Continuing from Part 2…
As I swam out, into the cool water, my ankle finally quit hurting. Nothing like ice cold water to soothe an injury. Of course at that age water wasnâ€™t bone chillingly cold, it was just invigorating. I noticed there was quite a bit of algae and plant life, so what ever lived in the lake had pretty good camouflage and natural cover. I was out in the middle of the lake, and the college kids had set up camp on the shore opposite the camp Dad and I had set up. Typical college party- music, beer in cooler, and kids yelling and generally having a good time. I stayed far enough away not to disturb them, content with scanning the lake for signs of life. A fish bit my toe, but was gone before I could get around to see him. Wait, is that a turtle? Swimming over I stalked what later turned out to be a rock. I then found a school of minnows, and was trailing them. Unbeknownst to me, the college kids had proceeded to the drunken college chick tossing. This involves six or seven idiots scooping up some poor unsuspecting lass and flinging her into the nearest body of water, be it pool, lake or ocean. She screams, gets wet, and then plots revenge on the poor bastards that will take years to come to fruition, usually ending in multiple homicides.
I had no idea this was the greatest game ever created. Anyway, said idiots collected Barbie, Veronica, or Misty- whatever her name was, and proceeded to wade into the lake. The splashing caught my attention as I was at research depth, probably one foot and still at standard atmospheric pressure (blast this cheap equipment!) Mistyâ€™s twenty one year old ninety pound frame was airborne at just the time as I looked over. And at the moment God smiled upon me. Misty was wearing a yellow bikini top, and as she was unceremoniously dropped 5 feet in front of me, the impact peeled her top up to her neck. There I was, face to face with real honest goodness free range boobies. It was the greatest moment of my young life. I opened my mouth to say â€œHoly Crap!â€ before I realized I was in fact still under water. Spitting out the snorkel wasnâ€™t so bad, but inhaling the lake water wasnâ€™t fun.
Lungs to Brain, â€œCanâ€™tâ€¦gasp..breatheâ€¦â€
Balls to Brain, â€œPriority Override! Standfast! We have confirmed unrestrained live boobies!â€
Brain to Lungs, â€œSuck it up, weâ€™re not moving.â€
Lungs to Brain, â€œOh very funny. What, one set of knockers and you go stupid? Brain? Brain??â€
Through sheer act of will I remained motionless while Misty pulled her top down and waded out- then I broke the water sputtering and gagging for air. The college guys were laughing so hard one fell off the tailgate of the truck- if looks could kill Misty would have skewered me on the spot. Grinning like an idiot, I swam back to camp.
Dad had the steaks ready, and we sat down on lawn chairs around a dark firepit. To this day I think steak tastes better on a steel camp plate. We ate and I told him about my close encounter with the pink nipples of destiny and I think he was almost as happy about my adventure as I was. As we cleaned up the steak and potatoes, he told me about his own daring escapes when he was my age, culminating when he left a rubber dog turd in a ray of sunlight, just as my Grandfather woke up one morning. As Grandpa explained, â€œDamn dog!â€, Dad rushed in and grabbed it with one hand and tossed it to Grandpa. Dad said it took him years to learn that â€œshitholyfuckinghellâ€ wasnâ€™t all one word. And he also learned that Grandpa didnâ€™t like to have a turd thrown at him first thing in the morning, but doesnâ€™t mind having his car washed every day at 6am for a month.
As the sun began to set it was getting a little cold, so it was time to get the fire going. I optimistically went to the lake and filled a bucket, as an emergency â€œfireâ€™s out of controlâ€ measure. As a good scout with tell you, the secret to getting a fire going is to use good tinder, starting small. There was plenty of dry grass, so I tossed some into the pit, struck a windproof match (I learned that the only thing that rubbing two sticks together makes is blisters), and had a tiny flame going in no time. It was now time for the â€œfuelâ€. I plopped a rather large cow patty down, and with a fizzle the fire promptly went out. Ah ha, note to self, the Native Americans must have used DRY patties for that fire. After a trip to the lake with some hand soap, I was ready to try again. Dry patties eventually caught, and Dad and I learned another important thing about those tribes. Smoke signals must have been inadvertently invented when Running Nose lit up a buffalo chip by the lodge. Oh sure they burned, but it smoked like a fog machine. We discovered if you soaked the patties with lantern fuel, they went up with a whoosh and burned much better. Lesson Four- Bullshit can be entertaining.
It was getting dark, so Dad and I pulled up a couple lawn chairs by the fire. We laughed and I told him jokes- then he related one of his favorites, which was appropriate given Bullwhackerâ€™s dayâ€¦
A campaign worker came to the door of a farmer just outside a small town. Earl Duggins was running for the state senate, and since Earl was from the town the worker asked if the farmer would vote for him. â€œHell No!â€ said the farmer, and went to slam the door. â€œPlease sirâ€, said the man, â€œwhy wouldnâ€™t you vote for Earl? Before he went to off to college, he was the drawbridge operator just down the road, Iâ€™ve never heard of anyone who didnâ€™t like him.â€ â€œItâ€™s a long storyâ€, said the farmer. â€œI have timeâ€, said the worker. â€œOkay, come on in and set downâ€ said the farmer. The farmer began his tale.
About ten years ago I had a prize bull. His name was Cecil. One day Cecil got sick- vet said something about a blockage. Vet wanted $100 to give him some laxative, figured Iâ€™d do the job myself for free. The only problem was I didnâ€™t have any way toâ€¦uhâ€¦deliver the medication into the â€œotherâ€ end. I needed a funnel, but didnâ€™t have one. What I did have was an old Calvary bugle. I figured it would work fine, so I plugged it into Cecilâ€™s butt, and poured in the medicine. Well Cecil didnâ€™t like that much, and he startled. In a panic he broke down my fence, and went barreling off down the lane there. Well the laxative was powerful, and every few steps he would break wind. When he did, the bugle would blow, and scare him, so he was pretty much running at full speed when he came up to the drawbridge. Earl was working that day, and he raised the bridge. Cecil ran off the end and drowned.
â€œWell, Iâ€™m sorry for youâ€™re the loss of your livestockâ€, said the worker, â€œbut I donâ€™t see why you blame Earl?â€ â€œItâ€™s simpleâ€, said the farmer. â€œI wouldnâ€™t vote for anyone to govern who canâ€™t tell the difference between a steamship whistle and a horn in a bullâ€™s ass!â€
To this day I can still picture a bull running down a country lane with a bugle in his ass. Ah, childhood memoriesâ€¦ We spent the rest of the evening fishing and talking. Eventually exhausted, we climbed into our two man tent, and zippered it firmly down. We stoked the fire a bit so Bullwhacker could sleep near it- since there wasnâ€™t room for all of us. I woke at dawn to snoring in my ear. Snoorrrrreâ€¦.pssssstâ€¦.snap! What the hell?
Bullwhacker was lying on my sleeping bag. The methane level was reaching toxic levels- so Dad and I evacuated the tent. Scratching our heads we couldnâ€™t figure out how he got in. A little bit of bacon and detective work solved the mystery. I left a piece of bacon in the tent, zippered it down and watched as he did his magic. Turns out he didnâ€™t like being out by himself, and he figured out if he stuck his nose in at the bottom of the zipper, he could raise his head a little at a time, open the zipper gradually, and come on in. He made himself at home on my sleeping bag. As I got up I noticed the fire water bucket had frozen- smart dog.
Story concludes tomorrow…