What is life?

I thought, as I sat on Arachnid’s chimney. The sky seemed to get lower as the ground slowly got higher and higher. Through the clouds I could see something small, oh so  small that it would take a microscope to see it, but yet I saw it. The reason people, animals, plants, fungi, and the bacteria live.

Pondering some more, blind to the reason right in front of me, I came to the conclusion that life is the ability the feel wonderful, rejuvenated feeling of socks soaked wet.

Here is some more things I thought about:

If olive oil is made with olives, and canola oil is made with canola plants, what is baby oil made out of?

Why are puns funny?

What does Spinette mean? My parents never told me.

Why do people give out balloons at parties? Like here, Johnny, have a sack of my breath that you can pop at anytime!

If people wear socks almost all the time, why don’t people wear gloves all the time?

What are kisses? And why do I enjoy them, even though if it’s just skin sucking?

How does a hand wave substitute for a greeting? 

How many cats does a lady need to have to become a crazy cat lady?

If babies are delivered by storks as some people say, why can’t humans fly?

Why do people put ranch on their salad, if it just gives it more calories?

Who had the idea of rapping? It’s basically just saying words to the beat of music really really fast.

Fe= Iron. Male=Man. Female. DOES THIS MEAN I’M IRON MAN?

Suddenly, a ball of glitter came from the clouds, knocking me over. I know everything now.



Pondering the Existence of Shadows

Nobody is the absence of Somebody. Therefore, he doesn’t exist. Nothing is the absence of something. Therefore, nothing doesn’t exist. Shadows are the absence of light… Does this mean that shadows don’t exist either?

Shadows are the nonexistence of light.

What do you think? Leave your opinions and conclusions in the comments below these words.


I’m just going to unceremoniously shove a link to our book, Slugventures: The Adventures of a Slug, here, in the hopes that you will hopefully check it out.


I am writing this post to clarify my cranberry juice. It has been brought to my attention that there are rumors soaring around on nonexistent wings that my cranberry juice is not, in fact, cranberry juice, but instead, blood.

I am writing this post to strike down any such rumors as I find the thought of drinking blood like some common vampire to be atrocious.

My cranberry juice is simply the liquid that comes out when you squeeze a cranberry. And, I must add, it is quite delicious.

And besides, I am a vegetarian.


There is also another rumor soaring around on nonexistent wings—this one due to Spinette—that I can morph into a spider. I am here to tell you that that idea is absolutely preposterous. I am completely and utterly human. I just have a fondness for spiders and cranberry juice.


Spinette Spyder’s Soccer Blog!

Good morning soccer fanatics! Do you want to know how to score a touchdown on the battlefield with a birdie at your feet? Well, today is your lucky day!

The secret to being a pro at soccer is to keep your eye on the birdie. See the birdie. Fly like the birdie. Eat worms like the birdie. Be the birdie. Don’t pay attention to people in front of you, and run all of them over, if that’s what it takes to be the birdie. Stab them with your beak!

The next step to becoming a soccer champ is to never put your hands on the birdie! It’s very impolite to a poor mother birdie if you touch her eggs. Only the man who picks at grass for the whole game– I mean, the guy who protects the throne from players looking to shoot touchdowns can do so. He has a very mellow perspective on nature. Some say he’s a birdie whisperer and is actually a pro if he is not a backstroke.

Now, for the last tip I give for soccer: Don’t say soccer! What’s soccer? I don’t know! The pros don’t even call soccer soccer, since that is just how much they respect the game. You don’t see Ulrich Salchow saying soccer, you see him saying the actual true title that this game deserves! They call it a name so phomenal, that I couldn’t think of saying soccer ever again. It’s called League of Legends or LOL for short.

I hope this helped you become better at LOL!

In a school, high in the mountains, as fresh as I could be I played on a sports team. Can you people guess the color of my gersey? Comment your guesses down below.

The contest ends in five days. Whoever wins gets to choose a topic for me to write about on this blog. It could be about anything, except controversial topics that may hurt the infants.







We Were Liars Book Review

For most of this book, I thought it was kind of “meh”. It wasn’t too great, but it wasn’t spectacularly awful either. But, that may just be me as I prefer epic fantasies to realistic fictions.

But then the twist happened…

Oh my blobfish, the twist!

It was explicitly stated in the book not to reveal how the book ended and I will abide by Lockhart’s wishes and will not reveal how the book ended.

But the twist.

After reading the twist, I read it again to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. Then I read it again to doublecheck. Then I ran to Spinette’s house and begged her to read it as I was sure that if I didn’t discuss the ending with someone I would surely explode.

