I f*cking h*te centipedes...
Dude, I have a completely unnatural fear of those freakish beasts. I seriously screamed like a girl once. The basement of our old home flooded, ruining my record collection (no great loss, I had already moved on to cassettes by that time
). They were stored on end, in a box. After the water damage, I set the box on the garage floor for a few days and forgot about it, as we had other more pressing water-related issues to deal with.
Well, a few days later I went to the garage and remembered the soggy box with the records, and made the spot decision to chuck them all in the trash, as I had lost my use for them before the flood anyway, and they were just taking up space. I picked it up from underneath because the cardboard was weakened and wet. When I stood up with the box, and looked at the wet rectangle left by it on the floor, there were about 25 centipedes suddenly scrambling for cover. I dropped the box immediately and screamed, jumped back and realized that there were centipedes on my hands, brushing them off my hands as quickly as possible (I'm shuddering in revulsion even as I type this) I looked down and saw a couple on the legs of my jeans, and started dancing around, swatting at them too.
Once I was relatively assured that I had no more centipedes on my body, I timidly walked back to where I dropped the box and the wet spot where the box had been sitting. Several of them had disappeared, many were nestled into the crack against the garage wall, many were still writhing in the puddle of water, and others were still crawling out from under the box.
Suddenly overcome with nausea, I ran out of the garage and vomited in the grass. Then I went and got wasp killer and sprayed them all down until the can was gone. Then I got a can of "OFF", a lighter, and proceeded to use the flaming aerosol to curl them into little crisps.
After all the moisture was evaporated, Mrs. IDP swept them up.
