By Gary Cheddar
Months ago I started losing weight, but without changing my diet or exercise regimen. Then I started to get dizzy unless I ate twice as much as normal. I went to my doctor when the alternating diarrhea and constipation started and he revealed to me my terrible, terrible secret: I have a tapeworm, and it’s eating me up inside.
This is now a secret I have to live with, while the secret lives within me. I’m sure you can understand that if I don’t keep my intestines-dwelling cestode to myself, it would ruin every single aspect of my life. Now this is just between you, me, and Scooter. I named the tapeworm Scooter.
My doctor, Wayne Wang M.D., told me I’m the definitive host to a Taenia saginata, which is “the beef tapeworm,” and so my body, his home possibly for the rest of my cowardly life, is now just a beef tunnel. I am just a big beef hotel to this little hook-having, hungry free-loader.
I can’t tell my wife. Sweet, sweet Linda. Imagine the look on her face when she realizes that she’s been making love not only to a man, but also to a worm—a worm by the name of Scooter, who eats what I eat and poops out eggs into my own poop—once every single week. Betrayal would be the look on her face.
What about my kids! My children would be horrified and forever scarred if I told them that it wasn’t just their mother and I raising them, but that they are also secretly being fathered by a flat, white parasite measured at 31 ft and still growing.
I took my son, Douglas, fishing. “Just the two of us,” I said. That was a dirty, dirty lie. But how could I tell little Douglas that a third person was there with us? And that that person was a mouth-less, anus-less, nutrient-absorbing bastard, running amok in my beef tunnel? Douglas would never understand. He would’ve cried and scared away the fish.
Why am I publishing this online? I don’t know. Why am I giving my family and friends an opportunity to learn about my mortifying and secret intestinal companion secondhand instead of being upfront with them? Great question, really. I guess I just had to get it out, somehow, to someone. And you seem nice. I feel like I can trust you. So let’s keep this between us, OK? My name is Gary Cheddar–please don’t tell my family about this.
Gary Cheddar had to research a lot of disgusting stuff about tapeworms for this post.
Image by flexsleuthor.