Now, the moment you've all been waiting for! The next installment of Evan Versus Like, A Million Spiders. (Spoilers: the spider dies at the end.) So a couple of days ago, I was making myself a nice, home-cooked meal, because that is the kind of capable and versatile Man that I am (Ladies.) As I went to put dishes in the sink, I became aware that there was a large (my perceptions may have been warped by the heat of the moment, but it appeared to be the size of a small kitten) wolf spider in the sink. 

Now, many people would find themselves put out by such an occurrence, but not yours truly. With a calm and determined air, I did what any other rational individual (and I am thinking specifically of Abraham Lincoln here) would have done: turned on the disposal and used the sprayer to wash it down.

A simple, painless victory, you would think. But now I am plagued by doubts. Much like the protagonist of "The Tell-Tale Heart," I'm beginning to think my actions were ill-advised. I haven't seen any spiders since then, but given how common they were before, I believe they may have witnessed the demise of their comrade and are now biding their time and plotting a counter-attack. Should I die suddenly, make sure the coroner checks for the fang-marks of a thousand revenge bound arachnids.