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I was working on job site building a school  . during a wind storm in Jan  we come in the morning and 8 outhouses where blowen over and they where all very full! the smell would gag a maggot . Haz mat clean was only $7,000  that is job I dont want 

my question  about the pic are they full??

truck outhouse.jpg

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ABQ has high wind conditions.  Here is an article with video of an outhouse blowing down a city street.  There was no information whether the "driver" was cited regarding the lack of a license plate. 

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First morning, first year I attended EOT dropped my handheld radio down the hole, didn’t retrieve it. Camped with Captain Cooper and his grandson up on terrace #13 and the grandson, Drummer Boy, says ohh ——!!!! He’s watching one blue room after another getting blown over. The next day the portable toilet outfit was out there staking them down.

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Was driving back from EOT towing the Airstream. A little bit West of Shiprock, NM came upon a pickup truck with an old homemade outhouse in the back. NOT tied down. When we crossed into AZ the speed limit went up and I could see it was just barely balanced. Sure enough after a couple of miles it blew out and completely exploded on the highway. Fortunately I was far enough back to get stopped. The driver got out, looked at the mess, said he just bought it at the Shiprock Indian market, got back in his truck and kept driving. I called 911, reported it and drove on home.

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I ate some food that didn’t agree with me on a turkey hunting camping trip. The campground had outhouses. I spent the night throwing up in the outhouse. :unsure:

You haven’t lived until you’ve thrown up in a full campground outhouse. The campground wasn’t full. The outhouse was. :blink:

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Liven out in the country when I was a kid, so any story with a trip to the out house in the dark is a story.:o

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After 40++ years in the electrical field and 1,000's of jobsites, I wouldn't know where to begin.......:ph34r:

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I really did get my suspenders tangled in my spurs while shooting classic Cowboy at Trailhead one year! Luckily it didn’t tip over! Irish ☘️ Pat

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Family reunion, tenting in the back yard...

Porta Potties on the tree line.

Early morning, sun not up...I walked over without a flashlight, used it and went back to my sleeping bag.

About an hour later, our boys and nephew started fussing...about the snake under the door.

I must have stepped right over it!

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Outhouse at the cabin at -22. Wake ya right up!

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At my first Cowboy match a lady dropped her Colt down the porta-potty. She came up to me and asked for my help. I felt so bad for her. One of the guys actually had a magnet on a rope that he used to fish it out. 

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My dad was returning one we used at an event and as he was crossing this bridge it fell off the trailer and exploded... there were cars coming the other way so the motorcyclist that was tailgating him got a face full of it all.  

 

Another time, I was with a group camping in the woods for a week, we dug our own latrines.  One of the girls got up in the middle of the night with a tummy bug, stuff coming out both ends.  she ended up falling in...

 

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     Not my story, but I’ll share it anyway.  As told me by my old pard Hank:

 

     I guess it was over thirty years ago... Hank and another buddy had gone to the “Mud Drags.”  Evidently some sort of tractor races in a muddy field.

 

     So as he told the story, it was a hot summer day, and as with most country activities, a large crowd of folks consumed an appropriately large quantity of beer.  And to accommodate those folks and the beer sellers, a number of portable outhouses – “Port-a-Potties” – had been brought in for the occasion.

 

     Well, at some point late in the afternoon, Hank and his buddy were in line waiting their turns at plastic moon-house.  Three or four were in service; one, at the end of the row, was apparently full and had been taken off-line.  The facility was turned around, with an “Out Of Service” sign hung on the door.

 

     As they were waiting, some rather large fella behind them got tired of waiting.  He stepped out of line and walked over to the “Out-of-Service” unit.  He walked around to the door, glanced at the sign, shrugged his shoulders, went right on in and proceeded to tend to his business.

 

     And, as Hank and his buddy watched, the unthinkable happened:  It wobbled; it teetered; it tottered; then over it went.

