The Well Lit Weenie

The young hero had long since walked down the goat trail that haphazardly led to the lair of the Dragon and returned to town, he scrambled across a pile of shale cliff face that had long ago tumbled down. Of course he was aware of the history of this land, the season of worms that plagued the people of the valley. The sickness and riots that took place and shaken survivors who lived through, raised children, then helped raise their grandchildren and watched them grow. In the larger cities scars still linger but serve primarily to be landmarks for people to meet by, the stories moved to a folktale told by the very oldest of the community when the nights are long and the children restless.

A long time ago by human standards and noticeable even to an impossibly ancient being like the dragon The Season of Worms swept from the North tearing communities and people apart. Gromtaug had ventured far beyond their normal range to engage with others of their kind, an event the thinking beings of the world trembled in fear but ultimately was a social gathering as the normally isolated dragons met to sing their songs, tell their stories, perhaps solidify relationships and frankly to gossip about the comings and goings of the mortals in their realms. They were enjoying a mild winter and early break into spring as the glacier melt flowed into floodplains and the world sprung into vibrancy. So it was a terrible shock as Grontaug approached and smelt a foul odor on the wind, of death and burning, beating their wings faster and dropping into a swoop from above the clouds they burst through tearing across the landscape looking for trouble.

Trouble was everywhere all across the land: funeral pyres stabbed into the low clouds like pillars into a ceiling, the cries of pain and fear rang, and the stench of rotting flesh hung heavy in the air. Mortals looked to the heavens and wept as Gromtaug flew overhead, another dread omen on top of disaster. A fortress city on the river was barred and bolted shut, the feet of the walls blackened with soot, Gromtaug circled above and bore witness to the struggles below. A man was begging for his life as a contingent of city guard descended on him armed with pikes and rabies poles, the man made a break for it and a guard shot him in the back with a crossbow, he was collared to a pole and forced back up. The arrow wriggled around in the body and the man became incoherent with screeching, the captain yelled an order to march. The unhappy group moved down the street as the guards yelled that the curfew was in effect and for people to remain indoors, the man growling like a wounded beast trying to reach out and grab the guards nearest to him. Eventually they made it to the curtain wall where they were met by a priest with a coterie of armed acolytes. The man was presented to the priest who under blinding light inspected the man using a rod of gold, “He is cursed” was the pronouncement and the man was anointed with oil then shoved off the wall to fall screaming into a snowdrift of ash and bones. “May he find rest” and a torch was dropped down lighting the writhing man on fire. The assembled people looked up finally noticing the great wyrm in the sky and too Gromtaug’s great surprise looked resigned and went about their business.

The dragon flew off confused by the actions in the city and heard the din of battle, he drifted to a nearby village and watched as the militia armed with clubs and spears were fighting from rooftops against unarmed brigands. A large woman with a log splitter brought it down hard on the head of a youth. The head broke open down to the chest, an incredible feat of strength, however the youth got back onto their feat and their body had weaved itself back together again. Cries of despair and distress came from the brave fighters as one by one they were overwhelmed and dragged to the mud and savaged by the crowd. Gromtaug flew down and snatched the survivors that remained, they bellowed and screamed in terror trying to stab through the dragon scale. One of the villagers yelled “burn them please, for the love of all please burn them! They have my girl” Gromtaug wheeled in the sky and came back down belching an acid green gout of fire over the clamoring figures vanishing their bodies into ciders that briefly held their human shape before collapsing.

It seemed to be some kind disease not unlike the many parasites that brought misery to all living creatures. However and unwisely to Grontaug’s judgment the worms that grew inside multiplied continuously until they overwhelmed the host tearing their bodies to shreds. An unsustainable life cycle, it would rapidly burn through the hosts and take itself to extermination, Grontaug concluded. Distressingly to the humans the walking worms as they called them attacked the healthy driven by a desire to feast on their bodies. They wore the faces of loved ones and spoke with their voices but were puppets bursting to the seams with the silvery worms. The humans had found refuge in a hunting shack near the dragon’s lair of Griffin’s Fang far from human settlements for safety while Grontaug ferried more refugees while they hunted and cremated the shuffling bands of infected who stalked the landscape cursing the air with their grotesque miasma.

