Tents

Now this I wrote on the bus on my way home from a camping trip down to Egersund, Norway. The trip it self was great. The tent is another story.

I fucking hate tents. They are so ingeniously created to make you go fucking insane. First off. The tent is ok to carry around but usually when people find themselves in need of a tent is when they have traveled far and long, perhaps a bit tired. Well, tentmanufactures find this to be the best time to ensure your mind in something that resembles Jeopardy. “I’ll take tents for 400!”, “a set up tent”, “what is; these two sticks in this hole?”, “*buzz*”, “FUCK!”. After successfully setting up your tent you find the fucking thing to be one of two things. Too fucking small or leaking. If both, you’re in for a treat. I can almost guarantee you this; all the roots in the whole fucking forest is, by chance, right beneath your tent and if, and only if, your tent is leaking, there is an amazing odds you won’t find out before around five in the morning when all of your clothing is when and your wet sleeping bags’ soul is in the grasp of the grim reaper.