You want funny? I got funny.

You want funny? I got funny.

(Hang on a second, I gotta find funny).

Ok.

How many of you have camped out of a car? If you have, you will understand the title of a feature story I’ve been researching/writing for years:  CAMPING OUT OF A CAR or How to Dig a Shallow Grave.  Granted, not everyone’s travel partner is chasing surf or wind like my partner but  . . . still, partner? Please. After a 24 hour period trapped in a bucket seat with a human fart machine that loves Rush the term partner morphs into “you mother@#$% moron,” whether it’s said aloud or not.

After six trips down to the tip of Baja, Mexico, from the top of Oregon, I’ve learned a few survival tricks. Self-hypnosis is one. Really, it’s handy. Other than that, I’ve created a comprehensive list of supplies, a list of anti-supplies, a list of tested and approved conversations for the sequestered, and a list of emergency skills and/or contacts. Some examples: bring your own tampons, condoms and a pregnancy test, those things are hard to find and can be sold for gold. Real gold. Do not drive a fully loaded car into the back woods; it’ll come out no-loaded, if it comes out at all.  Pepto Bismo tablets are delicious, the toilet paper is provided by you, only you, and coyotes love a full moon at night.

You think I’m kidding but I’m not. The article is already at page 12, thanks to years of journal entries. Some entries are so splotched and smeared by tequila and tears, they’re hard to read, but I’ve been able to decipher the gist of the messages: don’t do it.

But if you’re gonna do it, keep an eye out for my article. I'll let you know where it's published as soon as I know where it's published.