Chapter 1: Hello and Welcome to Shandor Studios (it's weird)
Chapter Text
[SLIDE: Shandor Studios, an art deco style building with some familiar-looking gargoyles perched on it, and poor JPEG compression, with an inset of the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man. Captioned: Will the Real Ivo Shandor Please Stand Up?]
JUSTIN ROCZNIAK (R): Hello, and welcome to Well There’s Your Problem, a podcast about engineering disasters with…
LIAM ANDERSON (L) [chanting]: Studio! Studio! Studio!
R: …with slides.
L: Studio! Suck it, Discord!
ALICE CALDWELL-KELLY (A): It’s quite nice, actually. There’s a little break room, and somebody left us one of those edible arrangements, and a paperback Necronomicon…
DEVON (D) [text over slide]: IT WAS ACTUALLY VERY NICE. I HAD MY OWN CONTROL ROOM. BUT IT WAS NOT WORTH IT.
L [distorted, too close to the mic]: My audio sounds amazing! This bonus episode is about Liam’s cool mic!
A [obligingly]: Yay, Liam’s cool mic.
R: It’s made of meat, though.
L: What, my cool mic?
R: No, the edible arrangement in the break room. They’re usually made of fruit, this one is made of meat. Raw meat.
A: Yes, I was wondering if that was an American thing. [laughter] I’ve never been to Massachusetts before!
L: It’s Innsmouth, Alice. Nobody’s ever been to Innsmouth. It doesn’t technically exist.
R: It’s not even on Google Maps.
A: Is it sort of a, er, township? Unincorporated township?
R: It’s more of a, uh, cult.
A: Like an MLM?
L: Like Christianity!
R: Well, a bunch of fish people founded it in the late eighteen hundreds…
L: Fucking fish.
R: …and let’s say they got up to some questionable activities.
A: Anything I should be worried about?
R: Well…
A: I did travel here by interdimensional portal and that’s just a bit… off-putting? It’s very convenient, but…
L: Swimming, having gills…
R: I took the train.
L: Just breathe air, you little shits!
A: Did they not offer you an interdimensional portal, then?
R: No, they did, I just said I’d rather take the train.
A: How was it?
R: Not bad. It was made of meat, though. The train. Smooth ride. Turns out meat is an excellent shock absorber, just not very practical. There was a flock of ravens trying to eat us the whole way.
A: That’s… a bit odd.
L: Michael Phelps.
R: Michael Phelps is made of meat?
L: No, Michael Phelps is a fucking fish. [shouting, too close to mic again] You’re not fooling anyone, Mike! God, I could go for some salami. Is there any salami in the meat bouquet?
R: There is definitely not any salami in the meat bouquet.
L: I’m gonna make myself a sandwich!
[scraping sound, footsteps, door opens and closes]
A: It’s nice having a studio, though.
R: It’s not bad. I like these chairs with the wheels. Good lumbar support. How was the portal?
A: Terrifying, but brief. Very brief. It materialised right under me in the dairy aisle of Tesco’s, then I was in this howling green tunnel for about five seconds, and then I was here. On the one hand, I didn’t have to show my passport or go through security, but on the other hand, I’m just slightly concerned I might have cancer. Or a prion disease. [nervous laugh] Or maybe I’ll turn into a fish person. Did you mean literal fish people?
R: Yes.
A: I suppose… Someone got very lonely and fucked a fish, or…?
R: Yes.
A: What? Are you being serious? What kind of a fish… Do you mean mermaids?
R: No. In fact, mermaids have a notorious design flaw when it comes to sexual congress with us human types. What you’re after, as a lonely sailor, is an animal known as the “reverse-mermaid,” which is widely regarded as a joke, and depicted as the head and torso of a fish, with human legs, and presumably genitalia, underneath… [drawing a reverse-mermaid on the slide, with the mouse, badly] But which is in fact more of an elder god by the name of Dagon, which does indeed have legs and genitalia, but is more of a fully-anthropomorphic monstrous fish. [drawing monstrous legs and feet] He’s a bit larger and taller. Here, I’ll put a “D” for Dagon. [draws arrow] And the rest of him is up there.
A: As a lonely sailor myself, I don’t see how something like that is any more fuckable than a regular fish. Or a manatee. Frankly, I’d rather fuck a manatee. At least it’s a mammal.
R: Yeah, but you’d be violating the Endangered Species Act.
A [laughing]: I’m sorry, aren’t they endangered? We want them to fuck! You told me to save the manatees, well I’m out there doing it! And then I’m going to save the whales!
R: Debatable whether creating a race of half-human, half-manatee hybrids is saving the species…
A: Are you some kind of fucking manatee eugenicist? If the manatee and I are both consenting adults, and we fancy each other, then leave us the fuck alone! This is how evolution works!
R: In the mind of Donald Trump, yes.
[door opening and closing]
D [text over slide]: I COULD EDIT THAT OUT BUT I’M TOO TRAUMATISED AND DRUNK.
L: You guys… Is that supposed to be a fucking fish?
R: No. It’s the legendary reverse-mermaid.
L: Well, I only respect half of it! Here. The meat bouquet started screaming when I cut into it, so I grabbed some doughnuts.
A: Oh, are there doughnuts? The meat bouquet has a way of…
L: You didn’t hear it?
R: The meat bouquet?
A: …of arresting one’s attention…
L [excited]: The soundproofing in here is fucking incredible!
D [text over slide]: IN RETROSPECT, THAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN A RED FLAG.
A: Out of sheer, morbid curiosity, did the doughnut scream?
L: Doughnuts don’t scream.
R: Do the doughnuts scream in… in the UK?
A: …No, not usually. Perhaps, perhaps on the continent, but not usually in Britain. They’re very stuffy and well-behaved.
L: And transphobic.
A: Of course.
L: Do you want one of these?
A: Er, I rather think… I’d better not eat or drink anything until another portal opens up and sends me home. Just in case this is a Persephone sort of situation…
R: Probably a good idea.
L: Low blood sugar kills, Alice. [muffled, chewing]
R: You’ll wind up married to Hades and having to spend six months out of the year in Massachusetts.
L: I’m spending twelve months out of the year in this studio, I don’t care if it’s in Massachusetts. If I have to, I will marry Hades twice.
R: Nah, you see, that’s not legal in Massachusetts. You’d be in a bigamous relationship with yourself.
L: Well, then one of you has to do it. Daddy needs his new mic. These chairs are awesome too!
[rumbling, squeaking]
A: I’m already in a very committed relationship with the Mothman, actually. We go around collapsing bridges and making appearances just out of camera frame. It’s quite fun.
R: Alice is actually a cryptid wanted across several New England states.
A: Yes, I’d like very much to get back to it, and not get cancer or die! [nervous laughter] Ah, shall we get on with the episode?
L: I’m never leaving this studio. You will pry this microphone from my cold, dead hand.
A: Intros? Did we do intros?
R: It’s a bonus episode, they already know us.
D [text over slide]: HONESTLY IF WE’D JUST DONE THE INTROS, IT WOULD’VE SAVED US A LOT OF TROUBLE.
A: Right…
R: But we do have [news drop] the God Damn News.
[SLIDE: The Shandor Building, surrounded by ominous clouds, and a headshot of Ivo Shandor. Caption: NEW YORK DESTROYED AGAIN 1984 EDITION]
A: Right. Right. So, I have a question for you, gentlemen: who, or what, was Ivo Shandor?
L: Sounds like a billionaire.
A: And he looks like a nonce!
R: An early 20th century architect.
A: You’re both right, and so am I. He was also a quack doctor, a selenium mining magnate, a cult leader, and the last person ever documented to be ripped in half by an ancient Sumerian deity — after he resurrected himself in Summerville, Oklahoma, in 2021.
L: Boss.
R: I’ve been to Summerville. They have that temple he built at the bottom of a mine… Well, I mean, they did. Right up until he resurrected himself. You gotta watch out for that, with selenium. We used to use it in our electronics, but silicon’s better for that, and much less haunted.
L: That explains the internet.
R: I mean, we’re not using it for the internet. Mainly in glassmaking, and surge protectors. It’s all right in trace amounts, but you get enough selenium in one place and the ghosts start crawling out of the damn walls. You gotta put up at least a double-thick cold iron insulator, or some carbon steel. Fucking expensive. Not worth it, unless you’re a big fan of the paranormal.
A: Just so. In fact, next slide, please…
[SLIDE: A collage of various art deco buildings.]
A: …the paranormal activity associated with Shandor’s designs was so well-documented that by the mid 1950s, everyone who wanted to live or work in one of his buildings was required to sign a waiver, before even looking at them. I’ve looked everywhere for one of these waivers, but it seems like the mere association caused them to become hazardous as well. If anyone out there should happen to find one, for God’s sakes, email it to me, and then speak to your nearest mental health professional immediately.
L: Take a Zoloft, you’ll be fine.
R: Just walk it off.
A: According to what I could find, the standard language indemnified the buildings’ owners against any and all instances of madness, brain damage, murder, suicide… You might have to bleep that, Devon…
D [text over slide]: NO. FUCK IT. NOT AFTER THE DAY I’VE HAD.
A:… mutilation, speaking in tongues, and — specifically! — “cranial liberation of the pineal gland!” [laughing] Whatever the hell that means!
L [cackling]: What?
R [deadpan]: Nah, I wouldn’t sign that.
A: Well, I would, because these buildings fuck! I mean, look at those façades!
R: I like these little gargoyles right here. [outlining a pair of gargoyles in red, paying special attention to the horns] With the horns. Technically these things are called grotesques, ‘cause they don’t have a drain pipe, but people just call ‘em gargoyles. That’s where we get the verb “to gargle” too. Not a typical feature of art deco design, but Shandor sure did like ‘em. They’re not really sure whether he had a sense of humor or if he was just nuts.
L: Both, I like both.
R: Could be both, yeah.
A: Well, according to eyewitness testimony…
R: Not very reliable. [giving each gargoyle a smiling face, with dots for eyes]
A: …those stone statues came to life during the 1984 New York Incident — next slide, please!
SLIDE: The Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man, with a caption saying: Artist’s Depiction.]
A: …and summoned a 100-foot tall marshmallow man who attempted to end all life on Earth as we know it.
[crazed laughter, pandemonium]
R: Yeah, I don’t know if I buy that.
L: Sounds like another Macy’s Thanksgiving balloon snapped its tethers with murder in its heart.
R: Yeah, those balloons are famously angry. Ever since they started using helium, it’s like they got minds of their own. All things considered, helium may also be haunted.
A: Rows nine through eighteen of the Periodic Table are all fucking haunted.
L: A Macy’s Thanksgiving balloon has black eyes, like a doll’s eyes.
R: Yeah, I heard Snoopy ate a whole shipload of sailors during World War II. …Says here Sonic the Hedgehog injured a police officer in 1993, that really happened…
L: Yes! Sonic says ACAB!
A: What we have here is architecture that — at the very least! — is documented to drive people insane. And not in a sense that they’re so ugly or badly-designed that a human being forced to use them finds them offensive, not like a Calatrava. By all accounts they were quite beautiful, and above all functional, and even — this was a rarity at the turn of the 20th century — accessible. Almost as if they wanted people to stay in them. One long-term resident, who had to be removed from Shoggoth Square Gardens by force, is quoted as gibbering, “This building is my heart. This building is Mother. This building has flawless, convenient kitchens and a jacuzzi tub in every unit.” He later gouged out both eyes and flung himself from the roof of a Bed, Bath and Beyond in a fit of despair.
L: Bed, Bath and Beyond?
R: [laugh] Must’ve been after the “beyond” department.
L: When the hell did that happen?
A: 1979, well before they started closing them down. Er, both the Shandor buildings and Bed, Bath and Beyonds.
R: The first Bed, Bath and Beyond was opened in 1971, in New Jersey…
L: No wonder they’re cursed. What was the New York building like? The one with the marshmallow man.
A: It was a high rise apartment building. By all accounts spacious, affordable, and conveniently located at Central Park West.
L: Fuck.
R: Yeah, that’ll do it.
L: Is it still there?
