The Dreaded ShitBox9™
Posted by JoVaara
Alright all of you. This is going to get slightly weird. So if you don’t like the idea of fermented human feces stored in a sealed mayonnaise jar for 3 months, then you might want to close your eyes for this one! This is the story involving the Shitbox9™!
This shit is about to get heavy. Pun intended! Lets start at the beginning. During our early days we had a bright spark called Shitbox9™. The general idea being we would collect shit in jars. Shit? Yes! Human shit. In fact, it was our own shit. Disturbed yet? You havent’ heard the best yet. So we would collect all these jars half full of shit. If the brown bear came out to play, you’d trap him the jar and seal him up. You know, to store, because at the time we didn’t really know what we’re going to do with the shit, or the box…..
So the amount of jars multiplied like rabbits… We’re stuntmen, we need our nutrition, we eat a lot, and hence… ahhh I think you might think why the number of jars grew rapidly. As time went by it became harder and harder to keep the jars from giving off the most godawful smell. It was nauseating. Kind of like…old curry mixed with..bleh. It can’t be explained. You only need to know that if you opened that jar, you were guaranteed to chunder.
Looking back I don’t even know why we had 14 bottles of shit at one stage. It’s insanity I rate. What person in their normal state of mind would collect shit in jars, and not have one or the other nefarious purpose for it? Well, it turns out we did have a purpose for it. Not vandalism of badgery of the public, but rather to let Pete step into a virtual gas chamber of old, mixed, moldy shit. Juicy shit. Runny shit. Big ol’ loggers. They didn’t mind blending in together in a perfect harmony of horrible stench. Does it sound awful yet? I would think so yes!
So we sat down and brainstormed what we should do with all of these gathered shitbottles. They were like Nazi traps just waiting to be deployed, a smelly, disgusting brown bastard just waiting to pounce and make you chunder like there’s no future.
Then it hit me. Like a close range paintball shot. The Shitbox9™! Now this seemed like a very good idea at the time. We didn’t care much about preparing it. Psyched like beasts we hunted down a random box big enough for Pete’s noggin to fit in, and have some space in front for the shitty jar to be kind of screwed on to the bottom. So it comprised that Pete would now have this box, taped with heavy duty plastic so that there is no easy escape, and then sit and choke on the smell of the intense brown shitty smell. A brown smell? Yes my friends, a BROWN SHITTY STENCH… when you smell that shit you can even taste in in the back of your throat. Its’ sickening. It’s like it seeps into your skin, into your pores, finding a way under your skin. And the fact that the lids of our silicone-sealed jars have started to rust and pop out didn’t help much.
Some of the jars lids have started to kind of like, pop off by itself due to a build up of gas. True Story. We have left some of the jars in the sun as well, so you can imagine how tight that shit was crammed in with that gas. Toit. Toit loik a toiger’s arse.
We walked Pete out to the lawn with the box, shit, gloves and tape to make sure there was no easy escape from this shitty situation. As the time of his impending boxing drew nearer, he started to feel the pressure. It took some heavy persuading to let Pete go through with it. He knew what waited for him once he was taped in. There would be no escape. Well, no easy escape, that is.
Strapped in and ready to snort the shit. Hell yeah! It was all coming together brilliantly. Chuck was the cameraman, I had my Dexter’s-mom gloves on and we were ready for surgery! Pete was sweating bullets, the dogs were all around us investigating the shit that was about to play out here. I took the first bottle out of the box and tried to twist the lid. Nothing. Nada. It was tightly sealed. Off I went to fetch a knife (which obviously went straight to the greater Ermelo junk yard afterwards. There was no way in hell that thing came near to anything, ever again. Eeuw!)
So the silicone was pierced and cut, and already you could hear the slow but steady “ssssssssssss” from the gas escaping from the pressure. The stench was bad. Real bad. Horrible. So with much effort I finally got the lid twisted open. With a loud “SHHHHHHHHTTTTTT” the gas escaped, sending splatters of liquified shit and God knows what else sputtering all over me and Chuck.
The smell. HO-LY SHIT! It was so bad. So so bad. There was no stopping the stench from taking over your entire respiratory system. It was insanity. You can’t breath, you can’t cough, you can’t do anything. Your body starts to retch involuntarily. You feel paralyzed, like you have been incapacitated by the stink.
The dogs seemed to find it very interesting though. They both read the encrypted messages in the horrible stench, with their noses pointed left, right and centre!
