This is classic! So damn funny

http://postgradproblems.com/i-[bleep]-my-pants-on-friday/

My name is Dillon Cheverere. By nearly every definition, I am an adult. On Friday, July 19, at approximately 1:30pm CST, I [bleep] my pants.

To squash any preemptive confusion, this wasn�t a metaphorical [bleep]. I�m not using �[bleep] my pants� in the same fashion one might use �drop the ball� or �let one get away,� as if to suggest I let a situation get the best of me. I mean that I very literally defecated in my pants.



There is really only one excusable time for adults to [bleep] themselves, or [bleep] outside. This one excusable time is when he or she is somewhere without access to a restroom � on a road trip, a ski lift, a nature hike, a ferris wheel, etc., when emergency strikes. When your stomach starts to rumble something serious, and you know you have just a couple minutes until it�s go time, you have GOT to be within 30 paces of a toilet. Because it hits swiftly, and it hits hard.

I�ve [bleep] my pants twice since reaching the age when it is no longer socially acceptable. The first time was when I was 14 years old. My father and I joined a 5-day floating excursion down the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon. The land inside the Grand Canyon is a preserved area. One regulation we had to obey was all solid waste, human or otherwise, could not be left behind. Yes, that included our [bleep]. Each of our rafts was equipped with a 3 x 3 x 3 metal box with a toilet seat on top, and handles on either side. At each stop, we would carry this box to a private location nearby on land, and it became our makeshift restroom. We [bleep] in the box, then we had to take it with us when we left. It was nasty. You�d look down inside this thing, and all you saw was a big pile of human [bleep].

After a stop on land one day for a quick bite to eat, we set off again down the river. Two minutes after departure, my stomach gave me a �Bro, I�m not crazy about what you just ate, so I�m about to get rid of it. Like right now. Holler atcha boy.� I warned our tour leader that I was about to evacuate. �I need the box,� I whined. He responded by telling me we were still hours from our next stop. I was seconds from [bleep], though, a message that, at 14 years of age, I was apprehensive to relay to him in front of our entire group. I was mortified. Then, I shat. In my swim trunks. I freaked out, and fearing my raft compadres catching wind of my [bleep] drawers, I rolled backwards off the side of the boat like a seasoned scuba diver atop the Great Barrier Reef. It was a beautiful maneuver. They just assumed I clumsily fell off. Crisis mostly averted.

That was the last time I had an emergency [bleep] while stuck in an unfortunate, toilet-less situation. Then, it happened again on Friday.

The next rumble was my stomach�s Mortal Kombat �Finish Him� move. It was violent. It would end me.



I was on my way to Houston from Austin for an annual man trip � golf, Stros game, bar hopping, just typical guy stuff. We took Highway 71 to I-10. I was with three of my boys in my friend�s black Ford F-150. I sat in the back left seat. No chicks, which, after what was about to happen to me, turned out to be even more of a blessing than I originally anticipated. We stopped in the small town of Smithville at a place called Zimmerhanzel�s BBQ. None of us had tried it before, but since the place made Texas Monthly�s Top 50 Barbecue Joints list, a list many of us Texans pay close attention to, we figured it was definitely worth the stop. I got the chopped beef sandwich with a side of potato salad. It tasted fine. We went on our way.

The first stomach cramp set in about 20 minutes down the road. It hit sharply, but briefly. I chalked it up as an aberration. The next one came about one minute later, this one just as sharp, but lasted a solid seven to ten seconds. It was alarming. �Is that barbecue not sitting well with anyone else?� I asked calmly. I was answered with laughter. It wasn�t funny. �Whenever you have a chance to stop at a gas station, please do so. I need to use the restroom,� I continued. More laughter followed. It still wasn�t [bleep] funny. �Dude, we�re 15 miles from the next stop. You�re gonna have to hold it,� my friend informed me while driving.