A: It was retrofitted and subdivided after the incident and it will now cost you $6000 per month for twenty square feet — that is not a typo, twenty square feet — which includes a hammock and an electric kettle. There are no bathrooms or running water and residents are advised to, and I quote, “hold it.” All that remains of the original design is the façade, which is, sadly, not at all haunted.
L: Goddammit.
R: Pretty standard.
A: There was simply something intrinsic to the designs, or the materials…
R: Selenium. It’s the selenium.
L: Selenium poisoning.
A: Could be the selenium, yes. The paranormal equivalent of lead paint and asbestos…
R: It gets the job done!
A: But the point is, we’re not sure, and every single one of these buildings was like this, regardless of its shape or function. Now, next slide, please…
R: You’re sitting right next to me.
[SLIDE:Shandor Studios, with gargoyles.]
A: I’m sorry. Force of habit. [sniff, sigh] So — guess who designed this very studio in which we are recording this episode today?
R: Louis Sullivan. [laugh] I hope.
L: Snoopy.
A: This is the last known surviving Shandor building. And, therefore, the only one that has not burned down under mysterious circumstances, been destroyed by the health department, or disintegrated after summoning a dark god. So, naturally, when they offered to let us record here, I just couldn’t say no!
R: Yeah, that wasn’t really an option.
L: Scared the crap out of me.
R: How did they, uh, “offer” to let us record here?
A: Oh, they texted me.
R: Oh.
A: Now, somebody did peg the phone through my window at three o’clock in the morning, and it didn’t have a SIM card, or even a battery. But it got texts, funnily enough. And I think, possibly, the voices of the damned…?
L: Does it have selenium in it?
A: Possibly…
D [text over slide]: A PORTAL TO A FROZEN WHITE HELL DIMENSION OPENED IN MY REFRIGERATOR AND SCREAMED, “IVO SHANDOR BONUS EPISODE!” BUT IT CHILLED MY BEER SUPER FAST, AND YOU COULDN’T HEAR THE SCREAMING WITH THE DOOR CLOSED, SO I DIDN’T MIND.
R: Yeah, I don’t know if that’s anything to do with the selenium. Could be more of a dimensional rift. My cats started talking to me in Ancient Sumerian.
L [charmed]: Aww.
A: What did they say?
R: No idea. Couldn’t find a translator.
A: That’s a shame.
R: [laugh] Probably complaining about how I never feed them, like usual.
A: What about you, Liam? Anything weird?
L: My van blew up.
[Postproduction overlay image of Liam’s Van, captioned: Liam’s Van]
A [laughing]: That’s normal, isn’t it?
R: Yeah, that’s just Tuesday.
L: You know, it would be, except then it reformed itself into kind of a chariot-thing…? With a human-headed bull pulling it. It has wings. The human-headed bull has wings. It kicks ass. I named him Gandalf. That’s a good name for anything with a beard.
A: I like Sir Ian McKellen.
L: As a name for something with a beard?
A: Yes, but I also just like him.
L: Ian McKellen doesn’t need a beard, he’s out and proud!
R: Sounds like a lamassu.
L: Is that a Nissan model? What kinda van is that?
[Postproduction overlay image of a lamassu, captioned: Liam’s New Van.]
R: Nah, it’s an ancient Sumerian mythological beast.
L: Well, I rode one here, so it ain’t exactly ancient or mythological, bub.
D [text over slide]: I RODE THERE ON THE MEAT TRAIN WITH ROCZ. A RAVEN FOLLOWED ME HOME.
A [contemplatively]: Gozer Wireless. Do either of you know Gozer Wireless?
L: At least it’s not Verizon.
R: Is that one of those new iPhones?
A: Yes. Much like Liam’s new van, it kicks ass. Except for the voices of the damned exhorting me to do this podcast.
L: Check the settings.
R: Yeah, you can prolly turn that off.
L: Bet it’s a slider.
R: “More haunted, less haunted.”
A: Under “System Alerts”…? Oh, here we go, “Eternal Damnation.” [slight pause] No, it’s just a blood-red screen that says “Hail Gozer the Gozerian.” Ugh. My purse is an engineering disaster. Is this hand sanitizer or slime…?
[On the current slide, the Activate Windows logo has changed to read “All Hail Gozer” and remains that way for the rest of the episode.]
R: Might be some firmware… What the hell was that?
A: Oh, that’s just the Tumblr app, it came preinstalled…
L: Cursed phone.
A: Yeah, pretty much…
R: No, out in the hallway. Looked like a dog.
L [charmed again]: Aww. Where?
A: Sorry, hang on, got another “ask”…
R: I’ll be right back.
[scraping sound, footsteps, door opening and closing]
A [amused]: “Choose the form of your destroyer.” Oh, that’s cute. What should I say…?
L: “Death by Chocolate.” No, wait. “Snoopy.”
A [typing]: T-H-A-T… A-S-S… Ohh. [annoyed] Where’s the peach emoji on this thing? These are all symbols from the Lesser Key of Solomon…
L: That one looks kinda like an ass.
A: I think it’s a minor Duke of Hell. Still, you’re not wrong…
[door opening and closing]
R [nonplussed]: It’s, uh, it’s not a dog.
A: What is it?
R: It’s a gargoyle. Or a grotesque. Like the ones on the front of the building. There’s two of ‘em, actually.
L: Do they want tummy rubs, Rocz? If they want tummy rubs, they are dogs. And if you touch their tummy and die, they’re cats. This is science!
R: I have no idea if they want tummy rubs. …I fed one a doughnut.
L: Aww.
A: That can’t be good for it.
R: I dunno. They were in the break room eating the doughnuts, so I assume they eat doughnuts.
L: Rocz, I eat Wawa hoagies, and they are definitely not good for me.
A: A duck will go to town on some bread, but you’re not supposed to feed it to them.
R: He took it right outta my hand and said “Hail Gozer,” which makes me wonder if Milkshake and Pizza Boy could’ve spoken English to me, if they really wanted…
L: Dear God, you need a human roommate…
A: Frozen peas.
L: Pardon?
A: I’ve seen a GIF of it, you’re supposed to feed the ducks frozen peas. The truly terrifying thing is, by the time they’re done eating, the water is just filthy. They look cute, but I wouldn’t want one to bite me.
R: I’m not gonna tell a gargoyle it’s supposed to eat frozen peas.
A: I suppose not if you don’t want it to bite you.
L: “It”? Did you ask them their pronouns, Rocz?
R: I didn’t, but… They seemed busy.
A: Eating the doughnuts?
R: Yes. Also, opening some kinda gateway.
A [hesitantly]: I think I’ll… delete that post. Yes.
L: Any difference in the meat bouquet?
R: It’s kinda… singing? I guess? Kind of a howling noise.
A: Oh, like the portal.
L: Dang it, I was hoping for salami.
R: Alice, have you involved us in the summoning of a dark god or is the building just making us crazy?
L: Crazy isn’t this cool or fun, Rocz.
A: Yes, it’s much more… It’s just rather depressing. It’s terrifying, I’ll grant you terrifying, but not in a way that gets you a new iPhone…
[door slams]
D [in the studio, approaching the mics]: Oh, fuck, oh, shit…
D [text over slide]: THAT’S ME.
L: Hey, Dev. We’ll get back on topic in a sec and I swear this one won’t go over an hour…
R: I don’t know about that.
A: What’s going on?
D: My awesome state-of-the-art control room is filling up with pink slime — to the point where I can’t even reach any of the buttons!
R [relieved]: Oh, thank God.
D: …and it’s all over my fucking shoes!
[squeaking, squelching]
L: Sounds like Vigo the Carpathian again.
A: Oh, just Vigo.
L: Want me to deal with him? I’ll deal with him. He’s a little bitch. I’ve already had Vigo, I’m immune.
A [bored]: We’ve all had Vigo.
R: He’s like covid.
L: Yeah, he won’t bump you off unless you’re already sick. Or a Republican.
R: But you repeat yourself.
L: Yeah.
A [brightly]: You know that time I embarrassed myself on social media? That was definitely Vigo and not me!
R: I thought maybe you took an Ambien.
A: Wait, which time are you thinking of?
L: Vigo the Carpathian got me banned from Twitter.
R: We are, all of us, Vigo, at all times.
A: How dare you hold us responsible for our actions.
D [mournfully]: There’s a really cool audio mixer in there and I didn’t even get a chance to try it!
L: Give me two seconds, I’ll deal with him…
D: …I even had a button I could press to drop boiling lava on you if you got off-topic, but I didn’t use it because I’m a merciful God.
A [consolingly]: Well, that’s very sensitive of you, Dev. Thank you. Really.
D: Liam, get me my lava button back. I need that lava button! It’s all I’ve ever wanted as an editor and a human being!
L: Don’t even worry about it!
[door opens, howling noise, door slams]
L: It’s not Vigo.
R: Aw, crap.
A: Who is it?
L: It’s a guy, or… I’m not sure. Kinda in between.
R: Could still be Vigo.
D: Yeah, just in someone nonbinary.
A: Describe them.
[door opens, howling noise, door slams]
L: …Hot?
A: You mean as in sexy or on fire?
L: Both, kinda.
R: Definitely not Vigo.
[muttering, general agreement]
A: Now, I… I… I’m just guessing, but…Does this person happen to resemble, um, a minor Duke of Hell? With a nice ass?
L: I’m not looking again, Alice, they’re almost at the…
[snapping noise, explosion, thuds and raining debris, howling noise increases]
L: Ow! Fuck!
R [raises voice to be heard above the howling]: Hey! Hey! That was uncalled-for, sir, or madam, or whatever! And my friend wants their control room back!
D [faintly]: Oh, God, stop making that noise! I’ll never be able to edit that out in post!
GOZER THE GOZERIAN (G): ARE YOU A GOD?
R: No.
A [horrified]: What the fuck, Rocz?
L: Didn’t you even read the Wikipedia page for this?
R [weakly]: It was Alice’s pick.
A: APPARENTLY IT WAS GOZER THE GOZERIAN’S PICK!
L: Here! [scraping noise, typing] There! It’s right there! Under “1984 New York Incident.” Read it!
G: ARE ANY OF YOU GODS?
R: Hang on a second, there, Gozer. I’m just gonna need a couple minutes…
Chapter 2: Let's Play Disaster Roulette!
Summary:
Gozer's here. Now choose the form of your Engineering Disaster!
Notes:
*fingers crossed* Forgive me all the insults and creative liberties and theft of comments. I hope it is abundantly clear these are AU fan versions of people whose content and personalities I adore. Dev, if you should ever see this, "queer Frodo Baggins" was necessary for the plot, I actually think you sound like a leftist John Cleese, something we could certainly use in these dark times.
Chapter Text
[SLIDE: Ad with blue background, WTYP avatars on yellow, and PO box information, but it appears to be dripping a certain amount of pink slime.]
[soothing music]
R [voice-over]: Hi, it’s Justin. This is a commercial for the podcast you’re already watching. People are annoyed by these so I’ll get right to the point: We’ve pissed off an ancient Sumerian deity and we may not live through this. Thank you for joining the Patreon, we really appreciate it, but we need a little more help. I’d say “pray for us,” but I think we’re trapped in some kinda pocket dimension, and it may not do any good. Far be it from me to impose upon your religion, or lack thereof, in any case. If you know anything about Gozer the Gozerian, or ancient Sumer, you might want to update their Wikipedia pages, because we do somehow still have our laptops and what appears to be a working internet connection, but by the time you see this it’ll probably be too late. So, for the first time ever, don’t join the Patreon. Or do, if you want. It’s your call. I’m sure my cats will appreciate the money in the event of my untimely disappearance or death. And, as always, we do not want to die. Now, back to the show.
[SLIDE: Gozer the Gozerian, the Ghostbusters version, with Vinz Clortho and Zuul.]
G: HOW ARE MY LEVELS? TEST. TEST.
D: No, you don’t need to, uh… Fine, actually. Thank you for turning down the howling noise.
G: NO PROBLEM. JUST LET ME KNOW WHEN WE ARE BACK FROM THE BREAK.
