My spider senses are tingling! It’s a creepypasta based on your favorite comic book spider! And it’s starting right now!
No, really, my spider senses are tingling. I’m not kidding. I was born with a rare permutation of the spider gene that allows me to create webbing and climb walls. You ever see that eight foot tarantula up against your wall while you’re sleeping at night during the terrors? That’s me, with my teeth glistening, and my many shiny black eyes, staring at you, at night, watching you sleep. When you go to bed at night, I’m gonna sneak in through the window, while whistling. Just a garden variety eight foot spider in the corner, watching you sleep. Enjoy your night, with me watching, a giant spider.
It’s just a metaphor, the point is, I’m not a good guy. I’m a local street tough. I beat up kids at pinball arcades, me and my buddy Frank Fly, run a gang. I beat up dogs. I steal aluminum cans and don’t even recycle them. Sometimes, I take entire packages of napkins from Mcdonald’s and I’m not even going to use them. I open hot dog packages at the store. I break fire hydrants and skateboard on the sidewalk. I beat up old women, steal sandwiches and graffito the sodawalk with various cans of Spray pant. Spray pant. I spray on clothing and walk naked down the road, with everyone staring at my massive junk. See that, punk? It’s my middle finger, travelling through the intertubes, to hit your fucking face.
But something happened to me that changed me into the man I am to day. At once a disheveled paperboy, now a true hero. See, we all have good and evil inside of all of us. And it’s not like in the movies. Evil wins in the end, but I won’t let it. There’s no good or evil, it’s just whoever’s side you’re on. That’s why evil will win in the end, I will lose. It’s not profound, nothing is. Everything is shit, nobody loves you, your parents are lying and we are all fucked in the end. That’s why your parents dressed up as santa claus. They didn’t love you. And that’s why I dress up as spider man. I don’t love you either. We all dress up as the thing you most love because when you grow up you realize it wasn’t real and feel sad, disappointed, and disillusioned. Like telling your kids you’re going to take them to Disney world, and instead driving them to get spayed and neutered. Wait that’s dogs. Well, whether a child or a dog, we’re all just chasing things we can’t have, whether it’s a bone, a trip to Disney world, or a prized #1 spiderman comic that nobody can have because it’s so rare, pristine and prized. As my father once told me: 90% of everything in life is going to be a disappointment.
Oh, oh the tape. It’s actually a comic this time. “Oh, the haunted comic.” Fuck you. You have no idea what this comic did to my life. It’s the first haunted comic. Spiderman issue #1. Now, this comic costs 6,000 dollars on ebay, and most are just duplicates made using a complicated scanning device called a printer, but I have it. #1. The #1 comic for the #1 person, me.
It cost me $6,000 on ebay and it left my wallet a bit disheveled simply because I couldn’t afford to feed myself, shower or shave. But that’s ok. At night I sleep with the spiderman #1 in my bed, with the cold plastic cellophane on my naked body. It’s better than a woman. It doesn’t whine, nag or get mad at you. Oh, oh the neighbors see me. With the window open. That strange man sleeping with the comic book.
I baked a lasagna, compiled a plate of rice Krispies treats as high as the eye could see, baked a themed spider pie, and made a coke rootbeer float (my favorite.) I prepared to watch the comic book. I ripped the plastic open, revealing its sensual paper body. I fingered the edges of the pages, being careful to finger them with  my finger prints. I bent, crisped, and sniffed the folds of the paper. I started to read. It was just peter parker walkin down the road and going to the zoo. Fuck this shit. Lame ass shit. Fuck spiderman. This was garbage.
I went to insert it into the player, but then I remembered this wasn’t a lost episode. This was a comic. Something you scan with your eyes. I didn’t want to do that. Fuck this. Fuck reading. I got up, angrily, but forgot the coke rootbeer float was teetering on my ottoman. “Ottoman!” I screamed, but after realizing an ottoman isn’t alive, the float fell, tumbled in fact, onto my 6,000 dollar comic book.
The ice cream crashed. The soda bubbled. The hot fudge smacked peter parker’s face like a pimp in harlem. I started to cry. It- it was ruined. “NO!” I screamed. “NOOO!” I stammered. I punched a pillow. I stomped around the room. I kicked a beer can, but it was too late. The soggy comic began to bleed, colors of ink with colors of ink. Every page was a story, but now two stories, the first page and the next page, and the next page and the last page, like stan lee had dementia and couldn’t get the sequence of events. The dot art, the lines scrawled, now it was just bloody tree pulp covered in carbonated e coli. I started to puke. The puke got into the comic, and sprayed all over the walls.
