Original, written by me, names changed, not copyrighted, have fun One summer, fresh out of high school, several of us got summer jobs at the Florida State Road department. My job was boring enough, I drove a tractor and mowed the right-of-ways along the interstate. My friend Kelly didn't want to drive a tractor. Kelly is an adventurous kind of guy. What better way for an adventurous youth to spend his time than to hack through the swamps of Florida as a "Surveyors Assistant" for the Florida State Road Department. As an employee of the SRD, he enjoyed the many benefits they provide to their valued employees. Among these were a shovel, rake, and pitchfork in each SRD vehicle. When he asked about the implements, he found out about the sacred trust that had been placed in his care by the legislators of that great state. It seems that any SRD employee finding any dead animal upon the road or right-of-way is required to stop and bury said animal. Kelly was with his survey crew, 6 people in an International Travelall truck, heading west to survey what will become the roads to Epcot Center. As they roar down the two-lane rural road, they can't help but notice a huge sow which lay bloated by the side of the road. No one said a word as they went past, for the sow must have weighed over three hundred pounds, and the though of digging a hole that big in the summer heat was just too much. The Area Supervisor, travelling in the car behind them, didn't miss much anyway, and this sow was impossible to ignore. Soon the radio crackled to life: "486 to 394" "394" "Y'all gonna bury that pig?" "It'll take up half the day!" "You know we gotta do it. 486 out." "394 out." It turned out to be the usual "we". "We" the supervisor drove on, and "we" the grunts turned around to face the task. "Damn, we'll never be able to dig a hole that big." "We only got two shovels." "We gonna hafta take shifts at it." "Where does he think he gets off, out ridin, around while we bury that thing." "Well, I'd rather have him out ridin', than here standin over us." They pulled up downwind of the animal, sniffed, and quickly decided on a new parking strategy. They got out, and two of them started digging while the others watched from the tailgate. "That things blowed up like a football" "Wonder what hit it - musta been a semi" "That thing is huge! We're gonna be here all day!" Kelly picked up a pine cone and pitched it at the sow. It rebounded off the hide with a funny hollow sound. "Tighter than a fat tick, boys." "I bet that thing would pop like a balloon!" "I wouldn't want to be around when it did!" "I bet it wouldn't pop. It would just hiss out, like the air from a tire." "I wouldn't want to find out." Never one for endless debate, Kelly grabbed the pitchfork, and strode over to the belly of the bloated beast. He raised the fork, poised over the belly, and looked over at the rest of the crew. He was not dissappointed. "Look out!" "Don't do that, Kelly. Its gonna blow up and stink like hell." "It won't blow up." They backed away... Kelly raised the pitchfork and plunged it in... Nothing happened. No explosion, no horrible smell, no hissing, nothing at all. "I told you it wouldn't blow up." "Maybe you didn't poke it in the right spot, Kelly." Kelly peered at the beast, and selected a new target. With his eyes on the new spot, he yanked out the pitchfork for a fresh jab. Instantly four holes in the side of the beast spewed about a gallon of the foulest substance known to man. Direct hit. "Yahhhh!" "Its all over him!" "Man, thats GROSS!" "He's gonna throw up!" And he did. For about half an hour. Then he lay in a ditch to wash off, but the smell wouldn't leave him. He sat under a tree in the shade while the others finished the job. It did take all day. When they were finished, they loaded up the tools, put Kelly on the top of the truck, and drove off at a slow pace. When I came into the equipment yard on my tractor, three guys were hosing him off, all well upwind. The supervisor drove up, had a short discussion with the foreman, and walked off shaking his head. =============================================== My friend Kelly (remember him from the dead pig story?) and I were driving a semi across Florida one summer afternoon, and we had to stop for fuel. I saw a truckstop ahead, so we pulled in. Well, it just so happened that they had an all-you-can-eat seafood buffet that night. Please reserve your comments about those who would partake of truckstop all-you-can-eat seafood, we were young, poor, and stupid. Now we're just poor and stupid, thank you. Kelly went through the line and got a rather large bowl of fresh raw Appalachicola oysters. Kelly really likes raw oysters, and Appalachicola was just a few miles down the road. He knew he was in for a real treat. The stereotypical southern truckstop waitress came up to bring our coffee, looked down at the bowl, and proclaimed in a loud screech "EEEEEEEEUUUUUUUWWWWW, RAW OYSTERS! A BIG BOWL OF RAW OYSTERS! IT LOOKS LIKE A BIG BOWL OF SNOT! HOW COULD YOU EAT THAT STUFF! EEEEEEEUUUUUUUUWWWWWWW!" Kelly turned real red, and about fifty truck drivers looked over our way to get a good look at the kid who was about to eat the big bowl of snot. The head waitress came over and escorted her screeching protege away, all the while going over the fine points of making the customer feel at home. As they walked away, you could still hear "WELL I DON"T SEE how ANYbody could eat ..." Kelly occasionally poked a fork into the bowl during his meal, but never got up the nerve to eat the oysters. It seemed that every time he tried to spear one, fifty truck drivers watched his every move.
(From the "Rest" of RHF)