There is a spider living in the light fixture that hangs over my assigned parking space. The garage was built for midgets or possibly as a catacombs, which means the spider is a mere two feet above my head. It’s the sort of spider that should have its own National Geographic special on PBS. It’s white, which is somehow worse, and – I am not making this up – legs and all is the size of my palm. It’s so big that it has knees where its legs articulate.
Did you hear that, internet? The motherfucking spider has KNEES.
Every morning when I go out to my car, it hangs just over my head while I race to throw my crap into the backseat and climb inside before it drops down and sinks its fangs into my neck like something out of True Blood.
This has been going on for two weeks. TWO WEEKS. I keep thinking the damn thing has to die soon. I mean, really, how long can the life span of the Man-Eating Super-Fanged Knee Spider be? It’s obviously a mutant Man-Eating Super-Fanged Knee Spider. Grown in a lab. By an evil genius. Who is also an alien. All of which means it’s going to live up there threatening my life for YEARS.
I may have to move.