35 - Lazy Day

Here's something I say a lot, but it's just the truth.

We couldn't make this show without our Patreon.

It is by far the biggest way we are able to pay everyone working on the show, from the writers to the actors, to Jessica, who does original artwork for every single episode, to Joella, who does all the back-end business stuff.

All of these people are able to pay their bills, and we are all able to put out the show because of our Patreon.

We try to give some cool rewards as a thank you.

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Thank you.

If you're dying for the next batch of Wednesday season 2 to drop on Netflix, then I'll let you in on a secret.

The Wednesday Season 2 official Wocast is already here.

Dive deeper into the mysteries of Wednesday with the Ultimate Companion Video Podcast.

Join the frightfully funny Caitlin Riley along with her producer, Thing, as she sits down with the cast and crew.

Together, they'll unravel each shocking twist, dissect the dynamics lurking beneath, unearth Adam's family lore, and answer all of your lingering questions.

Guests include Emma Myers, Joy Sunday, Hunter Doohan, Steve Buscemi, Fred Armison, Catherine Zeta Jones, the Joanna Lumley, also show creators Al Goh and Miles Miller, and of course Wednesday herself, Jenna Ortega, plus many, many more.

With eight delightfully dark episodes to devour, you'll be drawn into the haunting halls of Nevermore Academy deeper than ever before.

But beware, you know where curiosity often leads.

The Wednesday season two official wocast is available in audio and video on todoom.com or wherever it is you get your podcasts.

No one has seen the trees this week.

Hopefully, they'll come back soon.

Welcome to Night Vale.

Hello, listeners.

Nothing much to say about this day in Night Vale.

Today is just a lazy day in our beautiful little town.

The heat is unusually strong for this time of year, assuming you believe in concepts like time,

and year,

and unusual.

Flies are buzzing around and around a trash can somewhere.

Frances Donaldson, manager of the antiques mall, is waving listlessly at a wall of old items ready to be bought anew,

her hand a slow signal of submission to inactivity.

The faceless old woman who secretly lives in your home is finding herself clicking the same apiology website she's read a million times.

I myself am slumped against this desk.

murmuring into this microphone, too tired by the heat to give more more than a token effort to the work of my life.

Ours is a quiet now.

No one is speaking but me.

If speaking took me any energy, if it were not merely a reflex of my living form, then I myself would not be speaking either.

Carlos, Perfectly imperfect Carlos, is the only one feeling industrious today.

He's mowing the lawn and whistling.

And the lawn is whistling back.

And now,

the news, I guess.

Alert citizens from all over Nightvale are reporting a man in a tan jacket standing behind the taco bell.

near the dumpster and the constantly ringing payphone.

He is plucking insects out of the air and stuffing them into his deer skin suitcase.

Alert citizens report that they don't remember what his nimble hands look like,

and many of them lost track of what they were saying mid-sentence, lapsing into a gaped-mouthed silence.

All of them received one stamp on their alert citizen card.

As always, five stamps mean stop sign immunity for a year.

Also, congratulations to Jake Garcia, who has completely filled up three Alert Citizen cards, thus giving him the mandatory right to disappear forever.

His entire family, in a statement given in monotone unison,

said that they were proud and that they didn't miss him much.

Really.

Remember what Secret Police mascot, Barks Enui, always says?

Citizens, be alert, but not too alert.

There is much that you should not see.

Only you can prevent your own house mysteriously catching on fire.

Woof woof!

Oh,

I bet Barks is such a cute little cartoon dog.

Maybe someday the Secret Police will declassify what he looks like.

Update on the summer reading program from a couple of months ago.

Those children who made it out of the library alive, bloodied, covered in the guts of librarians, and clutching reading lists far in advance of their grade level, have formed an organized militia.

under the leadership of fellow survivor 12-year-old Tamika Flynn.

They have taken to conducting drills out in the sand wastes, hundreds of children shouting and moving in unison as Tamika stands over them on a hilltop, watching for their weakness, encouraging their strength.

Tamika has taken to wearing the detached hand of a librarian around her neck, as a warning to any who would dare face her, that she she has already defeated the most fearsome creature imaginable.

When reached for comment, Tamika said,

We do not look around, we do not look inside, we do not sleep, our God is not a smiling god, and we are ready for this war.

When asked to clarify, she challenged our reporter to a hundred days of hand-to-hand combat, which our reporter declined by running away screaming, pursued by hundreds of battle-hardened children.

It's still just a lazy day here in Nightvale.

