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I have to get rid of an earworm. You can thank me for the nightmares later.

Chocolate Rain

It's in my brain, that chocolate rain
That chocolate rain gives me brain pain
I can't explain that chocolate rain
That chocolate rain is like a train
A brain drain train is that chocolate rain.


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And if THAT didn't give you nightmares, perhaps this will:

Where do meaty black spiders the size of silver dollars come from? And no, I don't want to hear you say "from their Mommies and Daddies."

I wonder this because there was one in my house yesterday, spidering across the floor in a very threatening way, and as a result of said spidering I was pressed into the difficult position of having to play God.

It was time to smite, y'all.

Despite the high squick factor, I smote with the powerful hand of deadly fate, armed with a can of Lysol. Sadly, the besmiting (besmoting?) wasn't as quick and easy as I thought it would be, for the meaty black undoubtedly venomous and therefore highly dangerous arachnid refused to give up by simple drowning in a liberally applied country rain-scented antibacterial fog, oh no. It crawled back toward whence it came, and to prevent it from getting into my bedroom (eek!) I needed to go all Tracy Lynn on it and get out the Tablespoon of Smashage (there was no time to go get to the tool shed, or it surely would have been "Hammertime"!). The end result of the spoonage was that a damp country-rain-scented hail of arthropod parts bedecked my kitchen floor after one mightly blow, which admittedly is very gross, but happily is way easier to clean up than a live-and-kicking meaty black formerly fully integrated spider is.

Being as how I'm not great fan of spiders (could you guess?), I'm now extraordinarily curious as to how something big enough to be seen out the corner of my eye, something so big that even the cat would not go near it, something so big that I'm sure even that most masculine of manly men would pause for a moment to reflect on their personal safety before going in for the kill, could get into my house. It was not invited, and should have stayed outside.

Gives me the wiggling jibblies just thinking about it. Therefore, I'm keeping the spoon close at hand for any possible repeat action, and keeping my eyes peeled for any further offenders. Death awaits you, spiders! You have been warned!

(FYI: overuse of adverbs in this post brought to you by the anti-Twain society)