It's Not Delivery, It's A Porno

I've mentioned my friend Luke previously in a couple of stories, such as They Call It Mellow Yellow and Kill It With Fire; Luke and I have shared some crazy adventures and they haven't stopped yet. The two of us have always been as close as brothers and we have been roommates at various times over the years. This story goes back a long, long way, to the very first time that we were roommates. We were living in North Miami, Florida, at a huge apartment complex called the Hamlet Estates. I'm not sure how they made the jump from apartment to estate, but whatever. Aside from a few moral degenerates, meaning us, the community had a very large and eclectic population, but for the most part, it was full of young singles and we had many friends that were also neighbors. It was a great place to live and a lot of great memories were made there.

We even had a friendly neighborhood cop that lived down the hall from us, Dan worked next door in North Miami Beach. He was such a nice guy and such a great neighbor that he was kind and thoughtful enough to stop by one day and knock on our door, just because he wanted to be a good neighbor and do us a neighborly solid. Luke and I had been sitting around, trying to smoke a week's worth of pot in an hour, when we were startled by an abrupt and authoritative pounding on the door. I looked at him, he looked at me and we both knew that we wanted the other to get the door, mainly because we were both lazy, stoned fucks. The pounding started again and I sighed and went to answer the door.

I really, really need to get in the habit of looking through the peephole, before I open a door, because, as I opened the door, a large and very visible whitish wave of Jamaica's finest wafted out (talk about watching the clouds roll by) to engulf the police officer who was standing before me,

I nearly shit my pants, but not before I noticed that his badge read North Miami Beach and not North Miami. No worries, I wasn't in his jurisdiction, so fuck that guy. My sphincter relaxed a bit. My gaze travelled from the badge to his face and I recognized our neighbor.

"Hey Dan, what's up?" I asked him.

"Mind if I come in?" he asked.

"Nope. Can I get you a drink or something?" I asked as I led him into the apartment.

"No thanks," he said, "I just wanted to talk to you and Luke for a second."

"Sure, dude. What's up?"

Dan explained to us that we were really stinking up the place. Literally. Evidently, we smoked so much pot that the smell and the smoke filled the hallway like a cloud. Walking to and from his apartment, he said, was like running the gauntlet in a Colombian sauna and he blamed us for the contact buzz that caused an increase in his doughnut intake and the subsequent widening of his waist.

Dan suggested that we stuff a towel under the door to help block out some of the smoke and the smell, because he thought that eventually someone was going to complain and that he didn't want us to get in any trouble.

He told us that he liked us, thought we were nice guys, good neighbors (he knew we did everything under the sun to help out the little old lady who lived next door) and that he'd hate to see anything happen to us. We thanked him for his kindness and advice and then he was on his way. I turned around and there was Luke with a rolled up towel. A towel that was headed directly for my face,

"Catch!." Luke said and turned away.

The towel smacked me in the face. Fucker. He hadn't even stopped to admire his handiwork. I think that was the bigger insult.

Fucking asshole. Payback, motherfucker payback. We've been playing this game for thirty fucking years. As a matter of fact, I owe that bastard one. I'm glad that I remembered. You just can't let these motherfuckers get away with shit, ya' know? You don't fuck with a thug like me and get away with it. I shall demand justice in the most passive aggressive way that I can. #winning

I threw the towel under the door and then we went back to getting high.

Back in those days, cable television was still a toddler and satellite television was in its infancy. Our apartment complex had contracted with a company that would provide satellite television programming, a package that included everything that we currently had, along with a few extra channels, but at a fraction of the cost of cable. Since saving that much money on the cable bill would mean that we would have more money to blow on women, drugs and booze, it was very easy for us to cut the cord and make the switch. The twisted logic that you can use to justify stupidity is a wonderfully enabling thing when you're young. We signed right up, of course and were given an appointment. We were good to go.

On the day of our appointment, both Luke and I had taken the day off from work. Back in those days, their customer service was even worse than it is now. I know how hard that is to believe, even more so, if you're a Comcast customer. For example, if you had an appointment for a cable or satellite television installation and it was scheduled for 9:00 am, you might be lucky if the tech arrived by 5:00 pm. You couldn't do anything all day, except wait for the cable guy. You sat and you stared at the door. And you waited and waited and stared and stared and you checked the time, a lot, and you slowly went out of your fucking mind until the guy got there, You couldn't even pee, because if you did, it would be guaranteed that the guy would be knocking on the door while you've got your dick in hand and faster than you can shake and stuff, the fucker would be gone and you'd have to go through the whole rigamarole all over again. With the two of us there, we could still do other things; one of us could cover the door if the other one had to pee and we wouldn't miss the satellite guy. We were pee buddies. #peebuddies

As Luke and I were waiting for the satellite guy to get there, we broke out the weed and started getting high. It was a veritable bonghit bonanza and a great way to kill time.

