Fuck. Spiders.

This post will not include any spider pictures as there is no way I'll ever actually go into Google, type in "spider" and then actually browse through a gallery of pictures to choose the best looking ones for this blog...

I don't like spiders.

I don't like 'em, because I'm shit scared of them.

I don't like 'em, because according to social construct (and to myself) I'm too old to be jumping away like a startled amphetamine driven rabbit at the sight of a bug that, albeit disgusting, cannot cause me any harm.

I don't like 'em, because those 8 legged motherfuckers are everywhere.

I don't like 'em, because I'm afraid...

This post can go many ways from here. It can dig deep into the modern human's psychological mind stuff - why do we not like things were afraid of? Why are we afraid of creepy crawlies? Are the things we do not like about ourselves, something we fear because of the way society is built? But fuck that existential shit, this post is about how fucking horrible spiders are.

That shit has 8 legs that are either as thin as my patience for homophobes or as thick as homophobes. For those unfamiliar with my views on homophobes - a different analogy. Them legs either creepy as shit cuz the thing is kinda like a tall skinny dude, but unmistakeably evil, or them legs are like of a stereotypical Russian in the eyes of western society - big, dangerous, hairy. Each one of those legs moves in a beautiful flowing motion, perfectly synchronized with the other 7, and that movement looks creepy as shit. And it's fast, but it is no way faster than the speed of shit being deposited into my pants upon visual contact.

Then there's the body. It can be so tiny that fucker looks like its just legs converging into a single point. Or... it can be as big as a motherfucking puppy. That thing sometimes has different parts, each creepier than the other. It can have more body hair than me (and trust me I have enough body hair for this analogy to make sense). It can have like a gazillion hell eyes on its front that just peer into your soul and you know if you could fucking see into that things soul (if it had a bloody soul) you'd see only one thing:

You'd see snickering. It'd mock you. It'd be like "Hello cunt. I am completely harmless, I can cause zero damage via physical force to you, but you know what... you still my bitch." And you are! You know it! If you're scared of spiders like I am, and I know many who are, you can be the toughest craziest motherfucker out there and you still gonna be this spider's bitch at least for a second before you kill it with your shoe or a sledgehammer (whichever you have at hand)...

Okay, that's all nice, but Ivo why are you telling us all this? Because Scotland is awesome, I have only seen like 5 spiders in total for a month, with one little exception when I literally saw the stuff of nightmares and now I'll tell you about it.

On my way to work one day I saw a big ass tree that looked very pretty. It was on the left side of the only road that leads through a forest to the house I work at. The light was shining through the branches and the leaves, slightly distorted bythe white fruit on the branches. And then I close in to take a  picture, cuz that tree was pretty, when I saw there was no such thing as white fruit on that tree. That was spider webs... Spider webs that formed big ass pouches... Pouches that were all around them tree branches... Pouches that were filled with thousands of spiders probably...

I walked away scared as shit. I said fuck about a million times on my way to the house. I looked around constantly like paranoid (because I was acting paranoid).

One tree, which I ran away from ain't that bad. I mean yeah it's nightmarish, but it ain't THAT bad... Only it wasn't one tree...

The next day I saw 4 more, for a total of 5 trees... And then the next day I saw maybe 10 trees just like that one varying in sizes and shit, but this time I had noticed that some of the old trees no longer had the pouches... Those fuckers must've popped open as there was no visible signs of someone smart coming in with a flame-thrower to clear them up.

And then one day, as I walked on that forest road, surrounded by spider infested trees I saw it. One of the trees still had it's pouches, only not all of them were white... The fuckers were starting to come out. There were so many. If they were bigger it would literally be just like in some of my nightmares. There were black patches of them fuckers on that tree and I knew I'm gonna die. I wasn't really gonna die, but I knew I was...

I ran full speed away from that.

Fuck. Spiders.

Pete The Spider

The fire cracks quieter and quieter as the piece of wood inside burns out. When it's just embers I go to the basket with the pinecone in front of it and pick up a new one. Open the glass door to the fireplace and position the new log on top of the burning embers. Close the door, slide the thing that opens up the air vents and make sure the wood catches fire. When it does, I slide the air vents back and get my ass back on the couch. 30 minutes left.

