My beloved scorpion, Caligula, has died. I only had the honor of knowing him for a couple of short months, but that were good months. His character, his charisma, his unique way of terrifying girls...sigh. Actually he died about a week ago, but just a couple of days ago I got around to cremating his remains and managed to start a sizeable brush fire as well.
Incidentally, scorpions don't burn very well.
At least I still have my tarantula, Cornelius. I shall, however, ALWAYS have a tarantula since my mother has assured me that if mine ever died, she whould immediately replace it. She calls this punisment for having to care for Roger, my first tarantula, for six years when I was in college. Well, one over-the-hill broad's curse is a strapping young buck's blessing.
It's amusing how people react differently depending on whether they see a scorpion or a tarantula, even though they are essentially the same thing. Take my Backstabbing Nutty Pseudo-Ex, please (I kill me). She could handle Cornelius, but was horrified by Caligula. Another chick from Memphis thought Caligula was cool but was thoroughly horrified of spiders. My mom didn't like either, but she didn't like Caligula more. Oh well. There's no accounting for taste.
I must get a new Scorpion. Caligula was so cool I could just cry. I suppose that finding a new scorpion will not be particularly difficult. I just wish that I had used the name "caligula" on a somewhat longer-lived pet. A cool name such as that should be around forever, but it's been retired early. DAMN.
As a side note, I think that my mind is goining my old age. I'm actively trying to get my Internet 'Ho hooked up with the love of her life (mostly though cajoling her to go after him), thereby closing off my simplest avenue for getting laid. I'm afraid I'm just not very Machiavellian.