Here’s a cleaner Google Doc version if you prefer this one
I’m excited, Charlie! Today is a great sunny day TO MAKE KIDS SMILE!
I think you had a little too much caffeine, Pim.
Laying on the brown couch just below the Aztec-influenced artwork and a family portrait on the wall, Timothy Martinez took a day’s worth of watching absurd, surreal shows on his 4K UHD TV. For the past two weeks since his graduation from Woodspring High School, Timothy had been on the couch watching HBO Max with a Playstation controller in his hand.
Plip.
He put down the controller and reached for his phone. Snapchat. From Rad Chad 23 times 3.
“Hey dude. You’ll never guess what I just bought @ the thrift store.” Rad Chad captioned. It was some foreign object.
Tim snapped a selfie showing off his red flannel and a white tee. Eyes widened. He captioned it, “is that a vape?”
A minute later, Rad Chad replied with his selfie, “no dude. even better. i’ll come by and explain.”
The Martinez family lived in a California ranch-style, Moroccan clay-colored house situated next to a palm tree in a middle-class residential area; a blue four-door sedan pulls into the curbside right in between the entrance to the driveway and mailbox. Chadley Evans, donning an oversized light-blue shirt with a cross outline, and a pair of khaki vineyard vines shorts, exited his vehicle and approached the entrance.
Ding-dong
Tim turned his head towards the front door. He got up to open it. It was Chad.
“Finally dude. I was getting a little bored watching HBO Max. Wanna join me?”
Chad scraped his grey Nike shoes onto the Bienvenidos mat, and his silver-plated cross necklace swung an inch, “I’m down!”
Ughughughughugh! Yes, Nate. YES!
A highly-pitched blonde woman can be heard on the TV. Tim and Chad stared at the scene — awkward and confused. And hot. From the summer heat outside.
“I certainly don’t get how Sophie and Alana like this,” Chad broke the silence, criticizing his close friends’ taste in television.
“I know, right? They be posting memes and tweets about this. It’s basically a Thirteen Reasons Why with Zendaya.”
“She went from a fictitious dancing show on Disney to this? Wow.”
After a few minutes of figuring out all the “Rue” memes on Instagram, Tim hit pause from his PS4 controller and turned to his companion.
“Hey Chad,” Tim said, “so you bought something from Mackelmoore’s Thrift Store?”
“Oh yeah.” Chad brandished this blue, pen-shaped device out of his pocket. He recounted moments ago when he went to the thrift store to donate old crap. He was also looking forward to buying an oversized hoodie to workout in. As he was getting ready to pay, he approached the only employee on duty, An unkempt, shaggy-haired, visibly impaired man in his mid-twenties. Chad had placed his items when he noticed a blue pen on the counter. He grabbed it. The red-eyed man sluggishly explained to Chad that some horny teenager wanted to trade in a so-called magical blue pen for some Playboy magazines. He claimed to see that teenager mysteriously disappear back into a blue portal leading into another dimension. Out of intrigue, Chad had bought the pen and hoodie and left.
“Are you sure you can trust this guy, Chad?” Tim raised his eyebrow. “He doesn’t sound believable, especially as a junkie.”
“Well, no. But you know how I am.” Chad held up the pen like a sword. “All I did was dish out twenty dollars out my pocket for this come up. Let’s see if what he said is really true.”
Oblivious by that extraordinary claim, Tim agreed. Besides, he had nothing better to do besides watch TV and masturbate.
Chad inspected the pen closely, trying to figure out how it worked. It wasn’t a kind of blue pen he’d use for writing notes in his AP US History class he barely passed. It didn’t seem like the kind that his older frat brother would hit. It was a blue, mechanical rod-shaped device that had a few small buttons and a flashlight lens. Chad pointed the lens towards the TV and pressed the button.
ZAP! A blue swirly portal emerged in mid-air, giving off a cool wind breeze that hit underneath the guys’ skin.
Their eyes widened. What seemed to be a druggie’s imagination actually came true right before the duo. Tim’s mouth opened up in awe. After a few seconds, he turned to his close friend.
“Chad, I know what we’re gonna do today!” Before he could even embark on a trip to the unknown, Tim thought of his pet dog. “Say, where’s Harry?”
A beige-furred bulldog came out of the kitchen, panting up a smile.
“Oh, there he is.” Tim approached Harry to pet him. “You be a good boy, okay?”
The guys walked through the portal as if it was one of those bead curtains that led some horny guy to the sex aisle—only difference was that it felt like walking through a hymen. Nothing happened. Everything was the same when they left: same TV set, the familiar Aztec decorations on the wall, and the exact hot temperature that they felt while watching Euphoria.
“Huh?” Tim scratched his chin. “I don’t see any differences. We’re at the same place.”
“The portal was cool though.” Chad inspected the pen, “I guess that guy was half right about how cool this device is.”
«Timothée, c’est les temps pour manger! Viens-ici.» A familiar voice came out of the dining room.
“Mama?” Tim inquired. His mother just spoke to him in a seemingly French accent.
The guys walked into the dining room. The Martinez family almost filled the table. Tim’s mother, Dolores; his father, Francisco; his younger sister, Carolina; his Tio Jose; his Tia Anely, and their young children were seen at the table. It was tradition for the Martinez to gather and eat food from casual restaurants every Sunday.
«Qu’est-ce que tu fais? Allez!» Dolores demanded. She noticed Chad, “oh hey, Chad! Care to join us?”
The duo, perplexed at the sound of their speech, stood there.
The family—and Chad—gathered around the white tablecloth-covered table eating pasta, soup, salad, and pastries that the mother had bought from La Madelena Cocina y Panaderia Frances. Tim, staring down at the bread while Chad mowed down a bowl of pasta turned to his mother.
“Mama, porque hablas Frances? When did you learn how to speak French?”
“French?” His mother tilted her head sideways. She giggled. «Mon cœur, on parle Espagnol. Parlons pas de Français.»
Tim stared at his mother fazed. He turned to Chad holding up the pen while chewing on a bageta. The pen projected a blue hologram with text.
“It’s seems that we’re in a Spanish-French Inversion universe,” Chad read. “Hispanic/Latinx communities speak what we know as ‘French’ and vice-versa.”
“Well.” Tim scoffed. His Tia Anely butted into the conversation.
«Ça-va bien, Timothée? Quel est le problème?»
“Tia Anely, es que no hablo Frances. No entiendo mucho y tu normalmente hablas Español.”
