Spiders
Spiders
Not a gripe, necessarily.
I don't mind spiders, really. But the one that was under the work bench in the garage was a bit too big and hairy, and a little too unafraid of me for me to be comfortable with it standing there. And this despite the fact I was wearing khakis and thick shoes. It just had a little too much moxy.
Something with that many eyes and legs, something that creepy looking, is just not going to get much of a benefit of the doubt when push comes to shove. When it took a couple of steps at me, I knew it was starting shit. And in this neighborhood, that's how you get dealt with.
Also, I should report that there was a little too much resistance when I smashed that sumbitch, with his many eyes and hairy legs. There was a second of pause after I put my foot and my weight into smushing that booger. For a split second, it was almost like he might overthrow me.
That part of me that roots for the underdog, the small guy, even though I was the aggressor, was rooting for the spider. I mean, science will tell you that it was arachnid exoskeleton and water mass momentarily holding him together in the onslaught of a size 14 sneaker and 6'4" heavyset feller crushing down on him.
But part of me knows that, for a second, that spider held me up with sheer force of will.
But I succeeded in defending myself, and my home.
This was nothing like the time I went smashing down on the spider in the garage with the heel of a work boot, only to see it come out of that fetal spider position, brush the dirt off itself, and give me a look that said "The Fuck?"
Yeah, I cried myself to sleep for weeks after that. Weeks.
If the spider today had succeeded in overthrowing me, I'd never tell anybody. It would be one of those secrets that I woud take to my grave, if I could. At the very least, I'd make it a chapter in my the scathing tell-all autobiography of my life.
But then, I think that sort of thing would end up with widespread press coverage. You'd probably read about it in the paper. In the Newsweek look back at the week the Spider rampaged over America, it'd all lead back to my garage, where the spider threw me off my feet, because I was too big a pansy to adequately smash it.
But then, I'd probably get at least a temporary spot on Hollywood Squares. So it's all good.
I'll take Big Stupid Tommy to block....
Not a gripe, necessarily.
I don't mind spiders, really. But the one that was under the work bench in the garage was a bit too big and hairy, and a little too unafraid of me for me to be comfortable with it standing there. And this despite the fact I was wearing khakis and thick shoes. It just had a little too much moxy.
Something with that many eyes and legs, something that creepy looking, is just not going to get much of a benefit of the doubt when push comes to shove. When it took a couple of steps at me, I knew it was starting shit. And in this neighborhood, that's how you get dealt with.
Also, I should report that there was a little too much resistance when I smashed that sumbitch, with his many eyes and hairy legs. There was a second of pause after I put my foot and my weight into smushing that booger. For a split second, it was almost like he might overthrow me.
That part of me that roots for the underdog, the small guy, even though I was the aggressor, was rooting for the spider. I mean, science will tell you that it was arachnid exoskeleton and water mass momentarily holding him together in the onslaught of a size 14 sneaker and 6'4" heavyset feller crushing down on him.
But part of me knows that, for a second, that spider held me up with sheer force of will.
But I succeeded in defending myself, and my home.
This was nothing like the time I went smashing down on the spider in the garage with the heel of a work boot, only to see it come out of that fetal spider position, brush the dirt off itself, and give me a look that said "The Fuck?"
Yeah, I cried myself to sleep for weeks after that. Weeks.
If the spider today had succeeded in overthrowing me, I'd never tell anybody. It would be one of those secrets that I woud take to my grave, if I could. At the very least, I'd make it a chapter in my the scathing tell-all autobiography of my life.
But then, I think that sort of thing would end up with widespread press coverage. You'd probably read about it in the paper. In the Newsweek look back at the week the Spider rampaged over America, it'd all lead back to my garage, where the spider threw me off my feet, because I was too big a pansy to adequately smash it.
But then, I'd probably get at least a temporary spot on Hollywood Squares. So it's all good.
I'll take Big Stupid Tommy to block....
posted by Tommy at
20:43
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