Our appointment time came and went. Still waiting. Still smoking weed, too.

The fucking pizza we ordered arrived on time.

We caught the delivery guy a buzz as a bonus tip.

Those guys are my fucking heroes, putting their lives on the line, every single fucking  day, to deliver manna from Heaven in thirty minutes or less. Respect, bros!

 I even wrote you guys a little poem/song to show the love. I stole the music from Sesame Street, but you can sing-a-long with me!

Ready?

He's my hero, pizza guy,

Comes to save me, when I get high

That's as far as I ever got with it. What did you expect from a pot head? I hope your expectations weren't too high. Who the fuck am I kidding? If you're reading this, I suspect that your expectations are pretty fucking low as it is.

Why is it that I am always early for everything in life, but not one goddamn thing can ever happen on time for me? That's some bullshit, right there.

Almost three hours after our anointed appointment time, there's a loud knock on the door. A cop kind of knock. We panicked and spilled the bong. Fuuuuuck!

I carefully hid the bong on the side of the couch and went to answer the door. I opened the door and there was the satellite guy in all of his homeless man looking glory. Finally and thank goodness. Another five minutes of smoking weed and I'd have no longer had the ability to function as a human being. I could barely stand as it was. As I staggered to the door, it felt as if I were walking through quicksand. Luke was even more useless than I was. He was barely coherent and glued to the couch.

The installer apologized for being late, we showed him where everything was and he went right to work. We asked him questions while he was working and he patiently explained everything that he was doing. All in all, we thought he was a pretty cool dude. We wanted to hook the guy up and give him a tip, but since we were young and stupid, we tended to spend all of our spare money on necessities like weed and alcohol, so we were both broke and the only thing that we could tip him with was weed.

I popped the question.

"Do you smoke weed, man? Do you wanna' catch a buzz?"

He looked at me as if I were retarded. People do that a lot. I don't get it.

"That's a stupid question," he said. "This is Florida, dude, everybody gets high,"

He did have a point. Maybe I was retarded, after all.

Well, Luke and I sat that motherfucker down and we got him stoned. No, it was much more than that, we got that guy light years beyond stoned. We broke out the weed, we broke out the bong, we rolled joints and huffed and puffed away, but then Luke drastically upped the stakes by pulling out the coup de grace; our own little personal Death Star. It was a thing of beauty, it was and I loved that thing all the way up until the day that it exploded in my face. Luke had this oxygen/gas mask abomination that was attached to a piece of PVC, that had a bowl attached to the end of it and a carburetor hole at the front. It looked like something out of a bad BDSM nightmare, but it got you freaking baked. In the end, that was all that really mattered. One of the best things about this contraption was that the carburetor hole was the perfect size for the nozzle on my whipped cream maker, which was the kind that took nitrous oxide cartridges. Basically, this setup enabled us to do nitrous oxide bong hits and very potent ones at that. We put the satellite guy into the fucking twilight zone. That poor guy was orbiting the planet and could barely stand upright, by the time that we were finished with him.

When it was time for him to leave, we packed him up a little care package to take with him.

He was one happy motherfucker, let me tell you.

Satellite man told us that he needed to get one last thing out of his truck and that he'd be right back. He left the apartment and returned a few minutes later, carrying a small black box.

"I thought we were all set?" I asked him.

"You guys just needed one last thing," he said.

"What's that?" Luke asked.

He asked us, "Do you guys like porn?"

I looked at him as if he were retarded. Dumbest fucking question ever.

"Dude," I said. "We're guys. Of course we like porn."

Porn. That magical elixir of life. Back then, long before the Internet, porn wasn't as easily accessible and private as it is today. It's freaking everywhere, these days. Hell, I'll bet that there isn't one innocent thing that you can Google without turning up at least one result that's porn. Which, when you think about it, is quite an indictment of the society that we live in. But back then, if you wanted porn, you were limited to the porno theater, the video rental store. soft core Cinemax, magazines and places like this:

On second thought, that's a fucking lot. And none of that porn was free. :(

The satellite guy walked over to the television and put the little black box on top of it, plugged in some wires, fiddled around behind the tv, doing some kind of mystical satellite guy voodoo magic, plugged in the box and hit a button on the remote and magic happened.

Hardcore porn filled the screen.