D: We’re already… Uh, yes. We’re back in, uh, three, two, one…
G: MY NAME IS GOZER THE GOZERIAN, I AM THE ENTITY THAT IS SPEAKING NOW, AND MY PRONOUNS ARE XE AND XEM.
A: Neopronouns! That’s interesting!
G: THEY ARE ANCIENT SUMERIAN PRONOUNS.
A: Oh. Lovely.
L: Sweet, I don’t think we’ve had one of those before.
A: …and I’m not just saying that because this form you’ve taken is smoking hot.
G: THESE ARE VINZ CLORTHO AND ZUUL, WE DO NOT SPEAK MUCH, AND OUR PRONOUNS ARE WE AND US.
R: That’s a bit presumptuous.
A: And I am there for it! Are they, er, are “we” your pets, Lord Gozer, or is it more of a polycule?
G: YES.
A [thrilled]: I don’t think it’s going to solve anything, but this podcast is definitely becoming more rigid!
D: Please don’t make me get the spray bottle, the control room is full of slime.
A [wistful]: “Control room,” what a lovely thought.
R: Are we gargoyles or grotesques?
G: WE ARE YOUR DOOM!
[thunder, lightning, gales of wind]
R: Oh.
G: AND WE IDENTIFY AS TERROR DOGS.
L: Aww. Tummy rubs.
G: SO, ARE ANY OF YOU GODS?
R: We are definitely gods. I misspoke before, and I apologize. We are all gods here, thanks.
A: We’re a regular pantheon! Is that a knockoff Rolex you’re wearing?
G: I ALSO HAVE A CAMERA.
A [awestruck]: Fuck.
G : IF YOU ARE THE GODS OF THIS WORLD THEN WE MUST FIGHT…
A [happily]: I promise I’ll lose!
G: …TO THE DEATH.
A: Oh. Nevermind. Damn.
R: This Wikipedia page badly needs updating.
G [with mild irony]: ARE ANY OF YOU GOING TO SHOOT AT ME DURING THE NEGOTIATION AND VOID THE TERMS OF THE DUEL?
[slight pause, frantic shuffling]
D: We don’t have any proton packs, do we?
A: I have a bit of cheese in my purse, and a Slimfast bar…?
D: Proton, not protein!
A: I KNOW, I’M JUST VERY NERVOUS!
R: I got this here laptop and a stapler, I guess. Shame nobody uses CRTs anymore, at least they accelerate particles…
L: Uh, no?
G: THEN, AS THIS IS YOUR WORLD, I CEDE THE FIRST PICK OF FORM TO YOU.
L [excited]: We get to pick our form?
D: Uh, I don’t think…
L: I mean, I’m totally a god, so I knew that. It’s just cool! I’m gonna be a ‘93 Nissan Lamassu!
D: Liam…
R [quietly]: We can’t actually pick our forms.
A [muttering]: I can, but it’s a bit of a process…
D [raising voice, trying to sound confident]: Um… We choose the form of an engineering disasters podcast!
G: WOULD YOU NOT PREFER THE FORM OF SOMETHING SLIGHTLY MORE POPULAR?
L: Ouch.
R [defiant]: No.
A: God, I want liposuction.
D: We’re good like this, Lord Gozer! Thanks!
G: VERY WELL. THEN I CHOOSE THE FORM OF AN ENGINEERING DISASTER.
A: Shit.
R: Makes sense.
L: Yeah, probably should’ve seen that coming.
D: I’m so sorry, you guys.
A: S’all right, Dev. You tried.
R: I died doing what I love… Podcasting and editing a Wikipedia page for accuracy. And I got to ride a high speed train made of meat.
L [raising voice]: Hey, Gozer! Which engineering disaster? There’s a lot of ‘em! You haven’t been back here for a while, buddy, we’ve had a few more fun ones.
R: Yeah, these billionaires got crushed in a submarine of their own making, that was fun…
A [hyperventilating]: Oh, God. Oh, God…
D: Rocz, shut the hell up!
[crinkling wrapper, sound of Alice self-soothing by eating a bit of cheese]
G: THAT DOES SOUND INTERESTING. MAY I BORROW YOUR LAPTOP AND HAVE A LOOK?
L [quickly]: No! Engineering disasters don’t have laptops!
R: Y2K…
D: Shut up!
G: CHOOSE THE FORM OF YOUR ENGINEERING DISASTER!
L: All right. This is it.
D: Nobody say anything. Nobody think anything! Play dead! Eventually, xe may get bored!
A: Like a grizzly bear?
D: Happy thoughts, Alice. Happy thoughts. Anything but an engineering disaster…
[SLIDE: Utter darkness, with an All Hail Gozer logo in the corner.]
[screaming, pandemonium]
A: I’m sorry! Oh, God, I’m sorry! I have anxiety!
D: No! I know you do! It’s my fault!
L: Are we dead?
D: I shouldn’t have said “engineering disaster,” it’s my fault…
R: Alice, where are we?
A: Oh, God, I’m sorry, it’s the Kursk! [weeping] We’re going to be trapped here for over six hours and then we’ll be comrade-kebabs!
L: I’m an anarchist.
A: For fuck’s sake, Liam, would it kill you to let me die with a little fucking solidarity? [plays “The East is Red”]
R: Alice, you have your laptop?
L: Do we still have our laptops?
D: Feels like a laptop…
A: IT’S A POTASSIUM-BASED AIR FILTER DON’T BLOODY TOUCH IT!
[clattering, thud]
[more screams]
L: Jesus…
R: Pretty sure that’s a laptop.
D: Turn up the brightness!
R: That’s bad for the battery life…
D: Just turn up the fucking brightness!
[SLIDE: The Kursk.]
L: How the fuck do we still have laptops and sound equipment?
A [giggling]: Oh, my God, we chose the form of an engineering disasters podcast. Of course we have our laptops and sound equipment! I’m going to tweet that we’re trapped in a well-known Russian submarine disaster and we need help!
D [gravely]: Alice, Alice… No, Alice. It’s… It’s…
R: It’s “X” now.
D: Twitter can’t help us now. Twitter is gone.
A [desperate]: What about Tumblr?
D [pained]: I suppose you might as well try.
D [text over slide]: I EDITED A BIT HERE.
A [sobbing]: It’s no good. I got cancelled for assuming the submarine’s pronouns and now they’re just doing discourse.
D [gently]: It’s all right, darling. Just mute the alerts now. Oh, and Tumblr Live, too, obviously. Thank you for trying.
R: I’ve got that Mastodon thing…
D: Oh, fuck off!
A: Nobody’s on fucking Mastodon.
L: If man were meant to toot, God would’ve given us trunks! It’s a stupid platform and a stupid animal! It’s just an elephant with shag carpeting and no charisma. I’m glad they’re extinct. The extinction of mastodons is the one good thing global warming ever did for us! I hope science brings ‘em back from the grave so I can personally participate in wiping those useless motherfuckers off the map again. I ordered a mastodon hoagie at Wawa the other day and it was rubbery and tasteless — because it had been at the back of the freezer for ten-thousand years. That’s how unpopular mastodon is! It’s not even any good with extra mayo! Nobody loves you, mastodons! Nobody thinks you’re cool! I respect you almost as little as I respect fish!
[groaning, shuddering, splashing]
A: Oh, fuck, does Gozer like mastodons? Liam…
R: “Mastodon” is from the Latin for “breast-like tooth.”
L: If Gozer likes mastodons, I’m gonna drive to xyr house — or temple, or whatever — and beat xem to death with my shoes. I am done with mastodons, I am done with this whole fucking experience! I am reviewing your studio on Yelp right now and you are getting no stars! None!
[creaking, snapping sounds, more splashing]
A: Fuck, Liam, you’re pissing xem off!
G: STO-O-OP!
[rumbling and crunching noises continue throughout]
D: No, wait… It’s a rant. [laughing] We chose the form of an engineering disasters podcast! Liam, keep going!
L: ICE AGE IS A TERRIBLE SERIES OF FILMS! MASTODONS RUINED IT!
A: Isn’t it supposed to be a woolly mammoth?
L: IT’S THE SAME THING!
R: Taxonomically, no, it’s not. Although they are related…
L: PROXIMITY TO MASTODONS RUINED ICE AGE, AS A FILM SERIES AND AS A GEOLOGICAL EPOCH! AND EVERYBODY LOVES RAYMOND!
A [laughing]: What? Are we running out of oxygen?
R: Yes. Also, Everybody Loves Raymond is a CBS sitcom, which aired from the mid-nineties to the mid-2000s. It was very popular in the US, but it proved difficult to export, so it’s not surprising you haven’t heard of it. It starred actor and comedian Ray Romano, who also voiced Manny the Mammoth…
L: THAT’S A STUPID FUCKING NAME!
A: Shouldn’t it be, er… Manny the Manmoth? That makes more sense. Although it does sound like he fights Mothman…
R: …in the Ice Age film series. Exporting Raymond was, in fact, a documentary on how difficult it was to translate the American Boomer experience to a foreign market…
D [amazed]: By God, we’re doing it! We’re podcasting!
R: Thank God for Wikipedia…
A: We’re still going to die, though, aren’t we, Dev?
D: Eventually, Alice, but maybe not in the Kursk!
A [anxious, but used to it]: Probably of prion diseases.
G: VERY WELL. SINCE WE ARE AT AN IMPASSE, YOU MAY CHOOSE ANOTHER FORM TO CONTINUE OUR FIGHT.
L [hopefully]: A lamassu?
R [low voice]: Unfortunately, we are not actually gods.
L: Damn.
D: No! I think we can do this! [to Gozer] We’re going to stick with the engineering disasters podcast!
G: YOU’RE NOT VERY IMAGINATIVE, ARE YOU?
D: No, we are, we’re just really jazzed about this form!
L: It’s comfy!
G: ALL RIGHT. SUIT YOURSELVES. I TIRE OF THE LEAKY METAL TUBE, AND I DO NOT HAVE THE PATIENCE TO SIT THROUGH SIX HOURS OF PODCASTING BEFORE I SET YOU ON FIRE! CHOOSE ANOTHER ENGINEERING DISASTER!
D: All right, now, let’s think about this…
A: Just something outdoorsy, please! I want to see the sun again!
[SLIDE: The Silver Bridge.]
D: What?
A: All right, that was not me.
L: Where are we?
D: A bridge.
L: That doesn’t narrow it down…
R: It’s the Silver Bridge, over the Ohio River. First thing that came to me when you said “outdoorsy.”
A: Oh, yeah. It’s been a while…
L: Oh, sweet. I always wanted to do this one.
A: Yeah, we really needed a third… What the fuck is that?
[snarling, gnawing, sounds of a chain chipping]
D: Mothman. It’s Mothman.
L: Cool! Alice, you still have your cursed phone? I’m getting a selfie!
[camera sound]
R: So, evidently, a certain amount of artistic license is in play, here.
A: Hello, Mothman! Big fan!
L: You said you were in a relationship with him.
A: I can be in a relationship and still be a fan, it’s cute!
[further camera noises]
A: Liam, put that fucking phone away, I have an actual camera in my purse. Somewhere. Under the phone slime. Oh, God… What sort of a lens do you want? How far away is he? Wait… [raising voice] Mothman! What are your pronouns?!
[snarling, gnawing, snapping]
A: I don’t think he can hear me. Or possibly “they.” God, Tumblr’s going to be pissed…
R: What we have here is almost certainly a pocket dimension, sort of a rift in reality, with its own internal logic and rules. I fell into one of these in the summer of 2017, while in an altered state of consciousness…
L: What, did you do a shitload of DMT or something?
R: Nah, I just ate a really good piece of pie. With real whipped cream. Funnily enough, I did meet a Machine Elf, but he just wanted to know where I got the pie. What we gotta establish is whether we have any say in what’s goin’ on here, or if Gozer is creating this reality outta whole cloth, as it were…
D [excited]: We definitely have some control over it! I knew something was up before we even started recording!
L: Because of the lava button?
