my fiirst expirance traveling was as a door to door salesman for meat in michigan. it was cool i could go anywhere, as long as i checked it with the boss once a week. i met the icp brothers just outside of detroit at the crappy house they called home. they acted like assholes, cheated, and gave me a rubber check. fuck clowns. that was back in 98, the campgound was like 02 or somthing. maybe all jugs are not like the dozens i have met, but a clown is a clown, so where does that really leave you with?