Bonus insect story: Spiders

I never, ever had a problem with spiders. I mean, I still don't really, but I never did before, either.

So my ex was coming to pick up her stuff. It was a pretty nasty split, so the night before, I was putting it all in one place in the kitchen to expedite the process.

I was keeping most of her stuff in the basement, because that's where I put your stuff when you break my heart. You don't get a nice warm attic, you get the dungeon. Anyways. I was bringing up an air mattress, all rolled up and in it's bag, when it happened.

I guess the jostling from my walking up the stairs had awakened them. I started to feel tickling on my arms and stuff. . I looked down, completely unprepared for the nightmarish hell I was about to be engulfed in.

Spiders. probably not hundreds, but TENS OF SPIDERS. All over me. So I did what anyone would do in that situation.

I screamed like a girl, SPIDERS! SPIIIIIDERS! AHHH!! Then I ran around flailing my arms and slapping myself any time I felt something that was remotely a tickle. I quickly realized I'd have better luck rolling, so I hit the floor, and started rolling around, slapping myself and still screaming SPIDERS! the whole time.

I eventually killed them all, but that was one of the more traumatizing events I can remember.
Thanks Ed, for the picture.

And then there were bees

With the OVERWHELMING MAJORITY of the votes from the last entry desperate for another childhood memory from my awkward days, I thought I would tell you two short stories about bees. "But Josh, bees aren't very entertaining, and we don't particularly care to hear about them!"

Well they are, and by god you will.

I will always remember the day that my little brother and I were playing outside. We were in my neighbour's backyard, playing on a pile of logs, like we always did. For the record, we had been there a lot longer than the bees, so I was surprised and confused when my brother ran away full tilt, screaming and crying.

I just realized now, as I was typing this, that you abandoned me, you asshole. You left me to die at the little scheming hands of the bees.

Fortunately, the bees liked him a lot more. Shortly after he ran, I felt a terrible stinging in the back of my leg, and suddenly I understood. It was time to fly.

My limbs burst into motion, awkwardly but speedily carrying me from the log pile to my mothers back door, where my brother had arrived just moments before.

My mother said that she opened the door, and hardly recognized us, as we were covered head to toe in little black and yellow assholes. Or something like that.

Realistically, she probably screamed something incoherent, and told us off for trying to get her killed. Oh yeah, my mom is allergic to bees. I mean, drop down dead allergic. So what does she do?

She hulks out on those assholes. She busts out the dish towel, and starts whipping them off our body like a kitchen-cloth sniper.

Anyways, we had to go to the hospital. Thankfully, she wasn't stung. My brother was stung 76 times, I was sting three or four times. I was pretty upset.

And that is why you don't assume that just because there wasn't bees there before, there won't be bees there now. Check everything. Your bed, the toilet, refrigerator. . . you can never be too careful.

Thanks ed, for the picture

---

That also reminds me of the time my mom sent us both out to stack wood. There was a cloud of bees about ten feet off the ground, it was a literal buzzing ceiling of rage and stingers.

So we ran inside, screaming that the air was alive with pain or something. She didn't believe us, and sent us back outside. She thought we were just trying to get out of doing wood.

Eventually, she listened to our frenzied screams of terror. When she saw the horde of flying death, she did what anyone would do.

She called several neighbours over with their shotguns. Turns out there was a gigantic hive up in a tree, easily visible from the deck. I mean giant. Bigger than a basketball.

Standing inside, and watching several grown men just blast the fuck out of that thing with their boomsticks, all the while standing there being stung, calmly lining up their next shot to take out this invading menace. .

That is the stuff of legends. They should make it into a movie.

Well, what?

What do you write about when you haven't been doing anything exciting? When I spend most of my nights either at work, or relaxing and playing games/watching movies, I tend not to get into ridiculous situations. Should I tell you random stories about my childhood? Or do I write about crazy drunken adventures? Maybe something sentimental.

Or about people who piss me off when they drive after a blizzard, and didn't clean off ANY of their windows, even only half of the windshield. Of course you almost merged into me, you didn't clean off your windows, you half-wit fuck-monkey.

Anyways, I've got good stories lined up for each of those previously mentioned situations. Let me know in the comments which one you want next.

