Tomato horn worms.
http://organicgardensite.com/?p=56
They’re just icky – especially the undulating way the caterpillars move.
Can they anesthetize the limb so I can’t feel their little bites?
Earwigs, check.
Gypsy moth caterpillars, check.
Whatever that thing was that ate into that guy’s brain in that Star Trek movie, check. 
I gots one more for you: they have white turds from chewing up bones.
i don’t see how you can deduce that from what I’ve written.
But, if I had to undergo this treatment, I’d me majorly ooked out at the time.
Actually, from what I understand (which, granted, isn’t much,) you shouldn’t feel them eat, because they only eat the already dead flesh, not the stuff viable muscle and skin, which is why they’re used. Of course, since you still have muscle and skin still dying as they are eating, you are probably going to be in a lot of pain already, so even if you did feel the little buggers chompin’ down, it would probably be considered a relief! 
Watching my dog take a shit sometimes icks me out a little bit.
Nah, the thing that most oogs me out is the following. I quote now from Sex and the Spotted Hyena:
OOG! OOG! OOG! Enh…
I got one for ya. (Warning, what follows is a truly gross story. Please do not read if you have a weak stomach.)
Huge business meeting, boss is late. Co-workers sitting around talking. My preppy co-worker Tom was raised in New York City and is particularly neat in dress and fussy in attitude, and never seen without a large, hard bound book (70% of the time the book is the Bible, I did the math). He is one of those… lint pickers. You know, imaginary lint. He even looks pained if he sees dust motes in a sunbeam, or while watching someone eat crumbly food like crackers or cookies. He is really, really, neat. So anyway, Tom gets in on a conversation about going hiking in the lovely Spring weather.
“You guys can live it up. I will stay inside with a comfy chair, a book, and climate control. I have never understood the appeal of going outdoors, anyway.”
Me: “Whaat? But Tom, you have a 7 year old little boy. Doesn’t he want to go outside and play? Are you raising him to be an indoor child?”
“Of course not. He is aloud to go outside and swing, but long walks in the woods? Forget it.”
Me: “Did something… happen to you outdoors? Allergic to bees, or hate getting sweaty or something?”
Tom: “Well… sort of. I was about 12 the summer we moved to the area, I couldn’t find a peaceful place to read, and I got frustrated with all the noise my family was making so I grabbed my book and went for a walk. I was new in town and not sure which direction to go, so I crossed a barbed wire fence and followed what appeared to be a trail in the grass. I walked about ½ mile, and came across a huge concrete culvert that went underneath the highway. There was a small stream trickling through it, but probably a whole lot of water rushed under it in a flood. So anyway, in the middle of this dark culvert, with cars rushing above, was this giant… cow, I guess. Yeah, it was a cow. It had those… udder things. So anyway, this cow was gigantic, but laying on its side, and perfectly round, like it was some sort of balloon or something.
At this point, my shoulders start shaking. I can feel the hysteria bubble up, but I try to suppress it. I was biting the inside of my lip and digging my nails into my palms. “Round, you say? A round cow?”
Tom: “Yeah, huge and round, and taut like a drum.” He looks around the table to see if his co workers believe this tale so far. Most everyone just looks confused and a couple of people look wary and disgusted, but we all want him to continue even if a few of us know where this is going.
“I don’t know how to convince you that it was round like a huge weather balloon…Well, I had certainly never seen anything like this before, so I went back out of the culvert and found a stick.”
Okay, at this point, I am quietly hysterical. Tears are rolling down my face, and I am silently mouthing “No stick. No stick. No. Stick.” No one else at the oval table is saying anything, but all eyes are moving from me to Tom, and back again like they are watching some horrifying tennis match.
Tom: “So I crept back into the dark culvert, and I very gently prodded the round cow with the stick.”
Me: Tears, snot, barely compressed laughter, shaking all over.
Tom, remembering the incident wears a mortified and nauseated expression: “And it… exploded. Blew up all over me, blood, maggots, guts, some grass, oh Jesus, I won’t go any further, I have said too much. I am sorry. I should have kept this story to myself. It’s just… I can’t forget it. Still have nightmares and my mother never could get the smell out of my clothes. Ruined my Bible.”
Everyone at the table is looking some version of sympathetic or disgusted, especially because we all know that Tom was raised in the city, is extremely meticulous in habit and dress, and very, very uptight. The general feeling in the room is one of sympathy, coupled with horrified disgust. Macy reaches out a hand to comfort Tom.
Then Robert, who never speaks, throws his hands in the air in mock horror and says “My hushpuppies!!!”
And I hit the floor. Rolling, clutching my stomach, trying to catch my breath. Hardest I ever laughed in my whole life.
Who the hell would poke a stinking, dead, bloated cow in the middle of July with a stick?
Cockroaches.
But more specifically, their color. That metallic black-red that doesn’t exist outside those disgusting monsters.
Also…
When my cat bites her toes. No reason for it, but it freaks me out.
Parasitic worms. Aaaaugh.
I fear the popping deer along the roads spraying me. The cow guy is too funny.
Wonderfully told, Beaucarnea! I wept with you.
I saw a picture of one of those in an encyclopedia. I will not click on the link, but the image has been seared…seared into my brain!
Slugs ick me out, as do maggots and worms. Lizards don’t bother me, and I think spiders are neat.
Do you mean when she’s cleaning the area between the toes, and spreads her toes out and sinks her teeth in there and gnaws at it, and then pulls at it until something lets go. Then she moves on to the next toe?
I usually leave the room during the toe cleaning sessions.
I found out, recently, that kangaroos have two vaginas. Well, virgin kangaroos have two. Kangaroos that have had a baby have three. Because evidently the two that are already there aren’t good enough or something.
We were just walking on the beach and there were a lot of jellyfish washed up. Undeniably oogy, yet incredibly fascinating. To look or not to look?
Boys.
All healthy (and appropriately disgusting) boys.
I’d have poked it too… but with a VERY long stick. :eek: Heck, I’d probably poke one today, if found in similar condition… but as a grown man, I should know better… but the boy inside would scream at me until I found a long enough stick. Or a rock to throw from very long distance.
Every boy knows that dead things MUST be poked with a stick.
Everything about trilobites really freaks me out. I hate them. I wouldn’t usually say this about one of nature’s precious species but, I wouldn’t mind if they were to become extinct!
Ick! They eat dead skin and poop everywhere! Disgusting things.
Tarantula hawks taken right to the face shield at 75MPH are even worse. Glanced off of husband’s shoulder and splatted on my helmet; thank god it didn’t splat on him. I couldn’t see at all! I can’t imagine taking something like that with an open face helmet shudder.
There isn’t much in this world that creep me out, but vinegaroons are right out. Thankfully, my cat dispatches them for me.
Oh, yeah. And “boys who poke dead bloated things with sticks” would be on my list of when nature grosses me out, too.
(Not the rock-throwers, though. They’re cool.)
ETA: Oh, and Queen Bruin? I am NEVER coming to visit! Eek!