Category Archives: everything in the country wants to kill you

UPDATED: The post where I make it up to you. And then make things worse. And then apologize again.

Yesterday I went out to the nearby market because we live in rural Texas so we go to all the various country fairs and trade days because that’s what we have instead of a mall.  They are awesome and terrible and I never come home without part of an iron lung, or a 60 year old book about “why naked midgets are awesome”.  Yesterday at one stop I found 100’s of doll heads on spikes. It stretched on for a half-acre.  Also, the doll torsos and limbs were in various buckets around, so it was sort of like Build-a-Bear except that you end up with a misproportioned, evil doll that will probably eat your nose off while you sleep.

Even the demon on the right was having a panic attack:

It's creepy, but sometimes it's just nice to be reminded that there are people weirder than me in the world.

But it wasn’t *all* doll heads on spikes.

Because some were on chains.  

Also, this isn’t even half of the heads-on-spikes and none of them were marked for sale.  It was like some sort of Stephen King art installation had accidentally fallen into the center of a market.  There wasn’t a vendor there but no one shoplifted from him.  Probably because you don’t want to fuck with someone who sticks baby heads on spikes.  And because practically no one wants to steal baby heads on spikes.  Both of these things are true.

I did find several other treasures though from other vendors. I found a children’s book of illustrated corpses, complete with color pictures and when I insisted I needed to have it Victor and I both screamed, “IT’S THREE DOLLARS”.

For different reasons though, apparently.

Then I bought a taxidermied duckling (that died of natural causes) and Victor was all “What the fuck are you going to do with a taxidermied duck?” and I was all “What wouldn’t I do with a taxidermied duck?”  It’s like he’s never even met me.

Then I explained that ducks wearing hats were impossible to turn down and he said that the duck didn’t have a hat and I explained that Martin Van Buren’s hat was invisible, but that I’d already bought it and it was already waiting at home in the dollhouse for him.  That’s how ready I was for Martin Van Buren.  And also I explained that his name was Martin Van Buren.  Then Hailey started begging Victor for Duckie Van Buren and Victor explained that we weren’t going to spend $20 on a fragile ancient duckling I’d probably break immediately and Hailey pointed out that if he got broken “we could fix him with duck tape”.  Then I melted from the cuteness and promised her a (probably taxidermied) pony, and Victor looked at us worriedly and wondered when Hailey had joined my strange alliance.  Then I explained that I would make Martin Van Buren into a vampire hunter and then Victor said he’d buy him if I just stopped talking.  EVERYONE WINS.

Especially Martin Van Buren, who looks like a damn bad-ass in his top-hat, holding a bloody spike he just used to impale a nonsexy vampire.

Proof:

He has a bloody spike under his wing. And a very self-satisfied but shell-shocked look on his face. It's like he was MADE for Vampire-hunting.

The really weird thing is that I already owned everything necessary for this scene. The only thing I was missing was a duck that looks good in a hat.

I showed the scene to Victor and he sighed and agreed that it was very frightening but (he pointed out) not for the reasons I’d intended.

Wow.  This post was meant to make it up to you for being MIA so much but now I think I owe you an apology for making you look at Vampire-hunting ducks and baby heads on spikes.  BUT!  There is one very important part I can’t miss.  Because when we first drove up to the market I screamed “HOLY SHITSNACKS, IT’S A FLOCK OF BEYONCES”.  Because it was.  And Victor glared at me while I haggled for a smallish sort of giant metal chicken who desperately wanted a home and he accused me of having some sort of a metal chicken hoarding problem.  But then I pointed out that I was buying this apartment sized metal chicken for you.  Yes, you.  Because I love you.  But I can’t afford to buy chickens all of you so instead I’m randomly selecting one of you to actually win it.  Granted, your spouse might hate it, but you can point out that at least it’s not towels, which has always worked for me.

I took two pictures, but Ferris Mewler managed to squirrel his way into them so you’ll have to ignore him.  Or use him for scale.

"What? You're taking a picture? Don't mind me. I'll just stand back here in case someone needs me."

