Animals That Horrify Me

Animals can be pretty damn scary things. To illustrate this, here is my personal list of seven animals that could destroy and/or control the world, if they so desired, in order from least to most horrifying. (This entry brought to you by a classroom discussion on appropriate uses of obscenities in writing. Things are--gosh!--a little foul-mouthed.)

1. Aphids. Now, even in terms of garden pests, aphids aren't as bad as you get. I mean, squirrels are more of a problem and they're, well, squirrels. So why single them out as having the potential to be destructive beyond all means?

Aphids control the ants. And ants are, bar no other living creature, the scariest fucking creatures on the face of the planet. They can get into almost any building, exist all over the world, are sometimes poisonous, are slavishly devoted to the good of their queen and hive to the point where they have no self-interest whatsoever, and they're incredibly numerous. Most horrifying? The mega-colony of ants located in Europe, which is like a whole bunch of different anthills, only instead of fighting each other, they cooperate. This is the most horrific thing I have ever heard.

To return to aphids, they have a pretty nice set-up going with the ants. Ants will protect, feed and even place aphids in opportune places, "farming" them, in return for the honeydew (or sweet, sugary piss) of aphids--the aphids lose nothing, since it's a natural waste product anyway, and in return, they control the most frightening insect on the planet.

Not so harmless now, are they?

2. Octopodes. (Before anyone gets me started on the name... Yes, I know, octopi. That's lovely and all, but that's a Latin plural ending on a Greek word. Either call them octopusses (my usual choice) or use the right plural form--just don't mix and match, especially if you then proceed to correct people smugly. "It's octopi," you may say, raising one brow with a superior sneer on your face. Yeah, shut up, bitch--it isn't.)

So what's so horrifying about the octopus? Well, for one, they're incredibly intelligent. They break locks. Sometimes they choose not to break locks, because it's easier for them to just break the locked box into pieces and get their fishy reward that way. They solve simple puzzles, they observe humans--there was an octopus that was being trained to do simple tasks for treats, which were stored in a cupboard. After a while, the scientists noticed that the treats were disappearing very quickly--reviewing the cameras in the lab showed that the octopus was escaping its cage (something they didn't even know it could do), climbing over to the cabinet where the treats were stored, opening it, and then eating its fill every night. Oh my fucking God. There are registered voters who couldn't do that shit.

The one thing holding the octopus back is its slightly less effective copper-based blood. Soon, they will find a way around this. And then--well, then the world will fall. With other cephalopodian shock troops, like the demonic Humboldt Squid, which hunts in voracious packs of up to 1200 individuals, devouring whatever crosses its path, working cooperatively and dragging humans down to be consumed in the darkest depths of the ocean, nothing will stand in their way--as soon as they find a way to subsist for long periods of time on the surface of the water, we're all doomed.

3. Canadian geese. They are some nasty motherfuckers, let me tell you. And adult geese are strong--they can knock you around pretty bad. Mostly, though, these are the most ruthless and aggressive birds on the planet: looking like a Canadian goose is the avian equivalent of being 6'5", made of muscle, wearing black leather, being heavily tattooed, twitching sporadically and generally giving the impression that you're about to snap and go for their throat, and probably wearing the caked-on blood of the multitudes of dead men, women, children, kittens and other innocents that they've killed. And, unlike many other types of birds, they're hideous rapists with an insatiable sexual appetite, to the point where birds sometimes drown because they have been fucked into the water, after a particularly enthusiastic drake landed on them while they were floating.

You probably think this is hyperbole. It's not. The invasion has already begun--notice how the geese no longer fly south for winter everywhere? They're planning their attack. They already have us feeding them bread--soon, our every goal will be to serve our feathered overlords.

Canadian geese will take a break from raping, murdering and eating your lawn, and then laugh and laugh, honking wildly as they chew on the severed fingers of your children. Not even the adorable goslings will make up for that. The cuteness is a lie.

