For the past several days I have been a virtual prisoner in my own home at the hands of alien spores that have rooted themselves inside my daughter's nasal passageways. I can't even use the bathroom without having her sit on my lap because otherwise the aliens emit such discordant heartache that the pee is scared right back up into my urethra. I finally get to take her to the doctor this morning because last week when I called they said I couldn't bring her in unless the ooze from the gestating pods was a very specific color and had lasted at least seven days. I told them, "But I don't think I can make it another seven minutes." They said, "I know you can't see the face I'm making right now because we're on the phone, but let me assure you this face I'm making means I don't really care." I asked, "Is this all because I'm no longer Mormon?" They said, "Yes, in fact, it is, and we're coming after your farm." I said, "But I'm not drunk and that doesn't make any sense." They said, "Yeah, remember that face I was making a second ago?"