Just writing this is giving me the howling fantods
Arachnophobia. Such a pretty name for such a horrible horrible aieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
OK, start over.
Last night, I had to kill a Creature of the Damned, one of Satan’s most loathsome minions. It was ON THE WALL NEXT TO MY BED. A big, black, ugly motherfucker, tripping merrily down the wall. If I’d waited for Mr. Gleemonex to come in there and kill it for me — my usual method — the hideous bastard would’ve made it behind the bed and I’d’ve had to burn the house down to make sure it couldn’t get me while I slept. I even knew better than to scream — the sound died in my throat as my brain’s lizard core reminded me that the [thing] would hear me and scramble even faster to a safe place and I would never sleep again. What came out was a miserable moaning sound with half-words in it, something like “o helpme, oh this is bad, ooooh god auuugh.” I grabbed the first solid object I found with enough width between me and the [thing] — a fun bedtime read titled “The Nursing Mother’s Companion” (I gots homework to do, y’all) — and CRUSHED THE EVERLOVING SHIT OUT OF IT. The remains came away with the book, which book I carried at arm’s length out into the living room, still moaning, to make Mr. Gleemonex dispose of. If left to my own devices, I probably would’ve thrown the whole (borrowed) book off the cliff half a block from our house and into the ocean, but Mr. Gleemonex is fortunate not to be burdened with this crippling unreasoning phobia of mine, so he took care of the [thing]’s corpse for me. Bless his heart.
Internets, I’m not kidding you, I’m shivering right now, thinking of it (and feeling like there might be one on me RIGHT NOW), getting goosebumps, feeling kind of ill. I once almost drove my car off the road, trying to avoid a tarantula in the road (it could snag on to the car’s undercarriage as I went by at 40 mph, hook a ride, and get into the interior, doncha know). If I ever get caught by the Thought Police and sent to the Ministry of Love, they’re already well aware of what to fill Room 101 with.
Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeegh.
eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
OK, start over.
Last night, I had to kill a Creature of the Damned, one of Satan’s most loathsome minions. It was ON THE WALL NEXT TO MY BED. A big, black, ugly motherfucker, tripping merrily down the wall. If I’d waited for Mr. Gleemonex to come in there and kill it for me — my usual method — the hideous bastard would’ve made it behind the bed and I’d’ve had to burn the house down to make sure it couldn’t get me while I slept. I even knew better than to scream — the sound died in my throat as my brain’s lizard core reminded me that the [thing] would hear me and scramble even faster to a safe place and I would never sleep again. What came out was a miserable moaning sound with half-words in it, something like “o helpme, oh this is bad, ooooh god auuugh.” I grabbed the first solid object I found with enough width between me and the [thing] — a fun bedtime read titled “The Nursing Mother’s Companion” (I gots homework to do, y’all) — and CRUSHED THE EVERLOVING SHIT OUT OF IT. The remains came away with the book, which book I carried at arm’s length out into the living room, still moaning, to make Mr. Gleemonex dispose of. If left to my own devices, I probably would’ve thrown the whole (borrowed) book off the cliff half a block from our house and into the ocean, but Mr. Gleemonex is fortunate not to be burdened with this crippling unreasoning phobia of mine, so he took care of the [thing]’s corpse for me. Bless his heart.
Internets, I’m not kidding you, I’m shivering right now, thinking of it (and feeling like there might be one on me RIGHT NOW), getting goosebumps, feeling kind of ill. I once almost drove my car off the road, trying to avoid a tarantula in the road (it could snag on to the car’s undercarriage as I went by at 40 mph, hook a ride, and get into the interior, doncha know). If I ever get caught by the Thought Police and sent to the Ministry of Love, they’re already well aware of what to fill Room 101 with.
Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeegh.
Labels: the horror ... the horror
posted by Gleemonex at 9:54 AM
12 Comments:
The howling fantods! I love you.
I have to go put on shoes now after reading this, thanks.
Wow, I'm feeling pretty brave right now. For some weird reason, I don't hate spiders like I should. Now roaches on the other hand...
You should hang one of those meat tenderizing mallets on a hook next to your bed. I used to fear the spider until I took a particularly jumpy bastard out with such a mallet after a cross-apartment chase. Sure, maybe you knock a hole in the drywall, but that emer-efer is d-e-a-d, no maybes about it.
