“Alright, alright, one at a time, one at a time people—erm, trees,” Pamela groaned, shaking her head and scratching near the thick vine suctioned onto her right butt cheek. She squinted for a moment at the abnormally large leaf she’d been sketching upon to reorient her memory, then turned to a twisted oak covered in neckties and monocles. “So, Mister Post, what do you remember happening over the last fifteen minutes?”

Thaat’s aa gaood quaestion. Ia’m naot saure Ia knaow! Saay, Vaera, whaat dao Ia raemember happaening oaver thae laast faifteen mainutes?

Haah! cackled a nearby ancient aloe vera plant wearing pearls on each of its tall leaves, Yaou havaen’t raemembered shait saince thae Graeat Oanion Blaooming oaf 000a53!

“You were all alive back in 00053?” Pamela mused as she continually attempted to draw the trees naked. She had just finished giving the ancient aloe vera plant a sizeable yet believably uneven set of breasts.

Oah, daon’t yaou knaow iat, saonny! the oak mind-cackled at Pamela.

“Sonny? You do know I’m a lady, don’t you, Mister Post?”

Nao.

Pamela exhaled in disbelief. She then twirled around a bit, shaking her secondary sexual characteristics in an awkwardly alluring manner.

Pafft. Yaou haumans aall laook thae samae tao mae.

Pamela huffed and dabbed her sweating forehead with her kerchief, smudging one of her renderings of Henry’s paunch. She noticed immediately a partial memory of their cheese-centric argument fade into jumbled mush.

“Oh cockhamnit.”

Yaou yaoung paeople arae sao craude! fussed Vera the ancient aloe vera.

“At least she said I was young,” Pamela whispered to herself as she walked over to talk to a majestic looking Adams fir.

Whay, iaf onlay yaou waere ian yaour eaighties ianstead oaf yaour saeventies, yaou’d uanderstand, Vera continued.

Pamela turned back to look at the aloe vera plant and squinted in abhorrence.

“My seventies? My SEVENTIES?! Exactly how in the clucking hen long do you think human beings live, you clucking…you…you clucking fern?!”

Whaat thae clauck daid yaou jaust caall mae, yaou laittle vaitch? Vera mind-hissed.

“Fern! You’re a fern, aren’t you?” Pamela’s eyebrow quivered as she glanced down to draw testicles on a tree.

Aa faern? Aa claucking faern? Aa coack haamn, moatherclucking fearn?! Seariously?! Ia’m aa claucking suacculent! A saucculent, caock hamnait! Whay hoaw, haow darae yaou! Haow darae yaou caall mae aa faern!

“Sorry,” Pamela sighed as she polished off her sketch of the knob of a tree trunk with a circumsized penis, “Fern, succulents, what’s the difference? You’re all just plants anywhatways.”

Yaou diad naot jaust saay thaat.

“Um,” Pamela inspected the aforementioned circumsized penis, so as to remember whether she had said that or not, “Yes, I did.”

Nao, yaou daon’t uanderstand. Yaou diadn’t jaust saay thaat.

“Vera, I need you to understand something about me. Until very, very recently, I had trouble remembering literally anything. And I do mean it when I say anything. But now, Vera, now I remember everything. All thanks, Vera, all thanks to this,” Pamela shoved the leaf covered in sexual drawings of trees and shrubs in front of the acient aloe vera and shook it for dramatic effect. “Look at this!” Pamela pointed to a willow with four tits.

“And this!!” She displayed a maple with fourteen vulvas.

Ia’m aa claucking plaant, waoman. I caan’t saee shait.

“What? What do you mean?”

Ia daon’t havae eyaes.

Pamela allowed the leaf to droop flaccidly as she parsed this data with puzzlement.

“Huh. I didn’t think of that.”

Classaic plantaist.

“I’m not a plantist.”

Plantaists naever admait tao baeing plantaists. Eaxcept praoud plantaists, baut thaey’re sao riadiculously staupid thaat thaey’re oaften beyaond threataening. Nao, iat’s paeople laike yaou, iat’s craypto plantaists, thaat arae thea reaal praoblem.

“Crypto plantists? I’ve never heard of those. That sounds made up, honestly.”

Yaou’re absaolutely disgraossting. Yaou disgraosst mae. Yaou’re aa nauseataing eaxcuse faor aa hauman baeing.

“How can I nauseate you? You don’t even have a stomach!”

Staop vaerbally attackaing mae faor thaings baeyond may caontrol, yaou claucking, yaou claucking whaoreticulturer!

“I’m not a whoreticulturer. I’m a member of the Roy—erm, the Loyal Gourd.”

Whaat ian thae clauck ias thae Raoy-erm, thae Laoyal Gaourd? Ia’ve naever meantally haeard oaf thaat shait!

