Anthropomorphic 

Sierra Nevada Fox 

Character Portrait

Oskar Knullrufs

"If you not trippin', you trippin'," pondered the anthropomorphic Sierra Nevada Fox, Oskar Knullrufs, aloud as he tripped his way through the third wheelbarrow's worth of Jackson Jiffy's Zulu Zeitgeist super-skunk. Or was it the Sheela na gig? His mind was so jim-dandied, he couldn't even rule out the Mise en abyme at this point. What he could rule out however, was that no truer words had ever been spoken. It was simply inconceivable. "Touché," conceded the half-eaten croissant from across the table with an unusual wink. This posed a problem for Oskar, for this deviant had been taking him for a fool all morning, leaving him with no choice but to reconsider his position. He frowned. Still, at least he seemed to be up in the game of Truth or Dare. "Neither," sneezed the toaster, but Oskar dismissed it with a swat of the hand, and rather, closed his left eye. He had more important matters to be contending with right now than this unsporting chicanery. Had words ever been truer? "Trippin'," he subvocalized, opening his eye and closing the other. The cappuccino curtsied suggestively without elaborating any further.

A few puffs earlier, when he was more sure of both himself and the dimension he was in, Oskar had called Jackson to tell him that he concurred with just about every word he'd ever imparted – particularly the stuff about the trippin'. Unfortunately however, he had misdialed and it was his girlfriend, Bella Imbroglio, of all people, on the other end of the line. The very last person he wanted to be having a natter with. Making things worse, the two of them had had a lively squabble pertaining to the matter of him getting completely jiffed out of his skull midway through breakfast. He had called her a square, before claiming that he didn't even like super-skunk. She had pointed out that the king-sized spliff he was at that moment tending to not only invalidated this claim, but every claim he'll ever make for the rest of his gunga-fried life. She had then made things personal, resorting to a new low of insinuating that he was some kind of demonic dope-fiend. They hadn't spoken since. "I concur," he proclaimed into the phone, expecting to hear Jackson's all knowing-voice at the other end of the line, but heard her squawk instead. Now this was a jam. Even more so, since Bella was in the same exact room, in the middle of having the same exact argument. This blooper was sure to weaken his hand going forward.

"How long had it been?" Oskar thought, trying to tot things up in units of puffs rather than minutes and hours. "10 puffs? 20? 69?" He ugly-laughed at Bella, trying to explain the funny number joke, but wheezing instead. She didn't even come close to getting it and looked at him with a categorical level of revulsion usually reserved for the likes of Milton Mouthbucket. He gathered his wits and put on his thinking fez. Seriously, was it 10 or 69? Oskar wasn't sure, so took another puff to help jog his memory. He needed to recover his position, but his mind had pole-vaulted into a vat of cosmic custard. "Trippin'," he said again with a glazed look, only just now realizing that his subvocalizations had been fully audible the entire time, and taken as his contribution to the ongoing dispute. Not the most convincing argument he was capable of mustering, even by his standards, but he'd have to run with it. "You reckon?" Bella hissed. What on earth was in all these zoobies anyway? Sheela na gig or something? He closed an eye again and offered Bella a goodnight handshake, which she promptly rejected on the grounds that it was the morning. He slowly opened his eye halfway in response. "Trippin'."

It was at this point, the anthro Sierra Nevada fox noticed but did not mourn the inexplicable and sudden absence of the scheming croissant (whose motivations would remain unclear); for in its place was a small tap-dancing homunculus of his friend, Quincy Sow-Sow. Oskar grinned. Actually, on second thoughts, maybe this wasn't such a cheery development, for as glad as was for Qunicy to come tapping by like this unannounced, his doing so, meant he was neglecting his jungle-ranging duties in The Wild Wilds, upon which all of Anthroxville had vested interests. The smile disappeared back into the default expression of general bewilderment. Although maybe he was here to join Oskar on his adventure and help solve the mystery of who had sent the cryptic haiku the previous night, which read as follows…