Wednesday, December 17, 2008


This morning at, oh... around 3:00 am, I woke up and decided to read a little. It was chilly in my room so I turned the heater up some and got back in bed. This didn't satisfy me immediately, so I reached down on the floor to grab the shirt I was wearing yesterday... and immediately snatched it back. Ow! MOTHERFUCKER! SOMETHING FUCKING STUNG MY FINGER! FUCKING FUCKING COCKSUCKER SHIT! I shook my hand like it was on fire, because it sure as hell felt like it. I fumbled around on my nightstand for my lighter so I could light the oil lamp. Waves of pain corruscated from my finger as I flicked the lighter, forcing me to stop and shake my hand again and then flick again and then shake again, flick shake, flick shake flick shake. Finally the pain settled down to something bearable after about a minute, and I was able to get the lamp lit. I turned it up and held my finger up to the light, examining it intently for the injury. I couldn't see anything at all. It wasn't red, it wasn't swollen, there wasn't a bite mark, nothing. After about another minute, the pain had faded completely. Well, by that time I was in no mood to stay up and read, what with excruciating pain being one of the first sensations of the day, so I blew out the lamp and went back to sleep.

At about 5:30 I woke up again and decided to give it another go. I lit the lamp first and put it on the floor. I got out of bed and examined the area around my shirt, searching for signs of whatever it was that had caused me grievous harm earlier. I didn't find anything, so I carefully picked up my shirt and gave it a thorough going over. Finally satisfied, I put on my shirt and proceeded to start a new novel by Orson Scott Card called Invasive Procedures. It's a medical thriller, not the usual fare by this author, but he's never let me down. I was just starting to get into it, when lo and behold, a god damn hornet lands on my lap. You little motherfucker, I thought, as I carefully closed my book and SLAMMED IT DOWN ON THAT FUCKER WITH ALL MY MIGHT. Now, hornets are tough little bastards, so I was sure that it was still alive and wriggling under the book, as it was pressed against my soft blanket. I looked around and found a piece of paper, which I folded up twice, and carefully lifted the covers and the book and reached underneath and SMASHED. After holding it there for about 30 seconds, I carefully lifted the book. Yup, it was still alive and wriggling, so I picked it up with the paper and folded it up inside about 3 times, then shoved the whole thing into an empty orange juice bottle that was on my night stand. Bye bye hornet, you shouldn't have stung me you fucker, now you get to die crushed and suffocating in a plastic bottle.

I am somewhat surprised however that there is no mark on my finger at all. I've been stung by wasps and bees before, and invariably there will be a red, swollen area with a small little prick mark where the sting occured. Not so with the hornet. Weird. I guess hornets just ain't got shit on me.

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