The Dancing Sausage Web Journal

I’d forgotten I’d ended up using that doctored image for something. Not that it did much good. This was another one of those parties that was either cancelled or consisted of three guests, completely unknown to each other up to that point, who sat around awkwardly in the uncomfortable chairs, staring at their feet.

Whose fault is it? Why do my parties never work? I blame the spooky spooky house I live in, with all the buckled plaster and chipped paint and quirks like metal molding. I’m trying to ignore the fact that now that Stephan lives here, there’s at least one party every week, with plenty of people.