Fauxhasset Paroder, 54th Edition: Punxsutawney Punk’d, Part 6

by Thamanda Crompson
Fauxhasset Paroder Staff Reporter

[Read the Punxsutawney Punk’d saga from the beginning]

[Refresh your memory on the latest episode]

Things have been quiet in the Womp. Too quiet. Even the pig-bear and her cub haven’t been seen in a while. We at the Paroder were starting to get suspicious, so we assembled an investigative team to go and, well, investigate.

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Repent and worship. Photo credit

Your reporter was joined by the Local Animal Whisperer (LAW) and Rookie Ranger Devan Branch, Part-Time Jedi, Part-Time Pirate, and Part-Time Wandering Minstrel, who has been trying to redeem himself since the pirate flag incident.

LAW led the search, veering off the beaten path to follow some sign or scent invisible to us. But it wasn’t long before everyone could hear it: the telltale heart, the drum-like beat, the thrumming womp-womp-womp that had earned the state park its name.

The trees grew close, blocking out the sun. Progress grew slow and labored. Just as we thought we would be forced to turn back – a fact we signaled to one another with sign language, since the womping had grown so loud – we broke through into a moonlit clearing. This despite having started our journey at around 10:00 in the morning. We certainly had not walked for 12 hours. And yet, it was night.

And it was loud. Not just with womping, but with animal sounds. The clearing was full of them, cheeping and chirping and barking and hissing and flapping. At the center rose a tower that was surely tall enough to be seen for miles, though no one in the outside world seemed to have noticed it. It was built from concrete scraps with bits of graffiti on the sides. And at the top, sitting in a scrap metal throne…

“Fil,” growled the LAW, charging forward, gun drawn.

Fauxsutawney Fil is an armed and dangerous raccoon who emerged from the Hallowed Burrow on Groundhog Day, claiming to be the reincarnation of the original Roman groundhog RALPH (Romulus Augustus Legolas Petrificus-totalus Hedghogius).

When the community refused to believe him and repent, Fil had vanished into the Womp, leaving the town to clean up his mess – namely, the Mile-High Snow of 2017, not to mention the still-missing Mr. Phil (later found trapped in a cave on Fame Island).

The LAW has been looking for the impostor ever since. But today was not to be his day. The animal sounds quickly turned unfriendly as the LAW barreled through the crowd, and he didn’t get far before they’d arrested him altogether. He was tied up with snakes and carried away by wolves. If he made a sound, it was only to whisper futilely, for the animal whisperer had finally met his match.

“My friends!” boomed Fil. “So good to see you. I take it you’ve come to repent.”

“Hells nah,” said Branch.

The next thing we knew, those unfriendly animal sounds were all around us, and we were borne away by the crowd. Readers, things look grim for us. I write this on my dying cell phone from Fil’s concrete prison. I don’t know if I can even post from here. Honestly, I’m not even sure this is the same universe I woke up in, and I can’t afford the inter-dimensional data plan.

If you’re able to read this, then please, notify the authorities. The police, the Panic Brigade, the Regional Animal Whisperer – whoever you can find. Both of us are (for the moment) alive and unharmed. The pig-bear snuck us a bag of potato chips and a crumbled Pop-Tart, so at least we won’t starve. But we don’t know Fil’s plans, and he seems like the unhinged type, so the sooner you send help, the better.

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Fauxhasset Paroder, 53rd Edition: When good guys go bad

By Thamanda Crompson
Fauxhasset Paroder Staff Reporter

Police believe they have a lead on the mysterious spate of pirate flags that appeared in the Harborception last month.

rookie ranger

He doesn’t even look a little bit sorry.

At first, the authorities tried to blame Two Men And Their Dog, because isn’t this just the sort of thing those troublemakers would do! But due to insubstantial evidence, police were unable to make an arrest.

Members of the community were quick to point fingers at other suspects. Blame was ascribed to the teenage students of the Fenclave, actual pirates, and an ancient Egyptian goddess bent on raising a zombie army (actually, only Father Mumblehill of the Flaxen-Mary Abbey believed that last one) before the culprit was finally caught.