I have been lazy

All week. And weekend. I'll update soon, if you stop staring at me so disapprovingly. You know I can't stand it when you look at me like that. All sad and forlorn. It hurts.

You might think i don't care. I pretend that I don't, and laugh it off. But when you look at me all expectantly like that, I feel like I'm letting you down. And I guess I sort of am. I mean, you come here for entertainment. Or because I made you, but I'd prefer to think that you did it for your own enjoyment. And you show up, eyes agleam, hoping for a new post or awesome steak-based rap battle. And when you realize that it's not there. . you get that look. That look of slight hurt covered with bitter disappointment.

Just quit it.

Kirsten? Kristen? Who cares?

Ok I just woke up. I know it's one o'clock, stop judging me. I want to write this dream out while I still remember it.

Well. Somehow I was forced into going to a presentation of some sort for Kristen Stewart, the chick who was in the twilight movies. In my dream, she had written the books.. I don't know if that's actually her name, or if it's spelled correctly, nor do I care. Clearly accuracy wasn't a key point here.

I told her her books were terrible, poorly written and had the shallowest, lazily developed characters I'd ever seen put on a piece of paper. She found my charm impossible to resist and asked me out to lunch. Being hungry, I said yes.

Big mistake. Not only was this dream person a complete vacuum of interest or personality (hereafter referred too as VP), she also somehow brought with her the fucking apocalypse. No sooner had I started to eat something (Previously, a key point in this twisted mental theatrical display was that I hadn't eaten in a really long time, and it was getting pretty important that I did. There is literally no other reason I would have agreed to this, except to continue to tell her how awful those books were.)

Right. I had just taken my first bite, and suddenly there's a creepy-ass face staring at me through the window. Well, I point out the creepy ass face, and probably say something condescending because I'm an asshole, and that face was decidedly creepy. So the face throws up blood all over the window. I still wanted to eat, but miss Vacuous Personality decided that we had to flee for our lives. Delicious Reuben, I never knew what came of thee.

So, fleeing for our lives down the street. Everyone in running in one direction, traffic is completely stuck, as you would expect. So what does VP do? STEALS US A VAN. IN GRIDLOCK.

I'm trying to explain the merits of foot travel over vehicle, presenting a great case for the Kyoto Accord, when suddenly traffic and foot travel is fleeing in the opposite direction.

Well ok, I guess we can drive away now.

So we begin to flee in the least gas efficient vehicle around. We are just getting to the point where all the excitement has worn off and now I'm stuck in a van with a person who has all the personality and conversational skills as a cardboard cut-out of Governor Schwarzenegger. Probably less, because those at least look cool.

Apparently, unbeknown to the both of us, the van was already full of occupants! And not just any occupants, televised stereotypical ones! Charlie and Allen's mother from Two and a Half Men! Drunk on wine, even! The very large Indian fellow from One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest! A fat, balding Danny Devito! (Who would inexplicably vanish) And a little girl, who would end up being the key to save us all.

So, we make a pit stop. Not somewhere useful like a grocery store, gas station, or munitions dump, oh no. We stop at an auditorium. At this point, I don't know if I'm more pissed at myself for dreaming this mess, or VP for being the worst driver (and dream plot device) I've ever known.

So, we've made the wise choice to venture into the auditorium.

I would like to point out that we're still unarmed, there are not only zombies and vampires, but piles of other monsters as well.

Back to the auditorium. I bet the anticipation is killing you. What could be in this amphitheater that was so important as to risk our very lives in it's pursuit?

Who's line is it anyway. That's right. VP found a chest of props, and jumped around on stage performing one-person improv.

Cleverly, the rest of us had decided to sit as far away as possible. Not so clever, in retrospect, was our decision to put out backs up against a giant curtain. Poor old drunk lady stereotype never saw it comin.

Something awful, some horrible creature from the nether planes, reached out, and tried to pull her back in. She freaked out, understandably, so said large creature just found it easier to TEAR HER IN TWO PIECES.

As if this wasn't terrible enough, a large group of Cannibals came out of nowhere, presumably attracted to the scent of wine and blood. Oh, and unlike us, they had thought ahead and brought guns. Lots of guns.

