Fauxhasset Paroder, 69th Edition: Womp, Womp

By Thamanda Crompson
Fauxhasset Paroder Staff Reporter

It’s a Christmas miracle! The Womp has, in a rare moment of mercy, returned the Local Animal Whisperer (LAW) to the ranks of his fellow Fauxhassians.

Of course, in true Womp fashion, that’s not all that Radiation State Park has given our town today. The LAW emerged from the heart of the forest riding on a velociraptor. Fleeing before the pair in terror were hundreds of tiny deer the size of field mice, each with a tiny, Rudolph-red nose.

The effect was that of a bearded man astride a dinosaur floating epically into town on a phosphorescent red sea. One can hardly blame Father Mumblehill and his apostles for mistaking them for the second coming of Christ.

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Easy mistake to make. Photo credit

The faction was out in force at the entrance to the Womp, with perfume and buckets of sudsy water with which they planned to wash the Lord’s feet, as well as an electrical massage chair for the Savior to recline in while receiving his full pedicure.

Fortunately, the world did not end, and Fauxhasset now has an animal whisperer again – as well as a valued member of the community back from the dead (admit it; you all assumed he was dead).

“We are thankful the Lord has seen fit to let us live another day,” said Father Mumblehill. “Although admittedly, I’m rather disappointed. I was hoping he would sign my Bible. Ah, well. The apocalypse will catch up to us all soon enough.”

The velociraptor is being kept at Captain America’s School for the Awesome, displacing students to the adjacent, rival lower elementary school, Princess Elsa’s School for Turning Superheroes Into Snowflakes.

The LAW promised that the accommodations would be temporary, but said that the velociraptor needed ample space and the ice castle at Princess Elsa’s would not have been a suitable environment for the dinosaur’s composition, which is accustomed to the warmer climate of prehistoric Earth.

Students were not happy about the arrangements but agreed to put up with the situation temporarily.

“The boys are all saying how terrible it is that they have to live in our beautiful ice palace and sing ‘Let It Go’ every morning,” said Princess Elsa’s spokeschild Dooey Lembas. “But we girls see it as an opportunity. Santa is watching extra close this time of year, so we’re all going to be on our best behavior.”

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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.

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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.

Fauxhasset Paroder, 18th Edition: Man in red, dead?

By Thamanda Crompson
Fauxhasset Paroder Staff Reporter

Santa was spotted jumping off the Hoarder Street Bridge in the days following Christmas.

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The photographer, of course, called the cops FIRST and took this picture SECOND, as any good Samaritan would. Courtesy photo via Russ Bonetti

Moments later – “as if in a movie,” said witnesses – the spacecraft that appeared during the Christmas Eve parade rose up from below to catch him. The alien calmly stepped into a hatch and the ship “enveloped him,” said witnesses, “like a mother and her prodigal son.” The craft reportedly rose straight into the sky and zipped off into the distance without a sound.

Police and the Paroder arrived on the scene shortly after in response to calls about a “Santa suicide.”

But officers had barely had time to take down witnesses’ names and observations before the spacecraft reappeared, just as silently as it had left, and the Alien Santa stepped back out onto the bridge with his arms full of Cop & GOP grocery bags.

“Ho ho ho,” he said by way of greeting.

Police Chief Stephen Quill didn’t miss a beat. “ϨΔиϮα!” he said. “We thought you’d skipped town without saying goodbye.”

The man in red grinned widely and seemed to ponder this. “Would that have been rude?” he finally asked, still grinning.

“Well,” said Quill, “we’re pretty friendly around here. Don’t be afraid to say ‘hi’ or ‘bye’ as you’re coming and going, that’s all.”

“I have noted this duly,” said the alien. “But fear not; I shall never ‘skip town,’ for Fauxhasset is the most perfect place in the universe!”

“It sure is,” agreed Quill. “Have a great night, Mr. Claus.”

Police dispersed the crowd of onlookers attracted by the bright lights of the spacecraft. The craft parked itself in the satellite lot for the night, but police noted that this would only work as a short-term solution – the satellite lot, as we all know, is reserved for employees, not for spaceships.

Quill said he’d mention the shortage of spacecraft parking at the Assembly of Chosen’s next Marathon of Remarks.

The man who’d called the police was the last to leave the scene. When asked by the Paroder for a comment, he just shook his head and said, “I can’t believe Santa shops at Cop & GOP. He seemed like such a socialist.”