When the Paroder arrived on the scene, police were very upset and confused by the arrest they had just made.

“We caught the bad guy. We’re sure it’s him. The only problem is, our bad guy is a good guy!” moaned Police Chief Stephen Quill.

The perpetrator was none other than Rookie Ranger Devan Branch, Part-Time Jedi (and, apparently, Part-Time Pirate). Branch was found in neighboring Proxituate with an arsenal of Jolly Roger flags. He also has a pretty incriminating skull-and-crossbones tattoo on his right forearm.

Branch pleaded guilty. Police will work with the Assembly of Chosen to determine his fate. For now, Branch was relieved of his pirate flags and light saber. He was last seen shuffling along Route 3A in his Jedi robe, playing a broken guitar and singing forlornly.

Branch’s boss, Senior Ranger Roc Rubble, was seen nearby, sobbing as he drank from a flask. We were unable to confirm whether the drinking was due to disappointment in his protégé, or if he simply hasn’t stopped since finding a pig-bear in Radiation State Park (a.k.a. the Womp) last fall.

 

Fauxhasset Paroder, 52nd Edition: Everything is Connected

By Thamanda Crompson
Fauxhasset Paroder Staff Reporter

triangle

Come on, Buster; what kind of map is this? All the street names are spelled wrong. “Jerusalem Road?” “Atlantic Ave?” Everyone knows its “Mecca Mile” and “Atlantis Boulevard.”

This was going to be a good news story, Fauxhasset. Achey Cedars Way was finally going to be paved this week, after three decades of potholes and patchwork.

Instead, when contractors went to pulverize the existing roadway, they found something disturbing underneath: more strange symbols, painted in a familiar gleaming red that experts still have failed to confirm is not blood.

Like the symbols found at the 8 Lame Jane’s condos and on Fame Island, these depicted an eight-pointed compass rose and an astrological diagram, joined by an acute angle. But they also indicated something far more sinister than either of the previous two findings: not only is there some sort of weird occult conspiracy going on in Fauxhasset, but there has been for more than 30 years.

Neighbors panicked. Three families up and left without even packing their belongings. Others once again booked an extended stay at the Mad Elephant Hotel. And owner Ord Girdlehyde, philanthropist that he is, once again took them in free of charge.

Town Manager Mown Tanager did his best to calm everybody.

“In a way, it’s kind of comforting,” said Tanager. “This has been here for thirty years, maybe even longer, and nobody even knew about it. Same with the one at Lame Jane’s. I won’t deny they look bad, but if they were going to summon demons or something, don’t you think they would’ve done it by now?”

“IT SWALLOWED MY BROTHER,” bellowed Dooey Lembas, a student at Princess Elsa’s School for Turning Superheroes into Snowflakes, whose younger brother Shorty fell into a pothole while playing in the street last December and never came out.

Tanager looked conflicted, but Dooey’s parents pulled her into the Escalade with her seven remaining brothers and drove off before the Town Manager could respond.

The Paroder reached out to paranormal consultant Buster DeGost, who has followed some of the strange goings-on in Fauxhasset since Shorty disappeared last winter.

“You said this angle points west?” DeGost said. Frantic scribbling could be heard on the other end of the line. “It’s a triangle. Achey Cedars, 8 Lame Jane, and Fame Island – they’re all exactly a mile apart. They form a perfect triangle. And all the other paranormal activity is happening inside it.”

It’s true: the black hole in the harbor, the Hallowed Burrow that coughed up Fauxsutawney Fil instead of our beloved groundhog this Feb. 2, the space-time rift that has been muddling the duration of public meetings at the Temple (and briefly unleashed a time-raptor at the Semiannual Spring Séance) – all of these events were clustered neatly within the triangular framework DeGost supplied by email.

What does it all mean?

“Hell if I know,” said DeGost, “but I’ll look into it.”