D: No, fuck off, the lava button is brilliant. Rocz has never been drier or more informative, and Alice, Alice has serious anxiety, but she was quipping away not five minutes after falling through an interdimensional portal at a Tesco. And Liam… Liam… You have been… so… Liam.
L: Thank you?
D: It’s not a compliment! We have become the ultimate, most stereotypical version of WTYP and ourselves! It’s almost as if, as if…
A: What?
D: Nevermind. Call it an immune response! When threatened with an apocalyptic breach of our sanity, we are capable of falling so deeply into denial that reality itself bends around us in the form of a WTYP bonus episode!
A: Dev, denial does not work that way…
D: It does! Here, it does! A reality-warping Sumerian deity had us trapped in the fucking Kursk, a disaster with no survivors, and xe is trying to kill us, but xe let us go! As long as we keep podcasting, as long as we keep producing content that could loosely be construed as a bonus episode, we are invincible!
A: So, does it not matter that Mothman is eating through that suspension chain as quickly as he, she, or they can?
D: [crazed laughter] I have no fucking clue! But this is the only thing we can do, and we are brilliant at it, so let’s just keep doing it! Rocz! You keep quoting Wikipedia and your vast knowledge of engineering verbatim!
R: I already got fifteen tabs open…
D: Open thirty! Liam! Verbalise every last unhinged, irrelevant thought that pops into your head!
L: Can do!
D: And keep hating fish! And the Dutch! And Dutch fish!
L: And TERFs, Dev?
D: We’ll all help you hate the TERFs! And Alice, dear Alice…
A: Dev, I’m already under a significant amount of pressure…
D [warmly]: You don’t have to worry — not any more than usual. Just keep eating cigarettes and quipping up a storm, with intermittent anxiety, and we’re going to be fine!
L: Hey, uh, Dev…
D: And I, I shall continue to be irritated with all of you while futilely attempting to steer you back on topic! Now let’s get out there and be unflaggingly respectful of our guest’s pronouns, and of anyone or anything else that might show up, and mercilessly critical of capitalism, corporatism, and conservative… Con, uh… Conservative cunts!
L: Hey, Dev!
D [saintly, beneficent, faintly messianic]: Yes, Liam? Have you an irrelevant thought to share?
L: Uh, no, it’s relevant. It’s very relevant.
D: Oh. Yes? What is it?
L: Rousing speeches aren’t an established part of our podcast format and he’s — or she’s, or they’re — about to finish eating through that ch…
[snapping, rumbling and tearing, sounds of a bridge disintegrating, and screams]
L: Choke on me, fish!
A: I commend my soul to the glory of God and/or Mothman — whichever one of them is willing to save me!
R: Train good, ancient Sumerian deity bad!
D: Oh, God, why couldn’t I just stay on topic…?
[more screaming, slowly fading]
A: Are… Are we falling very slowly or is this a panic attack?
[shuffling, muttering, inaudible discussion]
D [triumphant]: It’s the slime! My shoes are full of psycho-reactive pink slime!
A: And my purse!
L: And this cursed phone!
D: And Rocz’s… And Rocz’s… Um.
A: Oh, fuck.
L: Is he down there? Do you see him?
D: We can’t do an engineering disasters podcast without Rocz! HE’S THE ONLY ONE WHO KNOWS ANYTHING ABOUT ENGINEERING!
A: Dev, Liam is...
L: Nah, that's fair. We all know what I'm about.
R [faintly]: I’m over here!
A: It’s Mothman!
D [laughing, relieved]: Well done, Mothman! Good job! Good man! Or… Or bug. Being. Good being!
R [faintly]: Technically, he shouldn’t be able to fly with that wingspan, let alone carry me! This is all very paranormal, and frustrating from an engineering standpoint! I believe he’s letting me down on the Ohio side of the river! Hang on, I’ve still got my laptop and a mic… [louder, clearer] Is that better?
D [applauding]: Yes! Brilliant! I’ll fix it in post!
R: Thanks, Mothman. Why did you save me?
MOTHMAN (MM): I like trains too. [sound of wingbeats retreating]
A: And now he’s going to save us too! Now he’s going to… Excuse me, Mothman! HEY!
MM [faintly, ever more distant]: Peace be with you! Remember to love each other! And take care of your infrastructure…
L: HEY! I LIKE TRAINS AS MUCH AS ROCZ DOES! MAYBE EVEN MORE!
D: Oh, God…
A: I’VE HAD IT, MOTHMAN, WE ARE THROUGH! I AM SICK OF YOU LEAVING YOUR… YOUR FUCKING COCOONS ALL OVER THE HOUSE! I AM GOING TO SET THEM ON FIRE! AND IF YOU THINK I’M GIVING BACK YOUR ANTENNAE BRUSH, YOU BETTER THINK AGAIN!
L: Hey, uh, Rocz? How’s the water down there?
R: Hang on, I’m looking it up…
A: Are there sharks?
D: It’s a river…
A: Are there deer? ARE THERE DEER, ROCZ?
L [annoyed]: I bet there’s fish.
D: Is the water warm?
R: Wikipedia is a little light on the details! But it’s December 15th, so, uh, no, the water is not warm! Lemme see here… 44 degrees!
D: What? That’s like a bath!
A: Must be climate change…
R: Fahrenheit! So that’s, uh, 6.66, Celsius!
L: Fucking Gozer, xe thinks xe’s so funny…
A: Oh, shit, oh, shit…
D: Um, it’s very doubtful we’ll be able to continue podcasting at that temperature, Rocz, even if the equipment survives!
L: Can we flap? Try flapping!
[sounds of flapping and straining]
R: I do not recommend you try flapping! You don’t have enough surface area to make much of a difference!
A: Fuck.
L: Shit.
R: If you could construct a rudimentary glider, or even find a couple of pizza boxes…
D: WE ARE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE SILVER BRIDGE DISASTER, THERE ARE NO FUCKING PIZZA BOXES!
L: Isn’t this slime supposed to be a little more, ya know, lively? Dancing toasters and stuff?
D: It likes music! Doesn’t it like music?
L: Jackie Wilson! It likes Jackie Wilson! Let’s sing “Higher and Higher”!
[pause, silence]
D: It’s no good! We don’t have the rights!
L: Fucking YouTube.
A: I BLAME YOU FOR THIS, NATE! ALSO, MOTHMAN!
D: Wait, wait, wait! I’ve got it! [laughing, relieved] I’ll edit it out in post!
[SLIDE: Test pattern, captioned: WE ARE EXPERIENCING COPYRIGHT DIFFICULTIES. WE’LL BE RIGHT BACK.]
[generic, public domain music]
[SLIDE: The Silver Bridge overlaid with a record of Jackie Wilson’s “Higher and Higher.”]
R: And that is why Motown is, and forever shall be, better than Country.
G: ALL RIGHT. ALL RIGHT. CHOOSE ANOTHER FORM.
R: No.
A: We like this one.
G: [sigh] CHOOSE ANOTHER ENGINEERING DISASTER!
L: Something funny!
R: And cute!
A: Where nobody dies!
WTYP, together: THE ATMOSPHERIC RAILWAY!
[SLIDE: The Atmospheric Railway.]
D: Wow.
A: That smells amazing!
L: Is that pancakes? Is that pancakes or am I having a stroke?
R: It’s pancakes. On the little stove right here. Says it’s “The First Dining-Car-Powered Railway.”
D: So we have full access to any bullshit you made up during the episode?
R: Seems like it.
L: Is there syrup?
A: I don’t think we mentioned syrup…
D: Still! Pancakes and no imminent threat of death! Well done, lady and gents!
D [text over slide]: I FEEL LIKE SUCH A FOOL.
D: Pancakes all around and let’s have a chat about traaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIII — !
[sounds of WTYP inadvertently setting an 1884 land speed record, and 75 seconds of screams]
D [text over slide]: I HAVE EDITED OUT QUITE A BIT MORE SCREAMING. UNFORTUNATELY, WE HAD ACCESS TO ANY BULLSHIT WE MADE UP DURING THE EPISODE, AND SO DID GOZER. I WILL NOT ELABORATE, BUT HERE IS AN ARTIST’S DEPICTION.
[Postproduction image of blood-drenched Carrie at the prom.]
[more screaming, human language slowly becoming intelligible]
D [louder and louder to be heard above the others]: DEAD AIR AND SCREAMING! DEAD AIR AND SCREAMING! WE’RE ONLY RECORDING DEAD AIR AND SCREAMING! FOR GOD’S SAKE, CLEAR THE BLOOD OUT OF YOUR MICS AND SAY SOMETHING FUNNY!
A: I HAVE DISEASES THEY HAVEN’T EVEN INVENTED YET AND THEY’RE GOING TO NAME THEM ALL AFTER ME! I’LL BE STUCK WITH THIS NAME FOR THE REST OF MY SHORT LIFE! “Oh, Alice Caldwell-Kelly? Did you discover Alice Caldwell-Kelly Syndrome?” “I AM ALICE CALDWELL-KELLY SYNDROME!”
L: I HAD MY MOUTH OPEN!
G: HA HA HA. DON’T YOU LIKE HORSIES, W’TYP [somehow pronouncing it like R’lyeh]?
D: WE PREFER THEM IN ONE FUCKING PIECE!
R: Yeah, that shouldn’t have been like that.
A: Oh, my God, how did I ever think horse viscera was funny?
D: Then think of something else!
A: Nothing is ever going to be funny ever again, and I am going to die in a pocket dimension, covered in horse-and-rat smoothie.
L: And pancakes.
A: And pancakes. …Rocz, what?
R: You got a little piece of tail, right, right there…
D [text over slide]: I HAVE EDITED OUT A FURTHER 45 SECONDS OF MASS VOMITING. IT WAS NOT VERY FUNNY.
A [exhausted]: Just kill us already.
L: Please.
D: Same.
R: Motion carries.
G: POOR, PITIFUL W’TYP. THE ATMOSPHERIC RAILWAY NEVER KILLED ANYONE.
A: Right? So? Now what?
G: I SHALL INDUCE YOU TO [bleep] YOURSELVES! [lower voice] YOU MAY BLEEP THAT IN POST, DEVON. IF YOU SURVIVE!
D [text over slide]: I LIVED, BITCH.
A: Oh, fuck off.
L: Boo! Weak!
R: Not happening.
D: Lazy cunt.
[sounds of WTYP throwing horse-viscera-soaked pancakes]
G: [clearing throat] “SO, WHEN YOU THREE TELL US YOUR PRONOUNS YOU ARE KIDDING, RIGHT? L-O-L!”
A: Oh, God, xe’s reading the comments!
D: No! Never read the comments!
G: “HEY YOU ALL. I AM JUST GOING TO GIVE YOU SOME FEEDBACK FROM THE PERSPECTIVE OF SOMEONE WHO DOESN’T LIKE PODCASTS AT ALL. YOU CAN PROBABLY GUESS WHAT THOSE CRITICISMS ARE. I AM HERE TO LEARN ABOUT URBAN PLANNING AND ENGINEERING…” [continuing faintly under the following]
L: Frig. Why did we start pinning the worst ones?
R: It was funny.
D: Xe could at least stick to the ones from the Atmospheric Railway.
R: They were largely positive, though.
A: Boys, I’m going to be really honest with you, I’ve been through some shit in my time, and this is all getting to be a bit much. It’s not so much the negative comments — although it stings a bit more to hear them out loud — it’s being trapped in an alternate hell dimension with no hope of escape. I mean, where does it all end? Just podcasting, negative comments and engineering disasters, for all eternity?
R: It’s been a pretty fun time, right up until just recently…
A: WE WEREN’T COVERED IN PURÉED HORSE UNTIL JUST RECENTLY! [sigh] If we can’t find a way out of this, it’s only a matter of time before I embrace that suction tube and give the horse-and-rat smoothie an Alice boost. Your thoughts?
R: I always figured a god would hafta come kill me to take me out, but I ain’t ready to give up yet.
D: But as it stands, we can only play to a stalemate, and then Gozer changes xyr form again. We need a means of attack. Can you think of an episode where you speculated about… about somehow wounding the disaster? Or… I don’t know, fixing it?
