Long ago...

In the middle of a midwestern snow storm we (The Indiana National Guard) had a mandatory qualification day. This meant we drag our camoflagued asses out to a firing range at the crack of dawn and wait for Range Control to give us the "all clear". The whole company is sitting in the bleachers, shoulder to shoulder, shivering with our rifles between our knees. The word from Range Control is there isn't enough sunlight to see the targets.

It's just bright enough that we can see the silhouette of the port-a-potties next to the observation tower.

My buddy John1 says, "Hold my rifle, I gotta take a shit."

He waddles off through the snow and opens the dark stall. Creaking cold plastic and rusty springs before it whaps shut behind him.

A few moments later John screams. He bursts through the plastic door with his pants bunched around his waist and his body armor draped over a shoulder. He scurries to the other toilet and slams the door behind him, loudly cursing the whole time.

Five minutes later a slightly more composed John comes shuffling back towards the bleachers looking defeated… ashamed… somehow even violated.

"You see a spider?" Someone asks.

"No…"

"Poseidon's kiss?"

"Worse…" he says, collecting his rifle. "I don't think these toilets have been serviced in a while…"

"That's normal, during summer those toilets are shit soup hot boxes."

"This was worse," he says staring out into the cold dark morning. "I sat on a poopsicle….

...and it hit the bull's-eye"