This Means War

I'm getting my car all fixed up this weekend. That's the exciting news right now. It needs a bath and a good vacuuming, perhaps some Febreze and Armoral, and maybe some fresh tape over one of the right side headlights to keep it from dangling by its wires.
I have a couple of creepy looking spiders living in the left side-view mirror. Every now and then one will sneak into the car through the cracked widow while I smoke, and it will drop down from the ceiling and hang in front of my face while I drive. This usually sends me into full blown panic attacks involving slamming on my breaks in moving traffic, dropping a lit cigarette on the floor and then trying to figure out if it's more important to prevent my car from catching on fire or rummage through the glove compartment for spider squashing napkins.
A couple of days ago I was sitting at a stop light, just finished a cigarette, and felt a tickly feeling on my left arm. As I turned my head, my nose pushed against a strand of spider web and I proceeded to FREAK OUT. I slapped my arm before even looking to see if there was a spider on it and felt the spider ball up. I swatted it off my arm, looked around to see where it fell, and then when I couldn't find it I shook and jerked around for about ten seconds before I noticed a little kid starring at me from the truck parked beside my car.
These spiders are seriously fucking with me.
I should also mention that I'm pretty sure one crawled up my leg and bit me in a very sensitive area, if you know what I mean. Yeah, it itches. And this spot isn't exactly an appropriate area to scratch outside the privacy of my home.
So this weekend, I'm heading to Target to pick up a giant can of spider killer spray and I'm going to spray the entire can into that mirror. And in case that isn't enough, I'm going to take my car to the car wash and aim the pressure washer right at the spaces in the mirror.
Revenge. It is sweet.


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