In preparation for our LocaVoreblog-inspired goal to plant a vegetable garden next summer, we recently cleaned out the overgrown space beside our garage. Among the items of interest we found were a large white metal trailer of sorts (it took all we could muster to drag it to the curb, where gypsies — strong ones, apparently — made off with it before Rumpke could); a bag of decomposed trash; Laffy Taffy wrappers; a wooden ladder; three large compost bins; a stash of rotting wood; an orange Fanta can; a Big Gulp; and this:
To whose body did this spine belong? (The feared chupacabra?)
Also: Why did it choose our yard to enter into the ether?
Our first thought, naturally, is that we have a Pet Sematary on our property. Had we purchased a plot of land which was formerly a Micmac burial ground?
Our second thought was that the first Simpsons “Treehouse of Horror” (the one which included “Bad Dream House,” about the Simpsons moving into a cursed home built over an Indian burial ground, as well as Homer reading Poe in “The Raven”) is one of the finest half hours of television of all time, and we will fight anyone who says otherwise.
Our third and final thought was, “I think we can all agree with the sentiment, so melodically expressed by The Ramones, that no one wants to be buried in a pet cemetery.”
If you couldn’t tell, we were low on inspiration for today’s post. You can’t win ’em all. We’re counting on you to make the comment thread interesting.
(Mike Allen, you cannot have your money back.)