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The Hanged Man wrote: »
I know the feeling Malachi.
When I was 9, I went to a Cub Scout Day Camp. Some of the older kids were telling crazy stories about how raccoons would hide in the latrines to scratch up your junk, and you'd get rabies all up in your man parts, and the doctors would have to amputate, and half the time they'd figure if they were gonna go that far they may as well finish the process and make you a girl now.
It never occurred to me that if I eased off on the Lunch Buffet a little, I probably wouldn't be in such dire straits by the time my mom picked me up at night. Unfortunately, camp was a 30 minute drive away from anywhere that wasn't a trackless South Florida Swamp. By the end of every miserable day, I'd dash out of the car like a howling turd tornado and do the potty dance on the front porch until mom caught up with the house keys.
The worst thing in the world is when you've suffered through a long journey to a safe toilet, and the very sight of it makes you relax your guard, and then you poop your pants like five feet away from the goal. Wait, no, the worst thing is when you do that three times in the span of two weeks, and you don't know how to do your own laundry, so you try to hide the soiled underpants, and months later your stepdad finds them wadded up behind the boxes with the Christmas decorations in the garage, and the utterly bizarre conversation you have to have explaining the situation then hangs over your already-awkward relationship for years to come.
Well, ok, that's still better than phantom raccoons giving you crotch rabies, fair enough.