"I actually was in an unhealthy relationship once where I ended up living with my girlfriend's tarantula. I hated that furry little f**ker. A tarantula bite is no worse than a bumblebee's? Whatever. Bumblebees make flowers. I wouldn't say having to live with that death hand was a dealbreaker. But when it somehow escaped, forcing me to go on a stomping spree, I was forced to reevaluate certain fundamentals. She was pissed that my instinct was to smush the creepy crawly. I felt that any agreement we had about the spider pertained to it being in the glass box. Once out of the glass box, all verbal contracts were null and void." — John DeVore
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