Home Forums Hunting & Shooting Hunter's Campfire A delicate topic, "baboon ass"

Actually, many times per day...

John

Dave,

This thread can probably be wrapped up quickly. Only eat MRE's - you'll be bound up until you get home from your trip.

Or, to drag my Dad into this thread one more time, only eat dry soda crackers. Dad said you'll only need a whisk broom for clean up.

a whisk broom, that's good.

hey JOG, look on the hunters campfire page here for : "for Les, a flatulence story".

I think you'll maybe get a smile out of it.

I know of someone who was feeling a little amorous with the wife. As they had just had a baby, she was still nursing so there was a need for some KY. The KY was stored next to the bed and without bothering to turn on the light, it was grabbed and applied and the fun quickly continued....for about 4 seconds. Then something seemed a little wrong....then a lot wrong. Sniff, sniff....Icy Hot! Apparently that ended all activity for the night and both were in agony for about a half hour!

Dave,

I think I read the flatulence story, but I can be sure. I remember reading something that made me laugh, but I immediately blocked it out from my memory - a reflex-self-preservation kinda thing.

I do that a lot and things get a little jumbled. I can only recall a guy squatting from a bed frame with a 4x4 truck tattooed on his johnson. I don't want to know any more...

Not a bunghole joke but nearly as harsh. In RVN I was not known for my kindness and charity to my fellow Grunts. I acquired a fair size sample of quinine and a syrings from a friendly medic and proceeded to make a nice injectable solution out of it. next, I sneakily raided the other guys' rucksacks for their toothpaste (we were in for a standdown) and then injected quinine into everybody's toothpaste tubes. Weh we went back out into the jungle, when the guys first morning out came, they all brushed their teeth with their tasty toothpaste. If you have EVER tasted raw quinine, you can imagine what it is like to have BRUSHED it into every nook and cranny in your yap. evrybody was gagging for the next 2 days. Naturaly I kept my trap shut and pretended to be gagging too ( it saved my life. they weren't known for their kindness and charity either)

I took a good beating from a guy in high school over something similar. A bunch of us were in the team room shower and he asked for someone to loan him some soap - I gave him a sanitary bar that I plucked from the urinal.

After giving his face a good scrubbing the guy goes nuts and starts whaling on me. Between laughing and figuring I deserved it I couldn't fight back. Fair is fair.

oh that's good.

Think what he would have done to you if he had scrubbed his nuts...

John

I learn SO MUCH - from you guys!!!

NOW - I understand the scene I came upon in a remote camp 50 miles or so from the Alaskan Highway, up past the Prophet river.

There was the camp, the horses, the men (Americans men all - except for the guides) and all the assorted camp junk.

My buddy said "These are great guys - let's stay a while and BS with them, and see what we can find out about the area."

I said "No - let's get going - we've got quite a ways to go today."

Later my buddy said to me - "What's the rush?"

I said "Didn't you see all the pantyhose drying on the line?!"

They call the huge ones "Queen-size" for a reason - I figured!

I just had to open this thread at work...

"hound dog carpet grind..."

Cryin' here...

Aqualung

Serves ya right!!

. . . so this Nupercainal stuff is serious. My grandfather used to use it on his hemorrhoids. He recommended it to me. I found it worked great for a bunch of things, including that nasty soreness you get when you've got a bad cold and you've used too many Kleenex.

About 20 years ago, I was working for a stodgy mutual fund company in their data process department. I was in with the vice president, an athletic muscly woman, for my weekly status report. She was obviously having trouble with her nose. She'd take a tissue and try to wipe it and wince. I asked what the matter was. She said it was a bad cold.

I suggested Nupercainal ointment. She said she'd go out immediately and buy some and thanked me profusely for the tip.

"No problem." I replied. "There's just one thing I have to warn you about."

"What's that?" said Kathy.

"You're engaged, right?"

"Yes."

"Dave's a nice guy," I replied. "However, if you come home tonight and Dave gives you a kiss and recognizes the taste, you need to drop him immediately."


I don't think she ever got the joke.

Dave,

I'm thinking a guy would need some "butt balm" after practicing the "macrabbit tecnique".

Mike

One Semi load of Huge Butt Balm Buckets is mandated for all conservative, gun and religion clingites if Obama and Biden win. Why because you will need it...........

holy moly!!

Dude craps in the tent.... and puts it in a bag.... and tosses it in the campfire.



ooooo...., no, no, no..

