When I was about eight years old, we moved from Vegas out to our ranch in the isolated rocky mountains. We were very poor and for a few years we didn't even have the luxury of indoor plumbing. Upon arriving at the farm, Dad was broke. We had to make do with a "temporary" living quarters in the form of a big green army tent. Dad did improve on it a little by installing a real working door instead of a zipper flap and a couple of glass windows. Yet for quite some time, the most important thing which is a bathroom, was a luxury Dad couldn't afford. So, early in the morning when the urge to go is at its zenith, we young boys would wander outside rubbing our eyes like zombies. Then we'd all line up on the bank in the front yard and have a "see who can go the furthest" contest. I always wondered why those trees down below turned yellow and died. Just imagine a half dozen young boys, some in their P-j's others just in their skivvies, all lined up on the bank arcing nice streams down on those poor trees.
Now the women folk weren't endowed with the same plumbing as us boys, so Dad solved this by building a nice outhouse for them. Now they had no reason to complain because this baby was a side-by-side double-crapper, that way there would be no waiting in line. The only problem with this beauty is it didn't afford central heating, so in the winter months when you went out in the middle of the night to "moon the rattlers" it was mighty cold. The women once again complained and Dad solved this by building some indoor pluming in the form of a plywood box with a hole in the top. Over that was a folding lid and underneath, a five gallon bucket. Dad graciously gave us young boys the honor of emptying it morning and evening and you can bet we weren't too happy about it. But at least the cold blooded people didn't have to go out into the freezing darkness to find the "dual-cesspool" anymore.
In the summer months our temporary dwelling was like an oven and attracted all kinds of slimming creatures and pesky insects. There were tarantulas and black widow spiders; huge ten-inch centipedes and evil scorpions, gila monsters and diamondback rattle snakes. Of all these, the devilish little scorpion was by far the most annoying. The others pretty much minded their own business, but not that trouble seeking scorpion. He would purposely smell out a human 10000 times his size and launch a full scale barbed attack on him. I don't understand a scorpion's thinking. Why would they attack someone 10000 times their size? Do they think they're spartan warriors or something? Don't they know they will be instantly turned to pulverized meat and sent to hell or wherever they go when they die? I can just see me with a poison spear in my hand attacking a six-hundred foot giant. "A-ha, I gotcha you big bully!" I shout as I stab him in the big toe before being crushed into a mushy pulp. Then as I head down to fire and brimstone, I wonder, "What in the hell did I do that for. Do I have a big ego problem or what?
One of our extended family members, -and I won't mention names here- was calmly using the WC one afternoon. Now remember, we were quite poor at the time and good 'ol Charmin tissue was a scarce commodity. This unfortunate person had hid a nice wad of his own personal "crack-cleaner" so he wouldn't get caught in an uncomfortable situation. He was in a hurry to get to the river for some swimming so he grabbed a handful. As he did his duty with it, he felt the searing pain of that nasty scorpion's razor sharp spear. Three times it nailed him before it fell down into the stinking depths below. It was obviously upset at being used for cleaning purposes and once again attacked somebody a million times its size.
Well the scorpion's sting is like a rattler bite. It take some time before you feel the full heart-throbbing pain from the poison. At the river, we were having a grand old time dunking each other and doing belly-flops off the ledges. Suddenly the hollering of someone in pain caused everyone to stop their fun for a moment to see what the fuss was all about. Sure enough, Uncl...I mean the scorpion victim was rolling on the beach in pain. The poison had finally settled down and started doing its job, which is to make you as miserable as possible.
I'm sure after that harrowing ordeal, he learned a valuable lesson and that is to carefully inspect Mr. Charmin for hidden venomous insects before you clean yourself in such tender areas!