latest  archives  guestbook  about me links 


10.08.2002 - 7:22 p.m.


It's Monday evening. You are sitting on the couch, legs curled underneath you. The spousal unit is in the back office, typing away. You are alone in the living room watching television.

Well, not entirely alone. The cat and the dog are both lying on their sides, several feet from one another. They are curved, like furry cashew nuts, like leaping dolphins. They are asleep. The dog is snoring.

It's quiet.

You flip through some channels, and light upon some kind of Real World/Road Rules show. Happy to wallow in reality TV crapulence, you burrow further into the couch. You decide that one Las Vegas Real World chick is a real slut. Casting aside all memories of past wantonness, you comfortably distance yourself from her. She is Slut, and you are...obsessively waiting to see what the Slut does next.

The dryer hums. A load of towels and jeans whumps around softly.

Something - a suggestion of movement, a dark shape against the light carpet - catches your eye. You tilt forward and focus on the floor.

It is then that time screeches to a dead stop. You are faintly aware of a faraway whistling shriek, like a cruel wind rushing over a nightmarish moor. This is the sound of your brain recoiling in utter horror. The term "tunnel vision" has sudden and brutal meaning to you as everything around you fades away and all you can see is...

The fucking tarantula on the floor before you.

You check your optic nerves for misinformation, exaggeration. There is none. What you see before you is an insanely thick spider the size of a petshop tarantula. Not the Animal Planet kind the size of a dinner plate, but something that is clearly larger than any normal sized arachnid.

The Matrix-like stopping of time, uh, stops. Light and sound come crashing back around you, and you hitch a desperate, ragged inhale. The tarantula slowly lifts a leg, taking a step forward.

You levitate from the couch and hurtle through the air to land in the hallway. You do not take your eyes from the tarantula, because the only thing worse than seeing it would be coming back to find it gone.

Wait. There is a growing confusion - a portion of your brain is trying to tell you something. However, the majority is still shrieking OMIGODGIANTSPIDER, so you can't pay it much attention.

You call for JB.

"JB. JB. JB. Oh god. JB. JB. JB. Come. Here. Right. Now."

Startled, he gets up and heads down the hall towards you. You shakily point to the creature on the floor. His eyes visibly bulge from his head.

Again, you are nagged by the increasing sensation that there is more to the story. Calmed slightly by JB's presence, you try to zero in on the 5% of your brain that is jumping up and down waving its hands.

Brain: "HEY! That's NOT a spider!"
You: "What the fuck are you talking about? That is clearly a tarantula! Yeah, I don't know what the hell it's doing here, but that's what the mofo is!"
Brain: "Seriously. Take a closer look."
You: "Take a closer look? Fuck you, take a closer look. That is a TARANTULA. Maybe even a young one....oh gaaaaaawwd there could be more
oh gawwwwd-"
Brain: "Chill out, bitch. LOOK."

You look. A dawning realization washes over you and JB at the same time.

It's a crab. A crab. From your fish tank. It got out, and crawled across the carpet, apparently driven by a strange desire to scare the holy fucking shit out of you.

You shriek incoherently at JB about traveling crabs and the disturbing effects thereof, and collapse limply back onto the couch. You fortify yourself with a glass of port wine.


On the television, the slutty girl makes out with a dorky looking Road Rules guy.

go back ::: forward

0 comments so far.

I have moved. - 1.03.2005
Obviously, a work in progress. - 12.27.2004
Happy holidays! - 12.24.2004
Listen, I am not a complete dick, it's not like I want Joe to die alone surrounded by cats or something. - 12.23.2004
Plus I am convinced my butt is extra big when it's upside down. - 12.22.2004

yay, diaryland