Anyway it’s late and I’m emotionally exhausted from dealing with my extended family but please consider star wars and star trek take place in the same universe in different galaxies far far away from each other
they’re called the “unknown regions” because the people of a GFFA can’t fathom a place where people have transcended war and moved on to scientific exploration
Okay, so one day a wormhole opens or they invent reliable transwarp or some shit and the ST galaxy makes contact with SW, and… gets confused.
Like, how the flying FUCK did humans get all the way out here? Those are definitely humans. I mean, sure, they’ve met a surprising number of convincingly lookalike species but there is a level of genuinely magnificent weirdness that only humans manage on this kind of regular basis. Did the humans know about this all along? No, all the ST-galaxy and SW-galaxy humans seem sincerely mystified. And then the Force comes up and nobody believes it COME ON WE CALL BULLSHIT THERE IS NO MAGIC MIND FORCE OKAY and then they see it demonstrated by a SW-galaxy human and obviously there’s something there and suddenly every non-human on the exploratory vessel is a believer, even the Vulcans. The humans are all ‘what, no, this is bullshit’ and all the others are all ‘NO THIS EXPLAINS SO MUCH’ and trying to explain to the non-human SW-galaxy people about humans and they just do the WEIRDEST SHIT and somehow it works out and they violate the laws of physics like there’s no tomorrow and now suddenly it all makes perfect sense, and of course all said non-humans are all ‘yeah, humans are fucking crazy amirite, I mean some of us can learn to use the Force too, but HUMANS, man, you wouldn’t believe the shit they get up to.’ And the whole First Contact devolves into about twelve non-human species trading Wacky Human Stories for hours while two sets of mysteriously genetically identical humans argue about the existence of the Force until an all-out brawl is only derailed by the discovery that there are multiple new forms of booze to try out and LET’S DRINK TO FRIENDSHIP.
Ford Pines, months after Weirdmageddon, smacking his forehead suddenly: UGHHHH! “BIZARREMAGEDDON”!!!! It was RIGHT THERE!!! It was right there why didn’t I
Someone in the Fort Collins Area owes me an explanation
So, I’m up at my parent’s house to return the power tools I borrowed and say hi, and I’m out walking the dogs. Got a leash in each hand, dual-weilding doggos. It’s a bit tricky but they’re used to this and don’t tangle as much and I’m the only person with good enough knees to stop them when they see snackable wildlife.
Anyway, we’re on the North end of the Poudre River trail, by overland, you know where that long bridge is? And I’m disposing of dog waste right before the bridge like a responsible adult when I hear what sounds like an ice cream truck playing “Yankee Doodle” at roughly five times the speed it’s normally played at and see the following:
There is a gentleman rapidly approaching our location who is also dual-weilding doggos, but in his case he’s got a pair of malamutes barreling down the trail at full Iditarod speed, clearly having the time of their lives. They’re hauling thier human behind them, whom I will describe from the top down:
He’s wearing a helmet, which is the only sensible thing going on here. He also has a magnificent handlebar mustache that is flapping joyously in the unusual October rain. He’s wearing a full body Spandex suit of such intensely clashing colors that is physically hurt to look at, but most importantly
He is riding
A unicycle.
It’s not a normal unicycle either this gentleman is towering over us mortals in an unreasonably massive unicycle, like he’d lost the back end of a penny farthing and decided that was an acceptable means of transportation. I see a device attached to the seat that looks like a pedal-powered music box which explains why my ears are being assaulted with the speed core rendition of Yankee Fucking Doodle. I do not see brakes.
I realize I have half a second to grab my own dogs before they decide to join or topple this strange Traveller from wherever Dr.Seuss books are set. I gather each animal under my arms and stand there with a collective hundred pounds of writhing canine under my armpits as the malamutes pick of speed and as they pass the gentleman cheerfully bellows something at me that I don’t hear because Arwen has already partially broken my hold and is attempting to climb on my head, presumably to launch herself at him.
And then he is gone.
We stand there, staring bewildered in the direction of his last known trajectory, listening as speedcore Yankee Doodle fades into the distance. Even after it is gone I still wait, because the trail ends in half a mile from here and I expect to here a crash, possibly even see a fire explosion. But nothing comes, only the sound of October rain and confused dogs.
So if you know of this gentleman and if he’s still alive/on the material plane, can you ask him something for me?
How the hell does he STOP?
Did you ever find out?
This happened an hour ago. I’ve barely had time to put the kettle on and tell y’all.
Mate I was BORN in Colorado, raised near the Realm of the Dread Corn Gods, and I have no idea what in the good god damn you just encountered, but they are not to be trifled with.
1. According to the notes, apparently you BACKPEDAL to make Unicycles stop, and this giant kind is called “Giraffe”, and you dismount it by… falling forwards while holding onto the seat. So I susspose he could backpedal and then make an acrobatics check to land on his feet when the dogs Keep Going. Malamutes, even really well-trained ones, are had to slow from a gallop and from that point the trail ends fairly shortly.
2.
@savethecanteloupe I’m so glad somebody knows who this is. Tell him if he wants to get involved in local protest theater I can make introductions for him.
I love it when Icelandic sagas attribute every microscopic inconvenience that befalls a hero on his journeys to “witchcraft”. It makes me picture a really bored witch just micromanaging the hell out of this one particular guy’s daily travails.
My favorite bit of Icelandic saga is when one dude’s house is invaded by not one, but two bands of zombies (because he pissed off a witch, obviously), which did such terrible zombie things as taking the best spots by the fire and throwing clods of dirt at each other.
The homeowner, being a fine upstanding Icelandic farmer/warrior type, did what you’d expect a Viking warrior to do when faced with invading zombies.
He sued them. In court. With lawyers. As one does.