A nightmare

So I had this nightmare…

I was driving home from work and had just gotten onto I-85 from Spring Street. I noticed a tiny-tiny-tiny spider on my left arm. I looked at it casually and flicked it away, focusing primarily on merging with northbound traffic. A couple of minutes later, I noticed another tiny-tiny-tiny spider on my left arm. I sneered menacingly at the little arachno-terrorist and flicked it away, nonchalantly listening to the talking bubble-heads on the radio and wondering what Bravo was chewing on at that particular moment. Just a few minutes later, I looked over at my left arm and there were two little tiny-tiny-tiny spiders sitting on my left arm, obviously talking about the upcoming election and how the little democratic bitches were going to vote for their messiah Obama, who is well known to be the Spider-God, although he earned this title by tricking 53% of the non-arachnid voters into believing he was actually black. Again, I callously flicked them away, showing my inherent Republican contempt for the poor. And things with eight legs. But mostly the poor. At least that’s what democrats say. As I flicked them away, it dawned on me…

With a cold chill running down my spine, my breathing becoming shallow and sporadic and my heart rate racing, I look up…

There she is, eight lifeless, cold and murderous eyes looking down on me…

A huge gray and black Southern Wolf Spider (I could tell by the accent, and her t-shirt had a BBQ stain on it) with enough tiny-tiny-tiny baby spiders on her back to pay off the national debt. I puffed out my chest, remembering my former glory as an Army Ranger, that most-perfect of warriors, that which instills fear into the dark hearts of those who would oppress the masses and deny them the liberty inherent in all peoples, and did the only thing one as well-trained as I in the arts of combat could possibly do…

I screamed like a little girl.

Swerving like a drunk driver on a Saturday night, I finally pulled over to the shoulder of the road, got out of the car and beat that murderous, vicious bitch to death with a rather stylist Tote’s umbrella given to me by my late uncle. That’s my uncle by marriage, by the way, not my uncle by blood. He got ran over by a train, so I assumed with that level of thinking, he never thought to prepare himself for a rainy day. Just conjecture, back to the story…

I finally send her to her dark and ominous master who lays in wait behind dreams to ensnare us all into her web. She did not go into the netherworld without a fight, but I finally cleaned out my car of all one hundred million of the little bastards. 

And then I woke up.

NO. I DIDN’T WAKE UP. THIS ACTUALLY FUCKING HAPPENED ON THE DRIVE HOME FROM WORK! WHAT THE FUCK?!?

Damn. I can’t stop itching. Why does my life suck?

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