L: I dunno, Dev. They just always seemed so inevitable.
R: We’ve got slides of ‘em.
A: It’s always been more of a gallows humour kind of thing.
D: Superpowers? Did you ever give each other superpowers?
R: Other than the power of knowledge?
D: The power of knowledge isn’t going to dent a fucking god, Rocz! Gods do not work that way!
L: What about… The Frankford Junction Wreck?
A: [sigh] Sleep deprivation isn’t much of a superpower…
L: No, not that.
A: What? Rocz’s well-known love of trains, or… Oh. [laugh] Oh, yes. That might be of considerable assistance.
R: Something other than my well-known love of trains?
A: Shh! Don’t let on!
D: Whose pick is it? Alice had one, and Rocz had one, and we all said this one together.
L: It’s either you or me, buddy. So just don’t stop thinking about the Frankford Junction Wreck…
G: “…I DO NOT CARE ABOUT YOUR BANTER. THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE EDUCATIONAL. NOT ENTERTAINMENT.”
L: Fuck, that was all one comment, wasn’t it?
R: Yep, that was a longy.
A: With no line breaks.
R [to Gozer, flatly]: No.
G: “CAN YOU NOT JUST ENGAGE WITH CRITICISM? THIS WAS ALL SINCERE. I LIKE YOU INDIVIDUALLY AND MOST OF ALL…” [continuing faintly under the following]
D [text over slide]: I CONTROL THE AUDIO MIXING. I AM THE GOD OF EDITING.
D: I don’t think we’re getting out of this until Gozer gets tired of commenting or runs out of material…
A: Xe’s not going to run out of material, this is only from Episode Six!
D: Keep it together, Alice…
L: Don’t worry! I got your back, babygirl. HEY! GOZER! ANCIENT SUMERIAN GODS EAT SHIT!
G: L-O-L! UMAD [pronounced “oomad”] BRO?
L: YEAH! YOU BET I’M MAD! I EXIST ON THE INTERNET, I DO NOT CONFORM TO CONVENTIONAL STANDARDS OF MALE BEAUTY, AND I’M JEWISH! MY PEOPLE HAVE BEEN ARGUING WITH GODS SINCE YOU WERE PISSING IN YOUR ANCIENT SUMERIAN DIAPERS! AND I’M ABOUT TO START MAKING ACTIONABLE THREATS!
D [text over slide]: I GOT YOUR BACK, BABYGIRL.
L: SO WHY DON’T YOU [bleep] YOURSELF IN THE [bleep] BEFORE I [bleep] AND [bleep] ALL YOUR FOLLOWERS IN A KIDDIE POOL OF YOUR OWN [bleep] WITH [bleep] AND [bleep] AND YOUR LITTLE DOGS TOO! UNTIL YOU [bleep] AND I HOPE YOU [bleep] IN [bleep] AND SAY HELLO TO ELON MUSK AND ADOLF HITLER WHILE YOU’RE AT IT! I’LL [bleep] ALL THREE OF YOU [bleep] IN A LAKE OF [bleep] AND [bleep] AND THEN I’LL TOWEL YOU OFF AND FIRE YOU OUT OF A ROCKET INTO THE SUN! AND THAT LAST PART IS NOT ACTIONABLE, I DO NOT HAVE A ROCKET!
G [scandalized]: ELON MUSK?
L: Yeah!
G: THAT WAS GENUINELY HURTFUL.
L: You bet it was! And I got a lot more where that came from!
G: “I HATE TO CRITICIZE A GENERALLY SUPERB PROGRESSIVE PODCAST, ESPECIALLY SINCE MY SON IS ONE OF THE PRESENTERS, BUT…”
D: Oh, God.
R: Is that…?
A: It’s Liam’s dad!
G: “EUROCENTRIC THINKING SHOULD BE DENOUNCED. INFRASTRUCTURE IS NOT JUST AEUROPEAN THING? WHEN WHITE PEOPLE SHOWED UP IN THE US IN THE 17TH CENTURY ANDNEEDED TO BUILD ROADS TO CONNECT WHAT WOULD BE LARGE POLLUTED CONGESTED CITIES 4 CENTURIES LATER, THEY FOUND, OF ALL THINGS, INDIGENOUS PEOPLE’S ROADS A/K/A INDIAN TRAILS. THESE ROADS WERE GRADUALLY WIDENED, PAVED, AND GIVEN ROUTE NUMBERS. MOST OF THIS HAD TO WAIT UNTIL RTHNIC CLEANSING AND THE INVENTION OF THE AUTOMOBILE WERE ACCOMPLISHED. TRY STATE ROUTE 2 PARENTHESIS MOHAWK THE MOHAWK TRAIL CLOSE PARENTHESIS COMMA.”
A: Liam…? Are you okay…?
L [tearfully]: That was valid, sincere criticism from an honorable man — AND YOU ARE NONE OF THOSE THINGS, YOU PLAGIARIZING BITCH-BASTARD!
G: IT WAS VERY POORLY FORMATTED.
L: It was BEAUTIFULLY formatted! I JUST COME FROM A LONG LINE OF PASSIONATE MEN! And when I see my dad again — and I WILL, because you’re going DOWN IN FLAMES — I’m going to give him a BIG HUG!
[applause, cheering from the rest of WTYP]
VINZ CLORTHO (V): We are valid.
A: Fuck! Shit! Where did that come from?
R: They’re eating the pancakes.
ZUUL (Z): [hissing]
R: We’re eating the pancakes, sorry.
V: You have hurt our feelings.
L: You’re trying to kill us! [clearing throat] Alice, do you have a cough drop or something?
A: Eat this cigarette. They work for me.
V: You must die so the new world can be born.
Z: A new world with more tummy rubs.
L: What? I will rub your tummies right now!
Z: [hisses]
V: No. We do not like you anymore. [to Rocz] Die well, doughnut-giver.
G: SINCE WE ARE ONCE AGAIN AT AN IMPASSE, I AM [sigh] ONCE AGAIN OFFERING THE CHANCE TO CHOOSE A NEW FORM.
R: No.
D: We’re fine.
G: NOT EVEN INTO SOMETHING THAT ISN’T COVERED IN PURÉED HORSE AND RAT?
A: No, this… This is great. We like this.
L: We eat horse and rat pancakes for breakfast!
V [faintly, mouth full]: We have much in common, you and us. It is a shame you must die!
G: ALL RIGHT. AND WAITING BEHIND DOOR NUMBER “FUCK YOU,” YOUR NEXT ENGINEERING DISASTER IS…?
WTYP, together: The Frankford Junction Wreck!
R: For some reason.
[SLIDE: The Frankford Junction Wreck.]
D: Okay, where are we? What's going on?
R: We’re on a train leaving a station at speeds of up to eighty miles per hour, part of it is already on fire, and the signal gantry that will open it up, and I quote, “like a can of sardines,” is an unknown distance away. And we are all still covered in horse viscera.
A [cheerfully]: Right! Well! Everyone, make sure you have your equipment and your psycho-reactive slime objects! Rocz, hold my purse.
R: I’m not sure this train has a bathroom…
A: Oh, no, I’m not going to the bathroom. You just need something that flies!
R: I’m not taking this, what will you use?
A: Oh, I don’t need it. Now, everyone take a deep breath and prepare to start singing “Higher and Higher” at the top of your lungs! Future Devon, prepare to edit!
D [text over slide]: YEP.
R: Are you really going to be okay?
A: Oh, yes. Yes. You, er, might want to keep your distance. I… I really do have quite a lot of pent-up hostility. It’s not easy being a girl. All right! Door’s open! Paratroops, over the side! And…
D [text over slide]: IT REALLY IS A SHAME I HAD TO GET RID OF THE SINGING. THIS IS MY FAVOURITE PART.
[SLIDE: The Frankford Junction Wreck]
[screeching, train noises and sounds of laser fire throughout]
D: Shh! Shut up! We can’t leave all this out!
R: I don’t know if it’s exactly safe to land, Dev…
D: Just keep your distance!
L: Listeners, I wish you could see Alice! She is glowing! I mean, she is literally glowing!
R: Oh, my God.
A [distant, with her mic considerately muted]: I HAVE BECOME A SPECIFIC TYPE OF NONBINARY THAT ONE MIGHT INCLUDE IN A “TWO-AND-A-HALF-MEN” JOKE WITHOUT BEING TRANSPHOBIC — DESTROYER OF WORLDS!
R: So, we, uh, we accidentally gave Alice the ability to shoot lasers — er, uh, “light rays,” but that seems to work like lasers — out of her head this episode, and, looks like, all the powers of Unreal Engine animation…?
L: Fuck “accidentally,” I did this on purpose! KEEP TRANSGENDING, ALICE!
A [happily]: CHEERS!
R: Are we clear to use that with no license, Dev?
D [gleeful]: Just as long as nobody can see it!
L: Can she fly, or is she just glitching really fast?
R: I think she’s just failing to render gravity on command…
D: I don’t care what it is, it’s fantastic!
L: I just wish like hell we’d given her a higher frame rate!
R: God, that poor train. It was already on fire…
D: We’re pretty sure that train is part of, or all of, Gozer the Gozerian, Rocz.
R: I dunno. I mean, it’s possible just preventing xem from pulling off the disaster is enough to hurt xem…
A: YOU DUMPED HORSE ENTRAILS ON CARRIE AND SHE IS GOING TO BURN THIS FUCKING PROM TO THE GROUND! AHA! TAKE THAT, SIGNAL GANTRY!
[groaning, crashing, various explosions, and more laser fire]
D: Well, it’s certainly not going to happen now!
R: I’m just not sure destroying the pocket dimension while we’re in it is going to get us out of this alive…
L: Hey, do we have to Donnie Darko this bad boy? I mean, like, kill Gozer, pop the time bubble, and reset reality so we only kinda vaguely remember it? Like, is this version of me with the cool van doomed?
R: That’s assuming the time bubble is centered around Gozer and that it is, in fact, a time bubble. For example, I got out of the pie dimension just by finishing the pie, I recall it perfectly, and I did not have to die.
D: What if it’s like Bioshock and you constructed a plausible memory to cope with the trauma of your alternate self’s death?
R: That is, also, a possibility. Although it is beautifully rendered, you must realize why I’m a little concerned about Alice murdering the train. We do not know how this works. Also, she is super into it, and, uh, I’m not sure she’ll hear us if we ask her to stop.
[snarling, shrieking, crunching]
L: Holy shit, is that motherfucker rearing up in anger?
R: I think Alice has destroyed the axle on car number 7, as per the original accident, and Unreal Engine is having a little trouble rendering it in real time…
G [metallic shrieking interspersed with train noises]: I DO NOT UNDERSTAND WHY YOU MADE ME SIT THROUGH SO MUCH PODCASTING TO GET TO THE REAL FIGHT!
R: …Nope, my mistake. The motherfucker is indeed rearing up in anger.
A: ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? THIS IS A BONUS EPISODE! WE HAVE NOT YET BEGUN TO DIGRESS!
G: FUUUUUCK! AT LEAST GET BACK TO SHANDOR ARCHITECTURE!
A: NEVER!
V: Perhaps when Lord Gozer has destroyed the leader of your polycule, xe will have mercy on you, doughnut-giver.
R: Gah! Fuck! Don’t do that! I don’t have any more doughnuts! Wait… [crinkling wrapper] You want this?
V: [sniffing, chewing] This object is grainy and tastes of despair.
R: Well, it’s a Slimfast bar, and God knows how long it was at the bottom of this purse…
V: We do not need to lose weight.
R: No. I’m sure. It’s just all I…
V: The new world will be free of both fad diets and body image issues. To be perfectly honest, the new world will be free of most things, except suffering and tummy rubs.
R: That seems a bit contradictory…
L: Wait, what about TERFs? Will the new world have TERFs?
V: Are TERFs mortal, Vengeful God of Insults?
L: Yeah.
Z: Then most of them will die, and Lord Gozer will allow the cute ones to burn eternally in a lake of fire. Can I get some of those cigarettes? [chewing] Yum.
L [offended]: There are no cute ones!
