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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Chas'n Tail" data-source="post: 146465" data-attributes="member: 824"><p>I was in college, probably 19-20.  I came home to rifle hunt.  I head up to my deer blind, a small 4x4 frame, just enough room for me, a gun a crate to sit on, and a heater.  About half an hour into the hunt, I feel the bubble gut and it becomes violent quickly.  I have a good hour or more before end of shooting time, so i decide i have the time to sneak out of the blind, which was in a small field, waddle my ass to the tree line and lay down an oil slick and make it back without disturbing much.  The plan was well thought out in my head, and should have worked to a T.  Unfortunately, after making the first sign of motion, everything went to hell.  Just from swiveling my legs towards the door, I could tell this was going to end poorly.  I use the heel of my boots to scrape my way to the edge of the blind so that when I stand up, I don't have to lean forward and pull with my abdomen, for fear that I would become a projectile propelled out of the blind under brute force of whatever ungodly thing that was now beginning to literally drip out of my ass.  I lean one leg out of the blind and try to just "fall" on my feet.  The small jolt from the 6 inch drop is really all it took.  At this point, shooting a deer is the last thing on my mind.  I have now hit survival mode and am cussing and gagging in disgust as, god willing, only my underwear are being filled and the brown plague is not transferring to my good camo pants... I grossly underestimated the sheer volume of shawshank goodness that had just taken place.  So now what? Do I say screw it and walk back to the truck?  Do I try make it to the tree line at least?  No, this was WAY too uncomfortable.  I drop trow right there, lose the boots, pants, and underwear.  I'm so pissed that I already am gonna end up throwing my underwear, socks (which were soaked) and possible even my boots, that I didn't want to sacrifice anything else.  So I start looking around for a nice bunch of grass.  I find a nice chunk, but when I try and use it, the dry grass is stiff from being dead, and pokes my ass more than it helps anything.  Mind you I'm really getting upset at this point because even my hands have succumb to the vile.  Finally, I decide on a route to get me home.  I grab my boots and start clear cutting a spot in the field, pulling the grass and ruffing it all up down to the...dirt.  When I get what I see as an adequate landing strip, I squat down and do what my dog taught me best.  Drag my ass through the dirt (thank god there was no snow at that time) and throw it up between my legs hoping it would act as baby powder to prevent a rash and dry up some of the liquid.  Well, long story short, I left my gun in the blind, pitched the socks and underwear, threw the boots on, threw the pants in a bundle and carried them to the pickup, found an old shirt to lay on the seat, and managed to make it home and to the shower before most of the dirt starting turning into mud.</p></blockquote><p></p>

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