Just Hop The Fence, I Said

I jumped off of the trailer of the hay ride undetected by those in the trailer behind us. My mission? To scare them until the children peed a little. My cohort and I run deep into the woods to sneak attack the second trailer through the cover of trees and the absence of moon light. We waited and waited, then lurched forward to the shrieks and dismay of the mark. They were horrified, so we were happy. We walked back into the woods trying to figure out how to get back to our original trailer. We passed some trees, then some more trees, then some carnivorous deer who were not at all afraid of our presence in their homes. After a while we came upon a fence. This fence looked harmless enough, some rusty old wires sagging down. Nothing I could not scale easily. So I straddled the fence and was about to swing my other leg over when I noticed a single tight wire just above the fence, previously gone unbeknownst to me. I grabbed it with my hand to push it up and to my horror I began shaking with such a jolt as to almost make me pee a little. The shock was not constant, but it was a single powerful burst of electricity that I almost passed out. In my life, I have been very gently struck by lightning, lovingly caressed with a coronary, and cradled by the branches of a tree as I fell through it to the ground. And now, I know what it feels like to be trapped in an electric fence. It sucks. My cohort by the way just stands behind me as if he knew that would happen and he asks, "What was that noise?" It was me in the electric chair, that is what it was. Why does this never happen to the cohort. I could go in and do something stupid with a hundred people and I will still the the only one to suffer the consequences. What?