I can’t with this.

All two of my readers know that if there is something that I just can’t even for one second tolerate, it’s hippies.

Thank you, but no.

First, both Mother and Father Bean were dirty, icky, Woodstock-attending hippies in their day, so whenever I see two flower children erotically swaying on each other while tripping, I have to think of my parents doing the same, and it bothers me.

Secondly, hippies are empirically annoying. You can care about the earth (even though I don’t) and be progressive while giving the whole patchouli thing a miss. Their aesthetic is just so very incorrect. Everyone has to construct their identities, and that’s fine, but what are you expressing when you wear corduroy cargo shorts and a Guatemalan hoodie?

Nothing I want any part of.

So it was with great loathing that I read this Sunday’s NYT Magazine article about freegans, who really manage to take the sanctimonious up a notch, especially considering that their entire lifestyle is made possibly by the very thing they claim to hate. I read the entire thing, shuddering quietly to myself.

I suppose everyone is entitled to do what they like, and this obviously makes them happy, so who am I to judge? That being said, any time my life seems like it’s going poorly, from here on out I will remind myself that at least I am not squatting in Buffalo. Also, the entire article was worth the price of admission for this one quote:

The line between this help-yourself mentality and a more freewheeling spirit of communal property isn’t always so clear. One resident, Brianna, remarked to me that her stuff often goes missing and that “everyone just thinks everything that’s here is up for grabs.”

One morning, after I had been hanging out at the mansion for a few days, we were about to have breakfast when someone noticed that all the forks and spoons were missing.

“What happened to all the silverware?” someone asked.

“They got turned into a wind chime,” someone replied nonchalantly. Sure enough, moments later, we could all hear the sound of forks clanging in the breeze.

If there is one thing I dislike nearly as much as hippies, it’s wind chimes. This place is my personal hell.

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No fucking thank you.

Today’s award for Something I Know About But Wish I Didn’t Know About Because It’s Deeply Troubling goes to …

Japanese Spider Crabs!

Jesus Christ.

According to Wikipedia, this bad boy is the largest arthropod in the world — that would be the awesome phylum that brought us spiders, crustaceans and insects — with a leg span of up to 12 feet, 6 inches. To put that in perspective, it could easily wrap its Mistake of God self around a VW Beetle.

And it can weigh up to 41 pounds. Which is even more troubling, because that weight/size ratio implies spindly and fragile. Spindly and fragile implies maladjusted, and possibly willing to fight. Which makes sense, if you’re a creepy deep sea crab. Also, Wikipedia tells me that “the pleopods of males are unusually twisted, and its larvae appear primitive.” Sick! The pleopod, I just found out, is the little wispy legs shrimp et al have. Also, when I have a child, its middle name will be Pleopod.

Wikipedia also tells me they’re “good-natured” with a “gentle disposition” but I don’t see how you could assess any kind of personality traits from a crab, so I choose to disregard this information.

Anyway, the most troubling thing about spider crabs — and believe me, it’s hard to pick just one — is the fact that they are the Daddy Longlegs of the sea. And I hate, hate, hate Daddy Longlegs.

Why, God? Why?

They’re real common in the south, and although my father and mother both assured me that they were harmless, and don’t even have mouths (side note: what?) I knew they were up to no good, teetering all over the place with their easily crushable legs and weird little dot bodies. And sure enough, one day I went into my playhouse and a giant swarm of (mating? partying? fighting?) Daddy Longlegs fell on me. Like, hundreds. Maybe thousands. In my hair, their little legs flailing around all nimbly bimbly. It was probably the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, and now I have to face the terrifying possibility that their enormous sea cousins are lying in wait to do the same thing.

So you stay away from me, Japanese Spider Crabs, and especially stay away from my hair. Stay in the deep sea where you belong, and there will be no trouble. This isn’t threats. This is so sincere.

Discussion question: How will you fight Japanese Spider Crabs, when the time comes?

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