Scorpion Stinger

In summer of 2002, it was night-time and I was asleep on the ground. I rolled over and got stung below my right eye by an Arizona Bark Scorpion.

My face swelled up and all that jazz. Once the swelling went away, I was left with a small bump that kind of looked like a pimple, but nothing ever came out of it.

This morning though, the bump actually looked like it had a head, so I gave it a good squeeze. Much too my surprise, the stinger from that bastard arachnoid came out of the site.

I’m still grossed out!

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Peer Pressure

“How much wood could a woodchuck chuck, if a woodchuck could chuck wood?” came the happy refrain around Woodchuck Hollow. He tried to join in, but the sound left him in agony and with no cure for his self-imposed illness.

Poor Harold Woodchuck had gone and done something stupid the night before and was paying for it now with a hangover. His head throbbed, his stomach churned and his body trembled as he fought off the need to throw-up.

And all he could remember of the night before was Cecil Groundhog chanting, “How much wood-grain alcohol can a woodchuck chug?”

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