Mayor Pamela Winchell called a press conference and then did not speak.

She sat on a folding chair next to the podium, her head lolled back, taking a brief nap, before getting up up and jumping, folding chair in hand, through a small glowing portal she created in mid-air.

All of this would have been quite rude to the attending reporters if a single one of them had actually attended.

But they called a press conference of their own to announce that they were just going to take the rest of the day off if that was okay.

that the still afternoon sunlight was somehow more conducive to a gentle rest than the dark cradle of night.

No one showed up to that press conference either.

Carlos has vacuumed his living room and is now organizing his closets.

He's holding up items and making decisions.

He is humming.

The grass cannot hum and so is silent.

The vague yet menacing government agency would like to remind you that UFOs are totally not a thing.

They remind you that UFOs are merely weather balloons and further, that weather balloons are merely misplaced clouds.

That clouds are merely dreams that have escaped our sleep.

That sleep is merely a practice for death.

That death is merely another facet of our world, no different from, say,

sand or bicycles, and that the great glowing earth is merely the last thoughts of a dying man, laughing and shaking his head weakly at the improbability of it all.

Remember, it's not just the law, it's an illusion.

Thanksgiving is just around the corner, and you know what that means?

It means it's time for us to go groveling to the brownstone spire,

thanking it for all that it has done and all that it has mercifully not done.

This is just a great time to get the family together, eat your fill, then crawl out through the sharp rocks and sand until your knees leave bloodstreaks on the barren earth, and you feel the brown stone spire loom up before you.

But you dare not look.

You dare not look.

Thank you, you whisper.

Thank you, thank you.

More plea than prayer, more fear than gratitude.

And if it accepts what you have to say, you and your family can return to your homes.

Shaking.

Safe.

Together.

Shaking.

Together.

And if it does not accept what you say?

It doesn't really matter what happens after that, does it?

I mean, would knowing make it any easier?

No.

Knowing never does.

The brown stone spire.

Give thanks.

Cry out, thanks.

Scream, thanks.

And now a word from our sponsors.

Today's broadcast is brought to you by Costco.

How much could a body even weigh?

In addition, today's broadcast is brought to you by waves of sound.

that are somehow carried by a form of light, and that a machine is turning into an invisible man talking to you intimately, quietly, into your ear.

That doesn't seem natural to us.

Strexcorp, Synernists, Inc., distrust all that you previously trusted.

This day in which nothing happens

continues to not.

Even bodily functions are taking the day off.

Reports are coming in that hearts are failing to beat, lungs failing to inflate, the muscles of the arms and legs turning to a loose, relaxed jelly.

People are falling dead in the street, suddenly blue, suddenly seizing.

Spit dribbling from their lips in tiny pools of foam and mud in the sand.

Loved ones, looking on, without the energy needed to weep.

Just

nothing much of any kind going on.

A lazy, lazy

day.

Our favorite local cereal company, Flakios,

is gearing up to announce their newest big product, Imaginary Corn Flakes.

The cereal chefs down at Flakey O's are taking only the sweetest, most non-carcinogenic cobs of imaginary corn supplied by John Peters, you know, the farmer.

They are distilling that imaginary taste down to a crisp, flavor-packed imaginary corn flake, ready for you to eat out of a big bowl of milk.

We are very excited about this product, said Miranda Yesby of the New Flakey O's board of directors.

We are thrilled to be working with John Peters, you know, the farmer.

I mean, as soon as we can find him.

Has anyone seen him?

He's become as hard to locate as his corn.

Miranda also said that there are no plans to do viral marketing involving a sentient, transdimensional pyramid, as the costs on that last one were just too high.

I mean, we had nothing to do with that, she said.

But if we did, then we might say a certain sentient pyramid really got an outsized ego after one simple viral marketing campaign, and started making unreasonable demands like a trans-dimensional trailer on location that is normal-sized on the outside, but contains within it vast looming spaces, impossible, endless.

Also, health benefits.

So, if that were the case, we would probably have had to let the sentient pyramid go.

Miranda then thanked us for attending the announcement and dug her way back into the flaky O's offices using her large claw-like paws.

And now, traffic.

A few drops of ice melt, almost invisible as they slide down great slabs of mountain rock, joining together into a slight trickle, the mere suggestion of movement and water.

That suggestion becoming more clear, clear water.

clearly moving in a clear trickle downwards, forming with others into a stream.

A stream rolling over pebbles and around debris, hardly any force behind it, but implacable in its searching out of lower ground.

