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I hope nobody starts a snake thread. My wife would kill me!

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Have family that bought a mountain cabin in 1972 in Va.  Three room 1920s deal with a wooden outhouse about 50 yards behind the cabin.  I helped moved it in 1979.  Rotten job.  Was glad that they got running water and a septic system in 1983.  

 

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Many years ago, my aunt, uncle and another couple rented a lake cottage for a  week. It rained for most of the time and was still raining when my aunt needed to use the outhouse. For some reason a woman cannot use the restroom by herself, so she had her friend go with her, maybe to hold the flashlight. My aunt was not a small woman, 300 plus lbs, and her friend was even larger.  The rain had eroded what little ground was supporting the floorboards. Both of them dropped into the pit. Between the rain storm and the distance to the cottage their screams could not be heard. After about a half an hour, the men decided to check on them. My uncle was only about 5'6" and the friend a little bigger. They could not reach down far enough and get enough leverage to pull the women out. My uncle was a dock worker and heard and used plenty of foul language but my aunt's swearing made even him blush. It took over an hour to find a neighbor with a ladder to get the women out of the pit. They did not finish out their week at the lake.

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My sister reminded me of an incident that I had forgotten about. 
When I was a kid we lived in a little town called Jefferson PA. We had indoor plumbing to a shower and the kitchen sink but no toilet. We had an outhouse. 
My one sister was about 3 years old. My youngest brother was probably 4. Somehow my brother dropped or pushed my sister down the hole in the outhouse then decided to try and help her out but fell in himself. 
I remember my other younger brother and I heard all this screaming coming from the outhouse and we went over, opened the door and were confused because no one was inside. Then my youngest brother screamed again and we stepped inside and looked down the holes to see our brother and sister’s faces about 5 or 6 feet down from the holes staring up at us with tears streaming down their faces. 
We ran and told my mom all the while laughing like crazy. 
My mom called the fire department. Those poor guys responded and rescued them. It was a volunteer fire department so those gents weren’t even getting paid to be there. 
 

What a mess!

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It was my first Trailhead, back in '96. I had one holster, so I kept my SS Vaquero tucked in my belt. I didn't have a gun cart, so I leaned my long guns against the fence, and stepped into the porta-can. I was unsure about hanging my holster on the fence and laying the Vaquero on the ground, so I figured I could just shift my belt around, unbutton, finish up, and get out. 

 

Well, in slow motion, my Vaquero does a double flip right into the blue. 

 

I came out, and walked over to the campfire where I knew there were some bent rebar for tending the fire. I borrowed one, but wouldn't say why I needed it. When my pards saw me heading to the outhouse, they figured it out, and shouted all kinds of encouragement and assistance.

 

I hooked the Vaquero with the rebar, shook the paper loose, and went back to the campfire. They all had a good laugh, but they got me hot water and alcohol to clean the Vaquero, and I still get reminded about it every now and then.

 

When asked how the pistol fared, I tell them that it still shoots clean!  

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I remember one time a woman came tearing out of one screaming about a snake that just bit her on the but.  Upon further investigation, there was a crack in the seat. 

 

I owned an old house that had an outhouse.  I never had to use it because the house had been updated with indoor plumbing, but the outhouse stood for years.  One day I came home and it had been knocked over by the wind.  No problem, I figured, I'll pick it back up.  Nope.  That turned out to be one stout building.  I got a friend to help me and we still couldn't budge it.  That sucker sat there laid over for years.  My guess is that it was made with some of that old growth wood that gets as hard as steel with age. 

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4 minutes ago, Ramblin Gambler said:

I remember one time a woman came tearing out of one screaming about a snake that just bit her on the but.  Upon further investigation, there was a crack in the seat. 

 

I owned an old house that had an outhouse.  I never had to use it because the house had been updated with indoor plumbing, but the outhouse stood for years.  One day I came home and it had been knocked over by the wind.  No problem, I figured, I'll pick it back up.  Nope.  That turned out to be one stout building.  I got a friend to help me and we still couldn't budge it.  That sucker sat there laid over for years.  My guess is that it was made with some of that old growth wood that gets as hard as steel with age. 

Yep!  Ramblin, it was the wind.  Gordy and I had nothing to do with it.

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mine was a jobsite related wind issue with the occupant ending up face down - door down , in a very full porta potty , had to transport [thankfully in a company vehicle] not a pleasant experience , he survived , the pickup not so much - no one ever wanted that one again , 

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On 4/11/2021 at 7:47 PM, Michigan Slim said:

I hope nobody starts a snake thread. My wife would kill me!

 

At least she didn't start a forest fire.  Back in the mid 70s a knucklehead started a large forest fire attempting to burn a rattle snake that had taken up residence in his outhouse. Fire burnt several thousands of acres and destroyed a few homes. Beside his name in all the local papers the Missouri forestry department sent him a bill for over a million dollars for the cost of fighting the fire. He was also sued by several insurance companies for his stupidity. 

