Behold the Chigger. No, wait...you can’t behold it, because it’s so fucking tiny as to be nearly invisible. This Lilliputian invader is the source of my current state of being, which is so very itchy that even places that don’t fucking have bites are itching. Hell, even places I don’t fucking have are itching. I itch 3 feet to the right of me, for fuck’s sake, and that is confusing everyone who walks by my desk.
After a fun day of Airsoft, I now have to pay the dues of living in the great Midwest by having a belt of bumps like a relief map of Appalachia stretched across my midriff, and both calves reduced to the site of a smorgasbord for tiny terrorists.
The chigger, for those of you who don’t know, is the larval form of a mite. The bite flares up and itches because it fucking turns part of your body into a goddamn Crazy Straw. We aren't even what they are supposed to feed on...they prefer birds and reptiles, which means they are tiny fucking idiots. If they were celebrities, they'd be Snooki and Paris.
It’s funny, I can low crawl through poison ivy with impunity, but chiggers find me as irresistible as Yogi does pick-a-nick baskets. They lay in wait, ready to ambush some poor unsuspecting bastard. And there I am, like a catering service for the little pricks, the Promised Land waiting for them to conquer me via Manifest Destiny.
And so, as I wallow in freakish misery, I salute you Chigger. But I salute you with one finger. Guess which one.
You have earned my undying hatred, and I hope someone kicks you right the hell out of your phylum. The spiders and scorpions don’t like you either, and should vote you off the island at their next council.