A few days passed since their return when Grontaug learnt of the most insidious aspect of the walking worms. The desire for flesh was not the feral violence of a brain cooked by rabies fever but a far more, at least initially, subtle control. A lesson learnt at the cost of lives, a fellow by the name of Frognath who was the first rescued was absent minded and clumsy, Grontaug had initially assumed this was to do with the rigors besetting the man, the horrors of end times, the loss of his family and the terror of his rescue. However after a day or two cool lucidity had descended on Frognath, again something everyone accepted as normal. People sought Frognath for comfort and counsel as he seemed the most collected.

“Grontaug please help” yelled the voice of a child from the forbidden parts of the valley and in a burst of fire and smoke the Dragon lifted from the ground and returned as fast as nature would allow. The smell was here now, Grontaug dug deep within to find what fire remained in defense of the humans in their protection. A child was hiding amongst the branches of a pine tree, below the collected adults of the ad-hoc community cajoled the child to come back with an assortment of gentle encouragement, threats of punishment and someone was throwing pinecones up at the child. Heralded by thunderous tearing of the air as the sky tried to move out of the way of the Dragon, the humans turned to face Grontaug. “Please help us, Grimsonthy is much too high and we can’t get up to him” cried Frognath, a wall of dust blew past him as Grontaug arrested their flight and thudded to the ground with a boom. He looked unwell and frantic with anxiety walking towards the dragon with arms outstretched. His demeanor was at odds with the tension within his soul begging for the child to be rescued. The other assembled adults also sickened, there weren’t enough of them either, people were missing and he could not hear their beating hearts. In fact, there were only a few heartbeats Grontaug could perceive and only one that rang with the vitality of life, Grimsonthy. The stink of worms was present here and the dragon’s hackles raised as a deep growl rumbled in their throat, Frognath persisted walking towards the obscene danger of dragonfire “Think grand wyrm, if you bring your wrath you will only burn the child and he’s much too small for you take without killing him in your mighty talons. Just leave and let us have this one.” Many slayers, fools and aspiring adventurers had spoken in a similar tone to the Dragon in the centuries of life, daring them to eschew fire and to fight hand to claw seeking whatever advantage they could. Frequently this was met with a flash of green and tumbling bones, occasionally they would be torn apart by fang and claw and this was one of those times. With the quickness of a striking snake the assembled posse were cut where they stood falling in pieces to the dirt, Grontaug settled down as the rage dissipated and approached the child to bring them down safely. Grimsonthy gargled a cry pointing back behind Grontaug who looked over their shoulder as the fragmented corpses knitted together pulling into a heaving mass that pushed itself up onto pencil stick like legs as a gawking frog like maw opened up with a wet howl.

