I’m writing this at three o’clock in the morning and I’m sitting in my room shirtless with the fan blowing on high towards my back and it’s still almost uncomfortably warm for me. For whatever reason, most likely lack of money and lack of sense, my family doesn’t own an air conditioner, so in the summer the house heats up like an episode of the Bold and the Beautiful, which I’ve never seen but assume must be rife with overly dramatic steamy scenes that lead right up to what everyone wants to see and then cuts away right before the girl gets down on her knees – I’ve watched way too much porn and have been involved in way too little real life sex (to be precise none) so my brain has come to the conclusion that all sex begins with the girl going down on the guy because that’s how it happens in porn. The house cools down during the night due to the open doors and windows allowing the cooler air to enter the house, but my room is like a God damn oven, except for the part where you have to turn it on to heat it up, and my room isn’t used to cook food. Actually it turns out my room isn’t like an oven at all. But it’s hot, and it stays hot through the night because I never open the windows. And I never open the window because if I do spiders will crawl in my room, make their way up and into my earlobe and then plant their eggs in my skull, and before you know it I’m going to have baby spiders playing Candy-fucking-land in my head, and I say no thank you ma’am to that.
I don’t like spiders. Never have, but not never will. I’m open to Quentin, spiders negotiation talks. At some point in the future spiders and I may be able to get on the same page. And I’m willing to admit that not all spiders are bad. Those spiders over in Florida don’t bother me. I’m not going to Florida and they’re not coming here, I assume, so we don’t have a problem. It’s these God damn spiders outside my house that bother me. Waiting for me to open the window so they can crawl in and take over my room like the Latinos have taken over the Southwest United States, but with less sombreros. First thing first, if the spiders trying to get through my window were wearing sombreros I’d roll out the red carpet, some fondue, and welcome them with a Mardi Gras type reception. Secondly, for anyone who is wondering, I’m not against the influx of Mexican/Hispanics-who-are-confused-for-Mexicans immigrants in this country (the word influx makes is sound a little negative) well I never said it wasn’t a bad thing, I just said I’m not against. I’m a huge proponent of immigration, and embarrassingly I don’t really mind illegal immigration, and I came up with a solution for the immigration problem. But I’ll talk about it in an upcoming blog because I’d like to stay focused in this one.
Spiders are ugly, but so are many people, yet I don’t run like a little screaming girl away from them, well at least not most of them. And I’m vaguely confident spiders don’t mean to do me any harm. They’re probably just looking for a nice cozy spot to meet other spiders and make some ugly spider babies. Although, here’s my beef with that idea. Where do most spiders hang out? Outside. So if spiders are like most animals, and all humans, and their sole purpose in life is to meet other spiders and fuck, why the fuck are they hanging out inside houses? Not to mention you think by now it would have gotten through the spider grapevine that spiders have a higher risk of death inside houses where humans 100 times their size live then out in the wilderness where they only have to compete with cats and dogs and bigger insects trying to eat them constantly and rain and wind and all that good stuff. Okay, so maybe I can understand why spiders look to hide out inside houses. But still, out of courtesy shouldn’t they get the picture that us humans don’t want them living in the same quarters as us? Here’s my completely wrong theory.
Spiders aren’t assholes. Not metaphorically, and not literally. They have assholes, and from what I understand they shoot out webs either from or near that orifice, and not from their wrist; you hear that Spiderman, you’re a fraud! If you were really bitten by a radio active spider you’d be shooting web out your pooper. But no, instead you’re just a fictional character in a comic book and movie franchise that has grossed billions. So far we’ve established that spiders aren’t made of assholes, and Spiderman is an asshole. And I don’t think whenever spiders enter a house they’re thinking, ‘oh yeah, I’m going to creep the shit out of this family and then I’m going to jerk off to their screams as they chase me with a broom.’ In fact I can say with great confidence that I don’t think any spider has ever thought that. Here’s what I think. I think spiders hark back to the time when humans used to live in caves, and quite possibly even as recently as huts and other such structures not as sound at defending the elements as we have now. And they remember when humans and spiders used to live together and it was no big deal. No caveman ever tried to kill an innocent spider unless it looked at his cavewoman the wrong way. Humans and spiders were friends back then, but no more. Unfortunately spiders haven’t gotten the message. They’re like that friend that keeps calling you and wanting to hang out and every single time you lie to them but they never catch on and they keep calling you – Apropos of nothing, I wonder if David can see a movie this week, he hasn’t been able to hang out with me because for the last three years he’s had a disease that doesn’t allow him to hang out with people who have the letter Q in their name. But then again I guess that really isn’t like the spider situation. It’d be like the spider situation if every time your friend wanted to hang out you grabbed a tissue, squished his head, and then flushed him down the toilet.