Spiders

Normally I'm prettygentle and nice to animals if I do say so myself. I stay away from meat, try and let bugs go instead of squishing them, and all things of the sort. I've always even thought spiders were kinda cute. You know, helping out the ecosystem by eating pesky mosquitoes and all...

The thing about spiders is, I was mistaken.

Gravely mistaken.

At job #2, not the craft store one and not the animal shelter one but the one where I work around the house for a family member in the middle of nowhere, spiders are not a new thing. They tend to nest everywhere, and pop up when you least expect them, i.e. when you're painting a fence.

They're not the super-poisonous sort, mind you. Nor are they the black, bulbous things you imagine when you hear "spider." They're more of the harvestmen sort.

Despite what myths might tell you, they're not at all dangerous. But believe me, they are creepy as hell. To be honest, I'd rather fight off a black widow than have one of these long-legged bastards land on my arm just staring at me with its round, eyeless body. And it doesn't help that their long legs look like some freakish alien proboscis ready to probe you.

Picture that. In your dreams.

While one is usually not a bother (I can typically ignore them), there was something about that day. Something about the proximity to the woods, and the eerie stillness in the air. As if... there were no flies, no mosquitoes, not even a lone hornet that braved this part of the fence. Little did I know I was being watched.

Ewwwww, a spider.

That's when the revelation hit me.

They're everywhere.

Little did they know, I was armed. Armed with a power washer. And you don't scare Kopaka13 when Kopaka13 is armed.

THIS TOOK 5 SECONDS TO DRAW OK

 All rationality and sanity vanished about then. My conscience tried to warn me about the serious karmic repercussions of actions such as these, but stupidly it took the form of a cricket.

Let's just say that's the last I'll be hearing from him for a while.

DO YOU WANT SOME OF THIS

At that moment there was more overzealous water-spraying than there would be had somebody provided Gilmour and Water fire hoses and pitted them against each other in a death match back in '79 (if that metaphor makes any sense idunnolol)

This shittily thrown together piece of silhouette action cannot properly describe the paranoia that passed in those passing seconds. And that's when... it all stopped. I was filled with tremendous guilt. What have I done? They never did anything. Other than look like they crawled out of the bowels of J.J. Abrams' most bizarre erotic fantasy. Other than that. They did nothing to me. They did nothing to merit such a cruel and watery death.

In those exact words. Okay maybe they're embellished a bit.

Either way I knew there was only one option left. The words of Nietzsche out of a book I've never read flashed through my head as I aimed the power washer, finger steady on the trigger. It was time to power wash my brains out.

 

 

And the rest is history.