The Fear Worsens

Earlier, 'pon the 9pm-11pm rota (it's 5.07am as I write this), I decided to get drunk as a motherfucking shit yet again. This results in a five-day binge which is uncommon outside festivities (Halloween, Christmas etc...)

Anyway, I returned home not so long ago... as I walked up stairs (most of you are aware of my bone-deep hatred of arachnids) and I saw a spider on the wall, outside the bath room. Pumped full of alcohol, it has little limits on my fear factor so I literally fucking grabbed it.

Big mistake.

The palm of my hand shot in pain. I'd describe it as someone getting a pair of scissors; heating the tip and nipping my skin til it burst blood.

I didn't burst blood though but it's swollen like a cunt. The culprit, naturally, flew out of my hand after I squealed like a virgin Thai girl in a Bangkok brothel, and attempted to flee under the wash basket that sits 'pon the stairs height.

The dog devoured said arachnid with little prejudice; whimpering within 3 seconds. I'll assume his tongue was bitten; he spat him out then pawed at him for a bit before swallowing the fucker.

My dog stands as my saviour. I carry wounds and a grim reminder that I should never make peace with the enemy.

The war against spiders and their unholy brethren still stands.