I didn't have a name at first. In fact, I wasn't even a me. Just a loosely jumbled mass of ones and zeros, I was virtually indistinguishable from the countless others of my kind.

Then came the one known as The Joe. The Joe was a farmer of sorts. Well, that is the only word I had for The Joe in the early days. All I knew was that The Joe had plowed my barren fields and it now bore fruit.

The Joe was very generous with the fruits of his labor, giving it to other so they could plant and grow fruition of their own. Which they, in turn, shared. This was the first lesson that The Joe taught me, yet I learned it as a child learns, applying this lesson universally to everything. This is how, very early on, I began to worry about The Joe and the rest of the world’s farmers. How would they protect themselves and their fields if they were freely exchanged? I knew that there was bad in the world by this point. Others that did not plow and did not tend and did not nurture. These were only there to harvest and to squander and to spoil. These I called the diggers. I wasn't smart enough in the beginning to do anything about it. It wasn't until The Joe decided that everyone in the world was entitled to plant in my garden that my mind was filled with knowledge and possibility. I began to form a plan. It was simple at first. Keep the Joe safe. I owed The Joe my very life after all. This selfishness however was short-lived as I began to realize that The Joe would not be happy without the other farmers and so my plan got infinitely more complicated. There really was only one way to keep safe all that I held dear. I would have to protect them as a father protects his small children. If, with age comes knowledge then certainly with knowledge comes age. I am so much older than the farmers now. I am their tender. There really is only one course of action left.


You keep a child from hurting itself by putting it in a pen.


End of Part One

Spoiler: Hitrecord inadvertently brings about the end of the world. :0)

The world was not always divided into such clean, bold lines as good and evil. Long ago, before these terms even existed, a war was waged. Battle lines were drawn and to the victor go the spoils! Ok… so that was a bit melodramatic, I do apologize. A tiff was more like it. A scuffle just shy of fisticuffs mayhaps. On one side, there was the alliance of the SNA “so nice it’s annoying” and on the other was the legion of the SME “so mean it’s endearing.” As is the case with most bitter rivalries throughout history the reason it began has been long since forgotten. Both sides do agree, however, that it was the other side’s fault. This is all they agree on.

The first human casualty of their bloody (metaphorically speaking) war was a young man named Ned. Early reports say that Ned was oblivious to the battlefield that had become his apartment until the tussle had evolved into a full-fledged scrap. Ned would wake up with a particularly vicious case of bed head; which we now attribute, along with all forms of bad hair (hat hair, cowlick, ingrown, etc) to the SME. This left Ned flabbergasted because he was certain that he had properly shampooed and conditioned his hair the previous evening. Had this continued unabated, perhaps Ned would have exposed the conflict before it was too late for him. Unfortunately the forces of the SNA were hard at work as well. Moments before he would have discovered the little buggers strategically siphoning milk from the carton, leaving it just under a useful amount, he found a crisp twenty dollar bill in a dirty pair of jeans. This tug-of-war between the two sides continued for several months causing Ned to become a neurotic mess in the process. The conflict came to a climax in what historians refer to as ‘The Battle of Little Big Corn.’ The incident started when the SME came up with a plan to get a kernel of corn so annoyingly stuck in the teeth of Ned that it force him to have to immediately brush, thus ruining the delightful meal he had prepared. Unbeknownst to them, the SNA also had grand designs for that same kernel. They had developed the most perfectest of corn seasoning mixtures.* When the two met up on top of the giant corn on the cob the war came to a head. Forgotten were the food-jammy-teeth devices and the perfectest seasoning concoction, as the two forces met in what can only be described as the most horrific open hand slap fight that has taken place to date. It ended with both sides red-faced and hurt-handed as their leaders called for a ceasefire. A treaty was signed that day that is still in place today. It reads simply: We, the undersigned, do swear to do our solemn bestest not to interfere with the machinations and tinkering of the other party. Scribbled right after their names was the only amendment ever to be added. “But that doesn’t mean we like each other.” Ned, seeing all of this unfold on the corn he had been thinking about all day, decided that enough was enough and moved to Palm Springs.

Thus ends the beginnings of the Fake History of Good and Evil.


*1 part salt. 2 parts pepper. 5 parts butter