 

     Hank and his buddy stared, shocked.  As Hank said, “Damn, Hardpan!  There it lay, like a giant, fat, blue sarcophagus!  From inside there was a horrific gurgling and a thumping and gargling sounds, while chocolate fudge just poured outta this smokestack-kinda vent pipe on the roof!

 

      “When it hit us what happened, we ran over and picked the thing up.  We hollered at the dude to get out!  Get out! 

 

      “Well… maybe he was confused or couldn’t see or didn't speak English, ‘cuz he didn’t open the door.  Instead, I guess he leaned the wrong way and over he went again!

 

      “So, we picked the thing up one more time.

 

      “This time, we held on to it and hollered instructions – this time in Spanish and English, and he got the door open.

 

      “Man, it was plumb awful.  That dude stumbled out and he looked like he’d been dipped in chocolate sauce, with brown streamers and worse danglin’ from him... from his arms… his head… he even had one ribbon hangin’ from an ear…

 

      “The poor fella just stood there, gasping, until his pards drove up in their old pickup truck and the dude climbed in the back and off they went.”

 

     So, what’d you then?  I asked.

 

      “Well, whadda think we did?  We watched ‘em drive off and laughed like hell!”

 

 

                                    Portable Toilet Fell And Shit Leaked. Vector Illustration Royalty Free  Cliparts, Vectors, And Stock Illustration. Image 128770951.

 

 

 

 

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My best friend, rest his soul, took a wide, heavy plank, suitable for the purpose:  he made his measurements carefully, laid out the hole precisely; he cut it with exactness, beveled the edges, sanded it down glass smooth, varnished it well on all surfaces.

He mounted this in the family kaibo.

He had a custom engraved brass plaque manufactured, and with loving care, tacked it down with brass nails, right behind the oval hole:

"Dedicated to Tendercheeks O'Reilly."

(O'Reilly wasn't his name, we'll just let that slide)

Y'see, the seat that used to reside there, was made of two planks, not one.

O'Reilly was down for a visit.

He dropped his drawers and took his ease, there on that original two-board seat, at least until the slight little gap in the two boards pinched his posterior.

My best friend, rest his soul, custom made an outhouse seat for his college buddy's delicate derriere, and he never, ever let him forget it, either!

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:FlagAm: Back in 1979 I was framing a custom home for a friend.  One of the crew had great joy in throwing something at the port-john when he saw one of us go in.  Now, if you have never been inside of one when something hits it, boy howdy it is loud.  Anyways, myself and two others on the crew eventually saw little humor in his daily ritual of disturbing our quite time so to speak.  Now remember, the time of year was June in Phoenix.  Well one early afternoon, our throwing expert needed to use the facilities.  We were waiting in ambush.  Before he could zip up, a heavy chain was wrapped around the icon of relief and padlocked.  Now here is where the story gets really good.  I went and fired up the forklift and proceeded to remove said icon of relief to a more suited location.  In the turn lane of the four lane highway outside the orange grove.  I returned back to the job site.  He had a hell of a time explaining to the county sheriff how he got there.  The sheriff was not amused.

Well, needless to say, all was calm at the ole port-john after that.

Chas B:ph34r:

 

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My worst outhouse story comes from when I was a boy.  My pal, Gordy, and I decided it would be a splendid idea to push over an outhouse at an abandoned home.  There had been heavy rains the day before.  We managed with 2x4's to push the old outhouse over, but Gordy had slipped in the mud and fell into the hole.  Gordy was crying and covered in muck.  He wanted me to pull him out, but I refused to touch him.  I put the 2x4's in the hole so Gordy could climb out.  Gordy then ran home.  I was a poor pal.

 

 

 

<_<

Edited by Birdgun Quail, SASS #63663
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Some background is required here first for the civilians.