I manned up and screwed the bottle into the hole we so deliberately cut for maximum effect right under Pete’s nose. I could see Pete take deep breath before the bottle was screwed on. It wasn’t the most optimal air to draw, but it was better than the confined shitstorm that was about to be unleashed inside his box of sorrow. To be quite honest, I was really impressed with the amount of time Pete held his breath. It seemed like he had a adrenaline fueled superhuman ability to survive without oxygen. But not likely, as he eventually exhaled, only to gasp for another breath. Bad idea to hold his breath beforehand. He was now kind of out of breath, and the small sniffs he took to avoid the stench didn’t help at all. You could see the panic in his eyes as he realized he’s trapped like a panda in the middle of a Chinese kitchen. Surrounded by hungry Japs with long knifes…. instead of Japs he was trapped in the grasp of the Brown Bear. He swayed his head… he coughed. Drooled like crazy. He was looking for a way out of this shit trap. He didn’t chunder, or hadn’t yet. He was close to calling George. Big time. Pale as a sheet he started clawing at the front of the box. Good thing we used industrial plastic! He couldn’t get it torn.
He started clawing frantically at the plastic in the front and the back of the box, but couldn’t get a grip. Beforehand we circled the box a few times with the tape to make sure he was trapped good. He started to shake his head, coughing and retching uncontrollably. His head swayed like a massive beast from a a movie…maybe like Clash of the Titans or similar. He looked like he might faint! I was concerned for a brief moment, but with renewed energy he started to claw the box, hitting the side with his fist, rubbing the box against the wall! It was so funny to see, Pete looked epically comical with the box taped to his head and not being able to get it off!
With a almighty roar he yelled “GET IT OFFFFFF!!!” which signaled the man was close losing it in his shitstained compartment of torture. I stepped in with the knife and cut the fron to the plastic off the box. He tore it open like a mandman, his eyes bulging like a frog slowly being squished by a 3 year old hooligan on his tricycle. His eyes were watery and bloodshot, he was dripping with sweat. It was intesne! Real intense. He kept spitting and spitting, taking long gulps of magnificen fresh air.
He slouched forward and looked like a man who just lost his wife, his car and the power of his cock. He was tired. He looked like he needed a shower. He smelled like he was a hobo slogging in through the trashcans of Hillbrow. Chuck was convulsing next to me as the open jar of shit was lying on the grass. With the whole commotion of Pete running around like a headless chicken, she jar was kicked and the shitty shit was spilt all over the lawn. The smell was horrible. Even though it’s been open a good 10 minutes it still smelled like ass.
Methodically we cit the box from the now agitated Pete, who just wanted out from this horrid ordeal. Finally we got the shit smeared box off his head. He stumbled round the yer, cursing under his breath. It was really a sight to see.
The box was off. Pete was free. The shit still smelled like shit.
Pete smelled like shit. I asked him how he felt, to which he replied:
I CAN TASTE IT!
How horrible does that sound? It’s whack.
We asked him if he would ever do it again? He replied with a sarcastic, hood-rat attitude of “Aww Hell Naww!” and stumbled off to take the longest shower he has taken ihis entire life. He might have washed with some Handy Andy and bleach and brushed his teeth until his gums bled like a wounded Vietnam soldier’s gut shot.
Yet, here we are in 2011, and we’re at the Shitbox9™ again. This time it’s going to be an insane contraption where he’s actually going to be in a box roughly the size of a large fridge.
Shit is going to rain down like the worst, and he’s going to be trapped in there. Taking it. Like a boss.
Well everyone, it’s been real, but I have to get cracking! Remember to join our Facebook Fan Page and become part of Hazard Family, where you will have EXCLUSIVE access to vintage content and videos not available anywhere else. Also fllow us on Twitter and subscribe to our YouTube Channel!
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As always, stay safe! – JV 8)
Pete’s Hard Knock Life with Zambooby!
About JoVaaraWe do stunts and on the lookout for someone who would sign us on a Dudes of Hazard TV show.
Posted on October 21, 2011, in More Dudes of Hazard Stuffs and tagged africa, afrikaans, amateur, arm, ass, at, awesome, best, birds, blade, bliksems, blood, brother, brotherhood, cement, chuck, crash, cry, dock, dont, dudes, dudesons, epic, ever, faceplant, fail, funny, grass, guts, hazard, home, idea, it, jackass, jo, kendo, knife, laugh, lol, major, manly, metal, moere, morris, norris, not, of, owned, pain, perkele, pete, pistol, polo26450, pwnd, repairs, roof, scream, shitbox9, snafu, south, staples, stick, stunt, stuntman, stuntmen, the, this, try, vaara, video, we, whip. Bookmark the permalink. 1 Comment.