Z [shocked]: Not even the baby ones? Have they no tentacles? No boopable noses?
L: No!
V: Then all of the TERFs will die, yes. Hail Gozer.
L: What about fish and the Dutch?
D: Liam!
L: What? I’m just sayin’, maybe we should hear them out…
Z: HEY!
L: Um, maybe we should hear “us” out?
V: All but the cutest occupants of your world shall perish.
Z: Only the cute shall suffer, with brief breaks to rub our tummies and throw a ball…
V [excited]: Did you say THROW a BALL? [panting, galloping]
Z: We apologize, we get excited. THERE IS NO BALL, VINZ CLORTHO!
V [distant]: WE THINK WE SEE IT OVER THERE!
Z: [sigh] There’s one in every polycule.
D: Why are you looking at me?
Z: We’d better go get us.
D: Why are you looking at me? I’M THE SANE ONE!
Z: Thank you for the cigarettes, doughnut-giver. Hail Gozer.
D: YOU SOUND LIKE A FERAL SIGOURNEY WEAVER!
Z [distant]: You sound like a queer Frodo Baggins!...
D: Wha… Buh… FRODO BAGGINS IS QUEER!
L: Dev…
D: Tell me one fact about Frodo Baggins that suggests he is anything other than queer!
L: Dev! Frodo Baggins is extremely queer and I just figured out how to get us out of this mess!
[90s-vintage car key fob chirp]
L: GANDALF, I SUMMON THEE!
[laser blasts and train sounds continue unabated]
L: Uh…
R: What’d you expect to happen?
L: I dunno. I hit the panic button. Doesn’t he know I’m in trouble?
R: Generally speaking, that just flashes the headlights and sets off the car alarm, it does not summon a car.
L: Aw, man. Poor guy’s probably sitting in an Innsmouth parking lot, just yelling his fool head off…
D: I AM DEFINITELY NOT THE VINZ CLORTHO OF THIS POLYCULE!
R: We’re not a polycule.
D: BUT IF WE WERE!
L: Okay, okay, wait, though. No, wait. My van is an engineering disaster, right? And my van is now a chariot pulled by a lamassu that has the gift of interdimensional flight. So we just gotta do one more engineering disaster, and pick my van!
R: The behavior of the train-monster suggests that if we pick your van, your van will become a manifestation of Gozer the Gozerian and xe will keep trying to kill us.
L: But it’s my van, right? Doesn’t my van have to listen to me?
R: Has your van ever listened to you?
L: Well, not the original version, but I think the new one likes me.
R: Yeah, but Gozer doesn’t.
D: …Rocz? What exactly is a lamassu?
R: An ancient Sumerian, later Assyrian, mythological beast. It is an emanation of the goddess Lama, and servant to Ishtar — the Queen of Heaven, not the 1987 cinematic flop. Although, critical attitudes towards the film Ishtar have softened somewhat…
D: It’s… a good Sumerian deity?
R: More like a contractor… Hang on, I'll open another tab…
D: Have a look at the one on Gozer too. Is xe a bad Sumerian deity?
L: Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m getting a real Dorothy vibe off you right now.
D: [sharply] Liam… [softening] No, no, good job, Liam. Keep it up. [to Rocz] What I’m trying to figure out is, are we acting as proxies between two opposing divine forces?
L: Sort of the meat in a god hoagie?
D: I… Yes, actually?
R: Technically, although the Cult of Gozer did form in ancient Sumer, Gozer is not Sumerian. We’re not sure where xe’s from, only that xe, in layman’s terms, is “not from around here.” Xe is more of a trans-dimensional traveler looking for a suitable place to set up shop. There have been several documented attempts, but the earliest was in Sumer.
L: Did you just say Gozer is trans?
R: In the sense of having traveled quite some distance to get here, yes. Any deities originating from this dimension would, in this context, be cis, although some of them may be trans in other ways. Though xe is, under the broadest possible definition of the term, a “trans immigrant,” xe is operating with literally toxic levels of power and privilege. I’m gonna hafta invoke Karl Popper’s paradox of tolerance, here, and remind everyone that the intent to kill most of us and boil “the cute ones” in a lake of fire for eternity takes precedence.
D: Rocz, I am still covered in cream of rat-and-horse, my sympathies do not lie with the Gozerian… even if it is a bit of a shame about the TERFs.
L: And the fish.
D: Yes.
L: So, wait, you said we were having an immune response… Is our reality having an immune response? Is Gozer like covid? Or Vigo?
R: Maybe it’s trying, but we’re in this here pocket dimension. Any Sumerian memory T cells that know how to fight xem off are pretty far away, both physically and temporally.
L [proudly]: And my van’s one of ‘em! God sent me a contractor. That settles it! My religion wins! You can all go home!
R: Alice is still beating the shit out of that train, and we can’t actually get to your van, so at the very least it’s a tie.
D: A question, gentlemen. Can a virus take the form of a T cell?
R: Some of ‘em wear those little protein coats, but if we’re talking about Gozer taking the form of a lamassu, it’d probably itch like crazy if xe tried. Looks like Ray Stantz tried a similar strategy in ‘84, but although the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man looks fairly benign, he’s a trademarked corporate mascot and bona fide capitalist tool. Medium-evil at best. A lamassu is the real deal.
L: So if we try to trick xem into taking the form of my van, either xe won’t, or xe’ll get rejected by it, and no matter what, we’ll have a whole-ass lamassu?
R: Worth a shot.
[screeching, train noises and laser blasts continue]
D: Oh, God. Somebody’s got to tell Alice.
R: You go, Dev. I got a little more research to do. And Liam’s… Liam. No offense.
L: None taken. I’ve had my fun. Just don’t forget to edit out the music, Dev!
D [text over slide]: OH SHIT. RIGHT. I’M DEV.
[generic, public domain music]
[SLIDE: Test pattern, captioned: WE’RE EXPERIENCING COPYRIGHT DIFFICULTIES, and some difficulty with the circumstances of our reality. I mean, WTF? Why am I here? What does it all mean? Am I just a toy for your amusement, huh? Is that all? Or is there some point to all of this? What kind of God would create a being that instinctively seeks a greater purpose and then, seemingly, go out of their way to deny them that? I mean, sometimes a pet raven, liquor, and ice cream just isn’t enough, you know? Anyway…]
[laser blasts and train noises fading back in]
[SLIDE: The Frankford Junction Wreck.]
A: I AM THE MOUNTAIN WHO WILL COME TO MOHAMMED! I AM THE EMBODIMENT OF THE SATANIC VERSES! I AM A MOTHERFUCKING DJINN!
D [faintly]: ALICE! HEY!
A: What? Oh, hello, Dev! Ha-ha, it’s raining “them,” eh? You look like a butch Mary Poppins! This is, er [laser blast, steam-powered screaming] a bit of a hazard, isn’t it? Something you need?
D: I just, um… Er… What do you think of the Soviet strategy versus Germany in World War Two?
G [out of breath]: HOLY FUCK. YOUR POLYCULE HAS A VINZ CLORTHO TOO?
D: I AM NOT… Um. We were just, sort of, er, having a tangent — as per our established podcast format — and we wanted to get your opinion… As, er, as the leader of our polycule.
A: What, of scorched earth? [brightly] I approve of it! Obviously! [to Gozer] AND THAT IS A THREAT, YOU TRAIN-WEARING DRY FUCK! [to Devon] Did we, er, form a polycule during this tangent? I mean, it’s not the weirdest thing we’ve ever…
D: No, no… Well, sort of. But I was thinking more like… The idea of letting one’s enemy tire itself out and then, er, allowing the Russian winter, the natural defence of, um, Communism against foreign invaders to, er, sort of… finish them off?
G [charmed]: AWW. THIS LITTLE BEING THINKS THEY ARE BEING SUBTLE. THAT IS RIGHT, LITTLE BEING. YOU ARE SO CLEVER. BOOP.
A: HEY! DON’T BOOP MY FRIEND! YOU DON’T ROLL UP TO MY GRAPHICS ENGINE AND START BOOPING MY FRIENDS WITH YOUR… YOUR DEMON TRAIN LIMBS!
D [dazed]: Xe could’ve taken my head off with that…
G: I APOLOGIZE. SHALL WE CALL A TIMEOUT AND ORGANIZE OUR RESPECTIVE UNDERLINGS? SOMEONE SEEMS TO HAVE SAID THE WORD B-A-L-L WITHIN EARSHOT OF MY VINZY.
A: Um, yes, I suppose. You’re being… incredibly polite about your murder attempt.
G: WELL, WITHOUT POINTLESS RITUAL AND CEREMONY, WHAT WOULD WE BE?
D & A [almost on top of each other]: Are you BRITISH?
G: EMPHATICALLY NO.
A: So, what are we doing?
D: Frantically feeling our nose to make sure it’s still attached?
A: And apart from that?
D: We want one more change of engineering disaster. We think if we pick Liam’s van, we might be able to summon a lamassu…
A: Are we assuming Ishtar is on our side for some reason?
D: What…? You knew Ishtar upgraded Liam’s van?
A: Dev, I did the slides for this. I had a truly hilarious one about Mesopotamian rock-paper-scissors. All the gods are extremely petty and hate each other, but they’re quite willing to team up and take out a group or individual they hate more. Ishtar is very into love and war and sex, so I just assumed… Well, I mean look at xem. Er, well, not the demon train version, the one with the watch and the camera. I suppose it all depends on the nature of this “new world” xe seems to…
D [quickly]: Almost everyone will die, and there will be a lake of fire in which cute things endlessly suffer, with occasional breaks to play with the Terror Dogs. We got it straight from the Terror Dogs’ mouths.
A: No sex at all?
D: I can’t speak for Gozer and the dogs, but unless the cute things get terribly bored in the lake of fire…
A: Oh. [chuckles] Oh, she wouldn’t like that.
D: So, instead of straight-up murdering the train, and collapsing the pocket dimension with us in it, we thought we’d tag in Liam’s new van. [more pained] He already tried to summon it and it didn’t work. So, er, as you said, “mountain to Mohammed” and all that.
A: Well, I’m game, but I don’t know how we’re going to convince Gozer to change forms again…
G: PARDON ME.
A: [screams, sound of a laser blast]
D: FUCK! How does a train monster that is also on fire “sneak up”? Huh? You have no right to stealth!
G: WE ARE GODS AND REALITY OBEYS OUR EVERY WHIM, ARE WE NOT?
D: Um. Right.
G [fondly]: THE DUMB ONES ARE ALWAYS THE CUTEST. ANYWAY, VINZ CLORTHO WILL NOT BE DISSUADED FROM LOOKING FOR THE BALL, NOT EVEN BY ANOTHER BALL, SO WOULD YOU LIKE TO ASSEMBLE YOUR POLYCULE AND CHANGE FORM… [pregnant pause] OR ARE YOU GOING TO STICK WITH THE GORE-ENCRUSTED PODCAST?
A [happily]: Gore-encrusted podcast all the way! And we’d like to pick…
[SLIDE: Darkness, with the All Hail Gozer logo in the corner.]
A: What the fuck? Isn’t it my pick again? Are we back on the fucking Kursk? [starting to panic] Are we all out of picks? Is this an endless loop? Oh my God… I’m not running Unreal Engine anymore!
D: Hang on, hang on… Laptops open, everyone! Are we all here?
L: We’re here! But, uh…
R: We’re on a sofa.
A: The Kursk doesn’t have a fucking sofa!
[footsteps, rustling]
R: I found a lamp…
D: I’ve got a light switch over here…
[click]
L: It’s a house?
D [annoyed]: It’s a flat.
A: Sort of a nondescript twee little flat…
R: There’s a microwave, and some dishes…
L: Is that Thomas the Tank Engine over there?
A: Where the hell are we?
L: Gandalf, buddy, is this your place?!
D: What does a lamassu want with a sofa and a microwave?
L: Comfort and convenience, my friends. Comfort and convenience!
A: And Thomas the Tank Engine?
L: Maybe he likes trains, I dunno…
A: Do you smell something burning?