The next rumble was my stomach�s Mortal Kombat �Finish Him� move. It was violent. It would end me. I had 45 seconds, tops, until I was amidst full release. �Pull over right now! I�m literally about to [bleep] on your seat,� I said sternly. Laughter erupted. They thought I was joking. I was not joking. I was literally about to [bleep] on his seat. �Pull over right [bleep] now! It�s starting to come out!� I yelled while clinching my cheeks together with all the strength I could muster. It was starting to come out. I could feel it. There are very few feelings in this world worse than the sensation of [bleep] leaving your body while you�re fully clothed. They then knew I was serious, which resulted in even more laughter. I tried this thing where I lifted my torso off the seat with my hands for maximum clinching ability, sort of like an inverted plank maneuver. It helped for about two seconds, but ultimately proved futile. I kept [bleep]. Then finally, the truck was pulled onto the shoulder.

If I had chosen option A, I would have brown eyed approximately 5,000 eastbound onlookers.



While overcome by sheer panic, I scrambled for the door handle, exited the truck, then ran around to the passenger side while simultaneously undoing my pants, all the while [bleep] is sputtering out of me like water through a kinked-up water hose. This is when I had a huge decision to make regarding where I would complete the task at hand. I could either: A) drop trou right next to the truck and use it for coverage, or B) I could run across the adjacent access road and try to find some cover along the fence line, which was a good 100 feet from the shoulder of the highway. Quick side note here: I-10 is a really [bleep] busy highway. I first thought the truck would provide me sufficient cover from the passersby. It was not so. If I had chosen option A, I would have brown eyed approximately 5,000 eastbound onlookers. That�s not a good look. Option B would was least [bleep] of the two [bleep] options.

Like a penguin taking its first baby steps, I waddled across the grass, the access road, then more grass until I was at the barbed wire fence line � with clinched butt cheeks and a messy [bleep]. If the fence wasn�t seven feet tall (or if [bleep] wasn�t erupting from an orifice in body) I would have attempted to climb it in search of adequate cover. [bleep] it, I thought. This�ll have to do. I dropped my shorts, squatted, then I released what was left in me. A brief moment of unbridled elation was interrupted with the sudden realization that I had nothing in the way of cleanup supplies. I had no toilet paper, no napkins, not even a Zimmerhanzel�s receipt to wipe with. I remembered my back seat mate had picked up a newspaper at Zimmerhanzel�s and brought it with him. While squatting over my liquid pile of [bleep], I motioned for someone in the truck to take a break from their hysterics to help a brother out and bring me the newspaper. Like a knight in shining armor, my buddy came through.



The newspaper was a bout five pages thick. I would need all of it. It was still insufficient. I cleaned up as best I could, which was not good enough, or even close to good enough. Imagine cleaning a shoe caked in mud with a single cotton ball. I was ill-equipped to say the least.

I was in full Pooh Bear at this time�

I then had to ditch my underwear: blue Hanes boxer briefs. I liked those briefs, but considering that the inside of them looked like the result of a school-wide food fight on chocolate pudding day, I had to leave them at the scene of the crime. I took them off and left them on the ground after slipping them over my shoes. I was in full Pooh Bear at this time (�Pooh Bear� is a term used to describe someone who is wearing only a shirt, ie. naked from the waist down) while hundreds of cars were screaming by. Did a few of them catch a quick glimpse of my meat n� potatoes? You [bleep] bet they did. Did I care? You [bleep] bet I didn�t.

I quickly threw my shorts back on and crept back across the access road and to the truck. �Worst day of my life,� I said, muffled by the continued laughter of my three friends. �Get me to a restroom. [bleep] is everywhere.�

We found a Shell station 15 miles down the road. I went inside to assess the damage. It was uglier than I thought. My buddy had joined me, as he needed to take a piss. �Listen man, you�ve got to bring me a fresh pair of drawers. They�re in my bag. Be a pal,� I pleaded. I thought my boxers contained all the [bleep], but I�d never been more wrong in my life. It looked like Woodstock �99 in there.

Zimmerhanzel�s BBQ, guys. Remember the name.

BTDT

I've left a stinky shirt sleeve along the way.

My system isn't that finicky. It takes a deliberate attempt on my part.

But past age 50 or so, you can't trust a fart.

No comment. lol

Yep. I've cut a few strips out of a perfectly good Tshirt before...

