Can a Turkey Take a Punch? Can You Take an Offramp to Find Out? 5 Miles to Jack Fancy’s Turkey Fight!

There’s Still Time to Turn Around ‘Cause You Just Missed Jack Fancy’s Turkey Fight! 1 Exit Back!

Why Did You Abandon Us? The Turkeys Have Won! Our Lives Are Ruined! We Were Counting On You to Help Even the Odds! Even As Moral Support, You Could Have Turned the Tide! Doom Is Upon Us! Drive Safe!

It’s Wednesday and we all know what that means! If you have any older family members who made ill-advised bargains with dark powers (despite telling you throughout your childhood not to do that), today’s the day to head over and visit.

And if they’re pinned to the ceiling in a pool of black bile, limbs twisting, cursing the Entity, be sure to get a broomstick and roll them over so the bile doesn’t have a chance to try and really stick ’em up there.

We found a mosquito in amber. We sampled the blood it contained. We used all our knowledge to clone that DNA and now we’re proud to announce:

DROP OF BLOOD PARK!

[2 days later]

Good lord, the drop of blood got loose!

had that nightmare again where I was supposed to be “studying the blade” while everyone else did cool stuff but I hadn’t ever taken my sword out of the box and I’m at sword-finals and I’m gonna fail

while your teeth were falling out and you were at school with no clothes on, I was (supposed to be) studying the blade

Gentlemen’s Swash! Pirate Parry, sneaky! Pirate Parry, bold! The Ol’ Razzmatazz! Big Swing-a-rooni! Thrust-o! Stabby! L’il stabby! Huz-ZAH!

The Pope’s Left-Hander! Ha! Elliot’s Sword Wiggle! Overhand Broccoli Bash! Underhand Twinkle Block! (please, please let one of these be right, I’m in so much sword-debt)

60 years ago it was possible for a single income household to afford a small starter home mounted on giant chicken legs that would roam through the forest

and today my real estate agent says I can only afford a wooden raft mounted on a blanket of worms

It’s Friday and we all know what that means! We pile up all our tools from the work week and fling them out into the dark waters of the quarry. For the coming weekend, the bubbles stop rising up as whatever lives down there starts its own work, deepening the pit, lowering the water, and we can float near the water’s edge in peace until the work week starts again and our tools resurface, acrid but still sharp.

Don’t be ridiculous. There’s not a giant beating heart in the middle of the town square, suspended by strange ropy red cabling, powering the dark forces that have swept through the village. That’s ridiculous. How would that even work?

It’s obviously a metaphor. As such, it can be wrestled with symbolically, perhaps with wheat paste posters, but you absolutely shouldn’t fire a rocket launcher at it over the heads of the vampire lords who’ve replaced the local government.