Fortunately, they aim like stormtroopers and we make it to a hallway. Large Indian man says something like "We have to go back for her body! We can't let them just eat her legs! (I guess the demon got the top half after all).

So he turns around, and immediately, someone shotguns him. Great. Thanks, L.I.M.

VP and I manage to get outside. This is where the prophecy of the little girl who will save us all comes into play.

She has tamed a dragon. That's right. A big, raging, bad-ass pile of teeth, claws and fiery breath. It was also gold, so that was neat.

Prophecy Girl and Big Gold Dragon make short work of the nasties, and give me a lift back to where we started so I can get my car and go home. Apparently she had cleansed the town of the impure in the meantime as well. At no point through any of this did it occur to me that Danny Devito had been left behind at the murder-theater.

So I get home. I unpack my things, and me being me, bust out my laptop. Thing. Is. A. Mess.

I mean, I just went through hell and back for no reason, and I remained perfectly unscathed. Even VP, despite her complete lack of anything resembling cognitive functioning (and yet she still drove? wtf?) had made it out without a scratch.

Everything I owned though? Blasted to pieces despite being safe and not moving at all. Well, alright.

Shortly after that I woke up. I'm a little disappointed that there was no proper conclusion, since that dream was WACKY.

I'll leave you to ruminate on this one, with one piece of advice.
Don't eat hot mustard and garlic balogna right before you fall asleep.

When Steak Gets EPIC

 On a regular Tuesday, in a regular Tuesdoral conversation, a rap battle emerges. Very slight editing. I mean, I'm too lazy to even remove the timestamps. But yeah, I did cut out the beginning of the conversation. And kind of paragraphed for reading  Also, I'm posting that shit without John-Allan's consent. So when this goes bad, I fully expect everyone to contribute to the Josh Francis Legal Defense Fund!


10:09:02 PM John-Allan: IF I WANTED TO BE MADE FUN OF I COULD HAVE GONE STAYED IN THE SUBWAY STATION
10:09:39 PM John-Allan: gone stayed.
10:09:42 PM John-Allan: sticking by that.
10:09:57 PM Josh -  : Have you ever been made fun of in the subway station?
10:10:10 PM John-Allan: We're touching on some painful ground here, man
10:10:12 PM John-Allan: Nah, nope.
10:10:20 PM Josh -  :  I was going to say
10:10:21 PM John-Allan: I'm lord of that place and everyone knows it
10:10:30 PM Josh -  : J.A, LORD OF THE SUBWAYS

10:12:51 PM John-Allan: NAME'S JOHN-ALLAN, I'M LORD OF THE SUBWAYS
CRAZY PUNCTUAL ARRIVE REGULAR LIKE MONDAYS
ALWAYS GOT TRANSFERS AND SCHEDULES ON THE BRAIN
SUBWAY'S MY HOME AND NOT THE FAST FOOD CHAIN

10:13:15 PM Josh -  : Did you just make that up now
10:13:21 PM John-Allan: certainly
10:13:39 PM John-Allan: I'm more than just a pretty face you know
10:13:41 PM Josh -  : You're a goddamn lyricist.
10:14:09 PM John-Allan: You're quick to a rhyme yourself
10:15:06 PM Josh -  : I'm decently in time . . yourself
10:15:06 PM Josh -  : FUCK

10:15:16 PM John-Allan: It's OK, there was pressure
10:16:00 PM Josh -  : All the same, I'm no stresser.
10:18:09 PM John-Allan: Go into the *** and take the other wait-staff down a peg by issuing fine rhymes from your lips for tips while fine wines are sipped getting the clientele ripped
10:18:45 PM Josh -  : Said clientele best not get ill sippin on them fine wines while I waste my time with rhyme
10:20:57 PM John-Allan: if they not be tippin' rough em up out back to show em' they be trippin', bind them up with ribbon, ignore their last wish and serve them up with rice as tuesday's special dish

10:21:51 PM Josh -  : If they think they're walkin, I'm gonna be blockin, they tip low, gonna be a shit show. I'm here to earn, baby pay up or burn

10:23:53 PM John-Allan: if they don't learn they'll wind up in an urn (in my trophy room), you'd have thought this was an Italian joint because we're like bada bing, bada boom.

