My friend and I were out bow hunting one morning , didn't have much luck and returned about noon. He had an aunt who was visiting from out of state that he had to drive to the airport that afternoon and he hoped to make it back in time to hunt the last couple hours of the day.
On the way to the airport, he had an itch but with his aunt in the car, he sucked it up and tried to forget about it after awhile it went away. He dropped the aunt off at the airport and rushed back to hunt and returned just in time, we were getting dressed and ready to hunt. He ran into his house to change his cloth and from inside the house we hear him yell," What the h#ll, O my God!" and we hear a crash. We run into the house to find him passed out on the floor with his pants around his ankles. We wake him up and he looks down at his tally wacker and passes out again! The itch he felt on the way to the airport? Was A tic. It stopped itching because it had burried itself into my friends tallywacker.
Now I concider him a close friend, but I draw the line at sabre toothed crotch critters. Short of throwing water at him from a safe distance, he wasn't even getting in my truck till he put his pants back on,. If he doesn't come to in a few minutes and pull his pants up, I'm calling 911.
He came to eventually, my other friend and I gathered up a tweezers, some vasoline, a lighter and cigarette, some dental floss, a big needle, a big knife (mostly for effect) some gauze, Jack Danials and sent him back into the bathroom to do battle and take back his man hood. He couldn't do it.
We had to give up a perfectly good hunting trip and go to the Emergency room. At first I don't think anyone at the ER was taking us seriously! I mean I got this guy who acting like he's dieing and keeps passing out and they don't believe me when I tell 'em it's because he's got a tic on his dick. After a couple minutes of a rediculous conversation, he was finally admitted , treated and released in a record 4 hours. I found the discharge nurse to be quite funny trying to explain to us what kind of care he's going to need.
" He's gotta do what? Ah...Don't tell me, if it's up to me he's going to die and if you can't tell me he's bug free, he's riding home in the back of my pick up, and I hope you gave him something to stop that whimpering, we don't want to hear him crying from our tree stands tomorrow. He ain't gunna bleed all over my truck is he?" They gave him Vicodin and valume. We took him home, he dissapeared into bed and we didn't see him again for about 2 weeks. Before that I was the whimp who got his butt kicked by a wounded buck. Funny how he stopped giving me crap about that.....and the moral of the story?