And here I thought only guys pissed in the shower, was I ever wrong!
Of course I had to tell everyone my deepest, darkest, nastiest, secret as well. Actually I didn't tell anyone what that secret was exactly, I just told them that I once got my finger stuck in my sister's rear end and our dad had to help me get it out, that's all. I left it at that and let everyone stew for a couple of days although I'm sure they will all be enormously disappointed when they find out the rest of the story, believe me it's not what you probably think.
Now that your mind has had a chance to roll around in the gutter for awhile, allow me to elaborate.
A few years ago, the older of my two sisters one day decides that she wants an old Ford pickup like the one that our parents bought new when we were kids. Now my sister is well known for providing a home for wayward just about anythings. Dogs, cats, goldfish, camper trailers, tents (oh lord does she have tents), junk automobiles, boats, cast off building materials, you name it. Why her ol' man hasn't killed her yet I have no idea, but somehow she continues to drag stuff home and he continues to build more places for her to keep it all, so it's all good.
So anyway, Sis scours the classifieds and finally comes up with a '78 Ford half ton two wheel drive, just like the one Dad bought brand new in '78 except for the color, and the fact that this one most definitely is not brand new. I don't remember what she paid for it, it was too much I'm sure, but anyway I checked the thing over and it seemed to be in pretty good shape overall for a twenty something year old truck. After a month or so of running back and forth to work however, the telltale clank that the rear end started emitting when she'd put it in gear made it quite obvious that it was going to need some mechanical attention and the sooner the better. Typical Ford 9 inch rear end, you can't break one, but they're famous for wearing out at about a hundred K. Luckily they're relatively cheap and easy to rebuild however.
Now both of my sisters can put most of you sorry assed excuses for men out there to shame when it comes to knowing their way around under a hood, so with a little help from our Dad she jacks it up, pulls the axles, and drops the third member out of the rear end.
This is where I come in, and how my finger wound up in my sister's rear end in the first place.
Now I have no doubt that Sis could've figured out how to overhaul her own rear end, but since she didn't figure she had time, and Dad was too busy as well, I was nominated and happily volunteered to help out with the task.
When Sis's rear end arrived at my shop, I nearly had to look away in disgust. This was one big, nasty, greasy, obviously abused rear end we're talking about here, and it smelled awful, like burnt gear lube. It was terrible. So I checked my resolve, found that I had none, and set myself to the task of disassembling the chunky bastard, cleaning it up, and assessing the damage. My inspection revealed that the ring and pinion gears were still in good shape, the bearings were fine, it was just that the thrust washers behind the side and spider gears had been galled by a lack of oil which was allowing a whole lot of slack, hence the clank when the transmission was put in gear. I gave her a list, she bought the parts, and upon returning from work that fateful Saturday morning, I set out to stuff as many of those new parts into her rear end as I could, making it shiny and new again.
Now anyone that knows me, knows that I'm mostly worthless on Saturday mornings. Actually, I'm mostly worthless all of the time but that's a different story. After working nights all week however, I'm not only worthless, but borderline dangerous on Saturday mornings, but my sister's rear end was in demand, and damn it I needed to get it taken care of. There it sat, on the back of another truck that was in my shop at the time, all clean and shiny, box of new parts sitting next to it, so I shook off what I could of my sleepiness and set out to get my hands dirty. (But not nearly as dirty as your minds)
Now I'm sure a lot of you wouldn't know a rear end from a spark plug, there's likely a few out there that have forgotten more about rear ends than I'll ever know, but just a quick lesson for the one's that are still wondering what the hell I'm talking about. The rear end, or rear axle of a rear wheel drive car or truck houses the differential, which is a mechanism that allows one drive wheel to turn at a different speed than the other one. How it works doesn't really matter for the purpose of this story though, all you really need to know is that there's a bunch of gears inside that mesh together in a way that allows the drive shaft to propell both wheels, while allowing them to rotate at different speeds in order to allow the vehicle to turn corners without sliding one wheel or the other since the wheel on the outside of a curve obviously has to travel a much larger distance than the wheel on the inside of a curve, in the same amount of time. See what I mean? Clear as mud? Like I said, it doesn't really matter, just picture gears, and let them take you away to your happy place which is where I'll be going as soon as I'm done with this post. See ya there.
Basically, assembling a rear end is sort of like one of those nifty little wooden puzzles with the key. Know the one's I'm talking about? The kind that look like a ball or a cube, but when you pull out one "magic" piece, they fall into a big stack of pieces and then you have to put them all together in a certain order so that each piece you put in holds the last one in place. First goes in the side gear thrust washers, then the side gears, then the spider gears and their thrust washers which hold in the side gears, then the cross pins which hold in the spider gears, and so on. It was in the process of installing one of the cross pins that my finger became embarrassingly stuck, in my sister's rear end.
