Lily Hoang - Unfinished - stories finished by Lily Hoang

Do not attempt to pet the Wibble-Wibble!! If the Wibble-Wibble wants to be touched, it will use its beak to pull of a single strand of a Birder’s body hair. This is the sign that it is acceptable to begin the friending dance.

Initiating the friending dance before it is invited is highly discouraged because it will likely cause the Wibble-Wibble to attack without mercy.

Frequently Asked Questions

Q: What should I do to avoid attack?

A: Do as this guide says. Do not stray from this guide.

Q: What should I do if a Wibble-Wibble follows me home and my parents do not allow him/her to stay?

A: The Wibble-Wibble is more important than family. If an elusive Wibble-Wibble follows you home and your parents do not recognize its importance, several swift blows to the head are likely to catalyze a change in opinion.

Q: Do Wibble-Wibble appear clothed in their natural state?

A: The Wibble-Wibble is always in its natural state.

Q: What should I do if a Wibble-Wibble spits on me?

A: Seek emergency attention as expeditedly as possible. The liquid portion of the spit causes something similar to anaphylactic shock, and the hardening agent can also cause clots in blood vessels and skin.

Q: What should I do if I see a Wibble-Wibble hurting itself?

A: Dance!

Q: Is the Wibble-Wibble technically an endangered species?

A: Because of the Wibble-Wibble’s elusivity, it is hard to say. This great nation does not acknowledge the Wibble-Wibble, but we Birders know better.

Q: What if I accidentally kill a Wibble-Wibble?

A: Birders cannot kill a Wibble-Wibble. If we shoot it, its body will naturally eject the bullet. If we stab it in the heart with a stake, its heart will move. If attempt to cut off its head, it will regenerate after an initial healing period.

This is not to say that the Wibble-Wibble is invincible.

Myth has it that we Birders entered an agreement with the Wibble-Wibble centuries ago that no Wibble-Wibble will fall by our own hand. It is unknown what the Wibble-Wibble offered us in return.

Ralph can see every artificial aberration of the skyline: buildings, cars, tractors, individual stalks of corn. He takes a quick panoramic sweep. There’s flatness everywhere, not a damned thing to prevent his view. Not that there’s much to see anyways. He’s been at this for hundreds of miles. Ralph is tired.

Ralph is driving through Illinois. He’s been driving through Illinois for days. It’s the state that keeps expanding eastward. For hours now, he’s seen indications that he’ll soon reach Indiana, but nothing. He drives and drives, and the signs say: Indiana 1, but one mile later, he is still in Illinois. Hell, thirty miles later, he’s still in Illinois. Hell, five hours later, he’s still in Illinois. But luckily, Ralph is diligent.

He used to live in Colorado, but it shrank to be too small for him. He’d drive for fifteen minutes west and go through Las Vegas to hit Oceanside resorts. He’d drive for ten minutes north and hit Canada. He’d jump up and down and before he knew it: Mexico. The state contracted. It ejected him. But Ralph liked Colorado, and he wanted to stay. Unfortunately, it seemed Colorado didn’t want him.

It seemed his girlfriend and his dog didn’t want him either.

Yeah, they didn’t shrink like Colorado, but Ralph had plenty of physical proof anyways.

It’s not geographically possible, what Ralph’s experienced, but it’s what happened nonetheless.

Now, Ralph is driving through Illinois en route to New York from Colorado.

When Ralph had finally admitted that Colorado no longer welcomed him, he jogged over to the Grand Canyon and asked it where he should go. Not surprisingly, it said New York. He asked where specifically in New York.

New York is a large state on the map, but Colorado seemed much larger, just not to Ralph. He wisely thought he should ask for clarification.

The Grand Canyon — exhausted — did not answer.

Ralph thought: Fuck.

So Ralph figured once he reached New York, either places will accept him or they won’t.

What’s odd is that Ralph doesn’t think it’s odd that entire states are contorting to fit him.

Because Ralph has been driving for decades and he still can’t make it through Illinois, he decides to stop at the next rest area. After he’s already exited the interstate highway, he sees a sign: Drug Check Point K-9 Unit Present.

He thinks: What the fuck?

He thinks: Am I crossing a border?

He thinks: I’m finally going to reach Indiana!

But no, he’s not. He’s wrong.

Truth is: Ralph has some medicinal marijuana on him. Nothing much, just a few grams. But enough to be charged with something to make him stay in Illinois forever.

Thing is: He can’t turn around now because he sees another sign: Do NOT turn around.

Then another sign: Proceed to Drug Check Point.

Then another sign: Maybe the Grand Canyon lied.

It’s not the drugs that make these states change shape. No, it’s true. He’s not hallucinating. It’s really happening.

And the drugs are legal. He’s got prescriptions for them. Totally legit.

Ralph pulls up to the Drug Check Point. He hands the green-clad officer his license, registration, drug ID card, and his bags of cannabis.

For kicks, he even throws in his insurance card.

Before he’d actually reached the guard, Ralph played this movie in his head where he somersaults out of his car with his weed and bong and makes a run for the border. Somehow, on foot, he reaches the golden land of Indiana with no problem. It seems the car is the deterrent.

On foot, he runs until he reaches Gary, Indiana. It’s the land of Michael Jackson. Suddenly, Ralph has an epiphany: all of this was so he could live to pay tribute to Michael Jackson, to moonwalk around the periphery of his birthplace.

As the end credits roll, Ralph has another epiphany: it’s a ridiculous idea.

Even in his semi-dream state, he knows.

When Ralph actually reaches the guard, he plays another movie in his head where he hopscotches out of his car with his weed and bong and makes a run for the border. Somehow, on foot, he reaches the golden land of Indiana with no problem. It seems the car is the deterrent.

On foot, he runs until he reaches Bloomington, Indiana. It’s the land of the brother of his Holiness, the Dalai Lama. Suddenly, Ralph has an epiphany: all of this was so he could live to be a Tibetan Buddhist.

In the car, as the green-clad officer reviews his information, he tries his hand at meditation.

It’s not bad.

When the green-clad officer hands back all his forms and cards and whistles him through, Ralph shrugs, as though this shit happens to him all the time.

Before he leaves, he asks how far he is from Indiana.

The guard says: Just one mile.

So Ralph drives.

Behind him, there’s no Drug Check Point.

In front of him, there’s no Indiana.

But Ralph keeps on driving. Eventually, he’ll reach New York, where he’ll try his hand at New York City, Buffalo, Syracuse. Then, the state will begin shrinking.

Ralph will go to the Statue of Liberty.

He’ll ask her: Where should I go?

She’ll shrug: North Dakota.

Then, the journey will begin again.

Only this time, Illinois will never end.

Once, there was a woman named Sarah, and she and her charming husband were pregnant with their first child. Sarah’s pregnancy worried her because she knew the moment her co-workers noticed that her expanding belly was not simply the result of too many coffee-break cupcakes, she knew — she’d seen it too many times before — she would no longer be taken seriously. And of course, now, this, just as she was nearing promotion.