Splat

Corey missed her chance to embarrass me, but I suppose I'm fully capable of doing it myself.....

I had an incident today that took me back to my childhood. I'm not sure how to put this delicately, but let's just say that I had gas and got more than I bargained for when I tried to relieve the pressure. Are you with me? Yes, I know. As the kids say, TMI. Hang in there, it reminded me of a good story which I actually got out of bed to write before it disappeared...

It reminded me of two other times in my life when I...as my dad so kindly puts it..."fudged 'em."

The first time, I was riding my bike on a local street named "Kestree." Kestree connected to a couple of other streets that were all within a one-mile radius of our house. Now, it seems like down the road, but when I was a kid it seemed a lot further. I was riding my bike alone down Kestree and I remember it was the summer. I suppose in all of my bike-riding excitement, I neglected to heed the call of nature number two. It somehow got to the point of no return and I shit 'em...all down my leg. I was horrified and about 10 years old and I didn't know what to do. I remember crying as I got off of my bike and began the long walk home. In my innocence, I thought that there was a chance that if I yelled loud enough, my mom would hear me. "Mummy!" I screamed as I walked my old Sears bike down a side street almost a mile away from our house. (We called our Mom "Mummy" and then later "Mum" as kids. No idea why. We weren't British or affected, nor did we wear capes or Sherlock Holmes hats, we just somehow called our mom "mummy." I know, weird.) Neighbors peeked out their windows and peered from their yards to see a small boy sobbing, walking his bike and screaming "mummy!" A couple of folks asked me if I needed help. I flushed and through a pinched mouth told them I was fine as the accident in my pants trickled down my jean legs and onto my shoes. I was so embarrassed and scared and ashamed. I felt angry that my mom couldn't hear me and when I got home I asked her why she hadn't come. Confused, she asked me what had happened. I told her that I crapped in my pants. I don't know how she didn't laugh. Maybe she did and I was crying too hard to notice. It sucked. I can still imagine the feel of walking with that secret all the way home.

I hope you're not eating lunch. If so, forgive me, but I have another story.

Around the same age, maybe a year or two younger or older, a similar incident. Let me give you some background:

My dad used to take Todd and I with him to go ice-fishing when we were young. In retrospect, it was an extremely nice thing to do because Todd and I got bored easily and ice fishing DEFINES boring. Have you ever been? Here's how it goes:

First, you get dressed up in your warmest layers in preparation for a day of standing around...on ICE. Next, you fill a thermos or two with hot chocolate or coffee and pile into a truck and drive an hour or so north to Lake Winnipesaukee in Wolfeboro, NH. (Sometimes you ride up in Mr. Dyer's van, which is always fun because he usually has mini-snickers bars and the van is carpeted wall to ceiling.) As you get close, you stop at a bait store and buy some live smelt(little silver fish), some snacks, and maybe a breakfast sandwich (if it's that kind of bait store.) Then you drive out onto the ice in a 4,000 pound truck and listen to the ice crack and groan as you drive out to the "bobhouse." A bobhouse is a little wooden shack that's set out on the ice for the ice-fishing season. Remember "Grumpy Old Men?" Like that. After arrival at your desired spot, you drill some holes with an ice auger and plant "tip-ups" on the ice with the little silver fish atached to the end of the spool of fishing line at the bottom. WHen a fish hits your line, a flag pops up. After setting about 8 or 10 rigs, you sit back and wait for the fish to hit. It's like watching ice dry.

So needless to say, Todd and I would get bored. My dad was nice to bring us, because I'm sure his friends got sick of hearing, "Hey let Shane (Todd) take this one" every time a flag popped. In addition to constantly hounding my dad for snacks or hot chocolate or "can we sit in the bobhouse?" or "where are the fish?" or "I'm cold" or "can we go over there?" or "this sucks," my dad was also constantly breaking up fights between Todd and I or walking us over to the shore to use the woods as a bathroom or just generally appeasing us...all while trying to spend a day with friends doing something he enjoyed. It was of course, very selfless and generous to drag us along to the lake to ice-fish with his buddies, but I guess if you knew my parents, that would make sense. Selfless defines them.

Anyway, so we're ice-fishing one day.

By the way, my dad's ice-fishing friends were a cast of motley characters including a guy named Jimmy Jones who was the constant butt of everyone's good-natured jokes; another guy named Al Jackson who was always doing dumb things like skinning lake trout with his teeth but accidentally putting the business end of the fish too close to his face and squeezing a little too hard when he tried to yank the skin off, spraying fish crap all over his mouth and nose. I don't think he ever lived that one down. How could you? Arnie was another loyal ice-fisherman and had some kids of his own so he was much more understanding of my dad dragging us along. Same for Dick Dyer. Sometimes his kids came too, but I have only vague memories of them. Most of the guys my dad knew worked with him at the Fish and Wildlife office. Nice guys, but I'm sure they gave him shit for bringing the kids all the time. I would have given him shit for bringing the two of us. We were whiny little pests sometimes.

