Happy Fourth of July.

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Beautiful and deadly, the great bald eagle guarded the entrance to the twisted carnival I wished to attend.  My mission?  To find the storied treasure of America: one of those little wavy flags.  Reacting to my presence, the eagle shot thick black lasers from each nipple.  This was a sign of gratitude.  The eagle accepted me and my quest.  I entered his realm.

Upon entering, I encountered a grotesque being, some horrible genetic hybrid of coconut tree and informational sign.  I examined it.  “Pony rides,” “music,” “fun,” “car,” yes, yes, these were all important, but what of my goal!?  Unable to read one of the signs due to perspective, I hoped it said “flags.”  I cracked open a coconut, drank its sweet milk to replenish my health, and continued doggedly forward.

Suddenly before me was a simple kiosk with flags set out for the taking!  Could my journey be this easy?  I hastened toward the kiosk, but then a then terrifying demon-king of patriotic bluegrass appeared from behind the desk!  He used his mind phasons to vaporize three holes in my strange red shield, leaving me defenseless!  I turned and fled…in terror!


 The demon-king did not pursue, but my fleet foot had landed me in the middle of some bizarre processional, where an even more frightening king and a monstrous salmon prepared for battle.  My shield had melted into a crumpled red-and-white mess, so I was no match. A clock reminded me that time was of the essence, so I sprinted off!


I ran headlong into a vendor of exotic Old Glorywear.  He poked me with his cane and demanded that I buy something for the orphan boy examining his novelty hats.  His bowler hat and sunglasses jumped off of and back onto his face as he spoke.  He was obviously some sort of shapeshifter.  I told him I wanted nothing flaglike if it wasn’t small and wavy, and I backed away slowly.

I almost backed over a strange beast, who obviously held some clue but whose enchanted nature perplexed me.  If only there were some kind of sign, something to tell me what this beast was, and whether or not it was breeding fine!  I sighed in dejection.  As if in response, the creature raised its maw to my ear, and whispered cryptic directions.


Following the complicated instructions led me – at last – to the fabled Queen McCormick, keeper of the flags!  Could this at last be the end?  Or would the sinister Titan of Clash intervene?  I reached out and took a flag from m’lady.  The Titan walked on by.  I breathed a sigh of relief.  My quest was finished.

Photos by A. Corke. Narration by R. Trump.

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  1. Tejuca

    Christo redemptor ALPACA PETE.

  2. sexless expert

    phasons??? Do you mean PHASORS? And personal shields work on totally different frequencies from mind phasors, making your story quite impossible. tsk tsk tsk.

  3. phasers

    get the spelling of your fictional weaponry right

  4. wirc

    Uhh, not much to report on this moment?

  5. The Dink

    Eagles don't have nipples. Only mammals have nipples.

  6. well  

    AMERICAN eagles have nipples.

  7. Are

    these posts serious? I can't really tell.

  8. eugh  

    my god rob trump is a douche

  9. Phason

    I'm having sexual fantasies about this post.

    Phason was the word of the day from Oxford English Dictionary yesterday.

    I'm pretty sure that when our hero realized that eagles don't have nipples (as he did soon following the capture of his flag) he exploded. He wasn't around to take pictures or narrate, though, so the authors had to leave that part out.

  10. Dude  

    you cracked open a coconut and drank it's milk? what bullshit. the liquid inside a coconut is called coconut water or often juice. coconut milk is derived from making liquid of the meat of the coconut. irresponsible journalism.

  11. Unfortunately

    The bwoggers of this post forgot to include a picture of the author:


  12. Fortunately

    Rob Trump is a twat waffle.

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