The verdict: The ending will make you claw your eyeballs out (in a good way).

A makeup tutorial from Spinette

Hello! Today we will go over the basics of how to cover up your web blushes! Most people don’t have web blushes because they know how to apply makeup properly, and if you are a lousy bum like me and can’t put on this stuff, this should be very useful.

First, we get the foundation! I like to use a moderate layer of cupcake frosting, since it comes in all different colors and is very diverse. Put it on your face, making sure to cover up everything! If flies and frosting lovers surround you, you are doing very well. Soak up that attention!

The next thing we do is the blush. This is a very very very important part of applying cosmetic appliances. I enjoy using Arachnid’s red stick that she puts on her lips. She honestly has no concept of beauty, since red is used for blushes and she doesn’t even have any! In circles, put it on your cheeks. At this point, your red stick should be only a stub. Don’t hold back!

Now for the lip stick. With the little stub you have from the blush use the last of it on your lips. It should be pink now, since you rubbed it onto the frosting (or some other shade with a touch of red if you are a person of color) This is turn will give a natural look to your lips. Use the whole stub.

Last but not least, the eyeliner! I use a black fine-point Sharpie to do this. The fine point will allow for thin lines and thick lines too. Use it on your eyes and your eyebrows. Make your eyebrows thick and pointy, making sure the eyebrow doesn’t even look like a eyebrow!  It it very unnatural to have eyebrows, since you could look like a certain fourth wall breaking slug.

Most people would stop here, but I go above and beyond and do my hair as well. I usually do messy bun, using a bread bun to measure how high my hair poofs up. On special occasions, I put sugar in my hair, since it makes me look like Elsa and it tastes nice when I get nervous.

For fashion, I usually choose long dramatic blood red capes, short sunny yellow tank tops, and Aladdin size pants. I look good in almost everything, except high heels. I still wear them though, as a weapon for defense, in case Arachnid gets mad at me for using up her red stick.

Yay! Now you can go out and look super duper pretty! People with point at you, laugh with you on the streets, or gaze at you with lovesick side glances.

Have fun with your new look!



I have mixed feelings on sequels. I simultaneously adore them and abhor them.

I love sequels because I love getting to know more about my beloved characters.

I hate sequels because I hate having to wait a year or more inbetween books, wondering what happens every second between books until I can’t concentr— Wait… What was I talking/writing about? (Not to mention cliffhangers! I can assure you, cliffhangers only increase my hatred of sequels, although I love cliffhangers.)

For my favorite series, I sometimes end up checking the latest release date every day of the week after I read it. Most often, my dreams/nightmares are also hounded by the characters. I often imagine throttling the authors because they don’t write faster.

In conclusion, I prefer large books so I can learn a satisfactory amount of my character’s story (yes, I refer to them as “my characters”) and no sequel, so I don’t have to wait. But, imagine the weight of the Harry Potter series as one book, so I suppose an author has to consider practicality when deciding whether or not to have one book or many.

Slugventures Review

The title has probably led you to believe that there will be a review of Slugventures in this post. But, obviously, I will not be reviewing my own book, as that would be very vain of me.

Following the colon will be links that will direct you to reviews of Slugventures done by other people:

Teenage Book Reader

Make sure to check out their blogs as well. They’re probably awesome.


Slugventures Part 2


I am aware that you have all been waiting and waiting and waiting some more for Slugventures to finally come out on Kindle. I have come to notify you that your wait is finally over.

Dear future nonexistent reader,

You must read Slugventures: The Adventures of a Slug—a book full of wit, cunning, and absolute stupidity—to fulfill the life goals you didn’t know you had.

Sea Cucumber

Sorry, your call cannot be completed if dialed. Please check the number and dial again. Beep beep boop.

I dialed again. Again the same message played.

Clutching onto it, I threw it across the room, causing the screen to fade.

Beep boop bepp ebopp beep boop beep bbeeeeep blooop beep bleep bleep boop beep booop bi bopp bleep boop bleeb boop bop 

“Why don’t you play anything else! You are a radio, aren’t you?” My eyebrow twitched.

Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?

“Hmmm.” I turned to face the radio, picked it up and dialed once more, pressing random numbers.

This is a sea cucumber.

“Can you sing for me? I bet your voice is wonderful yo—” I asked.

No! Someone stole my “wonderful” maroon flower! I need it back!

“Then can you sing for me?” I swooned. This Michael Jackson-sounding cucumber was going to sing, and he was going to love it.


He hung up.

