(alternately titled: a page taken from the play
book of Little Miss Muffet.)
\"Oh...My...Argh...\" \"Somebody...
Please...ease...help...me...ee\"..., and
then dead silence, this comprises,
the sole thread bare strand
i.e. plaintive desperate plea – recorded
by emergency 911 agent Brand
N. Burg-Harris, a close family member
of the deceased, who
(said relation) hand
dully appeared aghast, shell shocked,
white as a ghost,
et cetera damned
near roundly dismissed,
but extraordinarily grand
lee escorted to safety,
as some VIP, who
under a \"normal,\" regular,
and/or typical case, would be
gingerly brushed aside land
ding in the loony bin, what with his
babbling like a lunatic understand
ably very little attention paid,
but the sheer immensity,
sans horror surpassed any
concoction hatched, analogous
to grotesque japaned
artwork by necessity didst demand,
an extremely over
active imagination, thus
no \"FAKE\" spiderbiter words
exist to expand
to embellish, fabricate,
and/or surpass,
a terrifying, nightmarish,
and hideous circumstance
in summary visa a vis dis
covering Goliath manned
doubles (mandibles - jaws of steel),
wherein barenaked remnants
of Matthew Scott Harris protruded,
which humongous mouthparts
of gigantic sized
Tarantula pierced poison
into dangling, flickr
ring, and twitching
scant visible remains
of renowned Arachnologist, academician
passionate serious
die hard \"Spider Man.\"