Fauxhasset Paroder, 67th Edition: Thankfulness Level Over 9,000 This Year

By Thamanda Crompson
Fauxhasset Paroder Staff Reporter

Another year, another Turkey Day. This Thanksgiving, our fine town released more than 9,000 turkeys over the harbor. 9,000, Fauxhasset! That’s 9,000 living creatures saved from dinner tables, sent forth into the wild where they can fly free another year.

The sound of their thanks was deafening. The very air seemed to ululate with all the gobbling, and it rained loose feathers upon the Thanksgivers gathered as the birds made their ungainly but inspirational ascent and flapped off into the sunset.

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For years, the media has sworn that turkeys can’t fly. Science (and the iPhone Ω alternate reality camera) have now empirically shown that this is fake news. Photo credit

 

Of course, as we all know, the Turkey Day ritual isn’t just about the turkeys – it’s about the things each and every one of us is thankful for, which we whisper into the turkeys’ ears before setting them free.

Fortunately for the Paroder, a few Thanksgivers were kind enough to share those thanks out loud with the paper. Without further ado, here’s what Fauxhasset is thankful for in 2017.

Two Men And Their Dog And Their Faceless Baby: We are just over the moon about the latest addition to our family – our little Lumin, light of our world, adopted from a fellow Fauxhasset resident who was unable to care for them. We’ve been waiting a long time to become parents, and we’re loving every minute of it.

Rookie Ranger Devan Branch, Part-Time Jedi, Part-Time Pirate, Part-Time Wandering Minstrel, Etc.: I’m thankful for gainful employment. 26 times over.

Unidentified 64-year-old woman: I’m thankful for this mysterious, backwards-ticking watch I got from Ms. Blackstone at the Fenclave. It’s making me age backwards! Not only do I look great, but by the time my foot-dragging children get around to giving me some grandbabies, I’ll be fit enough to play with them! Now this is between you, me and the turkey, understand? I don’t want my children finding out. Be sure you don’t print my name with this!

Students of the Fenclave (formerly Fauxhasset Middle-High School): We’re thankful for our handsome, peaceful, loyal President Jimmy Garoppolo who would never, ever, ever leave us for another team – like, say, the 49ers. That would just never happen, and we are so, so #thankful.

Father Mumblehill (Flaxen Mary Abbey): We praise the Lord every hour the world doesn’t end. We know that someone in this town is working to bring this about, but it will not happen until the Lord’s time, which is not known to us. Therefore, every moment the Earth continues to spin, every moment we draw breath, every moment the dead remain dead and not an army of undead marching upon us to hasten the end – we praise the Lord. Yet when the end comes, we shall praise Him then, as well!

Mecca Mile residents: Strict wetland bylaws.

Ord Girdlehyde (Mad Elephant Hotel, Castle Girdlehausen): Loopholes.

Reporter Thamanda Crompson: I’m thankful for all the cute cats that keep appearing outside the Paroder office. Ever since they rebuilt the old Abraham Building that’s kitty corner to ours, the cats just keep spawning – about two or three a week. One has even moved into the office, which is great for morale and for sitting on my hands while I try to type to keep my fingers warm. So sweet. He says his name is Snowfire and I think I’m in love.

Citizen whose name could not be released due to ongoing legal action: Thank you, man who provided the old, red brick I was looking for in the community classifieds last month. I know you are probably wondering what you’ve wrought, with me in prison now and all, but I have just two words for you, my friend: Worth. It.

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Fauxhasset Paroder, 55th Edition: Punxsutawney Punk’d, Part 7

By Thamanda Crompson
Fauxhasset Paroder Staff Reporter

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

[Catch up on the latest installment]

Fauxsutawney Fil is finally gone, and his prisoners – your reporter and Rookie Ranger Devan Branch, Part-Time Jedi, Part-Time Pirate, Part-Time Wandering Minstrel – freed.

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Fauxsutawney Fil with two of the deacons of his church, the Temple of RALPH – caught on flip phone camera by Orion Vanta. Photo credit

The Punxsutawney Phil impostor, claiming to be the reincarnation of the original groundhog RALPH, had set up a church of sorts within a dimensional rift at the heart of the Womp, which is now known to be the source of the strange womping sounds that can be heard in and around the state park at night.

Within the rift, woodland creatures became capable of human speech and were using their gift of tongues to sing praises to the omnipotent raccoon. But now the Temple of RALPH has fallen, and the false god sent back from whence he came (or at least to go be someone else’s problem for a while).

Your reporter and the full-time part-timer spent six days in Fil’s prison, eating scraps of food brought to us by the Womp’s friendly pig-bear and its cub. We feared that my last article had not reached the outside world and despaired of ever being saved.

But this morning, a rescue party came. Our heroes included Police Chief Stephen Quill, Two Men (looking for Their Dog), Fauxhasset newcomers Monica Moniker and Orion Vanta, ϨΔиϮα, Dooey Lembas, the Panic Brigade, and my colleague, Crime Correspondent Sobby Raint-John.

This motley crew charged into the moonlit clearing. Yes, it was moonlit in the morning. It was always moonlit, even when the sun was out. I shudder just to remember the cold, colorless light, the high, discordant keening of the stars, and always, the womp-womp-womp coming from we knew not where.

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The moon is not right in this place. Photo credit

The rescue squad fought their way through RALPH’s worshippers, each brandishing an indestructible porcupine that police had apparently confiscated from the Clandestine Auto Regulators (CAR) earlier in the week. The congregation scattered, and Fil fled down a scurry hole at the sight of the porcupines.

For their part, the porcupines gave a metallic gleam and a mechanical roar and pursued him, their quills spinning like tiny mammalian buzz saws. None emerged from the Accursed Burrow, though it took some time for the rescue squad to work out the strange locking mechanism of our prison.

Police and the Panic Brigade were unable to locate the LAW, who had been carried away by RALPH’s followers our first night in the rift, but Two Men were successfully reunited with Their Dog, who claimed he had been coaxed into the rift by the smell of frying bacon.

The Town is now working with Radiation State Park officials and paranormal consultants to determine how the rift may be closed or neutralized. The Womp will be closed to the public until further notice.

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.