Howdy y'all, it is Jeffrey Cranor. I'm not sure which episode of Welcome to Night Vale you're listening to, but I am speaking to you from April of 2026. And I'm here to tell you, we're going to be in Europe. If you want to see Night Vale live and you're going to be in Europe, come check us out at the end of May.
We're going to be in Edinburgh on May the 27th. We will be in Manchester on the 28th, London on the 29th, and Amsterdam on May the 30th. Just go to welcometonightvale.com slash live to see the show dates and to get your tickets. This is our newest Night Vale live show, Murder Night in Blood Force.
It is so much fun. Please come check it out. Also coming up this month here in April, it is the return of Alice Isn't Dead. Brand new episodes of our other crazy hit podcast.
This is written by Joseph Fink, produced and with music by Disparition and starring Jessica Nicole. So make sure you are still subscribed to Alice Isn't Dead and go get those on April the 13th as new episodes come out. Finally speaking of other shows, do you want to hear us talk about other things? We have three other really great chat shows.
First of all, there's Good Morning Night Vale for all of your Night Vale needs. You can hear Hal, Meg, and Symphony talk about every single episode in order of Welcome to Night Vale. Also, we have Random Horror Number Nine. That is me and Night Vale star Cecil Baldwin talking about horror movies one at a time in a random order.
And then Joseph and Meg do Best Worst, which is a really fun podcast where they look at hit TV shows and they review the best rated on IMDb, the worst rated on IMDb, and if you're a Patreon member, they will review the middleest rated on IMDb. So check out all of those at nightvalevents.com or just wherever you get your podcasts. And hey, thanks. Time is irrelevant and imaginary.
And yet somehow it seems we are out of it. Welcome to Night Vale. Listeners, I have just returned from an odyssey. As you know, a case of Canadian Club whiskey was hidden in Night Vale over 40 years ago as part of a contest.
And now Egimoni, Egimoni, Egimoni, Egimoni, that tech startup wants it back so they can drink it and thus drink the soul of Night Vale. But it turns out that the alcohol was spirited away by, uh, spirited. It's a good one, Cecil, by baristas. I knew I had to warn them before the corporate prize contests and sweepstakes buzz marketing street teams located them.
But that would mean going to a place from which no one has ever returned. The remote cave lands of the baristas deep under the earth where Eritrean pour over drips gently from stalactites and latte foam rivers froth and bubble in cool stone cracks. We're all pretty sure the cave lands are under that crate behind the ace hardware, but no one goes down there because of the stench of espresso and the chilling sounds of Carly Simon's greatest hits CD. The underground society of the baristas is an insular one and no outsider has met their king.
Did you know that baristas have a king? I mean, I did, but my niece Janice knows all about which professions have monarchs and which like, um, ride sharing services only have serpents wearing crowns. Janice still has her barista costume from last year's careers parade. So in order to investigate the cave lands, I cloaked myself carefully in the necessary animal skins as Janice directed and slung over my shoulders the ceremonial spiky coffee hammer and the sweater vest with the correct number of armholes.
Janice and I took a quick online course in latte art. Janice was great at it. She made a photo-realistic asplenium nidus fern and I, uh, I made a rock of some kind. Janice said she knew exactly how to finish my designs and she was right.
I regarded myself in the ace hardware window and I knew that I was meant for that boldest, unruliest, most outlaw of mustaches, the Rolly Fingers, the final touch of a true barista. Rolly Fingers was the most famous king in barista history and now every barista grows a long, thick mustache that swirls at the ends, just like the former King Rolly. From these curls, baristas often hang sweeteners and spoons for customer service. I flexed all my facial muscles tight and within minutes I had finessed my new thick mustache into lovely coils.
It was sunset, the time when all the baristas returned to the ace hardware parking lot from their day labor jobs, or as they call them, gigs, throughout greater Night Vale. My plan was to simply blend among them. Blend, oh my God, the blend, I'll just leave that in there. And so one by one, as they arrived, I smiled and waved at them and we teased each other with sprays of hot steam, as is the way of baristas at the end of a long day.
There were 10 of us, then 15, then perhaps 20, then 30, then 40, then 100 baristas. Baristas as far as the eye could see, so many baristas all laughing and scalding each other with joviality. And a very tall barista, whose animal pelts were dusted with silver, looked at me with suspicion. I put her mind at ease by calling out one of their familiar jokes.