Grontaug had been alive for a long time and had seen many things, fought terrible foes and faced whole armies but had been able to effortlessly cope with it all but for the first time ever in the whole of Grontaug’s life they were confronted with the incomprehensible. Flying through the air, a fraction the speed they would travel across distances yet much too fast, Grontaug was smashed into the mountain side causing an avalanche of broken shale to cover their body. The worm riddled meat behemoth was running on stilt legs scurrying with flickering movements slamming again into Grontaug who was smashed into the stones again.Brief belches of fire only served to scald the creature, it’s new body seemed almost impossible to burn though it shrieked in pain. Snaking out their tail at the meat monster tearing the legs off causing the horror to fall to the ground, Grontaug played for time in order to get into the air they were more vulnerable on land and the creature was preternaturally nimble. The monster’s mouth yawned open further and unleashed a frog-like tongue of silver worm lashing around the Dragon’s neck as Gromtaug attempted to gain altitude. An incredible burden much heavier than humans should have ever been threatened to drag Grontaug down as they struggled to get higher, tendrils pushed and prodded at the scales looking to break the incredible defenses of a dragon. Fear crept into Gromtaug’s heart as the worms writhe across their body and tried to get into eyes and ears. In a flash of inspiration, knowing they could not hope to wash the monster off with fire they flew higher and higher to the place where even the clouds didn’t fly. The hellish monstrosity grew sluggish and less aggressive as the blue sky gave way to twinkling starlight and frost bloomed on the tips of horns. Finally able to shake the grip Grontaug pushed the whole of the creature off as a frozen block. Now in Grontaug’s grip the frozen horror was dragged further into the heavens to the place where dragon young will play and learn to fly where the pull of the world was weakest one could truly float. Their fire may not be able to penetrate the creature’s body and destroy it but the incredible burning of astral bodies as they return to the world cleansed all things. The two of them moved back to the world, the thinness and weightlessness of the high heavens rapidly vanishing with flashes of light burning on Grontaug’s snout as the skies pushed back and the pair fell burning like shooting stars. The creature waking from its forced slumber howled and hammered at Grontaug with curled fists, it reached back to stab but the buffeting atmosphere tore away its limbs incinerating them with bright white light.

A meteor streaked across the sky, a burning tail trailing behind as large lumps broke away burning and exploding with a series of booms, the child shivered in fear watching the violence in the heavens wondering where Grontaug could have gone. Later in the evening Grimsonthy still stuck in the tree too afraid to come down lest the worms still lingered somewhere when a breeze tousled his hair and Grontaug landed in the clearing still glowing from reentry with the ticking noises of cooling metal coming off them. By morning the woods had been cleansed of the worms and Grimsonthy came down to sleep this time nestled among the looted rugs in the treasure hoard gently carried to the lair by Grontuag.

“You should still help them” the child said to a perturbed Grontuag in the day following the fight with the amalgamation. He was sick with the curse but his heart beat well and he still spoke like a child even after the devastating news. “I can go somewhere else to be safe from the others and them from me. Just because you got it wrong doesn’t mean it wasn’t the right idea, just have to be a little more careful”. Grontaug had promised to look after Grimsonthy and keep him comfortable until it was time. The child had accepted that as well, the horror and terrors had frighten them but they were still as friendly as they had always seemed to the Dragon. “maybe others like me could live together away from the other people, so we aren’t alone while it happens and we can go together” suggested Grimsonthy as he rolled a gold hoop around the treasure hoard. And so Grontaug continued to try to help, seeking out the healthy and keeping them clear of the cursed, carefully sniffing out the latent worms that hid deep within and taking those who seem well to be with Grimsonthy. Grontaug spread word amongst the various human outposts sharing what they had learnt and in turn learning what others had found out. Over the course of weeks through a greater understanding the curse was understood and contained before being eradicated. Not without cost though, many thousands were dead several settlements were torn asunder by the amalgamations that formed and a culture of hostile isolation became normalized for a time. Refugees went home and for those in the palliative care of Grontaug some succumbed and their bodies were burnt on funeral pyres however a couple managed to maintain their humanity including Grimsonthy.

Several years passed and the reek of death was starting to fade and farmers went back to cropping and trade outreaches between settlements were into familiar routines. “I think it’s time to accept you are going to be alright” the found family were told, six individuals who somehow kept the worms at bay. “what’s more it’s not life staying in the caverns you need sunlight and freedom from being dependent on me to bring food and water” the pale group who had lived inside the twisting paths of Griffins peak were cautiously optimistic they had all resigned to the fact they like those who had died before them would one day lose their mind try to guile their way into humanity and start it all over again.

