A shared story, where multiple people passed around a series of notes with portions of the story, to be combined at the end. Found at the Ol’ Windmill Farm, after an epic party event.
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One day, a lonely mouflon wandered too close to the trees where hawks liked to hunt, and they were having chicks, so they were particularly angrified! One swooped down, talons outstretched, and tried to grab onto the critter to scare it away. But, this was a special Mouflon. It had magical fur, that tangled the hawk in it, and held it on its back. The hawk flappied all over angrily, but soon settled down in exhaustionation. The next morning, it woke up, still stuck, but less angry. But fortunately…
…the mouflon was in a party mood and started to shake its rear like it had never been shaken before. The hawk was cool with this as it loved to dance too, and it flapped its wings in time with the mouflon’s swaying. This malarkey caught the attention of some nearby cows and sheep, their mooing and bleating turning more musical in accompaniment to the movement. Everything was going epic as the animals had fun, until…
…suddenly there was a hailstorm. Big giant hail dropped down on the hawk so that he fell on the ground. Except his beak was trapped in the magical fur. The hawk was standing on the ground looking very sadly at his own beak. One cow came to the hawk. ‘Don’t worry,’ said the cow, ‘I will fix it’. The cow was thinking about a solution and suddenly he got this very good idea…
The cow decided to run around for a while with his tongue hanging out of his mouth until a lighting it him and he laid an egg. The cow pulled the hawk free and gave him the egg that soon hatched. In the egg there was…
…a chick! Not like a hot blonde chick, or a super-tan hot chick, or even a freckly muddy hot chick, but, a baby bird kind of chick. So, hawk was all like “Hey, tell you what, I was totally like minding my own business and stuff, taking care of my family, and then you guys all freakin’ came over by MY tree and started all this screwin’ around and dancin’ in your magical wool and weather magic and stuff, so, like…revenge time!”. The hawk roared like hawks don’t, which really freaked out the other animals, which started running all willy nilly around, bleating and mooing and making hell all of noise…
Unfortunately for them all, the loud sounds roused something from its deep and ancient slumber…
…And that ancient thing was Wesley, and even though he was ancient, he was super nice, and smartly dressed, though not much for nonsense. He took one look at all the crazy animals and shook his head. With one snap of his fingers they all stopped talking, lost all magical-ness, and went back to being boring animals. But one person couldn’t stand for that to happen, so…
…Bert glared with a frown on his face as he saw the animals die down in boredom. He promptly jumped to his feet and proceeded to fill the trough to the rim with a flowing amber river of the finest quality rye beer to be found. He waved a finger in declaration pointing to each of the animals with a bold proclamation “The animals shall be free to frolic. Now eat, drink, and be merry!” The inquisitive mouflon blinked his eyes though wasted no time to take a large slurp of the fluid, and much to Bert’s dismay…
…The mouflon drank all of the beer! The mouflon then started swaying around, before it landed, rump in the air, on the ground. Bert sighed, that was his finest beer yet! But he could always make more. However, a rat showed up and in no time at all, there were thousands! They squeaked and squeaked and formed a massive wave of pure rats! Quickly Bert and Wesley had to…
…Exterminate the rats, because rats tell the authorities on you when you are trying to have fun and rob little old mouflons with beaks in their wool! So Bert and Wesley, both thoroughly lubricated with too much beer, put their heads together to try to make ‘a better rat trap’. They gathered stacks of manuals and notes, but were too drunk to make rats heads or tails out of them. Wesley, in his drunken state and not wanting to mess up his fine clothing decided “screw it, I’m going to shoot them.” …
…The poor drunken sot did not realize that he could kill only one rat a day with his crossbow and that rats can breed much faster than that. So our poor pair was haunted by an ever increasing population of rats and and… *sounds of sad music* they were out of beer. They swayed together and sang drunken tavern songs while trying to think of a solution. Finally Bert, who knew more about animals than anyone said: “Wait! I have an idea!…
…He has noticed that by the time the drunken songs finished, there wasn’t a single rat in sigh, and their evil noses only appeared again, coming from the haystack, the porch joists, and the more absurd hideouts, once the silence fell.
…We just need to keep singing!” But with no booze running trough their veins, they didn’t drawl out of tune with hoarse voices anymore. The drunken tavern song turned into melodious singing, and things got much worse. The rats were now a crowd surrounding the two men, and the mouflon. The mouflon, damn magical beast who began it all! Their eyes met, and Wesley and Bert quickly knew what they had to do. And it was in front of them all the time. Just needed to milk the mouflon! …
…Pull-tug-pull-tug-pull-tug… Soon they had the bucket filled to the top. Filled with the finest quality rye beer to be found! They drank avidly, until they were drunken as a man can be. Then, they sang the worst tavern son ever, with all their might, so loud and off-key that the rats left the fields forever, in a desperate escape. But, for their grief, also the magical beer-source mouflon did flee. So, hunter, next time you think of killing one, think it twice…
Could you be the one who finds it?