So, growing up with my brother wasn’t really all too bad. In between him being a total sadistic nutcase towards me, there’d be little breaks where we’d actually get along, and spend time together. Thankfully, these breaks meant that I would be replaced as the subject of torture with another unfortunate living creature out there in the world. And, in the summertime, there was always an abundance of spiders. Specifically, tarantulas.
Now, spiders creep me the hell out, and there’s no way I would’ve been caught dead near a tarantula hole under any other circumstances. But, back then, I was taking every chance I could get to be on my brother’s good side, even if for only a minute. If that meant surrounding myself with ginormous, disgusting, hairy spiders, then so be it.
My brother and I would call our special bonding-time activity “Tarantula Hunting”. Which is actually super easy to do. Firstly, I’d have to go run and fill up a big jug of water. It was my duty to lug around this giant pail of heavy H2o all across the mountainous region I grew up in, always right at my older brother’s heels. God, I’d seriously be out there for hours every day, carrying around that huge container, like feeling my arms rip and tear out of their sockets. As you can tell, I thought it was super fun!
Anyways, secondly, I’d have to go wait for my big brother in the front yard. I’d hear him rustling around in the garage. Finally, he’d emerge wielding my dad’s woodcutting axe. Then we’d embark on our quest of hunting these overgrown arachnids. We’d walk along, my brother swinging his axe at anything he could hit, while I’d be following behind him, trying not to trip and fall down.
We would be on the search for tarantula holes. You can tell it’s a tarantula’s because they spin a small web, that only covers the circumference of the hole. Reminds me of those Hobbit houses, except if they had like webbed doors, and were home to grotesque giant spiders.
Once found, I’d have to go up, and start pouring copious amounts of liquid right down the hole. You’d start to see their big fuzzy legs poke out, trying to get to the surface, to not be drowned. Finally, the creature would lurch from it’s den, in obvious shock from what it endured. Before it even has a chance to scurry away, my brother would raise his axe way up to the sky, and strike down with the mighty force of Zeus.
The tarantula would be wiggling around, and my brother would just keep swinging, and chopping furiously. And, I would just stand there, and watch as the thing was mutilated into a mound of fuzz, guts, and spider juice. Then we’d move on to the next one, and the next one, and the next one. This would be an all day event, I’d have to wash out, and watch dozens of spiders being hacked to pieces each day.
To not let it get stale and boring, my brother would change it up every now and then. Like, sometimes he’d use a rock, or maybe a pickaxe, instead of his usual instrument of terror. Or, sometimes he’d get a big see-through box, and if the tarantula was particularly big, he’d throw it on inside. By the end of the day, we’d have a few brutish tarantulas. Now, he had the perfect arena, so he could watch them all fight to death, with only one survivor, who was usually axe murdered shortly after.
And, that’s Tarantula Hunting. Flooding their homes, bludgeoning them to death. Or, rounding some up, so you can watch them dominate and devour each other. I never thought it was any fun, I would’ve rather been watching SpongeBob to be honest. But, it was definitely a lot better than him mummifying me alive in duct tape again, so I learned to deal with it.
LMFAO