Listen man, just listen to me.

My name is Frank, and I'm about to drop a bomb on you.

Let me get another drink, and then I'm going to tell you something you aren't going to believe.

Okay, so, I'm living the dream, right? Wife and two kids. White collar job. Nuclear family in a nuclear home. The good life. I'm mowing the lawn just like any other Sunday, still in my best clothes. Wife made me some lemonade. So I'm just sipping and mowing away when the mower gets caught on something.

Now at first I'm thinking, "Aw dang it, I'm going to need to get me another sprinkler from Dave's Sprinkler Emporium." Maybe make a day of it. So I back the mower up, and look. But I don't see a sprinkler. Oh no. What I see is far more sinister than any irrigation system.

I find a tunnel, deep and dark, the entrance to some subterranean labyrinth. Now, struck with fear, I grab the nearest clot of earth and begin to fill the terrifying maw the same way a Japanese man stuffs his mouth with hot dogs at a competitive eating competition. Once the hole was properly clogged, I blocked the incident out of my mind and carried on with my day, eager to return to the facsimile of normal life.

Sit back down! I didn't say you could get up yet. This isn't about a hole. No, that hole was just the beginning.

The next day, after having my complete breakfast of eggs, oatmeal, coffee, and OJ, I kissed my wife goodbye and wished my kids good luck at school. They run off and catch the bus while I go back upstairs to find a good tie, only to discover my complete collection missing. Missing! Every one, every tie I had, from Professional Black to Business Grey, was gone. Even my Casual Friday Periwinkle Blue was nowhere to be seen. Assuming this was some rotten prank pulled on me by the kids, I borrowed a tie from my neighbor and made sure to give those no-good scoundrels a talking-to when they got home. Once they were properly reprimanded, I assumed that the tomfoolery would end. That was when all our utensils went missing: forks, spoons, knives, corn holders, all of it. I just chocked it up to more juvenile delinquency.

You should start drinking, because there is no way you are going to believe me at this rate. Here, have mine.

That Thursday, I get in the car to go to work, only to find it won't start. The windows won't roll down, and the door has locked itself shut. I try all the old tricks, working levers and pushing pedals like some mad monkey shot into space, desperately searching for the escape hatch. Relief only comes when the wife calls the towing company, and I'm stuck in that American-made sarcophagus until the truck driver pries me out. Apparently, the car had been reduced to a pile of scraps, the majority of the parts scavenged for some unknown reason by some unseen force.

They would not remain unseen for long. Now, hold on to your hat, because what I'm about to tell you is going to blow your mind all over your face.

That Friday evening, the wife had gone to her sewing circle and the kids were at their scout meets. I was alone in my study, smoking my pipe and reading the paper. I'm cozy in my robe, just letting life settle in around me. And then, in the backyard, I hear a racket like you wouldn't believe. I'm guessing I'm being burglarized, so I grab my four-iron and rush to the window.

Now what I saw, and I understand it if you don't believe me, because I didn't believe it either, but what I saw was rows of red eyes pouring out from that little aperture in the earth. They rode upon spiders, securing the perimeter of the yard quickly and efficiently. The diminutive assassins assembled by the same mower I was using when I discovered their hovel. Their leader took the fore, and it was then I noticed they were wearing wide-brimmed hats like the Chinese wore in the 1800s. I thought, "Jeez, the communists finally attack and we spent all our money on nukes when we should have spent it on Raid."

I was about to go find my Chinese-to-English dictionary so I could surrender, when something amazing happened. As if forced by some invisible hand, the mower began to scoot forward. The little Chinamen were distracted by their leader's grand pontificating, and had no time to form a defense against my Doe Brand Lawn Mower. Their tiny screams were quickly silenced by those whirling blades, specially designed to leave your yard looking like the best on the block.

No, you can't go to the bathroom, I'm just getting started.

Reinforcements came up from the hole as quickly as the first wave was dispatched. They were alert and ready for action. It was then that the tree in my yard lit up like Christmas, a million green eyes descending on the Spider Riders from the sky. The paratroops wafted toward the enemy, waving Periwinkle Blue banners and wielding weapons lashed together by Professional Black. The melee was over quick, the bodies of the fallen impaled on my wife's favorite Corn Holder Collection. There was a celebration, but it was short-lived. More of the red-eyed freaks emerged, busting through my favorite white fence riding a contraption made from…

Look, I'm not going to finish my story if you're going to be all like, "Oooh, you're crazy so I'm going to call the cops and stuff." Be patient. Don't they teach you kids manners these days? Jeez.

So, I think it was made of whatever they stole from my car, and a boombox from those rowdy kids next door. The red-eyed freaks rode this battle wagon into action playing "Pump Up the Jam" at a volume I find unacceptable at this hour of the night. The poor green-eyed fellas looked doomed, until some type of hero climbed atop the mower. Steering it by will alone, he maneuvered it into a collision course with the battle wagon, crashing into it in a cacophony of violence and late eighties dance music. The rest of the green-eyed commandos torched the battle wagon with rudimentary flamethrowers that looked like they came out of my son's toy box. Victorious, the green-eyes slinked back into the foliage, satisfied with the defense of their lands.

I've taken better care of my lawn since then.

Sure! Run away! Run away and get a restraining order! Get a divorce! Fire me! I'm not crazy! You know what, I don't even think they were Chinamen at all. No, much too fungal for that. I know those spores growing in my lawn. They were no Chinamen. They were Mushroom Men.

And they were from space.

I'm not crazy.

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