The Snackies

Fergus Strikes Back

noreply@blogger.com (Zak Nelson) — Sat, 07 Mar 2009 19:05:00 +0000

In the blink an me eye, Fergus sprouted.

Never before did this happen. It feels like you are raining. Me feets and arms grew to meet the oncoming Flaming-Os. All the knots in me bark rushed to the tips of my fingers and made little hard fists that knocked the Flaming-Os to pieces. All the cords of bundled roots in me legs stretched and splithered and snithered and tripped the gangly Flaming-Os as they came.

I do not know why this happened, and I do not know why the Plimptons keep such untame beasties. But one thing be an certain: no lavender is worth this trouble, not even Squimmish lavender.

Oh make that two things an certain: I must escape from these no good Plimptons!

Flaming O's ATTACK!

noreply@blogger.com (Zak Nelson) — Mon, 12 Nov 2007 03:46:00 +0000

Flaming O's

noreply@blogger.com (Zak Nelson) — Fri, 12 Oct 2007 04:49:00 +0000

It was a misfortune that I made this outburst.

The beast of burden that the Plimptons use is the flamingo. But they are also the first line of defense for the great hall.

Trust me, you do not wish to agitate the flamingo...

ENOUGH!

noreply@blogger.com (Zak Nelson) — Wed, 03 Oct 2007 04:13:00 +0000

I exploded.

"I WANT LAVENDER!" I cried.

It is difficultish for Fergus to describe what happens exactly when I am cornered like this. I sort of curl into meself like a fist, winding and tightening into a little star (how I wonder what you are!). Butternut used to do this too, for fun. I only do it when I have to.

Then I flick the fist inside of me and I try to make whatever's hurting me fly away.

It worked for the Plimptons, mostly--well, they were too heavy to move, but their Oddzen Ends moved!

But then another problem arose. Luckily, the fistflick is not Fergus's only trick!

Closing in...

noreply@blogger.com (Zak Nelson) — Tue, 02 Oct 2007 03:40:00 +0000

Huge they were, and relentless. The nasty Plimptons lurched in at poor Fergus, their fangs drooling and gleaming, hungry for some tender plumpkin flesh...

All I can say is that Fergus Does Not Like To Be Toyed With.

NOT.

AT.

ALL.

Oddzen Ends

noreply@blogger.com (Zak Nelson) — Sun, 30 Sep 2007 21:25:00 +0000

In no time at all there was a carnival set up around Fergus. A very smelly Plimpton started barking, "Oddzen ends! Oddzen ends for sale! Come see the living artifact!"

And another Plimpton began selling small Fergus heads! "See the artifact, take home the toy! Oddzen ends! Oddzen ends!"

I do not know an what kind of ends the Oddzens were, but I did not like to think of meself as one of these.

Suddenly alone...

noreply@blogger.com (Zak Nelson) — Sun, 30 Sep 2007 03:52:00 +0000

...I found meself being surrounded by Plimptons of all sizes, an rushing at me with things of torture and cruelty. Poor Fergus does not know what to do when so many giant beasties come toward him at once!

About the Plimptons

noreply@blogger.com (Zak Nelson) — Thu, 20 Sep 2007 04:26:00 +0000

What can Fergus say about the Great Hall? It was very big, but not very great. It was drab and mournful. Other Plimptons were going about their business.

None of them wore the same apparel for their faces and heads as the three who found me. Some of them did not have long snouts at all, but instead had horrible shortened noses and ruddy cheeks. They all had hair on their chins like the thistles.

Some of them walked dreadfully slow like ghosts, never looking up.

And still others haggled and argued just like the bogmen down at Garullum Swamp.

But oh what Fergus wouldn't give to be back in his cozy home, sipping nightshade tea and warming hisself before a warm fire.

Arriving at Plimpton Hall

noreply@blogger.com (Zak Nelson) — Thu, 20 Sep 2007 03:40:00 +0000

After walking on me pebbly feet in sightless corridors for hours, we at last arrived at their home.

Schmull turned to Fergus and gestured me with his stick. "This is our Great Hall," he said. At least, this is what Fergus thinks he said. He seemed to require much difficulty in speaking.

"Can I have me lavender now?" I asked an him. Lebbin and Gezzundizik already wandered off. Schmull seemed to regard me for some moments before he snorted and wandered off as well. I became very agitated.

noreply@blogger.com (Zak Nelson) — Sun, 16 Sep 2007 01:02:00 +0000

A study in composition

noreply@blogger.com (Zak Nelson) — Sat, 15 Sep 2007 21:18:00 +0000

Cave of the Plimptons

noreply@blogger.com (Zak Nelson) — Wed, 12 Sep 2007 02:51:00 +0000

The three beasties were an called Plimptons. The names were Lebbin, Shmull, and Gezzundizik. They did not say much to Fergus. In fact they said nothing at all. But they had me follow an them.

I think maybe they know where to find lavender, because that is what I kept asking of them. "Where is lavender?" I asked, and they kept walking. "Where is lavender?" I asked again, and still they walked.

We came unto their cave, and I became very frightened by its sight. Deep and dark it was, with twists and plunges and many many darknesses.

