...Speaking of dead bugs in one's ear. One time while living at my friend Mark's ranch in Montana I was innocently minding my own business, walking outside when something flew straight into my ear. And I mean straight, this was a strike with surgical precision, something General Schwartzkopf would have been proud to show the media.

Now, unlike most of you who’ve had live animals embedded deep inside body cavities, I didn’t think this was particularly pleasant. Especially when the animal in question is frantically trying to dislodge itself about a millimeter from my eardrum.

After suddenly dropping everything and running randomly around the yard, screaming unintelligibly and crazily shaking my head (much to the bemusement of my confused friends), I was forced to decide upon on a new course of action. I had deduced that if bludgeoning the creature with my finger (which wouldn’t fit) and small sticks (which hurt) wouldn’t kill it, I’d drown it by sticking my head under the faucet. Bad idea because this really pissed it off!

For lack of any better ideas, I re-stuck my finger firmly into my water-logged ear and held it there until it suffocated, drowned, or it choked to death on ear wax. And there it stayed till about noon the next day. I spent most of that following morning trying to make my leary work colleagues believe a non-alchohol-related reason for a bad headache and being late for work.

A quick trip to the doctor (who was pleased to see me for a reason unrelated to a sexually transmitted disease), a large pair of tweezers, and a half-inch long, many-legged, flying BEETLE in a specimen cup soon quieted all doubters. But started a seemingly-endless onslaught of bug jokes (e.g., ...I want to put a bug in your ear; ...quit bugging me; ...what’s that new cologne you’re wearing, Raid Number Five?, ...Mark can’t get any oral sex, but he can get aural insects, etc.).