«Qu’est-ce que ça veut dire tia?» Anely chuckled. «Je suis ta tantie! Tu rigoles!»
Everyone, except for the guys, laughed. Tim and Chad eyed each other bewildered.
Anely continued, chuckling, «Écoutez-moi tout le monde! Je parle Français: Hweesooputleraguaharacheengaomadretonces!»
Everyone, except for the guys, laughed even harder.
Tim placed his hand on Chad’s shoulder, “Hey bud. Mind if we step outside for a bit?”
“Sure,” Chad mumbled through his moist, chewed-up bageta bits.
“Mind if we be excused for a bit?” Tim asked aloud.
The guys stepped outside the front yard and past the Bienvenue welcome mat.
“Can I use that pen, Chad? I’m not sure if I can get used to this ‘French’ speaking family.”
“Of course,” Chad handed the pen to Tim. “Go ahead man.”
“Thanks.” Tim zapped up a portal
The guys walked out of the blue portal, yet into the same place that they were in as they left. They scanned the area for any differences. They found nothing until they notice Dolores and Francisco arriving home in their Nissan Murano. The dad emerged out of the driver’s side — as a 5’10” armadillo and his human wife.
“Papa? Is that you?” Tim inquired.
“Hey mijo. We just came back from running some small errands,” Francisco ball-rolled towards his son.
Chad was so intrigued at the sight of his friend’s father that he checked for more information from the pen. “Hmm, it seems like we’re in a Human-Animal Society universe.”
“Huh?” Tim responded, “that explains why he’s an armadillo.”
“What’s wrong with being an armadillo?” His father reacted, “We are proud to have a Mexican, half-human and half-armadillo heritage.”
“Yes, mijo. That’s why I married your father.” Dolores embraced her husband, “He sure knows how to roll real smoothly.”
The guys cringed.
“Oh crap,” she continued. “I forgot to run by Hanawalt’s to buy crema pa hacer flautas. Would you guys mind doing me a favor?”
Tim and Chad eyed each other, “Hanawalt’s?”
The guys cruised by the street to get to what would normally be Walmart. As Chad scanned around the road, behind the wheel, Tim wandered his eyes around the drivers: a penguin with a pair of glasses in a Corolla, a Rhinoceros and his human partner cruising in a patrol SUV, and a pair of Roadrunners jogging on the sidewalk.
They finally arrived at their local department Hanawalt’s store. The parking lot was, of course, almost filled up with most of the cars near the storefront. After searching for an optimal spot, Chad noticed the tail lights illuminating out of a golf cart. He saw a tall blue jay and his short raccoon friend twirling towards their cart and hollering like imbeciles; they finally got into their open-air vehicle and drove off.
The guys came inside. A diverse group of human and animal customers roamed around the store: a kangaroo pushing a cart with her joey in the pouch, two mice influencer teenagers on their phones, and a gorilla greeter. Tim grabbed a small shopping cart, and noticed an advertisement inside of it.
Have a mystery? Need someone dealt with? Look no further, contact Detective Harry! At 555-4563.
“Huh? So apparently, my pet bulldog is a detective in this world.” Tim told Chad.
The guys made it to the check-out lane where there was a human cashier on duty, along with a spider bagger. In front of them was a yellow labrador in a hip, yet simplistic, outfit along with his human friend who dressed like a bum and wore flip-flops; they were buying copious amounts of spaghetti strainers for no reason.
“Hoo-ray!” the bum hollered. “Let’s go, PB! Our business idea is a-go!”
The customers in front of Tim and Chad finally left. As soon as the guys placed their items on the conveyor, Tim turned toward Chad.
“You know, that guy sounds a lot like. Um, what’s his name?”
“Aaron?” Chad suggested, holding up an edition of Hollywoo Insider from the magazine rack.
“Oh yeah, that guy.” A lightbulb popped out of Tim’s head, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
Chad’s eyes widened in excitement; he smiled.
“So let’s say that you’re a college student and you’re going to a haunted library just to B.S. an essay for your history class. But the computer starts having technical issues and there are ghosts and viruses everywhere. Who you gonna call?”
After running their errands, Tim and Chad transported themselves into a different universe full of variations of Aaron Paul. At that moment, they stick out from the different types of Aaron in a stand-up comedy club lounge. The Aaron on the stand continued,
“Saul, bitch!”
The audience roared in a burst of laughs. Tim and Chad smiled and applauded from the back of the lounge.
“That’s all I have for tonight. Have a good night, bitches!” Aaron left the building.
“Drive home safe, bitch,” Security Aaron greets chubby Aaron out.
“You too, bitch.” Chubby Aaron waved.
“Y’all take care now. Thanks for coming to the show, bitches.” Security Aaron continued with Tim and Chad walking out.
“Thanks, bitch.” Tim replied.
The guys walked further onto the corner of the comedy club and into a well-lit district of clubs, bars, and restaurants.
“Man, these people sure say ‘bitch’ a lot,” Chad reacted.
“Well, it seems like a part of their speech patterns in this world,” Tim suggested. “It’s pretty much their way of saying ‘eh’ as if they were Canadian.”
Tim’s stomach started to gargle. The sopa de tomate-albahaca from the Spanish-French inversion universe wasn’t enough to satisfy his hunger.
“Say, I’m still hungry. Do you mind if we go on a different universe to eat?”
“Sure.” Chad agreed. “However, mind if I have the pen back? I kinda want to decide on where to go next.”
“Okay, deal.”
Zsssst
The electrical currents harmlessly ran through the guys’ bodies.
“Huh?” Chad questioned, unsure of why the pen decided to just teleport them to a different universe. His cluelessness on the pen’s functionality made it difficult to figure out how he used it differently, “I didn’t know we could also zap ourselves to another universe.”
“That was weird, but I guess we’re in a different setting now.” Tim handed the pen to Chad.
A strong smell of chamomile hit the guys’ nostrils. It seemed that they were in a humble and hospitable living room filled with teapots, herbs, and plants. They approached a fireplace with two furniture-quality chairs and a tea table. The guys encountered a man in his early twenties dressed in a casual t-shirt, a pair of pants, and red Converses. He had a bit of facial hair and a short casual hairstyle.
“Hmm, if it isn’t Tim and Chad.”
The guys were amused at the fact that this man knew their names.
“How do you know about us? Who are you?” asked Tim.
“You may call me the Multiverse God. I created this realm of different possibilities and logic. I’m quite aware that you guys have been traveling for a bit.”
