Bonjour Bob!

Dylan's Corner - An Anti-Algorithm Protest Story

About last week, I was rummaging in my attic for things I needed to donate to charity. A grand charity sale was being held in the market square in two weeks, and I had the job of finding some of my old toys to sell to the market right across my street. I work as the local rag n bone man, and being tasked with donating my old things to the local shop was a big challenge for me, seeing as I cared about all these things since I turned 3.

While removing a box of vintage Christmas decorations my Nana used to own, I found a large blocky cardboard box named:

‘Tapes’

In the crude writing I used to draw in from when I was little. I carefully placed the box onto the cobweb carpets of the attic floor and opened it, blowing away some orange dust which almost made me sneeze.

Inside was a treasure trove of VHS tapes from my childhood - Tweenies, Budgie The Little Helicopter and my favourite Disney film, The Lion King II: Simba’s Pride, which I hadn’t seen since I first attended secondary school.

For a while, I started sorting all the VHS tapes into the gigantic green bag full of things meant for the grand charity sale. It was tough choosing the Tweenies, Budgie and Simba, but I knew I had to do what’s best for those in need.

Just as I had flung the last tape into the bag, I spotted a strange tape that I had never seen before. It was entirely black with no label, and there was a huge amount of film reel shoved into it.

Upon taking a closer look at the bottom side, I saw a message drawn in red pen, in what looked like my late dad’s handwriting:

“Keep this by the TV, Bruce. You may need it for something important.

-Your dad, Spencer.”

At first I chuckled because my dad always did have crazy ideas. I do recall him telling me that he used to work for the BBC until 1997, when it adopted its yellow and black new look, but every idea he came up with to the children’s department was rejected, resulting in him hanging himself in his bedroom.

Of course, as a kid, I had to be the one to witness it all. Come to think of it, I missed Dad so much. I quietly shed a few tears thinking about what I witnessed at a young, innocent age, but decided to keep a brave face in the ultimately dangerous past of what my dad had to go through.

So saying, I stampeded downstairs to set up the VCR. I inserted the mysterious tape and slumped onto my red velvet sofa to watch what was going to appear on my screen.

The first thing that appeared on my screen in a burst of static was the old CBBC logo from 1991. Strange, I thought. My dad doesn’t usually record things like that. He usually records my family home movies, including one hilarious one where we went swimming while on holiday at the seaside and a fierce orange dog nearly took his camera away when it swam past. Dad had to fight tooth and nail to get the camera back, even if it meant it got destroyed afterwards.

In a flash of time, a beautifully hand drawn animation of a joyous young man in a brightly coloured patchwork jumper and torn jeans driving a cartoony red car with a smiling mouth on its front bumper and eyes where its headlights are across a rainbow-shaded street appeared on the TV.

Some upbeat country guitar music began playing, and a cartoony voice that sounded remarkably like Goofy, another Disney favourite of mine, began to sing:

“I know a man who resides in a place

Everywhere, a familiar face

Songs and games and stories and more,

If it’s fun you’re looking for!”

As the song bounced along joyfully, I happened to take a closer look at the billboards in the background. To my shock, each of them said the same thing. In messy, dripping black paint, against the soulless white canvas of all these boards, was this word:

“HELP!”

Was I living in a real Creepypasta or something? Was the tape haunted?

I had to continue.

As the smiling animated man leapt out of his car and boogied his way to the front door of his house, the cartoony voice continued singing:

“Dylan is a friendly guy

He makes learning easy as pie

He’d like to share what he knows with you

And maybe you can join in too!”

The man slammed the bright red door shut in his way in, revealing a hanging sign that said:

“DYLAN’S PLACE”, in pastel coloured rainbow letters. From offscreen, a chorus of little kids squeaked out:

“DYLAN’S PLACE!!”

It then faded into a warmly-coloured living room, sort of like the sets you saw on Playdays, decked in all the Autumn colours:

Red, orange and yellow.

Sitting on the couch was Dylan. He looked like the animated man from the intro, only real. When he noticed the viewers, he waved in a friendly manner all kids’ TV presenters had, and greeted warmly:

“Why hello there! Dylan here. Welcome to my living room. I’m waiting for Postman Pete to deliver a special letter to me today. It contains the new word of the day! I wonder what it is?”

