If you have heard the term “screaming heebee jeebees” (which may well be speeled differently) what does it mean to you?
That’s when the voices in my head get loud.
It’s disconcerting and frightening.
A strong, fearful aversion to something, such that you get chills gazing at it, and are prone to run screaming away from it. It’s so horrible to you, that it causes a “flight” reaction, sometimes fighting your way past it so you can get away. Here is Merriam’s entry on heebie-jeebies.
What **Zabali ** said, although I’d have spelled it “the screaming heebie-jeebies”.
Fear and aversion so strong it makes me run into the night screaming my head off.
My shared-wall neighbors.
Mr. and Mrs. Screaming Heebie-Jeebies to you.
That creepy feeling you get when ol’ Leatherface is rounding the corner with his chainsaw.
They’re kinda like the fantods.
The sudden and unavoidabled urge to sing-scat.
Well I’ve got the heebies, I mean the jeebies
Talking about, I got the heebie-jeebies
Hey, every girl and boy
I get hip with a little bit of joy
Hey don’t you know it, don’t you feel good
Come on down, someone’ll teach you
Come on and do that dance
They call the heebie-jeebie dance
Sweet mama, papa’s got the heebie-jeebie dance
To me, it means something kinda like this.
:: shudder ::
Bugs crawling up my legs on my skin GET THEM OFF GET THEM OFFF AHHHHHHHH!
Heh, I just used this term today to describe why my 3yo nephew was screaming his fool head off. Apparently the previously non-descript bowl of dry cat food in my kitchen chose today to reveal it’s true sinister nature, whoda thunk it?
Baby comes high-tailing from the kitchen as fast as his little feet could go, screaming at the top of his lungs, tears falling with no apparent injury? Yep, that’s the heebie-jeebies alright. AKA the screaming meemees, though I’ve never applied the screaming adjective to the heebie-jeebies because you can be silently freaked out and frozen in fear and unable to shout for help, that’s heebie-jeebies too.
True, I’m more likely to call that “the creeping horrors” though.
In my case it means I’ve spotted a black widow spider close to me. See also: 10 foot high jump and mile-in-a-minute marathon.
I’ve posted this elsewhere on the boards but here it is again:
I moved into a house in SoFlo a few months before Hurricane Andrew hit. Outisde the kitchen door was a small closet that held the water heater, a few shelves, and some other assorted stuff. I thought it was a perfect place to store the dog food. I left for work at 1400, returned home around 2245, and went out back to feed the dog. I reached into the bag to grab the plastic cup and felt the dog food…moving. Over my hand.
I pulled the bag out of the closet and onto the cement porch area and that bag EXPLODED. Cockroaches everywhere. EVERYWHERE. Hundreds of them. Up my arms, down my legs…UP MY LEGS UNDER MY NAVY ISSUE BELL BOTTOM DUNGAREES. The only thing that saved me from going out of my mind was my working jacket’s elastic sleeves, because had those fucking cockroaches actually crawled up the bare skin of my arms I would have gone out of my mind.
That, my friend, is the screaming heebie jeebies.
Christ…this incident would have ended my life. And I would have been glad…GLAD I tell you!
Oh boy. I had a heebie-jeebie experience just this past weekend…
I was at home and it had started thundering outside. I remembered there was a coffee cup out on the balcony so I went to retrieve it. As I went to pick it up, I noticed a fat little maggot crawling around on one of the chairs, looking lost.
Now, I usually don’t have a problem with bugs. Except for maggots. I hate hate HATE maggots. They seriously creep me out. So, I see the little bugger on the chair, kind of make a face at it and go to walk back in the house. Then I see two more inching their way up the chair leg. So then I think, something’s not right here - there’s gotta be a pile of them somewhere. So I started looking around, and I suddenly spied a garbage bag that was semi-obscured by a small table. A sense of dread filled me - I knew it had been out there, forgotten, for at least a couple weeks.I apprehensively reached out and gently pulled on the tie of the bag. The bag kind of…burped…and then…
A writhing pile of stinking, yellowish maggots boiled out of the top of the bag and all over my hand.
I let out a scream that drew two neighbors out onto their balcony to see what was the matter, and then I bolted back inside the house and washed, no, scrubbed my hands and arms about 10 times. I took a few minutes to try to shake the oogy feeling before putting on a pair of big rubber gloves and using a broom handle to stuff the maggot-bag inside of another garbage bag. I got it out to the dumpster faster than you can imagine.
Yes, that was screaming heebie-jeebie incarnate for me.
Why do I keep reading these types of threads? I know responses like these are going to come up… so Jesus Tapdancing CHRIST, WHY do I read them?!
I just re-read this and almost puked. Seriously.