Saturday, May 10, 2008

 

The Spider Seller

A person who sells exotic spiders must be obese, with arms that can't lie flush against their side, as the triceps muscles are swollen pods of fat. And their eyes - the eyes of a spider seller would be flat flints, deep-set and round - just a little too small, begging the company of six more. And their hands would never be at rest, twitching, fidgeting, pulling and plucking at imaginary gossamer, and the mouth would be a lipless hole, set above a perfectly domed and very white and boneless chin. That is all.

Noreen

Comments:
dude thats kindnna wierd.
 
Noreen is not only right, but rather poetic too, especially with the bit about the chin.
 
Have you been on on the poitín again?
 
It is similar with the whoremonger.
 
And the seller of native, ordinary spiders? What of him, has he no template?
 
Noreen has realised she is becoming fat.

Her hands twitch, unable to stop posting shite, her bikini waxes never cease, hoping to cleanse herself of all bodily hair, and, of course, Freud is to blame.

Spiders, spiders, 8 legged, eye balls like glistening morning dew

See? Looking at your dad's cock has set you off.

Don't fucking start off on Nietzsche next will you...
 
Staghounds, no one sells native, ordinary spiders, do they. If you want a native, ordinary spider - go out and catch one. Have a look under your bed, or get up early and catch one spinning a web outside somewhere. They are like dead leaves - you can find them everywhere and to buy them would just be very fucking odd. I also think buying or selling exotic spiders is quite odd, but then I think keeping rodents is weird and loads of people do that. It's just being wacky - most people pay to get rid of spiders and rodents from their houses then these pet keeping freaks go around buying up slightly mutated versions of household pests and name them after singers.
Noreen
 
Noreen,
Spiders are interesting creatures, unto themselves. The only problem is,of course, if they join you in a bed they find it as an opportunity to dine. I've found, in the past, country living expands the dangers of meeting arachnids. It's always prudent to check the sheets before retiring. Too, a schphitz of insecticide about the room, now and then, can't hurt either. I'd rather they're balled-up, dead, somewhere, than being able to join me on my nightly drool.
---And who, in their right mind, goes about "selling" spiders?
 
My two-year-old daughter says spiders are her friends. I feel that my work here is done.
 
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