“Um, yeah,” Chad affirmed. “Is that a problem?”
“Meh, not really,” assured the Multiverse God. “I don’t have a problem with it. However, I’m pretty sure that someone old and wise might.”
“What do you mean?” Tim questioned.
“Well, nothing really. I mean I could suggest that you could just go for one more universe and call it a day. But I mean, it’s up to you. Say, you’re hungry, right Tim?”
“Um yeah.”
“Well, I would suggest that you try out the Business Name Parody universe.” The Multiverse God paced around. “However, what I can say is that you stick to that universe and nowhere else. Otherwise, y’all can go home.”
“What would happen if—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Multiverse God interrupted. “Y’all can go to the Business Name Parody universe. I highly recommend it. Just check your Dashdoor app when you’re there. If you excuse me, I have a date tonight.”
“Well, fair enough,” Chad was confused by the implications of the Multiverse God’s warning. Nevertheless, he pointed his pen at a wall, creating a blue sex portal that made the Multiverse God chuckle. Chad told the Multiverse God, “nice meeting you.”
The duo walked into the portal. As the Multiverse God waved them bye, someone was knocking on the front door. The Multiverse God approached and opened it.
Tim lounged on his own couch, peering over his phone, as Chad peered out of the glass sliding doors leading to the backyard radiating the sunlight from the neatly-trimmed grass.
“Huh? I guess we were sent back home,” Chad looked over his shoulder towards Tim, then towards the yard again. “I don’t really see a difference out here.”
“Well, it seems that Doordash changed their name to ‘Dashdoor,’” Tim rebutted.
Chad walked over to Tim, hovering over his shoulder. “What do they have to offer?”
“Let’s see: there’s Mood Pizza, Chick-Filet, Wingspot. Do you feel like eating chicken?”
“Weird business names. For once, some cows spelled their store name correctly. I’m down for Chick-Filet.”
As Tim was determining whether to get a Sunshine Happiness or a Lemonade Frosty for his Chicken Deluxe combo, Chad turned on the TV. It was playing an ad, featuring a ping-pong ball-headed man wearing a cone-shaped hat in his pajamas going to bed:
“Today was a long and stressful day. I need something to relieve my tension. Huh?”
The man reached underneath the blanket. He shuffled something from his lower body and yanked it out. A sandwich.
“What’s this?”
He bit out a piece of the sandwich and smiled. “Oh…”
Try our new Sourdough Spicy Mayonnaise Sandwich from Jack-in-it-Off! A delectable item prepared fresh with our stovetop grill, made with a juicy quarter-pound beef patty. And drizzled in a spicy version of our signature mayo sauce.
A mayo bottle squirted audibly.
The guys grimaced at the commercial.
“Can I zap ourselves to another dimension?” Chad asked.
“Um, okay. Sounds good to me.” Tim closed his Dashdoor app.
Chad slung his arm around Tim and zapped themselves. The ad almost finished:
For only $5, you can go to sleep easily just by taking a bite out of this sandwich. Only at Jack-in-it-Off: We send “it-off” into your mouth!
The guys found themselves to be in a restaurant, seated at a table. A waiter approached their table.
“Hey guys, welcome to Chili’s. Can I start you off with anything to drink?” The waiter handed them their menu.
Chad, dumbfounded by their abrupt appearance in a mostly empty restaurant, looked at the menu to verify the spelling of the restaurant. He turned towards Tim where he could see his friend’s face expressing confusion. Chad turned back to the waiter, “I’ll just stick with water.”
The guys had ordered their Southwestern eggrolls and baby-back ribs for lunch. As soon as the waiter left, Tim opened up a conversation.
“You know, Chad. I’m enjoying this day with you. It’s not every day that we go on uh… Multidimensional adventure. Let alone spend time together,” Tim placed his arms on the table leaning toward Chad. “As close friends, of course.”
“Yeah, of course, Tim. You’re my best friend. I mean, we got to prolong this journey as much as we can before I leave to serve at Windy Gap, and then I only have a week to get to Yale.”
Tim recalled the time in Mr. Phillips’ class that Chad, seated next to him, whispered to him about being a mess hall server at a Christian summer camp in the midst of learning the tabular method of integration. He then remembered how Chad won that full-ride scholarship to Yale, just for committing to play football over there. Given the nature of this accomplishment, Tim remarked
“Man, Coach Nichols must have been tough on you. I remember that one game where you scored a finishing touchdown against Stradford.”
Chad recalled the time when he did just that. As a sophomore, he played a varsity match against the Spartans where he scored a winning touchdown for the Lions. 35-28.
“Yeah. I guess so. Rebecca was very excited for me when I beat them at the Homecoming game.”
“Man, Chad. Forget Rebecca,” Tim placed his hand on Chad’s shoulder. “Sorry that it happened and you were hurt for a bit, but I’m pretty sure you can find someone meaningful. If not, I just want to let you know that you still have me. Your best friend. Even if we’re going to be physically distant for a while.”
“Thanks, Tim. I mean, it’s not that I miss her or anything” Chad scoffed and stood up. “Anyways, I got to go stretch and wash my hands. I’ll be back.”
Chad walked into the men’s room. Oddly enough, there were no urinals or stalls. Instead, ceramic bowls of water were placed, face-level, on the wall with privacy partitions. At least the sink and soap were there in front of him. He washed his hands. As he scrubbed for a bit, another man entered the restroom and approached one of the stalls.
“AGGGHHHH,” the man gagged into the bowl as Chad used his peripheral vision to witness what was going on. Plop!
Tim was still seated, scanning around the lobby, waiting on his food. He noticed the waiter approaching a man in a spiky hairstyle, khaki shorts, and a vintage XL-sized Atari t-shirt at his table.
“Alright, sir. Your twenty-five-piece boneless buffalo wing bites. Enjoy.”
“Oh thank God,” cried the chubby man, “I’m starving.”
He stood up, turned around, pulled down his shorts and underwear, and sat on the plate of boneless wings. His cheeks started autonomously scooping up the food into his anal cavity. The buffalo sauce stained his behind into a red-orange tint. He whispered, “Mmm. Damn, that’s spicy.”
“Your food will be here soon,” the waiter assured Tim.
Chad returned to the table, fazed. “Dude, I’m afraid we’re in the wrong universe.”
