Anthropomorphic

Cavalier King Charles

Spaniel Character Portrait

Effie Lollygag

Effie Lollygag always has a way of making even the most jaded Anthroxville denizen feel like they are basking in the glow of a cosmic joke. Clad in her signature pink gingham blouse, green floral skirt, and crowned with a wreath of roses, the anthropomorphic cavalier King Charles spaniel presides over her meditation sessions with the nonchalance of a diva who knows she has her audience in the palm of her perfectly manicured hand. Her presence is both mesmerizing and comforting, a blend of elegance and whimsical charm.

"...And try not to give a tinker's tootle about how you’re feeling in this moment…or the next…" Effie purrs, her voice as soothing as a poolside martini on a lazy summer afternoon, to her devoted circle of zen-seekers, crammed tighter than lies in one of President Clint Bigot's speeches. Legs pretzeled into perfect poses of passive enlightenment, they strive to achieve the elusive state of mindlessness. The air is thick with incense and the soft hum of wind chimes, a sensory cocoon of tranquility. Mindlessness, as it is known, has become the latest craze in Anthroxville, thanks to the enigmatic spiritual guru Gwylim Soulqueef and his fledgling cult, the House of Soulqueef, where attaining mindlessness is a fundamental stage on the path to supreme celestial joy and immortal bliss.

Gwylim's philosophy is as simple as it is absurd: all suffering in life is caused by caring. Caring about having your life savings swindled by Gregory Fromage; caring about having your head boshed in by John Knuckle; caring about being secretly spied on by Florence de Looselips; caring about having your every thought manipulated by Vanessa Trifle; caring about being tattooed without consent by Gideon Rumspringa; caring about being T-boned or rear-ended by Kingsley Throttle. Caring about every little thing you hate and everyone you despise, including yourself. It is all a pernicious little phenomenon of the ego, which rattles around in your consciousness like a neurotic hamster on a wheel, driving you mad every waking second.

As the Soulqueef theory goes, all suffering in life is caused by caring. Caring about having your life-savings swindled by Gregory Fromage; caring about having your head boshed in by John Knuckle; caring about being secretly spied on by Florence de Looselips; caring about having your every thought be manipulated by Vanessa Trifle; caring about being tattooed without your consent by Gideon Rumspringa; caring about being t-boned or rear-ended by Kingsley Throttle: caring about everything little thing you hate and everyone you despise, including yourself. Caring is a self-conceited phenomenon of being overly present in the moment, with the neurotic homunculus ego madly rattling around in your consciousness every waking second of every single day. It is a pernicious little bugger, holding you hostage at the far end of your wits with its incessant yapping and whapping, until you are eventually nagged into a nervous breakdown. "Many such cases," Effie will note mournfully, observing the epidemic of nervous breakdowns throughout Anthroxville. Hence why the House of Soulqueef teaches all its devotees to take the leap of faith and dare not to care. To simply throw your hands up and shrug with the immanent koan "Meh" of absent-minded indifference.

Effie, alongside the crystal-gazing psychic sicko, Patience Bibble-Rose, is one of the few who have ascended to the highest stage of enlightenment within the cult. They don sanctified garlands to signify their supreme indifference, though Effie, true to form, couldn't care less if she tried. However, it hasn’t escaped her notice that Gwylim has been increasingly cozying up to Patience. The guru has even bestowed upon her a garland so large and flashy it looks like it could double as a Christmas tree topper. Not that Effie is jealous. As if. Meh. It's just another test, another episode in the cult's ongoing soap opera of over-the-top theatrics, a spectacle Effie has learned to observe with the same bemused detachment she reserves for dealing with the antics of Milton Mouthbucket or Marty Shuffle. After all, in the grand scheme of their cosmic quest, a bit of garish pageantry is just another bead on the rosary of their absurd journey to enlightenment, right?

One memorable day in Gwylim's harem, there is only one can of Humphrey Skedaddle's famed, Skedaddle Soda left, a rare commodity in their zen circus. Effie, ever the proactive one, had already called dibs on it. But Patience, lost in her blissful daze of mindlessness, had slurped her way through several cans without a second thought, leaving a trail of empty containers like nobody's business. Effie, the epitome of serene indifference, merely raises an eyebrow—a gesture that, in the quirky lexicon of their cult, could mean anything from mild curiosity to outright disdain. But here, it’s merely punctuation for a thought Effie has long since abandoned, a tiny ripple in the vast ocean of her detached tranquility. After all, what’s a single can of soda between enlightened souls on the path to transcendence? Anyone? No? Meh? However, when both Lola Pipsqueak and Norie Bluffbork, turned up one afternoon, the anthro cavalier King Charles spaniel became...