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Arachnophobia published on No Comments on Arachnophobia

So in case none of you have noticed, I have a thing about spiders. And by thing, I mean of course crippling and debilitating terror. I started 99 Ways to Spi as a way to convince myself that my fears are ridiculous, that there is no way possible that they are as terrifying in life as they are in my head. You know what happened? I MADE MY FEARS WORSE.

Seriously, spiders are now the ISIS of my life. The weather is turning cold and rainy and they come indoors and I see them and it’s like they’re slowly encircling the camp like natives surrounding the heroes in a bad adventure movie. “I don’t like it Thompson, it’s too quiet out there”. I feel like whatever I suspected them of was only the icing on the terror cake they bring to the table.

And suddenly my facebook feed is full of spiders. Giant spider on a broom. Jumping spider takes out the cameraman. New species of spider pretends to be a dried up leaf. A dried up leaf! And in my heart if not my head I know… I KNOW that if it can be a leaf, it can be my cell phone. And once I put it up to my ear it can burrow through my auditory canal to lay eggs in my brain and eat me from the inside, killing me and driving me mad simultaneously. Just like I know that if I wash a spider down the drain it will somehow find a way to merge it’s DNA with one of the mutant alligators that was flushed in NYC and their monstrous spawn will return for revenge.

This is why you don’t brush with the water running.


It would seem I would have better things to worry about, and I do. And it would seem these fears are silly, and they are. Nonetheless, spiders are terrifying and evil and harbingers of Cthulhu, but I won’t quit drawing them because I title promised 99 of these puppies and I love you, readers. Not going back on my words, I’m just playing through the pain.

Taking one for the team,


Introspection Dust Kitties

Introspection Dust Kitties published on No Comments on Introspection Dust Kitties

Those who know me best will not be surprised by the following confession:

I am not exactly a neat freak.

And now those who know me best can kindly stop laughing and shut up. I’m still trying to impress these other people over here. By impress I of course mean lie through my teeth to. There. Now I have a messy living room AND a dangling preposition. I’ve abused the truth, cleanliness and grammar.

Since I’m not really good at lying or grammatical malfeasance, I must admit I hate cleaning. I hate it. I REALLY hate it. If you give me a choice between coating my arm in albacore tuna then locking myself in a room with a group of catnipped up kitties who haven’t had their claws clipped since birth and had no scratching posts or doing the dishes, I would want to know how many cats. Because I don’t believe in committing to blanket generalizations. The point is the dishes bug me.

It's a Horror Show
Yes. This much.


So I have recently decided to step up my art game and to that end want to make my bedroom something of a dedicated studio space (which seems efficient and smart since I don’t believe in sleeping anyways).┬áThat means I have to clear it out. This is a triggering concept to me.

I start thinking of the near archaeological expedition this will entail and questions… disturbing questions… unthinkable questions pop up. Not, I wonder, if- but how many dead bugs I may find under that pile of books. What if there are live bugs and one of them is a spider like from the Mist or Eight Legged Freaks and it wraps me up in a web and saves me for a later night snack and no one can find me because he didn’t wrap up my phone with me and I live in secured building? Why do these strata contain life sections like a sedimentary rock? This is a college stratum! I didn’t even live here in college, where did this come from? Should I make art out of my diplomas? Bold statement? Pretentious? What am I doing with my life?!

So… best to leave things as they lay, right? Nonetheless, I am expeditioning in an expedited manner to efficate my exit from this sanitation ASAP. I am proud of that sentence. I feel like I should drop a beat on it. It is a darn good sentence and not an effort, say, to pad out an entry and avoid approaching the spiderbook pile for five more minutes.

I guess my point is that if you don’t see a cartoon from me come Tuesday, call the Orkin Army.



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