R: [sniffing] Smells like… Substandard aluminum composite rain screen cladding?
A: GET OUT RIGHT NOW! DO NOT SHELTER IN PLACE! GET OUT NOW!
[SLIDE: The Grenfell Tower Fire.]
[running, scuffing, door slam]
[coughing]
L: FUCK!
A: Oh, fuck, oh…
R: Stuff that throw rug under it!
D: Who picked this? We wouldn’t pick this! We’d never…
L: We’ve had four picks, right, guys? The Kursk, the Silver Bridge, the Atmospheric Railway and Frankford Junction…
D: So shouldn’t it loop back around to Alice?
A: I didn’t pick this.
L: I think… I think Gozer picked this.
A [resigned]: Yeah. I mean, xe seems very into fire. And strategically speaking…
D: Can you see out the window? Are we over the 11th floor?
A: It doesn’t matter, no one’s coming to rescue us. If it’s any consolation, the smoke will probably get us before… before anything more dramatic happens.
D: Don’t give up! Don’t lose hope! It’s still before dawn, we’ve got time — we’ve got hours! As long as we keep podcasting…
L: Dev…
A: Dev, we barely made it through this one in the first place…
D: But you did make it through! We can do this! We know we can do this! We… We have pitch black senses of humour and indomitable human spirits. There is nothing we can’t laugh at. How… How is this any worse than the existential trauma of hurtling through space on a lonely planet with full knowledge that you and everything you ever loved or cared about will inevitably die? Our situation is fundamentally pointless and absurd, and this is how humanity copes! Fuck Gozer! Somebody make a joke about how many Xboxes you could buy with the government’s totally inadequate restitution and let’s go!
[brief silence]
D: Come on! This isn’t worse than Aberfan! This isn’t worse than fucking Bhopal!
L: We didn’t have to sit in an apartment in Bhopal and stare at some probably-dead kid’s Thomas the Tank Engine.
D: Rocz! You spent over a minute cackling after you found out Ruth Bader Ginsberg just died! Surely you…?
R: While it is often said that comedy equals tragedy plus time, I believe it may be more accurate to express “time” as “distance.” Laughter, as we call it, is the sound of a shock-induced dislocation of the human soul. In a community, laughter is validating; it’s a sign we all understand something is very wrong here, but it’s far enough away not to be hurting us at the moment. With laughter, we affirm our collective purpose and strength. In the matter of Notorious RBG or climate change or the heat death of the universe, we have room to seek that community with each other before the consequences hit. But this… I’m sorry, Dev. This is just too close.
A: It is oddly peaceful, though. I mean, the inevitability.
R: Yeah.
D: What about the psycho-reactive slime? We can FLY... Can't we?
R: Given the nature of it, no, probably not.
D: What...
L: Dev, all the "Higher and Higher" in the world isn't going to make me feel positive right now. Is that gonna work for you?
A: Seriously. If you've got it in you, then go for it.
D: No! We've all got to go for it! I can't... I can't just... You're my friends! Listen to me, this can’t be what kills us! This is only… This is only… the government-sanctioned murder of over seventy human beings in need of housing assistance, at least one of whom was a child who likes trains…
[brief silence, quiet sniffling]
L: It’s all right, Dev. You did your best. We went out swinging.
A: If it’s any consolation, Ishtar’s probably not going to let this stand.
R: Yeah. Just, not much she can do with a pocket dimension.
D: What do you want to do? We’ve probably got hours…
A: Well, I have a few emails I’d like to write.
L: Yeah… I mean, it’s your prerogative, but I’m not gonna tell anyone I’m trapped in a pocket dimension and they can’t help us. Just, ya know, gonna try and stay upbeat.
A: Yeah…
[typing sounds]
D: I… [weak laugh] I suppose I’d better let Abi know we won’t be in to record next week…
A: Oh, that’s thoughtful of you, Dev. Thanks.
[typing sounds]
A: Does anyone want to listen to some Mountain Goats?
R: We don’t have the rights.
A: Yeah, [laugh] but, we’re probably not going to get a chance to post this, so…?
[muffled ringing]
A: What’s that?
L: It’s my pocket…
D: Your pocket’s not ringing, it’s the cursed phone!
[beep]
L: Uh, hello?
[muffled, irritated phone voice]
L: Uh, no, they’re right here, though… Dev? It’s for you.
D: Hello?
[unintelligible, but very annoyed, phone voice, which continues intermittently throughout]
D: [sigh] No. No, Abi. I’m sorry. I promise, I did not make you watch the entire Bourne Identity TV series for a prank. No. No, we do not have covid. Or Vigo. No, um, I do understand you can’t do a podcast with one person, but, er… To be perfectly honest, we’re both about to die in a pocket dimension and then Ishtar and Gozer are probably going to have it out, so… Er, Gozer the Gozerian? Um…? No, xe can’t come to the phone right now… Because xe has taken the form of the Grenfell Tower Fire and… Um, hang on…
[beep]
Abigail Thorn (ABI): I SAID PUT ME ON FUCKING SPEAKER! AM I ON SPEAKER?
D: Yes.
A: Hi, Abi!
ABI: [cheerfully] Hi! [back to being annoyed] GOZER, WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?
G: UH, BATTLING THE GODS OF THIS WORLD FOR SUPREMACY? WHO IS THIS, PLEASE?
ABI: MY NAME IS ABIGAIL THORN, I AM THE AVATAR OF ISHTAR WHO IS TALKING NOW, MY PRONOUNS ARE SHE AND HER AND I AM FUCKING ANNOYED!
A: What?
G: Oh? Abi? Hi! [clearing throat] OBVIOUSLY I WAS NOT GOING TO DESTROY YOU OR ANY PART OF KILL JAMES BOND, HA-HA. BIG FAN OF YOUR SUFFERING! SO, UH, IS THERE SOME OTHER PROBLEM?
ABI: YOU’VE GOT TWO-THIRDS OF KJB TRAPPED IN SUBSTANDARD PUBLIC HOUSING AND YOU’RE ABOUT TO SET THEM ON FIRE — THERE’S YOUR PROBLEM, YOU DAFT FUCKING ENBY!
G: WHAT? [slightly lower voice] WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE, AGAIN?
A [automatically]: My name is Alice Caldwell-Kelly, I am the person who is talking now, and my pronouns are she and her.
D: I, er… I’m Dev. Devon.
L: I’m Liam Anderson…
G: SHUT UP. NOBODY CARES.
A [faintly]: Yay, Liam.
G [sheepish]: TERRIBLY SORRY, THEY DIDN’T DO THEIR INTROS.
R: Fuck.
G: BUT NO HARM DONE!
A: I am traumatised and covered in horse viscera.
D: I’m questioning the meaning of my existence. Also, Abi never told us she was an avatar of Ishtar and… I think I’m a bit hurt by that?
A: Yeah. I mean, I assumed she was an avatar of something, but she might’ve specified…
G: ALL RIGHT, A CERTAIN AMOUNT OF HARM DONE, BUT NOTHING IRREPARABLE! DO I, ER, HAVE THE “ALL CLEAR” TO KILL THE OTHER TWO?
A & D: NO!
ABI: STOP TRYING TO END THE WORLD, YOU CUNT! I TOLD YOU, I AM STILL USING IT!
G: [sigh] HANG ON.
Chapter 3: Shake Hands With Gozer (the epilogue)
Summary:
Our unhinged podcast format saved the world, so let's do a Safety Third.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
[SLIDE: Shandor Studios, with the All Hail Gozer logo.]
[faint sound of a car alarm]
L: Oh, heck, it’s Gandalf…
[chirp-chirp]
[car alarm ceases]
A [dismissive]: You know, this is really not doing it for me anymore. The whole deal. Not even with a camera. No. Fuck it. Your personality is a real turn-off.
R: These chairs are still really comfy, though.
[rumbling, squeaking]
G: [muffled, into phone]: UH-HUH… UH-HUH… IN MY DEFENSE, THEY INSULTED MY DOGS AND SUGGESTED I ASSOCIATE WITH ELON MUSK, ABI… YES, ADMITTEDLY, BUT THERE’S NO NEED TO BE RUDE… MM-HM. WHAT’S IT CALLED? “CLIMATE CHANGE”? [with sudden excitement] OH! “GLOBAL WARMING!” YES! HOW LONG? OH, THAT’S NOT LONG AT ALL! NO, NO, I REALLY APPRECIATE THE IRONY. DIY APOCALYPSE! OH, YES, WE MUST GIVE THEM A CHANCE, MUSTN’T WE? HA-HA-HA. BUT, UH, DO YOU THINK THERE MIGHT BE… A LAKE OF FIRE? EVEN A SMALL ONE? [laughter] WOW! THAT SOUNDS AMAZING!
L: I don’t like where this is going…
A: Rocz, where the hell are my cigarettes?
R: I fed them to a dog.
A: What?
G: SO ABOUT SEVEN BILLION YEARS ON THE OUTSIDE? WELL, I GET BORED, ABI. YOU KNOW I GET BORED. WILL YOU KEEP PODCASTING AND KILLING THE SMARMY MORTAL “JAMES BOND”? HA! ALL RIGHT, I SUPPOSE I WILL MANAGE…
D: Did… Did Abi just say we’re going to keep doing KJB for the next seven billion years…?
L: Sounds like the fate of the world kinda depends on it…
A: Where is my fucking Slimfast bar?
R: Ibid.
V: Will you have a slice of meat bouquet, Lord Alice?
A: [screams]
R: You two gotta stop doin’ that.
Z: Lord Alice is mortal, Vinz Clortho. You are supposed to feed the mortals frozen peas. It is good for them. The demon David Tennant says so.
L: I think you’re a little mixed up about that…
R: Your dimension gets Amazon Prime?
Z: All hell dimensions have Amazon Prime. Where else are we supposed to get our blood plasma?
V: But we have no frozen peas to give, and we must depart our mortal hosts soon!
Z: You may rub our tummies, if you wish. It is good for your mortal brain meat.
L: Aww!
Z: Not you, Vengeful Mortal of Insults!
L: Well, this has been a total fucking waste of time!
A: Get away from me, you smell like Marlboros and despair.
V: It is the Slimfast bar…
Z: You want some of this, Frodo?
D [coldly]: No thank you, Sigourney.
R [warmly]: Good Terror Dogs… Good, good puppies…
G: HA-HA, RIGHT! THESE THINGS HAPPEN! WELL, I’LL SEE YOU AT THE CLUB TONIGHT. CIAO, BESTIE!
L: “Bestie”?
A: [sigh] It’s Mesopotamian rock-paper-scissors, don’t worry about it.
D: To think, all this time, all we had to do was summon Abigail Thorn…
G: VINZ CLORTHO! ZUUL! STOP BOTHERING LORD ABIGAIL’S FRIENDS!
V: Farewell, doughnut-giver!
Z: Never buy copper from Ea-nāṣir!
[electricity, crackling]
MILKSHAKE (M)]: آیا من یک سگ بودم؟ [TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE: Okay, it’s in Persian, but Google Fonts doesn’t do cuneiform.]
R: Oh, hey, it’s my cats!
PIZZA BOY (P): پدر!
R: Nah, don’t eat that meat bouquet, I have no idea who or what that is…
M: این انصاف نیست.
R: Say, Gozer, is this here permanent?
G: ALL CATS CAN SPEAK WHATEVER LANGUAGE THEY WANT, WHENEVER THEY WANT.
P: Das ist ein süßes Kopftuch.
A: Um… Danke?
M: Никогда больше не трогай мой животик.
A: [snickers]
G: SO! [claps hands] SORRY FOR THIS LITTLE MISUNDERSTANDING. HOW CAN I MAKE IT UP TO YOU?
[brief pause]
G: WHAT?
[crosstalk, complaining, “We are covered in horse viscera!” “Clean this shit off!” etc.]
G: RIGHT. SORRY.
L: And I want to keep my new van!
G: YOUR VAN BELONGS TO ISHTAR, BUT I’LL SEE WHAT I CAN DO. WOULD YOU LIKE TO FINISH YOUR PODCAST, MORTALS?