As if on cue, an abrupt sound of a doorbell ringing sounded from offscreen. An excited look appeared on Dylan’s friendly face.

“That must be Pete now! Come on, let’s see what word he has for us today!”

What word did he mean? Lots of questions were spinning around my head as I stared confused at the screen. Was it the word painted crudely on the animated billboards from earlier, “HELP”?

It then cut to the outside of Dylan’s house, which featured a man in a full body rubber lizard costume wearing a postman’s uniform at the door. I presumed it must be Postman Pete, as I thought he could be a cuddly, friendly skunk like Mailman Moe from Pibby.

Dylan opened the door, and his face beamed with smiles at the sight of his post carrier friend.

“Hi, Pete! Did you bring us today’s word?”

“Of course, Dylan! Hold on, let me search for it.”

Pete spoke with a thick Westcountry accent, which baffled me because most lizard creatures, like ones I’ve seen on Power Rangers or Doctor Who as a kid, had gargling voices that sounded like someone was drowning in toxic waste and mutating into something revolting. This lizard character’s voice was warm and friendly, like most preschool characters were.

After pulling out a few random things from his post bag, including a yellow rubber duck, a red and white clown ragdoll, a fairy tale storybook and a smelly old piece of cheese, finally he got out his letter and handed it to Dylan kindly. I thought this was usually the one holding the word of the day.

“Thanks, Pete.” smiled Dylan.

“No problem, Dil,” chuckled Pete, but this expression didn’t last long. His smile quickly melted into a frown.

“Although….I don’t think the kids are going to like it.”

Dylan stared at the camera with a fake, pathetically sad look on his face. It didn’t last long however, as his jolly smile returned as he told Pete:

“They’ll like it anyway! Goodbye, Pete!”

“Goodbye, Dylan!”

It then went back into Dylan’s living room. As he made his way to the sofa, he announced to the viewers:

“Pete may have warned us, but that won’t stop us from seeing today’s word inside his envelope.”

He slumped down onto the sofa and held the letter up for the viewer to see.

“Alright, let’s see what the word is inside today!”

A rumbling drum roll sounded as Dylan opened the envelope and pulled out a piece of paper. I was beginning to feel a bit shaky at this point - was the word of the day really the one painted on the billboards? If this was some kind of analog horror tape, I am not falling for it. I have read these kinds of Creepypasta stories online during my teen years, and I haven’t been scared by any of them. This whole Dylan thing was different, but it would change my life forever.

At last, the drum roll halted abruptly with a loud gong crash, and then a dramatic sting that sounded like one of the pieces of stock music you would normally hear on Power Rangers: Ninja Storm. Judging by the hilarious look of shocked surprise on Dylan’s face, I saw what the word on the paper he pulled out was, and this time, it was in thin, black, thorny writing, as if Tim Burton offered to help write it:

“ALGORITHM.”

Dylan gave a nervous smile, as if being confronted by an old school bully. He stuttered:

“Okay, that’s not what I had in mind, but…let’s spell out the word together! Ready?”

With that, he and an offscreen group of little children spelt out:

“A, L, G, O, R, I T, H, M!”

Abruptly, the little kid voices called out in a mix of shock, horror and confusion:

“ALGORITHM?!”

The pastel rainbow coloured words that appeared in front of Dylan turned grey and began to decay in a slow process, as storm clouds drawn using a wobbly Bob Godfrey-like animation style moved in to block the word. Crashing thunder and an evil laugh rang out of my TV, as if Zeus from another favourite Disney film of mine, Hercules, had come to punish me.

Come to think of it, I wished a bit that I hadn’t thrown my old Disney Hercules tape into the green bag after all.

When the shrill sounds died down and the clouds parted, Dylan reappeared. This time, he wasn’t his usual, cheery self. He felt utterly depressed, as if he had watched his own father commit suicide the same way I had witnessed mine take his own life. 

He wasn’t wearing his colourful patchwork jumper and torn jeans. This time round, he was wearing a smart-looking uniform with a blood red tie, and his trousers had changed to those kinds fit for business. The set around him had now changed into a run down living room, as if filmed on location instead of a set, with a broken TV and windows, and crisp packets and empty Coke cans everywhere. It looked like one of those Adult Swim shows where it started off as a gentle kids’ show, but turned into something dark and harrowing.

