If the end of the world happens upon us, whether it be an asteroid hurling toward earth and not even Bruce Willis sacrificing himself can save us, zombie apocalypse, Mayan prophecy held true, swarms of locusts… Paris Hilton releasing an acoustic album with no autotune- i’m most certainly not going to be the first bitch-ass to bite the dust by making a classic apocalyptic/horror movie idiot mistake. I won’t go running straight into an overrun city, or run my dumb ass up the stairs instead of out the front door.
On the other hand- i’m probably not going to be the last one standing either. Not because I forget to double-tap a brain snorting ‘walker’, or got chosen last for some ridiculously ridiculous super-ship that will sail the world once it becomes a Kevin Costnery Water-World- but because, well… I’m kind of a wimp.
YEAH I said I can shoot a frackin’ zombie in its stupid head if it comes down to them or my flesh, but i’m still a wimp.
WHAT? It makes sense.
I’m not over here freaking out about how the CIA has government agents following me, or big brother is in the sky watching my every move- i’m not that damn important (i’m also not THAT much of a conspiracy theorist). I’m not scared to go outside because I think birds are going to attack me or anything even ridiculous in nature. At least, it isn’t ridiculous to me.
YES, I do still have issues being in the dark. I just don’t fucking like it, don’t judge me. I don’t do bathrooms without a light on, or mirrors for that matter. Won’t even look at them. I never ever leave my doors unlocked- doesn’t matter if I live in a safe neighborhood, I still have slight paranoia that someone is going to try to break in one day. I get a sick feeling if tornado is mentioned on TV relative to my area- even if our city… shit.. I don’t think has ever been hit by one since i’ve walked this earth. I am not at ALL a fan of heights, don’t ever fucking ask me to go hiking on the side of a mountain- that shit isn’t gonna happen. Blood grosses me out, so do bellybuttons, and raw chicken. Ugh. Raw meat of any kind, really, but raw chicken ESPECIALLY gives me the heebies. I HATE needles (yet i’m covered in tattoos and have 13 piercings). People playing with their piercings makes my stomach turn, I can’t watch. I don’t EVER leave my limbs, fingertips, or even a stray hair hang over the edge of the bed, because I have the feeling that something could yank me under it.
Oh, and I really really hate puke. Poop I can handle, but PUKE on me? I’m dead. Can’t do it. Well, first i’ll probably puke back at you, and then i’ll die.
Personally, I don’t think any of that is all THAT irrational comparatively. We’ve all got our fears! Clearly i’m still here so none of them have been so detrimental as to affect my every day life…
except one. One fear, bigger than all other fears. ONE thing, that if it were to come at me in the middle of the zombie apocalypse- i’d get my face eaten off because i’d be so frozen in fear. Yeah! It’s that bad!
I do not CARE if the majority of spiders that inhabit the eastern seaboard of North America cannot harm me. I don’t give a flying fuck in space if they are smaller than me, and have fangs that cannot pierce my skin.
THEY ARE TERRIFYING.
Do not let one get even close to me. Don’t even let me SEE one. Don’t EVER show me a picture of one. Not even a crudely scribbled drawing of one. Don’t DESCRIBE one to me. Don’t tell me you killed one earlier. Don’t kill it and then bring it to me to show me it’s dead. Don’t walk NEAR me with the carcass. If you see one on me- just slap the fuck out of me, do not inform me there is one crawling all over me and do nothing about it, ya asshole. Do not try to scare me by telling me there is a phantom spider on me. Do not expect me to smash one because i’m closer to it- give me 2 seconds and I won’t be. Don’t tell me “that’s just a cobweb”– I DON’T FUCKING CARE! If it once contained a spider, I don’t want to know. EVER. If there is a live spider in a room and I have seen it, don’t expect me to go back into that room until it is dead. Possibly by blowtorch. If I see one scurry across the floor, i’m going to scream. If i’m walking and one drops down in front of me, i’m going to scream, and then fall, and then run. If you try to kill one and i’m witnessing it, I will scream. If it gets the fuck away I will scream. I will scream while trying to smash it into spider paste. If I THINK I see one, I will scream.
Do not take me into a pet store and point at a case with a spider in it. That’s.not.fucking.cool.
If any of the above happens, I will spend the next few hours scratching myself in a twitchy manner, my eyes will repeatedly dart around the area, and I will be horribly paranoid. Oh, and the nightmares. Spidermares.
I don’t care if they eat mosquitoes (and I HATE mosquitoes), those eight legged little freaks can suck the big fat one. They terrify me, and I don’t think that’s EVER going to change (remind me never to go on Fear Factor, i’d lose). Arachnophobia is a bitch, but I figure it’s more respectable than being terrified of bunnies.
If it comes down to the apocalypse, and my survival skills get thwarted by a giant hairy arachnid… or fuck, even a tiny not-so-hairy arachnid. So be it. It’s better than bunnies.
Every. Single. Time. pic.twitter.com/aAAWWjdrN3
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Please stop Complimenting my kids’ “Good” Behavior goo.gl/fb/rwfojS
Hard pass from me pic.twitter.com/VayvW1eopK
I've gotten to the point where I'd let my kids summon a demon with a Ouija board before I'd let them play Monopoly together again.