My Sister's House . . .

Welcome to my sister's house.

If you are not a solicitor come on in and take a look around.

If you are a solicitor keep knocking and ringing the doorbell until someone answers.


This bowling ball is in her garden.

It is too heavy to carry three more feet to the front door.

That's my sister.

That's her front door.

She likes it when I pull one of those sticks out of the pot and bang on her front door instead of ringing the doorbell when I visit.

She really likes it when I poke her with it when she opens the door.

She likes it even better when I throw it across the street like a javelin.

She thinks it's hilarious when I use one of those sticks to pole vault over her house and let myself in through the back door.

This is the inside of my sister's fireplace.

A fire has never burned here.

Her husband is a Fireman.

We call him Smokey.

There are no fires on his watch.

This is a corner of my sister's dressing room.

Those angel wings on the chandelier are real.

They come from her days as a Victoria's Secret model.

She wears them everywhere.

This is her troll collection.

She says they remind her of me.

This is her laundry room.

It is for decorative purposes only and is too pretty to use.

It shows her sweet side.

This is her downstairs guest bathroom.


It shows her naughty side.


Those framed pictures are covers of Playboy magazines.


Men go in there and stay forever.


I prefer to use the bathroom upstairs with the framed covers of Playgirl magazines.

Men never go in there.

It's my favorite bathroom and it's not because of the framed man candy.

It's because the toilet seat is always down.

The end.