The Corndog Refugees

Let me start out by saying that we love Corndogs. Those sweet and golden crunchy meals on a stick hold great sway in the Elmer Household. You might even say that Corndogs are the golden delicious oblong orbs around which our entire universe revolves. Needless to say, we love Corndogs.

A travesty, nay, a blasphemous event occurred this morning as Amanda and I lay sleeping in our beds as Porter comes running in and shouts, "I made a Corndog, but it burned! Come see, it's all smokey!" Sure enough I burst out of the bedroom only to be knocked back by a wall of smoke. For some insane reason, the fire alarm hadn't gone off, but the entire apartment was filled with hazy, choking, smoke. I batted the fire alarm off the ceiling before it could go off, then ran to the microwave where Porter had set a single frozen corndog in and pushed 15 minutes. Luckily he had the sense to stop it at 9:13 minutes before the whole house when up in flames. The smoke forced everyone back to the bedroom where we had to wait out the smoke as it was blown out the sliding porch door. We hid out in the bedroom for about and hour while the smoke cleared, but needless to say we fingered the culprit and put him on kitchen duty so that hopefully we will never lose another corndog, no, not on my watch. (Also, all microwave use by Porter has been strictly prohibited)


Last night for family home evening, we thought we'd make moustaches out of pipe cleaners. From left to Right: Sherriff Bakey Beans, Deputy Roscoe "Poopy" Coltrane, Outlaw Black Bart, and Miss Curly Sue.