Geek Talk and Delayed Comics

Here’s what I think happened:

Our tale begins with the establishment of an Internet forum thread.  On a website called ProgArchives.com, Blowin Free, an ambitious forum member, started a thread for creative stories.  Blowin Free and his friend Joel (another loyal member of the Archives) wrote stories that entertained prog fans all over the world.

One day, Blowin Free and Joel were given a particularly challenging assignment:  to write a 20-minute-long post-apocalyptic romance about an intergalactic interior designer who falls in love with a sadistic pig farmer.  Joel and Blowin Free secretly communicated via “Private Message” to work out how they were going to tackle this project.  They decided to rent out a hut in the middle of a forest somewhere between London and Australia.  In their hut, safe from the demands of civilization, they would be able to write without interruption.

Blowin Free:  So, Joel, why don’t you write the first sentence? I don’t have any ideas.

Joel:  Let me think. . . .  How about this:  “Cold and misty morning, I heard a warning borne in the air about an age of power where no one had an hour to spare, where pig farmers withered, interior designers shivered in the cold.”

Blowin Free:  Um, that’s good, but it sounds oddly like another story I’ve heard.

Joel:  Oh.  Well, maybe we should start our story like this:  “There once was an Earthling named Zena, and her occupation was designing the insides of buildings in several different galaxies.  The destruction of Earth had left her with nothing, so she had had to move to another planet, which was where she met and developed strong feelings for a remarkably cruel pig farmer.”

Blowin Free:  That’s perfect!  Joel, you’re a genius!  The next line should go like this:  “Zena was conflicted between her moral abhorrence of pig torture and her concupiscent passion for the sadistic pig farmer.”

Joel:  Wow, this is gonna be the best story ever!

Blowin Free:  Joel!

Joel:  What is it?

Blowin Free:  Would you be so kind as to stop running and help me out here?

Blowin Free’s decorative scarf had gotten caught on a tree branch.  He was struggling to free himself of the scarf and the tree, but unsuccessfully.  Joel turned around and saw his entangled friend.

Joel:  I’ll save you, Blowin Free!

But Joel, too, was foiled by the scarf.  His disastrous efforts to free Blowin Free only resulted in the two of them becoming tied to the tree in a big, perplexing knot.

Joel:  Well, dollars to doughnuts, we’re going to die.  A manticore is after us and here we are, tied to a tree.

Blowin Free:  Oh, if only I had taken off my lucky scarf before going to sleep last night.  Then we wouldn’t be in this mess.  The manticore will get here any second now.

Joel:  Blowin Free, have I ever told you how much you look like Robert Fripp when you wear that scarf?

Blowin Free:  Oh, you really think so?  Thank you, Joel, what a sweet thing to say.  I would never purport to possess the exceptional sense of fashion that—

Joel:  Shhhh, I hear something!

Their apprehension intensified as they listened to the crackling of twigs that signaled the approach of someone or something.  Joel and Blowin Free soon realized that it was two penguins who were advancing toward their tree of imprisonment.

While sailing over the treetops, Joel and Blowin Free explained that they needed to get back to their hut to retrieve their possessions and, most importantly, the piece of paper on which was written the beginning of their story.  They knew they would have to find a different hideout to write in because the manticore would surely return to their hut if it was intent on finding (and devouring) them.  The penguins agreed to take them to the hut.  During the journey, Pink Floyd and Porcupine Tree gave accounts of some of their pneumatic escapades.

Porcupine Tree Penguin:   . . . And I gracefully hang glided right through the hoops of fire!  Remember, these hoops were about ten feet off the ground and each was thirty feet in diameter.  Five of them in a row, and I made it safely through them all.  Ah, that was a fun day. . . .

Pink Floyd Penguin:  . . . And in the end, the committee voted to decrease teachers’ salaries in Antarctic School District 23.  I was so angry with them that at their next committee meeting, I flew over their heads and sprayed Silly String all over them! . . .

When their GPS’s indicated that they had reached the location of the humans’ hut, the penguin pilots guided their aircraft to the ground.  Blowin Free and Joel found themselves standing before the hut from which they had run for their lives earlier that morning.  They hoped to gather up their belongings, including the precious piece of paper on which was written the first three sentences of that all-important story they were composing for their devoted fans on ProgArchives.  Cautiously, our heroes entered the hut.

Can I suggest a little more sexual tension between the characters and of course, a little explotion at the end while Blowin Free run to scape to the explotion and scream something like "Prooog Freeeeaaaks...!!!" please...