FFR 180
"The arrival of a good clown exercises a more beneficial influence upon the health of a town than twenty asses laden with drugs."
— Thomas Sydenham.
"The bee is more honored than other animals, not because she labors, but because she labors for others."
– Mark Twain.
To Our Esteemed Readers of Fowl Feathered Review,
Ah, greetings, fellow connoisseurs of the slightly askew, the vaguely bewildered, and the occasionally airborne! Welcome, welcome to the monumental Issue No. 180 of your beloved literary gazette. Within these very pages (well, this very page, technically, but bear with us, the logistics are… fluid), you shall, as is our wont, discover a veritable cornucopia of fictional frippery and artistic… well, art. Much of it, we must confess, leans rather heavily into the realms of buzzing things (bees, you see), the golden dust they so diligently traffic (pollen, naturally), individuals with painted smiles and oversized shoes (clowns, need we elaborate?), the pneumatically puffed denizens of our imaginations (inflatable people, a perennial favorite), and miniature architectural marvels meticulously creased and folded (origami buildings, for the discerning miniaturist).
Now, you might be reaching for your customary sonnet or free verse offering, perhaps something poignant about a lonely dandelion or the existential angst of a discarded paperclip. Alas! Woe is us, and indeed, woe is you! For the quill-wielding wordsmiths of our fair Orono have, shall we say, taken umbrage. The newly formed and fiercely demanding United Order of Orono Ornithological Ode-Weavers and Rhyming Ruminants Local 77B (Sub-Branch of the Penobscot Poetry Preservation Pact, affiliated with the Maine Metrical Mandate Militia), you see, has declared a strike of unprecedented proportions. Their demands? Not merely shekels, dear reader, but higher shekels!
Our current remuneration package – a veritable feast of Italian sandwiches (your choice of oil and vinegar, naturally, or perhaps a daring squirt of mayonnaise) accompanied by the effervescent delight of orange soda – has been deemed… insufficient. A grave injustice, they proclaim! A poetic pauper’s pittance! Frankly, it stinks.
But enough of this pecuniary pandemonium! You, astute reader, are no doubt wondering about the rather… elongated nature of this missive. Well, hold onto your hats (preferably ones that won’t deflate), for this isn’t just a letter; it’s a treasure map! A veritable Rosetta Stone of rooftop rendezvous! Observe carefully the seemingly random scattering of letters and numbers. Within this textual tapestry lies the key, the very coordinates, that will lead you to the precipice of avian ambition!
Now, pay close attention, for this is crucial. You see these markings? Yes, these squiggles and symbols that appear to have been enthusiastically applied by a caffeinated squirrel with a leaky inkwell? These, my friends, are not to be trifled with. They are the secret sauce, the clandestine cipher, the… well, you get the idea.
Ahem. We couldn’t help but notice you’ve begun to rotate the page. Yes, yes, we see you there, tilting your head like a bewildered robin inspecting a particularly shiny pebble. While your curiosity is… well, it was endearing. You’re… okay, stop. STOP. What in the name of all that is slightly askew are you doing?! The words are all messed up now! Look at it! It’s a linguistic Jackson Pollock of pure pandemonium! ʇɐɟɹʎɐʇɐɓɥʇʎɐʇɐɔʍ The delicate dance of the digits, the crucial choreography of the characters – utterly ruined! Do you have any idea the painstaking (and by painstaking, we mean vaguely irritating and done while humming show tunes) effort that went into arranging those coordinates? And now? Now it looks like a flock of drunken seagulls tap-danced across the page!
We implore you! Do not, under any circumstances, subject this vital document to further acrobatic contortions! If you continue this topsy-turvy tomfoolery, the very fabric of this navigational narrative will unravel! The letters might, in a fit of gravitational defiance (or perhaps sheer pique at your handling), simply detach themselves from the page, leaving you with naught but a perplexing confetti of ink and a profound sense of… well, you know. The whole thing will become an utter shambles, a calamitous catastrophe of calligraphic chaos! But, you know, carry on. At this point, what does it matter? The squirrels are probably sharpening their tiny legal quills, the crows are likely experimenting with even more unsettling bagel toppings, and the bears are probably staging a honey heist as we speak.
Following these now-somewhat-compromised instructions, you will, with a monumental amount of luck and a truly heroic dose of guesswork, perhaps still pinpoint the general vicinity – the vague upward direction, the approximate lofty locale – of our humble editorial abode. There, precariously perched and awaiting its aerial adventure, you will find a master copy of this very issue, Fowl Feathered Review No. 180, ingeniously (or perhaps just desperately) repurposed as the fuselage of a hang glider. And its pilot? The ever-optimistic (despite several unfortunate incidents involving trampolines and treacle) Chocko the clown.
But the tribulations don’t end there, oh no! While you’ve been treating this crucial correspondence like a particularly uncooperative pancake, we’ve been embroiled in a series of increasingly bizarre legal and interspecies disputes. The local squirrel collective, citing “emotional distress caused by inconsistent nut distribution,” is now demanding therapy sessions in addition to higher-quality peanuts. The neighborhood crows, having apparently mastered online ordering, are now requesting artisanal bagels with truffle-infused custard. Truffle! And the ursine population, emboldened by their bagel-loving brethren, are now demanding a dedicated honey sommelier. The sheer audacity!
So, dear reader, embark on this… well, whatever this is now… with extreme caution and a profound sense of regret for your earlier page-flipping antics. May your journey be less disastrous than our current predicament. And for pity’s sake, try to hold the remaining legible bits right-side up!
Yours in lingering literary lament and the faint hope of rooftop retrieval,
Virgil Kay,
Editor, Rooster, and China Wok Habitué.
e-Book version of FFR 180:
Remember: PDF version is attached
Movie: Battle of the Worlds - Full Movie - 1961
Music: https://youtu.be/Ssd3U_zicAI?si=cN26xg2cliaAcHWu
More Music: https://youtu.be/_ZditPOzJnM?si=16MbLvpkRSwywO3B
