Scratching That Itch

[Captain Creeper]

Me and my old buddy, Cletus, were driving down to the bait shop to get us some gizzards and night crawlers fer catfishing we was planning to do that night. I was driving my old pick-em-up truck when Cletus told me that nature was calling fer him, REAL HARD. “Ah, hell, there ain’t no place to stop out here, boy. You is just gonna hafta git in the woods and do it injun style!”, I said.

So, I pulled off the side of the road, up along side a simmering old cypress swamp. Cletus hit the ground running!! I noticed his hands were empty, so I called out to him, “Hey man!! You need ya some striking paper!!” Cletus stopped and looked at me with a worried expression as he pushed his butt cheeks together with both his hands. “Ya’ll got any striking paper?!?”, asked Cletus. I looked around my truck and found some used sandpaper. “Here ya go, Clete!!”, I yelled. He grabbed it and took off her the cover of the trees. Of course, I was cracking up!!

I sat there fer a good 15 minutes waiting on that sumbitch to git done. After a couple minutes I pulled out my truck gun and started plinking on the gators swimming round the swamp. Finally, Cletus returned, got in the truck, and we took off fer the bait shop again. I asked him, “How was the go, dude? Was it a little rough?!? Ha ha ha ha!!!” Cletus looked at me with a snarl on his face and said, “You dirty sumbitch…”. Of course, that made me laugh a bit harder!!

On down the road a spell, as I listened to a Merle Haggard cassette and sipped on some Jack Black, a terrible smell hit me. “HOLY SHIT!!!”, I said, and nearly swerved off the road. “What in the hell is that smell?!?” I looked over at old Cletus to find him leaning over the front seat with his left hand down the back of his britches digging in his ass.

“Cletus!! What in the hell are you doing, you sumbitch?!?!”, I demanded. Cletus said on account of him not having any striking paper, he was suffering a terrible itch up way on up in his ass. “WELL STOP IT!!! YOU IS SMELLING THE TRUCK UP SOMETHING FIERCE!!!”

“I cain’t stop it!! This goddamned itch is driving me CRAZY!!!”, he said. I told him to hold on because we would be at the bait shop in 10-15 minutes, then he could go to their crapper and wipe his ass all proper like. But there was no stopping, Cletus. At this point he had both hands down the back of his pants, just a’going at it something furious.

I found myself in a real sensitive predicament here. See, the smell of old Cletus’s ass was making me sick. Plus, I was worried that the smell might be settling into the reupholstery I had done to the seats in my truck. I wanted to throw his ass out on the side of the road and let him walk the rest of the way to the bait shop. However … and this is a BIG “however” … old Cletus owned the boat we was going fishing in later out on the river. After that sandpaper bullshit, if I kick him outa my truck, I can kiss this fishing trip goodbye. Hell, I had already bought 2 cases of Busch beer for the trip!!! So, I needed to tactfully respond to this situation.

“Ok. Ok, Cletus, I got jest what you need, son. Don’t worry your head none, boy. I is gonna fix ya right up!!”, I said. Cletus looked at me and said, “What the hell are you talking about?!? Just get me to a toilet with some wiping paper!!” I said, “Nope!! I can’t stand to see my good buddy in such a suffering way. I will fix ya’ll up. Jest wait a second!”

I pulled over on the side of the road, just inches away from another cypress swamp teaming with gators and cottonmouths. I hopped out and went to look in my toolbox in the bed of my truck, hoping to find something to help this here situation I was in. I just had to get me some flathead fer the freezer! Then I found it. “AH HA!!!! This here will do the job!!!”, I exclaimed.

I walked round back of the truck and to the passenger side door, opened it up and told Cletus to get the f*ck out. “What are you doing?”, he asked. I told him to shut the f*ck up, then “Now, Cletus, drop yer britches and bend over the front seat of the truck!”

Old Cletus snapped his head back at me, concerned with what he just heard me say. Then he saw what I had in my hand. “What in tarnation are you doing with a drill, dude?!?” I replied, I am gonna fix that itch, brotha!”

I explained to Cletus that I would jack the long drill bit up his wazoo and then turn it on. All that high-speed twisting and spinning of the drill it way up in there was sure to give him as good an ass scratching as anything! “Plus, with this here wood hole bit on the end here, you is sure to get the ‘magnum experience’!!”, I said.

Cletus looked concerned fer his health. But at the same time, I could see that he had him one powerful itch. Fer you folks who ain’t never had ya one of these here nasty deep-up-way-in-there ass itches, well, they ain’t fer the faint of heart. They will drive ya plum looney tunes til ya satisfy them.

Hell, once while at deer camp we done run out of toilet paper fer the outhouse. Well, the next morning I had me a bad case of the hangover squirts. I didn’t even make it to the outhouse before I started spewing all over creation! Without the proper wiping paper, I didn’t have no way to clean up. So, I ended up grabbing a handful of white t-shirts outa a knapsack that old Jack Mahoffer, a fellow hunting clubber, brought. I gotta tell ya, there weren’t none of them damned shirts white anymore when I returned them to Jack’s sack.