It was beautiful. It was breathtaking, I wanted to drop to my knees and cry. I almost did. I even thought that I heard Luke stifle a sniffle from somewhere behind me. I turned around and I saw the look on Luke's face; he was mesmerized and excited. So excited, that I thought that he was going to jump up and hug the satellite guy.

He did. And he did it with tears in his eyes.

"I love you, man," Luke told the satellite guy. "Thank you, this is the best day of my life,"

Satellite man told us that we were the coolest customers that he'd ever had and that he wanted to thank us by showing his appreciation for how nice we were to him. He showed his appreciation by hooking us up with a free converter box for the hardcore porn channels.

Free porn.

Free fucking porn.

And this was decades before the Internet, mind you. Free porn. Holy shit. Are you fucking kidding me? For two guys that had just turned twenty, this was like we had both just had our birthdays, celebrated Christmas, won the lottery, found a bag of weed and gotten a free fucking ice cream cone, all at the same time.

Holy shit! I couldn't believe our luck.

Holy shit!

We thanked the satellite guy profusely. Luke hugged him again and I could have sworn that I heard him whisper, "I love you," once again, to the satellite guy, but Luke denies it. Maybe it was just the porno that was playing in the background. I know what I heard, though.

The satellite dude went off on his merry little way, bag of weed in hand and a big ol' smile on his face.

We now had a twenty-four hour backdrop of hardcore porn to accompany everything that we did in the apartment. Eat dinner? Porn. Catch a buzz? Porn again. Wake up in the middle of the night to go pee? Where's my pee buddy when I need him? Even more porn. I think I got a little jaded. Nah, I'm just fucking with you. Who could get tired of free porn? Nothing beats a full-time backgound of hardcore porn to lessen the banality of your mundane existence. Yeah, existentialism wrapped in shit is still shit. Porn was always there; omnipresent. We never turned it off. I'm not sure that we ever really watched anything else, either. Who the hell wants to watch television when you can watch free porn?

Hell, I haven't even told you the best part, yet. I know, right? You're sitting there, asking yourself, "What could be better than free porn?" You'd think that getting free porn would have been the best part, but it wasn't. I know that it's hard to believe, but it's true.

So what's the best part?

The best part is that we got not one, not two, not even three, but four, count 'em, four channels of free hardcore porn. That's more porn than you can shake a dick at, Stick, damn it, I meant stick. I hate fucking cliches...

Free fucking porn! Woohoo! Calling it fucking porn does seem a bit redundant though, doesn't it? Then again, that moniker does help to distinguish it from oral, anal and homosexual marriage equality and polygamy porn, because, you know, The Gays.

Once word got around that we had more porn than we knew what to do with, Luke and I became immensely popular with all of our friends and those jerkoffs started dropping by the apartment at all hours of the day and night. Hell, we even caught a couple of assholes trying to steal our converter box. Dickheads. Friends don't steal porn from friends. Thankfully, we were able to hang on to that magic little box and we were able to enjoy the fruits of our kindness over the next few years.

In closing, I'd just like to make the point that you should always treat people with kindness and consideration. Also, you should always remember to tip well for a job that is well done. Finally, and this might be the most important part, get that motherfucker high as fuck and maybe, just maybe, you'll get hooked up with some free porn of your own, but I doubt it.

You'll just have to go fuck yourself.

Thanks for stopping by. If you enjoyed this story, you might like this one:

If The Shoe Fits

Looking for a more serious read?

O' Brother, Where Art Thou?

Bonus pics below.

I wonder if they deliver?

Who's The Boss?

I've previously mentioned my Dalmatian, Caesar in the story "Hosed," but please indulge me for a moment and allow me to give you a little bit of background on that demon bastard of a dog,

Just before I married my ex-wife, Medusa, her aunt had purchased a Dalmatian puppy that Medusa fell in love with and she absolutely, positively had to have a Dalmatian puppy of her very own. I said no. She begged me. I said no again. She argued with me. I still said no. This went on for days. She broke down in tears, so I stuck to my guns; I don't negotiate with terrorists. That's all absolute bullshit, of course. Once Medusa turned on the water works, I completely folded and gave in. I surrendered so fucking fast that you'd think I was French. I promised her that she could have the puppy as my wedding gift to her and that when we came back from our honeymoon, we would go to the breeder and she could pick out the puppy that she wanted.

We went and got married and took off on a little whirlwind tour of the Mid-Atlantic coast; it was the honeymoon from hell. It was a honeymoon haunted by hurricanes, terrorized by demonic ponies and stricken with plagues of biblical proportions; a foreshadowing of the years to come. When we returned home, I took Medusa over to the breeder so that she could pick out her puppy, as promised. I suggested to her, over and over again, that it would be wise to pick out a female, as they are usually smarter, more docile and easier to train than males, but she had her heart set on a little boy and I do have to say that the little guy that she picked out was an amazing example of the breed, as far as coloring and spotting went.