“Um, yeah. I think we are. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Once again, the guys have found themselves at another small table. This time, they noticed a woodsy-kind of atmosphere with a timber hue that dominated the decor as if they were at a Twin Peaks—except without the ladies. Large circular tables filled with a bunch of young adults and teenagers dominated the dining lobby. Someone in a cow costume attended a salad bar. There were decorative building façades on the walls emulating a small town in the Rockies.
Tim picked up a pamphlet from the table. “Sharptop Grille. John 6:35.” He noticed a picture of Jesus holding up a wafer in the air, blessing it.
“Dude,” Chad looked at the hologram from the pen, smiling, “We’re actually in a Young Life universe.”
“Oh, yeah. I remember going to those.” Tim recalled the time when, as a freshman, he heard of this Christian organization from one of the leaders who introduced him to a Monday night club.
“Oh yeah. I remember the time when we first met. Back when Kyle pretended to be a Spongebob-like character. Remember that?”
“Oh yeah, Bob the Sponge,” Tim remembered. “I probably shouldn’t have joined debate; that took away a lot my time from going to clubs.”
Chad sighed, reminiscing the time when Tim wasn’t able to hang out with him often. They were too busy with schoolwork and extracurriculars, so it must be imperative for them to continue the journey, although they have no idea how to get home. But they would cross that bridge once it would be time to go home. “I wonder what we’ll be having for—”
Bring ‘em out! Bring ‘em out! Bring ‘em out! Bring ‘em out!
It’s hard to yell when the barrel’s in your mouth!
T.I.’s 2004 hit single blared from the speakers. Everyone grabbed their utensils—banging them loudly on their tables. Some people unwrapped their cloth napkins and swung them in the air. One guy stood on the table, jumping up and down with his shirt off. Another guy banged his head on the table in excitement. The servers emerged into the lobby from all directions, carrying large waiting plates in one hand; they surged everywhere and filled the empty spaces between the tables. It was a circus of excited diners who were as hungry as that man from Chili’s.
“Yay! Chicken sandwiches!” Chad exclaimed as a female server gave them their food.
Tim inspected his sandwich—checking to see if they put mayo or buffalo sauce on it. There was only a chicken patty with two pickles distanced from each other; nobody in this universe really liked their pickles touching. “Okay good,” Tim slid back the plate where the sandwich rested and eyeballed the salad bar. “You know, Chad? I’m thinking that I want to try out one of their salads first.”
“You don’t want your sandwich?” Chad muffled, chewing on his food.
“Yes, but it feels more natural to start off with salad.”
“Okay, you do you.”
Tim made his way to the salad bar where he meets a young woman in a cow costume, ringing her bell.
“Howdy there!” exclaimed the cow. “My name is Mooboob, and I bring the salads for my lads. ‘Lettuce’ get acquainted, shall we?”
“Hey Mooboob,” Tim tried his hardest not to laugh; he let out a chuckle. He half-recomposed himself, “I’m Tim.”
“What a Tim-a-dim-dim I see in him! Nice to meet moo—you!” Mooboob rang her bell in the air.
“I don’t get it. What’s with the cow costume?”
“Cow costume?” Mooboob gasped as if Tim called her fake. “How dare you accuse me of not being who I am? Of course, I’m a cow. Claiming otherwise seems ‘utterly’ preposterous!”
Tim froze. Nervous as he seemed to pull some stranger’s leg.
“I’m just messing with you,” Mooboob laughed and pat Tim on his shoulder. “Say, would you like to try my de-moo-licious salads? It is above par with my salad bar. We raise the bar super-duper far in quality. You see what I mean when you see green?” She gestured towards the fresh romaine lettuce.
“Yes.” Tim nodded. Laughing in slight annoyance, “I still don’t get how cows tie-in to salads.”
Mooboob laughed as she rung her blue bell. “Of course, you don’t,” she looked towards the roof, her hands joined in prayer. “But that’s how my Shepherd and Savior made me.” Then with her finger, she gestured Tim to draw closer to her. Uncanny, she whispered to Tim “I’m not really a cow. In fact, I’m not human either. I’m just a figment of imagination. Just go with it.”
Along with her breath, Mooboob’s words chilled through Tim’s body, as he tried to figure out what she meant by being a figment of imagination.
Mooboob pulled back into character and cheerfully chanted to Tim “Lean and mean and clean and pristine with prestige, let you enjoy this green that gleams. Courtesy of this world-renowned bovine queen, make your salad from this scene you see.”
“Will do.” Tim smiled.
Tim returned to his table with a bowl of salad, “Hey, you should check out Mooboob’s Salad Bar! This looks good.”
Chad looked at Tim’s bowl. Perhaps the sandwich wasn’t enough for his athletic stature fit for a quarterback, “Okay, I guess.” He stood up. The blue pen fell out of his pocket.
Whoosh!
The pen hit the floor. An electromagnetic wave breezed through the room, startling the guys. Chad noticed and picked up the pen.
“Woah! The hell happened?” Tim’s eyes widened.
“Hey!” A voice roared across the lobby, silencing people. “This girl’s mine!”
Tim and Chad peered in the direction of the voice. It seemed that a muscular guy was in the process of giving his spoon to a girl, until a shorter, leaner guy got to her first. Everyone walked close to the scene; Tim and Chad followed suit.
“Get your own girl!” the smaller guy shouted back. “Or give it to yourself.”
“My spoon is bigger than yours!”
“That’s a perfect size to give to yourself!”
The big guy threw his spoon to the ground and tackled the small guy. They both start punching and kicking each other. The small guy grabbed a nearby glass cup and smashed it onto his opponent’s head. The bigger one smashed his opponent’s nose in as he yelled out an obscenity.
“WORLDSTAR!” someone shouted while recording. No one seemed to intervene. Everyone—including the girl—was enjoying this spectacle.
The brute laid on top of the smaller guy’s body. His right fist progressively grew red as he continued to pummel his opponent’s face into hammered shit. Tim and Chad watched in horror as they saw the slim guy convulse on the floor with red foam coming out of his mouth; his pupils rolled back—showing only white space and vibrant red veins. Chad sprinted towards the scene.
“Hey! Stop! You’re killing this guy!”
The brute lunged at Chad against the wall. Tim watched in fear.
“You want a piece of Bruce, bitch? You want to go meet Jesus today?” he raised his fist towards Chad. “Bring it on, motherfu—”
Zap! Splat!
Bruce’s head exploded. Skull fragments, brain matter, and dislodged eyes projected everywhere. Blood painted the walls, people, and tables crimson. His body fell limp, lifeless. It was some green laser that spared Chad from the slim guy’s fate. Tim ran towards his friend to ensure he was okay.