“I’ve consulted with the others of my kind and in particular a sister from where the worms first came from, it’s rare but not unheard of that the curse will reach a balance and will just live their lives and you do yours and one day when you die they will venture forth. So long as you do as you have done and burn to ashes then I see no danger or practical reason to keep you confined. You’re good people and you don’t belong hidden away like a shame” Grontaug was herding them to the entrance of the cave like moving cats as they spoke. “Now I won’t just cast you out to fend blindly for yourselves, there’s a farmstead that lays abandoned two days walk from here. Take it and call it your own and I’ll be here to keep the worst of the world from you and you remain welcome to come see me if you wish.”

The young hero had long since walked down the goat trail that haphazardly led to the lair of the Dragon and returned to town, he scrambled across a pile of shale cliff face that had long ago tumbled down. Of course he was aware of the history of this land, the season of worms that plagued the people of the valley. The sickness and riots that took place and shaken survivors who lived through, raised children, then helped raise their grandchildren and watched them grow. In the larger cities scars still linger but serve primarily to be landmarks for people to meet by, the stories moved to a folktale told by the very oldest of the community when the nights are long and the children restless.

A long time ago by human standards and noticeable even to an impossibly ancient being like the dragon The Season of Worms swept from the North tearing communities and people apart. Gromtaug had ventured far beyond their normal range to engage with others of their kind, an event the thinking beings of the world trembled in fear but ultimately was a social gathering as the normally isolated dragons met to sing their songs, tell their stories, perhaps solidify relationships and frankly to gossip about the comings and goings of the mortals in their realms. They were enjoying a mild winter and early break into spring as the glacier melt flowed into floodplains and the world sprung into vibrancy. So it was a terrible shock as Grontaug approached and smelt a foul odor on the wind, of death and burning, beating their wings faster and dropping into a swoop from above the clouds they burst through tearing across the landscape looking for trouble.

Trouble was everywhere all across the land: funeral pyres stabbed into the low clouds like pillars into a ceiling, the cries of pain and fear rang, and the stench of rotting flesh hung heavy in the air. Mortals looked to the heavens and wept as Gromtaug flew overhead, another dread omen on top of disaster. A fortress city on the river was barred and bolted shut, the feet of the walls blackened with soot, Gromtaug circled above and bore witness to the struggles below. A man was begging for his life as a contingent of city guard descended on him armed with pikes and rabies poles, the man made a break for it and a guard shot him in the back with a crossbow, he was collared to a pole and forced back up. The arrow wriggled around in the body and the man became incoherent with screeching, the captain yelled an order to march. The unhappy group moved down the street as the guards yelled that the curfew was in effect and for people to remain indoors, the man growling like a wounded beast trying to reach out and grab the guards nearest to him. Eventually they made it to the curtain wall where they were met by a priest with a coterie of armed acolytes. The man was presented to the priest who under blinding light inspected the man using a rod of gold, “He is cursed” was the pronouncement and the man was anointed with oil then shoved off the wall to fall screaming into a snowdrift of ash and bones. “May he find rest” and a torch was dropped down lighting the writhing man on fire. The assembled people looked up finally noticing the great wyrm in the sky and too Gromtaug’s great surprise looked resigned and went about their business.

The dragon flew off confused by the actions in the city and heard the din of battle, he drifted to a nearby village and watched as the militia armed with clubs and spears were fighting from rooftops against unarmed brigands. A large woman with a log splitter brought it down hard on the head of a youth. The head broke open down to the chest, an incredible feat of strength, however the youth got back onto their feat and their body had weaved itself back together again. Cries of despair and distress came from the brave fighters as one by one they were overwhelmed and dragged to the mud and savaged by the crowd. Gromtaug flew down and snatched the survivors that remained, they bellowed and screamed in terror trying to stab through the dragon scale. One of the villagers yelled “burn them please, for the love of all please burn them! They have my girl” Gromtaug wheeled in the sky and came back down belching an acid green gout of fire over the clamoring figures vanishing their bodies into ciders that briefly held their human shape before collapsing.

