Tucker And: Dale

The bees took that personally.

“I’ve got you, miss!” he said, water streaming down his face.

A moment later, a college kid in a pastel polo came tearing out of the treeline, tripped over a root, and impaled his backpack on a low-hanging branch. He dangled there, screaming, “The backwoods killers! They’ve got a shack of horror!” tucker and dale

Dale sighed, set down the eggs, and said, “Look. We’re not killers. We’re just… incompetent homeowners. I’ve never even jaywalked. Tucker once cried because a possum looked sad.”

Tucker looked at Dale. Dale looked at Tucker. The bees took that personally

“Oh my God, they’re mulching the pre-meds!” one of the remaining kids shrieked.

And as the stars came out over the crooked little cabin, Tucker raised his beer. “See, Dale? Told you. Start of something good.” He dangled there, screaming, “The backwoods killers

An hour later, they had a bonfire. The rest of the college kids, untangled and de-mucked, sat sheepishly around the flames. Chad, sporting a bruise shaped exactly like a two-by-four, shook Tucker’s hand.

Tucker had finally gotten the ancient machine to start. It roared to life, belching black smoke and a single, forgotten squirrel that shot out like a fuzzy cannonball. The squirrel, understandably enraged, latched onto Chad’s hair.

It started small. Allison, trying to get a better view of the cabin, slipped on a wet rock and started tumbling toward the river. Dale, doing his best impression of a rescue swimmer, dove in and hauled her out.