The Nonsensical Ramblings of a Lunatic Mind

Here follows a conversation I had with my son:

Son: Mom! The wife and I have decided to move to Montana and live in the woods! We are getting a little house in the middle of nowhere.

Me: Sounds ideal! I'm moving to a small cabin on the property to be an eccentric old writer.

Son: Fantastic!

Me: Y'all just drive by once a week and throw me food.

Son: We will install a chute and empty a bag of Pretzel and Cheese Combos into it every once in a while. Have it output into a bucket next to your computer. I’m picturing a scenario where we walk up to the door and hear low muttering and growling. We pour some food into the shoot. There’s a loud series of growls and snarls from behind the door and then a few pages of manuscript thoomp out from under the door in a neat stack. We add it onto the pile to be sent to your editor/publisher next week.

Me: Yeah, I'm so there. Combos, Nacho Cheese Corn Nuts, and Moscato. When do we leave?