Fauxhasset Paroder, 46th Edition: Say hi to your mom

by Thamanda Crompson
Fauxhasset Paroder Staff Reporter

The Futuristical Society has announced their capital campaign to purchase the historic Peachhood Congregational Church, which shuttered when Christianity went out of business in the latter 1990s.

Delorean going back to the future

Travel back in time to witness your own birth! This and other great prizes will be up for auction at the Futuristical Society’s June 9 fundraiser. Photo credit

The society plans to convert the fellowship hall and sanctuary into computer workstations and the bell tower into a space observatory with a high-power telescope. Beneath the steeple, there will be room for future construction of a space shuttle.

“This church has always been ahead of its time,” said Futuristical Society Director Zed Harbinger. “It was founded, funded, constructed, and entirely run by women in a time when women in church leadership was unheard-of. We believe the next step for this visionary venue should be just as bold.”

“But we don’t want to offend anyone who still thinks religion is the answer,” Harbinger added. “And we know people care a lot about this church. Maybe they grew up in it or got married there. That’s why we’re keeping this place’s eyes on the heavens by retrofitting it as a space observatory.”

Harbinger said that the former church will still conduct wedding ceremonies if any scientifically-minded couples wish to tie the knot in the shadow of the shuttle.

The society’s first fundraiser will be a silent auction on June 9. Up for grabs will be a starter telescope, an exotic week-long cruise stopping at various points throughout the asteroid belt, a star named after you, the future space center named after you, and a trip back in time to witness your own birth.

For more information, simply close your eyes and wish; the Futuristical Society can read your mind.



Writing exercise: Write about a mundane activity, but incorporate random nouns supplied by others in the group, drawn from a hat.

Between the inner space and the outer night, four of us packed closely together inside the church’s door, our breath clouding the windows of the Narthex. Equipment littered the small space: a stack of binders teetered beside the recycling bin, a power cable strangled a miniature palm tree, and heavy black boxes of sound equipment framed a platypus someone had drawn on the chalkboard wall. All around lay disassembled shelves, collapsed paper lanterns, milk crates of odds and ends. Projectors. An Oriental carpet, 5-foot by 8-foot. What all these things had in common was that our pastor and his wife needed to fit them in their car and transport them to Pennsylvania for a conference. Bonus: pastor and wife also needed to fit in said car.

Outside, the trunk of the red coupe waited, seeming to cock its eyebrow at the amount of things we were about force-feed it. We got started. It was a tornado of lifting, shoving, sharing, and stubbing toes, punctuated by Tetris-themed advice. At last the church was empty and the car was full and we sent our friends on their way, wishing them safe travels and cheap clothes shopping: for the equipment left no space for a wardrobe.