We decided to let the puppy name himself, which is a tradition of mine and after a few days of strutting around the house as if it were his kingdom, with his head held high and an attitude of imperial disdain, we decided to name him Caesar.

Afer a few more days, I realized that Caesar was almost completely deaf and that he showed an extraordinary amount of aggression for a puppy. I wanted to take him back to the breeder and exchange him for a different puppy. Medusa disagreed, We fought about it. A lot. Eventually, I wore her down and I won; the puppy was going back.

We called the breeder, explained the situation and loaded Caesar into the car. Medusa held the puppy and whimpered the entire way there. When we arrived at the breeder's, she turned on the tears and refused to get out of the car, but after she calmed down a little, she relented and exited the vehicle.

Medusa reluctantly gave Caesar back to the breeder and we went to look at the other puppies that were still available. That was when Medusa decided to go for the gold and she turned the tears on again. It ws like a fucking faucet. She was so attached to that defective puppy that she just couldn't let him go. She looked at me as if I had just killed her best friend.

Without a word, I turned around, grabbed Caesar, put him in the car and we took him back home.

In time, our defective little puppy turned into a defective dog, a terrible dog, the worst dog that I've ever owned. Caesar was aggressive and unpredictable; as his hearing loss increased, so did his aggression and unpredictability. He had other issues as well, he constantly dribbled urine everywhere, he literally climbed the walls to chase bugs, he barked at shadows, became enraged by them and would try to attack them. Caesar jumped through the glass portions of both our front and back doors in order to chase neighborhood cats and he did this several times. If he found food, he ate it, including the top layer of our wedding cake as it defrosted on the kitchen counter th day of our first anniversary. That cake was horrible when it was fresh, so I can only imagine how bad it would have been after sitting in the freezer for a year. I also noted that Caesar hadn't finished it off. Smart dog. In a way, I was pretty thankful that he'd saved me from having to eat it, so I really wasn't all that mad at him for that particular episode. Caesar also liked to destroy things; anything and everything. Still, the dog was a complete and utter lunatic.

I have always trained my own dogs and they have always been well behaved. I had never had a problem with a dog before, but with Caesar, I had hit the proverbial brick wall. Everyone I knew had advice to offer and we tried everything tat everyone suggested;  we were aways open to suggestions, but nothing that we tried seemed to work.

That dog was completely of of control.

My friend Will was always telling me that I had to assert dominance over Caesar and I did, all day long. I would get him to lay down and roll over (I had trained him using hand signals, as I do with all of my dogs) and I would very lightly pinch his throat with my fingers, much like an Alpha dog would do with its jaws. Will didn't think that I was going far enough and he wanted me to take it to another level.

"You have to be more assertive with him," Will told me.

"What do you mean?" I asked him.

"You have to hump him," Will said. "That's what the Alpha dog would do and that's what I do with my dogs."

"You hump your dogs?" I asked, incredulous.

"Only to assert dominance," he replied.

"You hump your dogs," I accused.

"Well..."

"I'm not humping my dog," I said. "No way, no how."

"That's what you need to do," Will said.

"Maybe that's what you need to do, but I can assure you that my needs are entirely different," I said. "I prefer the company of women, which is why I married one. You, on the other hand, are single and have four dogs, That and your words today lead me to believe that your "needs" are entirely different from mine.

The argument about whether I should hump my dog or not raged on for months. Every time that Will came over to my house, he argued his point of view and he would go on about how he humped his dogs all of the time and that I should hump my dog, if I knew what was good for the dog and my own peace of mind. Will was the most emphatic of my friends when it came to Caesar and he was just relentless about it; he never let up.

"Hump your dog," he said. "It will be a good thing."

Can someone please explain to me how fucking your dog could ever be considered a good thing?

I steadfastly refused to hump my dog. The peanut butter trick might be one thing, but fucking your dog is something else entirely.

One quite memorable time when Will was over, Caesar was misbehaving more than he usually did, Will started in on his old dog humping spiel all over again.

"I am not fucking my dog," I said for the umpteenth time.

"You're not fucking your dog," Will told me, "You're asserting dominance over the animal. Do you want me to do it for you?"

Well, I guess that Will had finally had enough of Caesar and something in his mind must have snapped, because Will suddenly jumped up and without another word, before I could even make a move to stop him, Will stood up, grabbed Caesar by the collar, got behind the dog and started humping him.

I couldn't believe it, that motherfucker was really humping my dog.

Holy shit!

