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Gross, true story (Terry Morris)
(original, gross, gross, chuckle)

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"
	"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.

	"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
	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)

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