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Why I Hate Punk Ass Spiders

So. You probably often see my commentary about those eight-legged fuckers called spiders. And people have naturally wondered how I came to loathe the creatures to the point of wanting to set fire to property I own just to kill them.

Well, you don’t have to wonder anymore, I decided to go ahead and sit you all down around the virtual campfire also known as my blogsite and tell you a quick little story of how Uncle Zay became mentally scarred by the existence of these little bastards. So check it.

It had to have been 1988 or 1989 in Chicago. We were finally thawing out from an abnormally cold winter and spring time was ready to bust up in the mothafuckin’ spot. And anyone from Chicago knows how it is on that first warm day after a cold winter. Everybody is outside. On the block. Riding bikes. Jumping rope. It’s just live as fuck. And that day was one of those dope ass days.

Anyway.

The entire winter, my bike had been stored in a shed in the back of the crib. Now mind you, during the winter, nobody goes in this shed for anything. It’s not until summer when we pull out our bikes that we even think about opening the door to it. And on this particularly warm day, it was time to crack that door open and pull out my bike – so that’s what I did – I was ready to ride!

Smiling from ear to ear, I was ready to hop on and ride and let my hair blow in the warm spring air. I imagined playing nasty ass little kid games like Catch A Girl, Do A Girl where the neighborhood chicks would fall down on purpose so we could catch them. I was sooo hyped for spring. And it finally arrived…so I hopped on my bike and hit the damn streets with a specific mission in mind.

I had to have been riding about a good 10 minutes when I noticed a fuzzy little ball under the handlebars. I was trying to pay attention to what I was doing, so I didn’t see what the ball actually was – but when I finally looked down, I realized that it was a spider egg – and my dumbass just inadvertently hatched it!

Within seconds, hundreds…maybe even thousands…shit, seem like MILLIONS of baby little spiders were crawling all over me and I lost my damn mind. For a second, I forgot I was riding a bike and starting trying to wipe all the little ugly ass baby eight-eyed fuckers off me – and naturally, I lost my balance from doing so. It so happens a bag that I had over my shoulder accidentally slid off and lodged itself into my bike’s front tire. As a result, the wheel came to a screeching halt, but with my momentum still carrying me forward…I flew head first over my handlebars as if I had a damn cape on and landed face first into the curb in front of me.

I hit the curb with so much force that my bottom teeth went through my upper lip and my eyeglasses shattered to hundreds of little pieces. And instantly, blood start pouring out EVERYWHERE.

I was at least a mile away from home and I couldn’t ride my bike back because the bag was completely stuck in the front tire. On top of that, baby spiders were still crawling all over me.

I finally made it home and my mother took me to the hospital. I had to get well over 30 stitches. I couldn’t eat anything solid for a week. And it felt like baby spiders were crawling on me for months.

BEFORE that incident, I was indifferent when it came to spiders. AFTERWARD, I was traumatized. Every time I even looked at a spider, I would re-live the pain and anxiety of that day. It was automatic. I am better now. But I still can’t stand spiders. My fear has kind of morphed more into a hatred. I can deal ok with little spiders, but any larger than a half dollar freak me the fuck out. So hopefully you understand why I feel the way I do. Spiders have been my nemesis for about 27 years now. I don’t think I will ever be comfortable with them. Unfortunate, but true. And that’s why I hate spiders.

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About Halsted Jones

I’m a #Writer not a fighter ■ Joyously kicking down pillow forts on my quest to do the write thing.

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