She wasn't crazy. It had been there the night

She wasn't crazy. It had been there the night before. The old house was there in its place, looking nothing like a five hundred story gateway to hell. No tentacles climbing her leg

stnding in the darkness, the moonlight obscured by the wisteria covered lattice. Shep the old hound dog limped into view. So old, yet so full of life, his tail wagging as the

Kobe beef roast slid off the table and rolled across the floor. The smell had been driving his dog brain mad for hours and now, it was on the floor. He lunged for it and his master

kicked him out of the way. Eventhough the roast hit the floor and rolled in a big nasty puddle of wet dog and mud the master picked it up and

gave it a quick wipe with a moist towel. This will teach him he thought as he carved a few slices and incorporated them into a stir fry. I'll serve it with

Dots candy and string cheese. The party is casual and I can't worry about putting on airs. Stir fry will hid the acrid taste of

the oysters gone bad. I had thought they would stay alive if I kept them on the service porch, but noticed they were partially open. No one will notice. Hopefully nobody gets

wind of the good caviar that I don't want to break out. I'll just put out a few more crackers and hope these pompous windbags don't stay long. Where the hell did I

put the catfood and the cornichons?