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The Revenge of the Jalapena Toilet Paper
by Tony M. Isaacs
I usually go camping with family and friends on every major warm weather
holiday. And more often than not, when the family festivities are finished, go
down to the cabin we built deep in the woods on the banks of the south Sulphur
river on Thanksgiving, Xmas and New Years to camp out with just the guys. Some
people call it hunting, but I call it "adult halloween", because we get all
dressed up in our stealthy hunting outfits, then go build a blazing fire, cook
up all kinds of tasty and smelly treats like chili and sausages and steaks and
stews and buffalo wings and you name it, drink too much, play loud rock or
country music, howl at the moon with the coyotes and pretty much run all the
game animals off for miles around. The only things that gets killed usually are
several twelve-packs of beer and more brain cells than I want to think about!
But it's a male bonding annual ritual kind of thing that has gone on for about
30 years or so and we have lots of fun. Sometimes at the expense of one another.
And sometimes fate steps in to lend a helping hand. Like the time I remember as
"the revenge of the jalapena toilet paper".
You see, my cousin Jeff, who actually owns the land we camp on and who is a
world class prankster so long as the prank isn't pulled on him, always liked to
harass me and anyone else who happened to have the misfortune of needing to use
the outdoor toilet whenever he is nearby. You never know when a firecracker or
gun is going to go off just outside the little building or a horse apple get
thrown into the side of the building with a loud BOOM, a lifelike snake get
poked under the edge of the building, or the building suddenly shaken mightily
accompanied by wild animal sounds. By accident, revenge came sweetly.
Les, my other cousin and Jeff's younger brother, and I were staying up one night
way past our bedtime, and way past Jeff's bedtime too, and we were doing our
mightiest to finish off the Crown Royal and Wild Turkey before they finished us
off. Finally when I staggered over to the shelf outside the cabin with the last
half of the bottle of Wild Turkey on it, I stumbled a bit and knocked over an
open jar of jalapenas. By the time I could set the jar upright, the juice had
already ran across the shelf and wicked into a roll of toilet paper that was
setting out among our supplies. At first I thought, "Oh no, I've ruined a roll
of toilet paper" because sometimes toilet paper can become a very valuable
commodity deep in the woods. Especially if you've ever substituted leaves that
turned out to be poison ivy . . . but that's another story.
While Les laughed and poked fun at me for being such a clumsy doofus, I remember
thinking "Darn, if only it wasn't jalapena juice maybe the toilet paper could
have dried out and still been serviceable in an emergency, but this roll is
going to have to go", but then I quickly forgot about it in the bourbon haze.
Now it just so happens that Jeff is always the first one up and his morning
campout routine seldom varies. He wakes up, is sure to make enough noise banging
stuff around and getting the coffee ready to wake everyone else up (because he
figures that if he's awake, the rest of the world should be too) then he gets a
cup of coffee, takes a dip of snuff, and soon heads for the wooden one-holer
throne for a lengthy session. It's much the same at home, except at home he
skips the snuff (kind of a deep woods campout thing) and substitutes the morning
paper for one of the girlie magazines he sometimes takes out to the shanty. And,
when he camps out he more often than not cooks up an evening meal so spicy that
it will take layers of skin off your tongue, making the morning trips to the
shanty pretty dicey for one and all. As it turned out, he had outdone himself
the previous evening and cooked up a bowl of jalapena and cayenne pepper laced
chili that would have made Wick Fowler cry, and had laughed heartily at Leslie
and myself when we tried to down a few bowls of the devils stew! Well folks,
sometimes what goes comes around, or perhaps better put, it all evens out in the
end.
Surely enough, the next morning, at hour when only Roosters were supposed to be
up, Jeff, showing no mercy at all for our hangovers, as usual, loudly got up and
banged enough things around while making coffee that it woke us up. Resigned to
the inevitable, Les and I staggered out of our sleeping bags, grabbed a handful
of Advils and our morning wake up drinks - coffee for me and Coke for Les, and
tried to keep our eyes from opening too much so we wouldn't bleed to death. And
then we shuffled over to the campfire and began to poke around in the coals and
rekindle the fire to ward off the morning chill. Meanwhile, cousin Jeff was
rumaging thorugh the cabin getting ready to prepare breakfast and finishing off
his second cup of coffee and snuff. All of a sudden he came out of the cabin
door moving quickly, saying "Gotta go, gotta go! I feel a good one coming!" and
he grabbed a roll of toilet paper off the supply shelf as he rounded the corner
of the cabin and made haste towards the outhouse, red long johns flapping along
the way. About halfway to the outhouse, he tukrned his head back towards the
cabin and gave us a final comment, "Boy howdee, I sure don't look forward to
this after the chili and jalapenas last night". I think the word jalapena must
have penetrated the fog of both Les and myself at the same time, because we
looked at each other, looked back at the shelf where the roll of jalapena juice
soaked toilet paper had been, and the looked back at each other and Leslie
almost spewed his mouthful of Coke and I clamped my hand over my mouth to keep
from laughing out loud.
Soon, all was quiet after Jeff entered and Les and I looked at each other with
big smiles, barely contained snickers and wide eyes. For awhile, nothing
happened, and we began to wonder . . . but some things just take a while to work
themselves out, and with Jeff they usually take longer than with others. All of
a sudden we heard an "OW!" and then another "OW", and then we heard "OH GOD!"
"OH LORD THAT BURNS" "YEEOOOOOOOOOOOOOW" and some other sounds that I'm not sure
how to spell, but whatever they were, they ended Les's efforts to hold his Coke
in his mouth as he spewed coke ou onto the fire, making it sizzle and smoke. It
was almost enough to make me feel sorry for the him. Almost, but I was too busy
laughing.
Finally, after the noise abated to mere moans and groans, Jeff emerged from the
toilet, beads of sweat all over his face, and he began making an awkward,
bowlegged limp back towards the cabin and campfire. With one arm and hand wiping
the sweat off his brow and the other one pulling the seat of his longjohns back
and forth and fanning his fanny mightily, he said "Man, oh man, that was about
the roughest time I've ever had in the crapper. I'm never gonna make my chili
that hot again!" And to this day, he doesn't know the real story of the jalapena
toilet paper.
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