Free Dead Clown Barbecue by Jeff Strand Page A
Authors: Jeff Strand
oven.
"We should name him."
"Yeah, sure, let's give a name to the creature that's going to die a horrible, agonizing death because of us. Let's call him Timmy the Tarantula and paint a smiley face on his back."
"We could name him Eight-Legged Vengeance."
"Don't be such a frickin' — actually, that's pretty cool. Let's go with that." I tapped on the aquarium. "Hello, Eight-Legged Vengeance. How's it going?"
Eight-Legged Vengeance did not respond.
"Maybe we should feed it a mouse as one last meal," Dave suggested.
"Do you have a mouse?"
"No. But I could go get one. I think the pet shop had mice."
I started to give him another "You're a moron" look, but decided that it wasn't worth it. "Let's just put him in the batter and get it over with."
"Sounds good."
I lifted the top off the aquarium. "Okay, reach in there and grab him."
"Yeah, that's gonna happen."
"What, you're scared?"
"It's a tarantula! They're venomous!"
"No, they're not."
"You do it."
I reached inside the aquarium, stopping a few inches away from the arachnid.
"So pick it up," Dave urged.
"I'm going to."
"I hope it doesn't take your hand off."
"I hope it takes your mouth off."
"Pick it up."
"I will."
"Time's a-wastin'."
"Why don't you go home? You've served your purpose."
"No way. I want to see this."
"Well, be quiet."
"Pick it up."
"I am."
"No, you're not. You're being motionless and cowardly."
The tarantula moved toward my hand. I let out a shameful cry and yanked my hand out of the aquarium so fast that I bashed it against the corner. Dave found this to be extremely amusing. I did not.
"Grow up," I told him.
"Oh, God, I wish I'd been taping that! I'd give anything to have been taping that! You looked like such a chickenshit jackass!"
"You suck."
"Reach in there again. It might growl at you this time."
I opened one of the drawers and took out a long wooden spoon. I poked the spoon into the aquarium and tried to scoop up the tarantula, but it kept scurrying away. "Dammit!"
"It probably doesn't like that flavor of cake. You should have bought chocolate."
"I'm just gonna dump it out." I very, very, very quickly reached into the aquarium and removed the plastic log. Then I picked up the aquarium, turned it over, and shook it over the batter. The tarantula didn't fall out.
"He's got some seriously sticky feet," Dave noted.
"Smack the plastic."
Dave knocked on the aquarium. The spider still didn't fall out.
"Shake harder."
I shook harder.
"Maybe you should just pour the cake mix into the aquarium and cook it that way."
"C'mon, keep smacking the plastic. It's just a spider. It can't hang on forever."
"You actually have to admire its resilience."
"I don't have to admire shit! Keep smacking!"
Dave hit the plastic over and over while I kept shaking the aquarium.
"Do you have a squirt gun? We could squirt it off."
"No."
"There was a toy store next to the pet store."
"Keep smacking!"
Finally, the spider dropped out of the aquarium and into the batter.
"Thank God," I said. "Open the oven."
Dave opened the oven. I picked up the pan as the tarantula waded through the batter, moving right toward me. I hurriedly slid the pan into the oven and slammed the door shut. We breathed a sigh of relief.
Dave flipped on the oven light. "I want to watch it burn."
"That's messed up."
"How often do you get to watch a tarantula die in an oven? Never. I'm not going to let this opportunity slip by. Oh, crap . . ."
"What?"
"It crawled out of the pan."
I opened the oven. The batter-covered tarantula was on the bottom. "Give me the spoon! Hurry!"
Dave handed me the spoon. I frantically scraped the tarantula off the bottom of the oven and onto the open door. It scurried across the door and onto my kitchenette floor.
"Stomp it! Stomp it!" Dave cried.
"Don't stomp it!"
Dave quickly backed away. "Where is it? Where did it go? Is it on me? Get it off me!"
"It's not on you. It's crawling on the cabinet door."