Speaking of which, he turned his head to me and then he said:

“Algorithm is a bad word for how children consume media on screens these days, whether on a phone, computer, tablet or TV. We all need to take action now before it’s too late.

And that’s why I’m counting on you, Bruce.”

My jaw almost fell out of my mouth. I was flabbergasted by what I heard and saw. From outside, there were sounds of glass windows breaking, people screeching in fear, gangs yelling outside and ambulance sirens blaring, and in the corner of the room I could make out what appears to be a rubbery green thing. I looked closer for a minute, and gasped loudly.

It was the corpse of a bright green gecko, with a bloodied Postman Pat doll right beside it. Its stomach was cut open and its tiny red entrails were scattered everywhere. I felt like I wanted to vomit up tubs and barrels. It felt exactly like Mr Neighbour’s House, where a man in an insane asylum is locked in his own mind because he thinks he is a warm, friendly kids’ show host.

Was I actually watching a personalised video? A horror analogue tape? My dad never produced things like that! And why would a show for little kids from the ‘90s mention screens and forced action? That was crazy! No show could ever mention that. No show like this ever showed us a bloodied corpse of an animal beside a doll either - it would be too disturbing even if a teacher showed it at a local preschool.

It then faded to a montage of stock footage of real kids playing on their phones and tablets. I thought that was quite weird for a retro preschool show to display this kind of stuff, as only videos on Youtube showed it, but then Dylan said something no preschool host had ever said before.

And what he said was the first step to changing my life for eternity:

“With children like ones we raised today spending more time on screens, Youtube has dominated where the quiet, low stimulating, storytelling nature of kids’ TV used to stand.

The content kids consume these days isn’t as calm and gentle as what we used to have. Many of the videos, films and TV kids watch today is loud, overstimulating, and created entirely for our word for the day.”

The word ‘ALGORITHM’ appeared on the screen again, and the little kid voices piped up once more, this time, they all sounded like they were crying, as if they had watched too much Cocomelon or Peppa Pig and had become overstimulated themselves:

‘ALGORITHM….’

Dylan went on:

“So Bruce, unless you take action on behalf of our British creators, everyone will suffer the same fate as what your dad is about to do.”

And just like that, the TV switched off abruptly and the tape popped out. It flew across the room, but I managed to catch it, as if I were a player for an American football team.

I was both confused, shocked and distraught by what I watched. My aging brain felt like it was about to explode from all the information I processed as I watched Dylan talking about that word. ‘ALGORITHM’.

WHAT?! Why would a kids’ show host address me by my actual name? Hosts like ones on Blue Peter and SMart referred to the young audience watching as ‘Guys’, but Dylan referred to me by my name! Was there a dubbing error in the script when it was written? And why would Dylan want me to take action? And more importantly…

WHY DID HE MENTION MY DAD?!

From what I saw, I knew something had to be done - AND FAST!

The next few days were flooded to the roof with phone calls and long, exhausting daily - and sometimes nightly - drives in my rag n bone truck, delivering goods to the charity shop for their grand sale. But throughout I got distracted by those distressing visions and sounds in my head - the little kid voices crying in overstimulated pain, the gecko corpse with its little intestines littered on the floor, and Dylan transitioning from a colourful jumpsuit to a businessman’s uniform. At one point, I almost swerved off the road and nearly hit a mother driving in a car with her baby. I got a parking ticket for this, but I kept on going no matter what.

On Thursday, the day after I got my parking ticket, I was given permission to leave for home early because my bones suddenly felt weary, as if they were made of China and were about to break. I was helping to carry a heavy sofa to an antique furniture store in a town near where I lived, when I suddenly felt my bones feel like they’re about to break under the weight of the sofa my co worker and I were carrying.

Even though I made a phone call to the doctor to see about why my bones feel like they’re about to be crushed to pieces, staying at home gave me a superb opportunity to watch the tape once more to process all of what Dylan said over again - if I can keep my eyes away from that gecko corpse.

But there was nothing this time. Zilch. Nada. Not a sausage. Without warning, a weblink written in white letters faded in showing Ofcom’s email address.

Immediately, I knew what to do. This tape was going to help me save all the nation’s children from an algorithm-free future! I switched off the TV, brought out my cracked laptop and typed an email to Ofcom. Despite a few glitches because my laptop was nearly broken, it was sent right when I clicked the ‘Send’ button. This is what I wrote:

“Dear sir/madam,

I am writing to complain about the algorithm-fuelled media children across the country are consuming these days. My dad secretly produced the Dylan tape to remind me of how overstimulated our nation’s kids are this year.

