House Flamingo
βThe Pink Remembers.β
Read the dossier →A satirical chronicle of the Covenant Hollow Homeowners Association
Where not all shall reign: the battle for the one true throne.
Every lawn has a throne.
Beneath the picket fences and the freshly mowed stripes, a small American planned community is behaving like a medieval kingdom. The prize is a single beige executive office chair — the Chair — bolted to the floor of Clubhouse Room B. The war is for the right to be the neighborhood’s single loudest opinion. Everything is at stake. And nothing actually matters.
Declaration of the Flamingo Rebellion
By Royal Decree of the King of the Pink
Let it be known to all houses of the Hollow: no lawn shall be ruled by a clipboard, and no ornament shall be felled for exceeding eighteen inches. The pink remembers. The throne is a lawn chair, and it belongs to everyone — and therefore to no one.
Six factions. One beige chair. Zero consequences.
βThe Pink Remembers.β
Read the dossier →βGrow, or Begone.β
Read the dossier →βAs It Was, So It Shall Be β Forever.β
Read the dossier →βWe See All Non-Compliance.β
Read the dossier →βWe Grow, Gently, and We Watch.β
Read the dossier →βChaos Is a Ladder.β
Read the dossier →Seed dispatches from the front lines of the mulch wars.
The Board declares emergency session over the precise color of mulch, and the realm divides into red and black.
At the February vote, the old guard learns the hard way that the Chair is not a seat β it is a siege.
The Long Inspection arrives, and when the Board's dragon appears on your lawn, you learn who the neighborhood has been watching.
A completely serious, entirely unsolicited listicle on the plainly visible symptoms of a waning reign.
In-universe history of the beige throne, as told by the dynasty that has sat on it for eighteen years.
On the eve of the vote, the historian of the Hollow β the Garden Committee β decides which version of the story survives.
House Pylon does not take sides in the war for the throne. It takes percentages.
The annual Garden Walk is a celebration of horticulture β and absolutely, one hundred percent, not an intelligence operation.
Every rebellion needs a first night. This one began with a single plastic bird and a covenant about eighteen inches.
The Board's annual potluck is a fine gathering of casseroles, and a sharper gathering of knives.