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Oh Dear God!

J_R_Ashunwhy said:
Silverfish, and any other bugs, insects, ticks etc...no problem.
Snakes, lizards, frogs, scorpions...total okay.
Small rodents...adorable.
Arachnids...absolutely fucking not.
Click to expand...

Hear hear!!
I had to take a prescribed tranquilizer after that Goliath freaking freak of the devil's own hand. I would also like to take to take this opportunity to point out (since things became biblical with Goliath) that there were no spiders in Eden, the closest thing to a beast or insect or arachnid proportions that Adam named was ye olde snake. The word spider isn't in Genesis. I would also like to point out that even though the kangaroos found their way to ark - two of them anyway - there were no spiders there either. I assure you that Mrs Noah and her daughters in law would not have set a toe upon the ark if two Goliath bird fucking eating spiders were in the vicinity.
 
Worked with a guy during my time holding the keys at a lock-up that was a former pro-baller. Giddens was closing in on seven feet tall and weighed close to (if not over) 300.

I don't pretend any knowledge about any critter who's species has more than four legs or less than two. My rule of thumb is to avoid them at all cost after my third epi shot for anaphylaxis. But, we had these things around the facility that I called "ugly bugs". They looked like scorpions without the tail.

Giddens stomped on one one night with one of his size nineteens. Which pissed it off. It turned and ran at him working it's pincers overtime.

Until the day I die, I will remember watching a six foot nine, two hundred and ninety pound black former professional football lineman perched with one foot in the seat and one on the back of a chair screeching like a little girl. Granted, I was watching the whole thing from on top of my desk, but still...
 
Ewobbit said:
Worked with a guy during my time holding the keys at a lock-up that was a former pro-baller. Giddens was closing in on seven feet tall and weighed close to (if not over) 300.

I don't pretend any knowledge about any critter who's species has more than four legs or less than two. My rule of thumb is to avoid them at all cost after my third epi shot for anaphylaxis. But, we had these things around the facility that I called "ugly bugs". They looked like scorpions without the tail.

Giddens stomped on one one night with one of his size nineteens. Which pissed it off. It turned and ran at him working it's pincers overtime.

Until the day I die, I will remember watching a six foot nine, two hundred and ninety pound black former professional football lineman perched with one foot in the seat and one on the back of a chair screeching like a little girl. Granted, I was watching the whole thing from on top of my desk, but still...
Click to expand...

Reminds me of one of my encounters with the nasty centipede/silverfish abomination.

Now I'm not big, but I have a rep as a bad ass. I'd spent years doing full contact martial arts tournaments and at the time(this is back in my later twenties) was never afraid to throw down in a bar.

I was working in the new warehouse we'd bought, cleaning up and wrapping all the stuff we were bringing into it and I move an old bag of quick dry and this goddamn 3" long thing comes crawling out at me.

So I back peddle and its still coming so I freak out and pick up this case of shrink wrap that probably weighed about 35 pounds, lift it over my head and drive it straight down on top of this thing like you know it was some type of massive animal that was going to kill me.

Well two guys saw this and one of them still works with me and twenty years later loves bringing it up to me. He said I was white as a ghost when I did it and insists to this day there couldn't have been more than atoms left of that thing.

For the record? I wouldn't even lift up the box afterwards, I was convinced it might still be alive and waiting for me:eek:
 
If I recall Bill Bryson's book aright, Australia has the maximum number of potential killers.
 
lovecraft68 said:
~snip~
For the record? I wouldn't even lift up the box afterwards, I was convinced it might still be alive and waiting for me:eek:
Click to expand...

Dude! You never know.

As I said, generally if the species has from four down to two legs, I'm all right. Except for this one time...

I was working grocery and our, usually phlegmatic, assistant manager came hauling ass into the back room where I was loafing, grabbed a broom and told me to grab the other one and come with him. I did and we went hauling ass behind the meat counter, our blue aprons flapping, carrying a broom each, with customers stopping and staring at us.

When we reached the back room on the other side of the butcher counter, one of the vendors and a good buddy of mine was standing there with a pallet jack up under a pallet of Coke. He was pale and sweating.

Now, THIS gave me pause. I already had Craig, who you usually had to take his pulse to make sure he was awake, running around all stirred up. Chris who studied Shotokan and Akido after losing his spot as Linebacker when he didn't make the grades (and who later joined the Navy, although he claims to have washed out, not rang out but washed out, of BUDs) was looking like a mouse in a cat fanciers convention.

Heh... "a mouse"... Just realized what I did there.

