one of our heads is destined for tinfoil

Finished mailing out all holiday thingamabobs today. I've had a relatively painless experience at the post office this season, but that's because it was waiting to do all its mentalness today. 20 minutes for a lady to get two books of stamps, whoowee! People were literally spinning in circles with frustration, the type of people you know have a fairly inactive social calendar. Oh well. But I'm done!

This weekend I called my dad and we thanked each other for our respective food gift baskets. I got his because it had pears in it, hoping that he'd eat them after a meal of summer sausage and caramel popcorn. And he did, bless him.

He has a stepson who goes to those auctions for people who don't pay the rent on their U-Store-It squares. (I think the technical term for that is "vultures".) Anyway, dad was telling me about this painting the stepson gave him.

"It's of a clown, and it looks kind of sad," Dad says. "The guy who painted it signed his name. Wayne, and it looks like G-A-C, or is that an S? -Y..., 1993."

"Like maybe John Wayne Gacy?"

"Yeah, that could be it."

"Dad, do you know who John Wayne Gacy is?"

"No, what's he done?"

I tell him.

"OH SHIT!"

I still wonder if my Dad is pulling my leg. He has done in the past, but something tells me no this time. It's more likely someone was goofing around with a painting picked up at a living room warehouse outlet. At any rate, his clown is way scarier than our clown tile in the basement. That clown was almost a deal-breaker when Vali first saw it, until cooler heads prevailed and we remembered that it's ventriloquist dummies and furries that we rightly fear and despise. Even Casey likes him. She lays down next to him in the basement and they tell secrets.

Oh, and Vali found a rly funnie link: dietennant. Go to the beginning and work your way back. :DDD