Dolly the hurricane has been south of here, dumping buckets of rain on us. It’s been raining hard for most of the last two days. So, naturally, the bugs are running for their lives. I just found another 3 to 4 inch Southern House Spider in my bathtub and sprayed it with enough bug spray to kill a dozen of them. It’s dying, and I actually am having guilt pangs for being a murderer. WTF?
Okay, let this serve as official notice to the insect and animal kingdom, including those with no legs and those with a thousand legs (millipedes, ha ha): If you enter my home, including my front porch or the air space through which I must pass in my daily walks to the car (or shed, or other points of traffic on this property), you are effectively committing suicide. Understand this. As I enter these words into the electronic medium of cyberspace, I state unequivocally that if you invade my personal spaces, I reserve the right to kill you. I don’t come outdoors and find your dens, burrows, and various other points of origin, but I can say with confidence that those points of origin are not in my personal space (and if they were, by some remote accident, blame your stupid maternal parent). I don’t like to kill things, even spiders, and would prefer to run you off or put you outside. But unfortunately, I lack the testicular fortitude to carry a spider the size of my hand outside, or to capture one with any means. I even refuse to squash you unless I have no easy alternative, because that requires getting too close to you for comfort. So that means you will be poisoned and die painfully, and for that I am sorry, but you can save your life by heeding this notice and staying out of my house.
If you are currently in my house, please make covert haste and get the fuck out. I hate having the willies almost as much as you hate that light coming on and seeing my big ass looming over you. Fear is dangerous. You scare me, therefore I am dangerous to you. Just go away instead, okay?