Did the Amityville Horror house have mold?

I am scared even writing the words Amityville Horror.
On the way into work this morning I was scared listening to the promo on the radio.
Don't even get me started on the tv trailers. I can't look! I'm serious, I can't!
This is like the first time I can remember ever being scared before I saw a movie.

What is it with that house?

They said slime oozed through the walls (umm, along with blood. eew).

I was wondering, could it have been toxic black mold instead?
I read a report the other day about a guy who had stuff in his lungs, went to about a million docs; half of which said he had cancer and the other half couldn't figure it out. Finally after a special biopsy some specialist was able to determine that it was some kind of bacteria growing in him caused by exposure to black mold.

They tested that house for paranormal activity, satanic spirits, native american burial ground evidence, the function of a well-like structure in the basement originally thought to be a portal to Hell, and anything else you can imagine related to a mass murder followed by a 28-day haunting a year later.

But did they test for mold? Maybe mold spores took over in that house and made everyone crazy.

Did you know there's a service where a DOG comes and looks for mold? There are specially trained pooches called Mold Dogs. They come to your house and sniff around. I wonder what would happen if you put baloney behind a wall or two...

Of Tribbles and Tasty Cakes

Cheerios=Tribbles

Ok before I explain that, I must obsess for a moment about Duran Duran again.
Well, more specifically, Simon LeBon.
I am sorry, but the man's smart-alecky smiling face was just on Conan O'Brien and he needs to meet me. Hear me Charlie? You need to meet me. Work it out, ok? Enough with the kissing of cutsie brain-absent post-teens.

He was just so smart lookin with his hair and jacket and scruff.
To quote Paris Hilton's sidekick Nicole, "That's hot."

Yeah, I have an 11 month-old son. Yeah, I'm a grown married woman.
YOU grow up.
I'm giddy. No substances involved.

I will tell you one thing: Having a teen fantasy keeps a person young. Right now I feel like an awkward kid. It's 145am and I'm awake. How old do I think I am, 16? I hope I feel like a teenager all the rest of my life...at least energy wise.

Ok, tribbles = cheerios:

This is what it looks like in my house these days.

I find them in my son's diapers, in his shoes, in closets, in the bathroom, in my bed...

Do you know that a baby can have a cheerio stuck in his hand for like, hours?
When they haven't learned to relax their hands when not in use, they remain clenched, and lo and behold, hours after lunch, a small, hardened cheerio remnant will fall from his grasp. If I'm lucky, I'll see it happen. If not, I'm likely to find it later in my purse.

Even our dog, Scavenger of Kitchen Floors, has had it with oaty goodness.
He won't even eat one and spit it out.

I am having a slightly similar problem with Tastykakes. I had chocolate cupcakes after dinner. Don't tell my husband.

Yumm. Just look.

I DARE you to go to the supermarket and walk past the display without at least getting Krimpets.If you don't have Tastykakes in your town, I am very sorry to tempt you with something you can't have. Oh WAIT, you can have them too!

I know they're wrong and bad for me. I know it's a lifetime on the hips. I also know that a package of six little chocolate doughnuts and a glass of milk is near perfection.

Of course, if I ate some right now, I'd really be hurting.

Speaking of hurting, EEEW, there's a special on VH1 about the worst sexy songs ever, and there is an R. Kelly video where he is pouring milk on a willing lass. Ok, appetite gone.

It's now 245 am. Goodnight Cheerios, Goodnight Tribbles, Goodnight Tastykakes.