OK, as most of you know by now, I am a fairly tough chick. I'm not intimidated by too much these days. I can handle the most horrific of sights: blood, gore, guts, childbirth, hell...even an episode of Glee (*shudders*).
Having said that, there are only two things that I fear on this earth, and one of them is spiders.
Spiders are disgusting, vile, good-for-nothing creatures. Nothing can convince me otherwise. I don't care that they eat other bugs. Those other bugs are nowhere near as loathsome as spiders. Therefore, I've made it my goal - before I go off to the Great Spider-Free Zone in the Sky - to eradicate the earth of every known species of spider. They must all die, and I will rest only when each and every one of them is rotting in their own fetid bile.
Don't get me wrong - I'm not prejudiced; I hate all spiders, all the same. Despite my tough-as-nails exterior and my cool-as-a-cucumber demeanor, I have, unfortunately, been violated in many different ways by spiders of every size, shape, and color. There is no such thing to me as a 'cute' spider or a 'harmless' spider. They are all putrid, nefarious, mothertrucking asshats.
Over the years, I have faced many challenges when it comes to battling these degenerates. I do not subscribe to the 'catch-and-release' school of thought. That is for raccoons who eat your garbage and the neighbor's cat who insists on peeing in your geraniums. What is the point of maiming a spider, if only to release it back into its environment? So he can come back stronger and with more weapons? No, all spiders must DIE. And the more torturous and gruesome the death, the better.
Of course, if someone else is in the vicinity when I am being attacked by a spider, I will ALWAYS get that other person to do my killing for me. I'm kinda like the Tony Soprano of the spider underworld. I've hired boyfriends, kids, relatives, blind dates, the paperboy, co-workers, the milkman, friends, and my great aunt Bertha to carry out my spider hits. And when I've had to get down and dirty myself, I've used Windex, hairspray, clown shoes, rolled-up newspapers, AK47s, telephone books, baseball bats, and my mother's cooking in order to kill them.
I will stop at nothing.
You see, I live adjacent to a heavily wooded area, where gigantic spiders of every type roam with reckless abandon. However, it's become apparent that some of them have not yet heard of me or my contract killings. Clearly, they did not get the Facebook status update or follow-up Tweet. Either that or those spiders must have gigantic spider cojones. They are unafraid - and as a result, I am stalked quite regularly. However, so far, I have easily managed to come out the victor, each and every time.
Until last Saturday night, that is.
It was late and I was at home, alone (SNIFF... I promised myself I wouldn't cry...). I was lying on my couch, watching The Golden Girls in almost total darkness. The living room was lit only by the TV and the soft glow of the book light I was using to see the pint of Cherry Garcia on my lap.
Don't judge.
Suddenly, I thought I saw a shadow out of the corner of my eye. I stopped what I was doing, and looked around.
Nothing.
I went back to my Cherry Garcia. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched.
Some twenty minutes later, as I sat licking my spoon - during a particularly touching moment between Blanche and Dorothy - I heard a noise.
"Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick...."
It sounded as if an elephant was galloping across my floor. Or maybe that was the blood pounding in my ears? At any rate, it was loud. I muted the TV and pulled my knees in close to my chest. I scanned the room, slowly...
And that's when I saw It.
It was HUGE.
And by huge, I don't mean as-big-as-my-hand huge, I mean AS-BIG-AS-MY-MOTHERTRUCKING-HEAD huge.
This spider had luggage, and he was ready to move in. He also had a passport, which told me that he had obviously traveled a great distance to find me. I don't know how he broke into my home, because I hadn't heard glass breaking, or the locks being picked. But this bastard got in somehow, and I had to get him OUT. Of course, he was gonna be leaving in a casket, so I got my Spider Killing Gear out. It was time to do battle.
I took a deep breath. There was no time for a contract killing; "I GOT this," I said through clenched teeth.
The spider and I stared each other down, each of his eight spindly legs twitching with every move I made, and we squared off. I had my arsenal of Spider Killing Gear: Spider Killer Spray (more commonly known as Windex), a massive wad of paper towel, a boot, my shotgun, and a Jerry can filled with gasoline.
I looked around for a match.
The little bugger just laughed at me and darted across my floor, behind the TV.
I pounced.
Despite the suit of armor he was wearing and the four grenade launchers under his vest, he was no match for me. This was not my first rodeo.
Through squinted eyes and a haze of disbelief, I took aim. A couple of quick sprays of Spider Killer, and that spider was flushed out in a hurry. (Side note: I do NOT recommend spraying Spider Killer Spray on carpet or near electrical outlets.)
He just laughed at me again, shaking off the effects of the Spider Killer Spray. He was immune!
And he was mocking me.
It was clear that he was not going to go quietly. I needed to regroup.
