You arnt living unless you **** your pants at least once a year...
100% True Story
I guess it was early June. I was doing some relic hunting down around Washington, MS. Great permission! Problem was, the old house didnt have a working bathroom. I had been swinging my metal detector since about 7:30 that morning and was on the back end of the property. Having already ditched my shirt in the front yard, I didnt have a lot of cleanup gear. The roll of toilet paper in my fanny pack was nothing but a giant cotton ball after a downpour at 10 am. The night before had consisted of 3 Knock U Naked margaritas, two links of boudin and a Grengo Pie, which consisted of 3 pork tamales drowned in cheese and chili. I thought I had done enough damage control with the saltine crackers and possible formed a dam. Unfortunately my barrier was nothing more than a weir.
I stumbled upon two giant old pecan trees and began to detect the old exposed roots when "WHOMP WHOMP" i get a huge deep iron reading. This site had been used by Andrew Jackson during the war of 1812 and there on after by the Union troops, as they took over Natchez. Ive recovered several Eagle buttons, bullets, some gold guild early 1800's buttons, numerous camping relics as well as horse tack from the era. I dug furiously down under a root that was larger than my leg when I hit a solid flat topped, piece of metal. I'm not sure if we have any other relic hunters in here but I had a shovel specifically welded for digging plugs. This thing weighs approximately 13 pounds and is quite the workout to tote. I cleaned the dirt around the lid and discovered that it was indeed some sort of metal box. Problem was, I couldnt get it jar'd loose as the root ran right across the lid, practically sealing it in.
I took my shovel and began to pry on it. I didnt want to puncture the already rusted metal, in case it may have held valuables. What happened next was something out of a Poltergeist movie. As I was bowed up on my shovel, and as the fella in the Ryan's Steakhouse bathroom can concur, I felt a shift in the bowel continents. Straining with everybit of my 185 pound frame, while draped over my military grade simple tool, **** filled my unders, my overs and my shoes. I didnt have many options as the rain began to fall again. I could see loggers working in an area about 100 yards from my location but how was I to explain why I was butt naked with a backpack, shovel and metal detector? I decided to try and make it back to my truck a half mile away. I will never forget that walk. As fate would have it, my truck was parked on the edge of a church parking lot where the congregation had just made it outside for a scheduled pick nick. I hid in the woods with my gear for another hour or so until the crowd dissipated before making a run for it. It was a thing of beauty. The folks that remained outside the church will probably never forget the sight, as I had my shovel over head, full sprint, dodging mudpuddles like a cat on rollerblades. I let out somewhat of a war cry as I splashed my way to the drivers door. The looks on the good peoples faces were perplexed as I honked and waved. To make everything worse, I wasnt able to recover the metal box, but I know right where it is!
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