Join Date: Jan 2009
At around midnight we decided the party was full and went back to our apartment to prepare the package. Once there, we cocked and loaded the canon with the sacred caca. With a dangerous cloud of irony looming, this was more nerve racking than the dry run. Although it would have been disgusting, we did have back up ammo just in case. Ray carefully slid the bomb into the box and connected the trigger line to the lid.
I was the lookout while Brian and Ray gingerly carried the box towards the apartment. The party was on the second floor and I could see the nervous sweat on Brian’s forehead through the binoculars. They set the present at the door and met me at the barn. A rookie would have rung the doorbell in this situation, which would have increased the odds of getting caught and not seeing the punch line.
“What the hell is that noise?” I asked.
“That’s my leg jumping up and down,” Brian answered nervously. “Damn, I hope this works.”
“Someone will come out for a smoke sooner or later,” Ray said.
“We should have done a dress rehearsal with the real shit,” I worried.
“I think it’s a bit late for that, Nate,” Ray said.
“There is not anyone we can really pray to for this type of thing is there?” I asked to no one in particular.
We waited and waited. I became so excited I started to lose feeling in my legs. Ray was using the binoculars to keep us informed of everyone’s movements. We could also hear every word they were saying in the quiet Alabama night. There was nothing too exciting, no drunkenness. This was a classy affair and everyone was behaving like responsible adults, except the three sketch-balls in the barn. Finally, one of the guys came out for a smoke.
“Mandy, there’s a really big present out here for ya,” the dude said as he lit his cigarette — the cigarette that would eventually save his life. He got a friend to help him carry the box in and set it on the gift table and walked back outside to finish his smoke.
Big M pulled off the card and read it to herself.
“Oh… they shouldn’t have.” She then reread the card to her friends who had gathered around the enormous box.
“I know y’all think they are dickheads, but deep down, they are really good guys,” Mandy told the sweet angelic sorority girls who obviously found us a much lower class than themselves.
“What is it? It’s huge,” she said as she reached for the lid.
As she lifted the lid, the universe heard only one noise:
If I had a choice between reliving the next three seconds of this story or meeting Jesus Christ, I would punch that hippy carpenter right in his mouth. I swear the soundtrack to Braveheart was playing in the background.
A millisecond after the universe heard “click”, hell rained down on this socialite soirée. The time it took to go from “click” to everyone in a twenty foot radius covered head to toe in shit in reality was less than a tenth of a second. It was instantaneous.
The shit came out with such force it blew the lid out of Big M’s hands and into the kitchen. The cow diarrhea exploded from the box in a large, flat, mushroom cloud. The shit flew in all directions. Everyone, every wall, every gift, every piece of furniture, and every morsel of food was blanketed in a sheet of brown. All of them stood frozen in place looking down at their shit covered arms. No one knew what had happened. And then the head of their sorority, miss squeaky-clean high society, put it all together.
“It’s shit!!!!!!!!!” she yelled at the top of lungs as she ran towards the bathroom.
People began gagging as they tried to unsuccessfully remove the shit from their face and mouths, which were possibly open if they were eating or talking when lightning struck. It was as if someone had dropped napalm on their small village. People were running but had no idea where or how to get to safety. One of the guys was trying to wash the shit out of his mouth with a Miller Lite on the porch.
The three of us could not contain ourselves. We were howling out loud and slapping each other on the back, shocked at how well it had worked. We couldn’t move; we did not want to leave this state of bliss. Everything in life at this moment made sense. We were Gods. Ever since this moment, life has been miserably incomplete. Maybe she heard us, or maybe she remembered the signed card — either way, Big M was on to us.
“I’mgoingtokillyoumuthafuckers!” she screamed out the door with her voice cracking.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” I whispered trying to pull it together.
“We can’t leave yet,” Brian said hysterically.
“I can’t breathe,” was Ray’s contribution.
We stayed in the barn until two of the guys at the party came looking for us. I am not sure exactly what they had planned if they had found us. This was one of those cliché macho moves frat boys do to impress the girls, yet they have no real intentions of doing anything to help the situation. It wasn’t like we left the country, we were “hiding” at our apartment watching T.V. and eating pork rinds less than 75 feet away with the door open. Douche bags.
Back in our apartment, every time we got it together, someone would start snickering and we would start laughing all over again. This went on for hours until we were all horse and had cramped stomachs. Things finally started to calm down around 4:00 a.m. and we were all falling asleep on the couches.
“I love you guys,” I said in my raspy voice as I drifted off.
“You’re a fag, Nate. But yeah, you’re right, that was awesome,” Ray said.
“Ditto,” Brian said as the sun was starting to come up.