Live Oak Blues What happens.

I’ve told this one so many times that I thought I would get the “official” version on the record here.

My son and I were in Costa Rica and decided to take a boat trip to a wildlife refuge so remote that you can’t get there by car. After the long boat ride, my infamously tiny bladder was no longer to be denied and I was directed to an “outhouse” up the hill (three plywood walls and a bucket).

By the time I got unzipped and ready, I felt a slap atop my head so foreceful I half expected to see Andre the Giant. What I saw instead was something like the picture at left–which is, trust me, precisely what you don’t want to see with your love tackle flapping in the breeze.

"Sweetie"--the little shit who attacked me

By the time they had gotten “Sweetie” off me (I’m not kidding on the name), I was running shirtless and nearly pantless down the hill back to the bewildered bosom of the strangers with whom I made the trip. One guy said to me “I figured something was wrong, because I ain’t never heard a man scream like that.” My “life-threatening” story quickly (too quickly for my taste) became a hilarious story for my boat mates, son included.

“Sweetie” had punctured me pretty good with one of his incisors and was apparently freaked out by the stranger in his home turf. Sweetie and I are no longer on speaking terms.