We had some dumb ass toss an elk leg in the fire one year..... stink!!

can't imagine going through all that work & tossing it in the fire....

not for me.

Funny read tho

Having rarely been a victim of baboon ass, I was feeling pretty smug reading this thread. Suddenly I remembered...

Dad again. Due to my work schedule the prospect for opening fishing was looking pretty bleak. Dad headed up to his cabin midweek on his own. Said cabin being a bus with the seats torn out and replaced with second-hand mattresses. There was a makeshift outhouse nearby that was only used during daylight. The outhouse was so overrun with wildlife everyone was scared to use it at night. Under the cover of darkness a 5-gallon bucket and a slight risk of spectators was a better option.

Dad called me from a pay phone Friday afternoon and guilted me into coming up for the night and a morning of fishing. I asked if I needed to bring anything up, like food, but Dad said, "I have it covered - we'll just live off the land."

Little did I know that "living off the land" meant that in the past couple days Dad had mapped out all the Happy Hour Boofay offerings over a thousand square miles. Hanging up the phone, I figured he meant we would just do the burger-and-beer routine. I threw together my gear in a hurry and headed out, leaving most of the stuff that makes the opener in Minnesota bearable at home.

So, I drove and Dad navigated through a non-stop stream of squishy chicken wings, half frozen and/or half nuclear baby meatballs, jalapeno chips and cheese, mystery deep fried thingies, my choice of meatless or beanless chili (at least I think it was chili), tabasco deviled eggs, and the coup de gr�ce: pickled phlegm...er...herring.

As a former subscriber to the rule, "Anything tastes good washed down with a beer.", I tried my best to make this toxic slaw taste good. I would have sucked off the keg tap had a bartender let me, but I was quickly going in reverse. The beer foam was somehow interacting with jalapeno-pickled-herring-chili gurgling in my stomach. Mercifully, Dad finally suggested we call it a night.

A few miles from the bus, I started to really, urgently, panic strickenly look forward to that 5-gallon bucket. The only question was whether my intestines decided to vacate my body along with everything else. I was in full scale clench by the time we rounded the corner leading to the bus. A herd of giggling teenagers were enjoying a huge bonfire at the neighboring campsite. Mother Mercy, it was going to have to be the outhouse...

To paraphrase Jesse Ventura in Predator, "I don't have time for fear." I slammed the truck in park and bolted for the outhouse as fast as a guy can waddle with his heels pinched together. The first few minutes were bliss, the next six hours not so much. I imagine the other campers were ticked enough over the giggling teenagers, but the guy playing the tuba all night was over the top.

Two fortunate things did happen. The normal wildlife population in the outhouse must have thought a Bizzaro Orkin Man had developed a sinister new biocide so they vacated the premises, and the vacuum-induced dent on top of my head is only obvious when rainwater spills over.

Morning confirmed that had I lived...regrettably. Bright-eyed and ready to roll, Dad was scratching and doing the boogy-woogy in his tightie-whities while reheating yesterday's instant coffee. That bus could really use some curtains. Fearing a resurgence, I chewed very little of Dad's brew, and mostly stumbled through the ritual of getting my gear squared away.

Along with the troubles of the night before, someplace along the line I must have slid down a sandpaper banister. Showering or otherwise cleaning up was out of the question, unless I went with warm Mountain Dew or whatever I could drain out of the Bus's radiator. Dad's coffee was a possibility, but I suspected from the taste that Dad might have already used it.

We got underway eventually. The cold and rain-covered aluminum boat seats felt good for about 30-seconds, until the creeping itch of death started. Ice was still piled up in spots along the shoreline and traces of snow were visible under the trees. It was drizzling cold rain, yet the only possible cure, I got a fever and the only prescription.. is more cowbell!

I had to go for it - a purifying dip in Minnesota's ice blue water. "Dad, turn the boat around."

Barefoot in boxers, clutching a sliver of soap, I tip-toed through the ice piles and into water so cold my johnson still holds a grudge. Fisherman and other onlookers thought I lost my mind. A fair sized crowd gathered on the shoreline and happily cheered me on in whatever bet they though I lost, but not a one knew true happiness. Neck deep in that clear cold water with my sliver of soap, only I knew the meaning of true happiness.

JOG - Great story!

I'm gonna have to put you guys all on ignore so my stomach muscles will relax!

That'll learn that ole baboon! Hold his face under the icy water & scrub it with soap!!
Atta boy!!