I searched my blue tinted room, under the cheese-colored sheets, in my cheesecake, and in my cheese puffs, but I found nothing. I even checked inside the webs on my cheeks! (Don’t ask how I get in there)

Giving up, I sat on my pillow, staring through Arachnid’s window. She was scolding a cactus, and threw it out!

My feet rushed down the stairs, while my brain told me to stay. Unsurprisingly, my feet won the battle and soon I was witnessing a cactus in pain. He was withering, a wilted flower on his spikes giving me a powerful sense of deja vu. It was maroon just like the sea cucumber’s!

Did this cactus steal this flower from the sea cucumber!

Casually, I stepped on the cactus, smashing it under my boot and took the flower back. It wilted even more in my hands when I realized it was poisoned with the essence of hot glue.

Trembling, I took out my radio (which I brought with me) and dialed that same random haphazardly chosen number.

“I’m sorry,” tears flowed from my eyes, “Your flower has been poisoned.” And my dreams of Michael Jackson terribly crushed.

Who this?

“Well, Mr. Sea Cucumber, you actually never asked for my name.”

Mr.? I’m no Mr.! Are you talking about my son? Sea Cucumber Junior? Because we got rid of any Misters ’round here. 

It took me a moment to realize this complication. Sea Cucumber Junior held the radio, MY FLOWER! HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?

It also took me a moment to understand that sea cucumbers cannot talk nor sing and I just smashed a poor cactus without any good reason, probably leaving the person who I enjoy the company of crying over a cactus, but then again, Arachnid never cries and that was the first time I cried, for a simple imaginary problem that wouldn’t be a problem if I just didn’t imagine it, or if, honestly, I just realized the radio that I was holding was a phone all this time, or if I just pondered the idea of how it sang part of the Spongebob theme song, despite not having the qualities needed to do so, or if that actually was Sea Cucumber singing, which I was rooting for in the first place, but that means I didn’t imagine it and my very sense of reality is indeed very warped, and wonder to the very ends of this universe if this very, very, very, very long sentence is going to end.








My Pet Cactus

A few weeks ago, I got a pet cactus. It wasn’t my childhood dream to have a lovely pet, but I’ve still always wanted one. The only issue is that I end up neglecting and killing all my pets. To clarify, for the nonexistent readers out there who are animal advocates, all my pets have been plants.

I was nearly ecstatic when I got my new pet because cacti only need to be watered once a month, so even if I neglect it, it should be alright.

I set the cactus in a high windowsill where Nobody would be able to reach it, other than my spiders, of course. (I do not consider my spiders my pets. They are my friends.)

There was even a pretty maroon flower that smelled sweet and opened and closed.

But then, to my utmost horror, I discovered that the flowers had been glued to the cactus.

I pushed my cactus out the window.

Q&A Part 2!!! (Spinette Edition)

Will Ned the Narwhal retrieve answers or just the same anonymous identities as Nobody? Will he succeed in such plans, to expose these two authors to the world?

“Good morning, Spinette,” Ned the Narwhal greeted. “Can you step aside for a few questions?”

“Yes,” I agreed, stepping aside.

“Why did you step away?” Ned asked.

“That was only one question,” I said, distractedly, making eye contact with an adorable spider. “I was expecting more questions to come this way, after being so polite. Arachnid would be proud of me after telling me to mind my manners.”

“Oh!” Ned finally asked some more, blinking twice in surprise. “How is life with your very, very, very private neighbor?”

“I enjoy her company, as I do yours,” I replied. “It is fun to see her turn back from her spider form. The way the spider hairs crawl back to normal toes is mesmerizing.”

Ned raised an eyebrow. “Are you human?”

“I honestly can’t say for sure.”

He gave me another question: “How do you think Arachnid types on her keyboard? With two hands, or eight legs?”

“We don’t type. We appreciate old school.” Suddenly, I had an idea. A beautiful idea that would certainly involve Ned. I grinned, somewhat evilly.

“Uh… How old are you?”

“I’m—” I stopped myself. “How old are you?”

“22 years,” Ned’s eyes squirmed around the room, frantic. Was the way I was looking at him that scary?

“How are your trips to Unicornia?” I asked, questions piling up on one another. “Who is your greatest enemy? What topping do you like on your pizza?”

Ned backed away into a corner. “The trips aren’t great; Edna because she cursed me; and mushrooms.”

“Yes. Perfect.” I licked my lips.

“What are you saying that for?” Ned was shivering in that corner.

“I always wondered what it would be like, ” I smiled widely, grabbing his fins, “to have you for dinner, Ned.”