In Vietnam, outhouses were a simple affair. No pit was dug due to the high water table. So a 55 gallon drum would be cut in half and some diesel fuel put in. Then via a door in the back of the facility, the barrel was placed under the seats. When necessary the barrel was pulled out, a fresh one inserted, and the diesel ignited in the full one, thus incinerating the material in the drum. The guys who were not necessarily in the good graces of the First Sergeant (or just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time) were detailed to perform this odious duty. The smell of burning waste is one thing you will not forget, trust me.

So one day at lunchtime on the firebase I was sitting in the noonday sun eating some kind of sandwich from the mess hall when a Huey pop pop popped in for a landing. The base was built next to an old S. Vietnamese airfield and the runway was right by the perimeter where the (latrines) outhouses were located.
We had two fine outhouses skillfully constructed of wood from ammo crates. Complete with the half moon door vent. 
The full barrels had been pulled out and set alight. As the Huey sat idling a few yards from the facilities the rotor wash began to fan the flames which then began to lick toward the back of the not exactly fireproof buildings. And....yeah


With a soft whoosh the left hand privy began to burn at the back. Within a minute or two the building was burning on 3 sides. I had my 8mm PX-bought 8mm movie camera sitting there. I had been taking some shots of the 155mm guns making big noises.    I wondered if I should take some footage of the burning crapper but decided it wasn’t worth wasting the film on.

The Artillery CO was sitting with me and said, “Boy it’s a good thing it’s not occupied”. I nodded in agreement.

I took another bite of sandwich and wished I had a cold beer. It was a pretty nice day. With the exception of the noisy cannons, Huey turbine, and the feces fueled burning outhouse.

 

Bam! The door to the privy flew open and a wild-eyed, red-haired Spec Four flew out, pants held partially up with one hand and the latest issue of Stars and Stripes in the other. Now, this was decades before the low trouser fashion and the boy was not skilled in it. He made it about 5 feet before sprawling in a cloud of Southeast Asian dust much to the amusement of the artillery captain, the gun crews, the Huey pilot, a platoon of grunts, and me. I realized I had made a mistake in not picking up my movie camera. 

The crapper was a total loss of course. The trooper suffered only minor injuries to his pride.  I wondered if the Huey pilot subsequently painted an outhouse on the fuselage.

 

An interesting afternoon. It sure would have been great to have that beer though.

 

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When stationed in Korea (1972), I found out that the Koreans call outhouses, "Banjos."   They called our mustaches, "Banjo Brushes."  :wacko:

 

 

.

Edited by Birdgun Quail, SASS #63663
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My older sister attended a farm one room school house back in 1954 at age 6. She refused to go to the awfully smelly outhouse  and eventfully

wet her pants, so the teacher, to make an example of her, put her panties on the steam heat radiator to dry out. 

The next day her grandma enrolled her into the city school district even though it was a several mile drive.

 

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That’s just great!  >:-(
 

My momma would have gone to the school and slapped the living $#!+ out of her!  
 

When I was a tiny kid in pre-school in Europe, the tough-guy principle there beat me up for reading a (personal) book while eating my lunch.  My momma had my dad take us to the school the next day and she slapped him silly.  (Yes I could read....my brother taught me.)

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Trying to think of a worst outhouse story, and suppose I generally consider myself fortunate. I've had to make use of some incredibly awful ones, mostly in the military, but that's about it.

However...

My Dad's side of the family owns some property in S.E. Kentucky. There used to be a house on it, but it burned in a forest fire. Family cemetery is there, and we used to use it extensively for camping in the summer. After awhile, my Dad and uncles deemed it necessary to put up an outhouse. A very conventional outhouse. Nothing special about it. It served usefully for a couple of years. Then, one weekend we came down and... It was gone. Stolen. Nothing left but a hole in the ground. Well, there wasn't much that could be done. No idea who stole it. No way to even begin to look.

So, my Uncle Herman, may he rest in peace, the family mild-mannered genius that was generous to a fault and kind to kids, kittens and puppies, turned out to have an evil streak. Herman was a professional estimator by trade. He was very good at his job. He had a working knowledge of construction and engineering, thanks to his work with an engineering firm. He made plans for our new and improved outhouse.