“Well you’re about to learn. I’m not very happy with the aggressive tone you’ve been employing while questioning me, so I’ve decided to place you under a Roya—erm, I, uh…um…is there such thing as a Loyal Gourd’s arrest? There must be, I mean, they gave me these rubber bands to use to accost people…” Pamela shrugged, strapped a rubber band over her thumb and pointer finger and pointed menacingly at Vera. “Alright, put your fronds up!”

Fraonds? Dao yoau reallay thaink Ia havae fraonds? Yaou reallay daon’t knaow anaything abaout plaants, dao yaou?

“I went to business school, not plant school. Now put your fronds up or I’ll shoot.”

Yaou’re gaoing tao thraeaten tao shaoot aa plaant?

“I’m not going to threaten to shoot a plant, I already threatened to shoot a plant! That plant being you, of course.”

Paffft. Gaood lauck waith thaat.

“Fine. Have it your way.”

FFTHH

The rubber band shot off into the distance, landing atop a younger bush’s stately top hat, for it goes to be said again that all of the plants in the Fancy Forest were covered in fancy attire and were indeed not adorned with human genitalia as Pamela’s portraits implied.

Whay, Ia saay, haow raude! quietly mind-fussed the bush.

“Oh cock hamnit. One second,” Pamela reloaded her finger and fired another rubber band.

FFTHK

“Aack!” she reeled back, for this one had struck her mightily in the right eye.

Haah, Vera mind-cackled, Thaat’s whaat yaou gaet, yaou staupid plantaist, whaat waith yaour eayes aand haands aand oather staupid hauman shait.

“Please don’t insult my humanity. It’s distracting,” Pamela groaned, rubbing her eye with one hand and sketching what she imagined a plant’s clitoris might look like in the other.

Laday, yaou’re sao oaut oaf taouch whaen iat caomes tao plaant laife thaat Ia thaink Ia maight jaust shaow yaou haow raidiculously oaut oaf taouch yaou raeally arae! Thaat ias tao bae, absaurdly, ridaiculously oaut oaf taouch!

“You’ll show me?”

Yaes, Ia thaink Ia maight!

“Oh, well that’s great. Please do.”

Vera took a hood while to respond. In fact, she took so long to respond that Pamela check her butt cheek to ensure that the vine was still latched on there. It sure was. The end of it was turning purple. Gross.

Then, it happened. It being what felt like an awful bout of indigestion. But an awful bout of indigestion it was not—no, it was something else entirely that Pamela felt. That feeling that she was feeling was a feeling that pulled her gut into itself, rolled it around in a jar of tar and spit it back out in a million knots like some sort of fantasy cherry stem. Her vision grew tunnely and her ears felt cloudy. Her teeth felt sore and she swore that the forest floor was opening like a door. That’s because it was, and soon after Pamela was falling down, down, down in the dark musky dirt tickled by roots and bugs and decomposing human flesh and everything between. Then, she juddered to a sticky halt, submerged in the mucky mud.

KE KLIKKKK

“What the cluck was that?” Pamela started.

mmPOOOMMMMMMMMMMM

Pamela shot from the pit as if it were not a pit at all but a cannon on a skyrate ship, and Pamela herself were but a cannonball. Sailing through the air was mind numbing, and nearly caused her to lose grip of her sketching leaf and pen. The wind buffeted Pamela’s eyelids, flapping them around like open windows in a hurricane. Bugs were hitting her in the face at such speeds that she could feel the sustain of substantial scrapes in her cheeks.

And then it was green.

It was green, of course, because Pamela had slammed into the densest patch of tree leaves she’d ever collided with. They clasped her like a soothing net, and slowly eased her through themselves like some sort of awful leafy esophagus.

SPRRRT

Pamela shot from the leaf canopy down to the dusty ground, right next to an enormous boulder made out of bark.

It wasn’t a boulder made out of bark. But it sure looked like one.

It was actually, at least as far as Pamela could tell after feeling it up and observing it from many sides, an enormous root. This theory was backed up by Pamela’s observation that behind this boulder-esque root was the most absurdly enormous, thronging tree she’d ever seen.

This tree could’ve been a temple. It could’ve been a house for chickens, and not just pygmy chickens. It could’ve probably been registered as an independent township in middle-poor Caldonia, if she were in middle-poor Caldonia and not, well, wherever in the hen she was instead. It also had an enormous polka dot skirt wrapped around its lower trunk and many golden earrings dangling from its apparently endless branches, for this was still the Fancy Forest.

“Holy mother of clucking hen,” Pamela gasped, “I’m gonna need another leaf.”

Hehreh, takhe this, Paaahmehla, mind-rasped an earthy, crackly voice deep as the oldest cavern, echoey as the widest ocean and dense as the most pungent pile of dog shit. A thick, leafy vine shot down, coiling like an air snake as it approached Pamela with a beautiful leather-bound notebook, dropping it daintily in her lap.

“What’s this? Also, you know my name?!” Pamela inspected it thoroughly, flipping through each page of the notebook and wondering why she’d asked what it was when it was clearly a notebook.