Arachnid came into my house, covered in black soot.

“Arachnid!” I hugged her as she squirmed away, not wanting associate with me. “Why are you covered in black stuff?”

“I ran into Santa on my way here. He was on summer vacation,” she said sarcastically, wiping herself off on my carpet. “I came here to clean myself, since I don’t want this dirt all over my house.”

I know what she’d been doing, of course. She was cleaning her chimney which I recently trashed by pouring glitter down it. It is a long story.

“Do you want some dinner?” I asked.

“No.” She frowned.

“Okay, ” I took her hand and led her to my dining room, knives glinting on the walls. “I need your help for something too.” Once she saw what it was, she turned to run away, but I held her stiffly by the neck.

Ned was sitting there on the table, eating some mushroom pizza. “Hi.”

“Hello,” I waggled my thumbs, shyly.

“I DON’T WANT TO EAT DINNER WITH A FAT NARWHAL!” Arachnid screamed, trying to struggle out of my grip.

“Shhh…,” I whispered, “We need to write this character out of our house! You broke my computer yesterday, so I need you to write him away!”

“Then why didn’t you say so?” she whisper-shouted, taking out her laptop. Instantly, she typed a lousy conclusion to this interview.

Then the narwhal swam away, magically forgetting everything that happened in that soot-covered house. THE END.

Ned started swimming away, magically forgetting everything. But I wanted to do more.

“This is one thing you shouldn’t forget,” I neared him.

“What? Who are you?” he asked, disoriented.

I licked his shiny blue-white head, savoring the flavor upon my taste buds. “You taste nice, but for future reference, spice it up, okay?”


I watched as the narwhal goes into his bubble, floating like a fairy in the air, never to see us, his creators, ever again.


More of Nobody’s Antics

Nobody carried a large vat of corrosive acid and a handful of fine jewelry as he stumbled up the drive to Arachnid’s house. He slipped inside the front door into the foyer and gently set the vat down onto the plush maroon rug that covered the polished gray floor.

He tossed a carved pewter ring into the corrosive acid and smiled as it dissolved into nothing.

Nobody stepped back a step to reach for the delicate gold earrings from the pile of jewelry that he had set on a nearby table, but he tripped on the edge of the rug, disturbing the vat. Some of the liquid inside sloshed over the edge, falling in two perfect puddles on the rug.

Nobody shrieked, thinking about what Arachnid would do to him for ruining her rug. He ran to the garden and plucked a towel from the tree they were growing from and hurried back to the foyer, where he began dabbing the rug, sweat dripping down his nonexistent brow.

A spider crawled up his shoulder and whispered to Nobody, “What if it soaked through the carpet?”

A few moments later, the same thought occurred to Nobody and he peeled back the rug to reveal the bubbling surface of the wood. Nobody shrieked again and he tried to wipe it down, but it did nothing.

To prevent further spillage, Nobody heaved up the lid of the vat to seal the corrosive acid away, but drops of acid from the lid fell to the rug.

Nobody yelped and ran to the garden, where he picked another towel, and ran back to the foyer. He flung back the rug to wipe away some of the bubbling acid, but in the process of doing this, he had knocked over the entire vat onto the rug.

Nobody threw the grand piano and the umbrella stands that were on top of the rug across the room and rolled it up—the rug, not the umbrella stands—before running to the garden once again to once again pick a towel off the tree.

He tried to wipe the acid off the floor, but it didn’t seem to work and instead made it worse and he deemed Arachnid’s ash-gray floors irredeemably destroyed. He started to sweat profusely, convinced that Arachnid would have him assassinated in his sleep.

At that moment, Arachnid breezed through the front door. She took in the state of her foyer and said, her voice dangerously quiet, “Get out.”

Nobody took the remains of his acid and hurried out the door. Arachnid flung the remaining jewelry after him, a diamond ring hitting his head.

She slammed the door and stalked to the library to go read a book.

But, of course, dear nonexistent readers, in case you were worried, Arachnid’s foyer was completely intact, as Nobody had spilled corrosive acid on the wooden floors.

Who is Nobody?

If Nobody were to ask, “Who is Nobody?”, I would answer, “Nobody is not Somebody.”

But if you, dear nonexistent reader, were to ask, “Who is Nobody?”, then I would answer, “Nobody is not Somebody.”

Because for once, the only time that I can’t remember, I would answer Nobody truthfully because Nobody is no one and nothing and he is definitely not Somebody. You may then ask, “But if Nobody is not Somebody, then who is Nobody?”

