It’s easy to assume this narrative’s been random, but the voice of each installment was heard by the one that followed. Truly. Evolution, schmevoluton. Let’s tie this shit together: there was the void; pre Fry and Laurie, pre microwave popcorn, pre mimes, pre bees, pre-free-to-be-you-and-me.
Then the belch that brought it all into being; random (yes, again) but awesome. Then immediate devolvement; do not pass go, do not eat the apple in the garden of Eden — simply prescribe to conspiracy theory, overpriced milky coffee, cannabis, pseudo-politics, outer-planetary beings, pinkie rings, festering pop music and BAM — you’ve got yourself a story-ish.
There’s a Jerry, a Michelle (aka Frida Fuzzypants; she’s got weather-defying fleece-encased thighs, and may or may not have coffee making skills despite her purported ghost status) and a cultural Bozeman hub. All are theoretically caffeinated. Surely coffee is the finest drug: legal, affordable, effective daily, smells good, tastes good, contains ritual — so it must be repressed. Sell them warm homogenized cow-udder by-product with processed corn syrup additives instead and they’ll pay double to stick around waiting for the elusive coffee buzz. Toss in cannabis, a smidgen of entertainment and promise of sex and they’re even more hooked.
So, back to Jerry and his vague Muse as they suddenly clasp hands and peer into the void of the pre-told end of the world as we know it… (and do you feel fine?)
