Summer's an awesome time of year here on the Great Plains, you get thunderstorms and things are green for like three weeks. But the bane of my existence rears its ugly head this time of year: spiders.
I'm not a lumberjack or anything, but I do consider myself fairly manly in general. Reasonably so. But put a spider near me, and I am a little girl. There's the initial shriek of recognition and terror all wrapped in one, and then my mind jumps to ways to contain the situation. Typically containing the situation involves calling for help, but four years at college battling the eight-legged menace has taught me more self-reliance in general. I have my trusty golf club at the ready, my own personal 4-iron exercise of the Second Amendment. I have bug spray in my room (the difference between bug spray and spider spray is minimal-neither can really kill spiders, they just drive them away). You're not supposed to spray it indoors, but I'll take cancer over icky things in my bedroom any day of the week. I have a copy of von Mises' "The Causes of the Economic Crisis" I've been rereading that happens to be excellent at smashing spiders dangling on webs between its pages.
So after that initial girly squeal of Lovecraftian terror, I assemble my wits and think up a plan. This is usually the quick part-a plan is never more complex than "spray and then bludgeon to death"-then the long wait sets in before I muster up the courage to actually do it. I stare the spider in its multifaceted, tiny eyes, its very existence a challenge to my being. There is no room in this bedroom for both of us, I keep reminding myself. Thoughts, nagging, evil thoughts, go through my mind-what happens if I miss?-that don't help my final strike but only serve to delay it. The spider, heaving Dow chemicals through its book lungs and not yet aware that the bipedal ape in the vicinity has discovered its very excellent hiding place, continues in its thoughts of wreaking havok and destruction on innocent humans everywhere.
And then down it comes. Maybe it's von Mises, striking yet another blow for the freedom of humankind. Maybe it's the 4-iron, that has felled many a spider, both great and small, in its day. Maybe it's a shoe or a newspaper. But down it comes, over and over, until it's not just not moving, but in several jellied parts, an avatar of devastation and a message for arachnids everywhere.
God I hate spiders.
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Libertarian Party wants open health care negotiations
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WASHINGTON - The Libertarian Party (LP) calls on President Obama to not
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