On a scale from 0 to Dumpster Fire, I tend to hang out at the far, trash-burning end. But lately, things have been going eerily well. In the immortal words of my dad, hick poet-extraordinaire, "Just cuz the tall grass is hiding the shit, doesn't mean it's not there, waiting for you to step in it." So when Festus showed up with a birthday cake and less blood on his suit than usual, I was a little more than skeptical. Add to that a scythe-wielding accountant...