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AARRRRGHHH HUNTSMEN!!!!
Huntsmen deserve to die. All of them. Right now. So do their dodgy, supercharged Wolf Spider cousins.
Have you ever heard the little clicking sound their feet make when they walk across a stainless steel sink in the night when everything else is quiet?
Have you ever been takin' a whizz against a tree and had one appear from under the bark?
Have you ever come home (not un-refreshed) in the small hours and in a short sighted, alcohol-contributed, phobic rage beaten your car keys to death with a rolled up newspaper thinking they were a huntsman?
Have you ever seen their eight metallic eyes reflect back at you while you're weged in under the shelf in the shed with a torch looking for something you'd dropped?
I have. All of the above. And more.
Orb weavers are cool. They don't chase you across the room and rip your arms off and whap you with them. They stay put.
It's my problem. I know - and I deal with it... Usually in a battle to the death, me armed with a broom and a can of Baygon - spidey armed with a whole bunch more legs and eyes than I've got.
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