I used to come home from work most nights and find
my flatmate playing Quake 2 on the PC in my bedroom. As these were generally clan matches I would normally sit on my bed and roll a spliff for us to share until he had finished the match.

I had just assembled my materials on my lap when my spider sense tingled. Seconds later the largest house spider I have ever seen emerged from behind a shoe box. It looked directly at me and smelling my fear, waved its front legs menacingly in my direction.

My friend was not scared of spiders so, albeit feeling rather lady-like, I asked for his assistance. He gave the the response you would expect from a stoned Quake player; he ignored me. I asked again, this time with a more serious note in my voice. In return I got a nod and a mumbled "Just a sec..." *explosion* "Bastard!". He continued to play. The spider took a step (or eight) in my direction. Having recently read Dune I decided to use "the voice" on my friend. "Fucking help me or you'll never play Quake again!" I cried in high-pitched, panic-stricken tones. Something about the gay-ness in my voice made him turn around, eyes wide, and look at the floor.

"Holy-fucking-shit that's massive," he said in an I-might-actually-be-a-bit-more-afraid-of-spiders-than-I-let-on type of voice, "and do you know the worst thing? It's between me and the door."

As he lifted his legs up off the floor, the spider turned to face this new threat/prey. Realising this was possibly our only chance of survival, my paralised body was forced into action by my science fiction-addled brain. Remembering the final scene from Arachnophobia I grabbed my can of deodorant from my bedside, sparked my zippo into life and, ignoring the warnings, sprayed my 24 hour protection from wetness and odour directly onto the naked flame, unleashing hell in the direction of the arachnid menace.

The spider realised its mistake too late. It turned back to face me just as a flaming ball of high performance anti-perspirant deodorant ignited it and the carpet around it. In either a final effort to induce recurring nightmares in me or simply the confused panic of a burning insect it ran screaming* around the carpet with a trail of black smoke billowing behind it until finally it came to a slightly crispy stop near the chair my wide-eyed friend was perched upon.

Triumphantly I placed a glass over it (it was still smoking and I wasn't certain yet that it wasn't just stunned and steeling itself for a counter attack) and called my friend a poof while I casually stamped out a small carpet fire.

*Somebody was screaming, it could well have been the beast.
( Jay, Mon 6 Jun 2005, 15:08, Reply)