Big-assed motherfucking spider!

I wish I'd taken a photo, but I was too busy screeching for my husband to come "kill the big-assed motherfucking spider!"

Yes, charming language, I know. I'm sure to get a call any day now from Miss Peanut's kindergarten teacher, telling me that Miss Peanut is in trouble for asking for a big-assed motherfucking helping of snack. Fucking sue me, alright? I was freaked.

And back off right now about me calling for the WCM to kill the thing. I don't kill bugs - that's one of the reasons I got married: so I could have my own Big Strong Man TM to kill bugs for me. Bless him, he came to kill it for me. After chiding me for my language (erm, the pot is now calling the kettle black...), he proceeded to chide me for wanting to kill a spider - after all, they eat the harmful bugs. After getting an eyeful of my friend nemesis, he said "Oooh, he is big. I'll suck him up in the ShopVac."

So now, my house is blissfully free - as far as I know - of my big-assed motherfucking nemesis, and I can sleep easy. And the first person to quote me the urban legend about the average person swallowing an average of 8 spiders in their sleep during their lifetimes is getting a big-assed motherfucking kick in the arse.