Ferris Mewler: "These are my paws, you guys." We've all seen your paws, Ferris Mewler.

Anyway, as a very large thank you for not deserting me while I’ve been busy with book stuff I will randomly select one of you from the comments below to win the mini-Beyonce.  All you have to do is tell me what you would name him if he was yours.

The names “Beyonce” and “Martin Van Buren” are spoken for.

Obviously.

UPDATED:  Holy crap, you guys.  That’s a lot of people wanting chicken.  Also, thank you so much for distracting me from the fact that tonight I’m spending tonight in a hospital so they can see if I’m having seizures in my sleep because apparently I don’t have enough shit wrong with me.  (If they let me have my phone I will -of course - be live-tweeting the whole thing.)  And in appreciation for offering up such twisted names (so brilliant that I’m tempted to adopt an orphanage just to have kids to name) that I’ve convinced my editor to send me a couple of advance copies of my book to give out as well.  The advance copies are soft-cover and have typos and the pictures are low resolution, but you’ll be able to read my book 2 months before it’s available.  Or you can use it to fix a wobbly table.  Either way, really.

PS.  Seriously.  Thank you.  You have no idea how much I needed the laugh today.  I’ll pick the winners this week.

UPDATED X 2:  Holy crap.  That’s a lot of people wanting chicken.  Winners announced over here.

There’s a guy in my attic trying to fish out the dead squirrel that got stuck in my wall. Time to appreciate your jobs, people.

Last week the pest control guy was at my house trying to get a dead squirrel out of my wall and I didn’t have the greatest confidence in the guy to begin with because when I called the week before to complain that something very large was hurling itself at my bedroom wall the pest control guy was all “It’s probably a field mouse” and I was all “No.  It’s crazy loud and huge. It sounds like a demon is throwing a bear into the wall.  Or a baby chupacabra with a handgun” and the pest guy was all “A chewpa-what?”  Because HE’D NEVER HEARD OF A CHUPACABRA.  Then I was like “Wait…seriously? Are you new?”  Because that’s the kinda shit I would expect my pest control guy to know.  Then I called Victor and I was all “Okay, our pest control guy doesn’t know what a chupacabra is” and he was all “Really? We live in Texas.  That shit should be on the exam” and I was like “EXACTLY.”  And that’s why I’m still married to Victor.

Then a week later it started to smell odd and it was pretty obvious that the chupacabra was dead in the wall so the pest guy came out and said it was a squirrel that fell into a hole in between the walls and that he was going to try to “hook him” from the attic but he couldn’t reach him so he gave up.  Then the next day another dead-squirrel fisherman from the same company came by because he wanted to try to hook it. So basically my house is like a giant claw crane game and the prize is a dead squirrel.  After about 30 minutes of the squirrell fisherman being in the attic I started to suspect that he’d been murdered by the remaining chupacabras but turns out that he’d just given up and dumped a bottle of rat-sorb into the wall.  That’s a real thing, y’all.  “Rat-sorb”.  To absorb the smell of dead animals.  That’s on the label.  I wish this was all stuff that I still didn’t know.

So finally the smell has dissipated but a few minutes ago I heard something shuffling around in the walls again so I decided to scare it out by screaming and growling and pounding on the walls like I was a vicious predator but then I turned around and both of the cats were just staring at me disgustedly like “You’re embarrassing us all here” and I was all “Oh fuck you, cats.  At least I’m trying” and that’s when I noticed that our mailman was at my door staring at me through the glass so I explained that I was trying to scare away the the chupacara in my wall and he was all  “Oh.  It’s probably W.C. Fields” and then I just stood there because usually I’m the weird one in the conversation and I wanted to appreciate the moment.  Turns out though that there’s actually an escaped, angry spider monkey named “W.C. Fields” stalking our area who just attacked a woman and trapped her in her garage for an hour.  All of this is true, y’all.

