ain't no tiptoe through the tulips here

For what felt like the billionth time Hazel suddenly found herself up to her chest in mud. She cursed vainly into the muck as she tried to haul herself backwards out of the mire, but it was all for naught. Every attempt at prying herself free elicited a lovely wet fart sound from around her legs that she was sure paired wonderfully with her upturned ass. It was, in other words, quite the predicament that any would be delighted to lay eyes on but pay handsomely not be part of themselves.

Unable to pull herself up Hazel got the bright idea to do the next best thing. She heaved herself, stiff-legged, over onto her side and was pleased when she felt her legs glop to the surface. From there it was only a matter of wiggling to freedom, which she did all the while imagining the scene was probably a lot like the birth of some sort of strange mud creature. It was her only consolation during the whole wriggle to freedom ordeal.

Finally free, she got to her paws only to discover that somewhere in the wriggling she'd lost track of where the mud was, which meant she was going to have to feel around again. Finding that prospect wholly unappealing, Hazel remained motionless, her blind gaze pointed angrily at the earth, as she tried to decide what to do.