GIANT HAIRY SPIDER

Dear Giant Hairy Spider,

I’m sorry I left you mortally wounded when it probably would have been more humane to have finished you off. I couldn’t let you win, but didn’t see the need to kill you. You were doing battle with an American Liberal.

And what a battle it was!

It’s true I started the fight, but you had to see it coming with at least one of your giant pearly black eyes. You had the opportunity to withdrawal. I will also admit it’s not entirely your fault that I was standing (teetering, actually) on the top of a wobbly coffee table reaching above my head while trying to re-fasten my hanging food basket when I noticed your eerie presence. You see, to an American your sheer enormity alone (easily 10x the allowable limit) represented a singular Weapon of Mass Destruction and gave me quite a fright. In bislama we say “fulap trousers” which is English for “Shit Myself With Fear”.

Which I did. And then fell backwards of the small table.

This was your second opportunity to cease and desist. You should have run away while I gathered my wits and contemplated my regime-change strategy. You may have been here first, but I’m here now and this hut ain’t big enough for the two of us. Certainly not. But don’t call me an imperialist – we Americans hate that. I’m here on a mission of Liberation and the spreading of freedom – as in MY freedom from YOU.

Now I must admit you put up a hell of a battle, what with your intimidating maneuverability and the alarming speed as which you conducted yourself. And later it was particularly clever when you crouched flat to the floor, almost blending in with the brown floor mats, while I looked frantically for a solid 10 minutes.

But I must remind once again that as an American once I start a fight, for better or worse I will be certain to keep the course, to fight on, and to see it through to whatever end may come of it. Plus, we have all the best technology with which to wage our battles. You have little more than fear – which is still pretty good since we are scared of just about everything. And so it was with the unnerving “thud” sound you made as your immense body hit the ground in a spectacular and effective display of your own “shock and awe” that only hardened my resolve to eliminate you. I mean, liberate you. Spiders of allowable limit, I should point out, do not make any sound at all when the fall to the ground.

It was always my intention to peacefully and harmlessly remove you from the premises utilizing my long-handled rake tool, and had you just played along nicely thing would have turned out better for you and your people.

Instead you made the tactical error of forcing my hand. When you erractically scurried across the floor, causing my troops a momentary retreat, you should never have taken refuge in that small hole in the concrete block. While you seemed out of danger, the truth is that I could never allow you to maintain your hiding place knowing full well that in the middle of the night you could re-emerge and walk all over my face while I was sleeping.

Now it was going to get ugly.

First I tried to flush you out with my chemical weapons. Now I’m fully aware of the Geneva Convention and all the particular weapons-banning treaties that I’ve signed over the years, but again – I’m an American. The rules don’t apply to me, just to you. Plus, this particular chemical despite scientific claims of “fast knock-down” could barely kill an ant – believe me, I’ve tried. My biggest hope was to simply flush you out so I could once again implement the rake device. I expected you to evacuate your hiding place and lay down your arms (all eight), but despite my copious fumigation your resolve was solid.

I would have saluted you and your honorable display of battlefield heroics, but I was busy firing up my next weapon – literally.

When I dropped the pile of flaming debris in the hole I thought for sure I had you. Either you would make a hasty exit (again, ready with my rake) or I had, sadly, finished you off. And after waiting for the tiny fire to go out, for the smoke to clear, I was almost satisfied with your certain demise. But my inner military-industrial complex had just discovered a new weapon at our disposal and decided now was as good a time as any to give it a trial run.

And so, for good measure, I stuck the long-necked lighter into the hole, slowly filled the area with butane gas, and then flicked the trigger resulting in a remarkable and startling pyrotechnic display that nearly resulted in a “friendly fire” incident. After waiting a few more minutes I was satisfied with your death and could return to my normal business. And remember, the business of America is business and if you look closely it’s at the root of every move we make. Plus, I had rats to deal with.

And so it went for the next half hour. Me just calmly going about my business.

Here is where I truly give you, Giant Hairy Spider, mad props. Without moving a single leg… by just being you and revealing your mere presence, you once again were able to give me such a fright I nearly pissed myself. I had all but forgotten about your sorry ass, and now here you were on full display just inches from my big toe.

You lived!! and boy did you ever look pissed.

Time for round 3. But first, I needed to re-con your condition. You shocked and awed once again, but you were visibly wounded. Three of your 5-inch long, ferocious, hairy legs were burnt skinny. But upon prodding they appeared to have limited operability. It appeared your general maneuverability and speed skills showed marked deteriation – maybe my chem. bomb had taken effect!

Despite your valiant efforts, when looking at you now, just a shell of your former self, I started feeling pity and a bit remorseful about the entire affair. Unfortunately with was, as with the death penalty, you can’t take it all back. Not even a little bit.

Were all diplomatic efforts fully explored?

Did I need to rush into this war?

Could this have been avoided?

In was there are no winners – everyone loses something.

And now I had clearly lost my humanity and I couldn’t even bring myself to kill you off. As I carefully, sympathetically, and cautiously (I ain’t no fool) extended my rake I silently thanked you for climbing aboard with minimal effort, resting patiently as I took you to what I hope to be a safe distance where you’ll likely endure a swarm of impatient and vulturous ants who will finish the job slowly I was too weak to do quickly.

Sorry.

Here’s to you, Mr. Giant Hairy Spider!

And as I lay my head on my pillow tonight I will pray to god you were one of a kind.