So I looked up “spider monkey” on the internet and apparently they’re afraid of pumas so I’ve been playing the sounds of pumas screaming on a loop on my computer.  So far I haven’t heard any noises from the walls, which I think pretty much confirms that we totally have a spider monkey in there.  Victor says it just confirms that it’s impossible to hear anything when the house is filled with screaming pumas.  Then he yelled at me about the kitchen being dirty but it was easy to tune him out because of all the pumas.  Which?  Kind of a bonus.  Screaming pumas are my new soundtrack.

PS. MSNBC on the still-loose spider monkey: “Don’t go outside.  Don’t try to pet him. Do not befriend him.”  Awesome. The spider monkey has just become the hero from “The Running Man”.

Comment of the day: So Jenny, I love you, and not in the weird romantic way but in the way that every time I think my life sucks horribly and I can hear my mom’s friend saying “every time I think my life is bad I just think ‘at least I don’t have a dead sheep in my bathroom.’”
Yeah, true story. I totally had a sheep, and it was sick and then my mother was like..”We’re going to save it from it’s horrible sickness and fever now go and put it in the bathroom! and crank up the ac” and I was all like…”Oh fuck, I have a dying sheep in my bathroom and my house is a huge freezer, how much more fucked up could my life get?” And then the sheep died and I thought, that, that right there is how much more fucked up my life could be.
And now like, five or six years later my mother is all “homg our rooster Jay has a broken leg that will never work again, therefore once winter comes we shall do what we did to Micheal (our other rooster) we shall carry him into the bathroom at night and let him sleep inside” ~ Yeah, exactly. What the fuck? But in all regards I do love Jay the Rooster, he’s bad ass and I applaud my mothers generosity to our farm pets.
But still thanks, for having a dead squirrel in your wall that no one can fish out. It makes me feel less alone. ~
Rebekah Mae

Well that just seems excessive

Remember how one of the great advantages of me moving to the Hill Country was that I wouldn’t have to deal with hurricanes anymore?  Me too.  Oh, hubris.

So a tree just fell on my house.  Luckily it’s the thickness of half-dollar so it didn’t do much except to just scare the shit out of me when it ricochetted off the roof and banged into my office window like the eating-tree from Poltergeist.  Which is fitting since I’m pretty sure both of our houses were built on an Indian Burial Ground.

Also, we don’t have a real news station since we’re so far out in the country so we rely on San Antonio’s weather advisories.  Like this one.  Telling me to not sleep for 30 hours.

I can only assume that San Antonio has confused hurricanes with concussions. Awesome.

Comment of the day: You need to read between the lines. They’re warning you that the looters are coming. ~ kyknoord

I AM INAPPROPRIATELY EXCITED ABOUT THIS.

Holy shit, y’all.  I just looked up and there was a fox in our yard.  A fucking fox.  I know this is no biggie to most people but it kind of blows my mind that we live so far out in the country that there are actual foxen that live in our hills.  Also, spellcheck refuses to recognize the word “foxen” although it is clearly a word.  One ox, two oxen.  One fox, two foxen.  This is all basic linguistic stuff here.  Also, Victor and I are having a huge argument about whether or not to feed the foxen and I say no because we have a fat little pug that I don’t want to get eaten but then Victor went and threw an apple at it and I was all “WTF?  We don’t feed the foxen” and he was all “I was throwing the apple at it to chase it away” but Victor is a tremendous liar and he didn’t go to pick up the apple, probably because he knows foxen love apple cider.  Also, everything I know about foxen I learned from “Fantastic Mr. Fox“, which was quite awesome but I suspect not completely fact-driven.  This is probably all obvious even without the explanation.

Fox in my backyard. Unafraid of flying apples or fat pugs.

Also?  Today the exterminator came back out to spray for scorpions again and he found an enormous shedded snake skin next to the house and Victor was kind of afraid to tell me about it but then I went to go look at it and it was a used paper towel.  Swear to God.  Then Victor was all “Dude.  That’s totally a snake skin.  Look at the diamond scale pattern” and I was all “That’s a textured diamond-weave to absorb more wetness.  You can tell it’s a paper towel because snake skins aren’t square and perforated” and I spread it out and then he was all “Huh.  That’s a fucking paper towel.”

This is all true, y’all.  We’re probably not going to survive the year.