Rage Against the Machine

So here I am, doing great on the fiction part of our program, but with nothing to talk about.

I mean, Ambrosia and Idris visited, bringing baby Ellie with them, and she's getting SO BIG, and the sweater will look ADORABLE on her, and it was a lovely visit--but, like a dork, I got no pictures.

Hard to blog about the adorable baby with no baby pictures.  She IS in that phase where she eats everything though, and one memorable moment had her digging her tiny fist into the crevice between the couch cushions and producing a wad of polyester stuffing.

Which she shoved in her mouth.

Also, the dogs didn't shut up. I had to hold them and feed them treats constantly, and man, that seriously cut into my baby-holding time.

Anyway, here I was, tap tap tapping away, when a noise started.

A voice.

In the living room.

It's reciting dry facts and puns in a voice like a snotty calculator, and I think, "Wait a minute..."

I track the voice to its source--under the small couch. (The one that had gotten happily eaten, earlier today.)  I tugged on the cord and voila! The offending piece of machinery.

I took it to the kids' room and poked ZoomBoy with a stick.

"Yo. Make your possessed machine shut up."

"Oh God."

"I'm not kidding around here--it was dead quiet in the living room and it's creeping me out."

Tap tap tap. Blessed silence. "Sorry."

"Clean your room tomorrow."

"Yeah. Definitely."

"Ugh."

"Sorry."

I stomped my way back to my computer and turned on Spotify.

This is NOT the first time this has happened.

Fucking computer.