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Guest
Guest
Prior to moving to Wisconsin, I wasn't aware that such a thing existed, but apparently so. Moreover--and despite the fact that my landlord failed to mention this to me--it is apparently my garage. A few days ago, I counted twenty-five of the bad boys hanging out on the exterior of the garage door alone. Not that there were ONLY twenty-five; I just got tired of counting. Needless to say, I do not go into my garage. I try not to go anywhere near it. As I see it, that's the spider preserve; it's theirs, and that's okay. I don't mind. The problem lies in the fact that they're just not content with the garage alone. Oh no, they couldn't POSSIBLY be happy with what they have--it's always got to be more. TAKE, TAKE, TAKE. That is what they do. I can't leave my car parked outside the garage for a single day without them trying to colonize. My spoiler, in particular, seems to be a prime piece of real estate. And then they're INSIDE my car. Let me just say that, speaking from all-too-personal experience, there is nothing more condusive to killing one's self quickly than being an arachnaphobic on the expressway in a car with a huge, black spider.
So despite my inherent pacifist tendencies, I think it is time to take a stand. Do they make anti-spider spray? If so, where can I acquire it? The grocery store didn't have any, but that's probably not that surprising. A lawn and garden store, maybe? I just can't take any more of this--they're also on my back porch; getting up the stairs to the door is like running a gauntlet because there's only about a foot-and-a-half wide passage that isn't blocked by webs and dangling beasties. Ack. Bastards. Horrible, greedy bastards. Manifest destiny, my ass. The colonization stops here, I tell you what . . .
So despite my inherent pacifist tendencies, I think it is time to take a stand. Do they make anti-spider spray? If so, where can I acquire it? The grocery store didn't have any, but that's probably not that surprising. A lawn and garden store, maybe? I just can't take any more of this--they're also on my back porch; getting up the stairs to the door is like running a gauntlet because there's only about a foot-and-a-half wide passage that isn't blocked by webs and dangling beasties. Ack. Bastards. Horrible, greedy bastards. Manifest destiny, my ass. The colonization stops here, I tell you what . . .