Fauxhasset Paroder, 61st Edition: They Didn’t Kneed To Do That

Another September has come and gone, with the families of Fauxhasset settling comfortably into the rhythms of work, school, and fall sports.

First, the topic we all care about above all else: Football, Game Above All Games, played in remembrance of the Holy Flying Pig – that, as we all know, is why they call it “tossing the old pigskin around,” as partakers believe the football is made from the Pig’s body, broken for us.

Blessed be His Game. Photo Credit

With President Jimmy Garoppolo, former second-string quarterback for the New England Patriots, as head coach, the high school football team is looking like a real winner this year.

However, the rest of the division is questioning whether the Fenclave should be allowed to compete at all. Fans and foes alike have been aghast since several players were recently caught taking knees that didn’t belong to them.

Police caught it all on surveillance cameras at the local foot pantry. The players said they were protesting the injustice of some Americans having more knees than they required while others did not have enough. They said they planned to redistribute the knees to those in need.

NOT AVAILABLE FOR GREETINGS CARDS A line up for a knobbly knees competition

A sampling of the knees taken by the football team last week. Photo credit

Critics say these football players are able-bodied young men endowed with exactly the right number of knees; who are they to comment on what others have or deserve – and what kind of place is the sacred ground of the football field to make a statement like that? They should consider themselves blessed rather than making a debacle out of the Holy Game, which the rest of us just want to enjoy.

On top of that, say division leaders, a) the Fenclave seceded from the country last winter, which may disqualify it from participation in regional athletic competitions, and b) it really isn’t fair that they’ve got a professional quarterback for a coach.

Speaking of unfair, it’s looking like the soccer team will once again be dominated by the students of Pemborke, which has been the case throughout living memory, since all of Pemborke’s players are dogs.

No other town has ever really stood a chance, since dogs have four legs, run faster than humans, and can’t foul with their hands – plus, the umps never call them for carrying the ball in their mouth! Cute or not, there really needs to be a rule about that.

Ironically, the team that seems to be playing on the most level field this season is the Quidditch team, which is funny because they don’t even really need a field at all.

In other fall news, police have started a “Student Police Academy” in conjunction with the Fenclave’s School Resource Officer. The Fenclave’s government is just taking shape, and its citizens have voted to invite some outside guidance the help deal with matters of discipline.

Among other lessons, police are trying to inspire peace through the power of music with their new “RoboCop” DJ program. Ah, readers – the way they whoop and bloop those sirens, you just know some of these gentlemen were born to be DJs. We’re sad they missed their calling, but happy to have them here with us in Fauxhasset, keeping the streets lit in more ways than one.

Finally, as always, Mooncheddar Coffee is selling gallons upon gallons of its wildly popular butternut squash latté (#BSL) on a daily basis. Thankfully the butternut squash access pipeline installed in August 2016 has protected the Fauxhasset Mooncheddar store from #BSL droughts like it’s suffered in the past.

Still, the #BSL won’t be around for long before the pine-flavored Evergreen Mocha takes its place, so be sure to buy yours today – and recycle that cup, or suffer the wrath of GREG.


Fauxhasset Paroder, 10th Edition: Troublemakers fowl up town meeting

By Sobby Raint-John, Fauxhasset Paroder Correspondent
And Thamanda Crompson, Fauxhasset Paroder Staff Reporter

Police were called to the Assembly of Chosen’s weekly Marathon of Remarks after Two Men and Their Dog burst in wearing elaborate turkey costumes and shouting, “End the War on Thanksgiving!”


Two Men’s Dog punctuated the argument by chewing loudly on a squeaky toy shaped like a turkey leg. Local animal rights activists are trying to determine whether this should be considered cannibalism, or at the very least, animal cruelty. Photo credit

The Fauxhasset Paroder, already reporting on the Marathon, witnessed the disturbance caused by the local troublemakers. The Chosen had been continuing their disagreement about when to take down the Halloween decorations and put up the Christmas ones.

“We’ve had two months of Halloween,” said Chair-Chosen Mevin Kirk. “The Common has been covered with gravestones since September, and the congress of ghosts has been hovering around them for just as long. It’s time we give those restless spirits some rest.”

“But Halloween is a holiday everyone can agree on,” objected She-Chosen Kaia Dennis. “Not everyone celebrates Christmas, and we have to be sensitive to that.”

“We have important decisions to make about Christmas, and we can’t leave those to the last minute,” argued He-Chosen Saul Preston. “We need to figure out if Santa is going to arrive on a sleigh or on a lobster boat. It can’t be both.”

He-Chosen Gene Strom waved it off.

“People don’t even really like Christmas,” said Strom. “In the past, I’ve gotten calls from the neighbors complaining that the lights on the Common are too bright and they can’t sleep. The message we’re getting is that cheer is passé. Now, if you wanted to put up a shopping mall on the Common, I think people would really like that.”

