Tis better to have loved and lost than to be slowly eaten while still alive. There are, on the whole, many things worse than having loved and lost. Welcome to Night Vale

Well, listeners, we have all been grappling with the same problem. Time has become normal in Night Vale. Or as normal as time ever is. Time is pretty weird everywhere.

As a result of this shift in our experience of time, none of us are remaining the same age for centuries anymore. We are aging, one year per year, one month per month, one second per precious second. Every moment that passes, our skin is less supple, our mind is less pliant, our joints ache just a little more. The entire town is in an uproar, as we are all coming to terms with the idea of getting older. Gym memberships have soared. Everyone is talking at the same time and they’re all recommending green juice diets to each other. City council has tried to make aging illegal but it turns out this would be unconstitutional as the Supreme Court ruled that slow deterioration of the mind and body is an American right.

I myself am not immune to these worries. When I think about what my life would be like after Carlos? Or what his life would be like after me? These are the kinds of fears that can’t be shaken off by the light of day, that linger even after all the shadows of evening have faded. Is love a gift in a finite world? I’d like to think so. But oh my stomach is in knots. I’m sure yours is too.

And now for a word from our sponsors.

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Instead, try lotion. Just lotion those limbs. Lotion that face. Got any other parts? Lotion them too. Rubbing lotion on yourself won’t stop time. It won’t end the inevitability of death. But when you die, you will be silky smooth, and folks will whisper, “Why, it doesn’t look like they’ve aged a single day.”

Buy lotion now and we will send you a box of other things that will not stop you from dying but will maybe make you feel a little better on your way out the door, such as fish oil pills, a pair of running shoes, and books with titles like Get Happy Now Or Else.

Lotion: You can’t stop aging. So settle on mitigating the surface appearance of aging.

This has been a word from our sponsors.

In a new press release, Night Vale resident Leah Shapiro announces the Mariam McDonald Memorial Fund. This fund, in honor of the recently deceased Mariam, will be used to finally fulfill Mariam’s lifelong dream, a dream she did not live long enough to see come to fruition: The removal of all sand from the sand wastes. Mariam hated the sand, thought it looked frightfully untidy and that it made a bad first impression for folks just coming to town. She could often be seen when she was alive, out with her broom, dutifully sweeping the dunes into her dustpan, and depositing the result into a black trash bag. Obviously this was slow going, but Leah has vowed to continue Mariam’s quest.

“It’s a stupid wish. A real dumb one,” said Leah. “I hate it. I hate it so much. But I dunno. It’s what Mariam wanted. And so I feel obligated for some reason to keep after it. God, this sucks,” Leah concluded.

According to the press release, the Mariam McDonald Memorial Fund currently contains three dollars, and is not taking donations.

Well, isn’t that the feel good story of the year? Good luck Leah. I hope you do get rid of all that sand. Mariam was right. Sand is very untidy.

And now for the Children’s Fun Fact Science Corner. Today we will be discussing how to tell whether something is a person. Here are simple tests that can be done at home with whatever you find in your parents’ cabinets when they don’t know you’re looking.

Does it grow? It’s a person.

Does it bend? It’s a person.

Is it square or similar to a square? It’s a person.

Nodes and nodules? Person.

A frank and enticing laugh? Person.

Can it hold liquid? Person.

Is it a dog? Yep, that’s a person too.

That ooze at the back of your closet? Not a person. We don’t know what that is. Best not to touch it. Best not to think on it. Perhaps it is the thinking that gives it its power.

This has been the children’s fun fact science corner.

In response to the current time-is-normal crisis, many companies are moving in to offer services to alleviate aging. Arby’s is suggesting that a regular diet of roast beef has been shown to extend life expectancy by up to twenty years. When they were asked who showed that and how they did so, Arby’s kind of mumbled and said that they would have those sources for us soon but in the meantime, come on down and buy yourself a meal. A number of new gyms have opened in town, promising advanced workouts that will keep the body and mind tip top. There is an LA Fitness. Also a 26 Hour Fitness, which promises workouts at any time of day or night plus two bonus hours every day that are only experienced by members. And local legend Louie Blasko has started what he calls a Crossfit gym, but it appears to just be the burned out remains of his old music store, untouched since the night of the fire. “Oh yeah,” Louie said. “You can really get a good workout in here. Believe me.” His eyes flicked back and forth nervously.

A different angle is being taken by newcomer to town Kasper Rhodes. Kasper says that he has conquered the ultimate obstacle: death itself. He does this by freezing the brain upon death until it can be resuscitated by advanced technologies of the future. “Cryogenics means never having to say ‘I’m dead,’” Kasper declared, whirling around the red cape he wears and wiggling his eyebrows. “Oh yes, this is a completely real technology. Once you die, we simply and safely remove your brain and freeze it in here.” He indicated the disused grain silo on the edge of town. “That thing is full of brains,” he said. “And each of those brains will be reanimated to a bright and beautiful future hundreds of years from now. You can too, for a mere ten thousand dollars, payable up front. No refunds offered.”

Suspicious journalists asked if they could take a peek in the grain silo and see if it was actually full of brains but Mr. Rhodes blocked the door with his body. “Oh uh,” he said. “Opening the door would mess up the freezing process. Wouldn’t want that to happen. You’ll just have to trust us.”

