Spiders The Size Of Your Face!

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I was just sitting in the house, the other night minding my own business, eating a sandwich, watching some match and then suddenly out of nowhere, BAM! There’s a spider on the wall. Not just any spider. I’m talkin’ a spider the size of your face! Like, this thing didn’t crawl in. It paid rent. It’s has a lease. It’s has a name. Probably Gary. Gary the Goddamn Gargantuan.

Now, I don’t know what’s going on with spiders lately. Maybe they hitting the gym? Maybe they have a new protein powder? “Black Widow Whey.” But these things are huge! I saw one do a pull-up on my curtain rod. I said, “Oh hell no,” and just left the house. I don’t need it that bad. I don’t need to live there. That’s your house now, Gary. I’ll forward my mail.

Also spiders don’t run like normal creatures? No!, they scurry. That’s a disrespectful way to move. It’s like they’re saying, “I could walk slow, but I’m tryíng to freak you out.” And they always move in that zig-zag pattern, like they’re dodging sniper fire. It's like they're saying, “You can’t catch me, Jim! I’ve been training for this since the Jurassic era!”

You try to kill it, right? You grab a shoe, a broom, a flamethrower whatever’s handy! You take a swing, and you miss. Now it’s gone. Vanished. Like a ninja. And now you can’t sleep. You’re just sitting in bed, eyes wide open, thinking, “Where is Gary? Is he under the bed? Is he in my pillowcase? Is he in my mouth right now?” ‘Cause you know that stat, right? “You swallow eight spiders a year in your sleep.” Who counted that? Who’s the person with the clipboard who stands over you every night, saying "Yes that’s number six. He’s on pace for a record year.”

And then you have people who say, “Don’t kill it, just take it outside.” What? You want me to pick up a face-sized spider with a piece of paper and a cup? That’s not a spider, that’s a roommate. That’s a tenant. That’s a bloke who’s been paying council tax and got a Tesco Clubcard. And comes down the stairs with a rolled up newspaper! I'm not evicting nobody. I’m calling the Police. “Yes, hello, I’d like to report a squatter. He’s hairy, got eight legs, and he’s been staring at me for three days!”

Then you have the local arachnologist who’s like, “Oh, that’s a Huntsman. They’re harmless.” Harmless?! It’s got knees, mate! . Anything with knees and fangs is not harmless. That’s a demon with a web. That’s Satan’s pet.

But you know what? I respect them. I do. ‘beause spiders don’t care. They don’t care about your feelings. They don’t care about your plans. You could be getting ready for a date, feeling good, cologne on, Marvin Gaye playing and then Gary rappels down from the ceiling like Tom Cruise in Mission: Impossible. Now you’re screaming, your date’s gone, and Marvin’s like, “Let’s get it on…” No, Marvin. Not tonight!

So now I just leave them alone. I see a spider, I nod. He nods back. We have a truce. I don’t mess with him, he dosen’t mess with me. That’s how grown men live. Mutual respect. I even left a little corner of the room for him. Put a tiny couch there. Little Wi-Fi router. Gary has better internet than me!

But if he ever brings friends? If I see Gary, Larry, Terry, and Big Mama Charlotte all chilling in the corner like it’s a family reunion? I’m burning the house down. That’s it. I’m done. I’ll go live in the car!


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