hanging out with the guys...doing guy things...not a woman in sight. Yes siree, just us fellas. Alone. In the woods. With no one else around."

Dad laughed nervously. "You're not gonna hack us up into little pieces or anything, are you?" He tried to pass it off as a joke, but Johnny could tell he was half serious.

"Of course not," Mr. Loud said, "I'm just really looking forward to roughing it. Like a real man."

His voice broke on real.

Dad's land was 150 miles from downtown Royal Woods as the crow flies. North of Chippewa Falls, they jumped on 1-15 and followed it for half an hour. The terrain grew steeper and the brush more dense. Big, puffy white clouds sailed across the piercing blue sky, and the sun beat relentlessly down. They rolled the windows down and after a while, Mr. Loud began to fan himself with his hand. "You alright, Lynn?" Dad asked.

"Never better," Mr. Loud croaked.

"You want me to put on the A/C?"

Mr. Loud waved his hand. "Nah, real men don't need A/C."

Johnny begged to differ, but whatever. He whipped out his phone and opened his game library, eventually settling on Zombie Planet 6. Up front, Dad and Mr. Loud made small talk and Johnny did his best to tune them out. Dad put over "the spot" like a wrestling manager selling his client in a career defining promo, and Mr. Loud kept saying stuff about "real men".

Two hours after setting out, they turned onto a narrow dirt road that zigzagged through a stand of forest. The sun-dappled lake appeared through the trees and the land sloped down to the water's edge, the trees falling away and giving over to flat, grassy field before turning to dirt and sand at the shoreline. Dad put the car in park and killed the engine, dust disturbed by the tires shrouding the car like a cloud of deadly gas. "Well, here we are," Dad said, "you can cast a piece of string with a rock on it and get bites all day."

"I can't wait to get out there and catch some fish," Mr. Loud said and drove his fist into his palm.

"First, we gotta get set up."

They got out and fetched their things from the cargo hold. Because he got enough of being on top of Lincoln at home, Johnny had saved up and bought his own one man tent. He carried it over to a flat spot and dropped it, then went back for the cooler. Once everything was out of the car, Johnny sat his tent up and went to scour the area for firewood; they didn't need it right now, but he already knew Dad would send him and Lincoln off in search of it at some point, so why not get it out of the way?

When he got back, Mr. Loud knelt over a pile of canvas and plastic tent poles with a lost expression on his face. He flipped through the manual, gave a resolute nod, and started to set it up. On the other side of camp, Dad got to his feet, dusted his hands, and admired his handiwork: A big Coleman model tent with a canopy overhang, mesh windows, and a gables. Yes, gables. On a tent. It was pretty opulent. Dad blew almost 300 dollars on it.

Johnny carried the wood over and stacked it alongside the tent's western facing wall. To the left, Lincoln finished with his own tent, rocked back on his knees, and checked his phone. From the frustration on his face, there was no service. Meaning he couldn't talk to Maggie. Awww, poor baby.

A high pitched scream rose up and Johnny jumped. They turned, and Mr. Loud lay on his back, his limbs hopelessly tangled in his tent. He kicked, thrashed, and threw his head from side to side. "Help me!"

Holding onto his hat, Dad rushed over, sank to one knee, and unwrapped Mr. Loud like a Christmas present. Lincoln walked up and stood next to Johnny, neither speaking as the scene unfolded before them. Mr. Loud slithered out of the mess and dropped to his stomach, back rapidly rising and falling. Shudders raced through his body and a strangled sob hitched from his throat. "You alright?" Dad asked.

"That thing almost killed me," Mr. Loud sobbed.

Johnny rolled his eyes. What a drama queen.

To be fair, he lived with eleven women, so…

"Here," Dad said and helped him to his feet, "let me give you a hand."

Dad made short work of the tent, and when it was set up, Johnny sighed.

Pink.

It was pink.

And glittery.

"I haven't been camping in a while," Mr. Loud assured them, "so I had to borrow Lola's." The guilty inflection in his voice told Johnny that Mr. Loud had probably never been camping in his life; he was just too embarrassed to admit it.

