Welcome back to your desk for another day of drivel in your meaningless life.
In your dreams last night, the spiders tried to tell you to end it all on a windy bluff over black waters. The Arachnid King, who mated with Robin Williams to create the ultra-hairy wolf spider, sat on his throne of poison and waved his wand made of the hair of your cherished childhood doll.
“I command the waves to reach up to Patricia Clift and bring her down into the remote depths where only the sea-spiders exist,” the Arachnid King said after blowing his nose into your favorite polyester blouse.
“I understand that the term ‘blouse’ is used by the ancient peoples of Patricia Clift’s generation,” the Arachnid King said. “Also, those old ‘tards wore a lot of polyester because they didn’t have to iron it. Whoop-de-freakin’ doo. Haven’t they heard of a dryer?”
Later, two brown recluses fashioned fiddles out of the sticks of your antique table and performed “The Devil Went Down to Georgia.”
The true nightmare began when the Arachnid King bit Bill Clinton in the heart. He was awarded some sort of detective award for having been able to find Bill Clinton’s heart.
Another organization rewarded the Arachnid King with cash for killing the philandering former leader of the free world.
Then that lady you hate from the child support office farted into your coffee.
Have a nice day.