Tyrades! Git Along , Little Wigglers

This week's topic wiggled right into my lap, as one of my co-workers has decided to explore the world of vermiculture.

Vermiculture, for the uninitiated, is the practice of feeding organic waste to earthworms to decompose it -- a form of composting by the use of earthworms. The worm best suited for such projects is the Red Wiggler (popularized 30-plus years ago in the "Red Wiggler, Cadillac of worms" jingle on the "WKRP In Cincinnati" TV show).

I suppose "worm ranching" is a harmless enough hobby, but branding the little varmints to thwart rustlers must be tedious work. ("I think I'll engrave the Lord's Prayer on him while I'm at it.") Besides, I grew up watching Clint Eastwood as Rowdy Yates on "Rawhide." When you're accustomed to macho shouts of "Head 'em up! Move 'em out!," there's just something a little wimpy about "Okay, ease on down to the next bin whenever you're through eating apple peelings, guys."

Furthermore, I'm grossed out by some of the terminology of vermiculture. I don't mind that the worm castings are called "worm poop," but I'm disturbed that the liquid fertilizer derived from the worm beds is marketed as "worm poop tea." I don't care how many times she says "honey" or "darlin'," if a waitress ever serves me something called "worm poop tea," she can go dig for her tip. "Worm poop tea" sounds like part of the Potluck Supper From Hades. ("Here, have some Ferret Fungus Pie and Monkey Earwax Casserole, washed down with...")

And for such icky little creatures, worms can sure be prissy. One expert advised that worms need a "harmonious environment" to carry out their duties efficiently. Sounds like a full-time job protecting the little prima donnas from stress factors. ("One of our owner's neighbors was whistling 'When The Red Red Robin Comes Bob Bob Bobbing Along.' If that doesn't qualify as a hate crime, I don't know what does, officer!")

I won't even make judgments about the fact that earthworms have both male and female sexual characteristics. I can just imagine the intense internal struggles that go on when the masculine and feminine sides argue. ("What do you mean you want to talk about my feelings? It's a rainy day. I feel what I always feel; I feel like writhing around on top of the ground! Now let's watch the game!")

Some assert that vermiculture is an easy endeavor. But, if nothing else, you'll at least have to edit the damp newspapers that you put in the worm bin. ("Hey -- here's a photo of some guy from Michigan, participating in a fishing rodeo. And who's that posing with him? No, it couldn't be...it's Uncle Nabob! Noooooooooooooo!") A shock like the preceding incident could surely trigger a near-death experience (i.e. one in which the worm is in a long tunnel and is beckoned to move away from the light).

If you somehow do everything right, you'll wind up with a surplus of worms. Bloggers suggest that you sell them, use them for bait, or dispense them to your buddies. Yeah, the world really needs "Give Your Friends Worms" bumper stickers. ("Hey, neighbor -- I'm here to give you worms -- and strep throat and...Uh, Mr. Eastwood, no, I don't know whether your .44 Magnum has been fired five times or six. Why do you...? Help! Help!")

Note: Danny Tyree welcomes e-mail at tyreetyrades@aol.com.