[earschplitinloudenboomer]

Lester Gwinn was a little late raisin' his trot line fer the summer...moss had already started runnin' bad. He had the line wrapped around one oarlock to hold his boat in the current while he tried to remove a gob of moss bigger'n a number 3 wash tub. Busy as he wuz, Lester didn't hear anythin' right at first... then he did...sounded like a swarm of them blackflies, screamin' fer blood... an' above Uncle Burley you could hear that Seahorse too!!! Lester looked up, the only thing he could see above the bow of Uncle Burley's loomeyun boat (Lester was one of them people that couldn't pernounce lunamin) was the rooster tail she was throwin' up. That rooster tail looked like it was shot from a salad shooter, what with all the moss. As Uncle Burley blew by the prop grabbed Lesters trot line...ate it all... along with Lesters oarlock and purty near everything else in the boat...'cept that gob of moss...Uncle Burley ended up wearin' that 'round his head...over his shoulders...down his back...snaaaaaapin' in the breeze... Lester wasn't impressed an' as his doggy paddle was a little rusty, he headed fer shore...while his boat headed fer Meadow Creek.

Even with all this goin' on, sumthin' caught Uncle Burley's attention...it was Sandstone Falls...he was just below 'em an' gettin' there quick! Uncle Burley would have to think of something fast... he'd have to kill the Johnson...kill it with what? Somethin' still had him snagged to the bottom of the boat, couldn't reach the fuel line...had to be somethin'...anything...HIS LAIG...yep, that ought to do it. Quickly he unbuckled it, slid it off, hoisted 'er up by the ankle an' Uncle Burley had a weapon....found he could stand up now too...so that's what had had him hooked to the bottom of the boat!

Cut to ABC's "Wide World Of Sports"...Curt Gowdy...cowboy boots, white hat...bolo tie...black and white footage of salmon making their way upstream...NOW FORGET THAT Bu** Sh**...what those rafters saw was ESPN...livin' color..in thier face...raw, uncut, shock and AWE!...an' that was before the wake hit 'em. The campers, at least, had the advantage of distance...for a little while. What they saw, in the distance, was straight from Melville...the tiny boat clearing the top of the falls...Uncle Burley, statuesque...standing amidships...on one leg...pant leg an' moss flowing back from him...his heaving chest glistening, covered with bits of moss and chopped fish... his left hand grasping the lashing of the cooler...in his right, his prosthetic leg, raised high above his head poised to strike....AAARRRRRGGGHHH!!!... "TO THE LAST I GRAPPLE WITH THEE; FROM HELL'S HEART I STAB AT THEE; FOR HATE'S SAKE I SPIT MY LAST BREATH AT THEE"...."THOU DAM'NED JOHNSON"....an' he'd give 'er another whack!

Just as the boat had stopped skippin' like a rock on the mill pond, things took a turn fer the worse...BAAAAMMMM!!!!! ....prop hit a rock...one blade sheared plumb off...(knowed he shouldn't of used a grade 8 bolt fer a shear pin)...an' folks, they wuz a whole lot of shakin' goin on!!! Ya'll have seen movies where they'ed wiggle the camera to make things look like they're shakin'...well this weren't no movie an' Uncle Burley's cheeks were startin' to slap hell out of the rest of his face! 'Bout now Uncle Burley shore wisht he'd learned to swim. He decided that if this was goin' to be a fight to the finish, he'd do it in his own element...dry land...so he cut 'er toward the camp ground.

Now you moderators might want to limber up that panic button fanger 'cause what comes next could be considered a little bit racey...an' if any of you fellers have some kind of condition...maybe you should excuse yerself an' check out the fly of the month posts er somethin' fer a little bit... stop shakin' yer head, leeO...you cain't make this stuff up!!!!

Twelve foot boat...40 horse Johnson high on mothballs...11 million RPM's...one blade broke off the prop, camp ground dead ahead...

...when she hit the impact sent the Johnson, along with the 'lunamin transom, flying over Uncle Burley's head, he had only some rocks, a log and a campfire to cushion his landing...he's mending right well though, an' even with the wires holdin' his jaws shut, he insisted on speakin' to me when I got to the ICU.

He wanted me to apologize to that lady in the port-a-jon...she almost made it...all that was left wuz that little "pat down" at the end...you know...the one that takes 3 rolls of toilet paper, and has fed countless plumbers throughout the ages...that was when the Johnson slammed through the back of the port-a-jon. The transom kept it from makin' a straight pass through, but it didn't keep the tiller from seperatin' her from her under alls.

...40 horse Johnson, high on mothballs...one prop sheared off...11 million RPM's...she didn't know who had dropped the quarter in but she was flat stayin' til the end of the ride!!!...harrrrruuuuuuuuUUUUUUMMMMMM...UMMmm...mm...m.

The Johnson, disconnected from its fuel supply, was at last, in it's death throws...'til the toilets supply of methane hit it!

...beeep...Houston we have ignition...beeep...countdown sequence at...beeep... we have lift off...beeep...all systems go...beeep...power up to 110%...beeep.....................................
.........good for splashdown............beeep........

The doctors think with therapy, and strong medication, she'll come out of it...may even walk again... but after such an ordeal, no one can explain to them why she's still smilin'.