The modern-day Floobers of Flathead Forest worship the wisdom of Dr. Seuss’ “Fox in Socks”. In the canon of world religions, it is one of very few holy books imbued with sacred sublimity written at the barbarian reading level, so they have taken it deeply to heart. In the Floober philosophy, Mr. Fox is the holy trinity of god, man, and quadruped. His ultimate undoing, when Mr. Knox traps Mr. Fox in a bottle, represents man’s fate.
The Floobers’ epicurean queen, Kiki Koko, recently decreed a monthly celebration to honor the epic “tweetle beetle battle” described in those pages. The philistine festivities function as follows:
First, fifteen foppish Floobers freshen fifty fancy forks for poking puny pinholes in peppered Polish pork. Freckly Floober singers fry flat frog fingers and feed five fingers to forty fatty swingers. Fitter Floober swingers forge four French flutes and feast on ferret feet and free fresh fruits. Flabby Floober fathers and purebred peasants tie ten tan tethers to well-fed pheasants so plucking plush feathers won’t be unpleasant. The cocky Floober queen then claps her hands and clasps three clams and cleans those cockles. Czech chicken chunks and chili cheese powder she chucks in the chowder (a kitchen debacle). Coquettish queen Kiki claims her quaint clams can quell a commotion, compel a compulsion, and cause a convulsion in quirky curmudgeons. She cooks canned Quahogs, crunchy crushed kumquats, curried crab crackers and calf-cream croissants. She eats the grub, scrubs the tub, and clubs a chubby cougar cub.