re: #67 Dread Pirate Ron

My daughter got home from work to regale me with tales of Drive-In fights. Now she’s feeding her pet spider some flies. Now she’s pouring a triple of whiskey.

Don’t mind me, just shuddering over here in the corner. I may have gotten used to the smaller variety of eight-legged freaks, but anything large enough to be referred to as a “pet” still gives me the willies. Yeah, it’s irrational, but so are most fears.