I fell backwards. At first I thought I was falling into a comic book, like one of those cool creepypastas where paranormal things happen, but this was a shitty story because it’s real and only terrible things happen. Instead I tripped backwards and slammed into an electrical outlet. The static electricity shot up my spine and I fell forward, stepping on my prized box turtle, Box Tuttle. His organs spewed all over my foot as I screamed in horror, slipped on turtle guts and my head slammed straight into the fucking tv. The glass shattered my retina and I was further electrocuted, with the fucking antenna because it’s an 80s television set shattering between the pieces of my skull plate and getting lodged in my brain, like a unicorn. But unlike the unicorns that drink pink fizzy drinks and cast spells, all I could do was scream in pain as the antenna shot electricity into my fucking brain. I guess a rhino would be a better metaphor here, since there is a villain in spider man called the rhino, but this is a real story, so fuck you.
As I cried over box tuttle, I stumbled into the kitchen, reaching for my phone, but I couldn’t see because of the various pieces of glass and metal lodged in my skull. My head slammed into the kitchen cabinet, and rice krispies poured into my brain. The moisture from my blood and internal organs created a small snap, crackle and popping noise, as evidently this doesn’t just happen with milk but any kind of fluid, including human blood. The oxygen inside the rice krispies carried the inorganic tv black box radiation through my bloodstream, super charging me with acid.
I was…changing. Evolving. Becoming a super…villain! Yes, yes, I am a villain. I was bad to begin with, but now I’m worse. Rice krispies pouring from my brain. I ripped out my eyeballs and replaced them with two quarters. I reattached my organs with instant mashed potatoes. I made myself a quick spandex suit using garbage bags and a sharpie. I wrote a symbol on there because I couldn’t see.
Oh, but I could see. I
This world rejected me…
This world thought it could just dump me in the trash, like an old pair of gym socks. But I’m not a pair of old gym socks. I am a human…fucking being. With quarters, heart and a brain. And feelings. And you thought you could just dump me in the trash? Like a fucking banana peel?!!!
Well THIS BANANA PEEL HAS A NON-STICK SURFACE! AND IT’S LAYING IN THE ROAD NOW! I immediately threw some banana peels in the road. Various cars drove by, none of them slipping, but I knew it was an inconvenience as one drove AROUND the banana peel.
My first evil deed. “I AM GARBAGE CAN MAN!” I screamed, beating my chest like donkey kong at a county fair.
I was gonna have to take out my revenge. My revenge on SPIDER MAN! “BRING ME THE SPIDER MAN!” I screamed. I yelled at some birds near a tree. I knew they didn’t speak English, as birds are incapable of decoding the human lexicon, but it was just for dramatic effect.
Now the whole world would know my rage. This was all spiderman’s fault. Oh, I knew where I could find spiders. The same places they lock up all the other untameable beasts! The family zoo! I got onto my moped and broke into the zoo, crashing through the gate in a truly vile manner, buzzing an old woman and causing quite a bit of distress. For I am Spiderman’s TRUE nemesis, garbage can man. Or quarter eyes man. Or maybe The Antenna Atrocity. Whatever who gives a fuck.
“Time to take out the trash!” I yelled, angrily, angrily still. I picked up a garbage can and threw it at a zebra. I fucked that zebra up. The zebra started crying. Tears streamed down the zebra’s face, wait, it was just water. Zebras can’t cry. Zebras can feel a deep sadness, but they cannot cry. “So it’s true.” I said, in a pun-like fashion. “A zebra can’t change it’s stripes!” I cackled at the zebra. Oh, he didn’t speak English, but he still sensed it was a sick burn. The zebra turned away, insulted.
I climbed over the fence and entered the lion’s den. “What’s the matter?” I yelled, with my best comic book villain puns. “Cat got your tongue?!!” I punched that lion square in the fucking face. Well, he had massive razor sharp jaws and bit into me, cutting my flesh open like a hot knife through butter. As the other lions joined in, I saw a familiar face in the middle of the zoo, among the screaming…
No…It wasn’t…was it?
Stan Lee, the creator of spiderman, was standing in the center of the park. He was wearing thick-rimmed glasses, but it was him. I’d recognize that senile smile anywhere.
He smiled at me. “You’ve got a lot of heart coming here, kid. Out in the park, battling the lions, harassing grandmothers, throwing garbage cans. These are truly heroic acts. You really are spiderman.” Stan lee smiled at me. “I’m not spiderman!” I yelled. “I want to kill spiderman!” Stan lee smiled. “I want to kill spiderman too. We all want to kill spiderman. See- when I was a kid-“ Stan lee started to ramble but the lions were cutting my internal organs open and my intestines were spewing all over the place. “And that is how I learned that mashed potatoes make both a great food and a quality adhesive.” What the fuck. “You don’t understand!” I started coughing up blood. “She never loved me, nobody did.” “It’s true.” Stan Lee said. “Nobody loves you. Most women only like men that have something to offer them. There is no such thing as unconditional love. Most relationships are just one party using another. Maybe she just used you because you were vulnerable, like a vulture picking at the remains of a delicious kebab dinner.” Stan Lee smiled. “Now let’s go home.” The lions were feasting on my body. I struggled to get up. Stan Lee produced from his pocket a bag of flour and threw it at me. “And remember. With great flour comes great responsibility.” And then he disappeared into the crowd, smiling.