And then, gasping from some height as a splash into a river.

A deep river churning its way through a landscape.

drawing boundaries over which wars can later be fought.

Slamming against boulders with violence, but without malice.

Becoming wider, slower,

like a human settling into the better part of age.

A river that only shows evidence of movement when it carries some other thing,

some life, upon it, like a human.

settling into the better part of age.

And finally,

one

last exit.

A great engulfing by an ocean, in which all water is the same water,

in which we can finally find some rest.

Like a human settling into the better.

Like a human settling.

This has been traffic.

And the lazy day continues.

A neon sign advertising the world's best burgers blinks uselessly in the glaring haze of the sun, its light as small as the probability of its claim.

The Earth is starting to slow its rotation, joining in on the mass malaise.

Magnetic fields are going crazy.

They are the only things going crazy.

Everything else is completely mellowed out.

Those people with still functioning hearts and lungs are lounging around, saying,

oh,

who cares?

And what a bother,

when presented with stimulus or thought.

The Earth is slowing.

Gravity is slacking off.

My mic is floating.

Carlos is also floating, and he's taking this opportunity to clean out the gutter on his roof.

How industrious.

How...

I don't really have the energy to think of another word.

Radio waves are reacting strangely to the loss of gravity.

The change in magnetism as the Earth slows.

So if you are having difficulty receiving this message, we apologize, but won't do anything about it.

Doing things, right?

Movement, you know?

Existing?

Do you see what I mean?

Oh.

What's that?

Intern Maureen is flicking her eyes up in in her otherwise motionless face.

Her mouth is set into a deep lull.

Her cheeks are slack.

I believe she is indicating something.

I suppose I should turn my head and look.

I suppose.

Oh.

Oh, alright.

Here I go.

Listeners, I am engaging the muscles in my neck and I am turning my head.

Ah,

I see.

The sun is going out.

Yes,

a black tumor of darkness.

Of absence is on the face of the brightness.

The brightness is dimming.

The source of all life is going,

is joining the rest of us in taking today to do nothing.

That's probably not good.

We should probably do something about that.

But

it's like...

Well,

anyway.

At least I got to see how breaking bad ended.

And now I don't so much take you

as just kind of leave you.

Just kind of disappear and gently nudge you towards

in the heart of a world that soon won't be

the weather.

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O maimanir.

Spit play the total

for freestyle, total life.

music, the Brianir.

here, in the presence of SESI, confesses that

Expressi Professor Professor, impressive, perfect, and textile, accessible, messy.

Soulmates, echo voices of maimanir.

The honor of power, point is off, and what's the only voice

buy.

Script is out of my mouth, so the doctor falls.

that she wait.

Oh, ach to fijd velfnik food from bineton the school varietu

Ekhalfen warikdu, o maimanir, varik dur duikut, envelop naimanir.

Mama ke mark, myvel me manir, a mark ni out with high sech, dad isimenir

and noid me manir.

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Seide me text o, my velop maimanir.

Stellma quetsmerop, do it of my manir, a glaive menave, my velop my manir, do the chrome baven, my velop maimanir, excitement text to oh, my velop my manir, extermin,

dave it to my menir,

extel.

When you look into the shadows, do you ever feel something looking back?

If you're looking for your next great fiction podcast, something dark, immersive, and just a little unsettling, listen to The Void, the new series from Fable and Folly.

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In the town of Milton, the darkness isn't just in your head, it's in the woods.

They call it the void, a cursed expanse that surrounds the town and swallows anyone who dares to leave.

But when a strange old man shares a mysterious pamphlet that promises a path through the void, Sam and his friends set off on a journey that unravels everything that they thought they knew about their home.

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Think stranger things meet super eight, but in podcast form.

Search for the void wherever you get your podcasts and step carefully.

The woods are watching.

Hey, it's Jeffrey Kraner with a word from our sponsor.

You're on a desert island, but not a deserted island.

Someone else is there.

Something else is there.

In the water, surrounding you lurks a mythical beast with two large eyes and many long arms.

You're just now hearing of this beast, but you're not afraid because you don't plan to swim.

Though that water looks nice, you're good at talking yourself into things, and soon you are in the sea, frolicking and splashing.

You even squeal, thinking you're all alone.

But you forgot what I just said.

You're not alone.

Something wraps itself around you, it lifts you high in the air, waving you about at dizzying heights.

You look down and see the mythical kraken.

You start to scream, but in its other tentacles are bottles of kraken black spiced rum and kraken gold spiced rum.

