In rapid fire succession Jim pummeled me on the rear with several blows from his Zefal. Seeing a 3" lump moving left and right under my shorts, Jim would react with a new blow each time it moved. As we continued speeding down the hill, I was becoming more afraid of my toothless crazed good buddy Jim than I was of the tarantula.

It was a quiet Sunday morning as we blazed past the Dover Baptist Church at the bottom of the hill. The Sunday service was just letting out. The Pastor, in his best robes, was standing on the front steps still shaking hands with his departing parishioners, who were now treated to the sight of a person in terror, screaming profanity at the top of his lungs, while a very large man, with no teeth, clad in pink lycra shorts, continued to beat him about the rear with a large blunt object, while riding bicycles down the street.

The spider finally had had enough of Jim's poundings, as I pulled my bike to the side of the road. He sank his venomous laden fangs into my flesh and I gave out a cry that would wake the dead. All 150 pairs of eyes from the Baptist congregation were now turned and riveted on me. In agony, I quickly pulled down my shorts to get the creature out. I screamed at Jim that my rear was on fire with burning pain. He abruptly grabbed his water bottle and proceeded to squirt me with his grape Gatorade on my now bare naked butt.

In the corner of my eye, I saw a small child run up to the pastor and I heard him say;

"Are those the Sinners that You are always preaching about?"

Lying beside the road in pain, each and every Baptist drove by and shook their heads. Several pointed Jim and me out to their children, as examples of a life gone bad.........