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I had a frigging tick on me tonight. A big fat ugly engorged tick sucking blood out my body. That bloodsucker was swelled up to the size of a quarter-inch diameter beach ball. I hate it when that happens. I'd like to be funny about it. I'd like to use bloodsucking ticks as a metaphorical jumping off point to develop a sarcastic commentary about CEOs or politicians or stock brokers or email spammers or right-wing radio talk show hosts or left-wing pseudo-victims or pervert priests or radical Muslims or radical Baptists or reality television or the NRA or the NBA or professional athletes in general or feral cats or Anna Nicole Smith or Ann Coulter or X-sports or France or boy bands or health insurance or car insurance or life insurance or whatever. But this was a REAL tick sucking REAL blood out of my REAL body, and there's just nothing funny about it.


A tick? Sounds terrible! I asked my mama what a tick was but she said we don't have those here. We don't have fleas either.

Where do you live, Desmond? We're coming to visit. We might stay.

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