It was a rat, or so they told me. Which, since we were in a grocery store, would probably be a bad thing to allow to escape onto the floor. The plan, such as it was, was that Chris would move the pallet and Craig and I would get it with the brooms.

Chris did move the pallet. And Craig and I did set to with the brooms.

They neglected to mention this was the fucking Refrigerator Perry of rodents! No bullshit, this thing must have been living there for awhile and eating it's fill. It had to have weighed in over five pounds.

And tougher than you would think.

After about three whacks, it rolled over on it's back and grabbed ahold of Craig's broom. This freaked out Craig, and freaked Chris out worse. Me? I was still alright at that point. No venom sacs to give me the joys of an epi shot with ants marching around the inside of my skin and my heart feeling like it was going to throb out of my chest, so I was good.

I calmly poked down with the end of my broom, pinning it in place. This made it let go of Craig's broom and start clawing at mine. And also to turn it's head and look at me.

Now, I was raised to believe there was evil in the world, but until that moment I had never actually seen it. Seriously. And it wasn't that it was a rat. I couldn't even begin to guess at the number that I've killed. Although about four or five I've been pals with, letting them hang out on my shoulders and feeding them.

No, I've stared down a full grown 200lb cougar (yes, they are still around these parts) from 25 yards. I've had a rattlesnake warn me out of my closet. I've stared down the barrel of a gun the wrong way too damn many times. And didn't get the feeling that I had from that rat clawing at the end of my broom and staring up at me. A feeling that it wanted to kill me just to watch me die, although it would still suckle every drop of blood out of me and make a home out of my skin. Then the fucker hissed.

We'd just see about that. "Drop the pallet." I said, still reasonably calm.

For those that have never used a non-motorized hydraulic pallet jack, let me just say, they don't drop. They ease down. Slowly. Man, I felt like I was back in High School, sitting in last period American Public Policy class (you know, the one they teach you how to fill out tax forms and you spend four weeks filling out every conceivable type.. or was that just Coach Mouse's class?) waiting for the bell to ring. Except Freddy Kruger had taken rat form and was, literally, destroying the other end of the broom I was holding with claws and teeth and eyes were promising that once he'd worked his way all the way up it, he'd tear me up just as easy.

I still wasn't exactly nervous, mind you. But, I wasn't going to let that thing get out of the way of it's doom. It's slowly approaching doom. It's geologically slow approaching doom.

Sometime after a star died somewhere, the pallet of Coke settled all the way to the floor, snapping off the broomstick I'd been holding Ratty Kruger in place with. Nothing left but the clean up.

Ok, I'll admit I did stay right where I was with the sharp end of my snapped off stick pointed at the ass and tail of our erstwhile enemy as Chris started the laborious process of jacking the pallet jack back up. It wasn't that I was nervous really. It was just, you know, I didn't want to have to chase the damn thing down. Honest.

Well, of course it didn't move. Do you have any idea how much a pallet of Coke weighs? I don't, but it's enough that it takes a hydraulic jack to move it.

Except...

I held the cardboard box while Craig swept the body into it, then lifted it up and opened the compactor. (That's how I know it weighed at least five pounds.) As I was pushing it down slope, we heard a scrabbling sound.

THAT was the point I started getting nervous.

Hey, in my defense, it was the other guys that were chanting "Holy fuck!" and "You've got to be shitting me!" over and over. I was chanting "Turn it on! Turn it the fuck on!"

The thing is, that particular model of compactor had a safety feature that you couldn't get it going while the door was open. I guess that was to keep one of the sackers from falling in there "accidentally" or something. So, I gave the box a good shove and as it went over the edge, slammed the door shut. Since Craig had been frantically jabbing his thumb against the button, the compactor immediately started up.

Now, maybe the sound we heard as we started turning away was just something settling. Or maybe Jason Rattus had actually fought his way back up and was waiting just inside the door wearing a hockey mask and with the other end of my shattered broom stick so he could poke it in my eye.

Chris pointed out that he worked for Coca-Cola Bottling, not the grocery store in question. Craig pointed out that he had some paperwork he had to do before Wayne came in to take over. I? I pointed out that I had to clock out if they didn't want me to go over forty.

We all three nodded at each other and went our separate ways. To the best of my knowledge, none of us opened that thing until after they'd removed the bale. I know I didn't.

Anyway, LC... my longwinded point was this. Rats don't have exoskeletons. For all you know, that millipede could very well be alive under that box. Still. Just waiting. For you.

"Drop a box on me! That's it fucker. Come just a little closer."
 
Rats don't phase me and here's a couple fun little inner city stories. When I say I lived in a damn slum, I am not kidding, when I was young we have roaches mice and rats.

