Help, I wandered into a Wes Anderson film and now I'm trapped in a dollhouse with a Wilson brother


My name is Penny Featherbottom, or something equally nonsensical. I am a socially outcast Indie hero/creepy fox puppet. Please send help. I have been trapped inside this eerily symmetrical dollhouse for 12 days now with a Wilson Brother. Luke, not even one of the good ones.


It all started two weeks ago when a foreigner bellhop emerged from a whimsical streetcar and handed me a type-written letter inviting me to tea with an eccentric, old millionaire. This was especially surprising because I live in central Ohio and have never seen a streetcar.


When I embarked on this "Bowler Express" - I neglected to mention that the driver was wearing a dapper bowler hat and was also Willem Dafoe. When I embarked on this "Bowler Express" as it were, I found myself in a curious village just outside of Dayton where everyone dressed like they owned a bicycle shop in a 1920s rural England.


"This is your stop," said the Cheshire Cat, I mean, Dafoe, a wisp of air whistling through the gap in his teeth and rustling my hair like a gentle autumn breeze.


It was then, as I stepped out of the car that Wes Anderson himself leapt out of the bushes and threw a burlap sack over my head, actually it may have been tweed. Anyhow, I woke up in the most charming little jail cell an hour later.


There was nothing in my cell but a neatly-made bed and Luke Wilson who sang an Indie-rock/blues hybrid while playing the accordion. The officer, who was dressed like a British bobby handed me an old-timey telephone and said I had one call. But the line would only go through to my estranged father, Bill Murray.


They won't tell me why I'm being held, though it appears that I am the fall-guy for an assassination plot on a Prussian Archduke named Terry Toad, who is a literal amphibian.


It has been 12 days and I yearn for the sweet taste of freedom. I can't take it much longer. Luke Wilson is losing his mind and babbling on about how Owen actually stole the whole "wow" thing from him and how it should be him that is the big star, the "Bull-Wilson" as they call it.


Please help.


Sincerely,


Thaddeus Archsimmons III, Esquire.




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