I Couldn’t Stop Laughing
I grew up in a rural town. One night, sitting at home having a few too many drinks, my brother calls me and tells me he hit a deer driving home from work. He says he’s got it in his trunk and wants help gutting, skinning, and butchering it. As I’d gone deer hunting once before, and he hadn’t, he asked my help.
Plus, I’m a girl who likes her knives. So I go over and spend a few hours hanging and breaking down the deer so its meat won’t go to waste. We had finished with the meat, had a few beers, and had the inedible bits—head, spine, legs, etc.—left over.
Now again, we lived in a rural town, and my family had a few acres of land. You don’t bury a deer, so we drag the remains into the woods for critters to pick clean. We’re walking out of the woods a bit later, and it’s pitch black out.
I’m still wearing my bloody rubber gloves; there’s blood on my grungy, muddy clothes; and I’m still tipsy. As the woods open up around us, a spotlight falls on my brother and me. Someone had called law enforcement about some people dragging something into the woods.
My brother goes to explain, and I was absolutely no help because I couldn’t stop laughing. I’m guessing the office checked reports on the accident that did in the deer, because it wasn’t long before he drove off.
But I’ll never forget trudging out of the woods, covered in blood, smelling of booze, after having just disposed of an (albeit non-human) corpse, and facing a spotlight. Story credit: Reddit / StAliaTheAbomination