New Toulouse

If you’ve ever wanted to turn flowers into bacon, now’s your chance.

No, this isn’t just more of the usual bunkum. We are daily bombarded with fantastical assertions, and now we are weary and jaded. Flowers into bacon, you say? Why, only the other week a traveling man of God—with his very own tent and a parish permit and a not untalented banjoist—promised that if I added whatever coinage I could to his collection plate, my prayers would be heard and addressed. I can report that despite my having put a solid three lindens into the holy kitty, not one of my prayers has been answered, including the one about the trousers. But I digress.

If you have the right kind of flower—Eichhornia crassipes, the water hyacinth—you can indeed exchange it for bacon. Of a certain type. While supplies last.

The Bayou Safety Initiative is kicking off its flagship campaign with help from Perrineau & Co., a local provider of innovative meat solutions. Foreign flowers threaten our domestic waterways—nay, our very way of life. Buying liberty bonds won’t stop flowers. Only hippopotamuses, and you, can help.

In partnership with the initiative, Perrineau & Co. is offering a free package of hippopotamus bacon in exchange for any living water hyacinth plants. This comes in the aftermath of a recent water hyacinth giveaway, the ill-advised promotional effort of a local grocery.

“Our lake cows already help control the water hyacinth population,” said Perrineau. “They find them delicious—but not as delicious as you’ll find our lake cow bacon!”

(In case you’ve been asleep for the past few years—I’m looking at you, Krewe Van Winkle—a “lake cow” is a hippopotamus, at least in the parlance of Perrineau & Co.)

The Bayou Safety Initiative could use your help. The group has offered to pick up water hyacinths from homes and businesses, but the response to the bacon-for-flowers deal has been overwhelming. To volunteer, go to the BSI office at #8 Rue Bayou, New Toulouse.

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Jack Mondieu feels far more threatened by zombies and gators than by any flower.

Madam Editor,

Recently I took a day trip to New Toulouse Bayou, for reasons of Sightseeing and certainly having nothing to do with illicit hooch distilleries, and I was shocked to discover the presence of an Alien Invasion right here in our own Parish.

These invaders are as beautiful as they are dangerous. I am speaking, of course, of Eichhornia crassipes, the water hyacinth.

A single plant can produce five thousand seeds and cover an acre in one growing season. A woman brought one home to Florida from the World’s Industrial and Cotton Centennial Exposition of 1884, and when it overran her fishpond, she put the extra hyacinths at her boat landing. Would you like to know how many miles of the river soon became impossible to navigate by steamboat? Two hundred miles, that’s how many.

If these prolific plants were to spread from Bayou to the Missedabracket River, that great muddy road of Commerce, our entire Parish would suffer. I have heard that a local grocery handed out free water hyacinths as a promotion. We need a concerted effort to eradicate this picturesque menace, not to encourage it in the name of selling more washing-powder.

Scientifically yours,
B. Robicheaux

The Blessing of the Waters and the Krewe du Canard boat parade will take place this Lundi Gras—Monday, February 8—at 5:50 PM. The Queen of the Carnival, Miss Maggie Hawksby, will perform the voodoo blessing at the fishing dock by Buford’s bait shop. This beautiful ceremony blesses the waters and community of New Toulouse and is a Carnival tradition that is not to be missed.

After the Blessing of the Waters, the boat parade will commence at the same location. The parade of fabulously decorated boats will wind its way through the waterways of New Toulouse. In the Lundi Gras boat parade, the parade floats actually do!

Following the boat parade, the krewe will make merry at the Toulouse Caboose, and the general public is invited.

Bayou has changed so much recently. There is now the wonderful Fifolet, the backyard venue where I heard Bohemian and Zippedy Zabelin perform some great music. (Zippedy Zabelin, aka “Dr. Zip,” will give a concert there this Saturday at 1:00 PM.) Fifolet makes me not miss Swamp Manor so much. It is a great place to just hang out. I always enjoy watching the puppet theater, and the cats seem to enjoy it too.

I heard a rumor about a new establishment and decided to go check it out. I found it at the east end of the railroad tracks: the soup kitchen of the Cloche du Chat, in an old church building. The sign told me that there was free food and that I could go upstairs to make a wish. Upstairs was a bell that I couldn’t resist ringing. It gave me a fish!

Sitting at the nice desk on the porch was very relaxing with the view of the bayou outside. I wrote a note to Cybele Snowpaw, the proprietor here, asking her some questions that she was kind enough to answer:

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Welcome back. Niki told me you used to live here years ago.

Thanks muchly! And yes, that’s right. I washed up onto the banks of the bayou in days of yore—and after having a great time shooting zombies and drinking from barrels and being slumped on porches, I became a wandering recluse for reasons only guessed at. I’m still guessing.

Is there a reason this soup kitchen is a church?

Well, apart from the abandoned church having already popped up and then gone peregrinating and then decided to return by special summoning—he who was and is and always shall be Fatty the King of Kitties, decided to annex it to his boundless realm. And by his grace (and at the kind suggestion and through the bountiful arts of Miz Nikita Weymann), he decreed that there should be a place where wanderers and dreamers and ne’er-do-wells can all nap and chase their tails after receiving a bit o’ some steaming potage to soothe the savage hungry beast within.

