Tuesday, March 9, 2004 - As true as the tales of Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny are the escapades of the April Fool, daughter of the Tarot’s Fool and magical imp of impertinent jest. “In like a lion, out like a lamb,” said she, singsongy. “Up and down, up and down, like the first of March.” She stopped abruptly. “Good morning, Herr Hare,” she chirped, fussing with the lavender bow in her hair. “Morning, Miss April,” said the March Hare, one eye squinted. “May I presume you’ll not be putting any lucky rabbits’ feet under any unlucky rabbits’ pillows this year?” She twirled her finger in her curly locks. “The frogs found it funny,” she smiled, plying her irresistible charm against the immovable cottontail. Inertia unbounded, herewith confounded.
Wednesday, March 10, 2004 - Skipping down the lane, the April Fool couldn’t help but snicker at the sight of the three blind mice making their way up the lane. “Enlist,” said the first. “Silent,” said the second. “Tinsel,” said the third. “A tale of three tails,” she giggled with glee. “Why strife with the farmer’s wife? Why not tread water with the daughter? Or smack the almanac?” Their whiskers bristled. “We felt the circumstance, clearly unfair. A trail of cheese crumbs delivered us there.” That their calamity had coincided with the first of the fourth made no impression nor posed any question to the cause of the aggression. “To where do you go on this glorious day?” she asked. “We go forth for a fourth without delay.”
Thursday, March 11, 2004 - “Kindly Miss April,” the simple bird flustered, “What words could I speak not to glue shut my beak? A quaint complaint? A bleak shriek? A lone moan?” But April admired the red on his head. “Grown out even longer, I think.” The bird backed away, displaying dismay, and the magical imp, she skipped on her way. “Backwards has its drawbacks and the appraised disappear,” a broken old egg hissed very near. Humpty was cracked; he’d never forget. Who greased the wall and prompted his fall? Revenge would be his on this April sprite. With might upon spite, he knew he was... “Stop! Don’t say it,” the peacock halted. “We all want to see the little nymph suffer.” “Our plans, they are laid,” Dumpty agreed.
Friday, March 12, 2004 - Whenever Miss April wasn’t around, things were square and pointed and sound. Prose arose, plainly, with freedom to speak. “May we talk without rhyme?” sighed The Boy Who Cried Wolf with no joy. “Be careful, you’re slipping,” growled his canid companion, each gazing down at the fine crimson canyon. “She is near,” the boy arose, blooming toward the sun. “Fear, do you feel it?” “No, dear, I hear it,” cried the wolf, all in stride, and whispering aside, “Do not mention the broken yoke’s scheme.” Into the clutter, the April Fool fluttered. “The wolf loves you dearly,” she said mock-sincerely, “and you, have you conquered your fright?” “No, Ma’am, but I think I just might,” and the wolf lamented his plight.
Saturday, March 13, 2004 - “You sound good,” said the Scarecrow, making his voice throw, using what sense he had left. The cracked egg begged, “Why can’t you see it? The day’s lost its spirit. All the year long, I rhyme all the time, and it’s wrong.” “It’s not that noticeable,” the straw dog nodded. “Many folks rhyme and have a fine time.” But the yoke found no joke in provoke. “How can you say that when she did that to you?” “Oh, the bucket was last year,” he said without cheer, “but if you find my pants, tell them I’m here.” The Scarecrow feared his friend of tin provided the container his head was now in. Humpty, still down in the Dumpty, spoke plain, “This first of April shall fool me no more. No salt. Not even a grain.”
Sunday, March 14, 2004 - The Fox and the Crane preferred to complain. “He served me soup,” said the bird with a whoop. “In a bowl too flat, knowing well my long beak could easily speak yet not slurp.” “Ever eat meat from a tall narrow vase?” the mammal asked, pointing his paw to his face. “A muzzle like mine could well starve at her place.” The egg noggin nodded, “That’s the April Fool’s way. She catered to each of you on that fine day.” The animals exchanged glances. It appeared that their stances grew out of two practical jokes. “I’d rather eat bird,” the fox then concurred. The crane overheard his threat without veil. “Bye, I’ll be flying,” she said almost sighing. “I’m no meal in a box for a fox.”
