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I hate spiders. GOD, I hate spiders. I can't do anything without a spider crawling by. Big, hairy ones, teeny weenie shrimpy ones. (see also: pron) Spiders with eight legs. Spiders with six legs. Spiders with twenty legs. Degenerate, beastly abominations, I've seen them... They slouch by in the dark, biding their time until the lights are loosed... then BLURRING across the landscape... tile, glass, concrete, carpet; upside -down, downside-right, inside-out or down the rabbit hole. It makes no difference for them. And in the fortunate event you hit one squarely, it shrivels up with its last ounce of nerve. Your skin crawls with it. Your spine tingles. Turn your head to grab the broom, dustpan, piece of paper or shovel, and it's gone. Gone to skitter another day. To loom just out of sight. To give you the notion that something is terribly wrong.

I can't sleep. I can't eat fondue. I can't even take a piss. There are spiders everywhere. Hiding in the dark. In my shoes. Under my couch. Ready to pounce, attack, and suck every last ounce of blood from my withering body. To eat my toenails off whilst I am sleeping.

But they
will not
take me...

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