Mr. Wriggles

I have a new friend/enemy. His name is Mr. Wriggles. Mr. Wriggles and I have a very odd relationship. You see, Mr. Wriggles is a small, black spider. I have superior reason to believe that Mr. Wriggles will not die. For you see, I have seen Mr. Wriggles four times. I have squished him twice. And yet, Mr. Wriggles continues to return to my line of vision every day. An odd relationship indeed. Mr. Wriggles even travels with me. Today as my mother and I left our house, I saw Mr. Wriggles perched on the bottom right corner of the windshield. And Mr. Wriggles stayed there, before I tapped the glass and he retreated to the inner depths of my mother's automobile. Since then, I have failed to see Mr. Wriggles. But I have no doubt in my mind that he will not cease to visit me again. As a matter of fact, I do believe I have seen two of Mr. Wriggles' cousins today. One just a matter of minutes ago, the other early today around 1.30.

The one I just experienced I shall call Ralph Jr. Ralph Jr was an extremely small, tan spider. Ralph Jr decided to dangle himself right in front of my face as I instant messaged David. At this I let out an 'eep' and typed 'OMGG' into the text box. I then swiftly grabbed a spare sheet of paper, folded it around Ralph Jr, and disposed of him in the garbage bin. Such a short, short life for Ralph Jr.

The other black spider, whom I shall call Big O, was caught in the skimmer basket of my pool earlier today. Ooh, Big O, how you scared me. With a body the size of a peanut shell and legs as furry as my uncles, how could one not be scared? And of course I didn't want to reach my hand in there, for I knew Big O was still alive, even underwater, for I had had a similar experience just a few days ago. But that story shall be saved for a little longer. I forced my mother to empty the skimmer basket, for I would not even travel within a five foot radius of Big O, as childish as that sounds. But if you would have seen the size of Big O, I doubt you'd be very eager to rush up to him and share a chit chat either. But alas, my mother did not kill him. Big O is out there, waiting for the right moment to strike again.

Ah, yes; the other story. A couple of days ago, I emptied the skimmer basket for my Mother. And of course, there was another particularly large spider. But this one was a sandy colour, and not nearly as fat as Big O. And I suppose if I had to name him, I would name his Smittion. I grabbed that skimmer basket [wearing my mother's pink rubber gloves, of course] and pulled it out. Luckily, Smittion was moving slowly. I dumped the basket on the ground and waited for Smittion to come out, a chunk of wood at the ready in my hand. There was no way in high heaven that I would crush such a giant spider such as himself with my flip-flop wearing foot. To know that one inch below my foot, Smittion's guts and now lifeless limbs were being pulverized and smashed? That would be a nightmare. No of course, once Smittion came out, I dropped the piece of wood, and boom. Bye bye Smittion. Of course I felt a little bad. No one likes to kill things. But I was being naive, and shouted, "What?! WHAT?!?!" at the dead corpse of Smittion. I was feeling powerful that I had slayn such a gruseome Beast. Well, Beastling. If I had killed a tarantula, ohh, that would be a Beast. If I had done that, I would have promptly wrapped myself in tin foil and galloped around on a broom with a plastic sword. All the while chanting, "I have slayn the dragon! 'Tis a safe world once more!" But of course, everyone knows that the world will never be completely safe.

Did you know that in a regular situation, one is never more than three yards from a spider?

Yes, I was scared too. Ah, but Mr. Wriggles, the thought of you will never die. You small, spider. Only the size of a small peanut, and with a midnight blackness and two white spots on your tiny little head. Your appearance would remind one of a black fluff ball, you were so small and bunched-up. You always took things on that were far larger than yourself. You would raise those two front legs of yours and refuse to let your opponent get behind you. Your opponent in this case, a stick. a stick that was thich enough to fit three of you in the end. But you took it on, Mr. Wriggles. And you get props for that, my friend and best enemy. The next time I kill you, Mr. Wriggles, I shall say, "Mr. Wriggles, I'm afraid I must kill you again."


Ooh, look. There he is.

Excuse me.

Mr. Wriggles, I'm afraid I must kill you again.