FlurakusThey told us the park was closing for renovations. “A few weeks, maybe a month,” management said, smiling like always — too wide, too shiny. I was the guy who sold cotton candy near the Ferris wheel. Twelve years, rain or shine, I spun sugar clouds for sticky fingers and screaming kids.
Then one day, everyone just left. No official memo, no goodbye party. Gates locked. Power off. Just… silence.
An essay by Earl Tumbleweather
Well, I’ll tell you plain: I ain’t never seen a pumpkin like that before.
Been farmin’ near all my life. Planted more seeds than I’ve had hot dinners. Pumpkins come up like they always do — quiet, heavy, sittin’ still, waitin’ for harvest like honest produce oughta. But this one? This one’s different.
Long ago, when gods still played chess with planets and mortals believed in omens written in goat intestines, there was Her. The Oracle. A woman of marble skin, eternal youth, and the kind of gaze that made emperors weep into their wine.
She had The Secret. A truth so powerful it could end wars, cure greed, and possibly convince people to stop talking loudly on public transport.
But she never told.
If you’ve never screamed “MOONLIGHT MAMBO” into a hairbrush while riding a zebra statue in your pajamas, are you even alive?
Lola Lamé isn’t just a rockstar — she’s a full-blown inter-species phenomenon. And no, I haven’t been sniffing glitter glue. I’ve seen it with my own heavily eyelinered eyes.
This woman — no, this glitter-encrusted hurricane of talent — went from singing to her toaster in a forgotten corner of suburbia (Blundertown, pop. 63 bored people and one cactus named Barry) to selling out amphitheaters packed with literal wild animals. Think Coachella meets Noah’s Ark with better lighting.
Let’s rewind.
Bild: Midjourney, Text: ChatGPT, Master of Prompts: Me
Tief in der endlosen Weite einer vergessenen Wüste, dort wo der Sand mit dem Himmel flüstert und der Boden längst alle Spuren der Zeit verschluckt hat, lebt ein geheimes Volk: die Mirkaner — eine hochintelligente Mäuseart, kaum größer als ein Daumen, aber mit einem Stolz so groß wie das Universum.
Die Mirkaner haben alles von den Menschen gelernt: Städte, Technik, Kunst. Doch eine Lektion hatten sie besonders ernst genommen – bleib unsichtbar, sonst wirst du zertreten. Also zogen sie sich zurück in unterirdische Höhlensysteme, bauten sich eine Welt, in der weder Käsefalle noch Fußabdruck drohte.