I set the bottle of Spider Killer down and sifted through my arsenal. I retrieved a weapon with a more personal approach: a solid black boot, with a thick, heavy sole - made especially for this type of killing.
I started talking to the spider, describing his impending death in great, gory detail, all the while raising the boot above my head - higher and higher as each revelation sunk in that spider little pea-sized brain. The massive being before me appeared confident, but he began to pace. The spider grew uneasy, as he looked for refuge in the carpet, books, photo albums - wherever he could find sanctuary.
Until last Saturday night, that is.
It was late and I was at home, alone (SNIFF... I promised myself I wouldn't cry...). I was lying on my couch, watching The Golden Girls in almost total darkness. The living room was lit only by the TV and the soft glow of the book light I was using to see the pint of Cherry Garcia on my lap.
Don't judge.
Suddenly, I thought I saw a shadow out of the corner of my eye. I stopped what I was doing, and looked around.
Nothing.
I went back to my Cherry Garcia. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched.
Some twenty minutes later, as I sat licking my spoon - during a particularly touching moment between Blanche and Dorothy - I heard a noise.
"Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick...."
It sounded as if an elephant was galloping across my floor. Or maybe that was the blood pounding in my ears? At any rate, it was loud. I muted the TV and pulled my knees in close to my chest. I scanned the room, slowly...
And that's when I saw It.
It was HUGE.
And by huge, I don't mean as-big-as-my-hand huge, I mean AS-BIG-AS-MY-MOTHERTRUCKING-HEAD huge.
This spider had luggage, and he was ready to move in. He also had a passport, which told me that he had obviously traveled a great distance to find me. I don't know how he broke into my home, because I hadn't heard glass breaking, or the locks being picked. But this bastard got in somehow, and I had to get him OUT. Of course, he was gonna be leaving in a casket, so I got my Spider Killing Gear out. It was time to do battle.
I took a deep breath. There was no time for a contract killing; "I GOT this," I said through clenched teeth.
The spider and I stared each other down, each of his eight spindly legs twitching with every move I made, and we squared off. I had my arsenal of Spider Killing Gear: Spider Killer Spray (more commonly known as Windex), a massive wad of paper towel, a boot, my shotgun, and a Jerry can filled with gasoline.
I looked around for a match.
The little bugger just laughed at me and darted across my floor, behind the TV.
I pounced.
Despite the suit of armor he was wearing and the four grenade launchers under his vest, he was no match for me. This was not my first rodeo.
Through squinted eyes and a haze of disbelief, I took aim. A couple of quick sprays of Spider Killer, and that spider was flushed out in a hurry. (Side note: I do NOT recommend spraying Spider Killer Spray on carpet or near electrical outlets.)
He just laughed at me again, shaking off the effects of the Spider Killer Spray. He was immune!
And he was mocking me.
It was clear that he was not going to go quietly. I needed to regroup.
I set the bottle of Spider Killer down and sifted through my arsenal. I retrieved a weapon with a more personal approach: a solid black boot, with a thick, heavy sole - made especially for this type of killing.
I started talking to the spider, describing his impending death in great, gory detail, all the while raising the boot above my head - higher and higher as each revelation sunk in that spider little pea-sized brain. The massive being before me appeared confident, but he began to pace. The spider grew uneasy, as he looked for refuge in the carpet, books, photo albums - wherever he could find sanctuary.
But there was none to be found.
As the spider climbed atop the books and onto my photo album, I became charged with energy—and with a single swift move, I brought that boot down onto the spider, crushing its skull (do spiders have skulls?).
It was not enough.
Although dazed and confused, brains spilling out of his cranium, the spider still attempted to fight me. But he had dropped his weapons and couldn't regain focus. Did I mention he'd shown up fully armed? I'm sure I saw a handgun (probably a Glock), at least one knife (looked like a 13-inch blade, but he might have had a switchblade on him too), four grenade launchers, and a bazooka (which he foolishly left outside on the patio).
The spider tried to run, but its legs were badly broken; he couldn't move with his usual stealth. So I carefully raised that boot one more time, high above my redheaded curls...and slammed it down like Judge Wapner's gavel, obliterating any final thoughts of escape in that huge spider bastard's tiny brain.
And with that final, earth-shattering blow, the spider knew it was defeated. As he squirmed about in his own defecation and steaming pile of spider brains and guts, I hit him once more, ending his reign of terror...and his life.
So let that be a lesson to any spiders reading this. Mess with me, and you'll meet the same fate as the bastard spider who dared to try and kill ME, in my own home. Just try it. Come get me. I will kill you all. And that's not a threat.
It's a promise.
Look at that state-of-the-art weaponry.
That bastard never stood a chance.
The last thing that went through his head?
His asshole.