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It's bold, smooth, and made with a blend of spices.

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It winks and tells you kraken rum is ideal for Halloween cocktails and disappears back into the dark, briny depths.

Visit the official sponsor of Welcome to Night Vale, Kraken Rum.com to release the Kraken this Halloween.

Copyright 2025, Kraken Rum Company Kraken Rum.com.

Like the deepest sea, the Kraken should be treated with great respect and responsibility.

Welcome back.

Welcome back.

I guess from a crisis.

Welcome back from, I guess, a crisis.

How was it solved?

How was the day saved?

It wasn't.

It didn't need to be.

There are lulls and gaps and rests and stops.

But this world stumbles on.

The sun flared back.

The world restarted.

Still bodies blue in the gray street gasped suddenly and rose back into the blue-gray light of day.

We wake up, we move on.

No state is our state forever.

All is fleeting.

Frances Donaldson, manager of the antiques mall, has gone back to violently smashing her stock of old items, as is usual.

The faceless old woman who secretly lives in your home has gone back to flitting around around in the corner of your eye, rearranging your belongings according to some unknown purpose.

The flies are still buzzing around that trash can, but with more verve,

more zest.

Intern Maureen brought me some coffee.

Ah, yeah, that's helping.

Coffee helps sometimes though, doesn't it?

Other times, it just makes things worse.

I mean, everything does.

Business is booming, people are moving, events transpiring.

All as usual, all returning.

We are up.

We are full of energy.

We are ready for the next great thing to be made for us and delivered to us and done to us.

Carlos.

Meanwhile, says he's had a busy day and might take a nap now.

That...

Well, that sounds nice.

Listeners, I think now is the time at which I must say goodbye.

There's a place here in Nightvale, a place I'd like to be just now.

Maybe my lazy day isn't quite done after all.

Stay tuned next for a keening howl, a scratch at the door, a hood falling suddenly over your face, and a delicious roasted squash recipe your family will just love.

Good night, Night Vale.

Good night.

Welcome to Night Vale is a production of commonplace books.

It is written by Joseph Fink and Jeffrey Kraner and produced by Joseph Fink.

The voice of Night Vale is Cecil Baldwin.

Original music by Disparition.

All of it can be found at disparition.info or at disparition.bandcamp.com.

This episode's weather was Mind Menir by Brain Power.

Find out more at YouTube slash mcbrainpower or under the same name on Twitter or Facebook.

Comments, questions, email us at nightvale at commonplacebooks.com or follow us on Twitter at nightvale radio.

Check out commonplacebooks.com for more information on this show as well as all sorts of cool night veil stuff you can own.

And while you're there, consider clicking the donate link.

That'd be cool of you.

Today's proverb.

On this day in history, mundanity and terror and food and love and trees.

Bundle and safe with Expedia.

You were made to follow your favorite band and from the front row, we were made to quietly save you more.

Expedia, made to travel.

Savings vary and subject to availability, flight inclusive packages are at at all protected.

I'm Amy Nicholson, the film critic for the LA Times.

And I'm Paul Scheer, an actor, writer, and director.

You might know me from the League Veep or my non-eligible for Academy Award role in Twisters.

We love movies and we come at them from different perspectives.

Yeah, like Amy thinks that, you know, Joe Pesci was miscast in Goodfellas, and I don't.

He's too old.

Let's not forget that Paul thinks that Dune 2 is overrated.

It is.

Anyway, despite this, we come together to host Unspooled, a podcast where we talk about good movies, critical hits, fan favorites, must-season, and case you missed them.

We're talking Parasite the Home Alone, from Greece to the Dark Knight.

We've done deep dives on popcorn flicks, we've talked about why Independence Day deserves a second look, and we've talked about horror movies, some that you've never even heard of, like Kanja and Hess.

So, if you love movies like we do, come along on our cinematic adventure.

Listen to Unspooled wherever you get your podcasts.

And don't forget to hit the follow button.

Hi, we're Meg Bashwiner and Joseph Fink of Welcome to Night Vale.

And on our new show, The Best Worst, we explore the golden age of television.

To do that, we're watching the IMDb viewer-rated best and worst episodes of classic TV shows.

The episode of Star Trek, where Beverly Crusher has sex with a ghost.

The episode of The X-Files, where Scully gets attacked by a vicious house cat, and also the really good episodes, too.

What can we learn from the best and worst of great television?

Like, for example, is it really a bad episode, or do people just hate women?

The best, worst, available wherever you get your podcasts.