"It's a nice tent," Lincoln said encouragingly. He waited for Johnny to offer his own compliment, and when he didn't, he jammed his elbow into Johnny's ribs.

"Fabulous," Johnny said, "I mean cute...I mean...very man-like."

Lincoln shot him a dirty look and he flashed a sheepish smile.

After making camp, Dad took Johnny, Lincoln, and Mr. Loud down to the lake. They followed the shore to a rocky peninsula jutting out into the water and sat in the shade of a big oak tree that blocked the worst of the sun's rays. Johnny reached into the tackle box, took out a styrofoam container filled with dirt, and plucked a fat worm from the soil. He curled it up and impaled it on his hook. Mr. Loud's face went white and his fist fluttered to his mouth; he looked like he was going to be sick.

He forced his eyes away and examined the pole lying across his lap as though he had never seen one before. Which he probably hadn't. He turned it over in his hands and regarded it with the puzzled frown of a man studying an alien relic. "You want some help, Mr. Loud?" Lincoln asked.

"No, I got it," Mr. Loud said.

The next time Johnny looked, however, it had him: Fishing line was bunched in his lap and the reel hung on by a thread. Dad looked back at him and furrowed his brow. "It's, uh, been a while," Mr. Loud said. "I kind of forgot what I'm doing."

Flushing with shame, he handed the pole to Dad, who set it to rights in moments flat, even baiting it with a plastic jig. Mr. Loud knew how to cast and reel in, Johnny would give him that, and in two minutes he had a fish. He pulled the pole back and hurriedly cranked it in, grunting and straining the whole time. With the fight it was putting up, it had to be a big one.

Yeah, no. When all was said and done, the fish was maybe eight inches long and barely as big around as Johnny's thumb. "I caught a fish!" Mr. Loud cried triumphantly. "I can't believe it, I caught a fish!"

"It's an anchovy," Johnny blurted.

Lincoln didn't like that. "Yeah? And where's yours?"

"Up your butt and around the corner," Johnny snapped.

Lincoln got to his feet and bucked up.

Bad movie.

"Sit down," Dad commanded.

Lincoln started, then dropped to his butt. Dad glared at him, and for a second, Johnny thought he was going to lose his only brother to an epic spanking. Shaking his head, Dad looked away and cast out. "Do your girls fight a lot, Lynn?"

"All the time," Mr. Loud said. "They're always bickering and fussing."

"You spank them?"

A look of horror crossed Mr. Loud's face. "No, God, I would never. Rita and I don't believe in spanking."

"Eh, there's nothing wrong with spanking. It sets boundaries and lets your kids know what happens when they cross the line."

After an hour, they packed up and headed back to camp. Dad ordered Lincoln and Johnny to build a fire while he cleaned and gutted the fish. Once they were done, he slapped the pink meat into a cast iron skillet and cooked it until it was golden brown.

Following lunch, Dad went back to fishing while Lincoln and Johnny took Mr. Loud on a nature walk on one of the many trails that crisscross the forest surrounding the lake. Mr. Loud insisted on leading even though he knew nothing about the lay of the land. "I'm a big outdoorsman," he assured them, "it comes second nature to me. Get it?" He slapped his knee and gave a big, snorting Goofy laugh (ayuk) and Johnny cringed. God, he thought his old man was embarrassing.

"But Mr. Loud wants to go camping," he whispered nastily to Lincoln.

"Shut up," Lincoln said.

They hiked half way around the lake, then took a narrow path that branched off of the main trail. "I don't know about this," Lincoln worried, "we should go back."

"Nonsense," Mr. Loud said, "real men blaze their own trails."

Five minutes later, Johnny realized something.

The path was gone.

At some point it had petered out and given way to forest floor. Gnarled and twisted tree trunks closed in on all sides, and the interlaced boughs overhead blocked out most of the waning afternoon light, casting the forest in rising gloom. "Uh...Mr. Loud?'

'Yeah?"

"Where are we?"