I no longer am so sure I want the pretty smelling lavender. It is a nice flower, and makes the hollow rattle subside in Fergus's head. But Who would leave me this note and then make me go so far to find them? And if the Plimptons left me the note, then why do they not give me lavender when they did find me?

I will continue, but me doesn't like this one bit.

Me rude awokening

noreply@blogger.com (Zak Nelson) — Sat, 08 Sep 2007 19:27:00 +0000

When me awokened that morning from unsettling dreams, I discovered meself surrounded and being prodded by three very large beasties. Gulp.

Fergus by the way likes to sleep with his head off. At home, me keeps it at night in a wicker headbasket lined with me old quilt that mother made. But when me sleeps out of doors, my likes to tuck me head in me arm where it is safest.

I do not know from where these beasties came, but they carried a mighty spear and poor Fergus was defenseless. If only I had me thistlethwak!

Time for sleep.

noreply@blogger.com (Zak Nelson) — Mon, 27 Aug 2007 00:55:00 +0000

The 1,001st star has appeared in the sky. This means it has grown too late for Fergus to continue his search for lavender. I have found a flat little spot on which to rest, away from the cacophony of whispering grasses, away from watchful lurking Eyes.

Who left me that note? If they want to offer Fergus some sweet lavender, why do they place themselves so far from finding?

Reminds me of my sister, Butternut, who used to run far far away so no one could find her, though I always could. She used to hide under lily pads and hold her breath until I came. But she is gone now. Great Uncle Gourdon used to say it was for the best, that I was made to be an only plumpkin, and that she was rotten through and through. Great Aunt Yam said he was only teasing, but Fergus knows he felt it to be true.

For me, I do not think Butternut was a bad plumpkin, just different. And every now and again me gets the same scratching in the base of my head that tells me to go far far away and hide. Butternut called it the Imp of My Undoing.

Well I will tell you: it is late, and I should have returned home many hours ago. But here I am out on this windy precipice. It is so dark my little glowbug has given up and gone to sleep. But I am not alone here on my search for the sweet-smelling lavender flower. The Imp of My Undoing is with me.

A long way to go for lavender

noreply@blogger.com (Zak Nelson) — Sun, 26 Aug 2007 23:47:00 +0000

The air is becoming chilled, and still I have not seen a sign of the one who left me the note. Surely they- who-have-lavender be not as far as this! But I have their note, and I have taken with me my little glowbug for her light and quiet company. The wind makes whispers in the tall grasses. The stars are out, and methinks I see the constellation Copernicus.

Me hopes I find the purveyor of lavender soon. The pimples on my buttocks are boiling with the sensation of Lurkers and Watchers.

I am going to look for lavender.

noreply@blogger.com (Zak Nelson) — Sat, 25 Aug 2007 08:38:00 +0000

Well then. Methinks I'll go alooking for the one who left an me this note. Whatever person left it to me certainly left my glowbug lantern in a tizzy. She was spinning and aspinning and casting strange shadows through the woods and thicket.

But Fergus will find this person, and take up an their kind offer. Lavender is an useful flower. It becalms Fergus's rattling head, and softens the smells of an overbubbling cauldron. (Oh? Did I not mention that me likes to bathe in iron black cauldrons? It is one of many things Fergus does when no one is looking. There are so many things like that, since few are ever looking.) Now, to find me lavender...

Did Someone Send This Note?

noreply@blogger.com (Zak Nelson) — Wed, 15 Aug 2007 05:30:00 +0000

Fergus thanks all of you for the pretty whispers. But somebody left Fergus a whisper under his door. It says, "We have lavender." Who left me this, I wonder? Me likes the lavender, so calm- smelling and pretty it is when dried to death. But how did you know Fergus likes the lavender? And who is We? I would definitely like to set out in search of lavender for me home.

Me laundry

noreply@blogger.com (Zak Nelson) — Tue, 07 Aug 2007 03:44:00 +0000

Hullo again, me friends. I have received many requests of the last photograph, so I put here the color photograph of Fergus folding me laundry. This is typical eve for Fergus.

Something about me home

noreply@blogger.com (Zak Nelson) — Mon, 06 Aug 2007 01:00:00 +0000

It's me, Fergus, again. Jack Skellington who be an me cousin, and who tole me to make a blog, took hisself a look and tole me to show you an something more about me life, like me home. SO here be an photograph of me in me home, folding me laundry. Lotses of dirty clothes I make each week, russling in the crackly underbrush!

WELCOME TO THE SNACKIES...

noreply@blogger.com (Zak Nelson) — Wed, 01 Aug 2007 01:39:00 +0000

Me name is Fergus. I be an plumpkin. I be an four years old. And me cousin be an Jack Skellington, which everybody knows is already.

When I be an three and a half, Jack Skellington tell me to go on write an me own blog. This be me first proclamation and be more to come.

First but, liken me the pretty whispers. Give me please the pretty whispers, so to sooth me heart. Come along now, pretty, pretty things! Give an old Fergus your pretty whispers...

oh and Please do not hurting plumpkins. unless you really mean it.