Sprawling streets stretch out in all directions, with towering buildings overlooking with awe-inducing stature. Hurried footsteps clap out in a discordant applause of travel, as a sea of pedestrians make their way about sidewalks and crosswalks, as idle and accelerating engines alike join in a strange harmony, drowning out any one particular sound.
A crowd of individuals gathers outside of a large concrete structure with a peculiar resplendent glass dome, and a cascading series of sloped rooves that come out as finely-shingled skirt of terrace at its base.
The Toyota T. Toyotadome.
The individuals mentioned each exhibiting a palpable aura of reference for an elderly man whose approach of the doors at the top of its entrance staircase now nears completion. It's the legend himself, Hideyoshi Toyotama.
They call out to him with various questions.
"Toyotama-san! Is it true that you will be attending the event and joining for commentary?"
"Do you believe that our best and brightest will succeed for us?! There's so much on the line!"
"Do you know what time it is?"
Toyotama, upon reaching the door, quickly turns to face the crowd. He throws back his robe with one of his arms like a cloak as if he's in an anime. His fists joining together behind his back, in a covert meeting of authority, while his wrinkled face fails to betray his possession of Hokey-Pokey mastery.
A local news reporter's cameraman manages to get the perfect shot for a close-up of his face. Gazing into the camera, as if it were the whole of Japan, he lets out a loud dignified grunt of a response: "Hai!"
He turns away from the crowd, and makes his way into the building, his robe fluttering from the displaced air of the opening door, as the "awesome motion sensor" senses his awesome motion. It would've likely opened no matter who it was entering, but it knew better than to disrespect Toyotama-san.
The crowd cheers out:
"Oh! So cool!"
"We can't lose with a legend like you there for us, Toyotama-san!"
"What time is it?! I have to brush my teeth at nine thirty or my day is ruined!"
There's early birds, however, and then there's this guy. The event doesn't even start for more than another twenty-four hours.
He makes his way in and sits himself down at a commentator's desk and waits patiently, his eyes closed in a deep meditative, or possibly napping state.
The building is silent, aside from the sounds of ventilation systems, and a broadcast of some elevator music, and a lone custodian mopping floors. He has no friends. Whomp whomp.
However, this custodian is listening to the only friend a young man could need- a podcast.
Inside of the Toyota T. Toyotadome, a podcast is being broadcasted from a well-upkept and graciously provided supply closet. Two folding chairs, and folding table with a microphone and an old 240P webcam sit.
"Good evening, America and good morning to those of you in Asia who have yet to have embraced democracy! This is Chip Douglas, your favorite Badger News anchor here with Badger News' podcast: At Present, where we discuss current events and things worth knowing in the world at the moment."
He continues, with a gleaming smile. It almost covers and distracts from the obvious sheer exhaustion on his face and his now nearly-completely silver and white hair, with only a small number of sporadic fading brown streaks, here and there. His now full beard is likewise near-completely silver and grey.
"Today I have a former University of Toronto professor turned conspiracy theorist with me, by the name of Malcom Shaw. He's here to talk about his recently published book. Tell us a little bit about yourself, Malcom."
A charmingly soft, yet raspy voice comes in. An obese man sits across from Douglas with more chins than eyes.
"Hello there, Chip. My name's Malcom Shaw, as you said. As a truth-seeker, I don't consider myself a conspiracy theorist, so I'm going to ignore that. I've taught and lectured at the UoT, for three weeks, before I was required to leave."
"Right, and in that time you've brushed shoulders with some of Toronto's best and brightest academics, like Gordon Hedonson, is that right?"
"Oh, yes. Hedonson is a genius."
"We actually have a clip of him at a recent lecture here."
A brief clip plays featuring a thin, gaunt man with a squared jaw and slicked back white hair, wearing a button-up shirt and tie, complete with suspenders plays. It appears to be a clip of him talking to students. He looks somewhat hot under the collar and uncomfortable, sweating a bit as he pulls at it before doing an odd amount of gesticulating.
"And here's the thing people don't understand is: There's snakes, all over the world, right? And these snakes, look like penises, and you have to battle these snakes, while you combat the homosexual urges that stem from thinking of your dead father."
"Brilliant mind on that man." Shaw states.
"Right, I'm not sure I understand, but I haven't to graduate school in a long time. Ever, actually." Douglas replies.
"But speaking of school, why is it that you were required to leave teaching, Malcom?"
Shaw answers a bit sheepishly: "It's actually a misunderstanding. They claim that I lied on my resumé."
"Oh, right I heard about this. That you claimed to be a blimp pilot or something of that effect, right?"
"No, no, no..." Shaw responds with a forced wheezing laugh, likely from being out of breath as he forces himself to sit upright at his weight.
"No, I simply wrote that I was a blimp, previously. See, I used to be one-hundred ninety kilograms- or four hundred and eighteen pounds of you prefer."
Chip nods and chuckles with amusement, "That I do. The metric system is an abomination."
"Right..." Shaw continues. "Well, I was a blimp then, but I've come a long way now. I'm actually at this moment a much more comfortable one hundred eighty four points five kilograms, or four hundred and six pounds."
There's a brief pause as Chip ponders the man's delusion and ultimately follows up with a tepid "Right... Well good for you."
After which, Shaw responds "But, regardless of that however, I've learned that the University of Toronto has been harboring a dark secret."
"Oh, right. I've heard about this." Douglas interrupts. "They've been sacrificing first Nation people in a secret chamber to appease the spirit of the metric system, right?"
Shaw responds with confusion: "Uhh...no? I mean, they have been doing that, but not because of the metric system... But no this is much worse."
He leans into the microphone, his voice growing into a crawling whisper as his folding body contracts his lungs.
"The university is working with the prime minister using microchipped moose, birds, and other wildlife to spy on Canadian citizens to supply Chinese social media companies with user data. That's why I had to release my new book, called Crouching Tiger, Sleeping Beaver.
Chip laughs as he responds: "Well I certainly won't read it. Canada's not even a real country anyway. Your main export is music after all. Sounds like a nation of hippies to me."
Leaning back in his seat, able to breathe again, Shaw responds a bit defensively: "Now waiting just a second, Chip! We definitely have a strong timber and tinder industry!"
Without missing a beat, or the man's appeal to degeneracy, Chip responds: "Exactly! Dating apps! Shame on you, Canada! That's why we fought you in the revolutionary war!"
Shaw returns with a confused remark: "Canada was definitely not an oppressor in colonial America, Chip."
Douglas proudly raises his chin. "Of course not. Our freedom was too strong for the powers that poutine."
Looking at his wristwatch for a moment, Chip begins his closing remarks.
"Well that's all the time we have, ladies and gentlemen. Please be sure to join us tomorrow on Badger News for our coverage of the Hokey-Pokey challenge of the century, between Japan and Finley "Chops" O'Cooley, at three PM, standard Japanese Democratic time!"