The bee sting

Let the record note that I am as good at keeping up with my blog as I am with my assignments. Never said I was a good student. Smart guy, terrible student. I used to be good. If I were to divulge the timeline of my life, which I won't, it would show a direct correlation between the slipping of my grades and the onset of certain taboo activities. Anyway.

Two weeks ago when my friend was in town from Duluth, I was stung by some sort of stinging insect. I never saw it sting me. My hand was out the window on the roof of my car on the way home from playing a round of disc at Willow River. My car lost its antenna some time ago, but I found if I put my finger in the hole where the antenna should be, I get radio reception, which is cool in a MacGuyver sort of way. So we were travelling down County Road U when it felt like a rock hit my finger. Ouch! It stung. Then it began to sting more. When I felt the toxin spread through my hand, it occured to me that a small pebble did not strike my finger. Wow. Bee stings hurt. They hurt, and they paralyze. Weee!

So I had to document this occurence because it became rather grotesque in nature. Here's the visual y'all. That's my buddy's foot kicked into the frame for flash. He eventually brought me to the doctor, and they gave me steroids for the swelling. I could push down a good centimeter the skin covering my middle finger knuckle. Think I need an epi-pen?