So you're lounging around in a freshly-built web one day--just chillin', hangin' out, all bein' a spider and shit--when you feel the telltale struggles of a delicious little victim. As you prepare to pump your squirming dinner with venom, something goes terribly awry; the "trapped" bug easily scurries out of view, and you feel a pair of tiny fangs sink right into your ass.
Wait, is that irony or does that just suck? You don't know. You don't understand complicated English concepts; you're just a damn spider. Or at least you were.
Now you're dead.
You ran afoul of the Portia spider, and it's not really your fault that it totally kicked your ass at being a spider. See, the Portia displays more brainpower than was ever thought possible in an insect. Each individual Portia employs their own unique and vast arsenal of dastardly impersonations to trick, ensnare and consume their prey.
A Portia spider might strum a pattern on a strand to impersonate the buzzing of a fly caught in another spider's web, while a different spider of the same exact species might opt to catch a real fly to throw in the web and, while the prey spider is distracted, sneak up behind it. It may pretend to be inanimate by moving only in the wind, it may observe and duplicate another spider's entire mating ritual or sometimes it might even build a complete web of its own that attaches to its victim's, thereby creating a trap out of the spider's own trap.
Jesus, Portia, there's being clever and then there's just being a dick.
Portia spiders design a new tactic for every individual spider they hunt, noting the prey's species, behaviors and circumstances before formulating their plan of attack. The Portia spider is so ingeniously murderous, it makes the Joker look like a furious mongoloid with a sledgehammer.
Don't believe us? Think we're exaggerating?
Hell, maybe you're right. Maybe you should tell us. Maybe you should click to leave a comment in that little box down there... .*
*Cracked Industries has recently merged with Portia Inc., and by reading this notice you acknowledge and waive all legal right to complaint arising from any and all comment boxes that have been secretly replaced with hungry spiders.
You, sir, are a firefly. Yes, you're a firefly this time. You're a male firefly to be specific, just emerged into a cool, breezy, moonlit summer meadow. Crickets are chirping, frogs are croaking and the trees sigh softly in the wind. What's that light? Ah! Of course, the tell-tale flashing pattern of a beautiful young lady to share your evening with. You venture forth, a song in your heart and a merry lilt in your flight-path.
Too bad she's just going to rip your heart out.
No, you're not just being bug-emo; she is literally going to rip your heart from body and devour your intestines if you fly over to have sex with her.
"Can't we just cuddle? Maybe a handjob?"
Some female fireflies go out at night hoping to find the same thing we all want: Just a little lovin' and maybe a chance to pass on our genes (or the very least some new strange that'll let us do the weird stuff). But a select few of those hotties--you know the ones, just hovering there, blinking like skanks--are actually traps: They're really females of the Photuris genus, who answer the signals of entirely different species in order to seduce, slaughter and devour their menfolk.
Oh, snap! Mothafucka got Ackbar'd.
This deviant behavior not only serves to feed the femme fatales, but also helps to control the numbers of competing species for their offspring and, to add insult to injury, they also absorb their prey's defensive toxins for their own benefit. In some cases, Photuris devote so much time to perfecting their Siren song that they lose their own distinct signal. Often male Photuris end up having to imitate other species themselves, just to get close to the female. So while she's expecting a hot meal, all she's getting is a super-size portion of humpin'. It's basically the firefly equivalent of the porno pizza guy.