I used to try to play with the rats:eek:

Everyone in my family was dirt poor and living in the same neighborhood. When I was about nine my aunt had another baby, well that was back in the day of glass bottles and real milk.

The rats would try to get in the crib-which was not a crib, but a damn wooden chest on the floor because they could smell the milk.

My cousin and I would sleep on the floor with BB guns and wake up in the middle of the night when we heard scratching and start shooting at rats.

Second story is when I was maybe 11-I think because this was not long before the state pulled me out of my pleasant surroundings, I was playing in my room and a rat came bolting out from beneath the bed.

I kicked at it and missed and it was cornered and it jumped and bit me, right behind the knee and wouldn't let go. So I calmly broke its neck and killed it, but its jaw wouldn't let go.

My mother took me to the ER where I walked in with a damn rat hanging off my leg and they couldn't take me right away so I sat in the waiting room with a blanket over my lap.

Of course being the little shit I was, I kept lifting it up to freak people out...that did however get them to take me in quicker.

That was a couple of anecdotes from my 'privileged' childhood.

And the LW trolls think they can get under my skin? Please.

Of course if that had been a centipede......
 
Denny---<-----that's me! The male half

I believe this may be the only thread I won't let my wfe read.
We've lived in NW Florida literally in the boonies among critters of all kinds. Most don't bother us and the gators stay near the river a mile away.

We'd been here maybe 6 to 8 years and I fucked up. That's something I rarely do.:rolleyes: We have five acres with a sand drive way coming 350', give or take a foot, up the east side. Then it makes a tight turn west midway across the property, in front of the house. Again roughly 163 1/2' west. There it turns right or north to the garage 50'.

The county was out on the dead end gravel road trimming the right-of-way and hauling the mulch away. Being the conservative guy I am (cheap ass) I asked them to dump the mulch near the garage.
I hauled, shoveled, and raked nine million cubic feet of mulch until I had a nice 6" to 8" mulch covered drive way. In time my van packed it tightly.
Since I had three old cars in my two car garage the van had to sit out on the mulch drive. Some how along came a Brown Recluse spider, got in the house, and bit my wife on the left boobie. She was not sitting on a tuffet and her name is not Muffit.
We knew the spiders were in the mulch since later we saw more. One was even in the van.

After two years of painful surgery and taking every cent we had saved she was Brown Recluse poison free. Now every time we see any spider we panic.
I'd rather meet a full sized Gator nose to nose than a tiny spider.

My wife told of the times she grew up with a house full of rats. It ain't been easy.
 
Ayup.

But, still I'd rather see them redo Arachnophobia or maybe Eight Legged Freaks with centipedes and millipedes (none of which I would actually sit still to watch) than redo Snakes on a Plane with tarantulas.

"I have had enough of these motherfucking spiders on this motherfucking plane!"

</shudder>

I readily admit that in AvP, the only part that got me was the facehuggers.
 
Tarantulas are generally not venomous. They're wolf spiders that leap on other insects.
The wandering or banana spider is VERY venomous. but it's not a tarantula.
There is a wasp that stings and paralyzes a tarantula and then lays eggs in the living tarantulal. The eggs hatch and the bay wasps eat the tarantula.
 
R. Richard said:
Tarantulas are generally not venomous. They're wolf spiders that leap on other insects.
The wandering or banana spider is VERY venomous. but it's not a tarantula.
There is a wasp that stings and paralyzes a tarantula and then lays eggs in the living tarantulal. The eggs hatch and the bay wasps eat the tarantula.
Click to expand...

And the Funnel-web spider ?
 
R. Richard said:
Tarantulas are generally not venomous. They're wolf spiders that leap on other insects.
Click to expand...

Fuck wolf spiders too. Those jerks are territorial, highly aggressive, and they watch you--not just with their eyes, that fucking glow at night, but with their whole being. They move their whole bodies as you go by to prove to you that they are watching...and waiting.
 
Having been raised in a swamp, there aren't many things that I'm afraid of, I don't care how many legs it has. Bugs, snakes, spiders, bees/wasps/hornets, and gators were just part of life.
 
Handley_Page said:
And the Funnel-web spider ?
Click to expand...

Best avoided, really. For some screwed-up reason, their venom is pretty much harmless to mammals other than primates, even though they evolved on a continent without primates. Just bad luck for us, I guess.

I used to get nightmares about funnelwebs in the bed. Hard to get back to sleep after that.

Contrary to the usual rule, the males are more deadly; they're smaller but they carry more venom than the females, and they wander more so they're more likely to end up in your shoe.
 
Ewobbit said:
Dude! You never know.

As I said, generally if the species has from four down to two legs, I'm all right. Except for this one time...

