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Where the sun don’t shine

My older brother had a buddy back in high school named Yancy and he was notorious for what was referred to as the 'Yancy Shuffle', after he went # 2 out in the woods. Everyone who has ever witnessed this, all describe it the same way, like a dog with worms, dragging his @ss across the ground.
 
DouglasR said:
One early Saturday morning during my sophomore year of high school I was sitting on the back of the jv wrestling headed for the Springfield southeast tournament when I started getting hit by the “waves” described by Randy in the 5 alarm chili story.
I clenched my cheeks and headed towards the front of the bus where I was surprised to find my buddy George sitting with his face in his hands in the same situation.
I explained what was going on to the driver and that she needed to either pull that thing over or get ready to deal with a hell of a mess.
She pulled over on the shoulder of the interstate right next to a busy frontage road.
I ran out the door, dropped trowel, leaned up against the bus and tried to relieve myself.
george followed suit, sat down uncomfortably close to me and immediately began to unleash fury.
no such luck for me.
the waves were in a brief period of recession.
george climbed back on the bus.
our former u of I wrestler/hungover coach stuck his head out the door.
“Come on man, we’ve gotta get out of here. People are watching”
I ascended the steps of the bus knowing in my heart that the battle was not over.

about 5min later the waves started crashing over my body again.
Showtime.
I desperately rummaged through my bag trying to find a suitable container.
I dumped the strawberry’s out of their container, sat it in the seat and positioned my ass.
Strawberry containers have holes in them.
terrible idea.
At this point I had no choice but to sacrifice my lunchbox.

As I was blasting I remember looking back at Brandon who was riding in the rear seat with his headphones on over his stocking cap and his eyes closed.
First his nose started crinkling up, he kinda sniffed and was like
“Wtf is that smell”
Then he opened his eyes and realized what was going on
“Jesus Christ!!! Wtf!!!”
then the whole bus woke up.
chaos ensued.
My parents brought me new underwear and I won all 3 matches.
hell of a day.
Click to expand...
I will never, ever, EVER forget the underclassman that, in a bid to cut weight the easy way, ate a box of Ex-Lax. Funny thing is, if you don't eat anything, it doesn't work. But once you make weight and eat... then it hits. Like in the middle of the second period of your match, at a 3 mat tourney.

Thank god it wasn't me. But I swear the entire gym at NIC could smell it. Like a wave going over the crowd.
 
DouglasR said:
One early Saturday morning during my sophomore year of high school I was sitting on the back of the jv wrestling headed for the Springfield southeast tournament when I started getting hit by the “waves” described by Randy in the 5 alarm chili story.
I clenched my cheeks and headed towards the front of the bus where I was surprised to find my buddy George sitting with his face in his hands in the same situation.
I explained what was going on to the driver and that she needed to either pull that thing over or get ready to deal with a hell of a mess.
She pulled over on the shoulder of the interstate right next to a busy frontage road.
I ran out the door, dropped trowel, leaned up against the bus and tried to relieve myself.
george followed suit, sat down uncomfortably close to me and immediately began to unleash fury.
no such luck for me.
the waves were in a brief period of recession.
george climbed back on the bus.
our former u of I wrestler/hungover coach stuck his head out the door.
“Come on man, we’ve gotta get out of here. People are watching”
I ascended the steps of the bus knowing in my heart that the battle was not over.

about 5min later the waves started crashing over my body again.
Showtime.
I desperately rummaged through my bag trying to find a suitable container.
I dumped the strawberry’s out of their container, sat it in the seat and positioned my ass.
Strawberry containers have holes in them.
terrible idea.
At this point I had no choice but to sacrifice my lunchbox.

