Enter Creepiness of Battle Royale

So I went to the recycling bin this morning and this is what I saw when I dropped the box I was throwing in and thought, eh, I should pick that up and put it back in the bin. I should've been lazy and left it there. But, I thought to myself: "Self, you are the one who does the trash nine times out of ten, so you will be the one picking this box up either now or later, so do it now." I should've left it there.
What I was struck by was the amount of spider-webby things around this dude. This means that there was one hell of a battle between the spider and the scorpion. Go spider. My theory is that there was one ticked off spider last night because I went egg sac hunting under our BBQ last night and took out no less than six dime-sized egg sacs with the dog poop. Alas, mama spider, deprived of her potential babies, went on a murderous rampage. Does that make me an accessory to murder? What's that? Oh, I was the one poop scooping and spider-egg sac cleaning? Oh, think nothing of it. I'm a bad ass.

I was also thinking that it's close enough to Halloween to display our paltry amount of Halloween decorations. Look. Here it is. Bryon let me buy it at Disneyland because it works for Christmas too. Thus it gets to stay up for three months. Great, huh? Oh, we are so lame. Collin is totally fascinated that there's a flame in "cack slellinkintons mowf," or, for those of you who don't speak toddler, "Jack Skellington's mouth."

And for the grandparents, who can't live with a post without a picture of Collin; he learned to chain his barrel monkeys together on his own yesterday. I know, fascinating. Breathtaking. Amazing. Today, after hours of endlessly being the "first monkey" holder for him, I taught him to hang the first monkey from a drawer handle, thus alleviating my responsibility as a rack.