One of your guys' stories
>>2405107 brought back a repressed traumatizing memory so I may as well share.
I did boy scouts as a kid, and I've stayed close with my original cub scout group for life. One of their families has a beach house on one of the islands in the puget sound, and we would go up there every summer and spend the entire month of august, like a ritual.
Anyways so around when we were 13-15 one of the guys showed up with one of those large circular inflatables, like a scaled-up version of what you'd use for a pool. We tied a huge rope to it, anchored it, and would mess around trying to catch man o' wars and random sea creatures with snorkels and spears.
One day while 4 of us were out on the raft, our moms back on shore were wasted drunk and forgot to anchor us. By the time we realized we were already adrift and caught in a strong current. Then we lost the oars, so we had to take turns 2 on the raft and 2 in the water kicking. We had binoculars and nobody on shore seemed to notice, so we knew there wouldn't be rescue for a while if at all, and the reality sunk in that we could quite possibly die here. Then our strongest swimmer got stung very badly by either a jelly or man o' war and at the same time discovered he was allergic to them. The raft was slowly deflating and sinking. Sun set. It was fucking grim anons.
I don't even remember how the fuck, but we eventually wound up on Lopez island, pretty much unscathed other than homeboy with all the rashes and very bad sunburns.
