Technically, it's teh foremost popular non-sexual gathering of tickling afficionados in the United States sometimes called the Woodstock of the tickling world.
But in actuality, it's an emotional powerhouse of a weekend-long event where disparate community members, separated by distance and class converge and escape the sterile confines of the unimaginative real world of mundane vanillas to pursue their passions with other equally passionate individuals for a mind-altering, soul-excavating, consciousness-expanding orgiastic endorphin explosion that completely permeates the being that is you and merges it with the collective whole that is us into the one that is all with everything; where for four days, the world and all its limitations dissolve into the mists of ethereality, and all that remains is this safe little universe we call our own where we saturate our souls with pleasure and remember for the firts time in a year what it is to be alive, to be free, to be brethren with each other and the infinite possibilites of the now.
Its the place where awesomeness is so omnipresently pervasive that we rediscover a fun that mankind has all but lost, and grasp it's fleeting velvet threads for that all-too-brief moment when happiness seems not only possible, but inevitable and universal. To leave NEST is to know the emptiness of all that remains behind, and to learn the true meaning of pain when it ends as the real world and it's concrete monstrosities, steel behemoth temples of avarice, and dischordant cacophony of desperate Clymenestral clamorings winds its way into our minds and eyes and ears like a slow, numbing veil of needles; a gross testament to the grotesque abbatoir of the human spirit and the cemetary of imagination nestled between its rotted gangly troglyditic vestiges of vain, vulgar, gluttonous and septic corruption.
...I think I need to stop listening to this "Smile on your Brother" song right now.