We as a family were in the car traveling the hills and dales of CT to gather at my Mothers domain to eat when Mrs. ZZ notice she had broke a finger nail, “blast I was letting them grow long to get a manicure.”
I suggested that we call on the demon Arasmuth to fix her nail, “We’ll have to sacrifice a chicken and recite some satanic verse, but it could be easily done.” Mrs. ZZ looked puzzled, but I reassured her that the cars upholstery had been recently Scotch Guarded. “Of course he will want some document signed in blood, but whatever just get on with it I’ll tell him.”
Daughter ZZ pointed out that if we did this, when he got back to his smoldering underworld and reported in, he would be embarrassed how easy it was to complete his task.
Son ZZ, pointed out that we had arrived at Grandma’s.
The End?
Hope that your Thanksgiving is. From the Family of Mr. ZZ
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