Fauxhasset Paroder, 0th Edition: How I Met My Mother

By Thamanda Crompson
Fauxhasset Paroder Staff Reporter

Sunday, August 27: a day that was like a birthday to me.

I, who had never had a birthday (that I could remember); I, who had never known my parents (or at least had not seen, heard, or received money from them in the memorable past); I, who had lived my entire life (all 10 months of it that I could recall) without any origin or backstory: I was finally to learn where I had come from, where it all began.

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Aw, Mom; you didn’t have to get me a cake! Photo credit

Two months ago, I covered the Futuristical Society’s silent auction. It was a fundraiser for their project to convert the historic Peachhood Congregational Church, which shuttered when Christianity went out of business in the 1990s, into a space center.

The top prize of having the future space center named in one’s honor went to our town’s wealthiest resident, Ben Bentley, for a cool $40 million. The structure shall be called the Benjamin Buckminster Bentley III Center for Space Observation and Exploration.

At the other end of the spectrum, the least desirable prize – a trip back in time to witness one’s own first moments on this earth – went for $2.07. Not $2.07 million. Just two dollars and seven cents. It was all I had left after stopping at Mooncheddar Coffee on my way to the event. I thought I’d be outbid. Instead, I was the only bidder in the category.

Thus it was that I found myself lying on my back in the Peachhood Church bell tower last Sunday, surrounded by strange, white chalk symbols, a couple of friends for moral support (shout-out to Rookie Ranger Devan Branch, Part-Time Everything, and New Kid On The Block Monica Moniker), and Futuristical Society Director Zed Harbinger, who would be operating the “time machine.”

Harbinger said some strange words and rang the bell backwards so that it pealed loudly moments before he struck it. He was supposed to ring it 28 times, one for each year I was traveling backward, but I only heard the first clang before the world around me blurred and my memories of the past 10 months began streaming by in reverse.

At first I could pick out individual memories: Branch and me trapped in Fauxsutawney Fil’s woodland prison, the black hole, Fame Island graffiti, President Jimmy Garoppolo – but soon the memories were coming too fast and all I could do was grit my teeth and wait for it to—

It stopped.

Actually, it hadn’t been so bad, or so long. Had I really traveled 28 years into the past? I could tell right off the bat that I hadn’t. I was somewhere familiar, and though it had, perhaps, slightly fewer cracks and crevices then, there was no doubt I was on Achey Cedars Way. And it was not that long ago.

It was, in fact, last October. Yellow leaves collected in the deep potholes. Jack o’ lanterns dotted the doorsteps. Political signage on nearby lawns pitted Hillary Clinton against Donald Trump for president, with a solitary “Tom Brady for Prez” sign in the mix. It must have been around 9:00 in the morning – early and chill, with a bit of mist still hanging around, but late enough that everyone had gone to work or school. Even the dogs were quiet.

Harbinger had botched it, or so I thought. But then, a roaring helicopter appeared overhead and slowly descended on the vacant street. I felt that I should back away, but I didn’t really have a body to do so and could therefore only watch. The vibrations got inside the cracks and sent crumbs of the street jittering away until at last the pilot cut the motor.

Two men descended from the craft. No, not those Two Men. Two anonymous men, who I recognized at once. Police have asked me not to name names since the investigation is ongoing. Suffice it to say that you know these two men. The anonymous men approached a particular pothole – the one that, a few weeks later, would swallow five-year-old Shorty Lembas – and scowled into its depths.

“Looks OK to me,” said one of them. “I say we go for it. Some of us took a hell of a gamble on this, and we don’t all get to live forever, you know. I have three businesses riding on this. I’ll be bankrupt.”

“Not yet,” said the other. And that was all. They boarded the helicopter and left.

It seemed the pothole agreed with the impatient one. As bits of the street came loose and danced beneath the aircraft’s vibrations, something must have fallen into place, because the pothole began to glow, and moments later it opened up.

Or, no – that wasn’t right. It inverted itself, became a hill. And at the top was a person. A woman. Tall, pink-haired, riding a one-wheeled electric skateboard. She brushed some dirt and blood off her knees and palms, looked around in bewilderment, and finally took off on the skateboard, riding toward Fivest Ave.

That was it. My “first moments on this earth.”

I was born out of a pothole at age 27.

It finally makes sense why paranormal investigator Buster De Gost could never figure out what (or who) came out of that pothole when Shorty Lembas went in. What had caused it to reassert the universal balance by swallowing the next person to come along? The answer, it seems, was me.

That’s it for this report. I have an apology to make to a certain Dooey Lembas, and a helping hand to extend – for what it’s worth.

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Fauxhasset Paroder, 35th Edition: Street’s appetite sated?

By Thamanda Crompson
Fauxhasset Paroder Staff Reporter

[Previously, on Achey Cedars Way]

After months camped out on Achey Cedars Way, paranormal investigator Buster DeGost has declared the pothole threat “expired.”

