Jeremy "Bolthy" Zimmerman (bolthy) wrote,
Jeremy "Bolthy" Zimmerman
bolthy

28 Days of Night Vale Later

So, I got involved in one of those secret penpal things on Tumblr. A couple of them actually. One in particular was through a Welcome to Night Vale blog which paired up users with secret penpals. We were to write to them throughout February and reveal our secret identities on the 28th. It wasn’t an ideal thing, since my penpal never contacted me, the organizer got huffy when I had asked indirectly about it (because there had been previously posted instructions), and the person I was the secret penpal for never acknowledged receipt of anything I sent her.

But I had a stupid amount of fun writing these. So after the first couple days I started sending them to Dawn as well. And then I thought, “I should just post these all on my blog!”

I hope you enjoy one of my brief forays into, “This is sorta like fanfic, isn’t it?” Besides Night Vale, the only things I knew my secret penpal was into were Avengers and Supernatural. So if you’re wondering why there are superheroes and an Impala in Night Vale, that’s why.


Day 1: Hello. I am your new pen pal. I heard you like Night Vale, so I set a stop sign on fire and wept at the meaninglessness of existence. I hope you enjoy this month. – U. Pynpel

Day 2: John Peters (you know, the farmer?) has been having crop circles appear in his imaginary corn fields. I sure hope it’s just a prank and not aliens. Because aliens are Forbidden. – U. Pynpel.

Day 3: Good morning! I imagine at this point you are wondering my gender. And I don’t want to leave you in suspense: I’m an amorphous genderless blob, covered in oozing orifices that whistle tunelessly. I enjoy spiraling into myself, like a perpetual whirlpool. I also like Twin Peaks. Looking forwarding to talking again soon. – U. Pynpel

Day 4: All life is a foam sizzling across the surface of this rocky orb, hurtling across space. One big chemical reaction starting with goop in the ocean and ending with smart phones. Except for angels. They are something else entirely. And really, screw those guys. They suck. – U. Pynpel

Day 5: Those jerks at Desert Bluffs are at it again. They stole our high school’s mascot, Zippy the Twenty Foot Scorpion. But we fooled them this time: We can activate his murder protocols by broadcasting “Never Gonna Give You Up” at high volume over their city. How do you like being rick-rolled, Desert Bluffs Vultures? – U. Pynpel

Day 6: My first name is Uzumaki. That’s what the U stands for. It’s Japanese for “spiral.” I am named Uzumaki because I like spirals. I like spirals because my name is Uzumaki. Spirals are a madness in your soul that spiral constantly inward, tightening the bowstring of your sanity till it snaps. Cinnamon rolls are also spirals. So spirals are also delicious. – U. Pynpel

Day 7: A 1967 Chevy Impala was seen driving down the roads of Night Vale today. It was driven by angels. I don’t trust the motive of these angels. Never trust anything that is ten feet tall and fits behind the steering wheel of a muscle car. It is clearly not natural. – U. Pynpel

Day 8: I hear the Night Vale City Council is creating its own superhero team. They call them the Castigators. The defend the Earth from threats You Must Not Know. They also defend against Steve Carlsburg. Because really, that guy just ruins everything. They’ve put Mikaela Torment in charge of this. She’s the Faceless Young Woman Who Secretly Fights Crime. Her grandmother lives in your house. – U. Pynpel

Day 9: The other day the angels in the Impala ran afoul of Night Vales superheroes, the Castigators. It utterly disrupted the give away of free apple slices at the Arby’s. But after a battle of epic proportion, everyone went out for ice cream at the newly re-re-opened waterfront shopping district. Boy, I sure love ice cream. – U. Pynpel

Day 10: In the news this morning I read that Desert Bluffs has created their own local superhero team. They called them the Desert Bluffs Castigators. I guess those lamers in Desert Bluffs can’t come up with their own names for things. I haven’t seen anything so sad and strange since they declared October 29th, 1984, Gobot Day. Man, I would hate to live there. – U. Pynpel

Day 11: The sun’ll come out tomorrow. It’s the night of the sun’s debut. The sun is of marriageable age. But be careful when courting the sun, because you might get burned. 9,940.73 degrees Fahrenheit. You might want to put some aloe on that. – U. Pynpel

Day 12: I wish I could be as carefree and wild, but I got cat class and I got cat style. I got cat ears and I got cat smile. I got cat woes and I got cat denial. I got cat doom and I got cat oblivion. – U. Pynpel

Day 13: That feeling? You know, that feeling in your gut? That’s your biological reaction to the realization that you are small in a vast cosmic void. But hey, how about those Night Vale Scorpions? We really stuck it to Desert Bluffs. And talking about sports sure is more fun than the existential dread that fills our lonely moments. – U. Pynpel

Day 14: And now, the weather.