And I would repeat, “Nobody is no one and nothing. He has no form, no character, no personality. Nobody is, in fact, the absence of Somebody.”

“Then who is Somebody?” you ask.

“Somebody is the counterpart of Anybody,” I answer.

“But who is Somebody?” you ask again, slightly exasperated.

“Somebody is someone,” I answer, tired of your tiring questions.

“What does that even mean?” you ask.

I shrug. If you are unwilling to understand, I am unwilling to explain. But Nobody is a complex… something.

“Who is Nobody?” you try again, unsatisfied with my half-hearted answers.

“He is no one.”


Imaginary Q&A

The following Q&A is completely imaginary, which means it never happened. If you were to ask, “Whose imagination is it?”, I would answer, “Why, yours, dear nonexistent reader.”

“Is Arachnid your real name?” Nobody asks.

“Of course. When Spinette and I were born, our parents immediately knew that we would grow up to become spider-themed authors and named us accordingly.”

“Where do you live?”

“I can assure you, Nobody, that I live in this universe, or the next, or in Somebody’s imagination,” Arachnid answers, slightly bored and highly annoyed.

“How long have you known Spinette?” Nobody asks. He falls off his seat after asking this question and lies on the floor at Arachnid’s feet.

Arachnid sips her cranberry juice, unsurprised at his poor coordination, and answers, “Not longer than I can remember.”

“How old are you?” Nobody inquires from the floor. He picks up a spider and lets it crawl over his hand.

“Why do you ask?”

“Why does Anybody ask a question?” Nobody replies.

“Because he does not know the answer.”


“Moving on,” Arachnid says, moving on.

“Rumor says that you are part spider.”

“That’s not a question.”

“Alright.” Nobody pauses for a moment, rewording his statement so it can become a question. “Are the rumors that you are part spider true?”

“This interview is making you uncomfortable.”

“You mean,” Nobody says, the spider making a web on his shoulder, “‘This interview is making you uncomfortable.'”


“Is Spinette human?”


“Um…,” Nobody mumbles, picking himself up off the floor, “I’ll be leaving now.”

“Put the spider back.”

Why we are The WebWeavers

“Why do you call yourselves The WebWeavers?” Nobody asks.

“Why not?” I answer Nobody because I don’t feel like saying more than two words.

But, since I like you, dear nonexistent reader, much better than Nobody, I’ll answer this absolutely delightful question a bit more thoroughly.

We are called The WebWeavers because we weave webs of lies to trap our readers. You may ask, “Don’t you tell stories?” and to that even more delightful question, I would answer, “What is a storyteller but a glorified liar?”.

Slugventures: The Adventures of a Slug

Hello and good day, dear nonexistent readers.

My good friend, Spinette Spyder, and I, Arachnid Weaver, have published our very first book! It is called, if you haven’t guessed by the title, Slugventures: The Adventures of a Slug.

The book, if you haven’t guessed by the name of the title, about the adventures of a slug. The specific slug that this book is about is named PeeWee, who has a highly annoying personality.

Slugventures is the documentation of PeeWee the slug’s adventures as he attempts to save the unicorn race from exposure.

If you, dear nonexistent reader, are scouring the Earth for more of our witty humor and particular writing style which you have grown to know and love, you do not have to search any further, for we have provided you with what you seek. It is found in the pages of Slugventures, which you will find by following the link following the colon:

The Home Page

This is the homepage. The lovely and beautiful homepage. The homepage is used for many purposes. I just do not know what those purposes are so I will do what I want and you, my delightful nonexistent readers, will deal with it.

I’ve decided that this homepage will serve as an introduction to the rest of the blog. But I do not yet know what will be in the rest of the blog, so forgive me if it is not accurate.

As it has been decided by circumstance that this homepage will not be introduction page, so I will fill this previously white space with the motives of writing this blog.

The ellipses in the previous paragraph was me thinking. There really is no motive for writing this blog. Why did I do it? Why did I sit down and write these words that you, dear nonexistent reader, are wasting your time reading?

Now, the purpose of this wondrous homepage has become me writing my thoughts. On that note, is the smell of a freshly mown lawn grass blood?

I will continue to fill the white space of this page by writing about myself and Spinette, the (hopefully) co-author of this amazing website.

My name is Arachnid Weaver and I spend my time filling white space with words among other things.

Spinette Spyder spends her time listening to butterflies scream and filling white space with words.

Dear nonexistent reader! I have had a revelation! The purpose of this homepage, and consequently this website, is to fill empty space with words.