I haven't been camping since I was like eight. My last trip was to Mark Twain's hometown of Hannibal, Missouri, a few hours north of where I live. We stayed in this camper that was made of shiny metal and had rounded corners on the top; accordingly, it was affectionately dubbed "the Toaster." The only really pertinent things in the trip were that my brother (Duo_Washu_III; he shows up here every once in a blue moon) got stung by a bee, which is a big deal when you're six; and we went into some really cool caves. Other than that, I've been living in civilized quarters for as long as I can remember.