It was 2 a.m.—okay, maybe closer to 3—and I was standing ankle-deep in a concoction that could only be described as Satan’s smoothie, so foul, even the mosquitoes refused to join me. Half drunk… no, let’s be honest—three-quarters drunk—wearing rubber gloves and holding a spaghetti strainer like it was the Holy Grail of RV maintenance. And in that exact moment, all I could think was: Wow… all my dreams have come true.
And the craziest part? I meant it. Every word.
PULL!
Written by a full-time RVer who’s lived the stories and still can’t believe half of them happened.
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