I still have the scars on my chest and back to prove that I was in fact severely stung by a Man-Of-War while swimming in the waters of the Redneck Riviera. Meat tenderizer saved me rather than piss, which is probably a bummer to those attracted to this post by the keywords, “urinated on.”
The Man Of War got me while I was wading out to a sandbar. For those of you from the Midwest, step away from the Old Country Buffet spiral ham station for a sec and allow me to explain the ocean.
A sandbar, as defined by Wiki-stupid, is not a an establishment where plastic swords and or umbrellas are stuck into the top of a tasty blended, fruity beverage.
A shoal or sandbar is “a characteristically linear land form completely within or extending into a body of water.” It’s where barracuda and jellyfish cruise for pear-shaped, pink-skinned yummy tourists.
Not that anyone reading this should give 2 shits about my pain, but as I was screaming my idiotic 12 year old head off, my Dad carried me back to the beach, where the rednecks, some tanning with Crisco, probably thought I had been bitten by a shark or gnawed upon by a mutant grouper.
I’m sure the bored, mouth-breathing white trash were a little bummed that had I survived the attack and wasn’t totally fucked up.
I thought about that horrific trip to the beach when I saw a recent article in Sploid about jellyfish. They included this mushroom-y National Geographic video in the post.