Why blame it on the bossa nova? Just what the hell did the bossa nova ever do to you?

I spent the last forty minutes sitting on the couch on the front porch reading Danse Macabre. Toward that time, when I was getting into Stephen King's take on '30s and '40s horror movies, I started hearing this incredible BANG! sort of noise from the backyard. Not bang as in gunfire but as in a building being rammed into. Or maybe pulled off its foundation. And this sound was accompanied by the unmistakable engine of my dad's van.

I ignored this for a while but then suddenly was overcome with curiosity. Was he trying to pull the shed through the yard? Had he gone mad and decided that the vehicles should be parked inside the house?

I walked inside and through the kitchen and there, looking out through the window of the back door, I saw that he had a chain running from the rear of the van and into the probe. Wrapped around the passenger side door of the probe. And he kept getting into the van and slamming the gas.

I have no idea what this is supposed to accomplish. He's not trying to move the car because it still moves--easily. He's not trying to free the door of the rest of the body, because despite being badly damaged it still opens.

I was on my way outside to inquire when I saw the biggest fucking spider I've ever done battle with climbing all over the brass doorknob on the back door. Motherfucker. I instinctively hissed. I backed away. It dangled down on invisible thread, spinning lazily in the air, kicking its freakish abundance of legs.

Thought about getting the bugspray but didn't want someone to get it all over their hands later. So I had to bide my time, wait for it to descend again, and then kick the fucker to death.

Shudder.

Wes: feel better. What kind of symptoms are you having?

I'm still unemployed.