Gag me with a maggot

Perhaps Gentle Reader has encountered -- or even used -- the expression, "That would gag a maggot!" (*) Well, I think I witnessed, with at least two of the five senses, that very phenomenon this past Friday afternoon.

Here's how it went down.

Last Sunday, before making my weekly pilgrimage to North Canton (**), I prepaired some chicken for freezing. This involves removing the skin and most of the fat before wrapping it. This left me with a good pound of offal.

"No problem," I thought. "I'll just take this with me and toss it in the dumpster when I get there." So I tied everything up in a plastic grocery-bag and set it in the back of the truck -- and promptly forgot about it. Which it to say, I didn't toss it in the dumpster when I got to the motel, but instead carted it around all week.

Friday, leaving work, I got a (small) whiff and remembered. Fortunately, the motel is near enough the office that I didn't forget again and haul the mess back home,

So, I parked and walk back to get the mess. I swear, the stench had ripened during the short drive there and grew exponentially by my mere act of looking into the truck-bed. What I smelled is indescribable, but here's what I saw -

Between the rain we’d had much of the week (the cool weather - due, no doubt, to “global warming” - had probably slowed the stench-making capacity of my cargo) and the natural process of liquefaction of the organig material, there was a foul “broth” in (and out of) the plastic bag.

And the maggots! It was so foul that even they were trying to run (and swim) away … keeping in mind that as they don’t have legs it was rather difficult for them. But, heroes all, they were making a valiant effort. Now, my eyesight isn’t as sharp as it used to be, but I’m certain that I saw many of those who had braved the fetid waters of Lake Fowl gasping and heaving when they made it safely to the dry “land” of Bed Liner.

I felt rather sorry for the poor fellows … until I grabbed the plastic bag and lifted it over the sidewall. Then I felt very sorry for me. Oh! the stench was even worse, if that's possible.

I made it to the dumpster - I really should have parked closer to it - and disposed of the noisome bundle. Then I had to navigate back to the truck … walking past all the dribblings that leaked out of the bag as I’d carried it. I almost lost it three times getting back to the truck.


(*) In my mind, I always mash-up the expression "That would gag a maggot!" and the Valley Girl exclamation "Gag me with a spoon!" ... into "Gag me with a maggot!"

(**) I work about 75 miles from home. Since I don't want to spend 3+ hours on the road every day, I stay over there during the week; I usually head out on Sunday and come home on Friday.