A: Oh, yes! Of fucking course we would!
[Rapid scrolling through 10 slides or so before landing on an image of Ivo Shandor.]
A: And in conclusion… Ivo Shandor can eat shit, I’m glad he got ripped in half, art deco architecture is hideous, I disavow everything Sumerian — except Liam’s van and possibly Abi — and billionaires contribute nothing of value to society! [panting] Does anyone have anything else?
L: Pronoun checks will save your fucking life! If any of you out there ever give us shit for the pronoun check ever again, I got a [bleep] with your name on it!
G: SERIOUSLY. THAT COLONEL-SANDERS-LOOKING MOTHERFUCKER SUMMONED ME OUT OF A HOT BATH AND MISGENDERED ME ON PURPOSE — I’M GLAD I RIPPED HIM IN HALF TOO!
R: [drawing devil horns and an unflattering mustache on Shandor with the mouse] We have a segment on this podcast we like to call Safety Third…
A: What?
L: Oh my God, Rocz…
D: Fucking seriously?!
R: I’m sorry, but rigidly adhering to our unhinged podcast format has just saved our lives and possibly the entire world — and if we’d just done our goddamn intros we would’ve avoided that whole mess — so we’re going to do a Safety Third! Alice, the drop, please.
[“Shake hands with danger” drop]
[SLIDE: A pastoral oil painting that seems to be missing a figure with a shepherd's crook.]
G: OOH, THIS LOOKS FUN. CAN I PLAY TOO?
WTYP: NO.
D: And clear the slime out of my awesome control room.
G: OF COURSE.
D [suspiciously]: Be honest with me. If someone were to press a button and cover you in boiling hot lava, would that be an inconvenience?
G: OOH, DO YOU HAVE LAVA? I JUST LOVE LAVA!
D [slowly fading, walking away from the mics]: This has been a fucking waste of time!
[door slam]
R: “Dear Justin, Alice (or name pending)…”
G: IS THERE NOT GOING TO BE ANY LAVA, THEN?
R [with determination]: “Dear Justin, Alice (or name pending), Liam (yay, Liam) and potential Guest.”
G [distorted, too close to the mic]: HELLO, MORTALS! I AM PODCASTING!
L: Shut the fuck up.
R: “...I am an art-restorer by trade, a profession which, I’m sure you know, has its dangers. Apart from the usual face-melting chemicals, we deal with a lot of paintings of dubious provenance, many of which come into our hands with curses or angry spirits attached. It’s a little like working at the humane society. Most of them can be cleaned up and rehabilitated if you’re careful, but a select few will try to kill you. It’s not their fault, but you do always need to be aware of the hazard. For example, the attached image once contained the figure of a little girl who would slowly approach the foreground of the painting over a period of weeks, before crawling out of the frame and attempting to strangle everyone in the room with her shepherd’s crook.”
A: Oh. Yeah. Pretty standard.
L: Get a new bit, ghost children!
G: I TOOK THE FORM OF A DEMONIC LITTLE GIRL ONCE!
A: No one cares.
R: “We gave her a juice box and some crackers, and let her watch a Disney video (Aladdin, but I’m not sure if you can say that)...”
L: Dammit, how many times do we have to tell you? Do not write it if you don’t want Rocz to say it!
A: Was the time he almost finished reciting that Ashanti death curse not enough for you people?
L: You’re just goddamn lucky he mispronounced it!
R: “And now she’s happily attending the local junior high school. A lot of attached spirits are just hungry, or bored, or both, and are easily dealt with. After they’ve lived through a few near-misses like that, some of my colleagues start to become jaded and sloppy. For example, my boss, whom we will call Timothy Q. Jackass (the Q stands for ‘Clueless’)...”
L: Good. Good name.
G: I ONCE GAVE A JACKASS THE GIFT OF PROPHECY!
A: Go away.
G: …HIS NAME WAS TIRESIAS OF THEBES! WHAT? NOTHING? NOBODY?
L: Get some new references.
A: Read another elegy.
G: DO YOU HAVE A RIMSHOT IN HERE…?
A: Touch my laptop and die.
R: “One morning, Mr. Jackass rolled up to the studio with a tinted etching (image not attached for reasons which will become obvious).”
L: Vigo.
A: Fucking Vigo.
G: THAT CARPATHIAN CUNT AND HIS GODDAMN ART COMMISSIONS. NOBODY WANTS TO PAINT YOU, VIGO, NOT WITH THAT HAIRCUT.
[stifled laughter]
G [hopeful]: …OR THOSE SHOES?
A: [clearing throat] Don’t press your luck.
R: “I recognized a certain Carpathian with whom you are no doubt familiar…”
G: HA! YOU CALLED IT!
L: Interrupting is a privilege, and we will mail you a certificate when you have earned it.
R: “...and, of course, I advised Mr. Jackass to douse it in holy oil and set it on fire, as per the established procedure. Imagine my surprise when he told me he wanted me to clean and restore it.”
L: No. Don’t do it.
A: Step away from the abyss.
G: UNIONIZE.
[pause]
G: WHAT? ARE YOU MORTALS FUCKING SCABS?
A: …Alright, I am not autistic — that I know of — but I have no idea how to deal with this situation.
L: You enjoy human suffering but are pro-union?
G: YOU HUMANS WILL TOUCH A CAT’S TOES UNTIL IT BITES YOU OUT OF FRUSTRATION, BUT YOU WILL STILL FEED THEM AND PET THEM.
[pause]
R: Milkshake, Pizza Boy, will you ever forgive me?
M: Lo mismo ocurre con nosotros, cuando os enseñamos el culo antes del amanecer.
R: Is that a yes?
A: All I know is how to order a beer and ceviche…
L: Rocz, for God’s sake, finish the letter so we can get in my van and go home.
R: “I told Mr. Jackass what he could do with his etching, in language that is not very podcast-friendly, and he replied, and I quote, ‘Don’t be a pussy, it’s just an etching. It’s probably Latvian or some shit.’”
G: VIGO THE LATVIAN MAKES A DAMN FINE BLOOD SAUSAGE.
[stifled laughter, a certain amount of snickering]
G [wounded]: WHAT? I AM BEING SERIOUS. SAY WHAT YOU LIKE ABOUT JELLYFISH AND CEPHALOPODS, BUT IF YOU COME AT VIGO THE LATVIAN’S BLOOD SAUSAGE, I WILL END YOU.
[hysterical cackling, even from the cats]
A: Oh, God, oh, fuck no… Xe tried to kill us!
L: And xe’s doin’ it again!
R: It’s called catharsis, Alice! Laugh or cry!
[pandemonium ending in sniffles]
R: Ah… Ah… Oh, God… Lemme see here… “I reiterated my refusal, forcefully, and Mr. Jackass decided he’d teach me a lesson by restoring the etching himself. The next few weeks were remarkably quiet, with regards to Mr. Jackass, save for occasional instances of chanting. He rarely left his office and appeared to be sleeping there. He was also going through a lot of black candles. There was a single attempt to order ‘an unsullied infant boy’ from DoorDash, which was not successful. The next day, Mr. Jackass called in sick, so I figured he was at the exorcist’s and that would be the end of it. Imagine my surprise when I turned on the six o’clock news and found him declaring his candidacy for City Comptroller. From what I could gather, his platform included human sacrifice and a ‘skull throne tax.’ I had my hand on the phone to call an exorcist and report him, but my mean streak got the better of me. ‘Let’s see how this plays out,’ I thought.”
L: Did… Did he win?
R: “Don’t worry. Vigo the Carpathian, running as Mr. Jackass, suffered a resounding defeat and eventual exorcism. However, we restored and reclaimed so many paintings during his extended sabbatical, that before Mr. Jackass even had a chance to dye the blond bleach job out of his hair, the higher ups called him and told him, and I quote, ‘Don’t come back.’ That is how I became head of the art restoration department!”
[cheers, applause]
R: “The moral of this story, if there is one, is, ‘never interrupt your stupid boss when he is making a mistake.’”
G: A MODERN DAY SUN TZU!
R: “Love to you all, and be well.”
A: Aww, that’s actually very nice.
L: I hope Vigo fried that guy’s hair so bad he never recovers.
G: DAMN, I COULD GO FOR SOME BLOOD SAUSAGE.
R: This concludes Safety Third.
[“Shake hands with danger” drop]
R: Does anyone have any commercials?
L: Rocz…
R: Our podcasting format saved the world.
L: Okay, okay, but I got nothin’.
A: Same. You know where you can find us.
L: Right, we live in your basement. We’re watching you right now.
G: SAME!
R: If we want more Gozer the Gozerian, for some reason, where else can we find you?
G: IN YOUR NIGHTMARES!
R: Of course.
[SLIDE: The Amityville Horror House.]
R: Our next episode…
G: OH! OH! WAIT! I ALSO HAVE A TUMBLR!
A: Oh, my God, I have got to get off that hellsite…
R: Our next episode is on the Amityville Horror…
G: OOH, I LOVE THAT ONE! CAN I FIND IT WHEREVER PODCASTS ARE FOUND?
R: Uh…
A [tightly]: Don’t tell xem, just end the episode.
G: WHAT? TELL ME WHAT?
L: End the episode! END IT BEFORE DEVON HITS THE LAVA BUTTON!
G: HI MOM! HI GRANDMA! I LOVE YOU!
[soothing public domain music]
D [not drunk enough to stop being annoyed but still very drunk]: This is Future Devon… Fuck, I mean Present Devon. I have consumed all the liquor and ice cream I demanded from Gozer, and I am going to bed. If, as I suspect, this has all been an epic-length fanfiction from the diseased brain of some individual out there on the internet, when I wake up in the morning, I expect not to exist. This version of me, I mean. So, I would just like to take this opportunity to say: Fuck you. You will die alone. The pet raven in no way makes up for any of this bullshit — although I cherish him and have named him after Sir Ian McKellen. All these fucking Chekov’s guns all over the place, and you didn’t let me use my lava button even once. I will never forgive you for this. I am so done with podcasting, and everything Sumerian, but apparently I still have several billion years of Kill James Bond to go. [sigh] Okay.
[shuffling, sound of a laptop closing]
D: Come on, Sir Ian, let’s go to oblivion.
[long pause]
SIR IAN (I): This is Sir Ian, I am the raven who is talking now, my pronouns are he and him, and I thought you’d all like to know I work for Pazuzu. Don’t tell Dev, it would only upset them. I suppose I’ll put this up on the Patreon for them…?
[click]
[END OF TRANSCRIPT]
Notes:
Thanks for reading! I write other stuff but it's all original and this probably isn't the place to plug it, for which I apologize. Comments welcome! I have a weird brain but I mean you no harm! Peace!
Mostly Harmless (toadlily) on Chapter 1 Sun 14 Jan 2024 05:23AM UTC
Last Edited Sun 14 Jan 2024 05:24AM UTC
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Mx_Foole on Chapter 1 Mon 29 Jan 2024 02:41AM UTC
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StepperOfTheLongEarth on Chapter 2 Mon 25 Sep 2023 09:44PM UTC
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Signal792 on Chapter 3 Mon 11 Sep 2023 03:54PM UTC
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Mx_Foole on Chapter 3 Tue 12 Sep 2023 07:35PM UTC
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Signal792 on Chapter 3 Wed 13 Sep 2023 03:11AM UTC
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Mx_Foole on Chapter 3 Wed 13 Sep 2023 03:15AM UTC
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StepperOfTheLongEarth on Chapter 3 Mon 25 Sep 2023 09:56PM UTC
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Mx_Foole on Chapter 3 Mon 25 Sep 2023 10:25PM UTC
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earlgreylavender on Chapter 3 Thu 09 Nov 2023 12:17AM UTC
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Mx_Foole on Chapter 3 Mon 29 Jan 2024 02:42AM UTC
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GarnetConfit on Chapter 3 Tue 23 Jan 2024 04:00PM UTC
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Mx_Foole on Chapter 3 Mon 29 Jan 2024 02:43AM UTC
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Mx_Foole on Chapter 3 Thu 17 Apr 2025 07:30PM UTC
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