 Today, in surprisingly connected etymologies, we're taking a close look at some creepy crawly critters. First of all, you better check your pockets for bugs. For such a simple-seeming word, bug has a remarkably complicated origin story, coming it seems from at least two sources, the first being British folklore. In Middle English, the word bugga referred to a terrifying creature out of folklore, like a hobgoblin, and this sense is still preserved in related terms like bugbear. As to where this Middle English bugga comes from, one possibility is that this supernatural creature was once some kind of goat-like being, not uncommon in many folklorists. And thus, the word comes from the same Indo-European root buggo, meaning goat, that gives us the word bug. Alternatively, bug may come from the Proto-Indo-European root bayu, which means to boil, swell, or puff up, which lies behind many other English words, not only boil and puff, but also pocket. The sense of a frightening creature has evidently been watered down to mean something simply annoying, something that bugs you. And this less frightening sense may have something to do with another similar-sounding word that seems to have merged with bug. Old English butta, meaning beetle, sounds enough like bug that the two may have fallen together, and by the 17th century, the word bug starts to be used to refer to insects, initially bedbugs, and eventually any insect. It's also uncertain where Old English butta comes from, but it might be connected with our modern English word bud, as in a shoot or seed pod, and might ultimately come from that same Proto-Indo-European root that means to swell. They always say cockroaches would survive a nuclear war, but really, it's beetles you should connect with nuclear fission, at least etymologically speaking. Beetle is literally little biter from Old English butella beetle related to the verb beton to bite. The Proto-Indo-European root that lies behind these words is bade to split or crack, which comes into Latin as ficio, a breaking up or cleaving, from the verb findera to split, the modern sense being the splitting of the atom. Have you ever noticed the color of a flea? Etymologically, it's puce. Puce, a brownish-purple color, comes from pulax, the Latin word for flea, which comes from the Proto-Indo-European root plu, which also gives us the word flea. Puce describes the color of a crushed, fully fed flea, so basically blood. A wrench and a worm don't seem to have much in common, but it turns out that etymologically they both turn. Wrench comes from Old English wrenchon to twist, which can be traced back to Proto-Germanic rancion and Proto-Indo-European ring to turn, from the root where to turn or bend. This root also probably leads to Proto-Indo-European wormy, which becomes in turn Proto-Germanic wormies, Old English, Wyrm, and Modern English, Wyrm. And finally, turning to an animal that is technically another kind of bug, though most people prefer not to think of that when they eat them, when cooking shrimp, be careful not to scorch them, or perhaps you should. Scorch comes from Old Norse screpa to shrink, be shriveled, from the Proto-Indo-European root scarb to turn or bend. This root also gives us the word shrimp, through a low German word, perhaps similar to shrimpen to shrink or wrinkle. We also get the word rumple from this root, through Dutch rumpelen, to wrinkle, which is what you'll do to your face if you scorch the shrimp too much. Thanks for watching. This is one in a series of occasional short videos about connected etymologies. To see more, you can follow the endless knot on Twitter, Facebook, or Instagram.