Mr. Loud stopped and looked around. "We're, well…" he spun around in a confused circle. "We came from...that direction?"

Johnny looked behind him. He didn't remember passing any of those trees, but then again, everything looked the same out here.

"We're lost, aren't we?" Lincoln asked.

"Of course not," Mr. Loud said. He didn't sound very convincing. "Look, there's a rock." He walked over and knelt. "Moss always grows on the south and faces civilization."

"No, it always grows on the north," Johnny corrected.

"Right, that's what I meant to say."

Johnny rolled his eyes. "Luckily, I have a compass." He took the compass off his utility belt and held it up. The needle didn't move. "If it'll work." He tapped the plastic face with his finger.

Nothing happened.

He did it again and that's when he realized the needle and markings…

...were painted on. It wasn't a real compass at all.

"Stupid thing," he hissed and threw it away.

"Don't worry, boys," Mr. Loud said, "I'll get us out of this."

To his credit, he tried. They wandered through the bush for what seemed like forever, the scenery never changing and the sense of foreboding in Johnny's chest getting heavier and heavier. The light grew weaker, the wind colder, and the trees closer, like they were waiting for nightfall to attack. Mr. Loud bumbled, stumbled, and fumbled, and at one point took a bee sting to the arm. After five minutes of crying and rocking back and forth like Peter Griffin with a skinned knee, he got back to his feet and dragged himself along behind Lincoln and Johnny, surrendering any pretense of being in charge that he may have had.

Things were looking grim, but thankfully for them, Johnny had his belt. He pushed the emergency button and a piece of paper attached to a parachute popped out. CALL POLICE: ASSISTANCE NEEDED. It landed on the ground and lay there. Dead. Impotent. Lincoln looked at it, then at Johnny. "Some belt."

"There are other features."

For the next twenty minutes, Johnny pressed the help button as they walked. "HELP!" it said, "HELP! HELP! HELP!"

Behind them, Mr. Loud fell to the ground, curled up, and started to sob. "We're all gonna die."

Johnny sighed. "Get up."

"Go on without me. You're young and strong. You have a chance."

The last light of day drained from the sky, and the world went irreversibly black. Johnny sat down and crossed his legs, and Lincoln knelt next to Mr. Loud. "We'll be fine, we just have to keep going."

"I'm a failure as a man," Mr. Loud wept. "I can't even go camping!"

Johnny planted his face in his hands and took a deep breath. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, my belt's a failure too."

"So's the guy wearing it," Lincoln said.

Johnny ignored him.

Just when it seemed all hope was lost, a bright, burning beam of light bathed Johnny's face and he winced. "There you are," Dad said, "I've been looking all over for you."

Dad led them back to camp, where a warm fire roared, and poured them all cups of coffee. Lincoln draped a wool blanket over Mr. Loud's shoulders, then sat next to him. "What happened out there?" Dad asked.

"I thought I could do it," Mr. Loud said in a hollow, broken tone that Johnny couldn't help pitying. "I thought I could be a man...but I'm not a man. I'm a wimp."

Dad laughed heartily and Johnny and Lincoln both shot him daggers. Dude, that's not funny, guy's obviously in pain. "That's not what being a man is about," Dad said. "Being a man is about loving and taking care of your family. It's about doing what's right. So what you carry a purse and can't bait a hook. None of that makes you a wimp. Not every man is the same and that's a good thing, if you ask me. We need strong manly men and we need suburban soccer dads. It's called diversity."

Mr. Loud considered his words for a long time. "I-I guess," he said.

"Sure," Dad said.

"I just wish I felt a little more manly."

"Well," Dad said, "you came to the right place."

For the rest of the weekend, Dad taught Mr. Loud how to fish, track, hunt, build a fire using only two rocks and some twigs, and all sorts of other manly things. By the time they left on Sunday afternoon, he was ecstatic. "I can't wait to show off my new skills," he said.

"Just as long as you don't forget your old ones," Dad said. "I'd hate to not have any of your cookies ever again."

So would Johnny, come to think of it.

Mr. Loud made awesome cookies.