It seems dedicated to felines. Why?

There is no life without kitties. Also—to bear tribute to he who was and is and always shall be (etc.) Fatty the King of Kitties. He came from parts unknown to rule for eight auspicious years (as has been recorded in worthy books of history), and then he succumbed to kidney degradation deriving from a poor but preferred diet of curried garbage, leaving many loyal hearts bereft. Now, thanks to la Cloche du Chat and his remaining retinue and his beneficence, a tasty but health-giving meal of jambalaya and raw seafood is available to all.

Nice touch with the church bell that gives wishes and fishes. How come?

Oh, thank you. Well, Fatty, in his most recent lifetime, was a great granter of wishes. He himself was a wish granted, or rather he decided after turning up and taking over that he was exactly what one would wish for—and now that all the catch belongs to him in his present expanded being, he figures that no one who appeals to him for their heart’s desire should leave without a fish in the hand, that being better than two noisy birds in the bush. And about the bell, well, he’s just a big old romantic who loves a good sonorous thing in a pretty golden form.

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I guess I have a new place to relax, one where I feel safe. See you on the bayou!

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The Ghost of Liza Veliz fell in love with New Toulouse at first sight. She publishes books by various authors; find them at her reading cafe on Shotgun Row. She also operates a bookstore and tattoo parlor in Gloryville, at the corner of Royale and Rossignol.

When I came back to New Toulouse, I began looking around to reacquaint myself with the area. I was not surprised to see so many changes. Seems like things are always changing in this world. And given the fact that I travel to many regions during different time periods, I have gotten accustomed to change. But that’s another story.

While hiking around town, I came upon the ferry that crosses over to the bayou. Hopping on board, I made my way across the river, thinking about life in New Toulouse several years ago, before I’d left on my last journey.
As I departed the ferry, I found myself still reminiscing of times past, so I perched on a bench to take in some evening air and ponder. My fingers brushed a piece of paper tacked onto the bench. It read, “We said we’d tell you where to find the clubhouse, but we never said it would be easy. Look in the train station for more instructions.” Well, that was enough pondering for me. I had to find out what this was all about.

Now, I could tell you more about this find, but that would ruin all the fun. There’s just nothing like a peaceful day’s stroll on the bayou. Oh, did I say peaceful? Be sure to grab one of those sawed-off shotguns available in the train station. You’re gonna need it.

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Shantz Hawker is an Acadian lone wolf who returned to New Toulouse after a long, hard journey through his ancestral heritage. He has settled here once again to open an apothecary in the French Market.

Mr. Octave Hollier (not the rice farmer, but spelled the same) contacted this reporter about some strange goings-on in the bayou.

“We were warming our chilled selves at the radio station when all of a sudden the tower lights started to flash blue,” Mr. Hollier said.

“Me and Robicheaux were frogging late last night, and when we got finished, we detoured by the old radio station. Sometimes we just ride that ferry all through the bayou, then we get off at the small dock and take the Missedabracket ferry back to town, but on cold nights it’s nice to go by the old radio station. I love that old radio station, I can feel it warming my liver when I’m still fifty feet away. And it’s safe, too—none of the snakes around there are alive.”

Mr. Hollier continued, “So we were there by the old radio station—no, I don’t know why we have a radio station. We don’t have an operator, or music, or nothing. That thing hasn’t broadcast in years, but I like how that whole area around the transmitter is nice and warm.

“Anyhow, it started to glow blue. I’ve been walking by that thing for years, and it’s never glowed blue before. The lights on top have always been red, except last night, when they were turning blue. So me and Robicheaux, we looked all around, and we didn’t see anything until Robicheaux pointed out the lights in the sky. And the humming got louder, and then that tower, she just disappeared.

“And then it came right back. And then it disappeared again. And came back. It started to speed up, and it was flickering faster and faster, and the lights in the sky were flashing at the same speed, and then they just sped away. We looked all around, but we never saw nobody, us.”

Mr. Hollier did not appear to be drinking. After he left the Tattler offices, he walked straight home.

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Jack Mondieu, Ace Reporter, is a figment of your imagination.

The zombies at the Undead Wildlife Park in New Toulouse Bayou are extremely aggressive. You land at a bridge, and then you’d better take out your gun or run to the shelter and get one—because at this park, you are the endangered species.

Mr. Owly and I went there for an adventure this evening, and we surely had one. First we heard growling, and then we were dead. BOM. Just like that. They bite like mosquitos.

We killed a few of them till we got tired of it and stood really close to the shelter, teasing them instead. With a whiskey in my hand. Relaxing. Which was fun. Their growling sounds extremely disappointed when they can’t reach you to bite.

These zombies killed off my romantic feeling for poor zombie Jason. It suddenly lost its charm. It’s more fun to kill and tease. It must be the feeling they give me of being in a dance palace. Too much attention can do that.

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The Ghost of Liza Veliz fell in love with New Toulouse at first sight and established an existence in an old voodoo shack in the bayou. She publishes books, some of which can be found at her reading cafe at the French Market.

