So I’m on Fall Break and my family is camping this week at a local campground. I absolutely love camping, although some people don’t classify our outings as “camping” because we stay in a “camper.” Some would argue to the death that in order to be “camping” one must sleep in a mildewed tent, be at an unsafe distance from civilization, eat only food that has been captured by the bare hands of Davy Crockett, and be the main course of the dinner buffet for the National Mosquito Armada. While this can be fun, I enjoy my air conditioner, refrigerator, and the convenience of a functional toilet.

No matter how you feel about camping, I believe as long as you have nature around you, you shall be called a “camper.” Hallelujah. Amen.

After dinner tonight, I went for a stroll around the campground. While breathing the fresh, pine-filled air, I encountered a creature of the most-terrifying sort.

It was mostly black.

It was small but ferocious.

It had a tail that could strike fear into the strongest of warriors.

It was related to Pepé Le Pew.

We’re talking three feet away here people. The little varmint did not spray me, but I can now understand why skunks spray when they’re scared, because I too almost peed my pants.