You know, I've seen some really strange shit in my life, but this... this... I had no words for this shit and if that doesn't tell you how shocked I was, I don't know what would. I just... Fuck it.

I was stunned, the entire scene was surreal. Will was fucking my dog. No, that sick, crazy bastard was pumping away at my dog like a piston engine in overdrive. Sure, Will's clothes were still on, but that doesn't matter and it doesn't change the traumatizing event that I was forced to bear witness to; that freak was fucking my dog and I wasn't happy about it. Jesus, I think I have PTSD.

Apparently, Caesar wasn't happy about it either/

As fast as lightning, Caesar's head flew around and he bit the living shit out of Will's balls. Sank his teeth right in and let me tell you, it was somethung to behold. Too bad that's not what really happened.

The truth is that Caesar bit Will's hand, but saying that it was his balls just seems to invoke some sort of cosmic karmic justice, whatever the fuck that's supposed to mean. Caesar had taken a deep bite out of Will's hand and Will squealed like a little bitch. Blood was gushing everywhere and Will wasn't doing anything about it, he was just letting it drip onto my carpet. Not cool. I thought that was very inconsiderate of him. I mean, the guy tries to screw my dog and then when he gets what's coming to him, he has the audacity to bleed all over my stuff. Again, not cool.

Someone's going to have to clean that shit up and that someone is me. I'm the one who is going to get stuck with cleaning up the mess that Will's poor life choices made. How is that fair to me?

Asshole...

I helped Will clean his wound and then I bandaged his hand. It's a good thing that Caesar didn't bite his balls, because I'd have let Will bleed to death before I touched his junk, Seriously. Like, if we're ever in the woods together and a poisonous snake bites your dick, you're completely fucked. Hey, just letting you know where you stand.

Will apologized to me and acknowledged that the responsibility for the bite was his and that trying to hump my dog was a foolish thing to do and that he'd learned a valuable lesson.

And that valuable lesson was...

Don't fuck my dog.

Thanks for stopping by. I hope you've enjoyed what you read.

If you liked this story, Please give this one a chance:

Did You Really Just Say That?

Kill It With Fire

Spiders.

I fucking hate spiders. They freak me the fuck out. Spiders are an abomination upon the face of the Earth; vile creatures from out of my darkest nightmares. Think about it. Eight hairy little legs; those beady little eyes and those giant fucking fangs that are just waiting to sink into my flesh and drink my blood. Creepy little bastards spinning their nasty little webs. Ick. Spiderwebs. I fucking hate spiderwebs, too. Although, I must admit that I do make some mighty cool looking ninja moves whenever I walk through one. Just thinking about this shit makes my skin crawl. Spiders. Yeah... fuck all that.

The gaze of pure, malevolent evil.

Let's take a closer look at these dangerous and fearsome apex predators.

There is only one way to deal with spiders and that is to kill them. Kill them with fire. I cannot state this more emphatically. It's a get them before they get you kind of thing.

It's the only way to be sure.

I killed a spider yesterday and you can bet your sweet ass that I killed that fucker with fire. It was self-defense, I swear.

It looked at me, but it was much more than that. Much more. I could see the frenzied hunger in its beady little eyes, I could sense its blood lust. It was ready to pounce... and kill and I wasn't about to become brunch. No fucking way.

Here's how it all went down...

I was out running errands the other day, doing whatever the fuck it was that I was doing, because even I don't pay attention to myself and when I got home, I walked up onto the front deck and I noticed that the large yellow spider that had attached itself to the railing a few days before was still there and I made sure to give the evil, murderous little bastard as wide a berth as I possibly could. I'd checked him out previously and he was totally fucking creepy but had a pretty cool looking translucent yellow color and he looked a lot like this:

I'd just had a conversation at work about the spiders that inhabit Washington state and I was warned that there were quite a few poisonous spiders that were hiding in dark doorways, just waiting to feast upon my flesh. My coworkers informed me that the arachnid inhabitants of my adopted state were just the usual run of spiders, such as the Black Widow, the Yellow Sac spider and a few others. Marvelous. Just fucking marvelous. I knew that I had to be ever vigilant against the ever present spider menace. 

As I made my wary way past the little bastard, I turned the corner and headed toward the back deck, taking one last look behind me to make sure that I wasn't being shadowed by any skulking spiders, which led to my tripping over the step that I always forget about and I trip over it all the fucking time, which I never forget to do (forget to trip, that is), the result of which was to cause me to stumble my way across the deck and send me flying into a spider web. I fended off an entire battalion of imaginary spiders while showing off my previously mentioned ninja skills, somehow managing to keep control of the bags that I was carrying. 