Day 15: Hello friend. Have you heard the good news about blood stone circles? It’s the way of our people. Especially my people. I was conjured forth in a blood stone circle, moist and wheezing. My mother is really proud of me. – U. Pynpel

Day 16: I know it’s weird talking about my mother when I’m a genderless amorphous blob. But “parent” is just too impersonal and when you consider I am a piece torn from her body, it seems more motherly than fatherly. – U. Pynpel

Day 17: But enough about me. Let’s talk about you. The tiny mote that is you in the vast cosmic cycle of existence. Gigalight years of space and yottaseconds of time, an infinitude of raw existence. Against all this you are nothing but a small speck of molecules clustered together. How you holding up? Your family doing okay? How about that local sport team? – U. Pynpel

Day 18: When you wish upon a star, don’t forget that the star may have been dead for thousands of years before the light ever reaches you. So be careful what your wish for. Your wish might be granted by the vengeful spirit of a dead star, the intent of your wish corrupted by sloppy wording. Next thing you know, your life is just another horror movie directed by Uwe Boll. And no one wants that. No one. – U. Pynpel

Day 19: The angels in the Impala told Old Woman Josie that they were hunting demons. Which is a pretty racist thing to say. Knowing the hierarchy of angels is strictly forbidden, but hypothetically speaking one could say that demons are really just displaced angels. Refugees seeking asylum from a cosmic war that has ravaged their native plane. But don’t repeat that to the Sheriff’s Secret Police. I’m just saying. – U. Pynpel

Day 20: I hear that there will be a reality show filming in Night Vale. It’s called “What Are You Doing Today?” It will feature you doing things. You will be observed in even the most unlikely of locations, edited to make you look your worst. Try not to pick your nose too much. You might end up as a nose-picking reaction GIF on Tumblr. – U. Pynpel

Day 21: We’re crowdfunding the apocalypse. We’ve decided that the world needs a new vision of the end of the world. So we’ve decided to go with Zoroastrian eschatology. It’s called “Frashokereti.” It’s just a fun sounding word and it’s easy to mistake it for a Greek pastry. “I’m going to back this Kickgogo. I had Frashokereti once in Greece and it was amazing.” If you’d like to back us, walk out on your lawn and cower against your front door. – U. Pynpel

Day 22: Warren Zevon once saw Carlos drinking a pina colada at Trader Vic’s. His hair was perfect. Warren Zevon fell in love instantly. Werewolves have that effect on people. Cecil was doomed from the beginning. Doomed to love a beautiful, perfect werewolf. – U. Pynpel

Day 23: The undead of Night Vale are organizing a rally to support undead rights. You can show your support by putting a Gray Rainbow sticker on the back of your car. The name of the campaign for promoting undead unity and rights is called “Fifty Shades of Gray.” I think they might be making a movie of it. – U. Pynpel

Day 24: You spin me right round, baby, right round. I’m stuck hovering in mid air, spinning right round. I wish you’d stop. I’m getting a little dizzy and I keep bumping into the wall. This is nothing like a record. – U. Pynpel

Day 25: Do you recall what was revealed the day the music died? Do you remember it exactly? What was in the bag the music was holding? Did you tell anyone? We may need to burn the whole house down just to cover the evidence. But hey, you still got your health, right? – U. Pynpel

Day 26: Have you been to visit the doom monger? You know, the old person of indeterminate gender down at the farmers market. He or she sells blights, scourges, banes, curses. You know, the usual. My best friend was looking for something to liven up her married life. So I got them a set of poxes, one for each side of their family. Poxes always get the party started. – U. Pynpel

Day 27: Tomorrow’s the day. The mask comes off. I’ll shuck the gooey membrane that covers my amorphous form, and spill forth my gelatinous innards to steam and dry in the cold morning light. What will be left of me? What can be left of me? I’m hoping I become a ginger. Maybe a woman. Maybe a ginger woman. Or a gingerbread woman. I’m hungry now. I’ll talk to you later. – U. Pynpel

Day 28: This is me. Unveiled. I’m neither a woman nor ginger. Nor gingerbread. I don’t think I’m even a Time Lord. Overall, I’m very disappointed with this unveiling. I think I’ll go sulk near the Dog Park. Not at the Dog Park, mind you. Just nearby. I find the proximity of hooded figures to be soothing, like a cool breeze that settles in your chest and rattles in your ribs for the remainder of your meager days. – U. Pynpel

Originally published at Jeremy Zimmerman. You can comment here or there.

Tags: writing
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