Ira Robinson's Blog

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The Tale of the Tainted Tick — A True, but Fun, Story of Horror

One day, when married to my second wife, I woke up while she was at work.

As one does for the morning constitutionals, I spent a few moments in the bathroom while waking up. And, well, I noticed something strange happening in a certain area one rarely feels sensations in. So, I used a finger to explore and felt a bump sort of thing.

I thought, “Oh, mayhap this is a pimple of some sort…” but I knew I needed to investigate…

I did the only logical thing… I laid on the bed with a mirror to look at the tainted area of darkness no one should ever peruse.

It was then I saw it was not a pimple. No, no, my friends. It was the horror of a tick, dug deep into my taint only millimeters away from that most sensitive area of a man.

I don’t know if you’ve ever been in such a position, but let me tell you, my dear ones, I was scared. I had dealt many times in my life with a tick, but never one in this most precious of spaces.

This most… sacred of places.

I didn’t want to just yank it out because, well, f*ck getting lyme disease in my taint or something, right? So I did the only thing I could think to do.

I smoked at the time, so I took a lit cigarette and placed it close to the tick, in the hopes it would cause it to pull its head back and I could then grab it.

The tick did not release.

It gets worse from there.

So now, I not only had a tick in the taint, a space NO ONE should EVER have a tick, but now I also had burns from a cigarette being placed in that same location.

What to do next? WHAT TO DO NEXT?

I did the next logical step. This is a bug. A terrifying bug, but a bug nonetheless. What would work on that?

The bug spray hit my balls and at first, the cool sensation was… rather comforting in funny ways. However, rapidly, that cool comfort turned to disaster as the fury of hot lava and lament grabbed my senses in such a way I could no longer think straight.

Burning balls in hand, I tried to wash them off, but that just spread the spray everywhere else.

Oh god, the pain was real, and this thing was still not letting go.

And it gets worse from there…

So now I not only had the bug spray frying me, but the sensation only enhanced the already painful sensation of the cigarette burns in my taint. Oh god, it wracked my mind with incomprehension and pain as I grabbed the next nearest thing, hoping, PRAYING to all the gods in the pantheon that this TICK WOULD LET GO.

I grabbed the rubbing alcohol and threw that into the mix.

Dear ones, if you’ve never put rubbing alcohol in your taint after having hosed it down with bug spray and attempting to light it on fire with a cigarette, take the lesson from good ol’ Ira… Don’t do it.

Please… don’t do it.

It gets worse from there…

Now, bear in mind, I’m all alone here. My wife’s at work and I was not about to call an ambulance just to come rescue me from this evil, heinous creature that had grasped me with its tiny face and held on with all its might.

No. No. I decided I had to call someone else.

I called my mother-in-law.

See, she only lived 2 houses away from us, and I knew it’d be a fast trip for her to get there and help me get this tick off of me. Embarrassing as it was, I had to have help.

It was perhaps the hardest phone call I’ve ever had to make in my days, and, even these 25 years later, it haunts me in ways I cannot describe coherently.

Thankfully, the 20 minutes it took her to get to my house from hers 2 doors away (I assume because she could not stop laughing) was enough time left that the tick, whether through final engorgement or because it finally tired of its chaos, let go.

My friends, that tick died in flames and I think I heard it laugh even as it went unto its final rest.

I met my mother-in-law at the door to turn her away.

I think, in the end, the tick really did win this battle, though I was the only of us to survive.