Fauxhasset Paroder, 42nd Edition: Punxsutawney Punk’d, Part 5

By Thamanda Crompson
Fauxhasset Paroder Staff Reporter

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

[Catch up on the latest installment]

 

groundhog

It’s the ciiiiiiircle of liiiiiiife after death. Photo credit

The most hated man in town is now a hero.

Ord Girdlehyde, owner of Pacifica, Ye Olde Salt House, the Mad Elephant Hotel, and basically the entire harbor (he’s kind of a big deal) cut short his winter holiday on the African savannah and returned to snowy Fauxhasset to search for Punxsutawney Phil, missing since Feb. 2. And he found him.

Girdlehyde teamed up with JJ Henry, developer of the 8 Lame Jane townhomes, and a band of coyotes who had been living at the Mad Elephant Hotel to sniff out the missing groundhog.

“The bad weather was crippling our business,” Girdlehyde said. “The black hole in the harbor was one thing, but nobody wants to get married in the snow.”

“Construction was at a standstill,” added Henry. “We actually convinced the Planning Board to lift the cease and desist order, but a lot of good it did us with all this snow.”

Our heroes found Phil on Fame Island in a dead-end tunnel, blocked in by a large boulder that had been rolled in front of the mouth of the cave.

The property owner had started blasting the tunnel out of the coastal ledge to build a knock-off Space Mountain roller coaster before the Guardians of the Ocean, Shore and Harbor (GOSH) told him he couldn’t put a theme park on the island for environmental reasons. Now, what had been intended as a fun escape had become a prison.

Upon rolling the boulder aside, the men were briefly blinded by a bright light emanating from the cave. No… not from the cave. From the groundhog inside. As their eyes adjusted, the radiant rodent turned to face them.

“The time of shadows is past,” said Punxsutawney Phil in a deep baritone – and indeed, he cast no shadow, only light: a sure sign that spring had arrived.

The imposter, dubbed “Fauxsutawney Fil” by locals, still has not been apprehended, but his sway over the town seems to have diminished already. The snow has stopped falling, and the sun even broke through the clouds this morning. The uppermost layers of snow have begun to soften.

Still, it’s likely to be a while yet before we’re rid of these 3,141 inches of snow. So keep rationing that milky bread, and as always, remember to tip your carrier squirrel.

It’s probably safe to stop with the burnt offerings, though.

[Punxsutawney Punk’d, Part 6]

Fauxhasset Paroder, 38th Edition: Alien Santa left out in the cold

Thamanda Crompson
Fauxhasset Paroder Staff Reporter

The Alien Santa was spotted actually enjoying the perpetual blizzard at Gledhill Sledhill, proving once again that he isn’t, and never will be, one of us.

img_4673

Skills unlocked: not falling on the so-called “bunny” slope (did not see any bunnies T_T), mastering human hand signals. Photo credit

Someone had given the alien a snowboard and he was doing his best to learn the sport, hiking tirelessly back up the hill for another attempt. Witnesses said they heard him break a wrist, only to watch him straighten out the joint and heal himself on the spot.

At first, Alien Santa shared the slope with a horde of children, but after his arrival, the crowd began to thin. Sledders suddenly grew tired. Parents spirited their little ones away, casting wary glances at the alien in the rearview mirrors of their Range Rovers.

One little girl, however, wasn’t gone for long before she returned with a bright red helmet under her arm. This she affixed to Alien Santa’s head. She was then seen giving pointers to the man in red, and he was soon able to ride the whole way down the hill without falling.

The two then shook hands and parted ways. The young girl turned out to be none other than Dooey Lembas, spokeschild for Princess Elsa’s School for Turning Superheroes into Snowflakes and the only sister (out of eight siblings) of Shorty Lembas, who was swallowed by a pothole in November.

When asked about her actions, Lembas just shrugged.

“One time, one of my big brothers got a concussion from snowboarding,” she said. “The doctors said he couldn’t go to school, couldn’t watch TV, couldn’t read – couldn’t nothing! I know ϨΔиϮα’s a little weird, and not everybody likes him, but I didn’t want him to get hurt.”

Then she laughed and added, conspiratorially, “He’s not very good, is he? He’s learning, though. He just needs a little practice.”

 

Fauxhasset Paroder, 36th Edition: Punxsutawney Punk’d, Part 4

by Thamanda Crompson
Fauxhasset Paroder Staff Reporter

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

[Catch up on the latest installment]

b9d2a6eedc80fcabcf3259664c269ad5

Remember to tip your carrier squirrel! Between snow cleanup and mail delivery, those little guys are working overtime. Photo credit

At dawn on the last day of winter, the sky churned forth a great blizzard, the likes of which made last month’s 12 feet of snow look like a cute little Christmas snow globe.

It blustered all day and all night. Then, at dawn on the first day of spring, Fauxsutawney Fil appeared.

Fil rode into town on a wooden sleigh drawn by nine of the Womp’s 50-antlered mutant deer. The foremost had a 3,000-lumen LED nose compliant with the Green and Renewable Energy Group’s sustainability guidelines for the town.

The deer returned Fil to the Hallowed Burrow from whence he’d emerged on Groundhog Day. The wrathful raccoon then took to his soapbox, guarded by his squadron of deer so that the Local and Regional Animal Whisperers (LAW and RAW) couldn’t reach him.

“This is just sad,” said Fil, surveying the paltry hundred spectators who had bundled up and gathered on the Common to hear him speak. The rest were hunkered down inside, praying (as would soon become clear) to entirely the wrong god.

“Nobody likes winter,” said Fil. “Do you like winter? I don’t like winter. So I worked out a deal with your leaders to keep winter from ever bothering you nice folks again.”

“That’s what they asked for. That’s what you all asked for,” said Fil. “But instead of thanks, what do I get? Hunted, that’s what I get. And the whole town out looking for that impostor, Punxsutawney Phil, without a word of thanks for me! Sad. Don’t you know who I am?”

No one, in fact, knew who he was.

“Sad,” Fil repeated.

The large raccoon claimed to be the reincarnation of the original “Groundhog,” a Roman hedgehog by the name of Romulus Augustus Legolas Petrificus-totalus Hedgehogius (May He Rest In… ah, well, scratch that last part now, I guess) – or, for short, RALPH.

Like most modern holidays, Fil recounted, Groundhog Day started out as a religious tradition. All the ceremonies, festivals, and ritual sacrifices were made on RALPH’s account – and he, a god, showed mercy by ushering in the spring on years when the people’s efforts pleased him.

Of course, any history book will tell you that much. The real question is whether Fil truly is RALPH, or whether the raccoon is not only mad, but also mad. And the question’s not just rhetorical. Fauxhasset will have to decide what it believes, and soon, before the whole town is buried in snow.

“I tried to warn you all with that storm last month,” Fil said. “I’ve been very reasonable. From day one, all I’ve asked of you was repentance. But I guess that was too much. Well, no more Mr. Nice Guy. This time the snow’s not stopping until every last one of you stands before me and personally repents.”

Look for more on this issue in an upcoming edition of the Paroder. And please remember to tip your carrier squirrel; between mail delivery and snow cleanup, those little guys are working overtime.

[Punxsutawney Punk’d, Part 5]