Bangladeshi wildlife
My friend John and I were in Bangladesh. We had planned on poking around a temple and then walking back to town, but we got lost in rare style. We found ourselves in a jungle (a jungle!) as the sun was setting. We decided that the only thing to do was cut down a bamboo tree with my two inch Swiss Army knife and use the foliage as a blanket. That was a bizarre night.

The next day was fairly nightmarish. No food, our 500ml bottle of water had been empty for a day, no change of clothes, no map, no compass, no real clue on how to survive in a strange country or indeed in anything other than an urban environment. We gave messages to each other to relay to our families if either of us didn't make it.

To cut a long story short, two days later we, thank goodness, were in a hotel in Chittagong. We splashed out on some luxury, and even managed to receive Indian MTV. I was watching a particularly fine advert for shampoo when I decided to inspect my shoulder to see why it was so itchy. There was an ugly looking brown spot. Scratching it caused it to flake off, but one corner tenaciously clinged to my skin. Growing suspicious, I examined it with the lens in my knife. The thing had legs. I was supporting a tick. John and I compiled a tick inventory. I was infested on my shoulder, just above my nipple, the soft spot between my earlobe and my head and a few other places.

Tugging them with tweezers didn't work, as their heads gripped very tightly. John, damn him a thousand times, at that point "remembered" that the way to get rid of ticks is to burn them off. Out came the matchbox.

You know that little sulphurous puff you get when you light a match? It was an appropriate signal for the hell that was to follow. Holding a lit match to your skin is never fun at the best of times, but holding one under your earlobe is simply awful. The worst moment came when I thought I had finished, but then realised that a tick was in fact sucking on my scrotum. I was being teabagged by an insect, and the only way to stop its advances was to hold a lit match to my balls. The bathroom filled with the smell of singed pubic hairs (and howls of laughter from John).

The story isn't finished yet. The next day we happened to come across some doctors, to whom we told our story. They smirked and shook their heads. They told us that burning a tick leaves its head buried under your skin. We could look forward to some nasty infections, and sure enough for months to come the bites were gushing pus. The one above my nipple wept so much that one day four months later someone pointed out that I appeared to be lactating.

Just for reference, you twist and pull at the same time. Hurts, but you remove the head. Bear that in mind the next time you visit a temple.
(I grew it myself, Thu 1 May 2008, 8:26, 5 replies)

shame this posted so late
it's not particularly amusing, but well-written and somehow pushed the "I like this story" switch in the brain.

Somehow it is easy to imagine oneself in this position and dealing with it in the same way.
( Vipros. clever got me this far, then tricky got me in, Thu 1 May 2008, 9:47, closed)

Ewww
That made me cringe.

And makes me wonder about the life of a tick. Like, where were they before they found themselves about your person? I mean, did you roll naked on the ground, or cuddle with some strange jungle enhabitants or something? And how, dear lord, how did one get onto your scrot!?

The mind boggles.
(ShitBitch, Thu 1 May 2008, 10:10, closed)

deserves to be on the best of page
lets be honest the stories this week have been kinda weak,

I like this one.
(Dan dan dan They tik urh jerbs!!!, Thu 1 May 2008, 12:22, closed)

lovely
next time cover them in vaseline

they cant breathe, die and let go

easy peasy

*clicks*
( zulu eh?, Thu 1 May 2008, 12:25, closed)

Aye, Vaseline is the way to go
they breathe through the body when attached to a host so their only option is to let go or suffocate
( Jessie © needs pirate name suggestions, Thu 1 May 2008, 13:13, closed)