Monday, March 15, 2004 - The milkmaid and her cow had nigh time to allow the cream to float to the top. “I can’t say when we’ve been bothered by pranks,” she cooed, giving thanks, all the while reloading her shotgun with blanks. “Certain deductions discounted,” recanted the cow, “introduces reductions only if you know how.” “A bovine accountant?” Humpty dismayed. “You have but one cow, how’s that a trade?” “Miss April, the fairy, upgraded our dairy. Instead of milk, we sell whitewash that covers any color with one coat.” “Have you no pride?” fried the egg, mortified. “She’s broken the rules and played you for fools!” “Though I’ve no cause to whine, I’d not miss turpentine,” the cow mooed in the mood for real food.
Wednesday, March 17, 2004 - Frosty preferred to lay out in the sun. Why was it exactly he thought this was fun? “At the risk of cliché, I’m so tempted to say, oh what a world, I’m melting.” The April Fool, she came strolling by and stopped to bid him a friendly good-bye. “Tis true,” said the snowman. “My timing’s awry. I’ve not had the pleasure to savor the treasure of even a one of your pranks.” Most folks would kneel and give thanks. Humpty hid out in the bushes, listening to every word. With all his buttons she pushes, that Dumpty found it absurd that someone as famous as Frosty — they sing high his praises each year! — would revere with good cheer and be that sincere to the imp who put a crimp in his career.
Thursday, March 18, 2004 - Humpty was laid by a rooster, a fact not commonly known. Hardly a good moral booster, he took on the blame to act out his shame, atop a brick wall, daring fate to fall, ‘twas no place at all for a brittle young egghead to crawl. Hours to days, and days to months, his balancing act, it kept him intact. It seemed a plain fact, his luck was amuck, no lightning had struck nor would it. Overconfident, they say, up ‘til that fateful day his eggshell did sway and plummet down the way. All the King’s horses and all the King’s men agreed that the King was not liable. Because of the sun, the egg had hard-boiled, and the jury then judged no harm had been done. What’s a few cracks among friends?
Friday, March 19, 2004 - “I’m sorry, my friend. The rules, I can’t bend, nor can I lend you a spare,” the Easter Hare spoke with some flair. “Don’t come any closer! I’m not your egg grocer. Not mother nor brother is afforded another. One shell per yoke is enough for most folk. It’s time you awoke to the fact that you’re only a tiny bit cracked.” Humpty stepped from the shadow, “Although I move slow, it is apropos you bestow what you owe, quid pro quo.” The bunny gave Dumpty a run for his money, a sight too funny for this sunny day. The lone chocolate egg became runny and attracted an army of ants, arriving through the tall grass and plants. The insects marched home, humming chants, and would return if given half the chance.
Monday, March 22, 2004 - “Candygram for his Majesty,” the Little Prince spoke. The King awoke to his sham of a son, the victim of a prank so rank, he had Miss April to thank for his fuzzy-wuzzy wild riled child. “There’s no candy in here,” the King of Hearts spied. “Well, I didn’t eat it,” the Little Prince lied, his eyes so wide and so full of pride that he couldn’t decide whether politeness applied. “Where’s the message, did you eat that as well?” the King said to his son, not wanting to yell. “The note, it was swell,” the foxy kid said and then fled to his bed to eat red jam and bread. “No news is good news,” the weary King sighed. He always was willing to take things in stride. “What? Easter canceled?” he bellowed, eyes fried.
Tuesday, March 23, 2004 - By fits and starts, the Queen of Hearts, while playing darts, ate her three tarts, proceeding to say, “It is hardly okay to play outdoor croquet with dodos instead of flamingos. I dare not disclose the name of the rose, the root of my woes, a spite to my nose, the stepper of toes, a thief in plainclothes, an ill wind that blows, she reaps what she sows, I hereby propose, off with her miserable head!” And then the King said, “Bad luck, I’m afraid, the Hare was betrayed. The Easter parade tradition’s delayed.” After waking up Rip van Winkle, Miss April appeared in a twinkle. “I see someone’s added a wrinkle. I take no blame for this kind of game. As I’ve shown, my pranks are strictly my own.”
Thursday, March 25, 2004 - “Nevermore,” cawed the Raven. “The bunny is gone. There’ll be no Easter egg hunt this year or ever.” The Royal Detective studied the creature. “My major premise is all ravens are black. My minor premise is you are not black. My conclusion, then, is that you’re not a raven!” huffed Detective Bellows, fresh off the case of the drowned wolf who mysteriously had stones sewn inside his belly. “Why don’t you rhyme,” Miss April did chime. “My spell, it reaches far and wide. Now you better not think... I mean decide... to shirk... I mean shrink... what is happening to me? I eat no food or wood. My shoe, it has no woe. I sit in the dew and sew. This is terrible!” The yellow raven kept his big beak shut.
