Thing a Week 3: An arachnid anecdote

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An anxious arachnid, abandoned and allowed ample age
becomes bold, bored, brash, and brave.

Carefully considering a caustic calamity contra its cage, a
discarded detainee, despising, determined to deprave
encounters each encumbrance encompassed with enmity
for fury fused faith neither forgives nor forgets forfeited fidelity.

Goodwill gone, gesturing grossly, grieving gone geniality,
heavyheartedly howling, hopelessly haunting hijacked hospitality,
ironically inculpable in its immolation-indigenous irritation,
just jurors of jerks, jowly jeering at jilted jubilation.

Kenned kinesics kept quiescent, ketamine coursing quickly,
long legs lurching, licking its last limpid limits, longing for libation.
Malevolently musing on mortality, meditating on misery,
nevermore needing nutrients, nethermost needs necessitating negation.
Operating only on one objection, onerously oppressing oblivion’s occasion,
partially persistent, partially pessimistic, pleading a Pyrrhic prize.
Queasily quivering and quavering, quandering death’s qualifications, and
realizing a raven readiness to resolve wretchedness and rise, the
spider stiffened silently, slowing its salient stimulation, surrendering a saga.

The tempestuous tumbler towered triumphantly, the theatergoers through,
under the unpleasant urn unmasked an unattractive unbed,
vindicating vermin of vitality, vanishing the vessel for a valiant view.

Wildly whooping where once a woken wangler was, we whetted, wonderfully
xeroxing xeric exclamation, xenial exploding,
yielding youthful yodels and yammers of yeasay, yay, yippie, and yessed.
Ziraleet! Zelotic zitellas zeroed the last of the zek’s zoic zest.

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