Cotton thermal underwear makes the best tp, there's been a few trips when I came back with a pair with one leg shorter than the other.

The hood from a sweatshirt works well, too., but it's pretty dicey trying to cut it free from around your neck with a fixed blade knife while leaning back against a tree and hovering over a still-steaming special delivery without cutting your own throat.

i had just finished using a perfectly good flannel shirt early one morning on a Budweiser [bleep], when out walked a little 8 point buck at about 430yrds. shot it with my drawers around my ankles using a 243, probably one of my best shots to date.

Shi+ing the pants....

I call that a "wardrobe malfunction."

I ate Army food for four years, my guts can take just about anything.

Once here Drum. I was watching a spring seep on a ridge above a creek in Sept elk archery having walked in on a couple miles on a closed logging road before daylight.

About 10 the thermals tuned along with my bowls. I tuffed it out a while before heading down the ridge to the on road and needed to make it about 500 yards down the road to where it crossed black creek, so the cool would keep the scent from being lifted up the ridge where the elk bedded.

When I got to the road I prayed I would make it to the creek before I crapped my pants. Well, I did.

You can't imagine how cold it is washing your rear and pants while standing in knee deep water at 10,500 ft in mid September in a spring fed creek.

Absolutely.

On a side note, when RipTide was a toddler, he asked me often why I always carried a pocket knife.

Then one day when he was 5 or 6 years old, he shat himself in an office depot.

I took him to the restroom to help him get cleaned up, and as he sat on the commode, I cut his underwear off so he wouldn't have to pull his feet through them.

I hadn't said anything, but after I "rescued" him from a pair of doody drawers, he said "I know why you always carry a knife now, daddy"

We got a good laugh out of that, and still do whenever we remember it.

And people say a .243 ain't worth a sh*t...

Like my son says the only way that story could be any better is if you would have said and then I looked down and found a ten dollar bill. lol
whelennut

Hasn't happened yet, thankfully, but its been a near thing more than once. I am quite an accomplished roadside sh*tter, I can spot a suitable clump of brush from 500 yards. I've also learned(mostly) when my guts are bluffing, and when they are in full attack mode. When the sweat starts popping out on your forehead, its go time! Socks have been sacrificed in the past, nowdays I usually have a roll in the vehicle somewhere.

Was leaning against a recently removed mangled up culvert when amidst the ocean of wheat stubble before me, I see something moving. I'm 25yds from the truck and so do the pants-around-my-ankles-chinaman-shuffle, nab my 223 Montana, shuffle back to the twisted up culvert because it's the next best rest to the pickup window and I'm not remotely clean enough to climb into the truck for this. It's a badger and I guess the range @ 300yds, adjust accordingly, fire, nope, fire again, and see the dust fly low, out of ammo in the rifle. Shuffle back to the truck, grab my 270 AND the Geovids this time, 394yds. Dial 400 on the elevation turret, hold the upwind edge of the hole-digger and cut loose. When I recover from recoil all I can see is a paw and claws from what it obviously a badger laying on it's back. I cleaned up and retrieved the badger. I don't recall which is which, I got them both on the same trip.

Year before last my father, uncle and a friend of ours went to new foundland moose hunting. My uncle had the bad belly blues all week, sick as a dog. We had a great week, ate like kings, drank like fish. On the last day, we headed out of camp on a seven mile ride that took near two hours due to terrain. 30 minutes outta camp my uncle declared we better stop or there was gonna be a problem. Now this part of the island hasn't a shrub more than three feet tall for miles and miles. But there is lots of what the guides called "tuck", ie overgrown juniper. So...uncle bob heads out into the tuck to do his business, climbing into a pile of tuck to try and hide himself. As if.... Well apparently in the haze of panic he'd crap himself, he apparently stepped on a tuck limb, pinning it to the ground. It just so happened the majority of his deposit landed on the end of the same limb. After he was done he looked up to notice all of us watching. He smiles, gives the thumbs up and takes a step forward. In that moment he unleashed what I hope is the only crap catapult in history. Needless to say, he wore all he just dropped. Up the back and all over him. Cleaning up the best he could, we finished our ride out, got to our vehicle and headed toward the ferry. All the time he was begging me to find a restroom for him to clean up in. First stream we crossed on the transcontinental highway, I pulled over. That man stripped to bare ass naked and sat in that icy stream washing himself in plain sight of the biggest highway on the island. Every trucker on the way by gave him a thumbs up. Best part of the entire trip

Come home many a time with one sock.

