The DEVIL, I Say!

Ahh...another evening spent listening to strange noises from upstairs. Not the usual walking through the kitchen, but a localized stomping around, like popping some microwave corn, or whipping up a pot of beanie weenies on the stove. Then I heard something going on in the bathroom, but no footsteps leading in or out. It's maddening, I tell you. Just when you're engrossed in the Big Brother 8 live feed on Showtime from 11:00 to 2:00, things start going bump in the kitchen and bathroom.

I arose this morning not quite refreshed. To add insult to no injury, my ER was not on TBS, but 6 hours of golf was. I picked up my library book, a 1957 romp in a post-nuclear world entitled On the Beach, and #2 son rolled himself off the couch. "I'm going outside to pet the dogs." #1 came out of the room he thinks he rents for free to stir things up. And then the #2 son returned. He opened the front door, and announced, "Umm...look what I found on the porch." Can anybody guess what it was? I didn't think so. On the Mansion porch this morning, my son found....

THE DEVIL!
















Someone, or something, has been shenaniganing, methinks. This is not the actual position The Devil was found in. He was lying down in that spot, not propped up against my dead rosebush. Maybe that's just how he climbed up on the porch. Maybe there are no steps in the netherworld. #2 son grabbed The Devil by the horns, and dangled him at the gates of my basement lair for us to admire. It did not take My Little Pony long to deduce that our sweet little Tank had brought home the uninvited guest from HELL. How did young Sherlock make that call?



Maybe this had something to do with it.

Tank has a new best friend.







We certainly couldn't blame the doggie Ann.

Ann wanted no part of The Devil with no dress on. She appeared a bit embarrassed by the whole thing. No poser, our Annie. The chewingest dog refused to even nibble on Satan. They do take a good picture, though.






Tank grew nervous.

He did not want to share his newfound friend. In fact, he took off like a hound out of hell. Perhaps Tank and The Devil are going down to Georgia. But one thing is for certain...The Devil does not wear Prada. Or anything, for that matter. He's not even in disguise.





There's no looking back, Tank. Now you've got The Devil to pay.
















Tank now has developed a devil-may-care attitude. It does no good to shout at The Devil. And speaking of The Devil, he did not even whip us up any cake or eggs in thanks for our Hillbilly hospitality. Go figure!

I am a bit perturbed. I don't like to see symbols in things. I'm sure Tank has just been out feeding quarters to the stuffed-animal grabby-thingy at the chicken wing restaurant that is 20 miles from our house. Or perhaps he found The Devil at the stuffed-animal grabby-thingy at The Devil's Playground. Hey, Tank! The Playground called. It wants its Devil back. I, for one, have no sympathy for The Devil. He is an uninvited guest, and Tank will soon chew the stuffing out of him. I told the #1 son to put The Devil in the dumpster, but he refused. "Awww....Tank likes him too much." So he's the one who will pick Satan's entrails out of the yard when he meets his demise.

I am sure it was just a coincidence that we started hearing extra unexplained noises this week, and The Devil appeared on our porch. That's what I'm trying to convince myself. Just like when my internet provider sent me a billing email from "Billing@uranus.accessus.net", I tried to convince myself that they were not being smarta$$es and calling me a butt...hole for using the same company even though it's changed owners about 5 times.

Purely a coincidence. Isn't it?