The Leecher
There is no shortage of parasites on Earth. Many times, it seems there is a quota.
Let it be understood that there are a significant number of people mistakenly compared with such creatures as the leech and the tick who cannot be accurately described as such. To ascribe this label to people suffering poverty, for example, is to misunderstand the parasite's mechanisms completely. Ticks do not get by on the goodwill of deer. And deer do not make blood because they wish to feed the ticks. The primary end of the tick is lustful efficiency, which often ends in gorging to death on more blood than can be handled. Ticks are not necessary for the survival of deer. But deer are essential to the survival of ticks. It is probably much nicer to be a tick since all that is required is a strategic latching and a bottomless stomach. And think how odd it would be if one day we discovered that somehow the ticks were running the scene. Suppose a rather personable tick came to a deer and made the deer realize that he needed someone to drink away all his blood because it was the natural order of things and that, really, the other deer having no ticks was a testament to the flavor of their undesirable blood. And then the tick and the deer would work out some sort of agreement whereupon the deer would continue to produce the blood, which it otherwise would have done anyway, while the tick told the deer something about the free exchange of fluid and the trickledown theory of bloodloss. But this is getting away from the story at hand.
It has been assumed throughout history that illness is substantiated by a poor quality of blood, which needs to be replaced. Consequently, human beings have long used various techniques for removing that blood and, along with it, various ‘humors,’ which I gather refers to a kind of malevolent bloodghost that courses through your arteries and poisons your vital essence. Or some such pagan insanity. I do not know who first willingly applied a leech to drink of the ghosts in their blood nor what sort of mental condition they were in, but it goes without saying that this practice soon was unquestionably all the rage. It even got George Washington, which tells you all you need to know.
Neither do I enjoy imagining what the gathering of leeches entails, because I can see no angle by which it is even remotely pleasant. But like all morbidly disturbing enterprises, it was probably not long before a particularly entrepreneurial fellow with nothing more useful to do sat by a leechpond and figured how many leeches could latch upon his own hide down to the square inch. This is the correct business mindset, you understand. And after figuring his skin’s potential and factoring in whatever the going rate per dozen leeches was at his village’s local Wizard-Doctor, he realized he stood to gain quite a handsome sum were he able to make good use of his inviting and delectable skin. So, after at least two quarts of liquor, he stripped to the only clothes God gave him and dove headlong into the nest of the leeches. I imagine he kept at least one hand as a shield over his wedding tackle, but you never know what sort of brazen recklessness the profit motive will likely instill in a man. When he was thoroughly anointed with the little devils, he clambered ashore and hurried into the village, hand still agrasp to his Johnson out of what little respect he had for the public decency. It was probably some three miles or so on the road to town, and I do not envy the travelers who encountered him there.
Finding the Wizard-Doctor, the Leecher then burst in, interrupting a ritual in process which was probably some sort of bargain with a lesser god to strike the town drunk blind, perhaps in combination with one of those spells that makes the phallus of its target either grow three inches or fall off and turn into a toad. Magic was as unpredictable in those days as now, of course. And upon seeing this leechcovered and nude heretic, the Wizard-Doctor said, ‘Good Lord, man! Can’t you see I was in the process of having that drunken wastrel struck blind? What on Earth could be so important?’ And not long after the Village Drunkard curiously found himself halfway blind and slightly extended down below, the Leecher answered.
‘I would like to sell you these leeches, Doctor Wizard, and knowing what a necessity they are, I will take no less than fifty dollars each.’ They obviously did not use dollars at this time, but I have calculated the exchange and recorded it here for clarity’s sake.
‘Fifty a piece? You’re quite mad.’
‘Actually, I’m quite brilliant. Of course, if you prefer to throw yourself into the leechpond and gather your own, feel free.’ Said the Leecher before feigning an exit in a manner disclosing weariness at the loss of blood during his journey.
The ensuing haggling is hardly important. All that matters is that, for time and annoyance at a nude leechinfested buffoon clasping his penis before him, the Doctor assented to this demand, and the Leecher had his profit, some of which he used on grapejuice and those small but impossibly hard cookies. The Doctor then returned to his business and saw the Drunkard grow three more inches but struck totally blind and unable to admire it.
I do not think this sort of thing would have needed to go on very long before the Leecher realized that, being the only one with such a capacity for heartless extortion, he really could get anything that he wanted for his efforts. And this feeling of being required has seen not a few otherwise worthless men driven maddeningly towards further and further selfimportance. Once you get into the business of wagering the most significant material benefit against the delusions of a megalomaniac, only death can follow, as many revolutions have and will continue to reveal. And this is how that death manifested.
You cannot harvest any resource to an extreme degree over a short window without risking expending it completely. In his mania, our Leecher quickly sold off all the leeches of the village leechpond and found himself faced with a dilemma. He had failed to consider that leeches do not in fact condense out of the air like rain but require a constant population of their own to reproduce. Although this was inconsiderate on the part of the leeches in the face of the Leecher’s business endeavors, there was not much to be done about it.
‘Well,’ said he, ‘I have heard of another leechpond at the village nearby, and I don’t presume that anybody is making good use of them at the moment, so I think I’ll go and see about those leeches there to feed my supply.’
And so, he went to the neighboring village with its own leechpond, Doctor-Wizard, and hung batblind drunkard, and likewise peddled leeches right off his own back. But our maxim still holds true, and it was not long before this pond, too, was leechless. But the Leecher was still a ruthless businessman and, with his enterprising spirit, had the following discovery.
‘Now there are two villages around, both without leeches. But suppose I find a third leechpond. Then, I could double or even triple my profits against the threat of taking my leeches to the other village!’ Thus, he set out to find a third leechpond. And, yes, he did always talk to himself, because who else could stand to hear such a person?
After finding a third leechpond quite a ways away from either village, the Leecher dove in and got thoroughly sucked. He was looking rather pale at this point, by the way. But despite the lessening color in his skin, he went ashore. He headed towards the first town, where a good many people had died due to the scarcity of resources the Doctor-Wizard had created after squandering his budget on leeches and his time on reversing his genital providence to the Drunkard.
‘I have come with more leeches,’ said the Leecher, ‘And this time, I would like one hundred and fifty dollars a head.’
‘One hundred and-‘ the Doctor scoffed.
‘That’s right. Or I will take my leeches one village over and sell them where my work is appreciated.’
‘Well,’ said the Doctor-Wizard, ‘I suppose you can go ahead and eat shit, then.’ And went back to all that toad-tallywhacker business.
At this, the Leecher headed off towards the next village, fueled little by blood but lots by indignation. And upon arriving, essentially the same interaction occurred, although this village’s Wizard-Doctor rather liked the unexpected results of his spell. By now, our Leecher was looking very thin indeed and was bumbling and stumbling about like a lobotomy case. But despite the weakness in his knees, sound business principles propelled him towards a third town in which to unload his leeches. And so, he dragged corpselike along the road, offending the sight of all respectable folks he saw along the way and speaking like an opiumsmoker with a mouthful of cotton.
He did not make it to this third village since the leeches had drank him down to the dregs. And they themselves soon died, being out of the water and having no fresh supply of blood, which left on the side of the road a sight inspiring probably four or five witchburnings in the area.
You may need help to relate this story to the bit about ticks and deer at the start, as I do. But neither of us is a tick-and-leech expert, so it isn’t really our fault.