As I was blasting I remember looking back at Brandon who was riding in the rear seat with his headphones on over his stocking cap and his eyes closed.
First his nose started crinkling up, he kinda sniffed and was like
“Wtf is that smell”
Then he opened his eyes and realized what was going on
“Jesus Christ!!! Wtf!!!”
then the whole bus woke up.
chaos ensued.
My parents brought me new underwear and I won all 3 matches.
hell of a day.
Click to expand...
Better than being hit by a "wave" on the mat while wearing just a singlet. Produces a lot of comments from the crowd in the bleachers and it ain't cheering. In my coaching days I saw quite a bit of that actually. Some coaches encouraged kids to take Ex-Lax to make weight. It usually backfired on them ... literally. Cruel.

Edit: Backofbeyond's experience came up on next page after I wrote mine. Yep, the laxative trick was fairly common for making weight but NOT on my team. It helps that Montana now allows more than one varsity wrestler in the same weight from same team to compete, at least in the smaller schools. Cuts out a lot of that recklessness.
 
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If I had a dollar for every time I wiped my arse with snow I could probably pay for steak dinner at the Montana Club ... every day for a week ... at least. No big deal. Lots of snow to clean up with afterwards. No snow? Could be a greasy walk back to the vehicle after the day's hunt. Red eye the next day can certainly be a pain in the butt ... but it's only temporary.
 
My buddies uncle was deer hunting in the UP, had to do a #2. He was wearing one of those full bodied blaze orange hunting suits. He squatted, did his duty and when he was done, looked back to admire it, didn't see anything, shrugged his shoulders and when he went to flip his hood back on....realized where it all went.
 
We have hunted with two guys named John for many years. For obvious reasons we will just call them John P. and John W. Once while at deer camp many moons ago John P came strolling back to camp with one of his sleeves missing, obviously cut with a semi-sharp hunting knife, from his camo hoodie. From this point on he was known as "Johnny one sleeve". John W., known as "Johnny no shirt" was pheasant hunting with me after a night of beer drinking and just had to eat a bomb burrito from the flying j on the way to our hunting spot. After disappearing for what seemed like the better part of a half hour "Johnny no shirt" emerged from some trees waring only his orange upland hunting vest. To this day while story telling our group refers to each John by their given hunting camp names to distinguish them for one another.
 
I came home from class one day in college, found a note on the TV letting me know that my roommate had gone on an evening deer hunt. About an hour after dark, he walks in the door.

Me: Did you get anything?

Him: Nope, and I owe you a t-shirt?

Me: What? Why?

Him: I borrowed a clean t-shirt before I left.

Me: So, just wash it.

Him: Strips his jacket off to reveal the NOW half-shirt he’s wearing! (he looked nothing like Carl Weathers)

1627323716888.png
 
Was "bear hunting" with a buddy and my girlfriend (now wife) one spring. Driving logging roads, listening to toby keith, eating snacks, and glassing. Was a foggy and drizzly day. After a few snacks and not much action, nature called. No problem, I had TP.

Walked down the road a bit and up the embankment. Was a pretty steep hill. Well everything was wet but I managed to find a satisfactory spot with minimal wet grass to tickle the bum. Dropped 'em down and did the doo. Finished and was trowing up when I stepped on a slippery wet stick. Sure enough both arms went up and gravity was well on its way but I was lucky enough to catch myself. Looked down and my brand new irish setter elk tracker was smack dab in the middle of a steamy pile. Did my best to wipe it off and drag it off in the dirt but was a no go. They wondered what in the heck I was doing when they saw me climb down off the embankment with only one boot on, arm fully extended and dragging the other behind by the laces. Walked back to the pickup, threw it in the bed and and didn't say a word. Didn't take them long to figure out what happened but they sure got a kick out of it.

I don't think they will ever let me live that one down.
 
geewhiz said:
Was "bear hunting" with a buddy and my girlfriend (now wife) one spring. Driving logging roads, listening to toby keith, eating snacks, and glassing. Was a foggy and drizzly day. After a few snacks and not much action, nature called. No problem, I had TP.

