I have a deep lust for Ursula Vernon. No really, my soul is both lustful and envious of her and I’ve had the pleasure of having her in my life. Even the merest brush of her presence is enough to make me smile. I adore her. She’s also one of the greatest artists of our times. No really. I’m not making that shit up. Her art hits all my buttons and hell, she won a fricking Hugo last year and even beat Neil Gaiman down at the nacho bar. Okay the last part was a bit of a fluffernut but he was getting in the way of the melty cheese. One does not get into the way of the cheese.
Ursula is a fricking mad scientist of artists. She’s wandered off into 3D land once in a while and recently she made these…sheep. Funny thing is, I even just wrote something similar to one of the sheep into Fish and Ghosts. I adore sheep. I adore bunnies. I adore demonic versions of these things. Don’t even get me started on Little Creature. I love that demon white thingie.
Now, I’m job hunting and I’m trying to be very good about not spending large amounts of money on… my inner squees. I’ve been so good but the recent spat of Ursula sheepie things has weakened me. I wanted one soooooo badly. I mean… SHEEP! Crazy Looking Sheep! In bright colours! She names them and gives them back stories! Pludwhump! Leader of the Wool Tribe. He doesn’t want to be leader but he drew the short straw… so there you go.
My love knows no bounds. But I was good. I have to be very good.
But still, the household needs things like pots and pans so the other day, my sister Jenn ordered some. Boxes began to arrive and I was all…. shit, they shipped the glass lids separately. Toddle it all into the kitchen to open them up when we discover the box marked GLASS is in fact, Pludwhump.
I started crying. Like full on fucking ugly girl getting asked to the prom by Johnny Depp and Dave Navarro, both in leather pants and promising to make my eyes roll back in my head later on in the limo kinda crying. It was ugly.
And I feel like someone poured hot cocoa into my soul and sprinkled it with mini marshmallows that bloom into bunnies.
Pludwhump was a gift from someone who collects Ursula’s stuff. His name is Carl. I do not know Carl but I swear to God, I will now wrestle Satan for him so he can have the last bit of apple pie. Seriously. Fucking stabbing Satan happy.
Because apparently he decided I needed a random act of sheep.
And I did. So hell, ugly cry.
He wishes me good luck on the job search and asks that I give Pludwhump a good home. Because oh yes, he HAS seen things, our Pludwhump.
So Carl and Ursula, I shall. And he will. And yes, he’s very squishy. And I love him dearly.
Thank you. I adore him.
Pludwhump’s story as told by Ursula Vernon of Red Wombat Studio. Yeah she writes too. She also has a best selling children’s series. I would hate her if she weren’t so fricking awesome. Really.
Overheard in the encampment of the Moon-Stuffing Clan, Year of the Potato:
“Look, I’m telling you, there is something weird about Wool-Tribe.”
“Dude, don’t be racist. Just because they’re not like us—”
“I’m not being racist. I’m not saying they’re weird because they’re stuffed sheep, I’m saying they’re weirdos who happen to be stuffed sheep. It would still be weird behavior even if they were chickens or teddy-bears or woolly mammoths or something.”
“Well, fine, maybe they’re a little odd, but they let us pass through their territory, which is more than you can say for some of the other tribes.”
“Is this about their shaman? Because shamans don’t count. All shamans are nuts. Our shaman is nuts.”
“It’s not about their shaman. Frankly, it’s their chief. I think there’s something really wrong with him.”
“Pludwump? There’s nothing wrong with him.”
“Maybe he’s a berserker, did you think of that? Do you have something against berserkers?”
“He is not a berserker. My mother was a berserker, okay? I have no problem with berserkers! Whatever’s wrong with him, it’s not that.”
“Well then, what is it?”
“….I dunno, man. Something about the eyes…”