On The Census And The Places We Go

My my.  It’s been an eventful couple of days here in the Dass Compound.  I assembled a grill provided as a Christmas gift from Danielle’s mom and some deck furniture.  While this may not sound complicated, the directions were not quality controlled by a conglomeration of enterprising Swedes.  I would have been better off ignoring these documents as it was as if they were trying to confuse you.  Never have I had read an instruction manual in which the parts manifesto and the instructions themselves used different names for parts.  The deck furniture may explode as a result of my limited deductive abilities.  To add insult to injury, after two full frustrating days of assembly, I was taken ill by allergies and beseiged by rain.  The gods do conspire, I believe.
 
Suffice to say, it was a trial.  But, on the plus side, I also sat down and filled out our census form.  How cool is that?  I’ve officially reported Claire’s existence to the government.  The cat, as they say, is out of the bag.
 
 
How cool is that?  Now, this is where the fun began.  A chain reaction of events that led to a family outing to Jupiter, no less, began to unfold.  Bear with me.  The census picture bore the mark of the beast, number 666.  Now, I noticed this as I reviewed a picture I took of a DVD case someone had left perched awkwardly.
 
 
That’s right, 2010 was left standing upright as though it was itself one of the alien monoliths.  "That’s odd," I said aloud.  Naturally, I moved to make Danielle aware of this indeed odd turn of coincidence.  And, verily I say unto thee, I was frightened.  Because, beside the scaled tribute to the alien monolith was this:
 
 
 
A series of random events, the placement of a dvd, the taking of a picture, and the purchase of dog toys had led to this.  And, yes, the gods must conspire.  Immediately, I feared for the safety of Jupiter. 
 
Now, well, I’d been casually working on something I refer to as the RH Device out in the shed.  Essentially, it’s a gimble that when supplied with the right amplitude of electricity, complex calculus and a vehicle of any sort is capable of instantaneous travel across vast stretches of space by folding two known points in space time together and punching said vehicle through.
 
We bundled the family and dogs up in the Space Kia with a light picnic and made for Jupiter orbit. 
 
 
 
Fortunately, after spending some time in orbit we were able to determine that the series of events were, in fact, just coincidences.  I can say with some authority, having just been there, that Jupiter is not currently held hostage to an array of alien monoliths.
 
Having settled this concern, we opted to swing by the local Target back in Sterling to pick up a few odds and ends and make our way home.
 
We did see this jerk in the parking lot, though:
 
 
Our few minutes of sunshine was clouded by this man’s vehicle worth a house thinking that makes it okay to park in four spots.  In the spirit of competitiveness generated by the original alien monolith, we engaged our moral right to put those plastic bones into use in defending our moral authority.
 
After we got home, it was business as usual, ominous signs of planicide having passed.
 
 
Claire hung out and watched some television while Danielle and I performed some chores.
 
In other news: It’s rainy on Spring Break and we are bored. 
 
And, yeah, it’s like this in my head all the time.  Only more so.  And, usually, I get a sword and a trip to Mars, too.

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