Thursday, June 09, 2011

Ticked Off

     So, today, my Baby Doll found a tick on me.  No big deal.  I mean, yeah, they are fucking gross.  And yeah, they are the disease ridden cesspools of existence.  And they can fuck you up if they have the wrong stuff in them.  But if you live in the forest, or near a meadow, or perhaps in Swamp Castle, they are just a part of life.  You walk under a tree and they drop on you, or you walk past a piece of grass and they latch onto your sock and work their way into every nook and crevice of your body and immediately burrow in.
Ugly little asshole, isn't it?
      Now I have had ticks on my plenty of times, although I have to say that through sheer luck of the draw I have never had one burrowed in on me before.  So Baby Doll spots it and it is on the back of my thigh in the region between the bottom of my gym shorts and the bottom of my boxer shorts, which I guess is prime tick country.  It is like the Willamette Valley of the tick world, and this guy was the first of the tick wagon trains leading the way up the Oregon Trail that is my leg.  Anyway, he must have been determined that it was the promised land, because he was buried in deep.
      Ticks are pretty indestructible things as far as life goes.  The bury themselves in face first and breathe through their asses, which serves them right because they are the scum of the Earth.  All that being said, standard procedure for removing them once they have burrowed under your skin is to slather them with Vaseline, or Vaseline-type petroleum jelly.  That plugs up their asshole so they can't breath, and pretty soon they will back out of their burrow to get some air.  Then you can pluck them and crush them or throw them in the toilet, but crushing and drowning don't always work.  So most people - including myself because I am a little bit destructive - choose to burn them into oblivion.  That is really the best way to end their measly little lives.
     So on goes the Vaseline, and Baby Doll goes off to do the dishes, with the instructions that once she is done she will come and finish the little fucker off.  See, she has to be the point man - or point woman - on this project because I am not a contortionist, and I can't see the little bastard to go in after him myself.  So she goes off and I lie in wait watching The Simpsons.  She comes back, takes a look, and grimaces.  That is not good.  It is never good when the person in charge of ridding you of bugs grimaces.  That means there are still bugs there.  She informs me that it doesn't seem like the little fuckstick has responded to the Vaseline treatment, also known as Step 1.  So she goes in with fingernails anyway and just plucks at the thing.  And nothing happens.
      Now, for just a moment, let me give you a note about my Baby Doll.  She is not one to give up easily, especially when it comes to plucking.  Just ask my nose, eyebrows, and every gray hair that has ever been on my body.  She will pluck at a rogue antenna hair on my bald head until it bleeds, as long as she gets her man.  So for her to just abandon the fingernails and immediately move in the heavy machinery is no laughing matter.  But in a flash there she was with a tweezers.
      Let the yanking begin.  So she grabs the ass/nose of the thing and starts pulling.  I always imagined that he would let go, what with the not being able to breathe and the metal pulling on his butthole.  But no, he hung on like the girl in an action flick who has just fallen over the edge of a downtown skyscraper and just has to hold out against gravity long enough for the shirtless hero to save her so they can go to the humpolympics.  He is hanging on for dear life.  I can't see what is going on, but trust me I can feel it.  For an area of the body that isn't known for having a ton of nerve endings, I could feel every bit of it as my skin lifted and my muscle stretched a little bit out of shape, and I could feel the whole thing rebound once he let go.
    So there he was, held tightly in the grip of the tweezers, holding a little bit of my flesh in his whatever the hell he digs in with.  Baby Doll actually referred to what he left behind as a "hole in your leg."  It's an open wound.  So that fucking asshole prick of a tick got what he deserved: he got burned until he popped.  Then he got flushed.  And I hope it hurt like a bitch, because I am not some sort of insect buffet for whatever falls from the trees.  I am a person with feelings and thoughts and my own set of keys.  And he just looked at me as food.  That thing really ticked me off.  Pun definitely intended.

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