Spiders! They’re Coming To Get You!
It’s that time of year when we’re suddenly under siege from spiders.
They’ve been hiding away growing -ing massive, and now they all decide they want to come and sit in your -ing living room, putting all their little feet up on your face whilst they watch the latest season of Big Brother.
Horrible little hairy-legged wank-faced twats!
If you walk around the streets in the evening, you’ll hear the piercing screech of women who’ve just discovered some hose spider crawling over their Ugg boots.
The men, choking back a scream themselves and leaving a small trail of wee like a fleeing rabbit, have to pretend they’re not bothered by spiders.
I have a pair of tonfa sticks that I use for the dual purpose of tomping unwanted burglars AND spiders. The size of some of the buggers (spiders – not burglars) lately has meant I’ve had to take two swings just to break their backs!
One knew a bit of spider kung fu, and blocked and then rolled, escaping under the bed where you just KNOW that bastard will wait until you fall asleep and them smother your face with its big plump abdomen as it licks at the moisture of your eyeballs.
They say we eat 6 spiders a year in our sleep, on average. Just what the frikkin’ FRICK are they doing climbing into your mouth in the first place?! It’s not a -ing spa, you little boss-eyed shits!
And how are they so fast?! They never used to be! Have they discovered Red Bull, or something??
And that’s just inside your house.
Take a stroll up your garden path, and what do you see?
Because they -ing wait until it’s dark or the sun is in your eyes, and then, THEN they build webs Tarzan couldn’t have got out of.
And they hang there. Huge fat squidgy body like a beer-bellied bully.
Waiting for you to come flailing through their webs waving your hands around like a schizophrenic drunk, and then the drop into the hood of your coat and wait until you’re 10 miles down the M42 at 90mph before they crawl inside your -ing ear!!!
I sprayed a filthy great house spider with 90% pure Isopropyl Alcohol last night.
What did he do?
He slowly turned around and staggered back into his little den behind the mantelpiece.
30 minutes later I heard a crash and saw he’d thrown out an empty can of Special Brew.
I’ve created an alcoholic tramp of a spider who’s probably breeding little chavvy spider kids behind my mantelpiece.
I’m either going to get the git on Jeremy Kyle, or if he comes out for a spliff I’ll tonfa his ass.
And so the yearly battle begins…