There are an abundance of stereotypes out there. Whether it be that black people are the best barbers, Puerto Ricans throw the most festive parades, or that women suck at driving. The truth is, many of these are unfounded. But, the greatest fallacy of all, is that men are not afraid of spiders. You ready for the truth?
Now, I could discuss the fact that spiders are basically miniature monsters that kill dozens of people each year. It's not about that. Spiders are just fucking terrifying. They have eight legs; which help them run faster than humans or slow automobiles. They are poisonous; a legitimately health concern. And, they're icky.
A few months back, my girlfriend that I made up for this story screamed like she was being attacked by malnourished grizzly bears. At first I ignored her since I was in the middle of an intense game of solitaire. After the fourth or fifth shriek I closed the door, as she would frequently seek my attention for the most mundane of tasks, and I did not feel like dealing with her. Eventually, I feigned interest and walked over to the living room to see her atop a chair pointing towards the ground.
She began to berate me for my indolent response time, and not doing the dishes like I promised I would earlier in the evening. Then, she saw something move and remembered why she called me over in the first place. Apparently, a spider had broken into our apartment and was harassing her while she was watching The Real Housewives of New York. No one can torment my girlfriend, except me! I immediately ran over to the spot where the spider was attempting to make a home and/or redecorate.
Then, I saw the spider with my own eyes, lets call him "Steve." I expected to see a tiny insect that I would haphazardly squish with one of her stilettos, then pick up using an old In Touch magazine. I was nonetheless incorrect. This motherfucker was bigger than my car. The only explanation that I could come up with at the time was that one of my enemies had caught an average sized spider, attended medical school, became a mad scientist, genetically engineered the spider into a monster, and then had the wherewithal to sneak him into my home years later. Looking back, this was probably not the case.
When I advanced upon Steve, I promptly leaped back and let out a very girly yelp. I pretended that I stepped on a tack, as to dissuade my girlfriend from thinking less of me, but then quickly realized I was wearing closed toe shoes.
The feral creature stared at me with his eight beady eyes as I tried my best to keep from soiling my cargo shorts. It was at this point that I considered packing up all of our belongings and fleeing the city, leaving my landlord to deal with Steve and eventually be eaten in front of her family. Then, I remembered that I had a non-refundable John Mayer tickets the next night, and came to my senses.
As my girlfriend attempted to build a makeshift fort out of blankets and decorative pillows, I called Animal Control to help deal with our situation. They were quite unprofessional, to say the least. The woman I talked with mocked me incessantly and insisted on calling the "Pussy Police" for me. No help there.
Left for dead, I had to fight off Steve without anyone's help. I searched the apartment for a weapon to defend myself with. There were a few steak knives, but I decided against using them since I am not trained in close-quarters combat, nor do I want to get spider guts all over my nice steak knives. The best ordnance I could come up with was a bottle of AXE body spray and a lighter.
This improvised flame thrower would undoubtedly take care of our "Steve problem." I would be proclaimed a hero and be given a victory blow job by my girlfriend. However, I ran into some problems along the way.
When I came back, clenching my provisional flame thrower, Steve had mysteriously disappeared. Maybe he had heard me searching for weapons and ran away like a little bitch. That could be the case, but then again he might come back with his bigger, meaner spider friends to rape and kill me.
Then, I looked up and saw Steve crawling along the wall. I was unaware that spiders were capable of scaling walls without a rope and pulley or advanced parkour skills. I did, however, begin to fear for my life. I didn't want to spray my weapon at him while he was on the wall, dreading the idea of repainting the entire living room. It was at this point that I was ready to give up.
While hiding in my girlfriend's spider-proof fortress, I came up with a solution. I would cajole Steve into a trap using spider food as bait. I came out of the fort and began to ponder about types of food spiders enjoy. Having never seen spiders eat in their natural habitat, I microwaved a Lean Pocket and placed it on the ground. I then created a trap that would capture Steve right when he was about to chow down on spinach artichoke chicken flavored pocket.
And, so I waited.
After what felt like seventeen minutes, Steve hadn't fallen for my trap and instead took what looked like a nap. I was growing increasingly frustrated and hungry. After eating the lukewarm lean pocket off the floor, I came up with another idea. Steve would just become our pet. Whenever guests would come over, we could tell them that he was a rare dog breed from China. We could get him a cute collar and buy him gifts for his birthday. I could even take him on walks and scare the elderly whenever I grew bored. The girlfriend was not on board with this notion.
I had no choice but to go head to head with Steve. Again, I couldn't find him and began to search the apartment for him. While in the kitchen, he ambushed me and jumped on my back using Sun Tzuian battle tactics. I ripped off my shirt and got into a jujitsu fighting stance. Steve tried to run away, but I grabbed a fork and threw it at him. I only missed by a couple yards, but Steve had again escaped.
Steve ran into the living room and attempted to encroach upon my girlfriend's blanket fort. This was a smart move on his part, since she is much weaker and tastier than I. She began to scream and curse uncontrollably as Steve crawled on her cotton guarded citadel. Not wanting to puncture my girlfriend with polished silverware, I decided against throwing sharp objects at Steve. I determined that I would have to bite the bullet and remove him myself.
I opened the porch door, so when I did grab him I could toss him out of our home without having to struggle with the troublesome sliding door. As I approached Steve, I began to sweat like a sorority girl waiting for test results. I needed steadfast precision in order to pull off this feat. I reached over and grabbed Steve by the back. He tried to claw on to me with his hairy legs, but was too late. I drop kicked his ass over the balcony and slammed the door.
Our apartment is on the second story, so he probably survived the fall. But, Steve was not my problem anymore, as he would probably find a new group of people to terrorize, or just murder that annoying cat across the street.
I proclaimed my ascendancy over Steve the spider and knocked down my girlfriend's fort to signify my triumph, and because I enjoy dismantling forts. She asked if Steve was gone for good, and I assured her that I had kicked the shit out of him and tossed him over the balcony like a used condom. I had saved the day. She was immediately relieved, but then instructed me to clean up my dirty dishes in the sink as she went back to watching her television program.
No victory blow job for me.