The Disasterhouse has fan art. Welp.

Brooke here.  We’re enjoying a nice quiet weekend at home with Zu and our trainer’s dog, Nobi.  Our trainer had to go out of town and left Nobi with us, probably on the basis that if we could handle Zu, we could handle a Schutzhund-trained protection dog.  Nobi is amazing, but you’d expect him to be: Brown said watching a trainer’s dog is like watching someone else’s kid for the weekend, except instead of being a toddler who hasn’t quite mastered toilet training, the kid you’re watching is in his thirties, is a CPA, and gives your last year’s taxes a once-over to make sure you didn’t miss any deductions in between taking out the trash and watering the begonias.

On a different note, the house has received fan art.  Because… Because of course this house should get fan art, I don’t understand why this house wouldn’t get fan art, it’s perfectly natural for a house to get fan art, I…  I’ll just post them.

GET OUT OF OUR HEADS!  Seriously.  That's where the spiders live.
GET OUT OF OUR HEADS! Seriously. That’s where the spiders live.
I love the Eddie Izzard version because it's only a matter of time before this house is COVERED IN BEES.
I love how it’s the Eddie Izzard version because it’s only a matter of time before this house is COVERED IN BEES.

These are from Willow, the woman who runs the AGAHF Facebook page (without her, there wouldn’t be a Facebook page), and is a second reader on most of my weirder prose pieces.  She sent these along with four different varieties of spectacular cookies.  As soon as I opened the box and saw the art, I ran outside to show Brown.  I was so excited I didn’t realize he had just been hit in the face with a pressurized blast of oily water as he tried to fix the pool filter.  Again.

ME: Hey honey!  Someone sent the house some fan art!

BROWN: Swell.

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