10:26:23 PM Josh -  : Servin spaghetti? Better get ready. We serve meat, we kings bring the heat. Pasta's for bitches, low-life's and snitches

10:27:35 PM John-Allan: keep it up we'll have you in stitches, not because we joke, rather because we choke, the ribs we smoke, and your ribs be broke.

10:28:58 PM Josh -  : Flame grilled to perfection, seat yourself in my section. I won't accept a deflection, low tips mean ejection.
10:29:06 PM Josh -  : BITCH-ASS

10:31:56 PM John-Allan: check out our fine selection of steak, take no rejection, your direction is encouraged don't be discouraged, for your protection we take care, whether its well, medium, or rare
10:32:00 PM John-Allan: WHORE-BUTT

10:34:21 PM Josh -  : You best take care, and try not to stare, I make this look good, but I'm straight from the hood. Bringin' steaks to the table, best believe I'm able. Leavin' your family in tears, the answer to your prayers.
10:34:33 PM Josh -  : BYAH

10:36:40 PM John-Allan: Servin' straight up to premiers and mayors, the taste bouquet is complex in many layers, like the rhymes I'm servin' up off the dome to your face, so messy you'll need a comb, a disgrace.

10:40:04 PM Josh -  : I'm bringin your food, tryin to set the mood. I'm the king of this place, your waiter. You're just a hatiator. (hatiator = someone who radiates hate, a new word). You can fume till it hurts, don't skip the desserts. Drive that bill up higher, every cent will inspire, the higher the total the higher the tip, when you get the bill, try not to flip.

10:43:48 PM John-Allan: only thing be flippin' is the burgers we present, and the wings you be dippin', carnivism we represent (carnivism = short for carnivorism, a new word.)  Take your salad to the street, we're about the red meat and the white meat if you need a light treat, the chicken wing, thigh, and breast,  the rest is in the soup, it's a family restaurant bring a group.

10:48:05 PM Josh -  : I might still be new, but I tend not to skew. Don't order your steak blue, there's a chance you might spew. You gotta cook it up right, medium rare's real tight. Nicely grilled to perfection, a true flavor injection. If you're displeased, tell me, you'll be appeased. Josh Francis doesn't do wrong, he won't string you along. You don't like it? Go eat EGG FOO YONG
10:48:06 PM Josh -  : OOOOOOOOH

10:53:14 PM John-Allan: Not only a waiter but also a master debater, a fly-rhyme radiator, space-time aviator because his lyrics bend the fabric of reality affecting your mealtime mentality, you didn't know there was so much to restaurant morality, only thinking about the calorie and if the desserts fit your salary, you came for peace of mind but when you said you wanted a club you didn't SAY WHICH KIND
10:53:34 PM John-Allan: AAAAAAAAAAAAAH
10:53:56 PM Josh -  : WHITE OR BROWN BREAD BITCH

10:54:05 PM John-Allan: I might be rhymed out...
10:54:16 PM John-Allan: worn out like my tile grout...
10:54:20 PM John-Allan: ruh roh
10:54:25 PM Josh -  : Even flow.
10:54:33 PM John-Allan: I might have to go
10:54:39 PM John-Allan: class in the mo'
10:54:47 PM Josh -  : Say it ain't so. That shit is low.
10:55:01 PM John-Allan: work tomorrow, sorry if that spurred sorrow
10:55:28 PM John-Allan: I think that was, all in all, a pretty decent lyrical volley
10:55:32 PM Josh -  : Gotta make cash, Salve that rash (of bills)
10:55:34 PM Josh -  : Yeah seriously
10:58:52 PM John-Allan: acting deliriously
10:58:57 PM Josh -  : We should consider careers in the rap industry
10:59:06 PM Josh -  : We're throwin' rhymes furiously
10:59:16 PM Josh -  : I look at the situation curiously
10:59:34 PM Josh -  : Wonderin why we aren't pursuing this legitimate career path-uriously
11:00:03 PM John-Allan: It's an option like adoption
11:00:17 PM Josh -  : cause we're straight out of compton
11:00:39 PM John-Allan: It seems to be a high-paying profession, thousands made each session
11:00:44 PM John-Allan: dear god this has to stop

And shortly thereafter, it did. The End