I had the carrier sitting there, the side gears already in place, a spider gear in my hand with the pre greased thrust washer sitting on top of it. I reached inside my sister's rear end with my left hand balancing the spider gear and thrust washer up against the top in the machined area where it was to reside. I picked up the cross pin with my right hand and placed it into the bore in the carrier, where it was to slide through the bore in the middle of the spider gear in my left hand thusly holding it in place and allowing it to pivot on the aforementioned cross pin, but it didn't. It went in a little ways and got stuck. So I did what anyone who had just worked nights all week and had only an hour or so before gotten off work from a 12 hour shift would do, I smacked it with a hammer. Now that wouldn't have been so bad in and of itself, but remember, my left hand was cupping the gear that I was hoping to propel this 3/4 inch diameter stainless steel pin through the middle of, so you can guess what happened.
Even as that hammer was falling through the air, hurtling at breakneck speed towards the protruding end of that pin, my mind was questioning the wisdom of that action. In its sleep deprived state however, it couldn't decide whether to tell my right hand to stop what it was doing before it was too late, or to tell my left hand to get the hell out of the way of that Goddamn hammer, so it didn't tell either of my hands to do anything except just what they were already. Less than a millisecond after that hammer hit home on the end of that pin, the pin shot like a rocket all the way through the gear, and rather effectively pinned my left middle finger into the bore on the opposite side of the carrier. This bore was machined for a precise fit around the aforementioned pin, so considering that a good bit of my finger was now snuggled up next to it in there, it wasn't a comfortable situation to have both of them occupying that space at the same time. There I was, with my finger stuck, in my sister's rear end.
Now for anyone that's never had their finger stuck in their sister's rear end, I can assure you that when you find yourself in that situation, the first and foremost thing on your mind is getting your finger out of your sister's rear end. That one fundamental need supercedes all other desires, you don't think about hunger, you don't think about sleep, all that you know is that your finger is in a damn bad place, and it friggin' hurts. Numerous attempts to pull the pin back out failed, since it had my finger pinned against the other side of the carrier it was in quite a bind and wasn't going to move without more serious persuasion than I could manage with my bare hands. A quick scan of the tailgate that I was using for a workbench yielded a painful shortage of tools, I'd only just started the project and didn't have anything handy except the hammer that had gotten me into this mess in the first place. No thank you.
It was 6 o'clock on a Saturday morning, yelling for my wife or kids to come and help me was out of the question. My family doesn't sleep, they voluntarily enter a coma for several hours a night, and I knew it was too early for any of them to be up on a weekend. I wasn't going to carry my sister's big ol' heavy rear end across the yard and bang it against the side of the house in an effort to wake anyone up either, so I figured that I was on my own. Think Justin, think. AHA! The toolbox! If I can make it to the toolbox and get a screwdriver, I can put it in the hole in the end of the crosspin and wiggle it loose, thus freeing what's left of my finger! I balanced my sister's rear end on my right hand in an effort to keep all of its bulk from tearing off the rest of my now mostly severed finger, and set out for the toolbox on the other side of the shop. I made it! Victory!
Have you ever tried to open one of the top drawers on a big, rollaway tool box and get out a screwdriver while your left middle finger is painfully stuck in your sister's rear end, and you are balancing said rear end on your right hand? I always thought I was pretty talented with my tongue, turns out that I'm not THAT talented. By the time I realized that wasn't going to work, my sister's rear end, which started out plenty heavy, was starting to get REALLY heavy considering that I was holding it up with one hand, so I headed back to the safety of the tailgate.
Times like this one are a good time to reflect. Reflect on what I have no idea since I was in too much pain to reflect on anything except how damn stupid it was to hit that pin with a hammer while my hand was inside the carrier, but if I'd had something else to reflect on this would've been a good time to do it since I damn sure wasn't doing anything else, standing there with my finger firmly stuck, in my sister's rear end. I thought, I pondered, I considered crawling into the back of my truck made workbench and going to sleep until someone came looking for me, I considered sobbing uncontrollably then decided against it when I though about how funny this was going to seem as soon as my finger quit throbbing.
Just as I was contemplating the wisdom of chewing the remains of my finger off thus freeing myself from the clutches of my sister's coyote ugly rear end, and of course thinking about how much better off I would've been had I just went in the house when I got home and snuggled up next to the wife instead of trying to finish this project without a nap, I heard the familiar sound of my Dad's truck pulling up in the driveway. Salvation! Help at last! He didn't even look toward the shop, he headed straight for the door of the house.
%!@$?^&%$#!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I set myself for the impending pain, rolled my sister's big ol' rear end back onto my right hand, and with steely determination set out for the door of the shop which had thankfully remained open. Upon reaching said door I calmed myself, regained my composure, yeah, Mr. Calm, Cool, Collected.
Even cool has its limits when your finger is stuck in your sister's rear end.
As soon as Dad reached the shop, I instructed him to get a screwdriver and wiggle the damn cross pin out so I could get my finger loose. He did, and thusly I was freed from the evil clutches of my sister's rear end. My finger turned out to be a little purple, but otherwise unharmed, I finished the reassembly with Dad standing by to make sure that I didn't do anything else stupid, and thus was born the joke.
"If you've ever gotten your finger stuck in your sister's rear end, and your Dad had to help you get it out, you might be a redneck."
And you pervy bastards thought I was talking about her butt. ;)