That was when Two Men and Their Dog so rudely interrupted the Marathon with their frivolous get-ups and two golden, fresh, steaming… I mean, extremely stinky and offensive apple pies, which they laid before the Chosen as a sort of offering.

“There is another holiday between Halloween and Christmas,” said Two Men and Their Dog. “A time for enjoying each other’s company and stuffing our faces until we pass out. We have a beautiful town and a beautiful community here in Fauxhasset. Let us not forget to be grateful for that.”

By this time, Town Manager Mown Tanager had quietly slipped away from the table, locked himself in his office, and, presumably, called the police, who were on the scene within eight minutes. Order was soon restored.

The next day, the Paroder caught up with Two Men and Their Dog at home, after being reminded by police that their phone was still being held in evidence for taking pictures of trees.

The house was easily identifiable by the hay bales and cornucopia on display by the mailbox and the rows of pumpkins, gourds and mums lining the walkway to the door. A hand-carved sign on the door reminded visitors to “Give Thanks.”

“We just wanted the town not to forget about Thanksgiving,” explained Two Men and Their Dog around mouthfuls of turkey. “The holidays just go by so fast ya’ know?”

It is not clear at this time if Two Men and Their Dog will be charged.

Greener Grass

I used to want to be in a touring band. At the time, I thought it was for the music, but I wasn’t good enough, and I never loved performance enough to become good. To be sure, I craved the sound waves. I swallowed the amplitude like a pill. Some nights, I swear my heart would have stopped but for the kick drum. Heat rising from close bodies, throats sharing the same words like in the time of bards, souls all pointing in a single direction as though the man on stage were Magnetic North himself: these were my drugs, and I believed they could save me from the rot of stagnation. But at its heart, the dream was always about travel. I didn’t want to rock and roll; I wanted to be a rolling rock (let the moss grow where it may).

Call it wanderlust. I believe the scientific term is “Greener Grass Syndrome (GGS)” – that is, when forced to maintain the same life pattern in the same location for more than  year, I grow first bored, then restless, and, finally, depressed. People with GGS imagine there must be greener grass elsewhere and so, compulsively, we must sometimes simply pack up our cars and go to find it. The reason I keep returning to Vermont is that the grass actually is greener here. The sky is actually bluer. The world actually looks the way Ben and Jerry’s ice cream tubs would have you believe – yes, Pantone color scheme and cotton ball clouds included. I have definitely been rained on here, and yet I have no memory of any days in Vermont where it didn’t look exactly like this:

A typical day in Vermont, June 17, 2014

The crazy thing about Vermont, besides all the old hippies and the wee college freshmen, is this. You can be walking down any old street, and many people who pass you on this street will actually make eye contact with you. Make, and maintain, like it wasn’t some embarrassing bungle on their part to have acknowledged a person outside of their own body. And then, these people who look at you, oftentimes – they actually smile! Some of them even wave, or go so far as to ask how you’re doing.

I went to Burlington alone for four days. More than once, I came to myself mid-conversation with someone who had been a stranger thirty seconds before. It would happen halfway through a crosswalk or schlepping back up Main Street toward Willard Street Inn, where I stayed. It would happen on a bike path/dog trail, where I had neither a bike nor a dog; suddenly I would have not only a new human friend, but a new canine one, too. I ate my first meal in the state with a homeless lady I met on a corner (hi, Rita, if you ever read this!). The writers of the city welcomed me into their fold, even inviting me to work in their studio outside of scheduled meet-up hours. I danced an entire concert with someone just because he had on a Twenty One Pilots t-shirt.  I gave away my last Guatemalan quetzal to a barista at Muddy Waters because he said, gesturing at the foreign bills and coins affixed to the doorframe behind him, that the café collected them, and it didn’t make me sad to part with it. I don’t expect it back, but it felt more like sharing than like giving it away.

I think all of this has a lot to do with Vermont being full of dog people. You can start a conversation with any dog person, no problem. People love it when you ask about their dogs. Sometimes they love to tell you even when you don’t ask, but even as a non-dog person, I don’t think this is so bad. It says they have time for someone other than themselves. It says their life has room for something besides day-in, day-out drudgery (and if it doesn’t, at least many Vermonters are allowed to bring their dogs to work). It says that, not unlike the friend at the end of their leash, they would be content in this world if everybody would just look at you and say hello and maybe scratch your back a little once in a while.

Happy people, like dog people, are easy to talk to. They have time for you. In whatever small way they can manage in a split second on a sidewalk or waiting in line for lunch, they care. In spite of the whole rolling stone thing, if I ever have to grow some moss, I am thinking Vermont would not be a bad place to do it.