Ah, Mel. I thought we had a unified purpose, and that we were honest with each other in pursuit of our shared goals. In exchange for not being killed, despite being a spider domiciled in my truck, you were to aid me in at least lessening my titanic arachnophobia. I fell for you, Mel. I gushed about you. I sang you a song written just for you. I did not, let's revisit this critical point, kill you. And how have I been repaid? With your teeming offspring. I should've figured. I should've known there would be an egg sac involved somewhere, and that my new leaf turned would lead to dozens of wee Mels, transparent, squirrelly, and with crab-like little jumping-spider legs barely visible for their tininess. As I snuff your tender progeny with my thumb, I will dwell on your treachery, Mel, and it won't be pretty for your kind.