Surviving the rampaging horde

The last of the den was packed off to points unknown a while ago, and I have been attempting to get my head back on.
Hyperactive Lad's Webelo den was camping in our back yard last night. We experimented with foil pouch pasta and meatballs (tip- do not forget the ice cubes) and went over the rules for playing with fire. I must now inform you this was in no way, shape or form an official scouting event. Because you are not supposed to perform third-shift fire-watch while splitting a case of beer and smoking cigars. Yes, they were my cigars.
I actually got to talk shop with someone who is also an unpublished writer. He's got a broader spectrum in his styles, but the conversation also veered through classic horror movies vs. current slasher flicks, does humor belong in music, and the importance of assassins to the economy of Renaissance Italy. This guy is also HL's den leader. I'm hoarse from talking for almost eight hours.