The shaft dropped in the hole with a THUNK, and the top of the tank shook. The sound was If it involves margaritas and chickens count me in shirt , but it marked my success. Immediately, I reached out the hatch, and a pair of hands pulled me out into the cold, and now, painfully bright room. I was hauled out the hatch, dripping with hot sticky peanut butter that now covered every single inch of my entire body except for my face.
The small group of perhaps a dozen guys had grown to well over two dozen men (and a few women) when I came out of there, and they all applauded and cheered like I’d just taken the stage at Woodstock. Every single person in the whole damn shop, even all of the workers from the assembly lines, had come running to see the freakshow. The whole damn factory was at a standstill just to watch my stupid ass emerge naked and covered in slimy peanut butter from that tank. I cannot begin to express how sincerely thankful I am that this happened back in the early 90’s before everyone walked around with a camera in their pocket.
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I marched my dripping, skinny, shivering, naked ass all the way to the other If it involves margaritas and chickens count me in shirt where I was able to get hosed off.. By the time I’d gotten there, about a block and a half in total, the peanut butter had hardened and I was scraping it off in gobs. The moment it got hit with the hose though, it became a strange combination of hard, waxy, greasy, and even more disgusting. Eventually, I was able to get to some manner of reasonably clean.
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