Closing a can of worms...

Alright, Miss Helena. You wanted the 2b1b communities' opinion? WELP! You certainly got it, didn't you, blue eyes?! As of 2:30am on April 15th, the total worm tally is as follows: 118 votes for Team Meg and 30 votes for Team "Hookworm Helena," as they're calling you now. Mr. Rogers, Ira Glass and "sorr about the bag" each got a few votes as well, but I'm not counting them for our purposes. God bless all three though.

Out of all 30 meager votes for Helena, none surprised me more than Alex's. I actually woke up Tuesday morning (it was obviously Tuesday afternoon, I don't why I'm putting on airs here) to the sound of the voicemail alert on my phone and saw that Alex had called twice and left a voicemail asking to call him back immediately. Everytime Alex calls from work and asks me to call him back in a rushed voice, I have a small heart attack and think someone we know has died. I think it's because I know that Alex is legitimately busy all day at a demanding job, so it makes me nervous to see that he's taking time out of it to call me when he can just as easily text, email or gchat. So I always call back expecting to hear that Andrew's been hit by a bus or something equally traumatizing and instead he just wants to know what the lyrics mean in the High School Musical song "Get Your Head in the Game" when Zac Effron says, "Don't be afraid to shoot the outside J." True story...

And I'll never learn my lesson. My heart was seriously pounding as I called him back Tuesday morning afternoon and he casually picked up the phone all, "Hi! What's up?"

"UH, YOU'VE BEEN ASKING ME TO CALL YOU BACK ALL MORNING! WHAT'S GOING ON?!

"Oh! Yeah! I just thought I should let you know—you're wrong," Alex said.

"Wrong about what?"

"The hookworm thing. You're wrong." he said, in an obnoxiously matter-of-fact tone.

"I'm not wrong."

"No, you really are. Helena's right. If I could end all of this by swallowing a few worms, I'd do it in a heart beat."

"WHAT? WHAT DO YOU MEAN, 'ALL OF THIS'?! WE'RE NOT TALKING ABOUT GENOCIDE IN DARFUR, ALEX, WE'RE TALKING ABOUT ALLERGIES!"

"Yeah. Well. You're still wrong and I thought I should let you know. Ooo, someone just walked in, gotta go!" Click.

It was like my entire world caved in upon itself. Something that I was so sure of was being refuted by both Helena and Alex. Two of the people I respect most in this crazy, mixed up world. I felt alone and I felt confused. I sat there in my bed hugging my knees and gently rocking back and forth as the morning sunlight early evening twilight streamed through the windows.

Then I went out to dinner with Becca and her fiance—both of whom are extreme allergy sufferers and can't even look at Evie without their throats closing up (a curse I can't even begin to fathom)—who both adamantly agreed that I'm right and Alex and Helena are crazy wrong. I felt considerably better, but still slightly shook up.

Thus, I was extremely comforted by the results of Tuesday's tally and am glad that the greater 2b1b community agrees that I'm right and Helena can suck the proverbial it. Lord love her.

I would, however, like to address the following comment:

- From Amanda,


Fair enough, Amanda. Fair enough. Here you are—my amended rebuttal:

No.

No.

No.

No.

No.

No.


Check and mate, dear reader. Check and mate.

Also, a few friends and readers on the comment board brought up that if hookworms make you lose weight in addition to getting rid of allergies, then they'd totally consider doing it. Some were even a little surprised I hadn't thought of that. UM, SERIOUSLY? OK, look, I'm not trying to front—let's not pretend like I haven't contemplated swallowing a Livestrong bracelet or two in my life to give myself a DIY gastric lap-band surgery. I'd like to drop a few pounds before my sister's wedding and Lord knows I love the easy way out. That being said, I WOULD NEVER SWALLOW WORMS! I'm curvy, not k-k-crazy, thank you. Christ.

Finally, one of Alex's main arguments when we talked later on gchat was that the hookworms are so small you can't feel them, so who cares? Well, sir, I'd like to direct you to the following video Dave sent me today. (AND WHEN YOU WATCH THIS AND INEVITABLY FEEL THE NEED TO PLUCK YOUR EYEBALLS OUT OF YOUR HEAD AND RUN 'EM THROUGH THE DISHWASHER SEVERAL TIMES, DON'T COME CRYING TO ME. IT'S ALLLLLL DAVE'S FAULT. YOU'VE BEEN WARNED.)


I don't give a shit if I can't feel it; just knowing that's going on inside me is enough to make me want to slice open my stomach with a moderately sharp object and remove my intestines completely. And I know everyone's going to say, "Oh but Meg, you're so simple and country! You naturally have all sorts of parasites and worms living inside of you right now!" And that is fine and dandy. God put those worms there and there they shall stay and I'll never think about them again. But having to go throughout life knowing that I elected to put extra worms in my stomach brings way more attention to their existence than I ever needed and I can totally foresee it consuming my thoughts until I live a Howard Hughes-like existence where I never leave the house, have creepily long finger nails and fear "The Bacteria."

