Last week I caught a newt, and it reminded me of an experience I had with another lizardy bastard, though that time it was much bigger. I’ll set the scene;
I was traveling around the Galapagos Islands, part of a group researching the effects of high levels of estrogen in the sea on the local tortoise population. One day I snuck away from the group to do a J with a German couple. One became two and pretty soon we were messed up. We hung out by a stream for a while, laughing ourselves silly, until one of us realized the group had moved on, I think it was Gunter. Anyway, when we got up to look for the group we realized we were not alone. A huge lizard was sitting on the other side of the stream. I guess it had been there the whole time, but none of us had noticed. When we got up to leave it came at us, fast. I can remember Inga screaming. I glanced at Gunter and he was frozen, rooted to the ground, his face twisted with horror. I knew I had to do something. Instinct took over. As the lizard got closer I let out my fiercest war cry and ran right at it. A split second of hesitation was all I needed. The lizard wasn't accustomed to being challenged. I surprised it with my counterattack, and it balked. That's when I struck with a flying kick in the face. The lizard stumbled back and eyed me, confused. I charged again and it fled. Just then our guide ran up. The group had heard the screams and some of them came running. One of them even had the presence of mind to snap a picture. When we got back to civilization she gave it to me. In the newspapers they said I'm a hero, but I don't think so. I'm just a man, with a wicked snap kick.
I must admit, catching this newt wasn’t quite as exciting as kicking a giant lizard in the face, but a naked guy did say their skin is poisonous, so I should wash my hands after. I scoffed! Clearly he didn’t know that I cannot die. I ate berries until my fingers turned blue…come to think of it, those were strawberries…
Anyway, it reminded me of this time that I caught a giant frog in Nicaragua. It had been terrorizing the local duck population, eating their eggs and molesting their young, so I offered to help. The thing about man eating frogs is that they piss venom that, if not washed off right away, will cause necrosis. That’s when your skin peels off like old paint in the sun. At the time I wasn’t aware that I cannot die, so I was understandably nervous to do battle with such a loathsome creature. I had given my word the beast would be caught though, so I crusaded into the night (that’s when they come out to feast upon small children). I searched in the dark on my hands and knees, dangling a chicken’s pancreas out in front of me like the lure on the head of a deep sea fish. Eventually the greedy bastard took the bait and I pounced. I did not anticipate just how strong the thighs of a frog can be, and the thighs of a man eater are particularly strong as they’re roughly the size of a horse’s wrist. It kicked like a kangaroo on its tail, but I was too much for it. Years of hard labour have honed my hands into viselike appendages. I held the little bucker until he tired himself out, but he was not done. With his last ounce of strength the froggy bastard toad-pissed all over my arms. Thinking quickly I stuffed him in the sack locals had made from the three stomachs of eight alpacas (the only thing that can hold a giant frog) and quickly tied it up with a lock of my hair. Then I rushed to the nearby lake to wash off the poison before its evil could take effect. Now my only worries were what to do with the frog bag, and how to wash off the lake water containing a microbial bastard which, after entering the blood stream, will traverse your intestines and live there until you die, wreaking havoc on your digestive tract. There is no cure. As quick as I could I tore open the stomach bag and let the frog toad-piss all over my arms again, hoping it would act as nature’s Purell and kill any nasty microbes lurking on my skin. Then I wiped my arms down with wet banana leaves and a paste I made with small chili peppers and my own saliva. My quick action paid off, as in the end it was only my mouth and sphincter that burned.
Unfortunately in my haste to pick peppers and banana leaves I forgot to re-tie the stomach bag and the giant frog escaped. Four duck eggs were lost that night. For my ineptitude the entire village turned their backs on me, which is regarded as the most severe punishment in that region, reserved only for goat rapists, murderers, and bungling fools. They turn their backs, and will never face you again. There is an old legend of a man who refused to accept the village’s decision to turn their backs on him and went on living in the village in defiance for three years, but eventually went mad because nobody would face him. The legend says he died trying to sew his face onto the back of his own head. I wouldn’t give them the pleasure of not seeing me that way, so I packed my things and left the village in the morning. They never saw me again.
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