Mr. Pansy Chainsaw Massacre Story No. 2

It all began long, long ago:

The Pansys and 4 friends were up in the mountains getting firewood. It's legal to do so if you only take "downed" trees. So we're chainsawing stuff all day long, with the very occasional adult liquid beverage (that pricey Old Milwaukee stuff), dusk is upon us and things have been going Just Swell Until..... And you know, I think it was Mr. Pansy's idea so, really, the rest of us are not to be blamed for this turn of events. Certainly not I! Because everything in life is, after all, about who can be stuck with the blame.

Eventually there were no conveniently located downed trees but there was this one, lone, very dead but still standing tree Right There. The rest of us stand back as Mr. Pansy The Lumberjack scientifically makes precise cuts to properly fell the tree so it will land Over There. All goes well as it topples downhill. The height of this particular still standing dead tree, unfortunately, had not been scientifically determined and the top of the dead, falling tree hit a stand of live trees further down the hill. The impact caused the dead tree to explode into several larger-than-human-torso pieces, which the live trees, acting like surreal slingshots, then "threw" back up the fucking hill! We all run and scatter sideways.....except for Mr. Pansy who ran straight uphill. A chunk of flying tree could be seen, by the rest of us, zeroing in on Mr. Pansy like a heat-seeking Sidewinder missile inexorably locked in on its doomed target. It was eerie seeing this certain-death event unfold. The tree missile makes contact and Mr. Pansy is slammed down into the ground, completely covered by the tree which then began vigorously humping him. Okay, I made that humping part up. But it would make for a funny cartoon if that had happened. As it was, the ground was very loose decomposing pine needles, loose dirt, etc. so he was shoved face down by the tree into what could be properly described in a crime scene report as an "instantaneously created shallow grave".

All became very still and quiet. There is no movement from Mr. Pansy, the tree has stopped humping him, we are all frozen in place. At first it was a very faint but definitely discernable twitch of Mr. Pansy's fingers, then a foot, then the other foot. Which hand and feet are all that can be seen of Mr. Pansy. He's NOT DEAD! He was not only NOT DEAD but he was fucking suffocating, thank you fucking very much you fucking stupid assed fucking bystanders, under the weight of the tree which was pressing him into what was actually becoming his shallow grave. We race to the tree and quickly roll it off of Mr. Pansy. Well, except for that "short" delay where half of us wanted to roll the tree off This Way but the other half wanted to roll it off That Way. That fucking Old Milwaukee stuff can really screw with not only your judgment concerning deciding to make illegal firewood gathering but your rescue decision making skills, you know.

Mr. Pansy is really fucked up. He is totally covered in this loamy weird dirt except for his eyeballs and one hand. We all burst into, yes, the most sympathetic, heart-rending, soul searing LAUGHING OUT LOUD for at least one hour. We could not stop laughing. Ummm...because we had been so upset? You know how sometimes people get those funeral giggles. This was funeral guffawing that we could no more control than we could control our bladders. We laughed till we peed our pants. We laughed till we cried. We laughed as we drank more Old Milwaukee to calm us down. We laughed sitting down. We laughed laying down. We laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed.

Not Mr. Pansy, though. Nooooo! He has to get like all "I hurt everywhere" "I want to go home" "I can't see, could someone help me rinse out my eyeballs" Me, me, me, me! Geezzusfuckingkryeest! We try to clean him up, there are no broken bones or even abrasions (three huzzahs for SOFT dirt shallow graves!) and I drag his sorry assed carcass home.

The next day I took Mr. Pansy to the doctor since he, upon awakening, could not move his arms above bending them at waist level. I think he pretty much couldn't walk either. I did a very poor job of subduing my giggling as I took him to the doctor. There was no actual damage to his body. Just sore from being hit by essentially a bark-covered locomotive. There was an area of his body that was the sorest. He would let me know when it would swell (usually a couple times each day) and it could only be relieved by my tender Pansy Mercies. Which also conveniently helped to stifle my ongoing giggle fits.