I grabbed that fucking bag of flour and slammed it in the lion’s faces. They started coughing on the flour! They rolled over, blithering, with flour in their faces! “This tastes terrible!” One of them yelled, but they mouthed it. They probably picked up some English while watching the people at the park, lions being highly adaptive creatures.
I pet the noble creature on the face and scrambled away, just as the park ranger shot it point blank in the face with a rifle.
Wait a minute, he was shooting at me too! Who was this asshole.
Well anyway I escaped into the crowd and found Stan Lee. I wanted to thank him for all the lessons he taught me. “Get away from me you asshole.” Stan Lee said sternly. “But stan!” I yelled. “I was just helping you then douchebag I’m done talking to you. I’m trying to enjoy my hot pretzel.” Stan was eating a hot pretzel covered in mustard outside the parrot exhibit. And then he smiled. “Can you keep a secret?” I nodded. “I’m not stan lee. I’m not stan lee at all.” He took off his face. He removed his eyebrows, his wig, and used pieces of pretzel to sheer off the prosthetic pieces of his stan lee mask.
Underneath that… was spiderman. “Those aren’t just comic book stories.” He said. “It’s all true. I’m spiderman. I’ve been doing this for years, waiting, and waiting for someone to finally prove that they were spiderman also.” All those comic-cons, all those movie cameos, and it was really spiderman in stan lee makeup. “I made up this fake identity so that I could blend in with the “normal” people, being a spider man my self. “Wait a minute.” I said angrily. “Spiders don’t eat pretzels!” “My boy.” Stan Lee smiled. “Spiders and pretzels are like peanut butter and jelly.” Stan lee lifted the spiderman costume mask revealing his third identity, peter parker.
People in the zoo began to scream and evacuate as they saw the real face of peter parker. The eight glassy eyes stared at me, covered in bulging fur, pieces of spiky hair sticking out of the glistening jaws. The blood red eyes had eyes within eyes that seemed to go on forever, millions of eyes leering at me with every intense motion. A single straw-like tube came out of the spider mandible and stuck into my neck. He began sucking the blood out of my body slowly. I lost two gallons of blood within a few minutes. The screaming continued as the side mandibles opened, revealing blood gum flaps that contained side compartments to store delicious pieces of hot pretzel. When he turned to his side I could see the spider bone sticking out with hideous tendril like spider fingers fuzzing in the moonlight. The eyes glistened, smiling as the Lee sucked out 95% of my body fluids at the zoo.
And then the park ranger shot us both in the head.
I woke up in the hospital. “It was all a dream.” The doctor said. It was my primary care doctor. All of these seemed strangely familiar, like it had happened before. Who was this guy. “I never said it wasn’t a dream. You don’t even know I was dreaming.” The doctor smiled at me. “X-ray’s fine.” He held up an X-ray showing various spider eggs in my stomach and a bullet lodged in my skull. “What about this!” I held up some sticky fluid, some spider webbing of some kind. “That’s semen.” He said. “You’re in the paper, look!” He threw a newspaper onto my hospital sheets. The daily bugle. The headline said “Local man enjoys hot pretzel at the zoo.” That didn’t seem newsworthy. This was all just terrible. A conspiracy.
And then he got in close to my face. Really close to my face. Really, fucking. Close. He looked really nervous, and scared. “I don’t know about you, but between you and me, I’m not really a doctor. I’ve been coming in here for months wearing the coat and nobody’s said anything.” He moved in to kiss me for some strange reason and I ran the hell out of there as fast as I could.
“That’s the janitor’s closet.” He said. He was right. Only mops and dustpans in there. “You can leave through the window if you like, I won’t say anything.” The doctor smiled at me. He was right. I lifted the window and quickly dove out.
Only problem was, this was a four story building, and I was on the fourth story. Now, if memory serves me correctly, stan lee said he was spiderman looking for another spiderman. As I fell out the window I was forced to put my spider skills to the test. In the event I wasn’t spider man, I would have broken both of my legs and likely been put back into the hospital, where I could try again. In the event that I was spider man, I could zip away using my intense web slinging powers. I charged up my spider powers…
Oh my god they worked! I was spider man! I shot hot gooey webs into the sky as my hospital gown ripped off. I was swinging, flying, doing cartwheels, backflips! I began to sing! Spiderman, spiderman, does whatever a spider man! Spider man, spider eyes, I’ll even bake you spider pies! Look out, here comes spider man! Spider man! Spider man! I’m a fuckin’ spider man! I can fly with my spider power! Stopping lions with baking flour! Look out! Here comes spider man! Spider man! Spider man! I came out of a garbage can! Rice krispies! In my blood! Root beer floats in your neighborhood! Loook ooout-
I crashed headfirst into a semi truck, breaking my neck, as 700 stan lees exploded out of my stomach cavity. The end. Fuck.