Let's Make This Haunted House a Haunted Home

Family, I would again like to thank you for joining me. I understand you also thought that fleeing here would be a fine idea after witnessing your cereal bowls scream and fly about the room. Well, I couldn't help but notice we've been having bigger problems than our beds constantly catching on fire and trapping us with their sheets. Namely, your attitudes. When we learned this house was built on the buried remains of several church bombings and smallpox blanket exchange sites, we told ourselves that the Thompson family doesn't give up. And you know what? We're not going to give up now. Dylan, wheel your mother in here so she can hear this.

Your mother and I decided to move away from that cramped apartment and out to the country because we care about you kids. Isn't that right, dear? Dyl-Dylan, was that one blink or two? Two? Well, maybe your mom got the system messed up. Moving on. We wanted a place for you kids to run and play and a place for your mother to practice her Liturgical dance without anyone calling the police. And you know how I like to go around the house looking for things to hammer. We can do this here in peace, but not if you don't pitch in and give 100 percent. Also, Janie, you're going to want to put some ice on that bruise.

Listen, we have all had to make sacrifices. I lost my favorite comb in the move, and you know how many hours I spent on the phone with those thieves at U-Haul trying to get it back. Janie, you learned first-hand that little girls don't like other little girls without hair. And Dylan, you've lost a lot of friends since the nervous breakdown. Your mother will never Liturgical dance again. And you would not believe how long my commute is now. But do you hear me complaining? It happens rarely, at best.

The spirits who arrive daily at 3:33 P.M. to reenact a grisly mutilation in our kitchen -- who figured out a fun way to block out their horrific screams? Daddy. Now, whenever you hear that poor woman howling in god only knows that that language is, you just bite the inside of your cheek really hard and think of warm chicken dinners. I'm sitting here with a big old pitcher of lemonade made from that problem and you kids don't even have drop one. Seems that whenever we experience a problem related to our non-preferred location, you kids come screaming and crying and passing out at me. Didn't I show you how those steaming puddles of blood could be used as a great varnish? Now the chairs speak in backwards Bible verses, which I think has helped put the big "G-Man" back into the Thompson home.

There's a white elephant in the room, and its name is "Your Mother Becoming a Quadriplegic After the Stairs Threw Her Off of them Like a Mechanical Bull." Who knew that those floorboards that were shattered to spell "GET OUT" wouldn't support the weight of a twenty foot fall? But she has not let this bring her down, and she spends all day staring at me, as if learn something from my indomitable spirit. Your mother has even chosen not to give me a single blink over the female apparition in the Southern belle outfit who sometimes lets me see the snakes living in her mouth. That would cost upwards of a dollar-fifty at a freak show, kids. And it's nice for me to finally make friends outside of work.

I know we're all tired of the yellow fog that materializes every Wednesday and turns all of our furniture into spiders. Dylan, I'm sure you can live without the near-endless weeping coming from an undisclosed location in your room -- and, personally, I think some of that crying's starting to rub off on you. Janie, I'm sure if I still had my comb I would be more sympathetic to you about the missing hair. But we all have to buckle down and make this work, because I believe in this house. If we stick together and get through this, we can look forward to many quiet nights together, loving each other like a family should. Now who wants to help daddy move this couch into the garage before the fog sets in?

– Bob "BobServo" Mackey