You guys, this is probably going to sound a little out there. Honestly, I’m reluctant to even bring it up. But I’ve been thinking about it for a long time, and, well, I can’t shake the feeling that our friend Dave is actually just a bunch of spiders living inside an extremely realistic human shell and operating it like a puppet.
Okay. I see the looks on your faces. I know it sounds far-fetched. Jeanine, you’re married to the guy, for Christ’s sake, so I can only imagine the position this is putting you in. Still, Dave is one of our oldest friends and I think we owe it to him to be honest about the situation and accept the possibility that he might just be a six-foot-tall skin-sack, being puppeteered by tens of thousands of angry spiders.
Do I have proof? Yes and no. You know how sometimes you feel like you’re being watched? You don’t know why or how, but you can feel it in your gut? Well, this is like that, except that in this case my feeling is that Dave is actually just a human-shaped spider-house. Where his lungs should be: spiders. Where his kidneys should be: spiders. Where his genitals should be—Jeanine, please let me finish—many, many spiders.
Obviously, there are a lot of questions that I don’t have answers to. What types of spiders are they? I don’t know. They could be harmless daddy longlegs spiders, common crab spiders, or even deadly black widow spiders. The truth is, there could be any number of spider-types living inside our friend Dave, working together in some sort of inter-species arachnid work-share system.
Another question: How did these spiders come into possession of such a realistic human suit? This, too, I have no easy answer for. It’s hard to imagine that the spiders constructed it themselves. My best guess is that the “Davesuit” was purchased by the spiders from a human craftsman in exchange for a large collection of dead bugs, twigs, or—Jeanine, if you won’t stop yelling, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. We are having a scientific discussion here, and yelling has no place in science.
Finally: I will address the obvious. Yes, I’ve had hunches in the past that haven’t panned out. For instance: Richard, when I thought you were a human puppet controlled by locusts. Or, Dana, when I thought you were a human puppet controlled by yellowjackets. Or Brendan, when I convinced you to open up that frozen yogurt shop. And then later, when I thought you were a human puppet controlled by fire ants. Guys, I was wrong and I’m sorry for putting you through all that. Still, I’m of the opinion that, where insect-filled pseudo-people are concerned, safe is better than sorry.
I’d now like to open the floor for questions. Please keep in mind, however, that if you disagree with me, it’s almost certainly because you are full of fucking bugs.
Avery Monsen’s new book (with Jory John), K is for Knifeball: An Alphabet of Terrible Advice is available at your local bookseller.