Fauxhasset Paroder, 74th Edition: New Year, New Crew

By Thamanda Crompson
Fauxhasset Paroder Staff Reporter

There’s nothing like the New Year: a time for beginnings, yet equally, a time for endings.


The migrant aliens wasted no time in their endeavor to act like humans. They spent New Year’s Eve imbibing heavily to the pounding beats of DJ Huzkiii. Photo credit

For instance, with the opening of the portal above Castle Girdlehausen in the Mecca Mile wetlands, the mystery of the Fauxhasset Triangle draws to an end.

The suspects confessed to police that opening the portal was a plot by hotelier Ord Girdlehyde, the Local Animal Whisperer (LAW), and would-be Fame Island developer Zohn Donne, who recently departed on a cruise around the asteroid belt and will not be back for several years (at which time he will immediately be placed under arrest).

It is also the end of the black hole in the harbor, which, after vomiting out all the detritus residents had thrown into it over the past almost-year, also coughed up all the seawater it had swallowed, refilling the harbor to its natural depth.

But let us look now to the new beginnings.

For instance, it is the beginning of an era in which citizens must share their beloved hometown (parking spaces included) with a large new contingent of alien residents. It is also the beginning of a new era in local yoga instruction: The zero-gravity yoga studio formerly located above the black hole will reopen as an underwater studio next month.

These are just a few examples of the beginnings and endings that our town is looking at this January.

Fauxhasset, we asked you to share your beginnings and endings with us, as well, so without further ado, here’s what you and your neighbors hope to achieve in the new year. Be sure to hang this article on your fridge so you can judge each other when you fail.

Two Men And Their Dog: To be the three best parents we can be.

Punxsutawney Phil: To not get kidnapped this Groundhog Day.

Unidentified 63-year-old woman: I plan to start attending underwater yoga to limber up this reverse-aging body of mine!

Ord Girdlehyde, Mad Elephant Hotel & Castle Girdlehausen: Make money. Get out of jail. Then make money.

Sean McJeffrey, Fuglyoaks Lane resident: Finally get that tax credit for the king-size candy bars the Town forces us to give out on Halloween.

Devan Branch, Full-Time Jedi: I now dedicate my life to facilitating peace between humans and aliens on Earth, as I have been called to do. May the Force be with me, and you, and all whom you love, now and forever. Amen.

Father Mumblehill, Flaxen Mary Abbey: I and my students vow to keep vigil at this new monstrosity which the powers of Satan hath wrought above Castle Girdlehausen. Some of you have foolishly decided to welcome the aliens and help them fit in, but we know God’s truth is that these creatures have come to us straight from the pits of hell to test our faith. They even call their home planet JELAMENA-8. Hear how it sounds like “Hell – Amen?” Be vigilant, Fauxhasset. These aliens may look like us, and talk like us, and act like us, but they are not like us.

Town Manager Mown Tanager: To plan the greatest celebration ever for Fauxhasset’s upcoming 2,500th anniversary. Hard to believe our little town has been around for two and a half millennia! Anyone who wants to help with the festivities should reach out to Town Hall as soon as possible.

GREG (Green and Renewable Energy Group): To purge Fauxhasset’s waters of that foul glitter spilled at the Castle Girdlehausen worksite this fall.

Dooey Lembas, Spokeschild for Princess Elsa’s School for Turning Superheroes into Snowflakes: To turn more superheroes into snowflakes. We’ve hardly had any snow at all this year, so we’re clearly not doing our job! We are sorry, Fauxhasset, and we promise to do better.

Thamanda Crompson, Fauxhasset Paroder Staff Reporter: To find forever homes for the dozens of cats that have been spawning outside of our office since November. I’ve adopted my 10 cats; have you?


Fauxhasset Paroder, 71st Edition: Unemployed Androids

By Thamanda Crompson
Fauxhasset Paroder Staff Reporter

After several weeks of negotiations, the robot army problem has been solved. Ish. At least, the thousands of cyborgs are no longer standing in the harbor. But they’re not gone, either. Out of sight. Not out of mind.


These robots are getting ENTIRELY too comfortable in Fauxhasset. Ugh, no techy PDA, please! | Photo credit

The robots, which marched out of the black hole in the harbor four days after Thanksgiving on a day which shall henceforth be known as “Cyborg Monday,” at first resisted all attempts to bargain. Or perhaps “resisted” is the wrong word. They simply did not respond at all.

They watched, unmoving, with those gently pulsing blue eyes as Town Manager Mown Tanager and his wife Mrs. Tanager presented them with 500 home-baked casseroles. When Alien ϨΔиϮα offered to shuttle them home in his spaceship, they looked on with those benign alabaster faces showing neither consideration of the offer nor any degree of gratitude.

