Bugs!

Y'all know how I feel about bugs.  I believe my fear and loathing of them has been well-established.  The bugs and I reached an understanding last year:  if they'd just leave me alone, I wouldn't kill 'em.  Seems reasonable to me.  But lately, they've been reneging on their end of the deal.  A week or so ago, one of my friends said, "I never noticed that mole on the back of your neck before."  On closer inspection, it proved to be a tick.  Imbedded.  A couple of days after that when I was washing my hair, I felt a little bump on my scalp.  Another tick.  And just the day before yesterday, what I thought was a little clod of dirt between my toes (I'd been walking through the yard in flip-flops) was—guess what?—another bleeping tick!  But that's not even the worst.  Oh, no.  Wednesday afternoon I saw a good-sized spider hiding between the toaster and the kitchen wall, and when I flipped on the puck lights and grabbed a rolled-up newspaper to whack it I noticed the characteristic fiddle on its back.  A brown recluse.  And today—oh, Lordy, today was the absolute limit.  Today when I snatched down my uniform shirt from its peg on the bathroom wall, another brown recluse fell out.  Yikes!

So it's on.  The bugs must die.  The question is, how do I kill the bad bugs without killing all the good bugs along with 'em?  I don't want to kill all the butterflies and honeybees and harmless garden spiders and ladybugs just to annihilate a few ticks and poisonous spiders.  Do I just constantly carry around the Weekly Shopper and some tweezers to deal with the darn things as they come along?  Any ideas?