The Legend of the Guttenfruits

It was a dark and stormy mid-afternoon in Dirty Little France.  The Belgian air was thick with moisture and the sun battered the tops of the gathered rain clouds, partitioning the world into light and dark, dry and wet, hope and despair, good and evil.  Underneath the foreboding canopy, a mere speck on the terrestrial mass of Germany's favorite highway to France, was one man who knew.  One man to whom the secrets of the world had been revealed, to whom the sky held no mystery, and to whom even the Almighty itself asked for pro-tips on hair styling.  Steve Guttenberg sat alone in His residence, plotting the course of His actions that would alter the very fabric of reality forever.

The Guttenhouse

It began as a suspicion, slowly taking root in His mind like an Ophiocordyceps Camponoti-Balzani  in a Brazilian ant.   It germinated into a question: Why can't there be light under which the children can play and the world can be free?  The question immediately transmogrified into thought, becoming a burst of sentient energy.  Having co-developed the mass-energy equivalence with Einstein, it was natural for this energy, summoned into existence by Guttenberg's prodigious will, to undergo a brilliant transduction. It became at once a tangible and ethereal seed existing in two worlds, a duality intrinsic to all things but readily observable to no pair of eyes.  From this seed the first Guttentree sprouted in the fertile, Clostridium Botulinum infested soil of Brussels.  The seed grew beyond its nascent form and matured into the Guttentree in the land of Frites and Waffles (also Guttenventions) and began to give shape to a new entity, a ghost in the proverbial shell.  The Guttenfruit emerged from this hallowed architecture and sat inert and brilliant, waiting to be awakened by the First.

As Steve Guttenberg gazed on His creation, He understood two truths: (1) Guttenfruit was still in beta, and (2) it must be humanity that saved itself, seperate from the Guttenfluence, which was the source of His incredible charm and charisma.  As He watched from His lofty perch, it was a small child that first approached the fruit out of two parts curiosity and one part mischief.  As the First Child listened to the evanescent cry of the Guttenfruit, the marvelously androgynous being reached out and gave the Guttenfruit not one, not two, but three tickles upon its shimmering chrysalis.  The sky immediately sundered, flooding the earth with the radiance of the stars and the sun that had been held at bay so long by forces unmentionable and unnamed.  The rain ceased as the power from the Guttentree and Gutenfruit synthesis, catalyzed by the tickling touch of the First Child, coursed through the ley lines of Gaia and spared Belgium from the incessant storm of chaos and depression.  Steve Guttenberg watched it all, and smiled.

The tickling of the Guttenfruit

The brilliance returns.

The power endured only a few hours, but in that short time the essence had spread to the unseen mystical nodes of the world and the pullulating essence of the Guttenpower caused more Guttentrees to develop, sprouting more Guttenfruits and demanding more tickles like a Slow Lorris at play.  And thus, as the malaise slowly retook the transitory sky, the people still knew that they were saved; it would only take the gentle, innocent touch of the inner child to reawaken the Guttenpower. Thus, by the Guttengrace, humanity had learned to bring laughter to sadness, peace to tempestuousness, and love to the bitter hate of the unpredictable afternoon monsoons of Dirty Little France once more. And so it came to pass that the once proud Belgians became free, free to not elect a central government for as long as they liked, and Steve Guttenberg remains to this day in His residence, looking down upon His beloved children. And He smiles.

Bless you, Steve

So, there is a story behind this, but it's just better if you don't know it.

-Dt