Everyone looked in the direction where the laser came from. A pale-skinned man in a lab coat holding a laser gun and his teenage apprentice in casual clothes.
“There it is! They have the Multiversal Portal Pen!”
Chad got his pen out. They dipped. The assailants followed suit.
On a highway, Chad was racing with a bulletproof Lamborgini, as Tim was laying down gunfire from his Uzi onto a UFO-shaped vehicle that shot rockets and lasers onto unsuspecting drivers. The guys had zapped themselves in the bustling highway of Los Santos.
“Oh my God!” Tim continued firing. “Who the hell are these people?!”
“I have no idea, but we obviously need this pen to go home!” Chad rammed into a Spanish-speaking man who yelled out “puta madre!”
“You know what? I’m going to zap ourselves to another dimension. That might help!”
Tim and Chad evaded their assailants through a crowd of beachgoers in a universe where men covered up their chests with bras. The hostile enemies were a couple of paces behind the duo. They pushed through a bunch of spring breakers shotgunning Natural Lite and guys flashing their chests for beads. As the duo opened up a portal to another universe, the teenager, witnessing a bunch of bare-chested women partying, was lagging behind his old mentor.
“Dammit, Morty! Quit adjusting yourself and let’s go!” the scientist yelled.
Tim and Chad found themselves in a snowy place made out of construction paper—in two dimensions. They hopped through crowds of people in the heart of a small Colorado town. Green lasers flew everywhere, hitting random objects and people—including a poor, nine-year-old boy in an orange parka. The scientist tripped on one of the bodies. His laser gun fell and broke, leaving Tim and Chad an advantage.
A blue circular portal swirled open perpendicular to a sidewalk. Both Tim and Chad walked out of the portal, and took a heavy breather. They looked around to see if their adversaries were around to chase them. Chad scanned around the line-full of short circular oak trees that radiated different, yet subtle shades of green and through Y-shaped streetlights running on the opposite side of the two-way road.
Area cleared.
“Hmm,” Tim checked the pen’s hologram projection.“We’ve transported to a different universe in San Antonio. It says that we’re in the Chester universe.”
“Hmm, I wonder what that means.” Chad checked his Maps app to figure out where they are. “It says that we’re on a ‘Kyle Seale Parkway.’”
Tim and Chad stroll down the sidewalk, while they remain vigilant for that creepy old man chasing them down for no apparent reason. They soon cross to the other side of the road where they hit a yellow sign and proceeded their way down. On their right, as they walked down further, they notice a school building hidden within some trees.
At the very front, farthest from the school entrance was a flagpole flying the U.S. and Texas flags. Behind it was some sort of structure that functioned as an aesthetic gateway entrance to the school. It seemed a structure made out of clay whose albedo levels were near to 100%. It was a set of three white arches that stood two levels tall, right behind the school entrance.
The three white arches. Standing tall. In front of the school entrance. Chad took in these small details bit by bit as dread started flooding over his stomach. He recollects his time from middle school. It was a school that he will never forget. A school whose cafeteria served sub-par, superficial “educational nutrition” in a place that they referred to as a dining hall. A school that didn’t have a library, but rather a learning commons decorated with flags of different countries and cultures. A school where students did not have a homeroom, but rather a house. It was a place that housed middle schoolers in the same building as high schoolers. That was the place of global academic excellence. The Middle Year Programme. Personal projects. An extended essay. The dreaded SPICE notes. At this point, the rising water of fear flooded his head.
He turned towards the school sign. It had the letter “B” drawn in orange crayon by a six-year-old, and next to it read: Louis D. Brandeischester Academy for International Studies. On the other side showed a blue and white circular logo that read IB.
“Umm, are you okay, Chad?” Tim tried to break Chad’s hypnotic terror.
“No… no, no, no, no, no…” Chad stammered as he vigorously shook his head no. He checked his Maps app again. He looked up “high schools”:
Louis D. Brandeischester Academy for International Studies
Sandra D. O’Connorchester Academy for International Studies
Tom C. Clarkchester Academy for International Studies
Chad, ventilating intensely, zoomed out.
Ronald Reaganchester Academy for International Studies
Winston Churchillchester Academy for International Studies
“Holy shit, dude. Every high school here has been Chesterised!”
“Huh?”
“Let’s get the hell outta here!”
The guys found themselves next to a statue of a roadrunner. On their right, they saw an outdoor structure that had columns supporting glass ceiling tiles that had many rods of wood hanging on the edges and a building that stood behind it. A sign that read John Peace Library. A bunch of makeshift colorful booths set up for a huge Fiesta-like event. And a building whose sign displayed Multidisciplinary Studies.
Chad walked towards one of the benches near the statue. He shivered, “I think I want to chill here for a bit. I can catch up.”
Tim, not understanding how a set of white arches triggered Chad, nevertheless gave him an ounce of understanding. He decided to wander around alone. Among a group of college students wandering around and tabling, he turned his head towards a classroom. MS 2.02.54. He peered into the window out of curiosity to see what the pen brought them. He noticed a guy wearing a Hawaiian shirt with a white tee underneath that read I am not the Multiverse God, a Santa hat, and a pair of blue high-top Converses. It was the Multiverse God.
“Alright, David. If you could share us a piece of your story.” a white-blonde lady in a black mask requested.
“Okay.” The Multiverse God cleared his throat. After a moment of setting up, he finally started reading, “‘Tim lounged on his own couch, peering over his phone, as Chad peered out of the glass sliding doors leading to the backyard radiating the sunlight from the neatly-trimmed grass…’”
Tim’s eyes widened. His mouth opened. Numbness in his body circulated throughout his veins, and into his head; it converted to dread.
The thrifting. The anthropomorphic animals. The pen. Chad’s relationship with Coach Nichols. Tim’s family. The graphic deaths in the Sharptop Grille. That foot chase. The piece of narration that lied about Tim masturbating to the TV. All these pop culture references. The small detail of Fiesta booths that was added post-workshop. And the meaningless similes comparing the portal to a sex boutique. Is the Mooboob conversation and confusion really an analogy to workshop critiques? Just a figment of imagination? Hearing what the Multiverse God read from his Macbook made it clear what Tim had learned. Even evident when the Multiverse God waved at him, only for his classmates to look towards the window and see nothing.
Tim stood there perplexed, yet fearful as if he had witnessed a horror scene of a terrifying movie. He contemplated his existence, inspecting his hands, arms, and whole body, “Oh my god. Jesus.”
