Anatidaephobia

This morning there was a lizard in my kitchen. It wasn’t the biggest of lizards but it wasn’t a tiny one either. The brown scaly thing was scaling the walls of my kitchen, proving to be quite menacing. To most people it would mean nothing but free pest control, but for me a lizard in my vicinity is alarming enough to send me spiralling into a web of holy fuckballs!  It’s called a gecko and it is not a terrorist. But it sure as hell terrorised the shit out of me; almost literally at that.

So after I yelled and screamed like a little girl who lost her knickers, I calmed myself down and stilled the contemplative thoughts of suicide into a lull; then somehow I gathered enough courage run outside my apartment, hyperventilating and all, and get to the elevator and summon the man that operates the elevator to help rid me of the beast. Maybe beast is the wrong term. I’m thinking more along the lines of Godzilla. Which makes me wish I wasn’t so afraid of lizards, because if I weren’t I could have a pet Iguana and name him Godzilla. Which would be awesome to myself and my peers, but not so much for the critics because they’d go on a little bitch fit about how Godzilla was female in the movie. To which I say, fuck you critics. I want to be the one to give Godzilla a sex change. Does that mean I have a God complex or a Godzilla complex? ANYWAY! Back to the point I was about to make… So a few moments later the man came in and got rid of the vermin for me. He didn’t kill it because that’s just fucking gross. I mean I hate the slippery little bastards and all but I wouldn’t want them to die before my eyes. Die elsewhere; I don’t want to have to clean the kitchen countertops because of your slimy cold blood. Psh… Fucking lizards.

So, naturally, this whole lizard escapade got me thinking deeply about life and all the crap that your brain does without you knowing. For instance could you imagine the amount of shit you’d be in if you had to remind yourself to take each breath you breathe? Well don’t say yes, because you’re not a fucking Dolphin and only they know what that’s like to have to breathe voluntarily. Fun-fact-a-little-too-late: Dolphins breathe voluntarily. I’m not making this shit up. They got the short end of the stick if you ask me. It’s like evolution played a nasty prank on them. But this post isn’t about dolphins, because that’s just fucking gay. Secretly though I do admire dolphins not because they’re cute and shit but because their brains are so fucking spectacular that the details will make you cum buckets.

Shortly after zoning out and impressing myself with my knowledge and newfound admiration for dolphins, I got back to thinking about phobias and how they work. There are some pretty fucking crazy things that people are afraid of. So I took the time to do some research for you lot and list out a few of those weird and fucked up phobias that REAL motherfucking people have to deal with. None of these are made up, and yes all my knowledge of this is purely from the internet. Now you might ask why you need me to do this when you could’ve just done the research yourself, to which I’d say, Go fuck yourself you ungrateful little shit! After having said that, I would carry on my usual, not giving a fuck about your feeble opinions and reveal the phobias in a somewhat orderly fashion.

So without further delay:

Ablutophobia: Fear of washing or bathing.
To me showers are sacred as fuck, I refuse to be seen outside my house when I have not bathed. Inside my house, I’ll go through the sunrise and sunset before I shower, but it’s needless to say that I do manage to shower daily. The thing about showers is that no matter how reluctant you are to get into it in the beginning; you will always be reluctant to get out of it once you do. So I spend thirty to forty five minutes a day in the bathroom. I have a very strict regiment, which I call the SSS. Shit. Shave. Shower. So to all of those with Ablutophobia, I’m so sorry you will never know the joys of bathing, I can only imagine how hard it must be for you to cope with normal living. Oh and also, kindly stay the fuck away from me you stinky bastards!

Then there’s Agyrophobia: Fear of crossing the road. Could you imagine that? Fear of crossing the fucking street? I think it should be easily treatable because all you’d have to do to get me to cross the road is hold out a couple of bucks and I’ll hop skip and trot my way to the curb. Either that or have Angelina Jolie offer to bang me only on that side of the road. She isn’t my number 1 pick for the job, but she’ll suffice. Could you imagine if the chicken from the famous why did the chicken cross the road, saga was agyrophobic? That would ruin things for generations to come!

Which brings me to Chaetophobia: Fear of hair.

There’s not much that can be said about this, other than what…the…fuck?

This next one might be a little hard to fathom but it’s a real one and I am many things but I am not a fucking liar, so take my word for it: Hexakosioihexekontahexaphobia: Fear of the number 666. Now I get that some people would be afraid of the devil and what not but fear of a number is just lunacy! It’s like being afraid of the number 69. Who could possibly be afraid of the number 69? It’s such a beautiful number, everything it stands for the number 6, the number 9 and the sexual connotations it carries.

As an added bonus I have tossed in a phobia that is considered fictional but it is not because a man in London was diagnosed with this recently, don’t ask me how I know, I’m a fucking soothsayer: Anatidaephobia: Fear that somewhere, somehow, a duck is watching you.

So to test this theory I went to the local park where ducks and geese roam freely. I sat around there, bored to bits by the lameness of these feathered fucks and wandered off into thoughts about coitus with a celebrity whose name I will not mention because she’s actually quite ugly. When I turned my attention back to the ducks I noticed that one of them, in the far end of the pond from where I was sitting was staring at me. Not just into my eyes but into the very depths of my soul. All the way home I thought about that duck. It’s eyes, it’s bill, and it’s brown, grey and white feathers… It’s wings, its little fluffy tail; after all that I thought about how delicious it would be on a plate. I’m a sucker for Peking duck, and then I thought about a clever pun about how this ogling duck would be called Peeking duck. It was funnier in my head than on this post, but it made me laugh so you best laugh too. In conclusion I think that man deserves an award for being a complete and utter twat.

There you have it, fucked up phobias compiled by yours truly. I don’t know when I’ll post something again, but I will, it could be tomorrow, it could be later tonight or it could be next month or it could even be the year 2270. If that is the case then I will have managed to complete my prototype for the Time Machine and accomplished my first test flight, sucks to be you, um… Suckers!

PS: Here’s a GIF of a friendly dolphin waving goodbye.