So you guys can handle it? Good on ya. I'm not strong enough. I'm sorry, it's my cross to bear—I don't want hookworms. I'm a weirdo, I know.

Sigh.

Well, this feels like a rather aggressive note to end the blog on. Sorry Helena. Sorry Alex. I'll raise you a video clip and one Q&A with Doctor Reuben to cleanse the pallet, how's that?

First, kudos to Ex-Co Blogger Eddie for finding an entire page of Clone High themed thongs on Cafe Press! She also found a band from Canada called "Captain Lavender" on MySpace. Captain Lavender: a band name based on a Clone High reference so obscure, I'd have sex with each and every member. Twice.

I can't decide which thong I want the most. I'm pretty sure it's the ...WESLEY one. I don't even know what I'd do if I was hooking up with someone and discovered they were wearing Clone High underwear. Probably eff them all the way to town hall and promise to be the Joan of Arc to their Abe Lincoln 'til death do us part. I guess. And if I owned said Clone High themed underwear? Well, I'd probably just sit at home and masturbate all day. So there's that.


And just for shits and gigs, here's a super quick Doc Reuben Q&A I came across today:

But how long should a penis be?
According to the story, someone once asked Abraham Lincoln how long a man's legs should be. After a moment of contemplation, Mr. Lincoln replied, "I would say, just about long enough to reach from his body to the ground." From a realistic point of view, the normal size for a penis is long enough to reach from a man's body into the vagina. As long as the sperm can be delivered without spilling, reproduction is facilitated. Since penile size is a hereditary characteristic, transmitted genetically, any man whose penis is too short to reach the vagina will have difficultly reproducing; truly a short-penised race would have died out half a million years ago.

--------------

I am in no way kidding when I say that the first time I read this, I, for the hottest of hot seconds, completely thought this is where it was going:

How long should a penis be?
According to the story, someone once asked Abraham Lincoln how long a man's legs should be. After a moment of contemplation, Mr. Lincoln replied, "I would say, just about long enough to fuck a woman." And the same principle applies to the penis.

Abe Lincoln was this close to replacing Franklin Peirce as my favorite U.S. President. This close.

Opening up a can of worms...

I'm going to level with you about something: I'm not always right. BOOM. There it is. It's something I've come to terms with over the years and frankly, I feel like a better person for having done so. Would I say I'm right about most things? Yes. Yes, I would. But! I acknowledge that there's always a chance that I could be wrong.

Here are some things that I've been wrong about recently:

- Thinking that wiping sitting down is weird and wiping standing up is normal. I was wrong. My mistake.

- Thinking that most little boys don't see their dad's junk outside of a molestery arena. Incorrect! After last week's Dr. Reuben post, a few readers pointed out that it's actually pretty common for a dad to pee next to his son while potty-training him to show how it's done. And upon further reflection, that completely makes sense. Point taken.

- Thinking that most men don't compare the size of their junk to their father's. Again, thanks to very kind and open readers, I've come to learn that as a result of the above, it's actually pretty common. And again, it totally makes sense.

- Thinking that Cal Ripken, Jr. is a known wife-beater. Which isn't true, but for years I thought it was and maybe kind of spread it around town like it was a known fact. It turns out that he's not though. I was actually thinking of Garth Brooks. And even that's not true. I was just thinking of the antagonist in his incendiary The Thunder Rolls video. My bad, guys.

My point here is that while I can be stubborn about some things, I'm genuinely not one of those people who always thinks they're right about everything and says good day to anyone who says otherwise. I like to keep an open mind, even when it comes to my own ignorance.

That being said, HELENA IS WRONG ABOUT SOMETHING AND I'M RIGHT AND I REFUSE TO BELIEVE IT COULD BE ANY OTHER WAY. HELENA = WRONG. MEG = RIGHT. COULD I BE MISTAKEN? NO. CASE CLOSED.

Let me break it down for you. Helena and Laura came over last night to enjoy some rooftop wine and Chipotle action and somewhere along the line, Helena brought up an interesting This American Life piece she heard on NPR about a guy who got rid of his allergies by traveling to Africa and stomping around barefoot in a pile of scorching hot human poo, thereby picking up hookworms. Because apparently if you have a couple dozen hookworms camping out in your guts, allergies are a thing of the past. But it doesn't stop there! So content with this miracle cure, was he, that he starting selling the hookworms he shat out on the internet to help out other allergy sufferers! You can listen to the entire piece here. (10 minutes in.) (If you dare.)

Now, I thought Helena brought this up in a HA, HA CAN YOU BELIEVE THE WORLD WE LIVE IN?! KOOKY! kind of way, but after a few minutes of her defending this guy tooth to nail and snapping at me and Laura for being so grossed-out, it became increasingly clear that she brought this up because she thinks it's a good idea. To which I say no. Just, no. I say no to her, I say no to him, I say no to the hookworms, I say no to procuring hookworms on the internet from a man's asshole, I say no to parasites as an option for allergy relief, I say no to Ira Glass, I just say no to the entire situation. That's my entire argument: no. And I think it's pretty damn good one, if you ask me. And there's absolutely no chance that I could be wrong. I'm right. So there's that. Good day.