If you look at shows like Peppa Pig or Cocomelon or even Paw Patrol for that matter, they were all secretly created not with children, but algorithm in mind. If our kids were free of bright, noisy, flashy programmes like these, the world would be better not just for them, but for every single member of their families.

Yours sincerely,

Bruce Barker.”

Immediately afterward, I got a phone call from the doctor stating I needed to go to hospital tomorrow for a checkup. It was painful, and it took forever, but then Doctor Matthews revealed the truth: I had brittle bone disease. This came from the result of getting old, I presume, and he told me walking more would only make my leg bones worse, so he hired a social worker to push me around in a wheelchair wherever I went.

In the next few days, my co-worker Robert took over driving my rag n bone truck for me. It was nice of him, a sacrifice I was willing to make, but all through the days I spent battling brittle bones, I worried in my head about whether Ofcom had replied to me yet.

On Monday, a miracle happened. When I switched on my glitchy laptop, I got the surprise of my life.

Ofcom had replied! Hurray!

This is what they wrote to me:

“Dear Bruce,

Thank you so much for taking your time to write to us about your dad. We hope you miss him as much as we miss him too. He gave his life trying to save the future of kids’ TV for all to see in the future, when today’s kids are all addicted to loud algorithm you talked about in what you sent us.

Your father Stephen worked for Ofcom before you were born, and despite every single idea he pitched to the BBC being turned down, we all felt sorry for his every failure and encouraged him to never give up on his dream.

Dylan’s Corner was one idea he pitched for a preschool audience which never took off. He recorded just one episode warning you about this algorithm fuelled future, one only you can’t see until you were older, before he tragically took his own life. We sincerely hope other British TV show creators won’t suffer the same way - John Cunliffe, Brian Cant - everyone who made British kids’ TV a calmer and safer place.

British kids’ TV is no longer protecting kids….but only you can protect them.

Yours faithfully,

Maria Cotswold, head of Ofcom.”

Immediately, I thought of a plan.

A good one. One that would change my life forever.

If you want to know what it is, you can turn the page right now.

Dear Grandpa,

I am the younger cousin of Bruce Barker, but you can call me Wilson Barker. Despite all the questions you asked me, I have to reveal that I was the one who played Dylan in that film you shot - before you went over the Rainbow Bridge. I miss you dearly, and I am writing in my cousin’s place because he died from brittle bone disease two weeks after the day he made headlines during the grand charity sale in the town square. In case you want to know what happened, I’ll recount it to both you and your son right this minute:

The market was bustling about with crowds of people wanting to buy something from the grand charity sale. Tables with all sorts of old toys, games, picture books and China antiques were all set up, waiting to be bought. Some kids were watching Cocomelon or playing games on their tablets - something that worried me as much as what worried you two.

Just then, Bruce, your carer, Shyvone, wheeled you in the middle of the square, causing a deathly silence to fall among the crowd. The look on each member of the crowds’ faces was identical, as if they had been brainwashed into zombies just by watching a deadly cinema screening of Cocomelon while strapped to cinema chairs.

You were holding a bright blue megaphone in your hand, causing the crowd to chatter among each other in louder confusion. Then, Shyvone cleared her throat and called out:

“Hear ye! Hear ye! Bruce Barker has something to say on behalf of not only Ofcom, but what he desires and wishes for!”

Everyone gathered around you, curious to know what you wanted to talk about. Your lips trembled, not knowing what you wanted to say. And just as if someone hit you on the head, you held the megaphone to your wobbling, chapped pink lips and spoke to the crowd in a very loud shout, as if you were a town crier instead of a rag n bone man like I’ve always seen you:

“Ladies and gentlemen!

Three weeks ago, I watched a tape recorded by my father warning us about the deadly, algorithm fuelled future your kids are currently engrossed in! In fact, too much screen time can lead to overstimulation, lack of focus, foggy brains and worst of all - lack of process in their brains!”

The entire crowd gasped in horror, and one little boy dropped his phone out of surprise. It made me laugh a bit seeing him, but still, it was one step towards changing your entire town.