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The road that ate a child, a Mini Cooper, and a UPS truck in December seems to have lost its appetite, experts say. Photo credit

“This sort of dimensional rift typically operates at a one-to-one ratio,” DeGost explained. “If something falls in from this dimension, something else from the other dimension will come through to replace it.”

Several months ago, Fauxhasset lost a Mini Cooper, a UPS delivery truck, and a child – Shorty Lembas, a kindergarten student at Captain America’s School for the Awesome – to a large, hungry pothole on Achey Cedars. Meanwhile, it gained a spaceship and a person (the Alien ϨΔиϮα).

DeGost has been waiting since December for a third item to come through, but the pothole seems to have gone dormant, leading DeGost to conclude that, whatever the item might be, it had already appeared before he started keeping watch.

DeGost said that the item is most likely harmless to our dimension and he isn’t worried about finding it. Residents of the cul de sac should feel “100 percent confident” returning to their homes (the Mad Elephant Hotel has been hosting Achey Cedars residents free of charge since December).

“I don’t trust anyone who tells me how confident I should be, especially if that number is 100 percent,” said one resident, lounging near the hotel pool and swirling a glass of red wine.

“Don’t tell my dad,” said another – one of the eight remaining Lembas children – as he tested blue and fuchsia dance lights in the ballroom. “This place is lit. Ever since the cops busted up that rager on Whelming Street, the coyotes have been having their parties here instead. Those guys are animals.”

Shorty’s only sister, Dooey, said she couldn’t wait to get back home.

“I’m really glad Buster’s been keeping an eye on the pothole and I’m sure he’s doing a great job,” said Dooey, “but I should have been doing that. It’s my fault Shorty fell in there. I know Buster thinks the portal’s closed, but I’m not giving up.”

Contractors were previously unable to patch the pothole, as it seemed to have a bottomless appetite for asphalt, but it has now been filled and leveled, and several residents moved back in over the weekend.

Fauxhasset Paroder, 11th Edition: Holy potholes, Batman!

By Thamanda Crompson
Fauxhasset Paroder Staff Reporter

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Achey Cedars residents said they’ve been asking the town for help with potholes ever since they found a gator in one back in 1999. Photo credit

BREAKING: Residents of Achey Cedars Way are being evacuated after reports came in that the street was “eating children.”

On the scene, petrified parents clung to each other and their remaining children (which turned out to be all but one of them) while gazing into the depths of a ten-foot-wide pothole.

“Doesn’t that look bigger than last night?” said a man in a suit, swirling a glass of red wine. His neighbors agreed that the pothole did seem larger and began to discuss, carefully out of your reporter’s earshot, who they could sue for this, and for how much.

According to police, Shorty Lembas, a kindergarten student at Captain America’s School for the Awesome, had tripped and fallen into the pothole and then completely disappeared.

Police said the emergency call came from Habitha Lembas, Shorty’s mother, after she witnessed the same pothole swallowing a Mini Cooper some time later; she had not believed her daughter’s initial report that the street had “eaten Shorty.”

While she was on the line, Habitha reported watching a UPS delivery truck also vanish into the street.

Habitha then asked the police to excuse her, as she had to go see about a Serengeti.com package she thought was being delivered by the truck.

Habitha and her husband Larry Lembas declined to comment for this article. The Paroder got the scoop from Shorty’s seven-year-old sister, Dooey Lembas, spokeschild for Princess Elsa’s School for Turning Superheroes into Snowflakes.

Dooey was the only kid in the neighborhood not crying. Instead, she was stomping around with a garden rake, wearing a too-large football helmet and a toy shield. Her knees were bleeding from an attempt to dive into the pothole to save her brother.

“This is all my fault,” said Dooey. “I threw the Frisbee too high on purpose. It’s this joke we have, because Shorty’s so, ya know, short. And like, it’s funny, you know? Except this time, it wasn’t funny.”

Dooey said she saw her brother fall and, after waiting a few seconds for him to get up, ran over to help. When she arrived at the edge of the pothole, he was nowhere to be seen.

Dooey said her parents thought Shorty was just playing his favorite game – hiding from them – and started hunting for him. That’s when she took it upon herself to go after her brother, but she said she was unable to get the pothole to “open up” again.

“Mom stopped me from going in after the UPS truck,” Dooey said. “I’m keeping an eye on it, though. I’ll do whatever it takes to get Shorty back. Sure, he goes to Captain America’s, but he’s still family. I have eight brothers, and I’d do the same for any of them.”

Dooey was then discovered and dragged away by her parents, who again declined to comment for this article.

A contractor is now attempting to patch the pothole. However, the hole seems to have no bottom and simply continues to swallow the cement. More on this flagrant defiance of the laws of physics as it develops.

The Mad Elephant Hotel (MEH) has offered to put up the whole neighborhood free of charge until this issue is resolved. Please note that Achey Cedars Way is closed to all traffic. Residents are reminded that yellow “DO NOT CROSS” tape should not be crossed.

This story is a parody. Read the original article in the Cohasset Mariner.