Sting Operant

Fire ants are evil. If you have experienced their wrath, then you fully understand without any further explanation. They are the spawn of all that is bad in this world, and they feed off of happiness. Their jaws are fueled by hatred and envy, and their stinger is loaded with a poison that is rich with depression, pain, and anti-light. Their methods of attack are sinister, their teamwork unmatchable. They are the true carriers of depression, wielding it as a weapon in their schemes to uproot all joy in our lives.

I do not speak from ignorance. I have experienced their wrath, their bitter sting and horrid bite. But it does not end with mere experience. I have been party to one of the most strategic, one of the most bitter, and one of the most flawlessly implemented attacks of a fire ant ever to have taken place on the planet Earth. And it was all done through the workings of a single sting operant, hiding in the confines of a yellow towel, waiting for the perfect time to strike.

It was a warm Sunday afternoon, and I was out in the pool swimming laps. When I had had my fill, I stepped from the water and grabbed my towel. I dried myself off from feet to hair, and then fastened the towel around my waist. I then proceeded to strip down underneath that towel and let my swimming trunks drop to the floor. I picked them up, and hung them on a hook outside. The fire ant was already in motion to his objective. Before I had even made it inside, I felt something begin to burn. It was the unforgettable sense of pleasure-crushing poison, spreading from the one place all men fear to be wounded; my penis. That's right, this genius of a fire ant had lay in wait for hours, hidden within the comfort of a towel, waiting to strike. And strike he did.

I screamed in pain, slapping myself hard in the one spot a man should never slap himself, or be slapped by others. Further pain shot through my body. I ripped off the towel and found the bugger clinging on for dear life with his jaw's of death, sinking his stinger deep into my skin. I grabbed him with my fingertips and ripped him off of my body. He squirmed, and in my blind rage, I crushed his frail body between my thumb and forefinger. The enemy was dead, but he had already succeeded in his mission.

He had left his mark. And now, I must wait for the pain to fade, the itch to stop, and lump to vanish. I do not enjoy adopting the tone of a moralist, but today, I am going to make an exception. Avoid fire ants. Always.