Arachnophilia

Once upon a time, there was a spider called Harvey who lived inside a cello.

He was an humble spider. He liked classical music, but he didn't go around telling everyone like he was superior for it. His cello house was an ancient cello that was once played by a giant, legends say.

 Now it rested deep in the forest on some old man's property who was too senile to know where he was, much less charge rent. So Harvey got off pretty well.

 This particular night, Harvey was sitting in his F hole drinking a glass of sugar when there was a knock on the door.

 He opened it up and there was nobody there. Only the darkness. Not one to cower in fear at such mysterious things, he set out to investigate these shenanigans.

 Harvey climbed all over his cello, looking for the source of the knock. He looked inside the scroll, and around the back, even under the G string, but he could see nothing.

 'It must a ghost!'

 So he thought to himself, 'What does a ghost want?'

'I know! Tap-dancing!' because a spider tap dancing is hilarious, and anybody would want to see that.

 He put on a show. He even printed his own flyers for the event. It was held in the old bandstand in a clearing of the forest.

 He set out lots of chairs. But nobody came. At least, so he thought...

 But ghosts are invisible and all.

 As he was tapping away some amazing fucking time steps (8 legs, man! think about it!) he heard an EXTRA tap that shouldn't have been there. It was coming up from the floor, as if someone was tapdancing on the other side.

 'The show must go on.' (he remembered that phrase from his training days with Gene Kelly.)

 And so he continued. Once he was finished with the show, and his friend the ladybug (Janice) was flanneling his sweaty brow, he looked up at the 'audience'.

 Harvey gasped and leapt to his feet. One of the chairs was missing.

 "Oh, wait, there it is." It was just two inches to the left of where he thought he remembered putting it. Spiders aren't very smart.

 The audience called out "Encore!"

 He was exhausted, but he couldn't bear to let his fans down. So he did all his best moves. The ghost near him kept responding with an even better move, making him look like a chump.

 After a few minutes of that crap, he said, "All right, that's it! Show yourself!"

 The ghost took on his human form and it was none other than Michael Flatley himself. Everyone ooh'd and ah'd.

 But then the audience got bored because it had been a whole 8 seconds since anyone did anything entertaining, so they all went home to watch CNN or some shit.

 Michael Flatley turned out to be kind of a schmuck. He'd forgotten how to talk after his death, so he always responded with dance moves. This wouldn't be such a problem for Harvey except Michael had declared them friends and went with him everywhere.

 "Well, if you're going to be sticking with me from now on, I may as well make good use of you."

 Over the next few weeks, he planned a bank robbery so he could move out of this crappy cello and move into a giant guitar in Boston. Finally he gave up and just stole an idea from a movie he saw once. Michael, who was good with his feet, would drive the get-away vehicle and nothing else because he'd just screw it up. They couldn't afford a car, so it was just a bicycle.

 Harvey went inside the bank dressed as a clown, carrying a bunch of helium balloons. He released them under the camera so they covered it up. He then bit the security guard and injected a nice, personal dose of venom into him.

 Here's the short version: They gave him all the money and the cops showed up and he locked people in the vault and he negotiated the release of a few hostages and he took the clown costume off and went out with the money strapped to his leg and pretended to be a hostage and then got on Michael's bike and they fled like mad men.

 And so, after this happy event, Harvey was able to buy his guitar in Boston.

 He let Michael come with him to carry the bags. He kept him in a cage and fed him scraps.

 'What new direction will I go in now?' he asked himself. He'd had enough of tap-dancing but he still wanted to do something using his feet.

 He settled on making wine. He crushed his own grapes with his 8 feet. Michael helped.

 

 The "wine" ended up tasting more like feet and grape juice. But maybe this would be a new business opportunity. He marketed this new product as "foot grape."

 Not even his mother would buy any.

 So he held up another bank, only he didn't take any money. He just made everyone try his foot grape.

 It was a huge success. He also got arrested.

 

 While he was in the inside, he met a guy who told him the secrets to making good wine. Human blood! And so when Harvey got out of jail he went on a bloody rampage.

 Soon he and Michael were rich and moderately famous for their wine. They upgraded to a double bass in the Bahamas.

 The Bahamas isn't a place known for its hospitality. Michael Flatley got kidnapped within 40 seconds of moving in. Harvey received a ransom note demanding $14. He just threw it away and got on with his life. Life's too short to pay money for kidnapped ghosts of legendary dancers. That's what his old pappy always said.

 He was already rich now. There was no reason to work. So life was kind of dull. He spent a lot of time playing golf.

 Yeah. Golf. That's about it.

He set up home in the golf holes. He had made them into burrows and lived like a king, occasionally having sex with rabbits.

 This excitement did not last long, though. He considered the futile emptiness of his life once more.

 He got a job making silk shirts for wealthy landowners/pawnbrokers and was soon doing cocaine with his clients.

 It wasn't long before he invented his own formula for cocaine. It was really the same as regular cocaine, only this had chili powder mixed in. Still, everyone loved it. He made billions of dollars in less than an hour.

 Then when he was just walking along, minding his own business, someone saw him and said, "Ahhh! Spider!" and swatted him and he died.

 His family buried him and some guy Harvey never met wrote his epitaph.

 "Here lies Harvey. He did a whole bunch of crap, but there's not enough room here to write it, so screw it."

 The end