The police department’s offer to guide the cyborgs through the naturalization process was met with more blank, pulsing blue stares. A generous offer by Mevin Kirk, Chair Chosen of the Assembly of Chosen, to connect each robot with gainful employment in the community caused not the slightest stir among them.

It was once again Ord Girdlehyde, owner of the Mad Elephant Hotel and the new Castle Girdlehausen (and the town’s most hated part-time resident), who came to Fauxhasset’s rescue – just like when he found Punxsutawney Phil and saved us all from the Thousand Foot Snow last April.

We should probably all stop hating him so much.

The hotelier approached the robot army with a simple offer of shelter and hospitality. The Mad Elephant Hotel was full, as usual, with a mishmash of displaced Fauxhasset residents and Girdlehyde’s ever-growing cast of riffraff and oddballs, but the nearly-completed Castle Girdlehausen had lots of space.

Additionally, there were several abandoned full-size homes on Achey Cedars Way, which residents vacated in July when strange symbols were discovered during roadway reconstruction. A number of the robots have taken up temporary residence there.

Still others are glamping on other vacant properties in town, including the former site of the 8 Lame Jane townhomes, which burned down earlier this fall, and Fame Island, which Alien ϨΔиϮα finally abandoned when he found the town unwilling to issue him any building permits.

Town Manager Mown Tanager made it very clear that these accommodations are temporary and that a permanent solution must be found within 90 days, or the Town will have to remove the cyborgs by force.

“Residents are concerned, and they have every right to be,” Tanager said. “They were promised that Castle Girdlehausen would not become another transient lodging house like the Mad Elephant Hotel, and already it’s being managed the same way as everyone’s least favorite establishment.”

“This hotel has poisoned our groundwater with glitter and pitched Mecca Mile into a frenzy of construction,” said Tanager. “And now, Ord is taking on more freeloaders. These robots need jobs. They need to contribute to our community. Or they need to be gone. It isn’t fair to our residents.”

“The local bylaws require that inns and restaurants keep regular operating hours during which they are open to the public,” added Chair Chosen Kirk. “We’re permitting this for now because it benefits the public to get the cyborgs out of the harbor, but Ord is going to have to address this sooner rather than later.”

Fauxhasset Paroder, 68th Edition: Black Hole Friday, Cyborg Monday

By Thamanda Crompson
Fauxhasset Paroder Staff Reporter

In a day that shall henceforth be known as “Black Hole Friday,” the transfer station and boutique – which relocated to the vortex in the harbor last spring – had the biggest holiday blowout you’ve ever seen. And we do mean “blowout.”

On Friday, the vortex inexplicably and without warning changed direction and began spewing out all of the junk that people have been throwing into it since April, along with some unidentified space stuff including a small piece of glowing rock, a broken light saber, and a massive, inside-out paramecium that is actually quite cuddly.


How do you like THAT Christmas tree? Photo Credit

Police asked that parents please stop taking their children to throw letters to Santa into the void. The void, they said, is not taking requests. You get what you get, said the police, and you don’t get upset. Furthermore, the area is dangerous to the public due to the flying debris.

The vortex continued vomiting our detritus back into the harbor for three days straight. Then, on the fourth morning, the robots came: a day which shall henceforth be known as Cyborg Monday.

First there was just one robot, and readers, it was kind of cute. It had a very humanoid structure and pleasing arrangement of features so that one instantly felt it could be trusted. Most of its exterior was sleek and white, not unlike the products by our own trusted Apple Inc. – therefore adding to the illusion.

It was only when there were four hundred of them that people began to wonder whether they should be concerned. But by then, it was too late. It was much too late.

The four hundred held the harbor against the combined police forces of Fauxhasset, Proxituate, Kingham, and Borewell, and meanwhile, more cyborgs kept emerging from the vortex until their ranks numbered in the thousands.

Once here, the robots simply stood there, not allowing anyone through to the vortex. They did not try to march on the town. No one, human or cyborg, was harmed at any time, except for those who tried to approach the black hole. The robots would not even allow cleanup crews near enough to remove the trash.

The influx continued until the clocks ticked over to midnight, marking the end of our fine town’s very first Cyborg Monday. But the robots did not disappear when the holiday ended. They are still standing there, perfectly still, eyes gently pulsing blue as they stare and stare. And stare. And stare.

Town Manager Mown Tanager said he plans to negotiate with the robots just as soon as his wife finishes baking the five hundred casseroles he plans to present as a peace offering. Until then, no one is to approach the black hole. Letters to Santa can be delivered to the police department for forwarding.