If you've read here for any length of time you'll recall a great enmity exists between me and spiders. I consider myself in a war with anything that has eight legs, even if it were a bizarre eight-legged cloneman who was grown in a lab specifically to give his extra legs to unfortunate legless vets. I would war with that freak too, as well-intentioned as he may be, what with his leg donations and freakishness. That is not natural, my friend. Laws of nature exist for a reason and who are we to add extra legs to people when spiders have clearly shown us that the more legs you have the more evil your soul becomes. You see what I'm saying.

The other week I was cleaning the bathroom and I picked up a pile of clothes that I had cast aside when getting ready for the shower and I carried it into my room and threw the pile on my bed. Promptly arose from the heap a terrible being and Spiderdick was its name. "This aggression cannot stand," I told Spiderdick in a panicked screamy voice meant to intimidate. 

I looked around desperately for some sort of poisonous chemical or smashing shoe but there was nothing in the immediate vicinity. Never bring a tissue to a spider fight is my motto. You bring chemicals and fire and anvils and extra fire made more powerful with an aerosol propellant.

If you've ever warred with a spider, especially one that has laid claim to your bed, you know that one can never, ever take one's eyes off him. You would do so at your peril, for the spider is wily and prone to disappearing into blankets like a ninja into a really big can of black paint.

The only weapon I had at my disposal was my cat, a known spider slayer of the first order, who at the moment was sitting next to my bed dispassionately licking her paw and plotting how to better show me her complete disdain. Instantly I knew what had to be done.

I would, using a blessedly thick copy of In Style magazine, flip the spider off the bed and onto the floor where eons of evolution would kick in and Fangs o' Destruction would do what she did best. How could this plan fail, I cackled to myself as I swiped at Spiderdick with the giant magazine.

Spiderdick had not gotten my carefully crafted memo RE: SPIDERDICK'S IMPENDING DOOM and instead of complying ran across my bed and down between the wall and the mattress. Oh good on you, THL! Jolly great showing there! Now you have to burn down your bed and also your whole room.

Word of Spiderdick's victory spread through the arachnid world and soon I found that Spiderdick2 had taken residence on the ceiling of my shower. Well played, spider foe. Spy on me, naked and defenceless, and plot your next attack.

Have you ever taken a shower, usually a time of great relaxation, with a spider leering over your shoulder like Joe Francis salivating over a pile of underage trucker hats? It brings about a feeling quite the opposite of relaxation, a feeling some people call "hopeless dread."

The Return of Spiderdick has stayed in the same unreachable ceiling corner for days. We eye each other warily at every run in but as long as I know where he is, I know he can't kill me.

The other morning I shuffled into the bathroom for morning ablutions, bleary-eyed and half-awake, but not so asleep that I didn't first check to make sure Spiderdick Numero Dos was where he was supposed to be. Waiting for the shower to warm up, I lowered the toilet seat lid and sat there, and then noticed a pile of clothes I had left on the floor from the previous night's shower. I picked up the t-shirt and that's when I was ambushed by the unexpected Spiderdick Number Three, The Spiderdickening, WHO PROCEEDED TO RUN UP MY ARM OMFG. And Spiderdick Two sat in his ceiling lair and laughed like a Bond villain, with the pinky to his pursed lips and everything.

At least my cat, excited by the early morning fracas, came running and heeded my cry to battle, which sounded a lot like, "FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKGETITOFFFUCKFUCKFUCKKKKKK." She ripped Spiderdick 3 to pieces as Spiderdick 2 watched and I hoped it was like in the movie 300 when Captain Artemis' son Astinos was killed right before him. I hope Spiderdick3 was Spiderdick2's beloved eldest son. You hear me, Spiderdick2??????? I HOPE YOU SUFFERED A GREAT PERSONAL LOSS.

From this experience I've learned one thing: Never move a pile of clothes. So basically I plan to leave everything on the floor until it's just a giant teeming hive of spiders and I will find new lodging. Did you know there is an old Quaker saying, "If you want to live and thrive, let the spider run alive"? Yeah well that just proves the old adage "Never trust a Quaker".

Labels: fuck spiders but not in the sexy way, omgspiders=satan, Spiderdick1-3, spiders can get to fucking off