So we're ice-fishing one day. Todd and I have given up on the stupid stagnant hopes of a flag popping up on the ice and we've decided it's more fun to kick ice chunks around to see how far they will go. I think we had a game where we'd smash ice chunks into each other and watch them explode into smaller shards on the slippery surface of the lake. We found ways to kill the hours spent watching the dumb tip-ups and managed to get out past where the bobhouse and truck were parked. Suddenly, it hit me. You know that feeling you get when you have to go so badly that you really don't know if you'll make it to the next bathroom? It was like that. The problem was, I was about a half-mile away from the woods on the shore and the ice was slippery so running was sort of treacherous. I told Todd. He told me to run for the shore. I did. I ran with stiff legs, desperately trying to pinch it in. I hobbled towards the shore, sweating and shaking with the mounting pressure inside my bowels. I started to panic because the shore looked miles away. I picked up the pace and started sprinting. I slipped. It felt like a TV fall where your legs go straight up from under you and you have that moment in the air to think, "uh-oh."

I landed with a splat. Literally. All of the pressure that had been building inside me collapsed and evaporated with one fell poop. I spackled the inside of my long-underwear and jeans. Insta-crying.

I got up and began the walk back to my dad. As you may have guessed, it gets cold out on the ice, so in addition to freezing tears on my face, I was now facing freezing pant legs full of trouble. I screamed for my dad and as he arrived, his friends couldn't help but overhear that I had shit 'em and shit 'em good. I'm certain I saw laughs and chuckles at what became immediately clear to them. My dad was now on cleanup duty. He rifled through his jacket pockets for some stray Dunkin' Donuts napkins and did his best job at clearing the frozen crap out of my pants. I cried, humiliated and miserable as he wrapped my underwear and napkins into a tight little ball that wouldn't make it home. I think we left shortly after that, and if I remember right, it was a long ride home. Once the air in the truck warmed up a bit, it became an uncomfortable ride home too.

Wow. I really hope you're not eating lunch, but for some reason, that story was worth getting out of bed to write. It's the story of ice-fishing.

So if you ever have the chance to go, I'd skip it. Seriously.

Comments

[julie]

That is absolutely hilarious.

And no, thank goodness, I wasn't eating lunch.

[Emily]

No, not eating lunch - but eating OATMEAL!! Yuck! It was hilarious though - "one fell poop!!"

Great to have you back, Shane!

[Sharfa]

Holy Crap! That was a riot!
You certainly don't need Corey to come up with embarrassing stories, you do pretty well on your own.

Damn - I have to print that out and show it to my folks. They have a 'camp' on a lake in Maine that the fam frequents. Bob houses in winter are a fixture on the lake. I never understood the appeal of ice fishing though.

Thanks Shane - that was the best laugh I've had in a long time.

Michelle

[Magazine Man]

My buddy and I are crying over here, we're laughing so hard! I dunno -- this could be the start of a book for you. You could call it "Looking Out for Number Two!"

Glad you're back (although your sister's stuff was pissa! She's gotta do her own blog). --MM

[Josh]

What good NH boy hasn't been ice fishing...and yes, it's about as exciting as watching flies mate. As for Mr. Dyers van, carpeted from floor to ceiling and full of candy bars??? Sounds a little creepy to me.

[Jared]

In the past I've made fun of comedians who do nothing but bathroom humor. I've often been the one who says that "anyone can be funny when you're talking about gross stuff."

HOWEVER; this was above and beyond. Very well written (and hillariously funny), despite the potty humor factor ;).

[Shane]

Jared-

I thought about not writing it for that reason, as I try not to use bathroom humor when I can avoid it. I've written and performed a lot of sketch comedy, so it's also one of my pet peeves. In this case, it was a story that, uh...had to come out.

[Dan]

Hahaha, LOL
Josh- "...carpeted from floor to ceiling and full of candy bars..."
heheh, I got that same vibe...
Yep, done the ice fishing thing with my dad as well. I'd rather go get a pair of toe-nail clippers and grab onto my you-know-what and give it a good yank than go ice fishing again. Booooooring. hehe, funny story Shane! And sooo New England.
Hehe, I once talked a friends little brother into peeing on my younger brother.

[Lillie]

Shane,
That was very funny and man what guts it had to take to tell that story! I have to agree with Jared, very well written and if you have some more stories like that I do see a book in the making. So happy to have you back Shane I see the blogging is pouring out of ya! Yipeeeeee!!!!!!!! Oh and thank goodness I read that before breakfast... I waited a while before sitting down to mine... LOL!

[bova]

LMAO!!

Shane, my man, that was worth the wait. My stomach HURTS from laughing!

In the winter, I drive past "ice shanties" every day on my way to work - let it be known that the little giggle that escapes me each time I see them will be due to your story. Better a giggle than... !! :)

[wil]

Oh my god, Shane.

That was so funny, I shit myself.

Well, not really, but I did laugh so hard I scared my dog.