I have cut off more than a few pair of underwear if caught in the back country with no toilet paper. Hey, commando is better than walking out of rough country with only one sock.

LMAO

I sharted on west bound highway 90 when I took my son pronghorn hunting. We were maybe 2 hrs east of Rapid City in some of the most gorgeous country you've ever seen, and it's gone down in family history as an epic "butt sneeze" due to its phlegmy consistency.

My son, as per his usual, was a sport and helped me by bringing other clothes into the can at the rest area where we stopped so I could clean up.

So many great memories from that trip.

And then there was the butt sneeze...

I am CRYING! I think everyone here knows the feeling

Picture scenic northern Michigan, northbound on US-27. I'm working and decide to take a shortcut on Military Rd to make some time. Military Road is part of Camp Grayling and there's nothing but Jackpine for miles. I get the cold sweats and the unwanted gurgling in the gut. I commit and release my safety belt turning off onto a two-track in 6" of snow. No time to look for toilet paper as we're beyond DEFCON 5. I jump out and run in the snow with my suit and wingtips, trying to get my suit coat off so I can lose the suspenders. I get my get drawers down and do the Kim-chi Squat, then explode. Relief to be sure, but no toilet paper and my truck was still in gear trying to climb a pine tree. Ice cold snow as a poor man's bidet and I was good to go.

someone ought to prod EvilTwin for a pig hunting story

Am I the only one that has a complete set of clothing, roll of paper towels, wet wipes (usually used for cleaning hands) in my truck? I also have an axe, knife, shovel, chain, etc. etc. etc. Yes, I carry too much stuff, but I'll be damned if I have to ride pooh bear in the back of my own truck for 15 miles to make it to a Shell station.

I brought my best friend hog hunting at Chestnut Hunting Lodge. Jerry Rushing's place out in North Carolina. We were both 20-somethings back then and he was coming off a very nasty fight with his wife and he entered the passenger seat of my truck prepared for the ride with a 12 pack of Sam Adams. We got to good start and got to Pennsylvania and there was an 18 wheeler rolled over in the middle of the highway. We were going nowhere so we pulled off the road to a Cracker Barrel. My friend had a chicken fried steak with sawmill gravy, fried okra and mashed potatoes... oh, and two Guinness. Back in the truck, we rolled on a couple hours and decided to pull off and look for a hotel. We got a room, and my buddy and I set up. I crawled into bed and he went to the can. He came out and went to bed. A couple hours later, he got up out of bed, opened his suitcase, relieved himself all over his clothes, closed his suitcase, and went back to bed.

The next morning, I awoke to him screaming. Hah! Serves you right for drinking a half case of Sammy and 2 Guinness on the way up. It was a harbinger of things to come. At camp, my buddy wanted to go to a strip joint. He dragged me and we sat in a big booth and ate a very late supper. I had chicken wings and a couple bud lights. He had two orders of mozzarella sticks and two more Guinness! He was quiet the next day while we were shooting our pigs. The NEXT Day, on the drive home...

We weren't out of North Carolina and he says pull over at the next rest area. I drove right past it. "Whoops, there it went." He gave me a backhand in the face and said if I didn't stop at the next one, he'd kill me! As the next one rolled up, I started speeding up. He starts yelling. "Whoops, there goes another one." Now a smell is starting to build in the truck, and holding his stomach with both hands, he says stop. Anywhere! I stopped in front of a long stone cliff where they cut through a mountain to put the road in. He had nowhere to hide and so he put his back to the truck and let go right on the road. I could hear him moaning. I started the truck and drove ahead of him a little, and he started swearing and did a little crab walk sideways to catch up. I've got tears rolling down my face and he's having a tough time. He got back in the truck all red faced and sweaty and said to drive. An hour later, he says to pull over again. We got to a rest area that time, and then he begged me to get a hotel room. We're in Pennsylvania again. We are never getting home! Well, we got the hotel room and he goes straight into the bathroom and runs the shower for a half an hour. Then he sat on the toilet for an hour groaning and Ka Thump! Out he comes and crawls into bed. He said he passed some kind of "plug" or something like a bear that just woke up from hibernation. He blamed the Sawmill Gravy from the Cracker Barrel for his misery. I got him home the next day and I don't think he left his house for two days.

