spidebution

Couldn’t believe how disappointed I was yesterday when told I shouldn’t be training every single day, as it does more harm than good. For ten days now, I’m been pumping it like Zola Budd before a Bloemfontein barefoot run-off.
Consecutively. Now I find myself with all this pent up sweat.

You know what I did? I hauled out the bunny hutch from our garden and converted it into an even bigger home for my [now sizeable] rat Chad Jean-Gilles. I made him tunnels, swings and all sorts of shit to dangle from. It’s a pad worthy of mention in MTV’s Cribs. In fact, I wouldn’t mind living in it myself.

First, I sprayed the said hutch, in my clam diggers with the hosepipe.

There were probably twenty black widow spiders crawling over the thing, spreading their poisonous germinating spider sacs from thick webs. I Handy Andyed it, and with a broom, tried to flick them away. But the fuckers refused to die, being immortal venomous things, one can’t be too surprised.

I should know. One nearly killed me when I was twelve.
So you will understand my contempt for the arachnid with the red spot on its bulging, poison-filled belly.
I rolled on one in my sleep back in ’93. The creature bit me about an inch above my poenbelt.
Twelve ‘o clock. As the crow flies.
If that’s not just pure, unadulterated bad luck, the bite started to emerge as a large crater – so large and so painful, I couldn’t sit up. I had to lie on my back for three days, while excruciating headaches and vomiting added predictable flair to the ordeal. It was fairly disgusting.

So you’ll get a vivid picture then, of the bitch in apartment # 7253, wielding a consistently-flowing garden hose, in clam diggers and a t-shirt that says ‘I Should Have My Own TV Show’, and like a mad woman, aqua-blasting the vermin abode and all the arachnids therein while whooping in hedonistic glee and imagining she’s actually holding a fully-loaded machine gun loaded with spider ammo.

Then worrying later, while lying in the dark – vulnerable and without handy night vision goggles - that they all may suddenly come alive again, in a Revenge of the Spiders jaunt.
Fuck.
Rope in all the spiders of the neighbourhood and descend on the sleeping lass to use their greedy mandibles as they only know how.

This would later be a film based on a true story.