Dear Spiders:
I don't get it.
I'm nice to you... very nice. Each time I bump into one of you, whether it be in the wilderness or in my bathtub, I spare your life. I don't get all annoying and scream for someone to kill you.
I often admire you when you catch bugs in your webs... so those too are usually off-limits when I bump into them (well, sorry, I do get rid of them when they're in my house. Is that what this is all about? You're angry 'cause I wreck your home you've made inside my home?).
So, I'd like to know:
Why the fuck are you so fond of biting me?! Not only does it hurt, but it leaves scars.
I've been stupid enough to put up with the multiple bites to my arm and occasional knee bite, but now... now you've crossed the line.
Inner thigh? Really?!
Not cool. It hurts, and adds an extra paranoia I really didn't need in my life right about now.
That being said, I officially declare war.
Fuck you.
Next 8-legged creature to cross my path gets killed; daddy-long-legs, brown recluse (even if that shit is not indigenous to the area), or tarantula (applies now, since I believe I'm going to Mexico next month. Stupid, I know, but I can't help it), you're getting stomped. No mercy.
Dueces,
AnoMALIE
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