well this tread just confirms what I've always known, that everyone on the campfire is full a chit. lol

If you have had gall bladder surgery, all of this is far too close to home. For the first few years it would go from I need to go to I NEED TO GO RIGHT NOW in about 30 seconds. Measured all trips by how far it was to the next bathroom. Wifes friend, who had the surgery, had my wife pull over and crapped in a coffee can on the side of the Interstate. Normally a very classy lady but when you gotta go....you gotta go!

I would have crawled in the back seat and chitt all over your truck and you would have deserved it! lol

It happens.

In the prairie, the front bumper can make a real good rump rest, then you can let your bowels do the rest.

Once, On an antelope hunt in NM, i had to pull over on the gravel road. I was sitting on the front bumper and dropping a load when NMF&G chose that time to pull up behind me and kindly wait for the event to be over.

They were kind enough to leave me to my misery and contemplation till I was finished, then we discussed conservation.

I thought I had gotten used to people sharing their most personal information with strangers on the internet. But wow...

Dyin' here! ;D

38 seccions of radiation on the prostrate will cause some future problems , believe me.

All ways carry no matter where I go CCW concealed carry wipes

you sound like me.

norm

I always carry my knife with me, it has seen more duty freeing me from crappy BVD's than field dressing game. And yes, thermal underwear go a great job cleaning up after a thermonuclear dump.

I keep paper towels in my truck. They stand in pretty well for TP. I bought an off road commode as a result of a wad of pine sap stuck to the back of my leg on an elk hunt. The off road commode doesn't ride in the truck much.

I've had squirrely plumbing my whole life, so I feel the camaraderie.

Everyone keeps TP in their truck. Come on, this thread is about outdoorsmen who occasionally screw up.

Happened to me one time. I lucked out (I thought) when I had access to the woods. Unfortunately I wiped my ass thoroughly with poison ivy....

A CITY kid from down the street wanted to follow my buddy and me one day on an expedition for blue quail with our BB guns in the rough and snake infested rocky country outside the limits of Big Springs when we were in the fourth grade. We took some stale sandwiches of cheese, mayo, and potato chips from the previous nights campout and made a big trek through the back country. We forgot water and drank from some puddles in the draw miles below the Indian springs.

As we drew near to the settlement on our evening return the tag along said he had to get as he had to chitt.

He left us at a sudden gallop but after covering a hundred of the three left to make it to the housing, he suddenly stopped, spread his legs and humped up for a bit as he filled his pants with it. He then started crying and headed home.

We didn't know what the hell would come of this weird and life threatening event. i mean, what the hell would he tell his mom? Maybe he would be kicked out or even disowned. Surely he would get a good thrashing.

Darn. He had told us that he had to crap. We just never new he had meant right then. We had never seen such a thing.

We couldn't figure out why didnt he just head for and behind a big old rock, take a dump and use a sock. I remember looking at a big old caliche rock he had just run by.

I mean, hell, boys are always losing socks.

I well remember the time I was wearing waders trying to wade throew the Bayou to a nice ridge I knew of when the urge hit me,I stood up on a Cypress Knee doing a balancing act which was already hurting putting all my weight on the rounded ends of the knee,leaning against the tree and carefully got my waders pulled down and pants down and took a dump.
I felt pretty smug and smart in handling the situation till I realized I hadn,t missed the waders but instead just filled the up.
In retrospect I might as well just stood there in the water and went,instead of going threw the contortions of getting out of the water.
That was over 35 years ago an I still remember it.

Everyone needs one of these. Pull over. Take a crap. Drive away.

Eurika

Ha, TFF

My stomach is hurtin' from laffin' . . . . . I may need to take a sh*t.