Hm.

And now traffic.

It’s looking pretty clear on the roads right now. There isn’t a single car to be seen. The parking lots are barren. The highways are mere doodles of the gods, without the roaring machines that give them purpose. Where did every car disappear to? We wonder this, as we walk to work. Walk to school. Learning the limits and the capacity of our own legs. Magnificent machines attached to our own bodies that we had long ago discounted but now can only propel ourselves by the length of them, and then again, and again, one after another. The hours pass, and we gradually pass through them. And where are the cars? Did they ever exist?

The factories where cars once were built are now full of robots with no purpose, arms ending in specialized tools and drills all designed to construct a thing that no longer is there to be constructed, and so they bob and weave for nothing. In this way, perhaps it could be said that they are dancing. To take purpose from a movement is to suggest the possibility of art within it. That perhaps the movement could have meaning merely for itself. But I ask again. Where are the cars? Where did they go?

Every other form of transportation still exists. Planes still claw their way into the stratosphere while boats wobble on churning seas. Motorcycles even, given complete freedom of the highway, tearing into the turns and straightaways at dangerous speeds. But no cars. Was it something we did? Is this our fault?

At least there’s no traffic I guess. And we’re all getting a little more time outdoors which is nice. And…oh, never mind. The cars are back. All of them, all at once, driverless and speeding. Well it’s nice to have them back.

This has been traffic.

And now for corrections.

In a previous editorial aired on this station, a reporter indicated his belief that peanut butter is a type of rock. That reporter sincerely believed, based on a half-remembered lesson from elementary school that he now realizes might have actually been a cartoon he watched, that peanut butter, along with sedimentary, metamorphic, and igneous, was in fact one of the main types of rock. This reporter harbored no ill-intent when he lectured for what may or may not have been two hours about his belief that peanut butter was a type of rock. This well-meaning reporter may have ignored several calls from his scientist husband who was trying to get through to correct this completely understandable mistake, but the reporter was on such a roll that he didn’t even notice the calls coming in, which could happen to anyone.

The reporter may have even printed up posters for local schools showing the types of rock, with peanut butter prominently included. If that is the case, those schools should feel free to return the erroneous poster, or keep it if they feel it may still be in some way educational.

In any case, the reporter in question regrets the error, and now admits that maybe peanut butter isn’t a type of rock. Maybe that’s true. Decide for yourself.

This has been corrections.

Kasper Rhodes and his Quality Cryogenics Corporation continue to advertise their dubious service all over town. He has bought a billboard next to the Waterfront Recreation Area declaring “A new life awaits you in the future.” With a picture of a disembodied brain that is somehow both smiling and giving a thumbs up despite its lack of hands and mouth.

The Quality Cryogenics Corporation strung a banner along the top of the disused grain silo on the edge of town saying the name of the company. Except the word Quality has been misspelled. As has Corporation.

Listeners, I am not one to editorialize, not after the recent peanut butter debacle we’ve heard so much about. But it does not seem to me that this Mr. Rhodes is on the up and up. Nothing about this strikes me as a scientific operation. And trust me. I know from scientific operations.

Despite these warning signs, a few people have in fact taken them up on their offer, including weekday shift manager at the Ralphs, Charlie Bair, whose lifetime ambition of becoming a ghost has recently curdled into a frantic fear of death. “I thought we had eternity. Now every minute spent is a minute lost,” Charlie said to me when I asked him if they had any more cilantro. So that was a bummer on my afternoon.

I must warn everyone not to buy into this Kasper charlatan’s lies. Cryogenically freezing brains is not going to save you. In fact, it is time for me to bust this scam wide open. I will sneak into the disused grain silo and I will tell you what is inside. Then all of us will know the truth.

As I head over there, let’s all head over…to the weather.

[WEATHER: “Revolution Lover” by Left At London]
Ok, listeners, I’m, hold on, this portable recording rig is a little heavy. (Grunts) Whew. I have got to get back into my weight training. I was deadlifting as much as 15 pounds, and now look at me. Ok. I am looking up at the towering disused grain silo on the edge of town. The silo that one Kasper Rhodes would claim contains cryogenically frozen brains, destined to be reawakened in the future. Well, I’m sure, Mr. Rhodes. But allow me to just check in on it myself.

The door to the silo is locked with a padlock and heavy chain. Fortunately I don’t go anywhere without my Special Reporters Welding Torch. It comes in handy more than you’d think.

[sounds of welding, sounds of chains falling]

And off it goes. Another win for the first amendment. Listeners, I am opening the heavy metal doors. Inside it is dark, even in this late afternoon sun. I am stepping in. My eyes are adjusting and….oh my god. Listeners. Oh my god. There are tanks full of…frozen intact human brains, attached to various support equipment. It is all completely clean and seemingly running well. This….this isn’t a scam. The great Kasper Rhodes is telling the truth. Death is now voluntary. Aging is meaningless. We will all see the future. We will all see the future.

Listeners. I must go. I must talk to my husband. We can be together forever, don’t you see? A new world awaits us in the future. I must talk to Carlos. I must.

[sound of recording equipment falling over, and Cecil running away]