Justin: In the Feast of Being Able to. Amen.

Earthworm Jerky

Lunchtime Thoughts

Yesterday, between priming the brakes for dad while he installed new master cylinder and observing him do what he does so well – anything – I dug what should become a French drain on the intended entry edge of my garage’s concrete pad. Note I say “intended”.

Digging into the earth is a sure fire way to… unearth critters. I didn’t think anything of the spiders, crickets, rollie pollies, and beetles, but then I saw a little snake, pale white belly turned up.

Now, one of the stupidest things I have ever done was to kill a bug on date with a naturalist. “Man, look at this thing,” I said, bending over on the trail to view the wicked-looking black and orange crawly beastie with a ginsu mustache and tiny lazer cannons protruding from its head. “Wow, awesome,” she agreed.
“Indeed,” I affirmed. “Awesome.”

“Oh Well.” STOMP.

The shrill cry of a soul pierced with anguish rang out across the canyon as the damsel fell backwards in terror, desperately trying to keep her balance by grasping a catalpa tree.

Suddenly, time stopped. His head became light, as if to leave him by flight. Or maybe explosion. The earth began to spin around him. His boot had yet to rise from atop the mutilated corpse, and in this miliseconded instantaneum of now-ilation, he reasoned as to which option would now be worse: jerk the boot away and feign contrition, dropping to survey the damage and perhaps offer first aid… or to grind the boot in the hopes that lack of a visible corpse might offer some sort of damage control to a now hopeless and tragic date.

Like a little boy whose daddy is dragging him by the arm towards where the ball went through the glass, he found himself pleading, “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry…”

So anyway, I kill intrusive or pain-inflicting bugs, but I don’t kill snakes, especially not non-poisonous ones. This little brown kind are little larger than night crawlers and they eat bugs. They do not, in fact, even have teeth. I know this from forcing them to bite me as a child.

So I had inadvertently chopped him in half. I felt bad and promptly beheaded him.

I told Bob the accountant about it this morning and he directed as to how in early spring earthworms by the hundreds commit suicide on the pavement after the first rain. “Terrible shame,” I agreed. “All that good bait.”

“It’s like earthworm jerky,” Bob said. “I think that’d be a good band name, Earthworm Jerky.”

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