FFR № 152
Fowl Feathered Review
A Periodical of Perpetual Perplexity
Issue 152 — Vol. XXXVIII, No. LXX (or thereabouts)
Salutations, Feathered Aficionados & Bibliophilic Barnacles,
If, as the adage goes, “time flies like an arrow,” then this publication soars like a concussed albatross with a penchant for detours. Behold our 152nd instalment! By my talon-scrawled arithmetic, at seventy issues per annum, we’ve outpaced even the most caffeinated mayfly’s literary output. Quarterly? A mere technicality, like referring to a hurricane as a “brisk zephyr.” Let us instead embrace our identity as a quart-erly—a term denoting both chaos and the clinking of empty gin bottles in the editorial wastebasket.
This issue, dear readers, is a phantasmagoria of the superfluous. Our stories? Think Kafka’s parakeet scribbling existential limericks mid-moult. Our poetry? Less “Ode to a Nightingale,” more “Dirge for a Damp Matchstick.” And the artwork! A Rorschach test rendered by ink-splattered pigeons—though I confess, the smudge labelled “Untitled #43” bears an uncanny resemblance to my Aunt Muriel after her ill-advised tango with a fondue pot.
But lo! Amidst this cacophony of creativity, a vision: your sandwich. Yes, yours—the one languishing on your desk, its mayo glistening like the sweat of Prometheus. Untouched. Virginal. How it mocks me! Name your price, dear friend. A haiku? A sonnet composed in iambic lard? Done. The transaction is sealed. (The pastrami is passable, though it whispers of existential despair. More mustard next time, perhaps?)
In closing, a plea: Send us your words, your doodles, your half-baked epiphanies scrawled on napkins. We crave the inedible and the incomprehensible. Submissions may be hurled via carrier pigeon, semaphore, or left in a hollow tree stump near the old windmill. Compensation? A tarnished thimble of gratitude and a coupon for 10% off at the China Wok (void where sanity prevails).
Yours in perpetually moulting solidarity,
Virgil Kay
Editor-in-Chief (and Part-Time Rooster Clucking Sonnets into the Void)
Proud Habitué of the China Wok’s “Mystery Dumpling” Special
P.S. This missive was composed atop a nest of rejected manuscripts and takeout menus. Apologies for the soy sauce stains. They’re a metaphor. Probably.
MUSIC: https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PL3s2d_KjDMhQ92rAu42MBwICY6OcNzQoo&si=agf_s85lXxQmWRt8
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