It seemed to be some kind disease not unlike the many parasites that brought misery to all living creatures. However and unwisely to Grontaug’s judgment the worms that grew inside multiplied continuously until they overwhelmed the host tearing their bodies to shreds. An unsustainable life cycle, it would rapidly burn through the hosts and take itself to extermination, Grontaug concluded. Distressingly to the humans the walking worms as they called them attacked the healthy driven by a desire to feast on their bodies. They wore the faces of loved ones and spoke with their voices but were puppets bursting to the seams with the silvery worms. The humans had found refuge in a hunting shack near the dragon’s lair of Griffin’s Fang far from human settlements for safety while Grontaug ferried more refugees while they hunted and cremated the shuffling bands of infected who stalked the landscape cursing the air with their grotesque miasma.

A few days passed since their return when Grontaug learnt of the most insidious aspect of the walking worms. The desire for flesh was not the feral violence of a brain cooked by rabies fever but a far more, at least initially, subtle control. A lesson learnt at the cost of lives, a fellow by the name of Frognath who was the first rescued was absent minded and clumsy, Grontaug had initially assumed this was to do with the rigors besetting the man, the horrors of end times, the loss of his family and the terror of his rescue. However after a day or two cool lucidity had descended on Frognath, again something everyone accepted as normal. People sought Frognath for comfort and counsel as he seemed the most collected.

“Grontaug please help” yelled the voice of a child from the forbidden parts of the valley and in a burst of fire and smoke the Dragon lifted from the ground and returned as fast as nature would allow. The smell was here now, Grontaug dug deep within to find what fire remained in defense of the humans in their protection. A child was hiding amongst the branches of a pine tree, below the collected adults of the ad-hoc community cajoled the child to come back with an assortment of gentle encouragement, threats of punishment and someone was throwing pinecones up at the child. Heralded by thunderous tearing of the air as the sky tried to move out of the way of the Dragon, the humans turned to face Grontaug. “Please help us, Grimsonthy is much too high and we can’t get up to him” cried Frognath, a wall of dust blew past him as Grontaug arrested their flight and thudded to the ground with a boom. He looked unwell and frantic with anxiety walking towards the dragon with arms outstretched. His demeanor was at odds with the tension within his soul begging for the child to be rescued. The other assembled adults also sickened, there weren’t enough of them either, people were missing and he could not hear their beating hearts. In fact, there were only a few heartbeats Grontaug could perceive and only one that rang with the vitality of life, Grimsonthy. The stink of worms was present here and the dragon’s hackles raised as a deep growl rumbled in their throat, Frognath persisted walking towards the obscene danger of dragonfire “Think grand wyrm, if you bring your wrath you will only burn the child and he’s much too small for you take without killing him in your mighty talons. Just leave and let us have this one.” Many slayers, fools and aspiring adventurers had spoken in a similar tone to the Dragon in the centuries of life, daring them to eschew fire and to fight hand to claw seeking whatever advantage they could. Frequently this was met with a flash of green and tumbling bones, occasionally they would be torn apart by fang and claw and this was one of those times. With the quickness of a striking snake the assembled posse were cut where they stood falling in pieces to the dirt, Grontaug settled down as the rage dissipated and approached the child to bring them down safely. Grimsonthy gargled a cry pointing back behind Grontaug who looked over their shoulder as the fragmented corpses knitted together pulling into a heaving mass that pushed itself up onto pencil stick like legs as a gawking frog like maw opened up with a wet howl.

