Are you sitting down, peeps? There’s news out of the Shalampax arts community, such as it is, that will knock your socks off. Come to think of it, maybe you should stand up because it’s much harder to knock your socks off when all of your weight is on your feet.
Anyway, my sources tell me that Rottencoconut, Shalampax’s only currently “working” author (apart, of course, from us here at Shalampax Speaks), has submitted for publication a novel of more than 1,400 pages. I’m told that, in this case, he’s not up to his old tricks of making the book look fatter by printing at most one word per page and including a lot of blank pages. Rumor has it that every one of those more than 1,400 pages is jam-packed with—wait for it—well-written words.
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Totally uncharacteristic for a Shalampaxian, Steinonbar recently decided that she wanted to further her education and pursue one of the advanced sciences. To this end, she signed up for a course on brain anatomy at an online university.
Steinonbar felt smug about her choice of neuroanatomy as her field of study. She recognized that scientific experimentation and analysis is often exceptionally difficult and time-consuming. However, her plan was, if she ever got past the basic courses, she would go on to do original research on the Shalampaxian brain. She felt that, with this choice of specialization, the subjects of her research would not be very complex.
The first module of the course, which the university predicted would take students an hour to complete, was dedicated exclusively to learning how to spell amygdala. Steinonbar breezed through the material in just 90 minutes, although she still has a tendency to forget the “g” or mistakenly double the “l” in amygdala.
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Considering that she recently gave birth to triplets, you won’t be surprised to learn that Tuboflard is lactating. Boy, is she lactating!
The volume of milk that this gal is producing would make any major dairy herder happy. We don’t have any dairy herders in Shalampax, which is not surprising as there aren’t any animals other than us Shalampaxians here, but if we did, they would be eyeing Tuboflard with exceedingly lewd and materialistic looks.
Tuboflard’s milk production is, for some reason, proportional to the size of her breasts. It’s not that her breasts are particularly large in relation to the rest of her body, but if you’re a regular reader you’ll know that the rest of her body knows no bounds. Or if it knows any bounds, it’s not adhering to them. Which is to say that, relative to other women, Tuboflard’s breasts are massive.
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There was a spot of amazement melded with bewilderment in the Shalampax pub today.
At about three in the afternoon, as she ordered another gin and tonic, Exposedcleavage announced in a loud, clear voice that was surprisingly sober for a Shalampaxian, “I am writing a book.”
Exposedcleavage liked to dress to fit her name and today was no exception. You could describe her as a voluptuous, beautiful, buxom blond if you didn’t mind getting your face slapped hard as payback for your excessively impudent sarcasm.
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It took her a long time, but Tuboflard has finally found names for her triplets.
As I told you last time, she was eager to give one of them the coolest name ever in Shalampax, Lightningstrikingtree. As you’ll remember, the previous Lightningstrikingtree gave up his rights to that name by committing suicide. Coincidentally, the original Lightningstrikingtree was allegedly—according to his suicide note—the father of the triplets, although Tuboflard claims to have no recollection of having had sex with him or anyone else.
The custom here in Shalampax is for parents to name their children after the first thing they see after the child’s birth, provided that the name isn’t already taken by a living Shalampaxian. Dead Shalampaxians are OK because they are in no condition to complain.
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I’ve harassed my usual sources, but the people in a position to know aren’t willing to confirm or deny the dollop of gossip I’m about to dish out. In fact, they all said they didn’t care to talk to me. So, judge the veracity of what I’m about to say accordingly.
The scuttlebutt is that, after being vacant for as long as anyone can remember, someone finally stepped forward to fill the position of the president of the Apathy Alliance, a club for people who couldn’t care less. The rumor mill has not coughed up a name, but the candidate was apparently immediately fired for giving enough of a damn to step forward.