Miraculously, I didn't drop a thing. Thankfully, other than the brief fucktard ballet sequence that I had just performed, I was able to make it through the ordeal fairly unscathed. I say fairly, because while my body was uninjured, my mind was violently traumatized; shell-shocked even. I might have even become a little unhnged. Who's to say? I knew one thing, though. A war was coming; I knew it  and the spiders knew it too; those little bastards had just fired the first shot. They were stalking me, coming to get me, They were everywhere and nowhere, all at once. I was living in fear.

 I wondered how much time I had before the ruckus started.  I knew that I couldn't afford to be caught unaware. I had to be prepared. This wasn't going to be a surprise attack, like when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor. No sir. No fucking way. 

When I turned the corner and walked out onto the back deck, I put down my bags and sat down on one of the deck chairs to smoke a cigar. I put my feet up on the corner of the railing and spent a few minutes relaxing and chilling out, enjoying that last bit of summer sunshine before I went inside the house for the evening. Surprisingly, I managed to do all of these things without harming myself in any way, shape, or form and as I drew on my cigar, I released a contented sigh, appreciating the fading beauty of a late summer day. I looked out into the yard and I noticed that some of our very friendly neighborhood deer had come to visit. I stood up and walked over to the railing, calling to the deer. The doe and her fawns walked over and looked up at me expectantly, waiting for a handout. As I was talkng to them, I went to put down my cigar and my hand went through the space between the rails, punching through yet another spiderweb. Holy fucking shit! I quickly pulled my hand away, but then I was even more shocked as I felt something crawl across the back of my hand. My head snapped around and to my absolute horror there was a ginormous fucking spider crawling across my hand and headed for my arm. Let me tell you, I just about shit my pants. Oh, no. No fucking way. That motherfucker was pissed and he was out for blood. My fucking blood, Fuck that. In a reflex action, I flung the murderous little bastard away and he landed back on the railing, glaring at me with his malevolent gaze and flashing his giant fangs at me. The spider moved a step closer and lifted its front two legs. Shit just got real. My life flashed before my eyes as I realized that my time had run out and I was going to die. Let me tell you, it was a trigicomedy of errors of epic proportions and it's not like I really needed a reminder of all the stupid things that I've managed to accomplish. I snapped back to reality and came up with a plan. I had one option left and I took it. I promprtly ran around the corner of the deck and hid from the spider and buying myself a few moments of safety. 

After taking a few deep breaths to calm myself, I peered back around the corner and saw that the spider was still there, patiently waiting for me to step back into its parlor, I'm really not sure that I made the best decision, because I was now in a bit of a fix, as I was trapped between two ferocious and deadly spiders that were screaming for my blood. The hunters and the hunted. My will to live was strong, I only hoped that it was stronger than a spider's hunger for human flesh.

That's the little bastard, right there,

I peered back around the corner. Shit! The little bastard was still there. Still waiting for me. I knew that it knew what I knew, there was only one avenue of escape and that was by going directly past the spider. I was well and truly fucked and we both knew it.

Yolo, motherfucker! I quickly stepped out from my hiding place and I dashed around the corner, taking the spider by surprise (he was about fifteen feet from me, but those fuckers can jump incredible distances). I ran for the sliding glass door. Okay, that's a lie, I don't run anywhere, but I did walk at a slightly faster than normal pace. We'll call that running. I made it to the door and I looked behind me. Sure enough, the spider was still there and he was ready to pounce. I opened the door and I stepped inside, slamming the door closed as fast as I could and narrowly escaping with my life. I looked through the glass and I could see the spider staring back at me. I shuddered, but then I smiled as I locked eyes with the little fucker and I gave him the finger. Spiders don't have fingers, I'll bet he was pissed. You mad, bro? Come at me now, motherfucker. 

Evidently, I must have made a bit of a commotion, as my buddy Luke came up behind me and tapped me lightly on the shoulder. Let me tell you, that fucking asshole nearly gave me a fucking heart attack. The things I said. Well, I'm now convinced that I have Tourrette's and so are the neighbors.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Luke asked me.

I pointed out the window and in my manliest voice I said,"S-sss-suh-spider!"

"And?" he asked.

"It fucking tried to kill me, dude!" I said. "Don't judge me. You don't know my fucking struggle.'

"Ooookaaay," he said, as if speaking to a lunatic. "Are you just going to stand at the door and stare at it all day?"

"No," I replied. "I'm going to kill it. Kill it with fire."

"And how do you propose doing that, genius?"

"Simple, I'm going to find an aerosol can and use my lighter and I'm going to send that demon back to the Hell from which it came."

