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|Sorry, kids: no punchline, just another awful anecdote from the miserable demon planet we call Earth.|
|I am no stranger to the various horrors of the world. In fact, it's a good day indeed when, after I acquire my morning cup of java, I open my web browser and find there is not some terrible fever-dream of unchecked madness going on somewhere in America. Why, just yesterday I was alerted to a video of some coed being held down and electrocuted at a John Kerry speech!|
Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not some whacked-out ACLU feeding-frenzy lawmonger looking for a cross to bear, nor any of the various flavors of Mein Kampf saluting neocons who call for the extremest detention of all political dissent. I see nothing wrong with the actors in this video. Conspiracy theorists are supposed to be belligerent and long-winded; elected officials are supposed to be evasive and dismissive; peace officers are supposed to be draconian and violent. All of that works out great and shows that the system at large is working as expected.
What upsets me is the audience. Here we have common people like you and me, laughing, cheering and applauding as one of their own writhes and shrieks in agony. It's not the systematic torture that gets me. It's the sarcastic, reflexively judgmental peanut gallery. It's the American citizenry that is flawed. The government works fine! From the President down through the legislature and Congress, the military-industrial complex, the various local fiefdoms (Deep South, East Coast, West Coast, Midwest, etc.) the chain of command has never been more efficient nor more representative of the American public. The shame is in the fact that said public are a collective of sadistic, Gorean assholes. Fuck the troops? I take it back -- fuck the voters!
Mention this to one of your poli-sci pals and you may get a response like: this whole scene must have been a setup! It's the Bilderbergers, it's Greenpeace, it's the Mothers Against Life in General! Well, of course they're going to say that, because that's what people do when they can't find the reason for something. The problem is that there is no reason; the American citizenry is simply a bunch of selfish, condescending dickheads... and God in Heaven help me, I'm one of them!
So, yes, one could say I am somewhat inured to the terrifying daily nightmares of the world at large -- and yet, it's that desensitization to our usual Hells that makes the unveiling of an entirely fresh Hell so much more gratifying!
Which brings us to today's tale; specifically, my discovery of a deceased Periplaneta americana suspended between my butt cheeks.
It's September in Arizona, which marks the changing of the seasons. In the desert, sweeping temperature changes between day and night are common; it's 95 at noon, and 45 at midnight. As any first year medical student will tell you, climactic temperature changes are the quick road to a compromised immune system. The thermometer has been creeping slowly downwards, and our not-so-automatic air conditioning alternately sauna-fies or freezes the household.
So here I am, trying to make do with a sheet for the past week, unwilling to simply cut the AC out on the odd chance of another freak heat wave, and freezing in my sleep in the meantime. Well, last night was the breaking point. Halfway through my slumber I could bear no more wintery chill, and, groggily, reported to the other bedroom to find a proper blanket.
In this room is an a-frame futon which our two cats use as a bed. The futon is covered by a secondary mattress spread, a blanket, and a quilt on top. In my half-asleep daze, I surmised that the blanket would be the best option, since I was aiming mostly to avoid the evils of cathair, catbarf and catpiss, all of which were absorbed by the quilt.
So I take the quilt off, ball up the blanket that's under it, return to my room, and crawl back into bed, pulling the thick bedspread over me.
For the next half-hour, I have trouble sleeping due to the presence of what feels like crumbs in the region of my--
Hold on... did I mention I sleep in the nude? I didn't? Okay, that's kind of important.
As I was saying, it felt as though someone had crunched up a couple of saltines and spread the crumbs over the bed in the general area of my loins. I roll around in the strange, crumbly shards, still not awake enough to bother dealing with it. Finally, I notice something quite jagged pinching my ass, and it feels as though I have rolled over onto a Lego brick which has thusly become lodged inside my buttocks.
This is the point I decide to deal with the situation. I remove the offending object invading my crack, and bring it to my face.
Guess what? It's a dead cockroach!
So dead, in fact, that it appeared to have been decaying for several months, its chitinous shell now a brittle husk of its former biological glory as the most resilient vermin ever to evolve. Clearly the flakes covering the bed were pieces of the beastie.
"Oh," thought I, "it's a dead cockroach. I guess that explains it."
This may be the most disturbing part of the story, in fact. Other men would have been severely traumatized by this experience. I have one acquaintance whom, earlier this year, had a similar experience with fruit flies, and was unable to sleep in his own bed for weeks after.
But me? I just tossed the little guy in the trashcan, brushed off his shattered remains from my bed, and proceeded to the bathroom to wash my junk. I found one of his legs still taking residence in my shitter, and thoroughly sanitized myself with anti-bacterial soap and aloe vera wetnaps.
Then I crawled back into the same bed, pulled the same blanket over my naked body, and went right back to sleep.
Is there something wrong with me? I certainly realize that this is probably the single most disgusting thing that has ever happened to me, and yet, I find no real suffering in the event. A mere annoyance was my insectoid corpse squatter, nothing more. For the rest of the day, I imagined various awful scenarios that could follow this horror: supposing the cockroach was alive when it entered my ass, and laid its eggs in me. I would soon give birth to a new generation of shit-eating pests, my anus expanding like a woman's uterus as they flee from my intestinal womb like a Biblical plague of locusts.
None of this perturbs me in the slightest. And why should it? With so much evil in the news, all around me in life, darkening the hearts and minds of people I cross on the street every day, it's a welcome change to recast myself in the food chain as a mere incubator for the next dominant species. My body cavities will serve as a host for a welcome strain of invasive Blattodea, a home base from which they may fan out to the corners of the Earth, devouring the insides of other humans like termites in a woodshed.
I just hope they never develop tasers.