One time I slept in a tent in my backyard. My daddy said that he couldn’t go camping anymore because he couldn’t fit all the stuff on the back of his bicycle, and Mommy was tired of driving him everywhere. So my brother Todd and I pitched a tent in the backyard so that it was like camping.

Camping is something that the pilgrims did when they first landed in America and all the Indian hotels were booked up or not built yet. The slept in tee-pees and had to burn babies in the winter to stay warm because they didn’t have wood yet.

We waited until it was starting to get dark out before we went out to the tent. It was a tent big enough for two people with sleeping bags so it was just me and my brother Todd out there. Kitty poo beans wasn’t allowed. Daddy wanted to put a padlock on the tent because one time my brother Todd was sleeping walking and stuck his pee-cord into an electrical socket. Daddy thought it was morning because it smelled like cooked bacon and Todd peed brown syrup.

We told ghost stories with flashlights in our faces for a while. Todd told a story about a ghost that lives in his head that makes him stick his penis where it doesn’t belong. He said that ghost is always making him set it on fire and then his eyes got all white. He tried to put his pecker in the flashlight with the batteries and tore it all up when he screwed the top back on. It glowed like ET’s finger.

Margaret Shatskin came over to try and sleep in my sleeping bag. She said she was wearing pajamas but it looked like two band-aids and a cork with some string around it. She said she liked to sleep with her head down at the other end of the sleeping bag and said that it if I uncorked her bottle that I would find a surprise.

Just then there was a rustle at the tent’s door. There was someone outside trying to open the zipper. Margaret ducked down into my sleeping bag head first. Todd didn’t notice because a mosquito had bit his testicle-bag and it was swelling up like a melon. Then the door burst open.

“You boys want some pep-pe-roni piz-za?!?!?!?!?” Said one of the Italian brothers from next door as he popped his head into the tent. “It’s fresh-a from-a the oven!”

“It’s sooooftttt and deeeeeeliiiic-i-ous! I rolled the dough my-self!” said the other brother.

After we settled down and ate some pizza, and finally got Margaret to stop trying to clean sauce off of my belly, Todd and I tried to get some sleep. But when he was zipping up his sleeping bag he caught his dinkle-cocker in the zipper track and tore his wangle open like a banana peel. It looked like pizza toppings and Todd had to camp out in the Emergency Room again.