"Whatever. I have some axe body spray in my bathroom."

Okay, number one, he was dismissing me and enabling me at the same time. Number two, Axe body spray? Really? It's like douche for guys. Funny, I can just picture Luke standing there, in a field of flowers. Whatever. Any port in a storm.

Don't judge me. I feel fresh

I went into Luke's bathroom and I looked everywhere for the can of Axe, but I couldn't find it. I looked everywhere and spent a lot of time and effort to no avail. Approximately 2.86 seconds, which is about twice as long as I usually spend looking for things.

"Dude, I can't find it." I yelled across the house.

Luke came rushing into the bathroom, giving me a look that one usually reserves for an extremely slow child or a Trump supporter.

"Are you blind and stupid?" he asked.

"Show me where it is, bitch," I said.

Luke immediately grabbed an aerosol can from the counter and said, "It's right here, you fucking idiot."

He handed me the can.

I looked at it and said, "Dude, this is Old Spice, not Axe body spray. You should have been more specific. Is Old Spice douchier than Axe?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Luke asked me.

"Never mind," I said. "I'm just thinking out loud."

Luke face-palmed himself and said, "Just get out. Get the fuck out now. Go make your fucking spider s'mores and leave me the hell alone."

Wow, PMS much? Take a pill, bitch. Whatever. I had what I needed; all of the necessary spider killing supplies were now in my arsenal.

I headed back outside, prepared to battle the great beast. I think I know exactly how St. George felt when he set out to slay the dragon. Luke was directly behind me.

"Dude, what the fuck are you doing?" I asked him. "Why are you following me?"

"There is no fucking way in hell that I am going to miss out on watching this shit. You go right ahead and have your fun. I'm going to watch the festivities from a safe distance." he said.

Whatthefuckever. I know what I'm doing. This isn't my first spider slaying. I ignored Luke as I approached that massive, mutant monster and we locked eyes. 

I raised the can of body spray and readied my lighter. The spider charged at me like an angry bull, hungry for a matador meal. A spark and then...

I unleashed the fury of Hell.

"Fuck you, motherfucker!" I yelled in triumph as a jet of flame engulfed the spider. It's all over now, bitch. "Who's your daddy now?"

Not me, evidently.

The spider uncurled itself and charged at me again.

Oh, fuck no!

Another flick of the Bic and another jet of flame engulfed the spider in a pyrotechnic display that truly warmed my heart. I eased my finger off of the trigger and looked at the spider.

It fucking twitched.

I fired again. No, it was more than that. I fucking unloaded on that son of a bitch.

In hindsight, naybe it was a bit too much.

Luke chose that moment to start yelling for me to stop and some other nonsense about my burning down the house and shit, but it was already too late.

A giant blast of flame shot out of the can, incinerating the spider and burning all of the hair off of the back of my right hand. One thing that I've failed to mention until now is that Luke likes to keep his parakeet, Hedwig, outside during the day. Hedwig saw that third ball of flame erupt and was immediately like, "Fuck this, I'm outta here," as he quickly hopped over to the other side of his cage. Smart fucking bird. I looked at the charred remains of the spider and I congratulated myself on a job well done. I left that fucker's corpse where it was as a warning to the other spiders not to fuck with me.

Luke walked up to me and told me that he thought I was insane, that I wasn't allowed to do it again and that I needed to give hime back his Axe body spray, immediately.

"It's Old Spice, dude. You need to be more specific."

Luke's face turned an interesting shade of purple and he once again threatened to get his gun. I handed him the spider killing spray, giggled and walked off. 

I was curious about what kind of spider it was, so I went back inside and I searched for images of spiders in Washington state. This is what I found:

As it turns out, the spider on the front deck was a Yellow Sac Spider (a venomous spider) and the spider that I incinerated on the back deck was a Mazda Spider, a new species of venomous spider that was discovered in 2011, but only after it was imported into the United States, hidden away inside of the fuel lines of Mazda vehicles. Mazda eventually instituted a recall of 65,000 vehicles. That's a lot of fucking spiders and now there was one less. Survival of the fittest, baby. I'm saving the planet, one arachnid at a time.

End of story, right? Don't I wish...

Apparently, all that did was piss the other spiders off.

When I came home from work the next day, everyone was in the kitchen and those crazy fuckers were acting strangely. They were either cowering and cringing, or doing some sort of strange interpretive dance. I wasn't really sure, but since they're all family, I just assumed that it was some weird sort of group bonding therapy. As I walked through the door, everyone said, "Watch out for the spider!"

Oh, hell to the no, motherfucker.

My worst fears had been realized, the invasion had begun. I wasn't scared though, I was ready, Bring it, bitches!

