Enquirer Home Page | Twitter | Back to Improbable Island

Whuh? Oh, right. Meremidia.

Let's get started. I guess.

This specimen originally hails from a semi-bucolic region of the Canadian prairies where the phone book for a community of five thousand will only contain approximately ten different last names. It is rumoured she was merely one month into her winter semester of her second year at college, nearing the end of the fabled and freezing month of January when in a sudden rare fit of free time and delusion, she turned on the television.

Hell if we know why.

The poor abused bunny ears picked up on an unusual signal; Merry's normal range of three and a half channels suddenly turned to five, the sound of a handful of exploding incandescent bulbs could be beheld, the line to her cell phone was cut1), and the doors were kicked in.

Winnipeg's windchill index of minus 49 degrees Celsius2) abruptly became replaced with the balmy, improbability-riddled atmosphere of the Island.

And then, some stuff.

At the time, there were only two pages of registered contestants and Merry figured she not only had ideal temperatures in which to breathe, but room to do so. This illusion was quickly shattered, however, upon the inhalation of a mosquito the size of a hedgehog, followed by a rapid influx of others who had been unfortunate enough to tune their retinas to the tube.

Merry cannot quite recall the details of her initial entrance to the clan Rockin' Into Mordor, perhaps since she had been somewhat hammered at the time3), but nevertheless became an officer then a leader amidst her fits of confusion. Upon the passage of the apocalypse and subsequent arrival into the new age, she reinstated the clan4) and is obsessed more or less intent upon rebuilding the clan buffs. So it's probably a good thing she isn't one of the Thieving Midget Bastards.

Somewhere along the line, she was lingering idly in the Prancing Spiderkitty when the Jerkymaster came through on yet another Dan-induced rampage, it is assumed, spewing gouts of plasma left and right. The hole that was consequently blown through Merry's torso was quickly attended to by Rosin, Snickerer, and Kassil, and now this specimen wanders the Island bearing a life-support system of black forest cake and tubing filled with Joker Special. She has since become something between a human and a Joker, and heads up meetings of the Quilting and Arson Committee which occur every second Pungenday. Meremidia is also quite single.

She has actually since become a sort of ghostie, wandering the island, receiving all sorts of nice things yet completely unable to do anything about it and generally is not mentally present anyway.5)

2) That's -253.2 Fahrenheit.
3) And as she had never engaged in bouts of drunkenness prior to the Island, this happened all too rapidly.
4) No doubt in the midst of another horrible paroxysm of confusion.
5) But-but we LOVES the ghosties so!!!
Logged in as: Guest (Guest)
meremidia.txt · Last modified: 2017/05/28 03:35 (external edit)