 

It involved a lot of work, and took the better part of a summer to build. First a hole was dug. down at first, then to the back from what would be the front, and deep enough for me to need help getting out of when it was done. then, we dug down to the sides and front about a foot, in a semi-circle. In this, he laid 48" chain link fence, and covered it with gravel and the dirt we had dug up, tamped down. Post holes were dug three feet or so deep, but at slight angles. Large PVC pipe was put into these, which would become the corners of the walls. Holes were drilled and bolts installed and the walls put up. Before the roof was put on, cement was poured down into the pipes, and a floor was poured, that also came out around the pipes, covering a portion of the chain link. Then the roof was added, and we completed the inside. A cover with a bit of screen for ventilation covered the back, and a chute allowed natures call to slide back to it, with some help of some water. Water from the spring fed sink, of course. Generally composted between camping trips.

When you look at it from the outside, it looks like it will fall apart with a hard breeze. He estimated it would take a crane to actually lift it, and no way to lift it while on the chain link fencing that was buried. I will try to find a photo of it and post it.

I use the past tense, because while the outhouse is still there, we haven't been camping there in ages. Other improvements were made, including a shelter and a shower house, but now my Dad is the only one of his generation still living, other than an aunt who almost never went camping. He is too old to go any longer, and even if he were, my cousin decided to commandeer the shelter and make a cabin, and move in. It takes up the prime camping area, and he filled the remainder of any viable camping area with dogs, primarily pit bulls (edit: not looking for a discussion on the pros and cons of pit bulls. Says more about his mindset though.) Add to it peacocks that scream at 4:00 am, and the last time my brother and I camped, on a not so flat piece of ground, we decided not to go back, because it simply wasn't fun, and all of our hard work had been taken over.

Edited by DocWard
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Years ago we were delivering trains to the new light rail facility near  downtown Los Angeles. The delivery area was a huge concrete and asphalt pad with imbedded train tracks. A semi with a really cool 140’ long steerable trailer with hydraulic lifts would be guided over the tracks to roll the trains off one at a time. 
Because of DOT regs and permitting this could only be done in the wee hours of the morning so every night for 30 days we arrived at 02:00 to deliver each train as it came in. 
Often the delivery would be late so we would go get coffees and snacks. 
One morning I got there and on the light pole was a note telling me the train was delayed 2 hours and that the guys had gone for coffee. 
My asst manager had shown up and we were standing there talking and I kept hearing this noise but couldn’t quite figure out what it was. 
Well, 120 yards away in the ports John one of my guys was locked inside. He was yelling at us but the wind was blowing the wrong way. He had gone in there at 02:00 and the other guys locked him in and left. We found him at 04:00. Boy was he mad! The porta-John was ripe too. Hot days and hot nights make for a smelly outhouse. 

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The wife and I were traveling through New Mexico in the motorhome back in 2019. We were on a stretch of interstate that consisted of many miles of nothing but miles. Out in the middle of nowhere we saw a road construction site coming up on the other side of the interstate and noticed the universal blue box. Being Sunday there were no workers in sight.  As we got close a car in the oncoming lane literally locked up it's brakes and slide to a stop in front of the porta pot. The car door flew open and the driver sprinted for the john and ducked inside. We laughed for miles.

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1 minute ago, Doc X said:

The wife and I were traveling through New Mexico in the motorhome back in 2019. We were on a stretch of interstate that consisted of many miles of nothing but miles. Out in the middle of nowhere we saw a road construction site coming up on the other side of the interstate and noticed the universal blue box. Being Sunday there were no workers in sight.  As we got close a car in the oncoming lane literally locked up it's brakes and slide to a stop in front of the porta pot. The car door flew open and the driver sprinted for the john and ducked inside. We laughed for miles.

 

Been there, done that.

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I'll set the scene:

My grandfather's old wooden outhouse (he did not have indoor plumbing at the time).

