Well, it’s the evening before our great Nation’s birthday. A time usually chock full of fire arms, explosives, drugs and insane amounts of alcohol. It’s time for rodeos, parades, street festivals, and brief, sporadic bouts of civil disobedience. Good ol’ American fun.

However, I will be having none of it this year. Sadly, I find myself in a predicament becoming more and more frequent as the years go on. Once again, some woman is dragging my sorry ass kicking and screaming up into the mountains to fucking camp. I’m sorry, America, but I still, after all these years, have yet to understand what is so fucking appealing about this tradition. Why do we as a society feel the need to spend ENORMOUS amount of money on food, gas, and gobs of cute little “outdoorsy” stuff only to sit and stare at: A) a fire, B) some trees, or C) any wide assortment of woodland creatures? Let me save you some time. One tree, give or take some minor differences, looks pretty much the same as the tree next to it, and the next, and the next. Same applies to the woodland creatures. If you’ve shot and defiled the corpse of one fuzzy little creature, you’ve done it to them all. Camping, in my opinion, is something that everybody in this country should have to do ONCE, then never, ever, ever, again. Seriously, what else are you going to accomplish? Nothing. It is several days of monotonous, brain numbing drudgery.

Now I’m sure that some of my readers are in complete disagreement with me on this. In fact, I’m almost certain some of them will be ranting and raving about what a fucking sissy I am. Real men are outdoorsmen. Big, burly, plaid wearing fuckers who stomp around in big boots speaking in barely audible, one syllable words through their teeth. Ford pickup truck commercial candidates, you know the type.

Or we can go with the other end of the spectrum. I would be called a corporate stooge, a slave to my environment. I am one of the many ignorant greedy white men out there hell bent on raping our natural resources to death. This, of course, would come from the hemp sandal wearing, granola munching, trust fund brat, wannabe hippie faggot. The spoiled upper white class brat who never got enough love from daddy and thinks it’s a spiritual journey whenever he smokes a bong in front of a campfire. Well, I suppose those are fair assessments. However, I would like to get the record straight; offer up a minor, halfhearted defense. I’m not some spoiled suburbanite brat who wears sandals and shorts into the great outdoors. I’m not some ignorant, sheltered, inner city kid who has never been tested against the elements. On the contrary, I have spent over half my life working and living in and around nature. Until the age of 19, I was a third generation ranch kid and hunting guide. Every year, men and women from all over the country would pay us thousands of dollars to take them as far from civilization as is possible into snow covered mountains in the hopes of killing any number of wild, horned, beasts. Later, I enlisted in the ARMY, doing pretty much the same thing only against prey that had a tendency to shoot back.

But those "Camping" excursions were different. They served a purpose. There was an objective to meet, and it was never for a second considered a vacation. Nature is no place to vacation. Mother Nature is a cold ruthless, anarchic bitch whose sole intent is to kill you by whatever means possible, and she has many, many means at her disposal.

Camping for the sake of "Camping" is just fucking retarded. Every year, thousands of disillusioned people living mediocre lives spend millions of dollars on "outdoorsy" creature comforts and head to the hills. Why? To sit and fucking stare at it? I find this whole concept oddly insulting.

There is no communing with nature. There is no being at peace with nature. Trust me; she doesn’t give a shit about these things. However, if you feel the urge to challenge yourself, to define yourself as a human being, then the wild is the only true and honest place to do that. And that, America, is the only reason to ever venture into the wild.

Turning this untamed, wild, chaotic bitch into a tourist attraction is just fucking wrong. I just don’t get it. I’ve heard the classic, “I just like to look at wildlife” speech a thousand times and every time, something pops and fizzles in my brain. My school of thought towards animals is as follows; either kill and eat them, or leave them the fuck alone.

On the other hand, I might be completely off on this. Spending some time in the woods might do me some good. Besides, the Dark man always comes prepared. I have a case of beer, a fifth of whiskey, one semi-powerful rifle, and a bag of ammo. Even Mother Nature enjoys a good drunken, rampaging nut with a gun every once in a while.

Remember to keep you booze in ya belly and yer bullets in ye gun.

Love,

Jonny.