To say I’m an indoor type of girl is like saying I’ve the most magnificent tits in all the land. It’s simply being much too kind to what I really am.
One of the largest selling points of my current home is that I can go swimming, work out, grill out, go out to eat, ice skate, shop, be assaulted by a homeless man, and travel in an 8 block radius without going outside. I would be perfectly happy being a hermit, locked away in my home for years and years, seeing the light of day only through the windows–my home would essentially serve as a comedian aquarium.
It would be fucking amazing.
So it’s rather disheartening when Adrian suggests that we go camping out around Labor Day, because no amount of confetti blasted out of a t-shirt gun followed by a parade of Thai Ladyboys with sparklers would make that suggestion palatable.
But the idea of camping is not really as bad as the shit you need to go camping in the first place.
There is a whole market of camping equipment for people like me, and none of it I will use because it makes me feel like the largest asshole that ever assed a hole.
A traveling espresso maker: for the wilderness twatwaffle.
Just what every alcoholic needs.
It’s a steel motherfucking martini glass. Go ahead, booze the fuck up, and then with a quick flick of the wrist, you’ve got a shiv and a shield at your disposal! DIE MOTHERFUCKER. No one can find your body here.
The fact that there is a tangible market for people who cannot live one fucking night without playing checkers, and will even buy an inflatable stand to sate their outlandishly boring hobby is some of the saddest shit I have ever imagined possible.
It’s like watching a dog watch his master punch the elderly. That dog has no idea his master is a psychopath, but you do. You know, and it breaks your heart to watch.
KING ME, DICKSMACK–OHGODIPUNCTUREDIT.
It’s an outdoor Craftmatic Adjustable Bed. This is probably the most comfortable sofa bed that has ever been. I want one.
And then, you have the camping equipment that I presume bears have actually invented and placed on the market for their convenience.
It’s a bear to-go bag. You zip yourself in all safe and snug and then CLAWS, YOU BASTARD. You just allowed bears to establish an economy based on human trafficking. Way to go, cockmunch, you’ve fucked us all.
I have many questions for this woman.
1) Why is your cot dangling mysteriously in a field, without any bedding?
2) Are you aware that this is not a force field placed on you by Tom Cruise and that you are free to leave at any time?
3) You realize you’ve just sat down in the most hilarious human trap by bears that has ever been? Try to spot a bear and then get out of this shit without becoming hopelessly entangled and screaming for your life. “DEAR GOD HANK, SAVE YOURSELF. I’M AN IDIOT AND HAVE CONVENIENTLY BAGGED MYSELF FOR THIS FAMILY OF GRIZZLIES.”
But the thing that really drives home the idea that camping is a half-step from being a human rights violation is all of the varied ways to use the restroom, each more degrading and hopelessly fucked up as the next.
It starts innocently enough with this.
A reader pointed me to this product in the comments once, and to bask in its slightly emasculating presence is immeasurably confusing.
But, as another reader pointed out–at least ladies can finally learn to write their names in the snow.
Based on the product name alone, I couldn’t honestly tell you what this object’s purpose is, but it’s certainly not to allow you to pee in a dignified manner. What could it possibly do?
Nothing says Family Fun like lugging around a bucket filled with your own shit. Just set it down in the corner of your campsite and allow it to mock you with its mere presence. “Come on…just come shit over here. You don’t want to shit in the woods, that’s why you have me ol’ buddy, your portable shitter.”
But oh, how I have always wanted to shout, “THE SHITTER’S FULL,” and mean it–now this goal is finally within my grasp.
And yet, shitting in a bucket, pissing in a bottle, or finding a mode of peeing in which ladies can finally discover what its like to pee out a car window can’t compare to the loss of dignity and self-respect that comes from this gem.
What is the most vulnerable you have ever felt? Have you ever been dealt that terrible blow that comes from losing a loved one, being horribly bullied, or failing to grip onto your life’s dream when you had the chance?
No matter the case, I know you have never felt as vulnerable as you will when you use this.
Nothing will make you reassess your life and your choices more than shitting in a garbage bag wrapped haphazardly around a laundry rack. It might be more dignified to just strap a Hefty to your ass with suspenders for the duration of your trip than to try to balance over this hellish contraption.
That’s saying a lot, that having a trash bag literally caged upon your asshole would be better than using this product. Just try to imagine running from the bears that are smugly attempting to trap you with this literal sack of shit trailing behind you like the saddest caboose that ever was.
And yet still, I would rather suffer that fate than sit upon this death chair and wait for its imminent collapse into a sharp, pine-and-goddamn-scented demise.
Jesus, why, with this bevy of equipment, do people choose to stay in the outdoors longer than a half hour?
The few times I have been camping have been littered with extraordinary bullshit. What about y’all? Got any good camping, hiking, or outdoors stories?
–Favorite Comment from The Last Post: From Bex: “I eat Orcs for fucking breakfast yo! And if anyone comes to NZ on vacation & wants to go on a mish to throw a shady magic ring at a flaming vagina, I’m your gal. Cheers Noa G! You own my soul.”