Good evening, citizens of the Rainbow Jetskis and Frogling Marching bands, I am your entertainment corrospondent, Issy Lemurs, with a quick top story update. The renowned 800 year old Bard Tom Bones has accidentally turned himself into a badger after eating a talking potato from Mrs. Eggman's garden. Eyewitnesses we spoke to have told us "It's not unusual" for Mr. Bones to experience misfortunes such as these and that, once Mrs. Eggman and her husband, Mr. Walrus, return from their holiday to the Strawberry Fields, the curse will be removed and he'll be returned to "the green, green grass of home." Until then, it looks like Tom is SETT to stay the night with fellow Bard and Astoria's Got Talent Judge, Ankleborg Humplefink, at his lavish golden fortress high up on the Von Doom Mountains, which is protected by a strike team of fourteen witches and a forcefield made up entirely of bulldog bats. That's the news for now, dumplings of the Five Biffle Quackers, you're up to date. Good night...or, if you've taken an Osprey to Opposite Land on the Twelftieth of Flanuary, a very good morning. Please don't eat all the crumpets, otherwise my baby Dragonkin will incinerate you.

Greetings, fellow community members and Internet trolls... the actual trolls who built the Internet, not those rapscallions who've done a disservice to their name... um, anyway, I digress. I'm Princess Astrid of the nearby kingdom of Arcadia and I wish to report the bizarre blizzard that befell the outskirts of the castle yesterday. There I was, making my way to the castle on the back of a pink elephant called Percival Von Bussahoffen the Third, innocently conjuring dancing mice with my magic saxophone, which is also a leopard, when all of a sudden, the sky was filled with ripe bananas! They momentarily lined the air, like the most calm and patient aerial display team you have ever seen, before, on the turn of a Elven Farthing, divebombing the castle and the surrounding area! There were streaks of yellow, as far as the eye could see, as the bananas bombarded and bamboozled the bewildered and baffled beings below. Many were fortunate and got to shelter under the wings of a ginormous Vulture which was nearby. Others were less fortunate and ended up pelted by the dastardly delicious fruit, leaving them unconscious, bruised and covered in a fine coat of banana peelings whilst waiting for Doctor and The Medics to arrive. I was lucky enough to evade the mysterious blizzard because, lo and behold, the local public transport, the lead zeppelin, happened to be passing. I was quick thinking enough to shrink my elephant and leopard, put them in my talking satchel called Misty and hop aboard the convenient air bus, being driven by a wonderful Orc called Callamastia. I gave her the most wonderful review on Welp. As of writing this report, I am currently making my way to Terry the Hippogriff, who is Chief Researcher at the McGoohan Institute on the nearby Village Island, to see If we can get any answers to this bizarro event. Or, at least, to see if the rumors are true and he does, indeed, make one hell of a banana daiquiri.