TRISTAN!

It was eerily quiet in the night. We were held up in the house, waiting, our necks craned forward with our ears trying to catch any sound of what might have been going on down at the cabin. The zucchini had been restless lately and we all knew an attack was coming soon. Perhaps at dawn, perhaps before, we wouldn't be getting any sleep that night. The vines had taken over the cabin only a few days before and Ken who marched bravely into the fields to restore power, was nowhere to be found, nor any trace of him save a bloody six-pound hammer. It was then a wind blew through the cracks in the door, HOPE! On the distant horizon was Steve straddling a Harley with a shotgun in each hand and the words ZUCCHINI KILLER tattooed across his chest. YEEEHAH! Welcome back Steve, we missed you son!
hahaha hope you enjoyed the corny story. Hope to see you a lot!