Grontaug had been alive for a long time and had seen many things, fought terrible foes and faced whole armies but had been able to effortlessly cope with it all but for the first time ever in the whole of Grontaug’s life they were confronted with the incomprehensible. Flying through the air, a fraction the speed they would travel across distances yet much too fast, Grontaug was smashed into the mountain side causing an avalanche of broken shale to cover their body. The worm riddled meat behemoth was running on stilt legs scurrying with flickering movements slamming again into Grontaug who was smashed into the stones again.Brief belches of fire only served to scald the creature, it’s new body seemed almost impossible to burn though it shrieked in pain. Snaking out their tail at the meat monster tearing the legs off causing the horror to fall to the ground, Grontaug played for time in order to get into the air they were more vulnerable on land and the creature was preternaturally nimble. The monster’s mouth yawned open further and unleashed a frog-like tongue of silver worm lashing around the Dragon’s neck as Gromtaug attempted to gain altitude. An incredible burden much heavier than humans should have ever been threatened to drag Grontaug down as they struggled to get higher, tendrils pushed and prodded at the scales looking to break the incredible defenses of a dragon. Fear crept into Gromtaug’s heart as the worms writhe across their body and tried to get into eyes and ears. In a flash of inspiration, knowing they could not hope to wash the monster off with fire they flew higher and higher to the place where even the clouds didn’t fly. The hellish monstrosity grew sluggish and less aggressive as the blue sky gave way to twinkling starlight and frost bloomed on the tips of horns. Finally able to shake the grip Grontaug pushed the whole of the creature off as a frozen block. Now in Grontaug’s grip the frozen horror was dragged further into the heavens to the place where dragon young will play and learn to fly where the pull of the world was weakest one could truly float. Their fire may not be able to penetrate the creature’s body and destroy it but the incredible burning of astral bodies as they return to the world cleansed all things. The two of them moved back to the world, the thinness and weightlessness of the high heavens rapidly vanishing with flashes of light burning on Grontaug’s snout as the skies pushed back and the pair fell burning like shooting stars. The creature waking from its forced slumber howled and hammered at Grontaug with curled fists, it reached back to stab but the buffeting atmosphere tore away its limbs incinerating them with bright white light.

A meteor streaked across the sky, a burning tail trailing behind as large lumps broke away burning and exploding with a series of booms, the child shivered in fear watching the violence in the heavens wondering where Grontaug could have gone. Later in the evening Grimsonthy still stuck in the tree too afraid to come down lest the worms still lingered somewhere when a breeze tousled his hair and Grontaug landed in the clearing still glowing from reentry with the ticking noises of cooling metal coming off them. By morning the woods had been cleansed of the worms and Grimsonthy came down to sleep this time nestled among the looted rugs in the treasure hoard gently carried to the lair by Grontuag.

“You should still help them” the child said to a perturbed Grontuag in the day following the fight with the amalgamation. He was sick with the curse but his heart beat well and he still spoke like a child even after the devastating news. “I can go somewhere else to be safe from the others and them from me. Just because you got it wrong doesn’t mean it wasn’t the right idea, just have to be a little more careful”. Grontaug had promised to look after Grimsonthy and keep him comfortable until it was time. The child had accepted that as well, the horror and terrors had frighten them but they were still as friendly as they had always seemed to the Dragon. “maybe others like me could live together away from the other people, so we aren’t alone while it happens and we can go together” suggested Grimsonthy as he rolled a gold hoop around the treasure hoard. And so Grontaug continued to try to help, seeking out the healthy and keeping them clear of the cursed, carefully sniffing out the latent worms that hid deep within and taking those who seem well to be with Grimsonthy. Grontaug spread word amongst the various human outposts sharing what they had learnt and in turn learning what others had found out. Over the course of weeks through a greater understanding the curse was understood and contained before being eradicated. Not without cost though, many thousands were dead several settlements were torn asunder by the amalgamations that formed and a culture of hostile isolation became normalized for a time. Refugees went home and for those in the palliative care of Grontaug some succumbed and their bodies were burnt on funeral pyres however a couple managed to maintain their humanity including Grimsonthy.

