Somewhere in the span of the Known Universe-- smack dab in the intangible center, between Nothingness and Infinity-- there is a tiny pocket, previously uninhabited, which is now swimming with the cells of a corporeal unity. Like translucent drops of orange ink in a glass of clear water, two boyos simultaneously dissolve and congeal to comprise a new kind of symbiotic organism: The Friendo. Two of them, to be exact. One part Christian and one part Weston, this new organism expands to fill up its space in the Cosmos, occasionally bumping up against neighboring spaces, occupied by the likes of “Weird” Alfred Yankovic, 1982 Paul McCartney (time is not linear here), five of The Brady kids, and early episodes of the Mighty Morphin’ Power Rangers. With an awe-inspiring knowledge of sea life, bees, and that guy who was in Sideways, the two Friendos circle each other like a binary star system, spitting rhymes as blinding as the venom of Michael Crichton’s Dilophosaurus to the eyes of Dennis Nedry. There is a danger to this kind of small covalence-- if you will, a single cahoot, waving boldly out in the vacuum of Endless Space. As with conjoined twins, Wham!, Debbie Reynolds and Carrie Fisher-- one simply cannot survive without the other. And so, the two parts adhere to each other, calling “Marco!” / “Polo!” into the darkness, singing often nonsensical inside jokes, as if every intelligent lifeform with a sense of humor is in on it. Coming together, they close their eyes as they kiss, shutting out the light and the dead stares of the physical world. As it was in the beginning, so it shall be when the last note is sung: a vast and empty shapelessness, lighted momentarily by a melodious dyad, which knows itself only as: The Friendos.
-Chris Lambert