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.

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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, 37th Edition: Sea level at its lowest since 1702

By Thamanda Crompson
Fauxhasset Paroder Staff Reporter

It’s been four weeks since the dredging team opened up a black hole in the harbor, and the shallows have completely drained following a 10-foot drop in sea level.

United Kingdom, Channel Islands, Jersey, Gorey Marina At Low Tide.

Just out of frame, Johnny Depp is demanding, “But why is the water gone?” Photo credit

While the anomaly should have no further impact on global sea levels, the constant suck of the black hole has created a perpetual space-time tornado above the site, posing a serious threat to nearby residents and businesses.

“Threat?” shouted one abutter over the roar of the wind. “This tornado is the best thing that’s ever happened to the harbor. The constant partying over at the Mad Elephant Hotel was driving us crazy, but I can’t hear it at all anymore. I’m getting the best sleep I’ve had since moving to Fauxhasset!”

“Threat?” said another neighbor in a 40-inch rant on the community Facebook page. “The greatest threat to the harbor was Ord Girdlehyde buying up all the businesses last summer. That guy is a human tornado. No act of nature, either natural or supernatural, could possibly damage the harbor business district more than he has. By comparison, this actual, literal tornado can hardly be called a threat.”

“Threat?” said hotel owner Ord Girdlehyde by phone from his winter home on the African savannah. “We are not worried about it. My staff will ensure that no harm comes to any of our guests – human, coyote, or otherwise. Our transient as well as our permanent residents can rest assured. Management is keeping a very close eye on the situation.”

Management had, in fact, served its resignation notice the day the black hole opened, and the manager in question just finished working his final shift. He was last seen throwing down a dish towel, declaring the whole town insane, and peeling out of the satellite parking lot, which (contrary to popular opinion) is reserved for employees and not for visiting spacecraft.

Town officials are just trying to make the best of the situation. In light of the curse laid upon Fauxhasset last week, damning the community to endless winter until one and all repent to Our Groundhog Lord and Savior RALPH, this tornado is the least of everyone’s worries.

The Green and Renewable Energy Group (GREG) is working to harness the wind to generate electricity for the community.

“It seems inevitable that this never-ending blizzard will eventually take out all our power wires,” said GREG, “and National Grid has already refused to make any more repairs until we get the snow situation under control. Said it’s like dumping money into a black hole.”

“Of course, it’s completely different, and we invited them to come throw some cash into our black hole for comparison – ‘For science,’ we told them. But they just hung up on us.”

If you are without power, use the hashtag #Charybdisgate on social media or send a carrier squirrel to the Panic Brigade. They will happily help you dig out, spoon for warmth, or forage for food just as soon as they stop hyperventilating in the corner.

“This is what I love about Fauxhasset,” said Town Manager Mown Tanager. “They’re troopers, always ready to make the most of a bad situation.”

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]

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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.