The Happy Sunshine Gang
Musings of our Madness!
no. 7
Yorick Obituaries
Alas, poor Yorick. We knew him well. Unfortunately, he has had to pass on, to a better place.
No. 1
Yorick, the king’s jester, died last Saturday evening. He was born in 1103 to parents Borax and Yoricka. He had a second grade education in jesting and clowning. His hobbies were castle-climbing, dancing, and singing. He was found Sunday evening at the base of one of Elsinore Castle’s many towers with a note pinned to his chest reading “Claudius pushed me.” Police are treating this death as an accident.
No. 2
Yorick, the jester of the late King Hamlet, died at the age of 53 in Elsinore Castle. He was reportedly poisoned near the time of the late King Hamlet’s death. Yorick was part of a long line of jesters that were born to the Korum family. He was actually born in the kitchen of Elsinore castle to his unsuspecting mother, Hilga Korum. She thought she was a bit under the weather that day, but found it fine to risk the king’s health instead of her own pay. Yorick’s father, Yoreek, was sent to England to recover his wits by Hilga, for ‘thinking she was pregnant’.
Yorick’s hobbies included jestering, brewing potions and poisons for the king’s brother, Claudius, and cackling maniacally. He had a preschool education because the teachers couldn’t stand him any longer.
How to Kill Off Nearly All the Characters in Your Tragedy
Ingredients-
- One middle aged commander
- His young wife
- One jealous psychopath
- His wife
Have your psychopath decide to destroy the commander by exploiting his jealousy and paranoia about the commander’s wife. Get a handkerchief from the commander’s wife. Tell the commander that his wife gave the psychopath the handkerchief as a token of love. Watch as the commander goes nuts trying to figure out what’s going on.
Happy Sunshine Gang Censorship
Don’t you just love how we give you enough information to want to do something, but not enough information to allow you to actually do it? While our roots were in not censoring anyone’s thoughts, occasionally one must censor a few words here and there for the author’s sake, which is what happened.
A Very Sappy Birthday to You (and you, and you, and you)
This week has been the birthday of one of our writers. This writer has been a great friend of mine for many years, and I would be very different without her. A recent forced presentation this weekend of a similar story has made me realize that it isn’t always when two friends actually stay friends for several years, and she really is a great person. Now... If you see her tell her to get out her post-it note and say happy birthday to her. Now I must stop before I am deemed mentally ill by said writer yet again.
Happy Birthday, HSG Style
To the tune of that one stereotypical funeral song that everyone knows but no one knows the name of
/- Rest
Happy Birthday //
Happy Birthday //
Gloom, misery, and despair, /
People dying everywhere, /
Happy Birthday //
Happy Birthday
Thoughts for the Independent Mind
Odyssey Con
Author’s note: I have wanted to write this for a long time, but am just now getting around to it; sorry.
Somewhat recently I went to the Odyssey Convention in [Censored by the HSG], and it was AWESOME. There were independent dealers, video/board games, and panel discussions all day long (yeah, you’re jealous). The panels I went to were Doctor Who and Star Trek vs. Star Wars. They were mind blowing, but that is not the point of this article. The point of the article is that there was a particularly interesting man there. He was very annoying.
This stranger that we’ll just call “B” was at the Doctor Who Panel in the audience and boy, was he passionate. He decided that it was a stellar idea to shout out everything he knew, which would be cool, if he knew something besides dates. All he cared about were dates: “this came out then,” “that came out then”. The entire panel was pretty much just him spewing dates. It could have been cooler.
I strongly recommend going to the Odyssey Con when you have the chance. Despite the annoying attendees, the convention is fantastic. If you do go; however, try not to be annoying to your fellow attendees. Just don’t.
-This has been me, inflicting you with my thoughts. Thoughts for the Independent Mind.
Knowledge corner
“Don’t ever eat the pudding. You’ll never be able to leave.”
-The Book of Truth
Advice
If you’re a mass murderer, don’t tell police, or your friends. It could get you in serious trouble, and we clearly need mass murderers out there for society to function.
Random fact
The people thought to be the first serial killers in the U.S. lived in Kansas.
Quote
“Life can’t all be sugar. There have to be a few... er... cheetos in there.”
-Somebody special. (While there are more than 7 billion people in this world now, most have the audacity to think that they are something special, and that they matter. It’s normally those who don’t think they are that really are special, and do matter.)
Creativity Corner
Due to the results from our pilot for Creativity Corner from last week, we have chosen to have the Creativity Corner only be in when we have enough writing to put in it. This puts less stress on us, and will until we have more people willing to write/draw (hopefully meaning more will, making this be in here weekly).
Reminder: Enter anything you wish! Please deliver your writings to our creative works editor/director, Hannah Nies. It may be typed, written, or sent via email to niesbixby@gmail.com. If it is a drawing and you have a scanner, please scan it in and send it to her via email. If you do not have access to a scanner, please make your colors dark.
Serial
It has been determined that the last Happy Sunshine Gang this year will be the only one without the serial. It will be made up for by the chaotic anarchy that takes its place however.
Please Don’t Knock on the Walls
Part VII
The great illusionist paced back and forth in his dressing room, his wing-tip shoes wearing a path into the already scuffed floorboards, his brow wrinkled with great concentration. He didn’t look as if he’d appreciate being canceled. A moth buzzed around the room. Abramovich swatted at it with a newspaper, and a look of intense satisfaction crossed his face when it fell to the table, dead. He turned away.
If he had not turned away, this is what he would have seen. He would have seen the moth lying dead on the table. He would have seen the moth’s legs give a last, desperate twitch. And he most definitely would have seen the body of the moth start steaming. Abramovich turned around, and he did see the last of these things that I have herein listed. The illusionist’s eyes widened. His mouth gaped. He rushed over to the table and stared in shocked puzzlement at the steaming corpse. He prodded it with his pointer finger.
The tiny body disintegrated into a pile of dust, then a sudden wind picked up and carried the remains out an open window. If it could be considered possible, Abramovich’s look of shock grew even more dramatic.
“Flannery!” he shouted, “Flannery, come here right now. I need to speak to you!” The man appeared instantly. Until tonight, the magician had appreciated his talent for punctuality. Now it unnerved him.
“Yes, sir?” The manager was calm, almost too calm. Another quality Abramovich had-until now-appreciated. In fact, everything about the man now seemed unnatural. His calmness, the fact that he instantaneously appeared whenever he was needed, the way that, even when they were in the depths of poverty, he always managed to make ends meet and look classy, the blank eyed stare he was now producing, all shook Abramovich to the core. Suddenly, Abramovich was quite certain that the manager wasn’t entirely human. He felt irrational panic rising deep inside him. He wished that Flannery would do something, instead of just standing there with that blank stare.
Abramovich cast his gaze around the room for something, anything he could use as a weapon. He lit on a long handled knife he used for opening his various fan mail. He held it out in front of him, the point aimed squarely at Flannery’s chest. Finally he elicited a reaction from the vacant eyed man.
“Wait!” he shouted, his hands held out in a warding gesture. “You don’t want to do that. You don’t want to kill me!”
Opinion(s)
Reader(s)! You may submit your opinions/suggestions/questions/concerns about/for the Happy Sunshine Gang. Just write a memo to our creative works editor, Hannah Nies. Do it for the fame; you may get published!
Opinion no. 1
Happy Sunshine Gang needs more ducks drinking toxic waste and becoming banana eating mutants seeking vengeance on pink toasters.
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