The door opened. Two rather large spiders dressed neatly in business suits crawled in. Sally gaped as they hopped from the floor to the tops of a chair, and then from the chair to the table top.

From our first interaction I could tell it was going to be a dog fight. Neither combatant was going to give the adversary an inch. That’s just how things are when you are of a class as distinguished as mine. A target is placed upon your back unfairly by the world and you must try with all your might not to be struck by an arrow. I shall set the scene for one such occasion when a man of lower class tried to put me in my place. I was on a date. It was a 3rd date if you must know. I thought I’d display a touch of class by taking her to an eatery known for its gourmet burgers and brews. I could tell she was impressed.

It was a cold night and dark and I was sitting alone when I remembered I am a man with balls. I have balls and there is some hair on my balls. Sometimes women have touched them and sometimes I touch them myself; but the main thing to remember is that I am a man with balls.

“My husband is a great collector,” said Kit, stirring her drink with one fingertip and smiling up at the CEO.

“We journeyed through the forest of the frenzied fists,” Armella said. She had her hands on her hips, frowning. “I got punched in the eye by a maple.”