Bob the Spider (Long but very funny)
I don't know how to contact the author of this piece but, he used to post in usenet. I don't think he'd mind it being reposted here, as there is no identifying information, except for Bob, of course. I suspect he's dead anyway, and I doubt his relatives will claim royalties, for fear of being exposed as having a coke fiend ancestor:
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' ':!:' :lol::lol: :lol: :lol: ':!:' '
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One night (or was it morning, such trivial distinctions), after a
particularly long stint with some of Columbia's finest, I found myself
mining, er, uh, inspecting, yeah, inspecting, the carpeted nether
regions of my room for anything which seemed out of place (i.e. not in
my pleural tissues).
As I crept and crawled my way into oblivion, I suddenly became aware of
a distinct arachnid presence, not more than inches away from my clenched
body. I was in a rather frazzled mood to begin with, and becoming
startled by the spider didn't help.
After I regained my composure (it's amazing what one can accomplish when
there work to perform towards a definite, even if not one hundred
percent guarrantied goal), I decided to refer to said spider by what I
intuitively felt to be his name.
His name is Bob, and he is one of the typical spiders which I find at
random intervals throughout my house, no doubt descended from a long
line of his relatives, who have undoubtedly inhabited this domicile I
call my home for a much longer time than I may ever truly realize. He
is not the largest spider I have found in my home, neither is he the
most agitated, nor may I say, agitating. His body is about a quarter
inch (5mm) in diameter, and with his legs out, perhaps about an inch
across. He is fuzzy, with hairy legs, and a nice tannish series of
markings on his back. A working spider.
On a personal note, I really have the heebie-jeebies when it comes to
spiders. I don't really hate them, per se, but they are fast, somewhat
unpredictable (until you get to know them), hairy, capable of inflicting
pain into my fleshy mass, and that whole eight legs thing kind of gives
me the creeps. This is not to say that I am cruel to my arachnid
brethren; conversely, I usually make an urgent, if not frantic effort to
escort them outside of my quarters, often at least to an undisclosed
location at least several houses away down the street. It is important
to have good spider karma.
Back to my story. Several fun filled days later, I found myself in much
the same situation as I sound myself at the beginning of this quip,
namely, intently scouring a corner of my room looking for "the one that
got away," whereupon I noticed an intricate mass of webbing neatly
adhering itself in the junction of two walls.
I had found Bob's home.
In much the same way in which I would respond if I found a large
irrational creature poised intently outside of my home, Bob presented
himself at his threshold, evaluated the immediate situation, and then
quickly retreated into the relative safety of his web. Realizing that
we perhaps felt the same way towards each other, I gave salutations
towards Bob, and in a soft, unassuming voice, reassured him that I
accepted his presence and therefore presented no danger towards either
him or his family, should he decide to start one.
As you can no doubt assume at this point, I as rather wont towards
anthropomorphism in those critters with whom I share a common
surrounding. It is, as with most all things really, all in my head.
But then it got weird, in a manifest way.
Cut to several days later, whereupon you may find me at my desk, busily
enjoying a nicely sized stash procured the previous day (and not to run
out for another 48 hours).
As I sit mesmerized with the patterns developing on my computer screen
(courtesy of <
http://www.noah.org/acidwarp/>; if you like to see
things, you will like this), I once again become intimately aware of a
spider which has sat down beside me.
It was Bob, of course. Same size, same markings, same Bob, through and
through.
At first, I almost felt a bit startled, but something about the
situation seemed somehow appropriate. After all, we had encountered
each other before, and I had been up close and personal with his
favorite haunt as well.
My first reaction to this situation was to blow a quick breath in Bob's
general direction, and encourage him to scurry away, but I did not do
this.
"Hey, Bob, what's up, man? You checking me out, dude? Gonna hang with
old Rodg for a while?"
I felt I had found a new friend, and, as friends often do, discovered
that Bob had seemingly taken it upon himself to share in my hobby.
BOB WAS SITTING RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF MY STASH!!!!!
I couldn't believe it! Now, while I have had my share of hallucispiders
(c) before, this was real, man. Fucking orgasm during sex without a
condomn style real.
I sat there, looking at Bob for quite a while (20- 30 minutes, at
least). During this time, he was deathly still, to the point where I
must admit I did get a bit worried. Had I caused the demise of my newly
found friend? I hoped not.
As time had elapsed since my initial awareness of Bob's presence, I felt
the need to pay my dues towards the keep away from Mr. Jones game that
all of us rock hounds inevitably play. While I held in my butter, I
realized that perhaps it would be good of me to share my ingestion with
Bob, and I could evaluate his living status at the same time.
I gently, lovingly, and with the desire not to startle my good amigo
exhaled my plume onto Bob, letting the fullness of my joy descend upon
his arachnid form.
Bob lifted himself up, then lowered himself back down. Up, down. Up,
down, like some type of spider workout at the late night gym. He turned
to face me, then turned ALL THE WAY AROUND, then resumed his previous
position at my stash.
It was undoubtedly one of the weirdest things I have ever experienced in
my sequence this time here on earth. I actually felt that I had made a
connection between myself and a form of life which, for all rights, I
should never be able to make a connection with. I mean, Bob is a
spider, instinctual and predatory, based upon the most basic of
reactions to his world, and here he is, seemingly getting off on me and
my dope!
Anyway, to make a long story short, I went back to gazing into my
monitor, and the next time that I looked, Bob had vacated my stash,
probably having gone home to sleep it off.
While I have undoubtedly attempted to relate this story in a rather
fantastical way, it is the God's honest truth. Only my name was changed
to protect my innocence. This really happened, and occurred sometime
during the second week of November 1999. Several times since then I
have found my rock pile to be somewhat less than I had remembered it,
and I intuitively call out to Bob, querying him as to whether or not it
was he who raided my stash.
He never says a word in response, though.