"Did it get cooked?"
"Not too
"We should name him."
"Yeah, sure, let's give a name to the creature that's going to die a horrible, agonizing death because of us. Let's call him Timmy the Tarantula and paint a smiley face on his back."
"We could name him Eight-Legged Vengeance."
"Don't be such a frickin' — actually, that's pretty cool. Let's go with that." I tapped on the aquarium. "Hello, Eight-Legged Vengeance. How's it going?"
Eight-Legged Vengeance did not respond.
"Maybe we should feed it a mouse as one last meal," Dave suggested.
"Do you have a mouse?"
"No. But I could go get one. I think the pet shop had mice."
I started to give him another "You're a moron" look, but decided that it wasn't worth it. "Let's just put him in the batter and get it over with."
"Sounds good."
I lifted the top off the aquarium. "Okay, reach in there and grab him."
"Yeah, that's gonna happen."
"What, you're scared?"
"It's a tarantula! They're venomous!"
"No, they're not."
"You do it."
I reached inside the aquarium, stopping a few inches away from the arachnid.
"So pick it up," Dave urged.
"I'm going to."
"I hope it doesn't take your hand off."
"I hope it takes your mouth off."
"Pick it up."
"I will."
"Time's a-wastin'."
"Why don't you go home? You've served your purpose."
"No way. I want to see this."
"Well, be quiet."
"Pick it up."
"I am."
"No, you're not. You're being motionless and cowardly."
The tarantula moved toward my hand. I let out a shameful cry and yanked my hand out of the aquarium so fast that I bashed it against the corner. Dave found this to be extremely amusing. I did not.
"Grow up," I told him.
"Oh, God, I wish I'd been taping that! I'd give anything to have been taping that! You looked like such a chickenshit jackass!"
"You suck."
"Reach in there again. It might growl at you this time."
I opened one of the drawers and took out a long wooden spoon. I poked the spoon into the aquarium and tried to scoop up the tarantula, but it kept scurrying away. "Dammit!"
"It probably doesn't like that flavor of cake. You should have bought chocolate."
"I'm just gonna dump it out." I very, very, very quickly reached into the aquarium and removed the plastic log. Then I picked up the aquarium, turned it over, and shook it over the batter. The tarantula didn't fall out.
"He's got some seriously sticky feet," Dave noted.
"Smack the plastic."
Dave knocked on the aquarium. The spider still didn't fall out.
"Shake harder."
I shook harder.
"Maybe you should just pour the cake mix into the aquarium and cook it that way."
"C'mon, keep smacking the plastic. It's just a spider. It can't hang on forever."
"You actually have to admire its resilience."
"I don't have to admire shit! Keep smacking!"
Dave hit the plastic over and over while I kept shaking the aquarium.
"Do you have a squirt gun? We could squirt it off."
"No."
"There was a toy store next to the pet store."
"Keep smacking!"
Finally, the spider dropped out of the aquarium and into the batter.
"Thank God," I said. "Open the oven."
Dave opened the oven. I picked up the pan as the tarantula waded through the batter, moving right toward me. I hurriedly slid the pan into the oven and slammed the door shut. We breathed a sigh of relief.
Dave flipped on the oven light. "I want to watch it burn."
"That's messed up."
"How often do you get to watch a tarantula die in an oven? Never. I'm not going to let this opportunity slip by. Oh, crap . . ."
"What?"
"It crawled out of the pan."
I opened the oven. The batter-covered tarantula was on the bottom. "Give me the spoon! Hurry!"
Dave handed me the spoon. I frantically scraped the tarantula off the bottom of the oven and onto the open door. It scurried across the door and onto my kitchenette floor.
"Stomp it! Stomp it!" Dave cried.
"Don't stomp it!"
Dave quickly backed away. "Where is it? Where did it go? Is it on me? Get it off me!"
"It's not on you. It's crawling on the cabinet door."
"Did it get cooked?"
"Not too