I missed National Pillow Fight Day on the 10th of April, but here’s a little comedy in honor of our favorite camping, sleepover, or just bust-the-sibling hobby.
Happy feathers!
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Clementine Dong was the reigning queen in three areas—obscure trivia, ninja stealth and sibling pillow combat. The children’s bedroom of 42 Pitbull Street became a veritable battlefield of war cries, popcorn catapults and, mostly, pillow fluff.
But her brother, Percy Dong, was not to be outdone. Tired of living in his big sister’s shadow, he began training in secret. But unlike the feisty Clementine, he was a thinker. His ammunition would, hopefully, put Clementine out of commission on the feather front—the wacky Super pillow.
Percy’s pillow had secret chambers and a zippered compartment that could hold massive weapons’ arsenals. No one noticed Mum’s glitter jars disappearing, or the smell of popcorn drifting from Percy’s room. He wasn’t just preparing a surprise attack—it was Operation Pillowgeddon.
And so, the attic became a cinematic pillow arena, with Percy and Clementine as the main gladiator cast. The action was fast, furious, and reminiscent of a few forgotten snacks.
The first hit was a cloud of slapping feathers. Percy struck. Clementine countered. The alarm clock on the table shrilled in approval. The victims—unassuming feathers—-drifted to the floor this aggressive day.
Just as Clementine reached to grab another pillow filled with feathery fluff, Dame Cloudy the Dog of Cushionshire entered the gladiator arena.
At the sheer nobility of her bark—-a gentle, yet sharp monotone—-a dignified queen berating her court with a single sound—-the siblings ceased fire.
Their mother stepped in, shaking her head. “Thanks for the assist, Dame C,” she patted Cloudy, and the little dog sat quietly in the corner. “What did I tell you two about pillow fighting? Or ANY fighting.” She shot them a look that spelt “grounded.” Clementine and Percy gave her sheepish looks of acknowledgement.
Clementine, still not daring to look up, finally spoke. She extended the olive pillow. “Er…let’s call it a draw.I think we’re both sick of feathers going up our noses.” “Yeah, my allergies are acting up. Uh..ex…CHOO!”
Thus, there was no score. Just two defeated siblings and a throne of Truce.
All three laughed so hard, the attic beams rumbled in unison.Cloudy, still a member of esteemed canine aristocracy, gave a quiet bark of approval.
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