A Trip In The Woods

The winds tore through the wilderness below an intimidating full moon. Some people believe in the “Butterfly Effect.” Those who don’t need not worry on this foul night. Those who do, however, would have been very frightened by the fart that slipped out of a camper’s sleeping bag that evening. Mother Nature’s gassy visitor was not awakened easily, perhaps due to his many years on board an all-male aircraft carrier. Unfortunately he remained asleep when the caped hero entered his temporary dwelling, nude from the waist down except for two brown, knee-high socks. Tonight would be an easy victory as long as the black bears remained asleep.

The visitor crept into the tent, after successfully minimizing the noise of the outer zippers, and silently watched his prey. Tonight was a perfect night for his game he enjoyed playing with hikers along the Appalachian Trail. He got into position and knelt over the slumbering man’s face, the beard lightly tickling his buttocks, and imagined himself in his happy place. By imagining himself in a shoe factory in a South American free-trade zone, and by practicing meditation, he was able to relax his stomach and intestines. The monochromatic form of a bat glided across the side of the tent like a warship crossing the Pacific; he knew he wasn’t the only predator in this neck of the woods.

To prepare for tonight’s activities he had eaten a hearty meal which featured a steak, beans, chili, a mountain of mashed potatoes, and a chocolate milkshake. A Peloponnesian battle ravaged his bowels – it was time. The quartet was playing in the woods this evening: his heavy breath, the violent wind, the flapping of his winged companion, and the rustling of leaves. He released his soft-serve-like excrement onto the face of his victim. His beard was transformed from black to brown as the sludge made its way into the crevasses of his neck. Tonight’s activities were going splendidly well and it was almost time to depart. The final obstacle was using his weak leg muscles to push himself up and away from danger.

What was that noise? It must have just been the leaves; one tends to become paranoid when their man-eggs are inches away from twenty-something sharp teeth. The wind would allow him an effortless exit from the foul-smelling tent. Ah, shit (no pun intended). That can’t be the leaves. Suddenly the brown-faced, bewildered gentleman screamed and made a Herculean effort to sit upright. His nose became lodged in the caped crusader’s anus causing both men to scream as loud as their post-pubescent bodies could permit. This was, without a doubt, the worst night of both of their lives.

When your evening involves feces, a cheap Walmart tent, a pretentious camouflage sleeping bag, and a total stranger your mind tends to go into overdrive. Your weaker senses grow stronger as your eye muscles atrophy due to the ensuing chaos. There was another soul stirring at this ungodly hour. Someone, perhaps a nearby camper hoping to provide assistance or some laxatives from his first aid kit, was making their way towards the Turd Tent.

Suddenly something swiped through the side of the tent and the camouflage was stained with blood. The bears may have arrived black, but one can be certain they departed the foul tent stained brown.

--Contributed by Kyle