Vermicelli3. aka A Frivolous Rehashing Homage to Boudou sauvé des eaux. The kindly Red Vermicelli have rescued a peculiar little creature from the riotous waters of the stream that crosses their garden. Ignoring what the beastie might be or where it may come from, they have decided to adopt it on a finders keepers basis. But the well-meaning worms don’t know that the creature, whose name is Rory Sharptail McDuffie, is the spirit guide of and bodyguard to a very rare species of moth that lives in the wilds of Northern Scotland; he ended up in the river of the garden of the Vermicelli owing to a freak accidental encounter between the prevailing winds in that neck of the woods and a stray singularity. The moth will be appearing in a doddle of her own, with her very own heroic tale, soon-soon, inshallah.

Happy Twins. Bosom pals of the girl who’s not pretty and not nice and doesn’t give a toss, the also not pretty and not nice but deliriously bright Gemini Sisters have come to their Orchard of Delights to pick up a few novelty items to further brighten their days. The garden has been exceptionally imaginative, lately, and it has presented the twins with a truly bizarre, but exceedingly cuddly variety of Fish-In-A-Bubble thingummybob. Clever Orchard! Lucky twins! Sometimes life is so sweet…

Sunrise. The Mutated Magic Mushrooms of the woodland fringes sprang up as one and invoked the begetting powers of natural redress for to bring forth a furry avenger. And, lo!, another Warrior Bunny appeared. Ain’t that nice? Let’s face it, a vindicating paladin is much needed in these grisly days of godawful idiocracy and doctrinaire subjugation. For, as the man said:
There must be outlet or there will be explosion- … Or the mentally freezing, or dying, will tighten their prohibitions, and the chill of their censorships will contract, to extinction, our lives, which, without sin, represent matter deprived of motion. Their ideal is Death, or approximate death, warmed over occasionally only enough to fringe with uniform, decorous icicles -from which there will be no escape
Charles Fort. New Lands
Helpful disclaimer. The chronicler of this here happy event is not a Fortean by any stretch of the imagination, but one gets one’s groovy lines where one can gets them, innit?

Woodland Metchik. Here is where we go when things get ghastly beyond endurance. Here are to be found, always, suns and moons and whispering trees and chubby hybrid bunny rabbits and drunken stars. Balm for aching souls.

Another Fine Mess. Indeed utter destruction, unutterable grief and mentally retarded madness have become the norm. States of affairs totally insane prevail and the New Subnormal reigns supreme. May Bumba have mercy upon our poxy souls.
I hear hurricanes a-blowing
I know the end is coming soon
I fear rivers overflowing
I hear the voice of rage and ruin
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wkqfPuQhW9I

Alien Romance. This is sort of a sympathetic exorcism, for to banish some of the bile that has been accumulating for the past 12 months. There’s only so much bitterness a poor Gorgon can take before she blows a fuse…or worse, dontyouknow. See how easy can be to win the heart of an alien flowerette? A little ice cream, a small well-read captive balloon and a large dose of sheep’s eyes. Piece of cake! Would that the psychotic imbeciles that rule the world would take a leaf of the wraith-like alien’s tactics… As the old Jamaica proverb says: you catch no flies with vinegar.

Sunny Piggy. Palestinian Mass Extermination, 1 Year On. I repeat: things are so unspeakably awful that words fail to describe just how abominable they have become and the kind of nightmare into which they are likely to degenerate. So here’s Marisol, the Educated Piggy, a defector from Dr. Moreau’s Island, with her assessment of the whole disgraceful shenanigans. Please note that she also is at a loss for words and she has had to resort to a single, sharp, short and to the point utterance. Her latest piglet, Federico, keeps his own counsel. Have a sponditious week…if you dare.