I’ve had crippling arachnophobia since I was a seven years old, stemming from an event where my brother collected seemingly thousands of harmless daddy long legs in a spaghetti strainer, then dumped them on my head while I blew out my birthday candles in front of my family and friends. It was really only a dozen or so, but the terror of some ninety-six-odd legs exacerbated my perception of reality. I also was only seven and stupid. The humiliation that followed will stay with me forever, like a dinosaur mosquito encased in amber — an emotional scar preserved for eternity that would look pretty cool on the top of a cane. As I grew older, I learned that almost all spiders are friends to humans because they eat other bugs that are even freakier and actually terrible. Despite this, I can’t stop killing every little spindly spider bastard within range.
What I’m doing is bad, but I just can’t help it. I see a spider on the street — SPLAT! I see a spider at my feet — SPLAT! I see a spider then hear a beat — SPLAT! Heck, I even go out of my way if I have to. One time I bought a ladder just to slaughter a spider family I saw brewing up by my ceiling fan. I really have to eliminate every bugger I see. If only I could hear them or smell them, man, I’d get so much more murdering done.
But what does that really do? I’d like to think it satisfies my internal rage at the creatures responsible for ruining my psyche, but I know it’s a carefully crafted lie. Nothing but therapy and a prescription of Restoril can guide me through that murky pool of emotional anguish. Booze helps too.
No, no, what I’m really doing is aiding the other awful pests in their quest for world domination. The ratio of humans to bugs is 200 million to one and you just know that 2/3 of them are cockroaches, wasps, ticks, and other bugs created by God as a fuck-you.
Either way, every spider I execute removes one perfectly capable eight-legged-freak from the food chain, meaning that a bunch of those other nasty bugs will roam free, where they likely will continue terrorizing humanity by either doing bad stuff or just looking gross. It’s really quite the conundrum — do I continue to callously murder our bug-friends out of childish fear or do I lay down my arms and pledge to fight the good fight against our eventual bug overlords?
Only time will tell.
Brb just saw a big sumbitch underneath the fridge.