Some things just can't be unseen

I'm supposed to be swimming laps right now. The LA Triathlon is in a week and a half and I'm deep into the homestretch of trying to cram myself into decent shape but I can't bring myself to go to the pool tonight.

Last week I had the kind of horrific experience one can't easily forget.

I had finished my swim and all was well. It was when I entered the locker room that things took a turn for the worst.

For the record, I've been going into locker rooms for a good 25 years now and I like to think that I have mastered the art of locker room etiquette. For guys it's pretty simple. Always keep your eyes up and the chatter to a minimum until underpants are being worn.

I can only think of two previous times in my life where these long standing rules have been broken.

The first time was at a birthday pool party in the 6th grade. In the locker room of the YMCA it was discovered and pointed out by Mike Miguel that Chad, a kid who already stood 5' 7" and weighed solid buck fifty, had a full rack rack of pubes. What can I say? We were kids and we were in awe about standing next to a 12-year-old who was a full grown man.

The second time was in the 8th grade. A kid named Travis Schwager was not only the new kid in school but also the strangest freak of nature any of us had ever met. To this day, Travis is still at the top of my list of freaks. He was so strange he was amazing and I'm seriously at a loss of words for how to describe him. The main things you need to know right now is that Travis was so pale he was translucent, his bright red hair was crafted into a perfect bowl cut and the first day of 8th grade gym class he hit the showers with one hand holding a small towel to cover his gear.

In the shark tank that is an 8th grade locker room that was so not the smart thing to do and Travis really didn't help his cause by crying every time the water hit his skin.Even the most modest of growers now had somebody to pick on. We were all so intrigued about what could have been lurking under that terry cloth shroud that even our gym teacher got into the act by ordering Travis to scrub up with both hands. Somehow though, he managed to keep that towel in place.

Now let's go back to last week's locker room...

I'm walking out of the shower and encounter a doughy but rather flexible naked guy standing precariously on a bench bent completely over and rummaging through his bag. Right away I knew this was a sight I've never seen before and that would include the glimpse a foot and a half up his butthole. Seriously, it was the sort of gruesome thing that will someday break the internet and I wouldn't be exaggerating that much if I told you I saw the backs of his molars.

I wanted to say something but couldn't since my brain was trying in vain to remember the PIN number to its self destruct sequence.

The Rabbi who came out of the shower a few steps behind me (Scout's honor on that one) couldn't contain his curiosity and asked this chap what exactly he was doing.

"I don't want to get my feet dirty on this floor."

Um, excuse me?

Someone doesn't want get their feet dirty?

The same someone who just spent an hour swimming in a public swimming pool that's housed inside a public school and is the same someone who just took a shower in said public school?

Oh sorry to burst your bubble Mr. Someone but you've been breathing disease the moment you stepped foot on campus. Trying to keep your feet clean by standing on a spot where naked asses have sat for decades really isn't going to help your personal hygiene.

Instead, the only thing you've accomplished is frightening total strangers.

If I drown during the triathlon it's going to be all your fault.

I love the smell of Ortho in the morning.

It's taken a while but I finally found a good reason why it sucks to be a guy.

When I discovered this reason I was standing out on our back patio in my underpants talking on the phone with a friend and making plans for meet up for an afternoon beer. Welcome to the baller lifestyle.

While I was out there I made the mistake of peeking into a set of doors that are never opened. Much to my surprise I discovered a Black Widow had moved in and set up shop.

Here's a closer look. Apologies for the lack of focus but I was keeping my distance, thank you very much.

Back in the last century, I had to deal with a similar critter situation but since I'm now a refined gentleman I couldn't exactly challenge my girlfriend to a Wild Turkey fueled Madden battle. And yes, I still have Madden '94.

It was time to step up and be a man.

Quickly, these options came to mind.

1) Make a Mexican Flamethrower and take care of business like I mean business. The only drawback here was the possibility of house catching fire.

2) Get Sigourney Weaver on the horn and see if she had anything going on. She did an admirable job of kicking ass in Aliens and this Black Widow was a little smaller than the queen alien so it should be a walk in the park for her.

3) Hose the spider down with the most toxic chemicals I could find then go meet my friend and hope it's dead by the time I return. The only hitch to this plan is that all the nasty stuff under the sink is non-toxic and biodegradable. Boo.

4) Squash it with a broom. Sounded like a good idea until I tested out the strength of its bristles. Yeah, not such a hot plan. At best I might get lucky and take a leg off. At worst it would play dead and bite me when I tried fishing its guts out of the broom.

5) See what Google has to say.

What's great about this is when you type in "how to kill a" here's what pops up.

how to kill a mocking bird
how to kill ants
how to kill a tree
how to kill a vampire
how to kill a dog
how to kill a zombie
how to kill a cat
how to kill aphids
how to kill a werewolf

But the moment you get to "how to kill a b" a whole cornucopia of spider killing info pops up and in about 2.2 seconds I was down at the neighborhood hardware store on a mission to pick up Ortho Hornet and Wasp Killer. Apparently it's the most bad ass stuff a person can legally buy without needing a special permit.

When I returned home I noticed the spider had ignored my request to either pay rent or move out. It was time to get to work. A couple of test squirts later, I felt confidence in what Mr. Ortho had to offer.

Because the gap between the regular door and the screen door was pretty narrow and I was twitching more than Don Knotts in the Shakiest Gun in the West, I accidentally bumped the door with my can'o death and for the first time since I spotted it, the spider sprang to life.

I swore I could hear it hiss but before it could heat up its venom sac, I let loose with a barrage of Ortho so massive I'm surprised the FBI didn't show up to investigate a nuclear detonation.

I swaggered my way back into the house expecting applause for slaying the beast. When was none I made the mistake of asking my girlfriend for the whereabouts of my hero's welcome. She just stared me down for moment and responded with, "Yeah, you'll get one the moment you ever thank me for doing your laundry all these years."

Touche'.

Whatevs. You can't win them all but I scored where it matters.

Todd 1 Black Widow 0.

Stereotype of the Week...

Rumor has it Mexicans have been known to enjoy a good stabbing but is it really necessary to show you passion for sharp pointy things by wearing a hat covered in switchblades while enjoying a Dodger game with your young son?