Disaster Area

"Excuse, me Mr. Governor, can you please declare my basement a disaster area.

What? No not a flood. Excuse, me did you ask if it's a natural disaster? Uh no, well you see, I have two children. And in order to play their extremely complicated games....No, not chess, hold on, you'll see. I meant to say in order to make up their very complicated scenarios, they have to use every fairy, animal, and person we have. How many? Well at least a hundred. Probably more. Uh huh, Uh huh, well, of course we have bins for all of them. But some of the pieces are very small and they have to make accessories out of every teeny bit of stuff/junk/crap, in the house (rocks, tiles, plastic, etc.). Hmmm. Yes, they are very creative, but it is exceptionally difficult to clean up, so they don't. No, they never really finish the game, they can keep going forever, they just set it up again with more stuff. Oh, me? How did I get involved? Well eventually, I go down there, and attempt to clean it. But it's too big a job for me. I was hoping to get a hazmat team in here. Oh, I see, I have to fill out forms A, B through DD and F. Oh, in triplicate, and I must provide suitable protective gear? Oh well, ok then. Good bye. Thanks."

This is a cautionary tale from my house to yours.

If you see the hazmat guys in the white suits with the little paper booties, please send them my way!