BILLINGSGATE POST: it was forty years ago that The Miracle In Beaver Crossing changed the way that men looked at skivvies forever. Slim Everdingle related this story about two brothers who found shelter from a snow storm in the farmhouse of Elmer Smuckmeister, a local farmer who put them up for the night so they wouldn’t freeze to death.
As Art and his demented brother, Sleaze, were driving from Omaha to Cheyanne to visit their Grandma, they were caught in a blizzard outside the farming community of Beaver Crossing, Nebraska.
To seek refuge from the storm, they knocked on the door of Elmer’s home and asked if he could put them up until the storm blew over.
“Sure boys. You can sleep in the bunkhouse. But there ain’t no bathroom facilities. You will have to use the outhouse behind the shed if nature calls.”
Well, around midnight, Sleaze had to take a dump. Looking out the window, he could barely see the outline of the outhouse because of the driving snow.
“F*ck this,” he murmured to himself.
Looking down on the floor between the beds, he saw his brother’s trousers laying there. A light bulb went off in his head.
Squatting down, he carefully took a dump on his brother’s pants, hoping that when his brother woke up in the morning, he would think he crapped his pants, as he so often did.
Around 6:00 AM, the demented Sleaze was awoken by his excited brother, who was shaking his arm and yelling:
“Sleaze! Sleaze! It’s a f*cking miracle. I just shit my pants last night, and it didn’t even go through my skivvies. Lookie here.”
Slim: “Whoever thought that miracles couldn’t happen?”
Dirty: “Yo, Dude. I hope they saved those shorts. I would like to see them someday.”