So I get home from seeing Wall Street after a long day at work. Stroll into my room to throw on a sweater and kick off the heels. Fast forward 5 seconds to me turning around to find a spider on my wall.
Retraction: A FREAKING TARANTULA
Let's take a few steps to the future. Roommate is home. We're armed with a cutting board, closed toe shoes on our feetsies and the slight verge of peeing our pants. The little bag of douche scurries across the room into my closet. This is where we decide the cutting board is no match for this battle and step up our game with Febreze. Tarantulas are apparently immune to that shit. Next step as he burrows in a shirt on the closet floor: RAID. It's organic and for flying creatures but I figure it's at least got to slow him down. I'll spare the rest of the 15 minute saga involving a minor freakout, laugh attack, sandal, hanger and flashlight but you can all rest assured that the little son of a bitch is dead. You're welcome, society.