Your mother is so tasteless, she orders her eggs ristrettos, I cried. The barista's hardened face softened into a laugh as she called out, time to ride! Our steeds made quick work of the steep mile and a half descent below ace hardware. I could hear the faint echoes of Norah Jones as we passed cuneiform style sketches of French presses on the rocky walls.
Once we were in the caves, by the lights of torches dipped in pitch, the baristas ambled to their bedrolls, their knapsacks, their bindles, and all around the cave, I could see them unwrapping and dusting off them, rosening their instruments. I saw harmonicas, violins, ocarinas, banjos, mouth harps, mouth pianos, mouth banjos, lip scissors, and those who had nothing to play brought out pots and pans to keep time. And we began to sing. I'm dreaming of someone whose love is so sweet.
Like Guatemalan Coban grown at 4,000 feet. Oh, my perfect love gives me endless bliss. Never wants the Wi-Fi password without purchase. I said he never asked for that Wi-Fi password without a purchase.
And then, without warning, one of the baristas made a gesture and the rest fell silent. They were all looking at me, listeners. He doesn't know our anthem, she said. No, I totally do, I said.
I mean, I was definitely singing something. The baristas closed in on me. Don't talk to me till I've had my coffee. Am I right?
I pleaded. From the back, I heard a quiet but authoritative snarl. It's Cecil! The baristas parted, all of them, and in the silence, I heard the shuffling of leather shoes.
And I was face to face with the king of the baristas. Listeners, we are all made up of goodness and not so goodness. We have conflicting impulses and we struggle to do right. We care to a lesser or greater extent whether our actions are moral and if they will strike other people as immoral.
This is true for all of us, you and me, corporeal and otherwise. Everyone. Except the king of the baristas. When I saw him, I knew immediately he had never once hesitated to do right.
How did I know this? Maybe it was his beard, as his beard seemed kind. Or it was the way his eyes, his purple eyes, crinkled with empathy. Or it was how the light glinted off his horns.
In any case, listeners, he reminded me a little of a buffalo. And it's hard not to trust a buffalo. Cecil, he said, we have been waiting for you. And by we, I don't mean the royal we, as we don't believe in that.
And I didn't mean the royal we that second time either. All of us have been waiting for you. And not one of us believes in the royal we. And I love your mustache so much!
The king added in a baby voice as he pinched my cheek. I explained that I came to the cave lands for the booze. He said, we'll talk about that. But first, we need to talk about something more important.
Your new sponsor. I said, our sponsor? You mean money? Did you know it's available in twenties now?
He said, do not speak to us of the attractiveness of money. Money is cursed. And of course, everything that is cursed is attractive. Otherwise, the curse wouldn't be a problem.
He said that and I thought it was pretty smart. I mean, all of the cursed objects around the station are really fun to play with. Until an intern gets hurt. Like Gustav the other day, who found a radium squish ball from one of our old station promotions.
Oh, quick aside, to the family of Gustav, he was a distracted intern and he will be missed. The king said, how many times has a person done something awful and you can't understand why it happened? Only for the reason to be money. If there were a drug with the same side effects money has, it would be illegal.
Maybe we can talk about this later, I said. There are Egymoni corporate prize contests and sweepstakes Night Vale's soul absorbed them, so we're all good. Problems always solve themselves. Thank you, King of the baristas.
There was an uncomfortably long pause. Every barista was staring silently at me, and I worried that maybe this was a disrespectful way to address the king. I coughed a bit and then tried again with a classic barista joke to lighten the mood. Your mother's so overcome with ennui that she...
Cecil, the king interrupted. We, the baristas, are the egomony corporate prize contest and sweepstakes buzz marketing street team. Once we had become a part of Night Vale, we knew what we had to do, he said. And I said, ooh, I can't wait to find out, but can I check the weather report just really quick?
And he said, sure, go ahead. The king repeated, we knew what we had to do. He cackled a bit. Have you ever noticed how at one point there were no baristas here, and then suddenly there were many, many baristas?
Did it seem strange to you that every cafe now had a barista, and every restaurant and market, pawn shop and dry cleaners? And how the vacant lots are no longer truly vacant because they are populated by baristas. Have you noticed baristas at the antiques mall, in the DMV, and close to, but not in, the dog park? And the ones who run alongside cars as they're leaving the highway to offer drivers shots of espresso?