I gotta have me one of those. My knees are too shot to squat anymore. And a Spyderco Police Model Knife is great for cutting off your under wear! Don't ask me how I know
Like someone mentioned earlier, it's better to go commando than walk with just one sock

damn i'm glad it ain't just me.

always had screwy bowels and i have been teased more than a little by friends and family who have witnessed my "gotta go. in five seconds." situations.

i do know my dad's hunting buddy had that problem and dropped his coveralls and [bleep] right into the hood and only found out when he pulled them up.

dad said he waded right into the 35 degree creek to clean up.

ha ha

Coworker crapped in the hood of his Cardhart overalls hunting one morning. Yes and unbeknowing put them back on! Bad scene!

As for me my knife of choice for underwear removal is the old Marbles Ideal!

Has been awhile since I laughed so much over potty humor.

I remember my Dad, making breakfast in deer camp, would always put out a jar of Arnolds "Chilitos Encurtidos". And say, "if you eat more than one with breakfast, take some TP out with ya!"

As usual, he was right!

Sycamore

May as well share my shame too. Many years ago I had it hit me too. The pain and gurgling was rough but I decided I could make it one more exit. I was �lucky� enough to make it to the gas station bathroom. However, on the way to sitting, I exploded from the inside. It was everywhere. The seat. The floor. My shirt. Did I mention the seat? I did not realize I scatter gunned the stall until it was too late and I was sitting. My shirt tail was covered in poo, my t-shirt as well. Ironically, the one thing that remained unsoiled was my shorts. Tragically, I had to take my shirt off over my head. I believe that part of the story is understood. As I stood at the sink attempting to wash my shirt, some guy walks in to use the bathroom. He opens the stall and about pukes. The look he gave me on the way out was priceless. He muttered something and I just said �tell me about it�. I figure the guy said something to the clerk and when I walked out shirtless, I�m sure she was thinking WTH. Had to tell the bride and a few buddies the whole thing.

Not quite a dump in my jeans story but close enough. I was all of 11 years old and my dad took me der hunting, Now he wasn't a hunter but fixed so I could hunt with freinds of his and he came along. So here I am with my Great granfather's 30-30 Win. M94 carbine in my grubby little paws and even with no deer in sight the adrenaline was flowing like water over Niagra Falls. Finally, I couldn't hold it much longer so the old man hands me a roll of film for the Brownie and I head off to a bush a bit away from the stand. I set my rifle against another bust within reach and and doing the deer when damn me if a legal buck didn't walk right past me and go on his way. I grabbed the 30-30 and put one right up the exhaust pipe while still in the squirting stage and position. My balance was precarious enough before the shot but when the gun went off I went back and landed in the nice fresh pile, the deer dropped dead and my old man couldn't stop laughing. Took that whole roll of "film" and both our canteens to make me fit for human company again. And that is how I took my ever first deer at age 11. I can laugh about it now but back then it was, to me anyway a disaster.
Paul B.

I can't believe this hasn't been posted yet.

Both stories there are TFF.

One time while driving to a motel after squirrels hunting in MN i had a feeling of urgency. I luckily hit every green light and things were looking good on my part. You guys all know that the closer you get to the throne, the worse the need is, well I hit the hotel entry door, ran down the hall with key in hand, opened my room door and while dropping trow, I backed into the bathroom and let fly! Huge disappointment! The toilet lid was closed. I am not writing any more.

Interesting thing... happened at Zimmerhanzels in Smithville. And 21 minutes later is having the issue.... Thats exactly at La Grange. 3 exits minimum with facilities.
And if thats not enough... 5 or so more minutes down the road is Ellinger with at least 2 sets of facilities.

Its at least 50 minutes from Smithville to get to the on ramp to get to I-10

Funny story though.

Belvedeere South Dakota rest stop

I know Drum could tell more if he would, having guided all those nimrods.

I have a pair or two of jeans with permanent skid marks. Roll of Charmin in every vehicle I own. Have left vehicles sitting in the middle of the road with the flashers on while sprinting/hopping with both knees together to the nearest bush, tree, ditch.

Wife is not afraid to comment at times that I've chit in every cornfield in the county.