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My early years were spent on a small farm north of Kingsburg, California. My family was poor, and had moved from Arkansas after starving half to death during the depression. We had no inside toilet. The Out House was about 30 yards from the house out by the Chicken coop. One day my mother was cleaning the Out House. She would roll up newspaper and light one end like a torch and use them to burn out the cob webs in the Out House. Well sure enough she caught the Out House on fire. We had no hose and faucet, so I pumped water into one bucket while she would carry the other one and throw the water on the fire. Well she lost that battle. My dad had his "Sweat" boxes, used for the Grape harvest stacked on each side of the Out House, and they caught fire too. It burned completely down. For the next few weeks we had to go out into the Vineyard, dig a hole and use it. My dad dug a large hole behind the house and dropped in a very large Stand Pipe. That became our new "Septic Tank". We got a for real inside toilet. I though it was the greatest thing in the world. I no longer had to go out to the Out House and get chased by that Rooster we had. He hated me. So, the fire turned out to be a good thing in the long run. When my mother was on her death bed some 70 years later I was talking with her and ask her if she meant to burn down the Out House. She just smiled. 

 

Snakebite 

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  • 3 weeks later...

My brother finally found a picture of my uncle's creation. He also reminded me that there have been a total of three outhouses. One was stolen, removed in one piece. My uncle was positive he saw it on a float in a parade in Kentucky. The second was torn apart and the wood taken. Someone saw the thieves pulling out of the property with the wood in the bed of their truck. The one pictured is the one I described in my previous post, and still stands.

 

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Well... not exactly an "outhouse" story, but close:

 

Early one morning up at Fort Miller (well before shooting time) fifteen or twenty years ago, I decided to mosey on over and take advantage of the indoor, honest-to-Gosh flushing facility at the Fresno Rifle and Pistol Club.  

 

There I was... all settled in for a relaxing morning sit-down, totally unaware of the colony of small tree frogs who had set up housekeeping for the night under the rim.  I suspect they were initially curious and perhaps a mite alarmed about the sudden "overcast."  But when what happened next happened, they got QUITE lively.

 

I am here to tell you... if you've never experienced an angry mob of tree frogs zipping and ricocheting about the porcelain bowl whilst you are perched upon same, trust me - you don't want to.  It will fire up the imagination with all sorts of images, you will vocalize odd sounds, and no amount of coffee nor bugle calls can wake ya up faster.  :blink:

                                                                        2,653 Tree frog Vectors, Royalty-free Vector Tree frog Images |  Depositphotos®

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In 1983, my US Army company was the infantry component of joint training with the Egyptian armed forces. Operation Bright Star, IIRC.  

Camp was Cairo West airfield, a flatter than normal piece of desert.  GP mediums to sleep or cook food when in camp, a poncho when in the field. Women were in the contingent (Blackhawk pilots, supply, a cook or two), on opposite side of camp from men.  The engineers deployed with us provided our "facilities", a true OUThouse.

 

It was a pit dug using a backhoe, and a platform which covered the pit.  Made from 6 sheets of plywood for a top (8'X16,), and sides raising the platform 18" high.  Around the outside edge, large holes were cut.  Ostensibly for sitting over, the holes were 18 in number, so we just HAD to name it "The Golf Course".  I am not sure why they bothered, but installed was a privacy screen, 5' wide OD green cotton duck stapled to 2"x2" poles wrapping entirely around the area of The Golf Course.  You entered through the gap in the duck, worked your way between the feet of occupied holes and the duck, found an empty, did your business.  No roof, did not need one in the desert, and if you were there long enough to get sun burned, well, ...

 

Flies are normally BAD in Egypt.  When the Army goes to another country, they don't need to follow US environmental laws.  They used DDT to control the pests, mostly by covering the top of the pile at the bottom of the Golf Course.  Returning from field exercises at the end of the third week, sitting in the "dining area" which was under a perpetually inflated cargo parachute, I commented out loud, "D@%N!  The flies are so bad I can't get my food from the plate to my mouth". An engineer sitting nearby turns and says, "We ran out'a DDT."  Me: "What does that mean?"  I found out: "deal with it".

 

Egypt at Cairo West airfield has 5,000 years of human waste and disease, petrified and waiting for a newbie to infect.  Like a mummy, only you can't run from it.  So, a general order given to all camp soldiers was, "do not move anywhere without wearing your foot gear".  Well, we took our boots off to sleep on a cot when in camp.

 

Three days before we loaded up and took a DC-10 from the airfield for home.  I am on sick call with dysentery, as were half of the others is my company.  Laying on my cot, the urge hit me harder than anything I have felt in my life.  I sat up, looked at my boots sitting on the sand-floor needing to be de-scorpioned, ignored the boots, and headed barefoot to the Golf Course at full run. I did not make it out of  the GP med opening before stepping on a tent peg sticking an inch out of the ground. I kept going.  Made it to the one and only open hole, and saved myself.  Fortunately the wound was bleeding profusely. I went from 16th Green to get my boots and then directly to the infirmary tent.

 

Doc is patching up my foot, and asks what happened. I tell him.  He says, "You know I have to report this, and you'll probably get an Article 15".  I tell him this: "Gimmey the papers (Art 15), I'll sign 'em!!  I'd much rather do that than [POOP] myself in front of my platoon and be forever harassed!!!"  I did not get an Article 15.

 

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