Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Horseshoes and Handgrenades

"Dad!" The Elder Boy called out from the stall next to mine. "I think I got a flea."

We were both taking a crap in the public restroom and shower near our camp at Cedar Lake in the Ouachita National Forest.

"A flea?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said. "Wait. I got two?!?"

A flea? Dirt would be more like it. The Boy hadn't bathed, or shit for that matter the entire trip, and God only knew what he had found when he pulled down his jeans.

"Ok. I'm going to the bathroom too. Let me finish and I'll come and look." I said.

A few moments later, as I was reaching for the toilet paper the Boy said, "Dad, Its by my penis."

Which is when I realized he didn't mean flea. He meant tick, or ticks, which made my crazy ass immediately think Rocky Mountain Tick Fever and or Lime Disease. With more anxiety in my voice than I meant I said, "Do you mean you have two ticks by your penis?"

"YEAH!" he said nervously, undoubtedly noting the tension in my voice. "Ticks. Two of them."

And that Dear Reader is when the shit hit the fan and the Boy panicked and let loose with this strange cross between a cry and wail that reverberated throughout the bathroom and shower building.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

"Dude," I said, grabbing handfuls of toilet paper to wipe my ass. "Slow down. Don't panic. I'll be right there to help you."

"I can't get them off. I can't get them off. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

A few seconds later I was out of my stall and at his stall's door, which was locked, so I shouted, "Unlock the door!"

"I'm still p...p...p...po...poo...poo...pooping." he said and then let go with that crazy ass wail sort of moan which again echoed throughout the shitter making it sound more like a Halloween spook house than the national park's public bathroom and shower building.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

"Dude, I can't help you if I can't get in and I'm not climbing under the freaking stall on this dirty floor. Get up off the pot and unlock the door."

Nothing.

"Ethan!" I commanded. "Get up off the toilet and open this door. NOW!!!"

Click was my reply.

I opened the door slowly and took a step into his stall where he was back on the toilet and said, "Show me where the ticks are at."

"Here," he said looking down and sort of pointing at his penis area. All I could see was his long hair which was hanging down over his crotch.

"I can't see when you look down. Your hair is too long. Look up and let me see."

"Oh," he said looking up at me briefly and then looking back down again blocking my view.

"Dude," I said. "I can't see when you look down!"

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

"Damn," I said as I got down on my knees and knelt in front of his throne of waste.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

"Shit!" I said as I stuck my head into his crotch to get a better view of the ticks, which was ironic considering the only thing I got a better view of was three days worth of crap in that dirty campground toilet.

"Dude," I said. "I don't have my glasses on and your hair is too long and I can't see because its blocking my light. You have to look at the door, while I look down."

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

"Calm down." I commanded as I stuck my face back into the Boy's junk, while grabbing his chin with my left hand and holding it in place so he couldn't look down and obstruct my view.

"I see them," I said.

And I did. Two little fuckers. Right there on his crotch. One was a half inch above his penis. The other one was parallel to his penis, to the right of his right nut. Both were burrowed into his flesh.

"Fuck me." I said trying to figure out what to do next.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" He wailed as he tried to get up off the toilet, and bolt, which resulted in him sticking his junk in my face since I was kneeling in front of him.

"Sit down!" I commanded as I pushed him back down on the seat while I contemplated what I should do next.

After a few moments I said, "Ok. I'm going to get them off of you. I need you to sit still and not freak out. Don't panic."

"Will it hurt?!?!?!" he whined.

"Probably." I said.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

"They are embedded in your skin. They are sucking your blood." I explained.

That Dear Reader, was my Father of the Year moment for May. The absolute worst thing I could have said at the time.

"My blood!!! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

"Dude! Settle down. It's ok. They are ticks. That's what ticks do."

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" He wailed as he tried to again, get up and bolt from the stall.

"Sit down! While I try and pinch this one..."

"OW!" he screamed as I tried to pinch the little bastard nearest his penis off.

"Damn." I said to myself. "They are so small. I can't even get my fingers on them."

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

"Calm down!" I said. "Hold your head up and quit looking at them, your hair is so long it is hanging down and I can't see what I'm doing!"

