The dead body is still there.
I know, I know. I should clean it up. What kind of a person leaves the remains of a giant centipede sqaushed onto the trim along the floor? Every time I walk down the hall I stare at it. Its legs are still splayed this way and that, frozen in their final caress.
Ew.
As soon as my son notices it, I'm going to have to get the Windex and scrub it off. It's just that the very thought of touching it, even through several layers of paper towel, gives me the heebiest of jeebies.
Maybe I can leave it there as a warning to other centipedes?
In the middle ages they used to flay thieves, and nail their skins to the doors as warnings.
That's right.
I said it.
I'm going medieval on those furry fuckers.
Consider yourselves warned.
