“Hoorah,” I said in my most unenthusiastic tone. Betty waddled her way into the house and I remained where I was, drifting off into the sky like the clouds above me. This had to be the single most ugly house in the world, I thought, sitting up to look at it in all its granduer.

It was an old Victorian home, painted the most virant shades of purple. There were pink flamingos and lawn gnomes carpeting the yard. I guess it had its kitsch factors, but it was almost as if it was screaming that we lived here. Every other home in the neighbourhood was of simple, white, colonial revival style, so our house could pretty much be seen from space.

I lay back down, moaning in agony against this wretched stinkpot. I had barely closed my eyes and drifted into a peaceful midday lawn nap, before I felt a shooting pain in between my eyes.

“F@#%!!!” I shouted, sitting upright in a flash. I had been hit with some kind of dart gun, the rubber meshing into my flesh. I heard a window quickly close shut across the street.