Tim walked back to Chad, sitting down on the bench with his head down. He took a seat beside his traumatized friend, “Hey Chad. How about we just call it a day? I think we had enough of this blue pen.”
Chad sighed heavily, relieved after flashing back to his crappy middle school days, “Okay, fair enough. How do we do that though?”
Tim, fazed by the revelations that unfolded from that classroom, pondered. After a brief silence, he spoke “Oh god. I don’t know. We probably should have listened to—”
Zap! Bang!
A green laser exploded on the Roadrunner’s head. College students turned towards the scene. Murmurs of terror came out of the eyewitnesses’ mouths.
Tim and Chad stood up from the bench. Their eyes and mouth in awe as they saw a piece of statue explode. They turned to the source of the beam; the mad scientist and his teenager managed to catch up to them.
“Shit!” Tim exclaimed.
“Give me my Multiversal Portal Pen—” the scientist belched mid-sentence, “assholes!”
“Get us the hell out of here, Tim.” Chad stood in fear, clutching on his friend.
Tim pushed a button to make a portal. A blue shield barrier formed instead, just in time for a green laser to deflect off of it and hit one of the Fiesta tents on the Sombrilla; it caught on fire.
“Damn it. How do you work this thing?” Tim pressed the button again. This time, it zapped a blue laser, hitting a bystander.
“Aaagh!” The unfortunate guy let out a Wilhelm scream, prompting the students to run away.
“C’mon, c’mon!” Right before another green laser made it to the guys, the pen finally zapped them to a different universe.
The guys arrived at this vast commercial area of strip malls. However, it was all abandoned into ruins and destruction. Flames engulfed crumbled buildings and cars beyond repair. The dark fumes billowed all over the scarlet-colored sky and all over the ground level—hazing up the atmosphere. There was no one in sight, except for a decaying skeleton lying limp out of their driver seat in a hollowed-out Toyota. Magma puddles charred the remaining soils and grasses everywhere. The only fauna found in this hell-like place are the carcasses of burnt, leafless trees.
“Where the hell are we?” Chad could feel the heat tan his skin.
“There’s the Hell we are,” Tim gestured their surroundings of rubble, igneous rocks, and open flames.
“Well, we should try to get back home.”
Tim pressed a button to teleport themselves to another universe. Multiversal Portal Pen disabled.
“What the hell?!” Tim smacked the pen onto his open palm of his other hand.
“This is the hell: we finally got to disable it,” an unknown, yet familiar voice emerged out of nowhere. Tim and Chad turned towards the source of that voice. The scientist holding a portal gun and his annoyed teenage grandson emerged out of a green swirly portal. It closed as soon as they walked out of it.
Tim and Chad raised their hands in the air. As if the setting wasn’t enough to make them feel uncomfortable, the duo were at a crossroads against a persistent pair of intellectuals—making their stomachs drop in anxiety as if being on an unsturdy rollercoaster.
“Look sir. I don’t know anything about this blue pen. We just happened to come across it,” Tim explained. “You can have it back if you want. Please don’t do anything final.”
Chad turned towards Tim and whispered, “Dude, how do we get home then? Do you want us to die in a hell-hole?”
“Well, Chad. I normally wouldn’t, but you’ll never understand what I saw at that college campus.”
Chad scoffed, “Excuse me? What could be worse than my flashbacks of being forced into my old middle school that I hated?”
“I’m sorry that some set of three arches triggered you, Chad. I know how that weird-ass international school was strict, preppy and lacking sports. At least you got to spend four years at Woodspring.”
“Don’t try to dismiss the bullshit I had to go through. I hated it over there—”
“You brought me into this!”
“You were the one who wanted to hang, Tim.”
“I thought it was gonna be a day watching TV, but no. You had to go to the thrift store and buy this weird-ass pen from that pothead.”
“Okay, sure. I did that. But you can’t really just dismiss—”
“Oh my God! Will you just shut the fuck up already?” the scientist broke up the fight, priming his portal gun. “Look, I can forget about this ordeal and take you home. If only you can give us back the Multiversal Portal Pen.”
The guys stared at each other for a moment, then they nodded their heads.
Tim brought up a question, “So first, who are you? What’s the significance of this device? And did you build it?”
The scientist put away his portal gun in his lab coat where it features a vast space of storage. He then introduced himself, “I am Rick Sanchez. The smartest man in the universe. And this blue-balled bastard is no other than my grandson, Morty.”
“Oh jeez,” Morty frowned in embarrassment.
“Anyways, I’ve been experimenting and producing another kind of portal fluid. Something versatile and untraceable. Something more reliable than this green fluid. After our latest adventure, I believe that the green fluid we normally used is compromised. I’ve seen it slaughter a shitload of copies of us, and it was all because some version of Morty made it deadly. At least the fluid we have hasn’t been tampered yet, but I would prefer to have an alternative that no other Ricks should know.
This blue portal fluid serves to help us travel to many dimensions and universes where we hop across various copies of our own world but with different sets of logic. No one really knows about this,” Rick eyeballed at the audience, “but we’ve been testing out the different possibilities of the default world that most people are familiar with. For example, we’ve visited a biologically sex-swapped world where people of our default world swap genitalia. We’ve also visited a world where, in your inferior American politics, most Christian republicans believe in safe abortions, and where people are voiced by commonly overused voice actors like Tom Kenny. We’ve been testing it out to see if this device is good enough for our future adventures to showcase to some millions of weirdos who watch what we do.”
“What the hell?” Tim said underneath his breath, perplexed.
“It wasn’t until Morty got tired of our bullshit, and wanted to live a normal life.” Rick turned to his grandson. “Explain what you did, Morty.”
“Oh jeez,” Morty sighed. Defeated, he started off his point of view, “I just wanted to take a break from all this random-ass bullshit that my grandpa drags me into all the time.” He eyeballed at Rick, “and no, it has nothing to do with those goddamn crows,” and then turned back at the guys, “Anyways, I stole the pen and I wanted to visit a place where I can be with Jessica, and where I can ditch the pen and go back home from there. I was ‘feeling it’ down there and I wanted to use this device to my advantage before I got rid of it.
Unfortunately, I didn’t figure out which universe I needed to go to see Jessica. Instead, I ended up at this thrift store,”
Chad’s eyes widened.
