When a clown doll landed in this woman's backyard, she burned it and slept with a knife (USA Today)

Things keep dropping into my backyard all the time. I mean, like last week I was sitting out in the yard having a root beer float when suddenly this ostrich feather comes floating down from the sky. I looked up to see which way the ostriches were migrating, but there wasn't a single one in the whole blame sky. So where did that thing come from? Beats me with a stick.

Then the other evening I went out back to check on the vampire bats when I tripped over an old Victrola, complete with gilded trumpet horn and everything. I nearly broke my great toe. Who would leave such a thing in my back yard? What could be the purpose? I scratched my head until it bled.

Yesterday I had a little get-together in the backyard, grilling burgers and hot dogs, that kind of thing, and suddenly one of my guests lets out a yell you could hear in Duluth -- she had accidentally stepped into a pile of coconuts, stumbling to her knees and getting knocked on the head with a hairy brown coconut. That broke up the party, I can tell you that. Everyone went home threatening to call Homeland Security on me. But I swear on my mother's grave I have no idea where all those coconuts came from. After everyone was gone I immediately threw them all into a large burlap sack and dropped them off at Deseret Industries. 

Today I paid a company five thousand dollars to install a large nylon net over my backyard, and so far it's working. Nothing strange or disturbing has showed up in my backyard all day. The grass is covered with nothing but some mottled crabgrass and a few dandelions; the patio flagstones harbor a few brown leaves, nothing more; and the birdbath is speckled with guano, but there are no pocket watches or first folios of Shakespeare floating in it. 

I must say I kinda miss the excitement of finding new and exotic things in my backyard. I might pay the company to come take their netting down. But first I'll wait and see what, if anything, gets caught in the netting overnight. Who knows, I might become the proud possessor of the Hindenburg . . .