The sky had grown glumly overcast, the canopy of trees further darkening the scene so that Pamela oddly enough felt it could easily be approaching that lauded hour most well-known by those peoples of Caldonia as gas. Gas was, of course, the moment directly after the suns dipped below the whoreizon. And of course seeing as it was actually still mid-morning the suns were presently not even near the whoreizon, if anything they were creeping up to the middle of the sky, but it seemed like it could be gas anywhatway, on account of how dark it felt.

As remarkable as that was, that is to say, not entirely that remarkable as much as it was just slightly annyoing, there was indeed something remarkable about this forest Pamela had found herself in. That something remarkable was the fact that every tree, tall or short, stumpy or dumpy or frumpy or tangly or wrangly, was outfitted in stunningly fitted black tie attire. The trees in suits had arm holes for each branch, while the trees in dresses had pearl necklaces. Some trees wore a mix of both, and some of the other trees, despite being immobile save for swaying in the light breeze as trees often are, appeared to be balking at them.

“Sweet mother of cock, it’s so much more beautiful than I’d ever imagined,” Pamela gaped in amazement, and it was as well she should have, for it was only now clear that she’d been stranded in the Fancy Forest.

Uagh, sauch dreadfaul langauage, groaned a deep, snooty voice as it echoed through Pamela’s head.

“What?! Who said that?”

Faoul maouthed aand staupid, ias shae naow? whistled a dainty yet judgemental voice, also seemingly reverberating through Pamela’s brain.

Pamela looked around frantically, wondering where in the fresh hen these insulting scoldings could be coming from. There seemed to be but not a soul around.

“Hello? Anybody there?”

Obvaiously thaere’s naobody thaere ian haer haead iaf shae caan’t faigure thais aout, snorted a bark-covered internal voice.

And that’s when it hit her. It being a pinecone, of course.

“Ouch!”

Naow, whaich oane oaf yaou paerverts thraew thaat?

Ia saay, thaat waas quaite barbaraic!

Waell Ia naever!

Pamela nursed the growing goose egg on her forehead as these voices prattled on amongst one another.

Ia saay, thais whaole caommotion haas mae paining faor anaother draink.

Oah daon’t yaou darae gaet anay draunker yaou cantankaerous saon oaf a bairch!

Haey naow yaou twao, Ia daon’t thaink rataioning oaut alcaohol ias gaoing tao haelp gaet toa thae raoot oaf yaour realationship praoblems.

Thaat’s baecause yaou’re slaeeping waith haer yaou scaoundrel! Naow jaust laeaf uas alaone!!

On and on did the arguments twirl and whirl about Pamela’s consciousness, each sentence with a more boresome tree pun than the last, until she could scarcely bare it. It was only then that Pamela made a marvelous realization.

“You’re the trees, aren’t you? I’m hearing trees in my head.”

Taook haer laong eanough.

Whay arae aall yaou haumans sao staupid?

Oah, Ia caan answaer thaat. Samae raeason thaat thae applae daoesn’t faall faar fraom thae mae.

“Stop it with all the stupid puns! They’re not cute!” Pamela kicked a pinecone, which bounced off a stump and whacked her back in the previously battered spot of her forehead. “Motherclucker!”

“Missirrah?” rasped a breathy, aloof voice that was undoubtedly not in Pamela’s head, though it did seem to be coming from a thick patch of bushes.

“Oh cock, please tell me you aren’t a tree!” Pamela wailed, falling to her knees and practically sobbing before remembering the effort it had taken to put on her makeup that morning and forcing the tears away.

“A tree? Why, missirrah, that’s absurd!” chortled the voice as from the bushes stepped a man that could best be described as walrus-esque. The prononuced mutton chops didn’t help. “Pleased to make a meeting of you. I’m officer corporal Seargeant Officer Jarmish. Would you like a donut?”

“I would love a donut,” sighed Pamela as she pulled herself to her jelly legs and took a deep breath of relief.

Ia’d laove aa daonut tao. Caan Ia havae aa daonut?

Whaat abaout mae? Yaou caan’t gaive haer aa daonut aand naot gaive mae oanae.

“Ugh! These trees won’t shut the cluck up!!” Pamela boxed her ears repeatedly in fury.

“Trees won’t shut up? Why, missirrah, what do you mean?”

“Do you not hear them? They’re horrible! They talk like rich people.”

“My cock, that does sound awful. Might that vine on your posterior have something to do with it?”

Pamela froze as her eyes darted over to her right butt cheek. Latched onto it was a long, green vine.

Daon’t maess waith thaat! Wae’re jaust traying tao havae aa gaood chaat waith yaou.

Yaes, thaere’s naothing wraong waith aa laittle vaine oan thae baehind.

“Eeew!” She squeezed the end and yanked it off decisively.

SQEEEEEET

White, glucosey muck shot out over the forest floor. The vine withered into a wrinkly husk.

“Clucking hen,” Pamela gagged, “That was awful.”

“Indeed. The Fancy Forest can assuredly be quite a nasty place.”

Pamela dug through her pockets and whipped out the kerchief, which still had a hood chunk left with which she could sketch upon, “Now then, what’d you say your name was? Corpse official or something?”

“Officer corporal Seargeant Officer Jarmish, at your service, missirrah,” Officer corporal Seargeant Officer Jarmish said through muffled mouthfuls of donut.

“That’s quite a mouthful.”

“I know. These donuts are excellent. Here’s yours, before I forget,” Officer corporal Seargeaent Officer Jarmish handed Pamela a half eaten donut.

“Thanks,” she sighed, wiped it off with the kerchief and then took a bite, “So, what exactly are you, Jarmish? An officer corporal? A seargeant officer? A corporal seargeant? It’s confusing.”

“It’s a funny story,” Officer corporal Seargeant Officer Jarmish chuckled for emphasis, “Jarmish is my last name. When I was born my mother named me Seargeant Officer, in hopes that granting me such an aspirational name would insure that my career ended up as such.

“However, I always found myself drawn to the field of, dare I tell you, the field of espionage. So I was certain I’d always disappoint her, you see, being a secret agent when really she wanted a Seargeant officer in the Caldonian navy.

“Of course part of the problem was that I could never truly be a Seargeant officer. As you might know already as far as titles go were I to ever be a Seargeant I would instead be an officer seargeant, not a seargeant officer, titling conventions being what the are. Can’t blame dear mother for that. But really it felt hopeless to ever achieve what had been laid out for me.

“Then, about ten years into the espionage game, I hear of an elite crack team of fellows that go into deep cover by joining the Caldonian military. Why worry about other nations committing espionage in your military when you can hire your own agents to do it? Soon after that I was enrolled, and here I am, an officer corporal.

“Of course I tell this to my mother and she rolls her eyes. You see, an officer corporal is one step below a seargeant officer, so from her perspective I’m still underachieving. Yes, it’s a tough break, I do agree, but one more big case and I’ll finally be able to step in to the wide shadow my name has granted me from birth and then confidently rest on my laurels as Officer sergeant Sergeant Officer Jarmish. Yes, hah, that will be the day. Until then, I’ve got excellent donuts to keep me company.”

“Wow,” Pamela nodded, unsure herself whether she was reacting to Officer corporal Sergeant Officer Jarmish’s story or if it was actually the deliciousness of her donut that prompted her response.