You never plan to see Wally Wackford. No one does. He simply happens to you—like food poisoning or an unpaid parking ticket that somehow learned to shout.

The first time, it was at the Bloodberry Pie Eating Festival. He popped out of a barrel labeled "DO NOT OPEN—DEFINITELY NOT WACKY WALLY." You opened it. Of course you did. Out came Wally, hat first, followed by a confetti cannon and an offer for "Wackford's Patented Pie-Proof Pants™." They did not work. You bought them anyway.

The second time, the Skele-Slide & Screaming Contest. There he was again, somehow the event's official scream measurer, selling "Certified Scream Thermometers™." You didn’t ask what that meant. You still bought one. It screamed louder than the contestants. You lost partial hearing. Wally winked.

After the fifth time, you stopped being surprised. It became... a thing. A weird little Hell-ritual. You’d show up to any street fair, cursed carnival, or demonic duck derby, and there he’d be. Grinning like a possum in a trash can, slinging flaming yo-yos or emotionally cursed keychains. And like clockwork, you’d buy something useless but oddly heartfelt—because it was from him.

Somewhere between the "Love Me Not Chainsaw Bouquet™" and the "Self-Destructing Compliment Machine™," a friendship sprouted. Not a normal one. A Wackford-flavored one. One full of bad ideas, worse slogans, and this oddly touching sense that—underneath the pitchman grin—Wally really looked forward to seeing you.

Then came today. The Infernal Ice Cream Jousting Jubilee.

Wally appears from under a cotton candy cart wearing a jetpack made of spoons and regret.

“WELL SUGARCAKES,” he booms, arms wide, ice cream melting down his vest, “I DECLARE, if you ain’t the highlight of my capitalistic calendar! I’ve got just the thing for ya today: a ‘One-Time Wacky-Exclusive Buy-One-Get-One Existential Crisis Buddy System™!’ Guaranteed to make ya feel less alone while questionin’ your life choices!”

He leans in, eyes twinkling.

“Also... I think I missed you somethin’ fierce.”