I have seen my future, and it is grim.

I die from a heart attack that is a direct result of trying to kill wolf spiders in the basement.


"They just were... so... scerry... so... fast... always pretending... they were gonna... stay put and just... let me squish them. Every... effing... tiiiiiiime."
- my pitiful last words, of which I will spend eternity regretting my non-commital use of the F-bomb.