About this time yesterday—in a mind warped beyond your comprehension—the Big Bad House Code Inspector saw a house made of sticks with a chubby rollie pollie of a man on the ground out front.

He was rolling down the lawn.

The Inspector called to him: “Is that house made of sticks?”

“Yes, sir!” He said that with all the emphasis on the second word.

“That’s against code. I’m going to have to ask you to take it down, or I will.”

“That sounds like a threat!”

“It is a threat. Take it down, or I’ll blow it down.”

The rollie man ran back to his house and came out with a cast iron skillet. “We don’t take nicely to your types around here, son.”

Seeing the skillet, the Big Bad Inspector backed off with his hands up, heading for his truck.

Then the Inspector started thinking to himself: “If I fail here… the entire HAO code will collapse… but will I risk it all… against a skillet wielding pork man?”

Once in the truck, he flipped the key and revved the engine. “You asked for it!”

The rollie man called back: “I’m here for bacon!”

Calling from his truck, he said, “My father died in a paper mâché shed! I swore I’d never let bad construction take another soul!”

The Inspector drove the truck to line up his windshield with the house of sticks. Revving the engine, he said, “Ready, set… go!” He floored the gas pedal. Through the windshield, the rollie man ran out of the way as the truck hit the house made of sticks. In a twist I didn’t even see coming, the truck crumpled like a crushed soda can under a boot.

The Inspector flew from the wreckage into the sky, yelling, “Never mind. It’s up to code!”

The rollie man then pulled the truck to the street, but behind him, the sticks fell away to show bricks underneath.

Back with the inspector, he saw that the house was made of bricks from the sky. “I’ve been bumfuzzled!”