On the second day of peace in Eden, Zune hit ground running on his plan for syndication. Although Eden was lacking the strong public transit network, union-backed workplace safety policies, and political stability of the warrens, he knew in his heart that Eden was where he needed to stay. Guy Blanco had brought him here for a reason.

Step one of the plan was fairly straightforward. With the help of ex-accountant Langley Pinkerton, Zune drew up articles of incorporation. Time and time again Guy Blanco had talked about how failing to incorporate in the kingdom of California had nearly destroyed his career, and Zune was not about to turn down good advice. So, at seven o’clock in the morning, Slightly Late Television Enterprises was founded.

Zune sighed and looked at his Zune™ as a wave of nostalgia overtook him. What price he wouldn’t pay to see Guy Blanco again; to scour the depths of the tall skinny red-headed man’s infinite wisdom. Fortunately for Zune money was no object, so he had Langley write up a letter to dozens of wizards from across Absurdia, asking for their help in fixing the Zune. He was quite optimistic that many of them would come to Eden when they heard of the beauty of late night television.

The third problem, much harder to solve, was that of ratings. While The Slightly Late Show had performed quite well last night, Zune understood that audiences could be picky. He also understood that there was no organization in all of Absurdia that actually tracked viewership metrics, so to address this problem he hired Father Milton in order to get an accurate reading on these sorts of things. If people were going to answer their door for anything, Zune thought, it would definitely be for solicitations from a priest. Especially here in Eden. And so, knowing it would be a wildly successful venture, Zune was more than happy to cover the additional “hazard pay” Father Milton had requested.

It was barely seven-thirty in the morning, and Zune had almost solved all of his problems! In fact, only three remained. Zune rubbed his tiny kobold hands together in excitement. To the productive little dragonman, much like in the way stealing from your neighbor is, productivity was its own reward.

The most difficult of these problems, according to the new accountant of Slightly Late Enterprises, would be figuring out how broadcast rights would be handled. Unfortunately, Zune had yet to find anyone who had invented the television, so he decided it was best to push two of his remaining issues aside to focus on something more achievable.

“Sometimes when Guy Blanco spoke to me,” Zune gabbed with his little kobold jaw, “he was doing a remote special.” Langley Pinkerton and Crowhead stared at the Zune wordlessly, from what Zune could was no doubt a state of epiphany brought upon the divine workings of Guy Blanco, the greatest human to ever live.

“...And this remote special,” Langley’s drawl was more apparent than usual, “I don’t quite understand why you need me here to discuss matters of production. I am not sure I have any better answers than Crowhead and the I’mos here could provide you.” Langley stood up, and was about to leave when Zune, unbeknownst to himself, channeled late night talk show energy into a question that penetrated to the heart of Langley’s being.

“But aren’t you the greatest Certified Public Accountant in all of Absurdia? Have you not mastered all forms of taxes?” Zune asked. Langley paused, and turned back to Zune.

“Yes, I am, but so far this has nothing to do with taxes.”

“It will.” Zune said with a wide kobold grin. Guy Blanco’s truth would reveal itself momentarily. Langley sat back down criss-cross applesauce in front of Zune’s crayon-scrawled to-do list, and listened intently.

“Crowhead, do you think you and the rest of the I’mos could build a bike path from the center of Eden? Perhaps plant some trees and greenery along the way? How long would that take?” Zune asked.

“What’s a bike? What’s a bike path?” Langley and Crowhead asked at precisely the same time, much to the convenience of the narrator. Zune quickly and thoroughly explained the concept of bikes and bike paths to the two men, going into great detail the necessary engineering for both things.

“Yeah, the rest of the I’mos and I could build your path and plant your trees. It’ll take a couple of months, but it can get done.” Crowhead said.

“Excellent!” Zuned clapped his little kobold hands together in excitement “And here is where taxes come in. According to the teachings of Guy Blanco, not only can we make the creation of the bike path a tax write of,-”

“Obviously.” Langley interjected.