Big cousin, you went on:

“But now, there’s no need to embrace what is making our kids’ brains all fuzzy. Throw all those gadgets away and show your kids what childhood is like through your eyes growing up! And by that, I also mean the shows you grew up watching too!”

“Yeah!” cried one tough man in the crowd. He seemed to follow your example, that’s for sure. You had to continue:

“And if you refuse to do it for me, or for Ofcom, or for the broadcasters who have lost a huge amount of money due to those streaming platforms, do it for my father. If you follow my example, passed onto me by the ones I loved, he will be proud of you too. Follow his example, and he will become your father!”

At first, a stunned silence fell over the crowd as they looked at each other, quite bewildered.

Then, it happened. One woman began to clap loudly. Another man started clapping and whooping. Another crowd member joined in. And another. And another.

Soon, everyone started cheering and clapping wildly. Some excited, encouraged parents threw their kids’ phones and tablets into the nearby bins, and some handed said screen devices to some bin men nearby, who happily threw them into their dustcart. Their kids cheered and hugged their parents seeing them follow your example.

I happened to be watching all this from a bench, away from the raucous nature of the crowd over your powerful, motivational words. I recorded the entire event on my iPhone, even though I was meant to follow your example like everyone else nearby.

And then, came that moment. Oh, that moment. That moment. That moment I won’t forget made you popular, when the entire crowd lifted you in the wheelchair high above their heads, as if you were the next Pope. And then, they started chanting loudly:

“Barker! Barker! Barker!”

This whole moment brought me to tears. I understand you have encouraged people to follow a very good example. An example of life changing, even it can change me…and every other member of your family. Even grandpa. I know he would be proud of you too.

When I posted my recording on my bright, shiny laptop (they had to throw your old laptop away because it was out of date and no longer worked), immediately your speech and the crowd’s intense reactions went viral.

The “Barker!” chant became a well known meme for days on end, with some people using the chant in various videos and memes posted everywhere - Youtube, X, Facebook, Tumblr, you name it, it’s on there, big cousin.

The meme was so popular and so well-received it encouraged parents to develop a healthy detox balance for their kids, adopted by various parenting forums and websites across the net: tech in the morning, detoxing from the afternoon to bedtime. That’s the deal, and I’m proud of you, big cousin, for changing the way kids and their parents viewed algorithms for good.

Now, I am standing at your grave, writing all of this down in your old velvet red diary, as the rain pours onto me like a shower of hope. Since your death from brittle bone disease a few weeks ago, I have made the decision to continue your legacy and use all the money you lent me when I inherited and then cleaned and decorated your house to set up a charity in your honor, named:

“Barker’s Corner”, keeping kids free from a loud, overstimulating, algorithm-free future.

And Grandpa, if I leave this by your tombstone, I want to give you a word of wisdom: should others follow your example, your son has set an example for others to follow too.

We should all be proud of him for what he has done, as much as I am proud of you for helping me warn him. Good luck going over the rainbow bridge - a better life awaits you.

Love and lots of thanks,

Wilson Barker

XXXXXXXXXX

'70s Chill

The ‘70s was a rather rainy time in Britain. Sure there was politics and sport going on in the 9 o’clock news, but Britain’s children didn’t care, because all throughout the ‘70s, kids were looking forward most of all to when their favourite Supermarionation series airing on TV. There was Fireball XL5, Stingray, Captain Scarlet, Joe 90 and of course, the most legendary Supermarionation series of all, Thunderbirds. Thunderbirds aired Saturday mornings on ITV in 1976 at the time, so for me, Brains, Alan and Tin Tin, who are managers at ITV at the time.

On rainy days like this, we would escape the downpour by running into the building as fast as we possibly could, quickly closing our umbrellas or holding the latest edition of The Times over our heads. We’d run to the counter, dripping wet, and the counter lady would look at us and say, “Oh dearie me, you lot are dripping wet. Let’s get you into your marvellous little clubhouse you wanted to be on.”

And that was it - it was our special room. A room which allowed Thunderbirds to be made possible on such a channel as ITV. The floors were patterned with fluffy red velvet carpet, and there was an orange, red, pink and dark blue beanbag lined up in a circle around a giant lava lamp. The walls around us were white and patterned with orange, pink and red flowers with bright yellow middles.

Just nearby was a wardrobe full of beautiful clothes - T-shirts and trousers and socks and hair accessories and knickers and pants - everything we needed when we got out of our wet, soaking work clothes.