"Where is it?" I asked.

Everyone pointed at the ceiling and I looked up. It was hard to miss. That was one big ass fucking spider.

Unlike the Mazda spider, I immediatey recognized this one; it was a Brown Widow, yet another venomous spider. Great. Just fucking great. These fuckers were sending their heavy hitters after me. No worries. After all, I am the supposedly superior species. I quickly assessed the situation and briefly wondered what weapon I was going to use to kill it, because fire is not always the best option for use indoors.

Suddenly, inspiration hit me and I knew what I had to do.

No, I didn't shoot the spider, that woud be overkill. Besides, Luke wouldn't let me use his pistol. Something about laws and resposibility abd some other nonsensical bullshit. I filtered him out. Instead, I grabbed a paper towel, balled it up and climbed up on one of the barstools. It proved to be a more unstable platform than I had originally thought, so I shifted one of my legs over to another barstool, straddling them both. This proved just as unstable, so I asked Luke's son Lyle to hold onto the chairs in order to keep them balanced.

Just as I was reaching to squash the spider, Lyle erupted with an, "Oh, my God," which startled me so much, I almost fell off of the damn barstools.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I asked him.

"Steve, can you turn the other way?" he answered me. "Your balls are in my face."

"Why are you staring at my balls, Lyle?'

"I can't help myself." he said "They're right in my face."

"Well, stop staring at my balls and don't get any funny ideas; I am so not going to tea bag you."

"I'm going to let you fall," Lyle threatened.

"And I'm going to kill you in your sleep if you don't shut the fuck up and hold on to those chairs. Oh, and Lyle, one last thing."

"What?" he asked. He sounded a little irritated. I think he might have had some sand in his mangina.

"Please stop staring at my balls. You're making me uncomfortable."

Lyle grumbled something under his breath, but then he shut the fuck up and held on to the barstools. Good boy. I pretended not to hear him, because then I really would have had to kill him in his sleep and I'm not sure how Luke would have reacted to that. I'm sure if I just explained that Lyle was being inappropriate with me, I'm sure he'd understand. Yeah, no worries.

I wadded up the paper towel, reached out and squashed the spider. I heard it pop. It was fucking gross. I climbed down and threw the spider in the trash.

Kind of anticlimactic, huh? That's okay, I could use a little less excitement in my life, because the very next day...

I stepped out onto the back deck, stretched and took a deep breath. As I was doing this, I noticed movement in my peripheral vision. My eyes were drawn to the deck railing, where I saw yet another Yellow Sac Spider. 

They were getting smarter and were trying to sneak a little one past me, but I had gotten lucky and sprung their ambush before they were ready. I kept my eyes on the spider, waiting for him to make the first move. It didn't take long.

The little spider had been acting pretty nonchalantly up until this point, but then it turned and started heading in my direction. Son of a bitch! It was going to attack. That little motherfucker had some seriously big balls and I was about to deflate them like Tom Brady at a Super Bowl. I quickly checked the area, scanning for other spiders, just in case this was a diversion and they were planning to mount a sneak attack from another direction. You just can't trust those sneaky fuckers. Nothing. It was just him and me, mano a mano. I smiled, reached into my pocket and pulled out my lighter. This battle was going to be up close and personal. 

I took a step toward my opponent and flicked my Bic, A small jet of flame shot out and hit the spider head on. Death came quickly. One little sucker punch and my opponent was soundly defeated. The carcass fell onto the deck where I promptly stepped on it. #byefelicia

I immediately decided to go after the larger Yellow Sac Spider on the front deck and I set off upon my quest. An extensive and exhaustive search of the front deck failed to yield any clues as to the whereabouts of the spider. He had completely disappeared and I'm convinced that he's hiding somewhere in the house, biding his time and waiting for a chance to kill me. I must remain vigilant.

For now, there seems to be an uneasy truce, but the war could flare up again at any minute. I'm ready, I'm waiting. Bring it, bitches!

Some Interesting Things That I Learned While Researching Spiders For This Story

 Men keep the world safe from the spider menace.

You can keep spiders away by spraying peppermint oil around your house.

The truth about Spiderman.

The truth about the itsy bitsy spider.

A little something for you to think about...

Fuck that. I'm buying surface to air missiles.

Before you go to sleep tonight, I want you to think about this story and what you would do if you woke up in the middle of the night to find a spider in bed with you. Sweet dreams.

Thanks for stopping by. I hope you had fun.

If you enjoyed reading this story, please give this one a chance:

If the Shoe Fits

You can also read more about my friend Luke, here:

They Call It Mellow Yellow

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