Storytime: Lesser-known weather patterns of the western Versnillies.

March 26th, 2014

Lesser-known weather patterns of the western Versnillies, by Horace Wemple, T. C. H.

The Versnillies remain a much-neglected gap in our otherwise-comprehensive knowledge of the workings of sun, wind, rain and moon-glow of our fair planet. Not since the death of Albrecht Pentlecock had a researcher dared set foot in those wild and tropically moist lands, where the mountains are surly, the seas unruly, and the rivers sometimes manage to flow both west, east, and uphill at the same time. Such timid-hearted testiclelessness is not for the likes of a Wemple, and it was with the determination of my heritage that I set forth on a grievous expedition the like of which no man has endured and survived solely for the purpose of returning this priceless encyclopedia of information to YOU, my loyal, safe, warm, happy, timorous little readers, all of whom I treasure more than my life itself. No thanks are necessary, although they are appreciated mightily.
Thanks can be mailed to 4758 Templedown Byway, Herbertshire, Hillditch. No coins please.

The Wobbling Woodbeam
A strange, euphoric shaft of light that is only visible within the stark and august groves of the greytrees. As I appraised the sunbeam I stepped beneath it to better gauge the tempo and beat of its spectrum, and woke up on a poor Versnillian’s roof, from whence he had tried to wake me for three days before giving me up for dead and using me as support for his washing-lines.
Rated: 3 glimmers. Could use more backroom rhythm.

The Eastern Zoloft
A warm, ruddy coastal wind with a rich nose, wide sweetness, and a charming, fruity aroma. Best enjoyed with some cheese, a brisk hike, and some bear repellant, as the east coast of the Versnillies is lousy with the furry pests. A must for sailors and other salties.
Rated: Yalloman-5, leaning towards Yalloman-4Q(a) on a fine evening with some friends and maybe a slice of melon.

These clouds are among the rarest in the world, found only on the sixth second of the fourth minute of the eighteenth hour of February 29th, if there happens to be a rainbow of no more than three shades present. Tragically I was unable to see these myself, but the old man who informed me of their existence had some lovely (though aged) photos that I was able to purchase for as little as $5 US. Please excuse the uncanny resemblance to a plate of mashed taties, it seems to be an artifact of the film’s age – along with the strange wire-like striations that appear to hover above it.
Rated: 4.8484784/11.7474 Deweys, 2 SubDeweys. Haven’t seen anything this splendid since the days of Robbleford and his magnificent pictures of Bigfog. Anyone ever find out what happened to him?

Magenta Walloper
A highly dangerous and notorious midnight gale that molested the town of Ziblok during my stay there, consuming no less than sixteen men. After the third night of hearing gut-rending shrieks disturb my observations of the local sunsets, I set about solving the problem and was able to lure the devil in with a set of live bait provided by the local orphanage. Suffice it to say that human intellect and ingenuity won the day as usual, though the spectators (poor, superstitious rubes!) seemed to think otherwise. I was able to give it a well-earned thrashing before it very slowly fled from my mangled yet triumphant figure, and only at the cost of some small number of extremities so unused and unimportant that I shall not deign to mention them here.
Rated: 0.2 Bobbits. A pipsqueak, a piker, unworthy of note in all respect. Pish-posh.

The Monochromebow
Some of the locals told me that I was in fact misled as to the colour of this phenomena and I was merely having difficulties adjusting to my new glass eye, but they were mere peasants with substandard IQs and I have qualified at Mensa-level, so I ruled them out as rubes and brought you, my loyal readers, news of this most intriguing phenomena. I even had time to count the number of bands (one) in its arch before faint-headedness from overexertion set in and I had to be wheeled back to intensive care.
Rated: Square. I apologize for the ambiguity, but my head trauma makes my memories of this entire three-month period rather splotchy, and I don’t believe I understood the concept of numbers at the time.

The Cripplebreeze
An annual event at midsummers that livens the hours and sells shoddy trinkets. During its passing cripples dance in the streets of all the Versnillies so that it may enliven their lifeless, swollen, dragging limbs. Superstitious nonsense and besides it didn’t work. My left leg remained absent.
Rated: Boorish hucksterism.

Berlog’s Bane
Yes indeed, dear readers, I have found what man once thought to be unimaginable, psychedelic myth: a cyclone that cannot be tamed! First documented in Albrecht Pentlecock’s 1834 travelogues, the waterspout that gutted his faithful batman and left his entrails in seven different seas still whirls atop the very lake that he witnessed it spawn from! Sadly, the years have not been kind to the poor thing, and it now measures an astonishing but unimpressive four feet. That said, I saw it disembowel and consume an uncautious sheep while I was taking notes, so its spirit remains commendable.
Rated: F-0.5. Ideal for the children.

A ramshackle and altogether unconvincing category of stormcloud inexplicably celebrated in the more economically-depressed areas of the Versnillies, where it is popular with infants, teen-agers, minorities, and the non-British. Altogether fine if you’re one of *those* sorts, I suppose. Takes all sorts. Even if their tastes are wrong. Which they are.
Rated: Over. And I still don’t see what’s so impressive about clouds that rain caramels and toffee. Good grey stout droplets, that’s what a raincloud’s all about.

That Fucker
My dear readers will have to forgive me for my inclusion of phenomena that are technically currents rather than weather or weather-related, but this riptide near my hotel beach really tussled my goddamned crumpets. The little blighter yanked me three shitbirding miles offshore before I could swim across it, and on the return trip a shark of unidentifiable ethnic background made off with my prosthetic leg, so I was left confused as to what slurs would be appropriate for the occasion.
Rated: 7.2(c) GigaBastards.

Kammadon’s Manglewhorl (AKA ‘The Limbmulcher,’ AAKA ‘Screamer of Death,’ AAAKA ‘Splatmaker’)
I’m told this is lovely, and I hear no reason to doubt it. Moving on.
Rated: No I’m good enough thank you very much.

The Fireside Drizzle
So called by the locals for its exquisitely delicate and slightly charcoal-scented droplets, each of which, in all their innumerableness, is no bigger than a solitary mouse-tear. The perfect strolling rain, each breath taken in this delightful shower greatly invigorates the lungs, producing a mos

This, the final edition of ‘Practical British Meteorology,’ is dedicated to Horace Wemple, T. H.C., from XX60-XX14 the editor, publisher, author, and chief reporter of the scholarly journal.
Mourners can take solace in that although his passing was sudden, he died happy, in nearly-adequate health, and entirely unexpectedly at high velocity. It is unlikely that he even noticed the gradual buildup of carbon monoxide in his tissues until his single remaining leg buckled and sent him headfirst into the sidewalk. And really, isn’t that how we’d all like to go?

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