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Fucking insects ...


I itch.


All over. I got bitten. Lots and lots of times all over my body. I've got bug bites on my legs, on my arms, on my neck, on the backs of my arms and legs, on my ankles, and in one perverse instance, six times on my right hand.

Six. That's one on my thumb, one on my pinkie, one on the second knuckle of my middle finger and three on my ring finger. Obviously, my ring finger is the buffet table at Golden Corral in the insect world.

For the last seven days, I've been scratching myself non-stop, as if I'm trying out for the major leagues. My body is riddled with puffy, itchy, red bumps that are dangerously close to bleeding because I can't stop scratching.

Don't talk to me about hydrocortisone or Neosporin. Fuck that shit. I've tried it. All those do is make my skin look shiny and slick like I'm trying to be a body builder and instead of just being itchy, I end up being itchy and greasy. I've even tried spraying myself with "Off!" in the hopes that some of the spray will enter a wormhole, travel back in time, and keep the bugs away from me retroactively.

It's gotten to a crazy, life-altering level. If I drive my car, I've got one foot on the pedal, and another on the seat so I can reach that bite on my ankle.

I wake up in the morning, my left hand having scratched my right hand all night so that when I reach consciousness, the right had is a swollen, itchy mess that gets worse with each scrape. Sometimes my right hand ventures on its own between the pillows and just trashes there, trying to relieve itself of its itch on the cotton sheets.

Ow. Just "Ow."

It itches. Badly.

The worst part is I don't even know what bit me. Fleas? Ants? Spiders? Angry neighbors? The Unnamed Creature What Bites in the Night? I sprayed my cat down with flea spray and plan to burn my sheets. The problem is that I live in a house now and my backyard has become a travel resort for wayward bugs. You do know that bugs control the entire lawn, garden and landscape industries right? They have millions of lobbyists who make sure that we humans (their unwitting slaves), take care of our lawns so that they have a place they can vacation with their 3.2 million larvae.

Some bug, and I wish I knew what it was so that I would have a target for my rage, has made a feast of my blood supply. I hope I'm tasty, because I must have lost at least a quart of blood to whoever is draining me.

Somebody needs to something about this. Seriously. Scientists? Where the fuck are you? Why haven't you done something about this itch problem?

I realize you've got cancer and heart disease research to do, but damn! That stuff is hard! How hard is it to make it so I don't itch anymore? Can you devote some stem cells to this?

Itching obviously afflicts more people than cancer. You all probably know someone with an itchy scrotum right now. By which I mean, every man that you know.

Itching. Why can't we deal with this?

Look, don't pity me. I'm not a hero. I'm just a man with a bad itch right now that must be scratched. I've tried medicine. I've tried self control. These are itches that must be scratched.

I say we dump a lot of money into researching the source of all that is itchy. We will find a cure, and our skin won't be red and irritated from all the fingernail scraping. I want to see a day, perhaps not in my lifetime, but in my childrens' lifetimes or in their childrens' lifetimes.

We will stamp out this red menace. Whether we do it by killing all the bugs or just boiling our skin in aloe vera, I don't know. But I vow I will not rest until something is done.

Fuck. I won't rest anyway.

I'm too busy scratching.



New Smallville recap. The USDA says it's got your weekly dose of Grade-A meat and eggs and sweetmeats.

Also, you need to check out this story we ran in our paper Sunday. It ran as a special section and I can't get through the story or the photos without welling up in tears. David and Rudolfo, the writer and photographer, did an amazing job. It's tough, so be forewarned.



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