Walked down the road a bit and up the embankment. Was a pretty steep hill. Well everything was wet but I managed to find a satisfactory spot with minimal wet grass to tickle the bum. Dropped 'em down and did the doo. Finished and was trowing up when I stepped on a slippery wet stick. Sure enough both arms went up and gravity was well on its way but I was lucky enough to catch myself. Looked down and my brand new irish setter elk tracker was smack dab in the middle of a steamy pile. Did my best to wipe it off and drag it off in the dirt but was a no go. They wondered what in the heck I was doing when they saw me climb down off the embankment with only one boot on, arm fully extended and dragging the other behind by the laces. Walked back to the pickup, threw it in the bed and and didn't say a word. Didn't take them long to figure out what happened but they sure got a kick out of it.

I don't think they will ever let me live that one down.
Click to expand...
Your new Delta Tau Chi name is: Poopy Boot

1627335761690.png
 
Birddog916 said:
We have hunted with two guys named John for many years. For obvious reasons we will just call them John P. and John W. Once while at deer camp many moons ago John P came strolling back to camp with one of his sleeves missing, obviously cut with a semi-sharp hunting knife, from his camo hoodie. From this point on he was known as "Johnny one sleeve". John W., known as "Johnny no shirt" was pheasant hunting with me after a night of beer drinking and just had to eat a bomb burrito from the flying j on the way to our hunting spot. After disappearing for what seemed like the better part of a half hour "Johnny no shirt" emerged from some trees waring only his orange upland hunting vest. To this day while story telling our group refers to each John by their given hunting camp names to distinguish them for one another.
Click to expand...
Ron White would call em Scooter...
 
One of my roommates in college became notorious for always packing an extra undershirt on road trips, but I couldn't for the life of me figure out why the guy wouldn't just pack a roll of TP. I did have the good/bad fortune to witness a few 't-shirt events' though. One of them occurred while we were stuck in a 20-mile traffic jam between Las Vegas and State Line, where the road sits in a flat pan of a valley with no weeds taller than your knees for a mile on either side of the 6-lane highway. I felt bad for the guy...sort of :ROFLMAO:
 
DouglasR said:
One early Saturday morning during my sophomore year of high school I was sitting on the back of the jv wrestling headed for the Springfield southeast tournament when I started getting hit by the “waves” described by Randy in the 5 alarm chili story.
I clenched my cheeks and headed towards the front of the bus where I was surprised to find my buddy George sitting with his face in his hands in the same situation.
I explained what was going on to the driver and that she needed to either pull that thing over or get ready to deal with a hell of a mess.
She pulled over on the shoulder of the interstate right next to a busy frontage road.
I ran out the door, dropped trowel, leaned up against the bus and tried to relieve myself.
george followed suit, sat down uncomfortably close to me and immediately began to unleash fury.
no such luck for me.
the waves were in a brief period of recession.
george climbed back on the bus.
our former u of I wrestler/hungover coach stuck his head out the door.
“Come on man, we’ve gotta get out of here. People are watching”
I ascended the steps of the bus knowing in my heart that the battle was not over.

about 5min later the waves started crashing over my body again.
Showtime.
I desperately rummaged through my bag trying to find a suitable container.
I dumped the strawberry’s out of their container, sat it in the seat and positioned my ass.
Strawberry containers have holes in them.
terrible idea.
At this point I had no choice but to sacrifice my lunchbox.

As I was blasting I remember looking back at Brandon who was riding in the rear seat with his headphones on over his stocking cap and his eyes closed.
First his nose started crinkling up, he kinda sniffed and was like
“Wtf is that smell”
Then he opened his eyes and realized what was going on
“Jesus Christ!!! Wtf!!!”
then the whole bus woke up.
chaos ensued.
My parents brought me new underwear and I won all 3 matches.
hell of a day.
Click to expand...
GO Vandal's! ;)
 
I've torn up corners of maps and rolled them in my hands until they got soft and absorbent. Same thing with Snickers wrappers.

PS. The old paper wrappers worked way better than the new plastic ones... they just smear 💩 everywhere
 
Any of you read this? Available on Amazon (of course), and cheap too.

41+lujOm9yL._SX291_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg
 
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