Morty continued, “and that’s when I saw this guy at the counter, as well as a collection of magazines that could satisfy me. Fortunately, that guy was too high to realize that I was too young to be trading this stupid pen for a collection of Playboy magazines. That dumbass thought I was trading in a vape pen.”
Silence filled the hot, fiery environment of hell. Chad finally spoke, “Wow… that makes a lot more sense.”
“Let me get this straight,” Tim tried to summarize what transpired before and during the last twenty-something pages. “You built this thing as an alternative mode-of-transportation that’s slightly different than what you currently have right now. And then, sometime later, your grandson stole the pen for his own benefit and then ditched it at a thrift shop where my friend got it from. And then we went on a bunch of weird-ass worlds. After all that, you tracked us down and tried to kill us over this damn thing?”
“Yes, I did,” Rick affirmed. “You know what? I think this was a big misunderstanding after all. I thought you guys were a part of the citadel in disguises. I apologize if I took things too far. I just didn’t want for this device to fall on the wrong hands, and that I need it back. We can forget this whole thing happened, and that I can take you guys back home. How about it?”
The guys eyeballed at each other, wondering how they would go about their next steps in going back home.
“Are you really sure we can trust this guy, Tim?” Chad whispered. “I don’t know much about this guy.”
“Chad, you did bring us into this. And we’re currently in Hell right now—literally. I’d say we just take our chances. I don’t want to die here.” Tim turned to Rick, “Ok, Rick. If you say that you could get us home, we’ll be willing to take our chances and give this back to you. But we’re cool, right?”
“Um, yeah. As I said we’ll put this behind us. Right Morty?” Rick turned to his grandson with a controlling stare.
“Um, yes. We’re cool!” Morty nodded and smiled uneasily.
The guys eyeballed at each other once more. They nodded in agreement.
“Okay. Well, I’d rather not die in this hundred-degree, scorching yet bearable, oven.” Tim crept towards Rick and carefully gave him back his device. Tim then walked back to his friend.
“Well, geez. Y’all took real good care of this pen,” Rick inspected it. “Okay, we can take you back home.”
Tim and Chad were relieved that they were able to make amends with some random, scientific stranger in the multiverse. As they took two paces towards Rick and his grandson, Rick took out a laser projectile device. Unlike the device that was able to form green portals, this one had an orange tip, and it made a menacing cocking noise—a kind of gun that Tim and Chad had never seen in their chase.
“As I’ve said, we’re taking you back ‘home,’” with one hand, Rick pointed this laser gun at the duo. “Whatever—or wherever—you choose to believe in, you will get sent to what people of your religion believe in what you call ‘an eternal home,’” he noticed Chad’s cross.
Tim and Chad froze. They couldn’t decide whether if this apocalyptic universe was worse, or death itself.
“I’m sorry,” Rick apologized. “You know too much about this secret project, and I’d rather not risk this getting leaked. But hey, you’ll be meeting with your pot-headed friend from the thrift store soon. Actually, I’ll be letting Morty do the honors since this whole thing was his fault.” He passed the laser gun at Morty.
“Aw jeez, Rick. I really don’t want to do this. Let me just make this up to you in a different way.” Morty pleaded.
“If you do it, not only will I accept your apology for stealing my shit, but I will also send you to a place where you can play around with many variations of Jessica.”
Morty stared at Rick, frowning for a moment. And then he turned towards an embracing duo waiting for their demises.
“Look, Morty,” Rick continued. “Imagine this: I could help you get to a ‘Personal Sexual Fetish’ universe. I could help you get easy 24/7 access to that world. A place where you could play with Jessica in your room, where she will be more than happy to keep you happy. That you wanted in the first place, right? Something to satisfy you more than your imagination and a dirty, old sock. All you gotta do is pay for your mistakes. You have to pay this price if you want it.”
Morty trembled with the laser gun in his hand, fighting the urge to point it at the guys who had no responsibility for what transpired. He didn’t want to kill innocent beings over his mistake but couldn’t stay soft enough to spare them. He had to make a hard decision—a very difficult and intense one.
“I’m sorry, guys. It’s nothing personal.” Morty stiffened his arm, priming to shoot.
The guys clung to each other tightly.
“It’s been nice to have met you in high school, Tim.”
“You too, Chad. I’ve always loved you,” Tim pecked his friend on the cheek.
Morty, shutting his eyes tightly in tears, pulled the trigger.
A hard-shell ball rolled in front of the guys and ricocheted the laser; it struck the gun.
“Ouch! Shit!” Morty yelped. His hand suffered a burn.
“You threatening my son and his friend? That doesn’t roll right with me,” an armadillo Francisco unfurled, ready to take on two adversaries.
“Oh my god,” Rick moaned. “That’s like the second time that pun is used in this story. Why be so redundant?” He produced the portal gun out of his lab coat, priming to shoot them with it.
“Speak into the mic, bitch!” A thrown microphone knocked the portal gun off of Rick’s hand. It fell to the ground on its top side, where the fluid container broke and its contents spilled. Rick turned to his right and saw Aaron Paul chasing them with a bunch of wired microphones. He threw two of them, where these microphones homed into these guys and tangled their ankles with the wires.
Both Rick and Morty fell to the ground and were dragged towards a tall wooden remains of a tree. They were hung upside-down on a sturdy branch, where a bulldog in a fedora was hoisting them up from the bottom.
“Harry the Bulldog!” Rick’s eyes widened in fear. “Oh wait. I didn’t mean to do that—”
Harry! A chorus sang out the bulldog’s name.
Tim and Chad unbraced themselves from one another as they saw their adversaries fall into a trap on a tree. On their left, they observed a red 2011 Cadillac CTS sedan pull up and park between themselves and the dead tree. Francisco, Aaron, and Harry lined up next to each other facing Rick and his grandson. A figure emerged out of the driver’s side of the Caddy; it was the Multiverse God.
“Oh wow,” Rick groaned unamusingly. “Deus ex machina. How original.”
“That may be the case, but I’ve been planning this since October,” The Multiverse God fired back. “This gives me an opportunity to refine my dialogue writing skills.”
The Multiverse God turned his back towards Tim and Chad and raised his fist in the air.
Snap!
Emerging from various sources of fire and ruins, the ashes swirled around and came together to form a divine object coming out of the God’s power; a single-use portal pen.
“Of course, y’all didn’t follow my suggestion from earlier. You pretty much destroyed the school statue and ruined Dia en la Sombrilla. That’s okay, none of that was real anyways. That pen should take you home by the way. So leave now.”
