Drunk Deercamp Disaster
Ah, the good old days of deer camp, long before I had the bright idea to bring a few five gallon buckets....
Deer camp used to be a week-long event of cheap beer, great tasting camp food, and about twenty five of us, including me, who refused to shit in the woods for some God awful reason. I was thirteen at the time; my story started one evening after being fed hard boiled eggs,deer stew, and chili all in one sitting, not to mention the two previous days of great mountain chow. It was all good, as it was only the third day of camping, and my a-hole was still having no problem holding all the contents of my camp diet firmly in place (well, other than the occasional rife fart that would eek out for all to enjoy who was close or down wind of my position). They gave off just an awful stench that even I was having an issue with inhaling.
After sundown, and everyone was nice and drunk, a friend and I decided to partake in the customary barrel of Schilz beer, and so we filled an empty two-liter bottle with the cheap goodness in that magical keg that was off limits to us ... and proceeded to drink it all and go back for more. I was thirteen and he was fourteen, and by the time we had a sip or two of refill we were hammered. I am sure that it was plain to see we were positively smashed, because the others decided to teach us a lesson for getting wasted: They offered us Seagram's 7, and like the fool that I was--considering this was my first true time being shitfaced--I decided to chug from the bottle.
Boy, was that a mistake..
Before long I had passed out by the fire still, clutching the pint that I polished off. The next thing I knew I awoke in my sleeping bag in the tent, feeling like my insides were on fire, and I knew I was in big trouble. The camp was pitch dark, seeing as it was three a.m. I got up and fell straight out of the tent onto my face in the muddy camp area. I was sweating trying to hold back the atomic contents of my turd plumbing, and had the ol' churning gut. I don't know how I got to the area just outside of camp I was so drunk, but I did; and when I was desperately trying to get my jeans button open it happened ... oh God ... I projectile vomited and my puckered cornhole let loose at the same time. With a force equal to a volcanic eruption, I felt it run all the way down to my cold shoeless feet, warming them up briefly, as I continued to puke all over myself. After five minutes of blowing a few four-feet long sprays of liquid brown ass-paint like a shit fountain as I was bent over vomiting profusely, I came out of my hazy mind-state and realized what had just happened. And the fact I was in bear country covered in three days of shit and vomit all over me didn't help. Panic time!
I staggered over to the creek--shedding cloths and dropping them where they fell--in the brisk winter breeze coming off the mountains, and took the coldest bath I have ever had. I then made my way back to my sleeping bag somehow.
By the time I woke up, everyone had seen my trail of shame, and began to inform me of my drunken behaviors the night before. (I was told that included howling at the moon like a dog in heat and almost falling in the fire a few times.) I felt like a total retard to say the least, and by the shit and puke they found splattered all around the parameter of camp I guess they figured I had learned my lesson. Needless to say I was called by many names that year, including Turd Boy, Splats, Shitstain Wayne, and Captain Cornhole. What a shitty night.