JOLLY JOLLY FLIBMORT DAY

Every seven-hundred and fifty-six days the land of Twiid celebrates Flibmort Day. Needless to say, Flibmort Day is the most special day of the whole entire year. So special that they spend the one-hundred-and-sixty-three days previous to Flibmort Day celebrating the upcoming celebration.

Imagine that—an entire month of celebration for just one day!

Jolly jolly Flibmort Day! they say to each other, even when it’s one-hundred-and-sixty-three days away. They say it to each other as they pass in the streets, mingle in the little shops, stumble in the dark caverns on the outskirts of town. They whisper it to themselves in their sleep but they do not know it. They murmur it dreamily up at the unbroken canopy of purple-pink clouds that hide their eyes from incomprehensible infinitude beyond.

Ah, yes, but what is Flibmort Day?

Who knows! And why would they! Why would you need a reason to celebrate a day like Flibmort Day! Or any other day for that matter! Why turn such a joyous day like Flibmort Day into some dull exercise of intellectual meaning-making! If we were to start there where would it end! Do you ask why puppies are cute! Why would you need an answer for something like that! It just is!

STOP THINKING ABOUT THAT IT’S NOT SOMETHING TO CONCERN YOURSELF WITH.

Now…

Who is Mr. Floobleblurt?

Mr. Floobleblurt is a magical being. He lives on the moon. He never sleeps. But you don’t need to know that. Why do you want to know so much about him?

What you should know is that he comes to the land of Twiid only once a year—on Flibmort Day.

The Twiids love Mr. Floobleblurt. Of course they do! The Twiids love Mr. Floobleblurt so much they let him into their homes in the dead of night. Why wouldn’t they! In the dead of night, he falls down from the sky, down down DOWN, and they rejoice at the sound. What else would they do!

Mr. Floobleblurt is a very hungry being. He’ll eat anything in front of him—vases full of flower bouquets, plates of raw steak (plate included), lamps off coffee tables, all the picture-frames lining the hallway wall, drawers full of metal eating utensils, the ceiling fan (while it’s spinning), those old boxes in the attic…even licorice! His hunger is completely indiscriminate!

Mr. Floobleblurt doesn’t use the front door, or any door for that matter. Mr. Floobleblurt hates doors and he’ll have nothing to do with them. Mr. Floobleblurt visits your home in another way. Mr. Floobleblurt visits your home by gnawing a hole in your ceiling and THUD! there he is, in your home—smiling so big you can see the splinters from your ceiling in his iridescent gums. He doesn’t mind. He’s hungry and he doesn’t mind the splinters one bit.

He’ll eat anything you point at, he’ll eat it up good, he will.

Watch out what you point at ha ha ha…

He’ll eat it up if you point at it!

How fun!

He’s not here to make decisions, he’s here to look in the direction of where you’re pointing and then gobble that thing up yum yum YUM!

And that’s not even the most magical part about Mr. Floobleblurt!

What is?

Well—you asked…

It’s Mr. Floobleblurt’s poop, that’s what!

Yes—very silly indeed!

Mr. Floobleblurt is a very silly being.

How lovable!

He’ll poop anywhere and you never know what it’ll be! It could be anything! It could be a brand new kitchen set, a bouncy-house, a litter of puppies, an ancient oak tree, a box set of your favorite television show, or even a new baby brother! All you do is point and he’ll chomp that thing into little bitty bits and keep chomping until those bits are nothing but an indistinguishable pulp and then he’ll swallow it down gulp gulp GULP and the Korwoops in his stomach will start a bonfire and burn burn BURN until what’s left of what you pointed at is nothing but a orb of colorless ether floating above the white-gray ashes and they’ll dance in a frenzied circle and screech with their faceless faces in that ageless being’s midnight-dark belly and they’ll dance DANCE DANCE DANCE DANCE DANCE DANCE DANCE and then all of the sudden…

PLOOP plop PLOOP!

There it is! A gift for you! It could be anything!

—Wait—

Shhhhhhhh…

What’s that sound? Do you know what that sound is? Can you hear it getting closer and closer and CLOSER??

MR. FLOOBLEBLURT IS ON THE ROOF.

HEAR THE TIPPY-TAPPING OF HIS TALONS.

HEAR THE SQUELCHING OF HIS GILLS.

HEAR THE HOWLING IN HIS STOMACH.

HE IS ABOVE YOU ON THE ROOF.

It’s just like in that classic Flibmort Day carol you hear every day this time of the year! You know the one—the only song played during the Flibmort season because all the other songs cease to exist!

(You could try to play another song, but you’d find you just…simply…can’t! Ah, the magic of the season! Magic is everywhere! See how it warps reality and bends it to its will! What a delight to live in such a magical world! Anything could happen!)

HE’S INSIDE THE HOUSE.

YOU DIDN’T HEAR HIM ENTER.

MR. FLOOBLEBLURT IS QUIET WHEN HE WANTS TO BE.

WHEN HE WANTS TO BE HE CAN BE OH SO QUIET.

SOMETIMES HE MAKES NO SOUND AT ALL.

YOU WON’T HEAR HIM.

NOT IF HE DOESN’T WANT YOU TO.

There he is.

Mr. Floobleblurt is right there staring at you. Is he staring at you or through you? What does he see in you that you can’t see in yourself?

He sees something in you.

Point at something else! Don’t let him see you for too long! Who knows what could happen!

But remember—

Be careful what you point at. Keep your finger pointed down until you know what it is you are going to point at. It’s very important not to accidentally point at something you don’t want to point at.

Ah…good choice.

There he goes. Yum yum YUM, he says. Oh, of course he doesn’t actually say that. He thinks it, though. Or, no…who knows what he thinks? Or even if he does think? Who knows anything about Mr. Floobleblurt?

Look at him go! He sure made quick work of that. The whole dining room set—chairs, table…even the hanging lamp above—all gone in one giant gulp.

How does he unhitch his jaw like that?

Now we wait.

You should get comfortable. It might take some time. Think about all those little Korwoops dancing around the bonfire in Mr. Floobleblurt’s stomach. Think about how the pulp of what once was your dining room set is now becoming something else entirely. Don’t look at Mr. Floobleblurt!

He doesn’t like you to look at him while he’s digesting.

Oh!

Quick!

Look now! Look at Mr. Floobleblurt! He won’t be able to poop if you don’t look directly at him! Make eye contact with Mr. Floobleblurt or the magic won’t work! Look!

Wow…

What a gift.

That’s the perfect gift for you, huh?

What are you going to say, no? How silly to think you would say your gift is anything but perfect! Why wouldn’t it be? It’s from Mr. Floobleblurt!

But…

Hold on—

Why is he still here?

Why hasn’t he left yet? What does he want? He should have left right after he pooped out your gift…

Wait—

He still looks hungry.

Quick, point at something!

Anything!

—WAIT.

No.

Not me.

NOT ME.

Point your finger somewhere else! Point it at anything else! Please! ANYTHING ELSE BUT ME—

oh no

no

he’s...

…he…

SEES ME…

(no no not like this no no no)

…MR. FLOOBLEBLURT PLEASE DON’T PLEA—