I really hate the enormous bunchapedes we get in our basement. They have so many legs they look feathery and ripply, and those things can move. Did I mention that they're enormous? My cat caught one climbing up the stairs the other night, so now I stuff towels under the door before I sleep. I am not crazy.
eeegh. Hey sarah, apropos of zordak's comment: make sure you shake them shoes out before you put 'em on.
Bgirl, I'll kill your roaches if you'll face my 8-legged beasts ... deal?
Spiders don't really bother me -- my sister on the otherhand, is a wreck should one appear.
So imagine, then, what you would do if found in the following situation.
She was sitting on the toilet, doing her business, when a spider dropped down from the ceiling and landed on her bare leg. In the ensuing panic, she tried to, amid shrieks, brush it off her leg. Instead, the spider was brushed INTO HER UNDERWEAR, which were down around her knees. At this point the story goes pretty much where you expect it to, ending with her dancing, half-naked, outside the bathroom, frantically waving her hands and crying amid laughter.
Fast forward 5 hours, husband comes home: "Why are your pants and underwear in the bathroom sink?"
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'm so glad you survived and were the victor! We should start a club or something. A "That Was Close, We Almost Had To Move" club.
I used to live in Upstate NY and in the spring the spiders would all try and get themselves into our CARS. They somehow managed to squeeze themselves past the insulating strip of protective foam sealant that runs around the edges of car doors and then they'd lurk in the car, waiting for me to get on a busy road, before dropping down from the visor and just hanging right at eye level inches from my face.
No joke. This happened to me at least four times in the year I lived there.
I was forced to remain as calm as possible and get the car over to the side of the road safely; I only drove into a ditch once, and I consider that an achievement.
Then I would have to spend 10 minutes trying to find the spider, because as soon as the car wasn't in motion it would retreat back up to the roof and then run and hide. Apparently, if you are a spider, it is only fun to dangle while the car is moving. Go figure.
That fall I ended up seeing an actual egg sac in the back of my SUV and just decided to set off a fogger in the car to be sure.
Afterwards I went to clean out the poison and found over 15 dead spiders. Utchy.
Jo
I am sure up in my neck of the woods we don't have spiders as large as yours. . . that being said, I have had my run in's with some doozies.
My last nervous breakdown with an "Eight Legged Freak" ended up with a dual. I had the choice of arming myself with a picture of my "darling" MIL or a tube of expensive collagen cream. I felt guilt, and used the cream. The incident happened beside my bed as well (I have no idea why a picture of my MIL was beside the bedstand). The spider won.
I did get him on the next round when my Boston Terrier pointed him out. I thought those dogs were just used for large rodents, but I suppose they chase extra large bulbous spiders as well.
I had thought about putting those sticky tape traps down for spiders, but those would gross me out more, and I would have a panic attack just disposing of them.
I feel your pain.
Before the never-ending spider bite-from-hell I wasn't afraid of spiders. I simply sat on a wooden deck to watch my son swim in the pool. I was wearing shorts. Spiders like wood and they like to crawl in dark places like up your shorts.
I suffered for 18 months with a bite in the "down there" region. Finally my doctor figured out that the spider's fang was broken off inside me. ew! and ew! *hurl again! When it came out is was black and the size of a dog's toenail.
I hate those motherfuckers! Screw a mallet, I'm getting a flame thrower!
dear god and sonny jesus, you people are freaking me out even more than I was ...
I have an aversion to EVERYTHING that crawls, which includes babies. Children are wonderful, babies not so much. In the 20 years I have been sentenced to live in Suxas I have NEVER had a creepy crawly in my home, not because THEY would have nothing to do with me but because I am responsible for poisoning more groundwater than Monsanto and 3M combined due in part to the amount of diazinon and malathion and dursban I have POURED onto my garden. The other wonder that assures I NEVER encounter anything that breaches the toxic barrier surrounding my home is the 3 times a year application of the indoor Creepy Crawly Killer Raid Fumigator Fogger. The wonder of this product is that it creates a smoke not some sticky aerosol spooge that coats EVERYTHING. I did not use it while I was pregnant and for the first year after "mini mzchief" was born. Just to be safe, I TRY to make certain to use it WHILE I am gone from the house for a weekend or more.
Yep! I am TRULY freaked out by creepy crawlies.
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