I was working grocery and our, usually phlegmatic, assistant manager came hauling ass into the back room where I was loafing, grabbed a broom and told me to grab the other one and come with him. I did and we went hauling ass behind the meat counter, our blue aprons flapping, carrying a broom each, with customers stopping and staring at us.

When we reached the back room on the other side of the butcher counter, one of the vendors and a good buddy of mine was standing there with a pallet jack up under a pallet of Coke. He was pale and sweating.

Now, THIS gave me pause. I already had Craig, who you usually had to take his pulse to make sure he was awake, running around all stirred up. Chris who studied Shotokan and Akido after losing his spot as Linebacker when he didn't make the grades (and who later joined the Navy, although he claims to have washed out, not rang out but washed out, of BUDs) was looking like a mouse in a cat fanciers convention.

Heh... "a mouse"... Just realized what I did there.

It was a rat, or so they told me. Which, since we were in a grocery store, would probably be a bad thing to allow to escape onto the floor. The plan, such as it was, was that Chris would move the pallet and Craig and I would get it with the brooms.

Chris did move the pallet. And Craig and I did set to with the brooms.

They neglected to mention this was the fucking Refrigerator Perry of rodents! No bullshit, this thing must have been living there for awhile and eating it's fill. It had to have weighed in over five pounds.

And tougher than you would think.

After about three whacks, it rolled over on it's back and grabbed ahold of Craig's broom. This freaked out Craig, and freaked Chris out worse. Me? I was still alright at that point. No venom sacs to give me the joys of an epi shot with ants marching around the inside of my skin and my heart feeling like it was going to throb out of my chest, so I was good.

I calmly poked down with the end of my broom, pinning it in place. This made it let go of Craig's broom and start clawing at mine. And also to turn it's head and look at me.

Now, I was raised to believe there was evil in the world, but until that moment I had never actually seen it. Seriously. And it wasn't that it was a rat. I couldn't even begin to guess at the number that I've killed. Although about four or five I've been pals with, letting them hang out on my shoulders and feeding them.

No, I've stared down a full grown 200lb cougar (yes, they are still around these parts) from 25 yards. I've had a rattlesnake warn me out of my closet. I've stared down the barrel of a gun the wrong way too damn many times. And didn't get the feeling that I had from that rat clawing at the end of my broom and staring up at me. A feeling that it wanted to kill me just to watch me die, although it would still suckle every drop of blood out of me and make a home out of my skin. Then the fucker hissed.

We'd just see about that. "Drop the pallet." I said, still reasonably calm.

For those that have never used a non-motorized hydraulic pallet jack, let me just say, they don't drop. They ease down. Slowly. Man, I felt like I was back in High School, sitting in last period American Public Policy class (you know, the one they teach you how to fill out tax forms and you spend four weeks filling out every conceivable type.. or was that just Coach Mouse's class?) waiting for the bell to ring. Except Freddy Kruger had taken rat form and was, literally, destroying the other end of the broom I was holding with claws and teeth and eyes were promising that once he'd worked his way all the way up it, he'd tear me up just as easy.

I still wasn't exactly nervous, mind you. But, I wasn't going to let that thing get out of the way of it's doom. It's slowly approaching doom. It's geologically slow approaching doom.

Sometime after a star died somewhere, the pallet of Coke settled all the way to the floor, snapping off the broomstick I'd been holding Ratty Kruger in place with. Nothing left but the clean up.

Ok, I'll admit I did stay right where I was with the sharp end of my snapped off stick pointed at the ass and tail of our erstwhile enemy as Chris started the laborious process of jacking the pallet jack back up. It wasn't that I was nervous really. It was just, you know, I didn't want to have to chase the damn thing down. Honest.

Well, of course it didn't move. Do you have any idea how much a pallet of Coke weighs? I don't, but it's enough that it takes a hydraulic jack to move it.

Except...

I held the cardboard box while Craig swept the body into it, then lifted it up and opened the compactor. (That's how I know it weighed at least five pounds.) As I was pushing it down slope, we heard a scrabbling sound.

THAT was the point I started getting nervous.

Hey, in my defense, it was the other guys that were chanting "Holy fuck!" and "You've got to be shitting me!" over and over. I was chanting "Turn it on! Turn it the fuck on!"

The thing is, that particular model of compactor had a safety feature that you couldn't get it going while the door was open. I guess that was to keep one of the sackers from falling in there "accidentally" or something. So, I gave the box a good shove and as it went over the edge, slammed the door shut. Since Craig had been frantically jabbing his thumb against the button, the compactor immediately started up.