In 30 minutes I have to slowly make my way to the room in which Ben rests and check if he's asleep. If he's sleeping peacefully, I get my ass back on the couch for another hour, if not I turn him over from his left side to his back so he's comfortable.

Ben has a rare muscle degenerative disease and he's stuck to a wheelchair and basically can't move by himself properly. He needs someone to care for him and 2 nights a week that's my job.

I arrive at 20:00, make his bed, do whatever Ben needs done in the next 2 hours, like make him a cup of tea, help him with his weather station, or just chill and talk. Then around 22:00 I assist him with his medication, brush his teeth, wash his face and hands, prepare whatever clothes he wants for the day after, help him with the toilet and get him to bed.

Everything has to be done in a specific way. Just like with the fire there's a special procedure. A specific way to put the electric toothbrush in his hand and help him use it. A specific way to wash his hands. A specific way to prepare the water with which he drinks his pills. A specific way for... Everything.

And after he's asleep it's just me and Pete. Pete is a spider.

The Fetish Conundrum

So a few days ago me and a friend had an argument whether or not thigh high socks aka above the knee socks are a type of fetish. Now she and I had a very long discussion about it, she insisting that they are not, and me insisting that they are and that she is stupid. Now obviously I'm right, but why exactly am I right?

Okay so her argument was that they are not a fetish as they just make a hot girl, hotter. Basically thigh high socks were just something that enhances and are not hot themselves therefore are not a fetish.

Let's take this apart. What the fuck is a fetish:

Oxford Dictionary: A form of sexual desire in which gratification is linked to an abnormal degree to a particular object, item of clothing, part of the body, etc.

Urban Dictionary: An object thought to have magical, especially magically sexual, powers.

Also Urban Dictionary: A sexual fixation or obsession with a usually non-sexual object. EX. socks, horses, monkeys, pain, bondage.

As you can see I am using the most reliable dictionaries in the world, the one originally made by some Oxford scholars who had nothing better to do and probably got so high one day they decided putting all the words in the English language in a big book is a brilliant idea. And an online dictionary ran by anyone who has internet connection which is an incredible feat of engineering and modern science and progress, and also happens to be full of  shit sometimes.

Anyway all three definitions agree that basically if you get turned on by something that isn't sexual, you have some sort of fetish towards it. Now of course that doesn't mean you magically pop a boner or you release the hoover dam in-between your legs every time your weird ass kidnaps a person in a video game and starts shooting them in the dick. What it means is that it can be sexual in the right circumstances. For instance, Dave may have a sunglasses fetish - he doesn't jizz all over himself when he sees his grandma's old sunglasses just laying on the nylon wrapped couch, he does so when he sees them on a pretty girl/boy playing with them in some fashion. Maybe he likes to see people lick the rims or whatever, idk what's the matter with you Dave you fucking perv.

Anyway my point is, a person has a fetish towards something that is not-sexual but that fetish activates in a situation that is sexual for that person. That's why people with sock fetishes can safely wear socks all day without poking the old ladies on the bus with their protruding throbbing schlongs.

Now we have an idea what a fetish is. So, are thigh high socks a fetish? Let's ask THE INTERNET! If I can locate enough porn on the internet involving thigh high socks, that's got to be a fetish. Because as we already know, socks by themselves are a non-sexual object, however if a non-sexual object enhances sexual gratification, that makes it a fetish. Lets Google some porn (and other links that prove I'm right).

WARNING SOME OF THESE ARE NSFW
ALSO SOME ARE 18+   so lock the door.

porn porn porn sort of porn
not porn gamers talking reddit
Japan news a fetish blog erotica
porn fuckboy forum porn
tumblr (still porn) tumblr hentai

If that ain't proof that it's a fetish I don't know what is... Let's not forget though, that basically anything can be a fetish, and most things are as there will always be someone out there who's into something weird, like Dave and his sunglasses. In this particular case with thigh high sock there are too many cases, so I can safely say that it is just a very common fetish, but a fetish nonetheless.

SO FUCK YOU I WAS RIGHT!