10 MINUTES LATER….

Look at us now! We were dressed for work in black uniforms, Alan and Brains wearing bowler hats and Tin Tin wearing a beautiful blue cocktail dress, but now we’re dressed in groovy ‘70s attire. First, check out how Alan looks. His hair had been slit back, and he is wearing a comfy orange T-shirt and brown comfy jeans. The socks he wears are a beautiful shade of red. Brains has snazzier green glasses, he has a sparkling blue jumper on, his boring denim jeans have been replaced by sparkling purple trousers and he was wearing sneakers and blue socks. If you listen very closely, you can hear him making kung fu action hero noises as he poses for us all to see, only to fall over onto his bottom again as we all laugh with him. I just scoff through my laughter, “Brains!” and help him up again.

And Tin Tin looks even beautiful in her ‘70s attire. Her dripping wet cocktail dress has been exchanged for a brown jumper, and she is wearing some rubber bracelets on both wrists. Her wet trousers have been replaced with cool red sparkling ones, and she is wearing the comfiest high heels no girl had ever worn before. Her hair had been done up in a ponytail, and there are three hairclips on each side of her hair - on one side, there are two green clips and one orange clip, and on the other, there are two pink clips and one purple clip. She now has the smell of elegant rose perfume, making her attractive to Alan.

And me? Well, you should check me out. I am wearing a comfy pink T-shirt decorated in daisies, loose orange trousers, red and blue converse boots and, just like Tin Tin, I have clips in my hair - except they have glittery butterfly wings on them. I now have orange perfume on, and I smell as beautiful as an orange tree in an orchard.

Speaking of which, Uncle Orange, one member of Applejack’s family who almost took Applejack in to learn her city ways, was a teenager at the time, and came to see us and accompany us in our room. We both smelt beautifully of orange perfume, and Uncle Orange’s real name at the time was Bob Symphony Orange. He was falling for another girl at the time, a teenage filly named Amelia Harmony Orange, and no matter how many times he tried to get her, she just turned her head away and stuck her pony nose up in the air.

Bob had been depressed over not getting the girl he wanted for quite sometime, but luckily Alan, Brains, Tin Tin and I invited him into our club. Bob and Alan spent most of the time at the table, playing board games and sipping orange juice - you know, because orange juice is Bob’s favourite beverage - while Tin Tin gave me piggyback rides around the room, and Brains just relaxed on the bean bags. We were in complete harmony in this room, because we were free from the loud noises and thuds and screams that made ITV shows like Coronation Street and Emmerdale possible.

Meanwhile, over in another room, Amelia Orange was hanging out with her friends Robert and Zoonie. This was the Fireball XL5 room, and she enjoyed it here as much as she spent time in either the Stingray, Captain Scarlet and Joe 90 rooms with Marina, Destiny Angel or Joe, even before Henry from Angelina Ballerina came along in 2001. Amelia would often play tag with Zoonie, and then chill out with Robert and listen to the latest reggae pop hits. And whenever Robert emerged from the bathroom after a toilet break, oil dripped from his bottom onto the floor.

The Space Feather

Dear Journal,

While on my way to Space City I happened to find a feather which floated down from the sky. But it wasn't an ordinary feather, it was blue and covered with jewels. I ran all the way to Space City to show Zoonie, Venus and Robert my new discovery, but then I decided that I wanted to sneak up behind all the residents and tickle them.

My first target was Venus. While she was experimenting with some space medicine, I snuck quietly up behind her and...tickle tickle tickle! Venus suddenly glowed blue and couldn't help laughing. I next went carefully up to Zoonie, who was asleep in his little bed in the corner. When I tickled him, he too turned blue as Zazu. Then I noticed Robert sitting by himself, enjoying a bit of peace and quiet. I snuck right up to him and started to tickle him. He began to laugh and laugh in his robotic ways, glowing blue as well.

Then I worked the feather's magic on Steve Zodiac, Commander Zero, Lt. Ninety and Jock Campbell until they were all laughing like maniacs. Then I took the feather to Professor Mattic for further investigation. He told me that it was a Elgactus bird feather, and the spell will be broken by midnight. By midnight, everyone had stopped laughing entirely, and had collapsed from too much laughter. Everyone was worn out, but an Elgactus bird was watching through the window, holding a feather in his wing...