4. Chinese giant salamanders. They get six feet long. They are a six-foot-long amphibian. One that can live for hundreds of years. Six-foot-long incredibly long-lived predatory amphibians. The only reason that they don't have human deaths attributed to them is because they're very obscure and unstudied, living high in the Chinese mountains. Nobody knows how intelligent they are. Nobody knows much of anything, in fact--and they like it that way.

5. Infectious dog cancer. "Infectious cancer?" you may say. "Don't be ridiculous!" But it is, in fact, the truth--another infectious cancer is behind Devil Facial Tumor Disease, which causes cancerous growths on the faces of Tasmanian devils, swelling until they're so large that the animal is unable to feed and starves to death.

The cancer dogs get is a little more benign: it's usually not fatal. Canine transmissible venereal tumor (CTVT) is passed from dog-to-dog by sexual contact or by fighting--and unlike the cervical cancer caused by HPV, it's truly an infectious cancer. That means that every cell in every tumor in every dog who has this disease--and it's found across all five continents, commonly--is genetically identical, and that it all comes from one animal, a dog or wolf, who lived approximately 150-1000 years ago.

Which means that that dog, in essence, has never died. Instead it lives on, a few of its cells--mutated until they no longer follow the rules of genetics and the body as we know them--buried inside hundreds of thousands of dogs, all across the planet. Waiting.

6. Cordyceps fungi. Now, fungus usually aren't all that scary--maybe if you're immunologically depressed you might get certain species growing in you (like Schizophyllum commune, a known cause of "human mycosis," settling in the lungs and sinuses, among other organs, and causing things like brain abscesses) but mostly they stick to dead stuff, right? Or plants at the very least--although there is that fungus that grows on hibernating bats, causing erratic behavior, physical problems and eventually death--really, not a threat to humans or the greater part of the animal world.

Well, the Cordyceps fungus infects living insects. It moves slowly through the insect, consuming the most vital systems last and entwining with the insects nervous system. Now, let's say that the infected species was an ant: as it grows sicker and sicker, dying as more and more essential systems are confused by the parasite growing inside its body, it starts to exhibit erratic, abnormal behaviors. (This still isn't very scary, is it? Just wait.) It starts washing compulsively, for example--more to the point, it starts climbing up towards the canopy of the tropical rain forests it's found in. Why up? Because there's more air flow up there. Why? Because the Cordyceps fungus makes it. How can you tell? It's totally abnormal behavior for the ants.

As the ant moves upwards, it eventually dies. As it passes away, it grips its jaws into the wood beneath it, clinging to the tree even as death sets in, followed by rigor mortis. And, finally, the fungus shows itself: it begins to fruit, a long spike emerging from the body to spread its spores. The increased breeze at the tops of the trees helps the plant spread, to infect another ant.

No scientist really knows how it causes behavioral changes like that. It already effects hundreds, possibly thousands, of insect species...

7. Hairworms. This is another mind-control parasite, like the Cordyceps in some ways: it changes the behavior of the host, to its detriment and eventual death. It even infects insects--although the hairworm in question infects grasshoppers exclusively. (For the moment, at least. And as far as we know.) It was discovered when scientists noticed grasshoppers jumping directly into ponds--not normal behavior for them. It appeared that they were committing suicide, which they were, in many ways.

It was eventually discovered to be caused by a parasite. Somehow, it alters grasshopper behavior; for a while it lives relatively quietly within its host, consuming the flesh and vitality of the grasshopper like any normal parasite. Then things change. In the end, the grasshopper ends up plunging helplessly into the pond, where it drowns, leaving the worm free to leave its host and find a mate, finishing its complex life-cycle.

Essentially--somehow--this parasite makes the grasshopper kill itself so that it can continue to finish its disgusting life cycle. (To illustrate just how disgusting: the worms writhe themselves into hideous balls and clumps, earning their other name--Gordian worms, after Gordian knots.) How? Again, nobody knows--but I'd look really carefully at the number of human suicides-by-water in regions where this thing is found.

(Sources: Chinese Giant Salamanders, and the same again, hairworms, Humboldt squid, Tasmanian devils, Cordyceps fungus, and infectious dog cancer.)