Cockroaches.
I am irrationally spooked silly by them itty, dirty, ugly looking creatures that scurries (and sometimes fly) around making my life miserable whenever we are in the same room.
When I think about it, cockroaches are exceptionally good at making the most out of my phobia. Don't it seem weird where they just start scurrying around you or flap and fly around you while you are frantically trying to get it to go away? The more you are spooked by them, the more they seem to want to irritate the hell out of you.
"He fears me. He FEARS ME!! Heh, this should be fun. Lemme try to make skin contact."
The flying ones irk me the most. They always go flying at you like some sort of kamikaze operation. Whats more infuriating is the fact when I start waving my hands around trying to drive it away and accidentally smack it dead. Along with the corpse of a crushed roach comes that the dreaded smell...
I hate the smell of roaches when I whack em dead. You know that mushy smell. It also never seems to die with any elegance. The crunching sound when I crush a roach never fails to make the hair on the back of my neck stand up. The worst of it all is the damp bits thats probably the entrails, squeezed out of its frame when its squashed. The bit of white intestines and liquidy substance mangled in the black carcass. Disgusting.
Roaches are big enough for you to notice em when they scurry across the surface of your skin. Big, black and silent bastards. The fleeting sensation of them gliding across my skin, only for me to notice that its a roach never fails to send me jumping (and cursing and flailing my limbs and involuntary wriggling in spasms to get rid of it).
Unfortunately, the survival and reproduction ability of the roach is mythical in proportion. If there is one thing that will survive a nuclear holocaust, you can bet your dollar that its a cockroach.
Tough luck for me.
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