By the time I climbed up thar in my tree stand, I was having a powerful deep-ass itch. I couldn’t stop squirming on the stand! There was no way I could kill a deer as long as the deep itch persisted. Pretty soon I had my hand jammed up into my britches, knuckles deep trying to scratch that itch. But that didn’t work. I just couldn’t get far enough up in thar. It was time to take drastic action!

Unfortunately, the drastic action caused me to lose my balance and fall outa my tree stand, and 30 feet to the forest floor below. When Jack and another clubber found me I was unconscious. I also had my pants and drawers around my ankles and most of the barrel of my rifle up my butt. I broke my collar bone and 3 ribs that day, and they kicked me outa the hunting club, but I got to tell ya, the way that front iron site dug into my rectum and scratched that itch … PERFECTION!!!

But back to me and Cletus. I did not have a rifle with me, nor would I use it on Cletus’s dirty ass! But I will use my 18 volt Black and Decker drill. Cletus did not much like this idea, but he was suffering too much from the ass itch. A lone tear rolled out of his left eye and down his cheek. Then Cletus said, “Do it.” Then he dropped his britches and bent over the front seat.

“Now don’t you worry none, Cletus. This will be over with in a minute!”, I said. Well sir, I revved up that drill to full speed and started to insert it, but then I made a mistake. I got it to close to the pubic area on the way in and snagged some of Cletus’s ball hair! It tangled in the spinning drill bit, and in a split second it, along with Clete’s scrote skin, was ripped clean off him and was spinning around the drill bit!!! Cletus screamed out in searing, intense pain, and I was covered in Cletus’s blood. “Goddamn”, I said.

Cletus was grabbing his now perforated sacks. He started to raise up, but I pushed him back down over the seat. I said, “Damn it, Cletus, I fucked up. But I am going to make it right. We are going fishing tonight, GODDAMN IT!!!?

I picked the scrote skin and pubic hair outa my drill with the help of my pocket knife and some needle nose plyers. Cletus was whimpering about his sacks, and begging me to take him to the hospital. “F*ck them hospitals!! You want to go fishing or not?!?”, I asked. Then I was ready to go again!

I changed the drill bits. See, I took off the hole drill. It was too damned big fer the job. I replaced it with a simple wood bit. This way it would be less inclined to get caught on hair. Then a horrifying thought occurred to me: What about the ass hair? “Yikes!”, I thought to myself. I sure was glad I thunk about this before I started. With an old backwoods sumbitch like Cletus, he probably had a mess of ass hair.

I spread Cletus’s butt cheeks to inspect. Sure enough, this sumbitch had him a big ole ass bush!! “You dirty sumbitch!”, I told Cletus. But I don’t think he heard me. He was still crying like a little *****. Anyway, I had to get his ass hairless before I hit it with the drill. I tried to think of a way to do it that was as non-gay as possible. Then it hit me!!!

I retrieved a can of WD40 from my tool box. I then lit a match and sprayed the WD40 into it. BAM!!! There it was!!! A first-class make-shift flamethrower!!! I aimed that angry flame at Cletus’s ass and set it ablaze!!! Cletus REALLY started screaming then!! He tried to dart across the front seat and exist from the driver’s side door. But I caught his ankle and dragged him back across the seat.

“Stop squirming so much, ya stupid sumbitch!!! Otherwise, the fire is gonna spread!!!”, I said to him. By that time, though, all of Cletus’s foolhardy screwing around had caused him to have a healthy amount of WD40 sprayed all over his nethers, which were now fully engulfed in a conflagration so damn big I decided I had to git him outa my truck pronto lest it go up in flames too!

I yanked Cletus from the truck and dropped in on the ground. But it was too late. My old pickup truck was in flames!! “SHIT!!!”, I said to myself. I told Cletus to get to work scooping up some of that dingy old black swamp water and throwing it onto my truck to put out the fire. But that sumbitch just laid thar on the ground, acting like he was asleep. “OH, so THAT is how it is gonna be, huh?!? I guess its times like these when you learn who your friends REALLY are!!!”, I said to Cletus in a disgusted tone.



I used a couple old empty beer cans to put swamp water into to fight the fire. Eventually, I was able to get it under control. The cab of my truck was a bit smokey, but other than that it was fine. By this time Cletus had come to and was crawling back up and into the truck. He was begging me to take him to the ER. I said, “You selfish sumbitch!! You think I is gonna take you to the ER after how ya just treated ME?!?!? F*ck you, Cletus!! I went to all of this trying to fix yer broken ass, and THIS is how you repay me?!?! BY TRYING TO F*CK ME OUT OF A FISHING TRIP?!?!? WELL, F- YOU, DUDE!!!”

I had had it by then. F- that fishing trip! I resolved to go take Cletus’s boat and go on the fishing trip by myself. I kicked that sumbitch outa my truck and left him on the shoulder of the road. When I looked back at him in my rearview mirror I caught a glimpse of him being dragged off into the swamp by a HUGE alligator. “Serves him right!”, I said to myself.

After making up some fantastical tales to tell the authorities about how some black people accosted us on the road and threw Cletus to the gators after torturing him, Cletus’s old lady, Bertha Mae, gave me Cletus’s bass boat. “He would have wanted YOU to have it”, she told me. Ha ha ha!!! Funny how shit works out sometimes!