I opened the door and was greeted by the Cleveland Browns, that’s right, the entire team. Forty plus players rumbled into my living room and huddled up.

“Aprons please, gentlemen!” I squawked at them. After all they are MY hired maid service. The linebacker pulls out a danty duster that looks all too much like a flamingo at first, but no my eyes were deceiving me. A flamingo? I laugh to myself. That would be nuts. I was relieved to realize it was actually a perfectly normal peacock. Silly me.

The penguins start playing full tackle cricket inside of my freezer which happens to be a regulation size field upon looking in—huh, who knew? “HEY! Which one of you flubbery rubber mitts ate my ice cream?” no answer. Stupid birds, can’t even fly. I shut the door in a huff and walk down stairs to my attic. I try to sit in my phone booth recliner but the space is too tight.

The television sighs, picks up the remote and changes me to another channel of thought. “Must design timemachine” I drone.