One week since Mayor Godenot’s call for help, glowing mushrooms continue to infest the bayou—and now they may be spreading to the City of New Toulouse.

Overnight, the Tattler received an anonymous tip alerting us to the existence of the mushroom Agaricus toulousica in the city.

We can confirm that there are indeed glowing mushrooms in the park maintained by Mr. Langlinais.

Mr. Langlinais lives in a treehouse in the bayou; perhaps he inadvertantly carried Agaricus toulousica spores over to the city on his shoes.

In addition, a source within City Hall says the Bureau of Scientific Inquiry has sent the mayor another letter. The missive, which can be seen on page 10, contains revised and worrisome instructions for the safe handling of the mushrooms.

We urge every person reading this report to spread the word, and to aid in the effort to eradicate the fungoid menace.

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The staff of the New Toulouse Tattler have an unusual craving for shrimp-stuffed mushrooms.

Miss Maggie Hawksby strongly cautions residents to heed the warning on their toulousite meteorite specimens.

Miss Hawksby, of New Toulouse, watered her display specimen of toulousite.

The specimen came from a chunk of the main mass of the meteorite that Miss Liza Veliz found on October 26. Miss Veliz was doing her civic duty, energetically searching for the new weird glowing mushrooms, when she literally tripped over the huge meteorite. She sent it to the Bureau of Scientific Inquiry and collected a cash reward. The BSI is convinced that the meteorite is the one reported here in early October. The BSI has been giving trophy specimens of the meteorite as a bounty for collecting the glowing mushrooms that have been popping up all over Bayou. Each specimen has an attractive little plaque saying, “Toulousite: A Nickel-Iron Meteorite, whose fall was observed in the Community of New Toulouse. A thank-you gift from the Bureau of Scientific Inquiry (Keep this sample dry).”

Miss Hawksby, being of a curious mind, undertook her own science experiment. She wanted to answer that ageless question that has plagued mankind since rocks first fell from the sky: “I wonder what what would happen if I watered my meteorite?”

Miss Hawksby knew she had a problem when the mushroom that began growing burst through the ceiling of Mr. Elwood Dowd’s home in New Toulouse Bayou, where she conducted her experiment. She tried cutting it down, but it grew faster than she could cut it back. As it grew, she says, it became strangely warm, even hot. When it began to break through the walls and roof, she called for help.

“Frankly, and I hope he doesn’t read this, but the mayor does not have much of a sense of humor,” Miss Hawksby said. “He yelled at me, kind of rudely, ‘Oh, no, not again! I am not going to fix the house, Miss Hawksby! This is not my problem!’ Fortunately, he also yelled for Mr. Pestana.”

Miss Hawksby thought it would be a good idea to summon the kraken, but Mayor Godenot reportedly said, “You want my sea monster, capable of tossing an entire ship, to eat your radioactive and possibly hallucinogenic fungus? No way. Besides, krakens don’t exist.”

But Pazzo Pestana, said Miss Hawksby, was “cool as a cucumber,” suggesting that zombies could take care of the situation. “So I sprinkled that mushroom with graveyard dust, and Pazzo lured a zombie in. Henri wanted to smear the mushroom with brains, but that was dumb. Where would you get that many human brains at short notice?”

According to Miss Hawksby, the graveyard dust attracted numerous zombies, who ate away at the huge mushroom. “Big chunks were falling off and sprouting new mushrooms, and the zombies were swarming over those, too.” The mushroom, she says, continued warming up until it caught fire. Fortunately the house was too damp to attract the blaze.

Today there is no evidence of this incident. The roof of Mr. Dowd’s house appears to have been patched recently, and Mr. Dowd is away on business. Mayor Godenot reportedly contacted the Bureau of Scientific Inquiry, advising them to varnish all future meteorite samples to keep them dry, but this reporter was unable to confirm this.

“Chalk one up for science,” said Miss Hawksby. “At least we know why you shouldn’t water the meteorites. But those glowing mushrooms were pretty neat. I wonder why the mushroom collection instructions said not to put more than twenty of them in a bucket.”

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Gigi Lapin resides in New Toulouse Bayou with her pet crawfish, Jimbo.

In an impassioned speech at Laveau Square last evening, Mayor Henri Godenot called upon the good folk of the community to come to his aid.

“Dear citizens of New Toulouse,” he said, “I need your help. While looking for meteorite chunks from last week’s sighting, I found some strange mushrooms. I sent some to a science lab, and they strongly recommended that we remove all of these mushrooms from the area.”

Turning to an assistant, he took a pair of tongs and used them to remove a mushroom from a lidded container. The remarkable specimen had an eerie green glow in the dusk. “Please do your part to help search for these undesirable fungi,” said Godenot. “If every resident finds twenty mushrooms, we should be able to get them all. And in cooperation with the Bureau of Scientific Inquiry and several members of the community, the City is prepared to offer rewards.”

The mayor’s office shared with us the content of a letter from the laboratory, which we reproduce here on page 12.

If you would like to help, go to the Land Office to obtain a fungus hunter’s kit.

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Jack Mondieu, Ace Reporter, is a figment of your imagination.