Back in April I was pondering the existence of numerous Wisteria vines around my property. Specifically why the previous home owner was so enamored with the stuff that she planted more than one. Over the last three months I've since discovered three additional vines sprouting up around the property, all of which have been eradicated.

And although I need to yank errant sucker-vines off the one remaining plant, I had settled into learning to live with Wisteria. Until this afternoon when I discovered that it's actually much, much worse.

I don't have Wisteria at all. It's a Trumpet vine.

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Is Thomas Kinkade, who has trademarked himself as the Painter of Light, the modern heir to Hieronymus Bosch?

Could Kinkade's fixation on "light" be a metaphor for something older than mankind?

Via Dispatches from TJICistan.