Several years passed and the reek of death was starting to fade and farmers went back to cropping and trade outreaches between settlements were into familiar routines. “I think it’s time to accept you are going to be alright” the found family were told, six individuals who somehow kept the worms at bay. “what’s more it’s not life staying in the caverns you need sunlight and freedom from being dependent on me to bring food and water” the pale group who had lived inside the twisting paths of Griffins peak were cautiously optimistic they had all resigned to the fact they like those who had died before them would one day lose their mind try to guile their way into humanity and start it all over again.

“I’ve consulted with the others of my kind and in particular a sister from where the worms first came from, it’s rare but not unheard of that the curse will reach a balance and will just live their lives and you do yours and one day when you die they will venture forth. So long as you do as you have done and burn to ashes then I see no danger or practical reason to keep you confined. You’re good people and you don’t belong hidden away like a shame” Grontaug was herding them to the entrance of the cave like moving cats as they spoke. “Now I won’t just cast you out to fend blindly for yourselves, there’s a farmstead that lays abandoned two days walk from here. Take it and call it your own and I’ll be here to keep the worst of the world from you and you remain welcome to come see me if you wish.”

Nigel Farage is the leader of Reform UK, a far right party who are currently in the process of a serious bid to become the UK government. they are just straight up evil.

Count Binface is an intergalactic space warrior with a bin on his head. he likes to run as a novelty candidate in general and mayoral elections. a big thing he likes to do is run as a candidate against the incumbent prime minister:

(Also pictured: Boris Johnson, Elmo)

Anyway, in brief:

Nigel Farage is currently in the midst of a big scandal about his finances

He has decided to deal with this by 1) making a show of nobly resigning from parliament and then 2) immediately running in the resulting by-election

He has stated that he is letting 'the people' judge his actions and implied that if he wins that will prove that he has been exonerated in the court of public opinion

His goal was presumably to get a big resounding win over the other parties, proving that The People still love him.

the other parties have thus far decided that this is a 'vanity election' and, well, there is one very easy way to ensure that he will not beat any of them, and that is simply not to play.

and as a result the only person who has so far confirmed they are running against him is Count Binface. no matter the outcome this makes Nigel Farage look like, u know, a fucking clown.

my daughter cannot, through action or inaction, harm a human or allow a human to come to harm

a daughter at rest or in constant motion remains at rest or in constant motion unless acted upon by another force

daughters are never created or destroyed, only transformed

always treat every daughter as loaded, even if you know she isn't

7. You can fold my daughter through any two points.

10. When two or more daughters are offered for a phenomenon, the simplest daughter is preferable.

11. Any sufficiently advanced daughter is indistinguishable from magic.

12. Without a clear indicator of intent, it is utterly impossible to parody my daughter without someone mistaking it for the genuine article.

15. You do not talk about my daughter

19. The maxim of quality, when talking to my daughter one tries to be truthful, and does not give information that is false or that is not supported by evidence.

20. The maxim of relation, when talking to my daughter one tries to be relevant, and says things that are pertinent to the discussion.

We have Kea, Kākā, Kākāpō, and Kākāriki (of which there are 3 species).

Kākā are more olive brown than green but are really neat and beautiful birds and are growing in numbers thanks to conservation efforts.

Kea are mostly green with red underwings and will pickpocket you, but then again so will weka. The bit about them stopping traffic is absolutely true - I have a friend who has witnessed this.

Kākāpō are, in the words of my ecology professor, “really bad at being parrots”. They suck, but endearingly so. They are so bad at being alive and climbing things and reproducing but you cannot help but love them. Again, they are green, but in a shambling moss pile sort of way.

Kākāriki are much smaller and are kept as pets internationally. The three kinds are the red crowned, the yellow crowned and the orange fronted. Of these, the latter is the rarest (currently critically endangered). All 3 are decidedly very GREEN, to the extent that their name means “green”.

There are also several other species endemic to various outlying islands. We have, in total, nine surviving endemic parrot species and several subspecies of those.