Glunkschmuzzits, Sneetches, and Pancakes


Once upon a time, there lived a family of glunkschmuzzits [GLUNK-shmuh-zits] .

Meanwhile, a mother fribdishlima decided she could not possibly care for a baby fribdishlima [frib-DISH-lih-muh], so she set about to find a home for the as yet unhatched egg. She pushed and pulled and dragged it for miles.

(For, unlike skuzlouskian eggs, which are round like oranges, a fribdishlima egg is round like the moon and sun:  That is, flat as a pancake).

 

Orange Spider Stealing Skuzlouskian Eggs

Orange Spider Mistaking Orange-Shaped Skuzlouskian Eggs For Her Own

 

Solar Photo Like Flat Egg

Flat Fribdishlima Egg (Bearing a STRIKING Resemblance to the Actual Sun on March 12, 2014)

 

A Round Golden Pancake

Mmmmmmm… PANcake…


 

As fate would have it, the mother fribdishlima conveniently fell upon the nest of the family of glunkschmuzzits right before she left the story.

The next morning, Mother Glunkschmuzzit woke up and espied the egg in the nest.

Goodness”, she exclaimed, “an egg.”
An egg.” replied Father Glunkschmuzzit.
Yes.” she said.

I had no idea you were in the family way.” said sly old Grandmother Glunkschmuzzit.

 

Pregnant With Alien Eggs Book

Not the Typical Baby Announcement


 

Nor had I.  I will name it Mr. Jones.

When the egg hatched, the Glunkschmuzzits were overjoyed.

It’s a boy!” shouted happy Father Glunkschmuzzit, handing out out snaffles.

The Glunkschmuzzits raised the little fribdishlima as their very own, happily unaware of its origin. Mother Glunkschmuzzit prized Mr. Jones. He was by far the most helpful and considerate of all of her nipsnigs. The older he grew, the more she loved his every habit.

 

Sibling Egg Rivalry

His Fellow Nipsnigs Showed Their Love, Too.


 

Then, one day, he disappeared.

The Glunkschmuzzit family was frantic with worry—especially Mother Glunkschmuzzit. Her poor little son, all on his own in the world. They searched everywhere.

He’s lost,” said Mother Glunkschmuzzit, crying loudly.
He’s run away,” said Father Glunkschmuzzit, despairingly.
Soapsuds,” said sly old Grandmother Glunkschmuzzit.

Finally, Mr. Jones was found, sleeping peacefully under his bed. But, during the search, Father Glunkschmuzzit had fallen upon the note left on his son’s eggshell, and noticed the signature for the first time.

Mrs. Fribdishlima!” he cried. “Mr. Jones isn’t a glunkschmuzzit at all, he’s a fribdishlima!

Oh, no!” exclaimed Mother Glunkschmuzzit. “He’s not The Same. He’s Different. I have a decrumpit fribdishlima for a son!

 

Don't They Know All Eggs Look Like That

Gross! THAT One’s Got YELLOW Stuff Inside!!


 

Son!” said Father Glunkschmuzzit. “He’s not your son, he’s a fribdishlima, and we must get rid of him at once!

But we’ve loved him like a son for years! His being a fribdishlima never mattered when we didn’t know what he was!” said Mother Glunkschmuzzit.

Some of my best friends are fribdishlimas,” said sly old Grandmother Glunkschmuzzit.

Nonsense. His being a fribdishlima obviously makes him inferior. We must disown him immediately,” said Father Glunkschmuzzit.



Of course, you’re right,” said Mother Glunkschmuzzit.



And she kicked Mr. Jones out the door.

 

And She Kicked Mr Jones Out the Door

I Always DID Think Your Noggin Was an Odd Shape!





It is certainly disheartening to learn of Professor Fotheringale’s latest discoveries regarding the broader distribution of the so-called “Star-Bellied Sneetch” gene than was heretofore suspected.

(Note his juvenile and yet entirely unsurprising christening of the cluster of DNA that endows multiple species with an unsupported sense of superiority).
 

Star-Bellied Sneetch Boy

This Boy Seriously Gets The Whole Star-Bellied Concept. Way to Go, Little Dude!


 
Given old Fothie’s penchant for juvenile humor, the fact that he chose to reveal his latest discovery in the form of a childish tale is also no surprise, if still disappointing.
 
Professor Fotheringale

For Shame, Fotheringale. For Shame.


 



ADDENDUM

The first post based on a cache of old papers I’ve been scanning before discarding. This one is a story I wrote in 8th grade, unedited. (Professor Fotheringale was added later.) My nest-mate sister laughed and said “I’m not surprised at all that you would write a story like that, coming from our family. And it predicts nicely your Dinner For Seven.”
 

The Original Glunkschmuzzit Story

Who Remembers White-Out?


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10 Comments

  1. Paul

     /  2014/06/09

    Awwww, poor Mr. Jones. That’s pretty impressive writing for an 8th grader OB. I look forward to the continuation of the story – oh, and great egg drawings!

    Like

    Reply
    • I’m laughing, here, Paul. I felt so mean leaving Mr. Jones out in the cold like that, but there IS no continuation, and was never meant to be. It was a cold, hard lesson in just how nasty people are to each other as soon as they learn someone is Other. It bothered me so much when I was young. We’ve improved in some ways–e.g. less gay-bashing–and taken steps backward in others: more sexism despite, or because of, more women in the workforce, more statements of prejudice against those of other ethnicities, openly tolerated.

      It is funny now that, back when I wrote the piece, the W.A.S.P. name of Mr. Jones was chosen both for the contrast with the creature names and for the ridiculous notion that a mainstream white dude could be discriminated against in that way. Little did little Babe know the ways populations and ethnic distributions would change : )

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      Reply
    • Whoops–forgot to add: Other online unknowns deserve credit for the cute eggs (one could use the links to track them down)–thanks for thinking I’m that clever!

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      Reply
  2. “Soapsuds” made me smile.

    Extraordinary work for grade 8. Glad you kept it.

    By the way? Who remembers white out? I do.

    Like

    Reply
    • I’m glad, Maggie. I loved sly old Grandmother Glunkschmuzzit then, and was pleased to find that I still do today. And thank you for that “extraordinary” : )

      (Sidebar–Insight into abused child mind: Your lovely compliment, with its “for grade 8”, was immediately twisted/interpreted as “Oh. So it is entirely un-entertaining now, for adults.”–and the low hits so far today support that. Happily, I know you are not Satan-friendly, and, as for those stats, Tomorrah is Anothah Post!

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      Reply
      • eek! I can see how my words, with a different emPHAsis could be heard as you did! I’m sorry for that.

        Now Scarlet, you don’t worry your pretty little noggin and have a good evening!

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        Reply
  3. Love this story!

    To be honest, it’s pretty hard to forgive you, Outlier… you wrote better as an 8th grader than I do today!

    Like

    Reply
  4. RR

     /  2014/06/09

    A wonderful read – love the sly Grandma 😉

    Like

    Reply

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