Eau du Nightcrawler.
Once upon a time, not nearly long enough ago, I went on an otherwise wonderful extended canoeing trip. We were relatively competent urban androids, paddling X miles per day and camping “rough”, i.e. NorthFace tents, Svea stoves, etc.
So one stalwart wannabe survivalist buys a plastic carton of nightcrawlers from the bait and launch shop before we shove off. And he forgets it for a few days, gently simmering in the sun until we reach a pretty isolated area. It’s beautiful, setting sun sparkling off lake water, we’re good tired and ready for a campfire, rest and food.
Testosterone flexes. He’s gonna fish and catch us some big muthas, some wildass fish that will shame those wimpy cityslicker losers who aren’t here sharing the moment.
He digs out the fishing gear. Remembers the bait. Pops open the bait carton…and an unbelievable stench rolls out. It’s the sterotypical sci fi evil green fog that billows out, engulfing everything in its path.
The noxious cloud caught the wannabe fisherman first, who promptly lost his lunch. As the cloud expanded, harmless onlookers were hit with both the stomach wrenching fumes and the suggestive example of someone else heaving all X feet of his disgestive tract. Not that much suggestion was needed.
I will draw a merciful curtain over this scene. It is enough to say that we supped lightly (if at all) on cold water and abandoned camp very early the next morning.