What creeps you the most?

Question

the thought of blades cutting my face...eeewww nasty!
and
of course, crossing a hanging bridge...!

Answer 1

bugs under the skin

Answer 2

Ann Coulter

Answer 3

blade cutting the face...I have been across a hanging bridge at Grandfather Mt. when it was truly a hanging bridge...it creeped me out but a sliced face creeps it out way worse!

Answer 4

I would not be bothered by blades cutting your face...
or crossing a hanging bridge.

Answer 5

Wind Turbines. Those 3 winged windmills in So. Cal! yikes I have a panic attack every time I see them.
*shudders*

Answer 6

The thought of a blade running across my achilles tendon...ugh! That creeps me out worse than my wrists, neck, anything being sliced...♥

Answer 7

Small rodents! I hate mice! I almost had one fall on my head once. It missed and fell about an inch in front of my face!
EWWWWW!

Answer 8

Serial killers butchering me into pieces while I'm alive.

Answer 9

I'll admit it here, but no one in my life knows what I am going to tell you. My Sister and I were raised on a commune in Oregon in the late 1960's. Although we didn't know it at the time, it was sort of an open relationship type of thing revolving around a man that we all called Poppy. He was a really neat guy who played the guitar and sang. My Sister and I assumed that he was the actual father of most of the other kids running around. We were all home schooled, though there were so many of us that it felt as though it were a real school. The girls were encouraged to learn crafts, which if good enough, were sold at fairs on the weekend. My Sister and I were introduced to Macramé. We immediately fell in love with it and would produce wonderfully complex designs in wool, or jute, or just about anything that was handy. Around 3 years or so after begining, we were able to macramé just about anything you could possibly imagine. Poppy was really proud of us and talked about us all the time. We just adored him. That year, as Christmas approached, we colluded to produce the most beautiful gift for the Family, but especially for Poppy. We would Macramé garlands from the fresh Pine boughs surrounding our collection of buildings that comprised Our School, The Meeting lodge, the 2 big houses for the Moms, Dads, and Kids, and the Little cottage off on the edge which belonged to Poppy. A week or so before Christmas we began Our work together, intricately weaving and bending the fragrant boughs of pine. It smelled wonderful. We hid Our works from the others to maintain Our special surprise. After three days of work we were ready. We had Macramé'd hundreds of exquisitely crafted garlands. That night was a Saturday and was the night when we all gathered in the meeting house. My Sister feigned illness and I said that I would look after her. While the others Sang and played the guitar and generally loved each other, My sister and I quickly went from Home to Home decorating each of the houses interiors with Our beautiful Macramé garlands. We were so exhausted when we finished that we fell immediately to sleep in our beds still clothed from our nights efforts.
The morning came and both my Sister and I awoke, excited at the prospect of seeing the other family members faces after they had seen what we had accomplished. We hurriedly washed and dressed and headed to the Meeting Lodge for breakfast. Most of the other family members were already there and they applauded when we entered and surrounded us to hug us warmly. Poppy was not there yet, and we joked about his not wanting to leave his beautifully decorated house. My Sister suggested that we make a special trip to go bring him to breakfast ourselves. I know she so wanted to see his expression of approval and pride when he saw us. We headed to his little bungalow on the edge of Our compound, climbed the simple wooden stairs to his porch and knocked on the door. My sister turned the knob and entered almost immediately, because this was the way of life we had known; There were no doors when it came to family. We entered and called his name; "Poppy! Poppy!", but he didn't answer. My Sister who was a tall girl, was the natural leader and proceeded into the small cottage the way that an excited young girl would, I being shyer tended to hang back a little, so I could not imagine what the horrible sound that emitted from the living room was. I thought it was a tea kettle. It was my Sister screaming. I walked past the entry hall and entered the living room. I guess that Poppy didn't turn on the lights when he came home the night before. He had walked into the living room and hadn't seen The Garlands. He must have tripped. My Sister and I were Master Crafts people by our young age. Our Macramé could hold up a grand piano. His neck was no match. My Sister stood nearly catatonic against the living room wall. Poppy hung in the doorway between the Living Room and the modest but tasteful dining room, the intricately woven, fragrant bows of pine wrapped tightly around his neck, his eyes bulging out of their sockets, and his tongue as black as pitch bulging out of his mouth. He had wet his pants. My Sister screamed and screamed and screamed. I thought She would never stop.

Answer 10

Snakes i hate snakes don't even like to look at them