Now, maybe the sound we heard as we started turning away was just something settling. Or maybe Jason Rattus had actually fought his way back up and was waiting just inside the door wearing a hockey mask and with the other end of my shattered broom stick so he could poke it in my eye.

Chris pointed out that he worked for Coca-Cola Bottling, not the grocery store in question. Craig pointed out that he had some paperwork he had to do before Wayne came in to take over. I? I pointed out that I had to clock out if they didn't want me to go over forty.

We all three nodded at each other and went our separate ways. To the best of my knowledge, none of us opened that thing until after they'd removed the bale. I know I didn't.

Anyway, LC... my longwinded point was this. Rats don't have exoskeletons. For all you know, that millipede could very well be alive under that box. Still. Just waiting. For you.

"Drop a box on me! That's it fucker. Come just a little closer."
Click to expand...

DIES LAUGHING!!!!!
 
J_R_Ashunwhy said:
Fuck wolf spiders too. Those jerks are territorial, highly aggressive, and they watch you--not just with their eyes, that fucking glow at night, but with their whole being. They move their whole bodies as you go by to prove to you that they are watching...and waiting.
Click to expand...

Sounds like you're describing some of the creepers on the fetish and personals boards here:eek:
 
J_R_Ashunwhy said:
Fuck wolf spiders too. Those jerks are territorial, highly aggressive, and they watch you--not just with their eyes, that fucking glow at night, but with their whole being. They move their whole bodies as you go by to prove to you that they are watching...and waiting.
Click to expand...

Does my torment have no end?
 
Bramblethorn said:
Best avoided, really. For some screwed-up reason, their venom is pretty much harmless to mammals other than primates, even though they evolved on a continent without primates. Just bad luck for us, I guess.

I used to get nightmares about funnelwebs in the bed. Hard to get back to sleep after that.

Contrary to the usual rule, the males are more deadly; they're smaller but they carry more venom than the females, and they wander more so they're more likely to end up in your shoe.
Click to expand...

Told you there's something wrong with that continent.
 
Ewobbit, I cannot begin to tell you how wrong and disturbing that story was. I loved it.

Lovecraft - I know your weakness now.... He he he (laughs evil laugh). I would not make fun of anyone's phobia, seriously. I find it very curious that one person will go after the a spider with no fear and have a phobia for snakes.

For me the worst phobia I have is grasshoppers and locusts - my adoptive brother used to scare me with them and I developed a phobia. I dislike mice and rats but shoo them with a broom. We have a bug here that's similar to a Madagascar Hissing Cockroach, they've nicknamed it a Parktown Prawn, it is the most hideous, disgusting thing I've ever seen in my life, they grow as big as 4” and they jump, they can also 'bite' with two 'fangs/horns' next to it's mouth. I start crying when I see one.

Funny enough, for the first 8 years of my life I was raised on a sugarcane farm. Cane rats, bigger than small dog, don't fase me. They medium fast due to their size, we have a jungle knife which we call a pnaga, it's just a matter of timing. You stand ready with the panga 2ft long, and those bastards are so cheeky they do choose to storm you instead of running away. So you know what to expect, and when it gets close, you simply step sideways and do a golf swing and you slice it in half. No problem.

The other hazard is the black mamba that lives off the cane rat. They also enjoy frogs as a delicacy and the frogs are just everywhere. Mostly about the size of the palm of a man's hand or smaller. When you wake up in the morning, the broom is standing outside the bathroom door. You take the broom and go in and sweep the frogs out. They come up through the drains, drains are wet, frogs like wetness. It's important to sweep the frogs out before you sit down for your morning pee and pee on a frog.

Occasionally before you even enter the bathroom, you can hear a snake hissing. In that case I would look to see it's size, I don't mind the medium 5ft snake, it's slow enough for me, and small enough to squash it's head with the end of the broomstick. The babies are damn fast and it's better to get a drum and chase the baby into the drum because they are venomous. The big grown one's you need to be much stronger than a woman or child to pin it and move it or kill it.

The last hazard was that our farm bordered the banks of the Crocodile River. Guess why they call it that? It did not stop us from swimming, we simply took a shotgun with us.

I do recall that one of the farmworker's children went to the river to literally get a pail of water for his mother and a croc nabbed him. The workers hunted crocs that night and the next two nights until they found the culprit. Impossible - but they had to find a culprit. They pulled that croc out the river and dragged it maybe half a mile away, they dug a pit for it and killed it and set it alight. My dad and I went down to the pit, they were doing their vodoo shit and my dad just had a look to see how big the thing was. The witchdoctor shit scared me more than anything else.

I think with our collective experience we'd make a great pest control company. Haha
 
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