Mullard was enjoying the warm waters of the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa. He shared the bright morning sunlight with the Face of Everyman but such pleasures were not to last. Cheeky, the squirrel, wanted to play tag. For some inexplicable and ungodly reason Mullard was it. For now “M” sought refuge on a nearby chimney top.
As Cosmic forces swept the Earth, no place was more effected than the imaginary bird land known as the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa. Amateur scientists estimate that gravity momentarily increased ten-fold. Seen above in a clip from the security camera is Mullard, a local, unable to resist this force and escape. Even the Face of Everyman regretted the few extra pounds he had gained lately because of his new craving for pumpkin pie.
For the most part, the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa was a happy and friendly place. One long standing feud occasionally surfaced. The animosity between Robespierre and Mullard went so far back in time that neither recalled how it had started. the Face of Everyman urged them to form a truce and “bury the hatchet”. The metaphor was lost on these determined foes.
Mullard awoke cold, wet and hung over. He had slept the night somewhere on the grounds of the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa. His downfall began at the gala opening of a franchise fish taco stand poolside; he and others had celebrated in the Bar with Mezcal shooters till closing. Of course, as a courtesy, he was given the worm at the bottom of ever bottle. Him being a bird; and all …
Mullard had always taken the right of Free Speech for granted. That is, until he spoke out against providing free barley corn for migrating flocks along the Pacific Flyway. Immediately he was set upon by one of “those”. The attack was so sharp that he leapt a foot. The words spewed by the new comer were acrimonious; vitriol was everywhere. Mullard had always thought that “those kind” ate bugs and berries. Who knew?