Have you noticed how no new buildings pass the city planning department unless there's a four foot by four foot space for a barista to stand? Didn't that strike you as strange? Did it strike you as strange that your choices at any coffee establishment were only espresso or espresso with a shot of Canadian club? The king said to me, wisely, carefully, giddily, Cecil, after being absorbed in the soul of Night Vale, we knew we needed to save our city.
So we served it to you. We served Night Vale its own soul. Night Vale has drunk itself and in the process become as much itself as any town could ever be. By then, the sun was starting to rise and some of the baristas had settled down and were cuddling and grooming each other in their little barista beds.
As the fire in the cave was now turning to embers, and there were small ashes glittering like moths around the sierra cups and chemex carafes and wind-powered aeropresses that cluttered every surface. I felt relief, knowing the baristas were safe. And also confusion, knowing they had once been a tech company's social influence marketing effort. But also civic pride, as Night Vale is darned good at defending itself against people who want to steal and drink our souls.
But also itchiness because of the animal pelts and long twirly mustache. The time of worry isn't over, Cecil, the king said. In fact, it is only beginning. Egemony won't care that Night Vale's soul is safe.
They'll send another street team and another until they've figured out how to distill our souls. And do you know why, Cecil? It's because of money. Listeners, this is terrible news.
Mostly because I really don't like to hear bad things said about our station sponsors. Cecil, we need you to renounce money as a sponsor. Do you know what's more important than money? We do.
We have taken steps this night while you were here. Your show is now sponsored not by money, but by love. Love is the way forward against Egemony. I said, uh-huh, but I said it with skepticism, like exactly the way a cashier would if someone were about to buy something clutching a handful of love.
Then I said, sure, but like really sarcastically, like you do after a poetry reading. He said, your battle is not yet over. Egemony wants that case of Canadian Club, even if it no longer exists. They're going to use every one of their tools.
They'll use violence, intimidation, social media, dream fluencing, viral marketing, even science. They will win unless you figure out a way to repel them. And I said, um, pardon me, did you say that they'll use science? And he thought about it and agreed that he had at some point said that.
Science, he said, was one of Egemony's mightiest weapons. And the king of the baristas said that he wished he knew of some way to fight against it. As soon as he said this, I stood to my full height, which is one third taller than my three quarters height. Listeners, I must admit, I was moved enough to actually put my hands by my hips and my hands were fists, listeners, fists.
And I said, oh, I know how to fight back. There is only one weapon mightier than science, and that is more science. And the king looked at me with amazement, as if I had unsuspected depths. And he said, do you know science?
Do I, listeners? Do I? Next time, I'll answer that question. But spoiler alert, gosh, heck yeah, of course.
Stay tuned next for Adolescent X-Teen Karate Bedbugs, the show your grandma thinks you like because she never understood you. Good night, Night Vale. Good night. Welcome to Night Vale is a production of Night Vale Presents.
This episode was written by Glenn David Gold with Joseph Fink and Jeffrey Cranor 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 Glitter by Charlie Bliss. Find out more at CharlieBliss.com. That's Charlie with a Y. Comments, questions?
Email us at info at WelcomeToNightVale.com or follow us on Twitter at NightValeRadio or teach yourself to bake bread. It's easier than you think. Check out WelcomeToNightVale.com for more information on this show and our upcoming tour to Texas, the Southwest, and the West Coast. See you there, or not.
Stage lights are bright. Today's proverb. Why would you want to think outside the box? The box is steel and locked and very deeply underground.
It's so safe here. Why would you want to leave? Hey, Jeffrey Cranor here to tell you about another show from me and my Night Vale co-creator, Joseph Fink. It's called Unlicensed, and it's an L.A.
noir style mystery set in the outskirts of present day Los Angeles. Unlicensed follows two unlicensed private investigators whose small jobs looking into insurance claims and missing property are only the tip of a conspiracy iceberg. There are already two seasons of Unlicensed for you to listen to now, with season three dropping on May 15th. Unlicensed is available exclusively through Audible, free if you already have that subscription.
And if you don't, Audible has a trial membership, and if I know you, and I do, you can binge all that mystery goodness in a short window. And if you like it, if you like Unlicensed, please, please rate and review each season. Our ability to keep making this show is predicated on audience engagement. So go check out Unlicensed, available now only at Audible.com.