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

"Dude, stop making all that noise. You'll be fine. Daddy is here. If you keep wailing like that someone is going to think God knows what."

"Tell me what your favorite thing about camping is so far." I said trying to divert his attention from my fingers in his crotch.

"I don't know...OUCH!" He screamed as I again tried and failed, to pinch a tick off of him.

After a few more attempts I realized I wasn't going to get them off with my fingers. They were too small and embedded into his skin. And since the Boy was freaking out, I knew I would never be able to get him out of the shitter, let alone to wipe his ass, and back to our campsite without removing them first, which is why I asked, "Where is your pocketknife?"

"Pocketknife?" He asked with pure fear in his eyes. "Why?"

"Yes, your pocketknife. I'm going to cut them off."

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

"Sit down!" I said as I pushed him back onto the pot and riffled through his pockets to find his pocketknife. As I pulled it out and opened the knife blade on his swiss army knife I said, "Ok, I'm going to try and..."

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

"Calm down! And sit down!!!" I ordered.

"You'll cut off my penis!!! You'll cut off my penis!!!"

"Dude," I said laughing at the utter absurdness of the situation. "I won't cut off you penis. I'm going to try and scratch them off so I can get my fingers on them."

"You'll cut off my penis!!! You'll cut off my penis!!! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

"Dude!!! Slow down!!!" I shouted as I simultaneously stopped him from trying to bolt out of the shitter and pushed him back down onto the toilet. "This is the only way I'm going to be able to get them off of you. Calm down!"

"Don't cut off my penis!!!! Don't cut off my penis!!!!"

"Settle down. I'm not going to cut your penis. I'm going to pinch your skin together and try and scrape it off enough to get the knife under the head..."

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Don't cut off my penis!!! Don't cut off my penis!!!"

This went on for ten grueling minutes. Me trying to cut the ticks without cutting him while he tried to bolt out of the stall and escape. The entire time I expected the old man who managed the campgrounds to come into the bathroom and club me from behind thinking I was some sicko predator doing heinous things in the park's bathroom and shower. I mean, seriously, you have me in a stall, on my knees, knife in my hand, with my face in a screaming seven year olds crotch.

If I saw that, I'd club me.

After I got the first one off I said, "Ok, let me kill this little bastard and I'll..."

"Are you done?"

"Almost." I said.

"Almost?!?!?! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

The second tick, which was tiny, was harder than the first. Fast forward another ten minutes and I finally got it off and killed it. By then we were both spent.

"Are you done." He asked hopefully.

"Almost," I answered. "We need to go back to camp and clean up where I cut them off of you. I'll put some alcohol on them."

"Will that hurt?" He asked.

I smiled at the Boy, and slowly nodded my head in a way that meant, yes, it would hurt while thinking, but not as bad as if I had cut your penis.

Until I BLOG again...I'm not fucking around.

6 comments:

Shelly said...

Hi Team Tinsley,

I am a friend of Mary Kate Martin's and this is literary genius. May I post a link to this blog on my face book page?

Pure comedic excellence!!!!

Loved it.

Shelly

Unknown said...

Thanks for the compliment. Feel free to share the post.

Modernicon said...

Two things, first, when I was eight I had a tick on my ball sack... and that's all I have to say about that.

Second, I also learned when I was eight, is you light a match, blow it out and then immediately apply that still warm head of the blown out match to the body of the tick, it will unclamp and let go. (if you don't blow out the match more comedy ensues)

Finally what I learned at eight- blown out matches and ball sacks are not meant to come together

Unknown said...

blown out matches and ball sacks would be a good name for a band. I thought about the match actually, or fire, but all we had were lighters and a broken (my friend sat on it the night before) fire starter. I also considering Purel (which is what I used back at the camp to sanitize the wounds.) That could be a whole follow-up post actually. Me trying to get a handful of Purel in his crotch as he ran from me.

Chad and Mary Kate Martin said...

I would be curious to hear Ethan tell the story!!

Unknown said...

Let's put it this way, I haven't seen his pocket knife since that trip. He probably threw it away.