After dark.

No flashlight.

Urgent need to go.

A stinging scorpion resting under the lip of the seat.

 

I'll let you fill in the conclusion of that story.

 

I was only about seven, but I did manage to conjure up a real cuss word, that I had heard my uncle once say. 

 

I am sometimes very glad that I do not have a photographic memory, and total recall. 

Some things are best only partially remembered. 

 

W.K.

 

  

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I don't have a worst outhouse story. My grandparents (mothers side) had the first indoor plumbing in the small Wisconsin town that they lived in. They still had an outhouse by the garage that they called the ivy covered cottage. Being a little kid it was a treat when we visited one because we seldom lived near enough to visit. The ivy covered cottage was a fascination to me. It was a twoholer. The seat was made of mahogany that my grandfather got when he shortened a bar top at a local tavern. He was a carpenter/cabinet maker and took it in part trade for the work.

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When I was a child, a young very well endowed neighbor went to his out house. He set down on the seat and his large social muscle swung forward to hit the front boards.  A black widow was waiting.

He was one very sick puppy!

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Ok, this is a secret so don't tell nobody!!

A couple years ago we had a woodchuck use our outhouse hole as the center of his tunnel complex. My daughter and I were there and saw him cross the hole about four feet down several times. For the life of me we couldn't find an entrance anywhere around. As he wasn't hurting anything, and we thought it was pretty funny, we left him be. 

Fast forward a couple weeks. My wife and I were up there for the weekend. She knew about the chuck in the outhouse and wanted it gone. Something about a big rodent under her bare behind and all. I checked the hole, which is now three feet deep and full of leaf and grass materials. Hmmmm, a nest... There is also now a hole about four feet behind the outhouse that he is using. Tracey says"I'm going to pour gas in the hole in back and burn him out." Uh, no hon. Leave him be. Gas is Not good. She then blocked his exit with a shovel full of dirt...

I had to run into town to get some pipe fitting to install my new well pump. As I was leaving I said "Leave him alone. Don't do anything goofy." Maaayyybe two minutes after I left she filled the now open hole with pine cones and needles to mess with chuck. Think unattended Boy Scouts here..... Then she poured about a pint of gas on it. Realizing she can't light it she walked to the cabin for a lighter. She lit some leaves on fire and put them on the hole. No big flames like she expected from there being gas on them....... Oh well, she thought. I'll tamp dirt on it with the shovel. Apparently this pushed sparks down the hole, igniting all the now vaporized gasoline that had built up in the hole in my crapper! There was a great WOOOOSHHH! The seat blew off the bench, the door blew open and smoke started to billow out the door! And then I pulled in.........

I never saw her so embarrassed in my life! It was all she could do to tell me about while half laughing and half crying. We looked but saw only a couple very dead mice.

The next day I stepped out the door with my morning coffee and the sits Chuck. Right out in the middle of the yard. A load of my homemade buckshot later and the Whistle Pig Saga was over. 

 

Now remember, this is all a secret!

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Soooo... If you meet my wife please, oh please say "Your the one who blew up the outhouse!" Oh please!

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When I used to shoot at Second Chance we'd usually take a day or two in the middle of the week and go up to Fisherman's Island State Park just outside Charlevoix and camp on the lake. I was always discrete about having firearms in the vehicle while we were there, it was in Michigan after all. One year while I was still setting up our pop-up camper the wife had to head across the road and use the outhouse. No sooner than the door closed it slammed open again and the wife ran out screaming at the top of her lungs, "GET YOUR GUN!  SHOOT IT!   SHOOT IT!" I hustled across the road, without .45 automatic, to see what the emergency was. As I opened the door she pointed at the hole and yelled, "IT'S DOWN THERE! SHOOT IT!" I looked down into the abyss and saw the object of her horror. The pit was very full, and coiled up on top of the pile was a large garter snake only a couple feet below the seat! No, I did not shoot down into that mess! 

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