Have used my socks as a torch at night to find my way out from a fishin' hole way back in the woods. Swam across the lake one time at dusk with my clothes over my head.
Came back the next damn day for my tackle box.

Denny.

Old age = starting to carry an emergency bucket in the bass boat. It beats having to cut the top off a bait bucket.

I was on cherokee lake about 16 years ago when my guts went haywire. It was july 4th weekend and the lake was covered so there was absolutely nowhere a man could sling mud in private. I head to the back of turkey creek WFO and there was a boat almost in the very back of the creek. There are 2 big trees 3/4 of the way in the water that have fallen across. It put my jon boat over those tree trunks at about 20 mph and come to a stop in the flooded woods. I can stkill see the guy in the boat and he is looking at me like wth. by this time I'm dying I jump up drop'em and have a blow out of the century right off the side of the boat. I was embarrassed to no end but I felt like a million bucks. I cut the bottom 3" off my t shirt. I waited till dude left before I fired up and got out of there.

dude your doing it all wrong. you take two plastic grocery bags and open one side of your livewell, open the bags up one inside the other and place them in the livewell and hold the handles or sit on them. When you done tie a knot in the handles and toss it at the boatdock trash.

http://www.bumperdumper.com

Ha, you are the expuurt, I must admit, and have more experience it taking a chitt.

PS Thanks for the good idea. Now, I don't mind dropping it over the side, but to often now there are mixed fishers around, so I often need the Folgers can to really get down.

I think Drum got this rolling and then hauled ass for Easter weekend.

Having been on a Colorado Mule Deer Hunt with Drummond before, I've heard about all of his "shiitt" stories. And ole Drummond is one funny son of a gun. He kept me & my buddy laughing the whole dadgum hunt. One of the funniest hunting trips I've been on!

Spring of '70 and we were staging out of Quang Tri for a rather large operation not far from the DMZ. Local fella what ran the water treatment ran out of chlorine and since he didn't need it himself figured we really didn't need it either.

A C130 full of TP was dispatched from the south to replace a vanished resource. Having eschewed water for drinking at that time I was not one of the victims. However, I must admit to experiencing great mirth when seeing the Cobra crews dismount their steeds, what with the enclosed cockpits and flight suits filled with crap. Unlike some of what I've read above, they had no opportunity to pull off the side of the road. I do not know if high Gee pullout maneuvers after rocket runs contributed to their discomfort, but suspect that was the case.

It was a chitty operation.

I barely made it, but I left my favorite terra cotta T-shirt on pilot butte in Wyoming

Mike

Nice painting? there DD.

LMAO, I don't know if I could hit a coffee can under duress.

It used to be a badge of honor for us teenagers when we came back from a hunting trip with half out tshirts gone and a story to tell.
And since I've come down with IBS the last ten years, I've been godawful close to filling my pants a time or two but barely avoided it by the grace of God and a few prayers.....

However, there is this a couple stories along this line-

My Mother-in-law is a fairly overweight woman with a jolly disposition and a zest for life but not much tolerance for being in the woods. She went wood cutting with her husband many years ago and the call of nature happened suddenly. So, my father in law stopped the truck in the woods quickly, my mother in law gives a quick glance both ways and hangs her over-abundant derriere out of the truck and lets fly. As she finishes up, she steps outside to pull up her pants and hears the cheering of the loggers 30 feet away sitting on a log deck having lunch......

One time my son and I were on our way home from a hunting trip and we stopped for pizza at a great spot called Spooky's. Had a great pizza and a beer and hit the road and 10 minutes down the road we both had to go RIGHT NOW. Since he was driving, I was the first one out of the truck to the bathroom at this little dumpy gas station in some little town and I proceeded to fill the toilet twice. All this time, my son is knocking on the door for me to hurry so as I am coming out of the toilet he practically slams my hand in the door going in. As I'm waiting in the truck, he comes out a few minutes later and goes "let's get out of here, I plugged the toilet and it is running everywhere- in a minute it will be running out the door". Laughed my ass off about it and we still don't get pizza Spooky's any more- even though it was the best dammed pizza place I knew of for many years....

Bob