Camping Notes II

Quick notes on a spider's back:

Q: Daddy, if spiders are bad, then why did God make so many of them?
A: Because, Billy, God likes to make people go EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.

Animal encounters: 40,000 spiders. 4,000 bats. 400 birds. 40 slugs. 4 brats at the adjoining campsite, of which one (MATT) seemed to feel that 6:30 AM was the perfect time to begin shouting MOMMY BRITTANY TRIED TO HIT ME WITH A HAMMER FOR NO REASON I WANNA GO HOME THERE'S NO XBOX HERE I WANT MORE EGGS IT IS COLD DADDY BUILD A FIRE NOW WHERE ARE THE COOKIES I HATE THIS PLACE I WANNA GO SEE SPIDERMA-- (THUNK).

[Note: The "Thunk" was fictional, my dream that Brittany could have landed a resoundingly satisfying second blow.]

Campsites with tiny restaurants that serve ice cream and deep fried cheese curds get 4 Stars in my traveller's guide.

I could have made an impressive, menacing tornado if I had run in a circle around the campfire -- the smoke was after my ass like a damned dog in heat and I was so its bitch.

SHITSHITSHITSHITEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE...damned spiders. I could have ridden that one home. Call it my creepymobile.

It is July in Wisconsin, so of course I had to break another toe. There is some sort of supernatural mafia here, and I feel it lives in rum. That is my only explanation for it coming out once a year to try to break some tiny bone in my body.

It may also live in Tequila.

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