Q: How do you use household bleach for chlorinating above ground inflatable pools?

A: Ron, what are you doing what that bucket? What's in the bucket, Ron?

Do you have bleach in the bucket? Is that a bucket full of undiluted household bleach in your hand? Ron, are you going to pour the bleach into the pool?

My children are in that pool, Ron. My boy and girl. Travis and Samantha. You know my kids, Ron. They're been to your house. They've played with your kids. They ate at your table. They're good kids.

But they're kids, Ron. They say things. They didn't mean to hurt you.  They're just kids.

We understand how much you loved your wife, how much she meant to you, how much her loss tore you apart. We're adults.

Sure we all found it a little odd that you had her stuffed. And mounted. At your dinner table. But who among hasn't done something strange in the throes of grief.

Put your hand down, Steve. You're not helping.

We're adults, Ron. We get it. You lost someone special. You wanted to keep her for ever. You would do anything.

But they're kids, Ron. They didn't know any better. They didn't even know what they were doing. They were playing, that's all.

I'm sure the paint will wash off. And we can get that arm re-attached.

Why don't you put down the bleach and have a drink with us. Instead of pining over your old wife, why not meet someone new? Have you met Erica over there? The redhead? She's new, and from what I hear, not too particular. Get a few drinks in her and you can do whatever you want. Call her by your old wife's name, cry during sex - anything. Doesn't that sound nice?

Great. Just do me one favor: Don't introduce Erica to your dead wife. Even she's not that freaky.

Q: Where do tarantulas hide in the day?

A: He usually hides under that rock. I put it in his habitat about a month ago. All I have to do is poke the rock and out he comes. Let me show you.

Hmm, that's odd. He always comes right out. I'll poke the rock a little harder.

He's probably sleeping. I'll just bang on his cage some.

Okay, so he's not under that rock. There's no need to panic. There's only a few places he could be. Like under this book!

Or maybe not.

There's no need to panic. That serum I gave him, the one that endowed him with super strength, super aggression and a taste for human flesh, won't take effect for another hour. We'll be fine as long as we find him before 2.

It's 2:15?

Damn this daylight savings time.

Okay, just because we have a reason to panic doesn't mean we should. If we remain calm, and quiet, and still, and look carefully under every book, in every corner and crevice, and under all the furniture, we should be able to find him, and prevent the spread of the deadly virus he carries in his venom.

I put the virus in his venom.

I don't know. It seemed like a good idea at the time. DON'T YOU EVER GET BORED AND DO DUMB THINGS?

Sorry. So sorry. I didn't mean to raise my voice. Let's calm down, take a deep breath, suppress the ever-growing waves of panic washing over us like a tsunami, and look for the tarantula.

You know what? He's probably under this hat. That's the first place I should have looked. He's probably right here, napping away, not a care in the world, not a thought of enslaving humanity.

Well, he's not there either.

He could be anywheee - Hey, have you always had a toupee? Did it always hiss?