Burning Ring of Fire

I am a horrible, mean-spirited, evil wench who delights in the suffering of others -- particularly when it is funny as Hell.

Like, say....someone getting a crotchful of jellyfish sting.

Oh, yeah, baby.  Try keeping a straight face and a mellow disposition when someone tells you a story like that. I guarantee you will pop a hernia trying to stifle the from-your-toes belly guffaws that desperately want to erupt.

So, late last summer, the in-laws took their annual month long boating vacation, and toodled on down the Chesapeake until they hit the salt line.  They pulled into hole-in-the-wall marinas, ate crabs, and generally enjoyed being in the middle of nowhere, with nothing to do and no schedule to keep. (As an aside, that sounds great to me, as well -- though minus the boat action. I fucking hate boats.)

On the last day of their sail south, they tossed out the anchor and went for a swim. Unfortunately, there were jellyfish. Lots and lots of jellyfish.

As my MIL was climbing the boat ladder -- an awkward procedure involving hiking your legs up on to the bottom rung while allowing your ass to dangle freely in the water -- she looked between her legs to see, drifting ominously close to her personal regions....a jellyfish.

She panicked and tried to climb faster, but was a bit ungainly and couldn't hoist herself up fast enough as the jellyfish drifted, as git gently puffed by the hand of God Himself, right into her nethers.

The carnage was impressive. Just take a moment to consider all the things you do that involve your sit-upon area, every single day. The area was swollen enough to make pants painful to wear, personal cleansing after potty to be downright tortuous and sitting, walking, standing -- basically anything that cause friction in the groin area -- to be intolerable.

DO you know how sore my whole body was, trying to suppress the hilarity when I heard the story?
DO you think I did so successfully?

Hell, no. I did not. I still laugh until I cry every time I think about it.