Wednesday, May 23, 2007

The Muse, She Has Returned!

Alternate title: Be afraid. Be very afraid.

Og, this one's for you. Shitblogging. In spades.

Allow me to present: The Great Futon Incident.

The scene: A campground. A family campground. Located in the wilds of northern New Hampster.

The players: A dozen young-20-somethings.

Time frame: A long weekend.

...

It was time to go camping. What started out as a simple "guy's weekend away" snowballed into what would come to be called "The Greatest Camping Trip in the History of Western Civilization" (okay, it was just one participant who declared it suchly, but it stuck anyways). Twelve guys, all in our early 20s, no "adults" to speak of, four tents, several pickup trucks, and a remote campground.

Sustenance consisted of a large package of frozen hamburgers, two bulk packages of hot dogs, chips, Pop-tarts, and beer.

Lots of beer. Beer for breakfast. Beer for lunch. Beer for dinner. Beer for midnight snack. We had one cooler dedicated to food. No less than four were dedicated to beer and the simple but daunting task of keeping said beer cold.

Well, after a couple days of beer, I was looking for something different (you can tell this is going to be bad...) On the daily trip into town for ice, I swung into the liquor store and bought a big jug 'o' vodka. Not good vodka. Not mediocre vodka. Not even mildly bad vodka. This was cheap-ass, $5/1.75L plastic jug bad vodka.

And of course, what goes best with cheap-assed vodka? Not real orange juice, no. I had to get Sunny Delight, which is apparently some mutant form of imitation orange juice that has none of the benefits of orange juice such as vitamins and fruit and all of the detriments such as acid and poor taste.

How, praytell, did I make this unholy concoction of the damned? Well, if you guessed "in a three gallon jug like they serve water out of at softball games complete with spigot" you guessed correctly. Yes, all 1.75 liters of cheap-assed vodka and one gallon of Sunny Delight went into the cooler with half a bag of ice. It was cold. It was potent.

And I was the only one brave enough to drink it.

And drink it I did; over the course of the afternoon and evening I managed to consume more than 3/4 of the jug. Bear in mind this is the summer after I graduated from college, way back when my liver was young and I thought myself immortal...

Funny side-story: As more and more people showed up at the campsite, we added more and more drinkers to the mix, and wound up getting a visit from the owners of the campground at around 11 PM to remind us of quiet hours. *I* was elected "leader" of the group who would talk to the gentleman. Somehow I managed to do a fairly decent impression of a somewhat sober person, because no one went to jail. And we did quiet down.

So... Around 2AM I finally pass out. 6AM rolls around and I awaken feeling like I've been hit by a truck, backed over by said truck, and then brutally beaten by a gang of angry midget bikers. Who poured Drano in my mouth and... what the hell? While I was expecting a pool of vomit in the tent (I had a nasty habit of puking in my sleep in college, good way to die...), I was not prepared for what I found:

A trout pond of shit in my drawers.

Yes, rather than vomiting the vile concoction out of my stomach and intestines, it chose the other path. The path leading through my sphincter. And strained through my shorts. UPDATE: And all over the small futon I was using as a mattress. Hence the sub-title. Thanks Brad!

So, here I am, head pounding, mouth dry and feeling like someone poured antifreeze down my gullet, shuffling to the bathroom at 6AM with a pantload of shit. Not my finest hour... Fortunately I did have the presence of mind to grab a couple of quarters for the shower; however I didn't factor in the hosing shit out of my shorts factor, and wound up spending the last few minutes getting pelted with near-freezing water.

Get back to the campsite, of course, and the other guys in the tent are all awake, since it smells like a porta-potty. To this day I haven't lived it down, and routinely get e-mails with subject headers like "Hide the Sunny Delight"...

11 comments:

Ambulance Driver said...

"A trout pond of shit in my drawers."

*spew*

Can't...breathe...laughing...too... hard...

Issue a beverage alert next time, would ya?

BobG said...

Damn, Sunny Delight? I never believed in mixing either vodka or tequila with anything. The only proper way to drink them is with a beer chaser.

Bruce said...

Alcohol-induced self-crapulation?

It takes a real man to admit to that on the internet for all to see.

Jay G said...

I know I've done something right when I can make the inimitable Ambulance Driver laugh heartily...

Bob, what can I say? I was young, dumb, and had an unrefined palate...

Bruce, if you haven't figured out by now that I have no pride... ;)

Bonnie said...

My shit-my-pants story isn't nearly so entertaining!

Anonymous said...

Just wait until you suffer from encopresis that isn't induced from being drunk as a skunk.

Ah, the joys of "The Golden Years".

Mike

brad_in_ma said...

The subtitle indicates something about a futon . . . either I missed something or you didn't say word 1 about a futon. Do tell.

Jay G said...

Fixed, Brad. Shoulda remembered to throw that bit in, yeah...

Mia said...

aw hell... and here I thought I invented that drink! But I must say.. I haven't had those same side effects. yet.

too funny :)

Ross said...

Oh, thank you, Jay! Here I thought I'd been missing something all these years by being a teetotaler.

Ross

SCI-FI said...

Ah, Sunny-D and Vodka (aka "The Crescent Wrench", also aka "The Phillips Head Screwdriver", depending on which drunkard you asked)...

For the record, I was one of those in that tent (as far as humanly possible from the site of detonation, but still...).

The scent was... unpleasant in the extreme.