text: The birthday boy sat in a chair made of donuts and caramel apples. There was a squirrel head made from cake batter and frosting resting upon his left shoulder, because he hated those buggers and wanted to represent this dislike on his special day. He looked graciously out at his adoring friends. There were only around eight of them, but they were adoring nonetheless. Snow fell from the sky and landed on the edges of their noses. They lived in a place where the seasons whirled around like sirens. There was also a lot of crime in the area, so sirens were an appropriate analogy for the weather. It could be sunny one day and blustery winter the next. The weather was, to put it simply, more unpredictable than a Walmart bag filled with scorpions. The birthday boy’s heart swelled with pride to see that he had accomplished socializing. His face also swelled, but that was because there was a large amount of sardine in the casserole his mother had made for him, and it turned out he was exceedingly and perhaps fatally allergic to sardines. Not all seafood. Just sardines. Actually, it wasn’t even all sardines. It was all sardines that came in the blue can with the smiling fish (ironic considering...) on it that came from the seventh aisle at the neighborhood market on South Hunca Munca Street. Yeah. The sardines. Well, it turned out that the birthday boy was allergic to them, and so his face swelled up like a ripe papavocado (a papaya avocado hybrid first discovered by the Spanish in 1439 when the esteemed Franchini Poriverri and his crew came to the land on their thirteen boats, the main ones being Phineaskin, Ferbilicious, Isabellini, and Bjorka.) and he fell over onto the table. His adoring friends gasped. They howled. They sobbed. They threw themselves to the ground and rolled in agony. They... were not very helpful, come to think of it. The birthday boy’s fate hung in peril. His airway constricted. His eyes popped like popcorn in a really hot microwave. He opened his mouth and uttered, “I need a hero. I’m holding out for a hero ‘til the end of the night. He’s gotta be strong and he’s gotta be fast and he’s gotta be fresh from the fight.” Instead of taking this opportunity to call the proper medical care, his adoring friends decided to join in on the chorus. It became a karaoke festival. “He’s gotta be sure and it’s gotta be soon and he has to be larger than life. LARGER THAN LIFE!” They continued for a solid eight and four halves of a minute before realizing that a hero couldn’t really be summoned by song, no matter how enticing the idea was. Lo and behold, as soon as Yancey Klum-Wilder (Adoring friend number five. She had met the birthday boy in fifth grade when) pulled out her cell phone to make the call of need appropriately, a hero emerged from the, well, behind the throne of donuts. No one noticed him at first, so he had to clear his throat a couple of times before someone said, “A star is born!” And the hero said, “I am no star.” And the birthday boy didn’t say anything because he was going into anaphylactic shock. So instead, Jimmy Durble (slightly adoring friend number three) yelled, “Then what are you?” And the hero said, “I am Sonny! Not of Cher's brother variety!” “Ahh, okay.” Sonny picked up the birthday boy and flew up towards the sky. His friends kept eating. Sonny threw the birthday boy into outer space, counted three seconds, went back to earth to get a latte macchiato from Starbucks, came back, caught the birthday boy, and said, “I am Sonny, the great wizard, and I will turn you healthy if you can tell me what my old nickname was when you knew me... long, long ago!” The birthday boy woke up and he thought and thought but he couldn’t remember the name. “Um, is it Squirrel Nutkin?” Sonny the Wizard said, “No!” “Is it Emma?” “What? No! Why would it be Emma?” The birthday boy shrugged. “What about Lombardi? Was your nickname Lombardi?” Sonny the Wizard shook his head. “It’s definitely not Lombardi. You have two more chances, and if you don’t guess it by then, I’ll have no choice but to send you to live on earth as a cat named Lloyd. Do you want that for your life, birthday boy?” “No, I’m allergic to cats.” “And sardines, apparently!” “I think... your nickname was...” The birthday boy thought and thought as much as he could. “Froot Loop Magee?” “NO.” “Huh, I kind of had you coined for a cereal type guy.” “You have one more chance.” Sonny the Wizard squinted his eyes. “Just the one.” “Was it Sonny the Wizard?” “YES, IT WAS!!!!” “OH, GOOD.” “YEAH.” “YEAH!” “Okay, well, I guess you can go back to your party and your adoring friends now.” “You should come too!” Sonny the Wizard looked off into (further) space. “No. Sonny the Wizard never rests. I must go, and save more children. Don’t eat sardines again. If you want to hang out or eat cereal, call me.” “How? I don’t have your number!” “Don’t be weird. Just ask Yancey. I gave it to her last time she choked on a pork chop.” “As in she’s done it more than once?” “Well, yes. It became a habit. Until I gave her my number. We should all have a club, don’t you think? I can apprentice you to be wizards. It’ll be pretty popular, eventually, and maybe you could even start a school one day and call it... Razorbackacne.” “As opposed to Hogwarts?” “Why, yes. Just make sure you invite me.” With that, the birthday boy was thrown back to his party, where he threw a pork chop at Yancey and so Sonny had to come back and save her and then they all ate squirrel head cake. THE END