Mortals love an April Fool—a full day to caper & jape! But deep in the Forest of Frolicks, I encountered the biggest fool of all…

My April Fool began much as any other: I journeyed into the Forest of Frolicks, to construct an altar of bone, & pay obeisance to dread Gelos. For 3,000 long years have I performed this solemn duty, that Gelos—the daemon of laughter—may feel appeased, & grant mankind his gift for another year. I do miss out on all thy little mortal pranks—though of late, they seem to mostly come from companies with no wit, & mortals with no wisdom screaming “I AM PREGNANT JUST KIDDING.” But, what do I know? I spend this day every year in a forest with a bag of bones. Mayhap it has always been thus—but in this year (2777, ab urbe condita), one horrible thing did change.

As I built my ossuary, a curious creature bounded up beside me, with no shirt, & a ludicrous harlequin’s mask. “Debate?,” he cooed, though I thought Surely I misheard? He stumbled about, falling prat & bouncing back, all the while tittering “Debate? Debate?” I attempted to ignore him—the standard technique when one encounters gremlins & goblins of his stature. I thought perhaps he might grow bored, or tired, or have anything better to do. But, nay. He tumbled & cartwheeled, juggled leaves, & kept on peeping “Debate? Debate?”

Eventually I relented—I could scarcely focus on my sacred duties with such a clumsy gadfly buzzing about me.

“Who are ye, hob?,” I asked politely.

“Destiny,” he replied, in solemn tones.

I nearly gasped. “Destiny? Fate itself?”

“No, Destiny is my screenname,” he bragged, even though this statement ought to have been deeply embarrassing.

“I…see. What, little kobold, do ye wish to debate?,” I sighed, knowing I’d sealed my fate.

“Anything! Anything!,” he snarled.

“Ho, then…the color of the sky! I say, ‘tis blue.” I thought myself dreadful clever, thinking this little fellow, no matter how strange, would have no recourse but to agree.

“I don’t think Jim Crow counts as Apartheid,” Destiny really said¹ , as if that were a normal thing to think & state.

A long moment passed, as I attempted to grasp his meaning.

“What…why would ye say that, little gremlin?”

“I think schools are too far left,” Destiny actually said² , with a horrid vapid grin.

“W-what is thy deal, man? What is this?,” I asked, forgetting my manners for a moment.

“Debate, debate!,” he squealed, clearly having no sense of the meaning.

“Who taught ye that this constituted debate?,” I asked, knowing full well I’d mislike the answer.

“Oh, silly sorcerer, I have learnt from many masters!” he crowed. & then he regaled me with tales of his adventures, of spending his life flitting about, making the world a dumber place. He spake of how he sits with wise men & subjects them to nonsense, & then sits with nonsense men & calls them wise. My mind reeled; after he began telling me about how much he respects Jordan Peterson, I begged him to stop.

“—and then Peterson asked me whether I ‘use force against my wife,’ & I responded, and this is true you can look this up, ‘Well what are we considering force?’³ I didn’t just say ‘no,’ isn’t that crazy?“

“Stop! Mr. Borrell, Mr. Bonnelli, little nameless monster of mindless menace, stop! All this jabbering & babbling, defending Capitalism, fetishizing murder, intellectualizing racism, respecting the dumbest mortals on the planet—enough! I can take no more. I have failed in my duty. Gelos will be displeased, & mortals will have no laughter for a year. Woe. WOE—”

Interrupting my desperate self-pity, a beautiful laughter erupted all around us. Giggles from every blade of grass, every leaf, every stone & branch. A smiling face formed in the clouds, & spake to us:

“Mighty mage, ye failed me not! Each year I seek appeasement, & what could appease the daemon of Laughter more than meeting the world’s most centrist clown? This dribbling dunce Destiny, who could take him seriously? I shall grant mortals another year of laughing, so they may spend it guffawing at April’s Perfect Fool!”

I stood in awe & reverence, as one ought to when in the presence of a daemon. Beside me the grinning gremlin whooped & hollered, knowing not the difference between positive attention & negative attention. “No press is bad press!,” he sang, tunelessly, before bumbling off into the trees.

As I stood alone, amidst a half-altar of human bones, I realized that in fact April’s biggest Fool, were me: for I had wasted any time, speaking to Destiny.

P.S.: If anyone would like bones, half-price, please let me know.

Happy April Fools’ Day, Mortals!

I hope ye enjoyed this little tale—’tis normal to tell scary stories on this day, no? What is a prank, truly, if not a scary story with a happy ending? I shall write ye again come Wednesday, with news about this week’s episode! There is much magick in store.

Until then, I thank ye for reading, I thank those who support our work with $5 monthly, & I hope ye will join those glorious ranks (if ye have not already).

Cheers,
Amoenus Franco
Writer, Wizard, Fool