Friday, March 26, 2004 - “Water can...” whispered the flowers. “Water can what?” sputtered Miss April, unable to rhyme a single line at a time. Well, not more than two in a row, if you must know. Never three, you can see. Nor four or more. “Enjoying yourself?” the magical imp snorted. “Why subject me to the subject of rhyming? I will contest losing this contest. I won’t play bass with a bass. Eek, what's happening to me?” Inspector Bellows examined the flowers for clues. “I’m not content with the content of these seed pods. Do I have to spell it out? There’s a spell present, a present from the Easter Hare. His magic is greater than yours.” “Did you find hair from the Hare here?” she stopped herself. Is thinking aloud allowed?
Saturday, March 27, 2004 - “Miss April?” the odd can began. “I can see water. Sea water? See otter! Fool’s daughter?” The detective’s green eyes were hardly surprised. “You transform the Queen’s birds into dodos, a no no, you know. You convince the Prince to change into a fox, ignoring the fact that clearly it shocks. You cast the fellow, the raven is yellow, and make his beak big and too broad.” “Like Pinocchio,” Miss April reminded. “Methinks you’re a gem that I must condemn. Why someone like you has remained unapprehended is a mystery to me.” He reached for his handcuffs and ended up wearing them. “I’ll not walk down that aisle,” she half-smiled. “Wait, hold the homophone! You, up there, write right.”
Sunday, March 28, 2004 - The little lamb ate ivy, though she preferred holiday ham. Hearing a scrunch, she paused mid-munch and had her own hunch that something was up and not down. In a brief blur, a moment of spur, Miss April, toward her, bounded, pursued by a handcuffed monsieur. “Why don’t you see the sea?” she shouted. “Where do we wear the ware? Or tighten the titan?” The magical imp held her head, feeling almost better off dead. She shrieked to Bellows, “I’m the April Fool. Who are you to arrest me?” Still handcuffed, he said, “Santa never heard of you, child. It’s my job to line up the eggs and get cracking.” How her fame had eluded — was he that secluded? She brooded and pushed him away.
Monday, March 29, 2004 - The stork was mighty concerned. “Stop staring at my eggs!” her words burned. The King of Hearts, not known for his smarts, had not the gumption to tell her that the Queen demanded all eggs be gathered together this day, just in case, to avoid disgrace, if not a trace of the Easter Hare was to be found around this holiday renowned. Near the moat, she had to gloat. Miss April had lost the trenchcoat. “Rhyme nor reason again,” she clucked like a hen. “I shall be bold and not be bowled over.” A cricket chirped. “I’ll be chock full of chalk. I’ll counsel the council. I’ll be discussed in disgust. I’ll flour a flower,” she grimaced and scowled. “Whoever claimed the Bunny’s power, I will devour this hour.”
Tuesday, March 30, 2004 - The King of Hearts donned his galoshes to avoid having to rhyme with shoes, boots, or sneakers. With egg on his face, he determined potatoes might be the next best thing for the annual Easter Hunt. “Fried, baked, or mashed, these versatile spuds will guarantee my safe passage from the doghouse to the Queen’s henhouse,” he winked. Meanwhile, Miss April, having ceased to conjure her rhyming enchantment, found she no longer spoke in homophones nor on telephones, but she still had a bad case of autoantonyms. “Am I left alone? Or have I left already?” she mused unamused. “Do I stay put? Or put my best foot forward?” Where there was Hare, there was Humpty, she surmised.
Wednesday, March 31, 2004 - “A hen is only an egg’s way of making another egg,” Humpty beamed. “I’ll wear no yolk for a yoke,” cried a muffled voice inside his shell. “You’re a rotten egg, Dumpty,” Miss April scolded. “An egg ought not pick a fight with a rock!” When the brief battle ended, the Hare declared, “People will judge you by your actions, not your intentions. You may have a heart of gold, but so does a hard-boiled egg.” The King of Hearts, having collected twelve carts of potatoes, stood mute. Detective Bellows tipped his hat to the April Fool and honey ran down his face. “Unorthodox methods, I should teach you a lesson,” he said, pulling off his fedora and releasing a swarm of bees. Miss April grinned wide and remarked...
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