This fired Helena up like nothing I've ever seen before and she fought long and hard to persuade us to see her side of the worm. Did we? No. Of course we didn't. Why? Because, no.

"FINE! Then you go on your blog tomorrow and you ask your readers what they think! THEN WE'LL SEE WHO'S WRONG!" she challenged.

Oh, really? You sure you want to open those floodgates? Because we're not talking about the politics of ass-wiping, and I'm not mixing up my rednecks with blue eyes and shorn hair—WE'RE TALKING ABOUT PURPOSELY INGESTING WORMS WITH RAZOR SHARP FANGS TO KEEP THE SNIFFLES AWAY. Something tells me I might be right on this one. Sorry to get all cocky about it.

It blows my fucking mind that Helena, of all people, thinks this is a good idea and given the opportunity, she'd totally do this. Normally that would be enough to make me question myself and think something is wrong with me, but NO! Nothing is wrong with me. I'm right; she's wrong. And if she wants you guys to be the judge and jury on this one, then that's fine with me! I am more than comfortable with that.

Here's what she has to say for herself:

I've suffered from vicious allergies my entire life. The constantly runny nose, the leaking from every facial orifice, and general cranial discomfort. But I've come to accept it. UNTIL NOW.

Picture it: The Bus. 6:30 on a Monday morning en route to work. Listening to This American Life and suddenly I regain consciousness! Because there is a COMPELLING story re: allergies. Apparently there's a cure. HALLELUJAH.

Pros: NO MORE ZYRTEC.
Cons: living with hookworms.

Listen, as the world's biggest neat freak (seriously, I lost a BFF/roommate over this) I can respect the desire to not inject a parasite, but this is 1000% worth the trade-off. And I know that's not a real percentage. I'll take anything Radio Lab's Jad Abumrad says as gospel, but I think this is the most useful story he's done. Slash most upsetting. Essentially, getting comfortable with a few hookworms living inside you means you'll never have an allergy again. All they'll do is sing your immune system gentle lullabies and take a very small percentage of nutrients from your digestive system in return. Parasites are a part of life and in this part of the world, we've done a bit too much suffocation of the good stuff. All we need is a bit more action from our primordial partners.

Listen to the segment. In Ye Olde Western World, we're too clean and we've effed ourselves over. I'm not going to say I'm comfortable with mail ordering Jasper's excrements. BUT as soon as the FDA is on board with lab-approved treatments, I'm IN. Until then, sorry Jad/Jasper, I'm holding off. I really need a clean bill of health. I only hope it happens soon.

My rebuttal:

No.

OK, I'll expand slightly. (Although I don't think I have to.) Reasons why Helena, bless her heart, is bat-bird crazy:

- Let me get this straight, you don't think the word "poon" is civilized, but you're A-OK with a shanty town of hookworms living in you?? Shenanigans.

- I have allergies too. They blow. I've been on a steady IV drip of Mucinex and Claritin D for the past month. It's irritating. However, it is not irritating enough to INGEST WORMS! What's the big deal with taking a pill? Hookworms are like the IUD of allergies; they're invasive and creepy and I don't care how many doctors tell me you can't feel 'em—I'd just rather take a pill everyday. If Mucinex and OrthoTriCyclin teamed up, I'd buy a Costco membership in 15 seconds flat.


- That's how confident I am in my side of the debate. One of my arguments is literally just a picture of Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood. Why? Because it's not of hookworms.


- Because those are hookworms. They're the size of a piece of hair and they wriggle around your lower intestines mooching off your salad. No fucking thank you.


- FANGS!

- I can understand the argument that the First World is too clean and we're actually hurting ourselves in the long run (mainly because I saw an episode of House about it...) but that means I'm willing to go to the extremes of drinking tap water to get more fluoride and don't feel the need to excessively Purell my hands day and night. IT DOES NOT MEAN THAT I WANT TO INGEST WORMS!

- If it was a matter of life or death, I would obviously ingest the damn worms. If I picked up some parasite that could only be killed by another kind of parasite, which could eventually be killed off by medicine; fine. Give me all the worms in your worm farm and then some. However, I'm talking about a life or death situation. I'm not experimenting with parasites in my body to get rid of watery eyes and and the occasional sneeze.

- "But pills have chemicals! Worms are natural!" OH I'M SORRY, HIPPIE! Does that mean I get to take away all of the bleach you so regularly clean your house with? Maybe moonbeams and flower power will get your bathtub to sparkle, huh??

Look, Helena...I love you more than Hagman and Rasta Pug combined, but you're just wrong. The entire situation is wrong. But because I recognize that there's always the (very, very, microscopically small) chance that I'm not right here, I open up the floor to you readers and invite you to weigh in on the matter.

Thank you for your input and I'm sorry to Helena in advance.