Chad grabbed the pen and pressed the button; the guys dipped.
The Multiverse God turned towards his allies, “Thank you guys for coming with me. I can take it from here.”
Francisco, Aaron, and Harry all got into the red Cadillac. The Multiverse God smacked the trunk of the vehicle, prompting it to drive off. As the Cadillac drove off on an abandoned road, the apocalyptic setting itself gradually disintegrated into a white space, as if it’s the same place where Neo would access his arsenal. The Multiverse God faced Rick and Morty.
“So where do I begin?” The Multiverse God initiated.
“How about using us in a way that isn’t original? You really had to include us in your school project just to make an A, didn’t you?” Rick shot back.
“I supposed you’re right, Rick. I’ve always enjoyed watching your adventures and how you would go outside the box and explore to places to where no other show has gone before. Oh yeah, like that train episode where it’s a metacommentary of your creator’s storytelling device.”
“This is why I prefer to return that train, Rick,” Morty said.
“We should’ve gotten a new one, Morty,” Rick defended.
“Anyways, I guess what you said may be true. I did take a lot of inspiration of what y’all go through and the backbone that goes along with your journeys. Yeah, that’s right. I took your creator’s circle and purposed it to tell Tim and Chad’s story.
The antagonists widened their eyes.
“Yeah, I figured that I wanted to make a sci-fi story of my own. To play around with different logics and possibilities. Like right now, everyone in that glitchy Christian universe are killing themselves over drama.”
“That asshole was the one who dropped the pen on accident,” Rick rebutted.
“‘That asshole?’ Chad? That might’ve look like it, but that’s not the case.” The Multiverse God nodded.
“But… but. He was the one who stood up for that cow’s salad bar!” Morty stammered.
“Well, yes. But it wasn’t him. I was responsible for all that.”
The antagonists eyed at each other.
“You see, whenever I craft something I think is cool, or unconventional, compared to other short stories that I read, I always think that I’m the one who did all this. Like why was there a blue pen in the first place? Why was it in that thrift store? I set that all up. Not you.”
“Huh?” came out of Morty’s mouth, since he was the one who traded in the pen after all.
The Multiverse God continued, “Well, yes. On surface level, you did trade-in that pen for some porn, Morty. However, I was the one who made it all up. I controlled you, Morty, just think about it.”
“What is this bullshit?” Rick sneered out of hostility.
“Rick Sanchez, the smartest man in the universe. You should know better,” the Multiverse God chuckled. “Remember that time when you blew that guy’s brains out trying to kill Chad? Well, I was the one responsible for your shots. Am I really gonna kill off my protagonists that easily? No. This was all a trap that I have set up.”
“Jeez. Why would you do all this? Is this your cheap way into getting people to read your shit? Using trademarked characters in your fan-fiction?”
“Um, I wouldn’t call it fan-fiction,” the Multiverse God approached closely, eye-to-eye with Rick. “At least not up until after the meta-fiction workshopping universe; I had originally end it from there due to word constraints. Anyways, the reason being is that this story is really all about my guys. I framed it in a way that makes y’all antagonists. The ’bad guys.’ The sake of originality—with just a sprinkle of fan-fic homage on top—is preserved by focusing on the original characters. So yeah, I had to depict y’all as the bad guys on this one. So the literal deus ex machina—as apparently lazy as it may be—was there to uphold the old-fashioned, overused trope of ‘good guys winning.’ So yeah, plot-wise, it’s kinda like jerking you off, except you don’t get to reach the end of your climax.” The Multiverse God turned to Morty, experiencing vertigo seeping to his head, “you heard me right, Morty. I’m not letting you off this easy.”
“Aww jeez!” Morty blushed.
“Hey M.G. You know what else is an ‘overused trope?’ Me saying ‘you’re never gonna get away with this,’” Rick swung back and forth.
“Says the person whose lines I’ve made up,” the Multiverse God shot back. “I know, that ‘Harry the Bulldog’ bit was there to cater peoples’ tastes in pop culture references. I’ve already gotten away with it, Rick. It’s over. Or it’s about to be.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, let’s just say that we’re all just a bunch of fictional characters pictured by people’s imaginations. What do you think happens when there’s no one to read this fine shit?”
Rick pondered for a second and narrowed his eyes unamusingly.
“Without anybody, without any scenes made, we’re nothing but static. What do you think happens when, for example, you killed off all those space superheroes out of jealousy? For one moment, you were celebrating the janitor for his accomplishments up until the credits rolled. The next moment would be you crashing to Jerry’s apartment, ecstatic to go to a place where it’s impossible to die. What were you doing between those two scenes?”
“Oh, my God.” Morty said under his breath in the midst of his heartbeat increasing.
“Exactly. Nothing else happens until our creators write something. I mean, we don’t breathe, eat, sleep, use the restroom, or any other normal human behaviors. We’re just static. If it isn’t for people looking into this situation that we’re in, we’re just a collection of letters arranged in a particular way.”
Morty wailed in fear.
“The only way you’re going to leave this void is for your creator to come up with a Season 6 and air it. Justin is the only guy who can write you out of this predicament. Otherwise, you’re stuck here for good,” The Multiverse God snapped his fingers again; he disappeared into thin air.
Rick took a deep breath and sighed, “damn it.”
Acknowledgements
Hello everyone! I just want to thank you all for getting through this experimental piece of writing that I’ve worked on since the beginning of this year. It has been quite a fun ride traveling across different worlds of various logic.
I would like to thank Dr. Stephanie Schoellman, and her Advanced Fiction Workshopping class for going through this story and providing constructive criticism that shaped this story into a piece that is shown on this webpage.
I would like to thank Mums and Pups for supporting me in ways that allowed me to write a piece like this one—especially when financing for my education. 🙂
To all my friends and family for motivating me to live out my best life. Shoutout to Javi and Angel for being great close friends. 🙂
To Justin Roiland and Dan Harmon for creating such a badass show that gained one hell of a cult following. I’ve always enjoyed such absurd and scientific elements in your show, as well as the Harmon’s Hero Circle being employed in most episodes.
To Michael Cusack, Sam Levinson, Dan Povenmire, JG Quintel, Raphael Bob-Waksberg, Vince Gilligan, and Justin Roiland (again) for providing me inspirations to work in some references from their respective works into my piece.
And to you for reading this piece. Who knows? Maybe I might write a sequel. 🙂
Note: All already-existing trademarked characters referenced/featured in this piece belong to their respective owners. All rights reserved.
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