January 10, 2005
i can top that
Marcus waxes nostalgic about sleeping in a flower bed one night during his misspent youth. I chuckle and fart in his general direction. I can top that story.
I also tried that "she'll put out" country girl back in high school. A clandestine meeting meant parking my car a half-mile away from her house and creeping through the woods to reach the Magic Window, but once I did that, she sure enough opened the window and allowed me to enter her room. And she was ready to "put out," too.
I never got the chance to taste that forbidden fruit. Her daddy came home unexpectedly and I hauled ass out the window with my clothes tucked like a football under my arm. I was looking back over my shoulder when I hit the clothesline. GOT-DAM!!! That thing almost took my head off and left me lying flat on my back with one hell of an abrasion on my neck. I thought I was gonna die.
That's when I heard the back screen door slam and the sound of a pump shotgun being charged. I got up and ran again, right into the electric fence around the cow pasture. HOLY BEJUS!!! Have YOU ever tangled with one of THOSE? Sparks flew, I thought my dick was gonna fall off and I couldn't get away from the damned thing. It stung like a swarm of hornets.
About then is when daddy started shooting rock-salt at me.
KA-BLAM!!! KA-BLAM!!! That noise will damn sure get your attention when you also can hear the sound of tiny pellets tearing through the bushes all around you. I ran along the electric fence and made it into the freshly-harvested corn field. There, I hunkered down and put some clothes on, even though I didn't have much cover among the stalks and the shucks.
The old man was out there with a shotgun in one hand and a flashlight in the other. I was convinced that he meant to kill my horny young ass (I was 17 at the time), so I crawled on my belly like a reptile all the way across that corn field until I made the edge of the woods. Then, I ran like hell through the trees.
I made it to my car and never went back there again.
I didn't sleep in a flowerbed, but I damn sure saw my brief life flash before me that night. A shotgun blast in the dark will do that to you. Moses had his burning bush, but I had a Remington 12-gauge speak to me just as effectively as the Word of God.
Okay, Marcus... top THAT one.
Fucking rookies, I got caught in mid stroke.
Damn, that must have been a low clothesline. Heh.
Rob, I don't have that many stories about NOT getting it. If you wanna talk about getting clotheslined and peppered, you win. But I have grabbed the golden ring more times THEN escaped to do it again. heh
J.O.G. ......that's the breaks, huh?
Been there, done that - got the job done, and got away with it. On the family couch, in the front room, no less. Ain't saying it was smart, but in the heat of battle, at 17 yrs., smart don't have much to do with it.
Been there, done that. Hid in the closet.
I put my own 'tang story up, but this is bringin' back many memories(not sure I wanna fess up just yet, I have a daughter approaching the age) I don't think she will, but it's an OPSEC issues.
Anyway, on another note Rob... I was squirrel hunting around the hog pen one morning after drinkin' about a pot of coffee. Leaned the shotgun up against a tree, still sleepy and cleanin' out my eyes from the sand man. Unzipped, let it fly, woah!!!! I think I let out a Howard Dean holla... let it fly right on the hot-wire... NEVER made that mistake again... Never.
My experiences with rock salt were most often involving disputes over the rightful ownership of produce.Rock salt sucks.
You got me beat. The best story I can come up with involving rock salt also involves making ice cream.
I caught some rock salt in the back once. My grandmother lived on the edge of town, and there was a field behind the houses across the street for catttle. With honest-to-God outhouses. I went tumping with a couple of the local boys, who'd engaged in that activity recently, and one of the owners of said outhouses was lying in wait.
That hurt. A LOT.
My grandmother didn't tell my marents, though. Guess she thought I'd learned my lesson. She was right.
Um ... "parents." Oops.
With Acidman, truth is more entertaining than fiction, yessiree.
Rock salt in a 12 gauge. When in my misspent youth we would raid the mellon fields at night, the kindly farmer who paid us $.10 per crow to rid his fields of those fling vermin, would lay in wait for us on nightime raids of that wonderfull fruit ( if you were raied in the south you know that nothin tastes better than stolen watermellon on a warm night). I never got any but my buddy Dave got an assfull by slowing down after he tripped to pick up his ill gotten prize. That stuff went right through his Roebucks and layed a nice pattern of about ten holes in his cheeksand thighs. We had country lore to go on and spent a few minutes after our escape pounding the hell out of Daves buttocks to spread out the salt.
We got a couple of mellons out of that raid and showed up the next Saturday to kill crows, that damn farmer looked at Dave and asked as he limped out to the field, Yo boy you fall down or sumpin? We took that as the price of watermellon raidin, what the hell would they do to a decent farmer today who layed a load of rock salt in a young mans backside. Kids today are missin out.