Today at Smokey House we went on a hike to the beaver pond, and I got a couple ticks on me. And I absolutely hate ticks. The first tick I found in the van on my chest, and I ripped it off and gave the demon the fiery death it deserved. The next one I found behind me ear at the table, and I gave that one a fiery death, too. The third one I was sitting here with my blog post and I felt it crawling on my left buttock. I put it in the sink and it went down when I washed my hands. I hate ’em. They should all go back to the fiery hellhole they came from.
I was the only one who found any on them, which is stupid. The reason why is because I ventured off where other people didn’t dare to. I was looking at prints, trying to find tracks. I found a deer track, bigfoot print, and some print I couldn’t identify. The venturing off was not worth getting them ticks over, because they carry lime disease and they’re just evil little creatures that deserve the fiery death that they will get.