How I Achieved Perfect Harmony Between My Tapeworm and My Amazonian Dick Fish – And You Can Too!
When people find out I am host to a tapeworm and an Amazonian dick fish, they always ask the same questions: “What the fuck?” “Have you seen someone about that?” And finally, “do they get along?” The answers are, respectively, “please don’t swear around my tapeworm,” “of course not,” and a resounding “yes.” But it wasn’t always that way.
Last fall, per my usual pre-beach-season routine, I swallowed a tapeworm. My dick fish (the candiru, I’ve since learned it’s called) was just a happy accident. It swam into my urethra as I urinated while standing in the Amazon River in my search for indigenous tribes that had yet to make contact with the modern world. We did find one, though there was something about their iPhones that suggested we weren’t their first outsiders. Some say that the idea that the candiru can swim up your urine stream and enter the urethra is a myth. If so, I would like someone to explain that to the fish living in my dick.
They were, at first, unpleasant houseguests, always rattling my intestines and flapping my penis around against my will at the worst possible times. (Working the bench press at the gym comes to mind!) It got me thinking that maybe they weren’t happy living in my pelvic tubing, so I put myself in their shoes. I’d feel lonely if I lived in a penis or intestine. I’d need a friend so bad after a while I’d probably start eating my way out from the inside, too.
There was little chance either of them would befriend me—I have as much in common with them as we have with God—but I figured since they’re both parasitic and both living inside of me, they’d probably have a lot to talk about. I decided the best way to calm down these rowdy boys was to introduce them and—fingers crossed—wait for the sparks of friendship to fly!
The first hurdle was figuring out how to bridge the gap between my small intestine and penis. After many hours spent compressing my manhood into my body to no avail, I decided to change tack. Instead of using force to initiate a parasitic blind date, I would gently ease them together through yoga exercises. I sought out positions that would make my abdomen and pelvic floor more limber to make it easier for them to meet. The pretzels I twisted myself into riled up the boys something fierce. A free yoga class in the park sounded like a bargain until the tapeworm’s violent, panicked thrashing got the dick fish so agitated it started flopping my penis around. My classmates must have thought my nethers were possessed by the devil. Eventually, the muscles of my midsection loosened enough that, by stretching my legs over my head while lying on my back, I could painlessly scrunch their homes together. Gap. Bridged.
Now it was all about the meet cute. I got a little tipsy on some rosé, knowing the tapeworm and dick fish would get blitzed during their daily absorption of my nutrients. I dropped a lavender bath bomb into a tub of warm water to further sooth my muscles. Finally, I flopped my legs behind my neck, and took some deep breaths, being careful not to drown. I waited.
The sensations in my midsection felt the way it looks when two dogs cautiously sniff each other’s rears to suss each other out. I was so nervous. Not only did I have a tapeworm in my guts and a fish in my dick, now I had butterflies in my stomach.
It was a lot of movement, and ultimately a lot of blood in my stool and urine, but their blossoming friendship was joyous. At least, as joyous as two parasites play fighting in your groin can be.