“But we could also have the whole evening’s production function as a tax write off, since, by donating my services, we are providing something of significant value to the community-

Langley Pinkerton CPA’s eyes went wide as a revelation hit him.

“By Guy!” he hollered “If it’s part of the production, anything during the course of production can be a tax write off! So long as we can show those services have legitimate value to a 503c non profit or another charitable organization!”

Langley’s excitement died down as he realized there were no charities in Eden. In fact, there hadn’t been for many years. Not since the great charity war of Eden. Thousands had died for the noble cause of male pattern baldness awareness. A single tear ran down Langley’s face in memory of those who had been lost. No one would dare join the board of directors of a charity in Eden. Not anyone with money to lose.

“It’s a shame we don’t know anyone rich and famous that could be on the board of directors.” Langley said.

In a moment of pure narrative serendipity, a postman came from seemingly nowhere holding a clipboard and a large cardboard tube. Barely visible was the words “To: Zune Tee-em, Eden” scribbled in black sharpie.

“You must be Zune.” the postman said, handing the cardboard tube to the kobold. “Sign here.”

Zune signed the document on the friendly postman’s clipboard.

“Thanks. Have a nice day.” the postman said. “Do you know a better path I could walk on the way out here? The road was kind of rough.”

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Zune shook his head no.

“If you want to stay here until it’s done, a new bike path is being built.” Zune suggested.

“Unfortunately I don’t have time today. Maybe next time?” The postman said, obviously deflecting the issue at hand.

“Next time.” Zune agreed, giving the postman a friendly wave goodbye. Once the postman was thoroughly out of narration range, Zune tore the package open with the fury of a thousand union supervisors.

WIthin was a very nicely printed poster of a familiar face: Asisi Vermouth kicking a soccer ball. Unfortunately, the ball on the poster was already deflated due the blood curse of Deflatin’ Joe, but it was signed and numbered 1 of 50. Also within the tube was a small note from Asisi, addressed to Zune that read:

Zune,

I hope this message finds you well. You changed my life, literally. Please accept this limited edition signed poster as a show of my thanks. I’m not quite sure what the hell happened back there in Eden, but I am very happy to be living my dream. Please, if there is anything you need let me know. I would love to find a way to give back to the community, and improve their lives in a way similar to how you have improved my own. You can contact me directly through my agent, Rebecca, if you have any ideas. I made sure she knows your name.

Sincerely,

Your Friend Until Death, Asisi Vermouth (and if there is an after life I sincerely hope to continue on as a friend there)

Zune finished reading the letter out loud.

“Well, that solves that problem.” Langley said as he stood up. The CFO of Slightly Late Enterprises went off to work on founding a new 503c nonprofit.

With the I’mos beginning the planning stages of the bike path, and Langley handling the tax write-offs, Zune could now focus on something he had been thinking of for a while. The I’mos had been kind enough to fulfill his request for a slanted drafting table, a nice cushioned spinning stool (like the kind one might find in a diner), and some drafting pencils. The craftsmanship was impeccable. Overall the set was worth at least twenty-five rats, if Zune was estimating correctly.

Zune lowered the stool down, plopped onto its pump cushion, and raised himself to where his tiny kobold body was barely above the height of the table. A large, clean piece of drafting paper lay over the table, and next to it was a set of well-sharpened pencils in a plain white mug. Zune pulled his ethereal microphone out of thin air, and looked back and forth between it and the pencils.

“No, you can’t interview a pencil, Zune. You need real, serious guests.” He said to himself as he took out a strand of duct tape, taped a pencil to the end of the microphone.

“Besides, it would be silly. Unlike letters, pencils can’t talk.”

Zune took to the blank page before him like a hurricane to the coast of Florida. He drew and drafted to a level he had never experienced before in the caves of Mentholarix. His weeks of training surged within his mind, empowering him to create the image that had captured his dreams since the fateful day he had met Guy Blanco.

An image from The Very Late Show with Guy Blanco surged through his head like a flood: a tall spire, forged of metal and glass. The power of a broadcast network unrivaled by all others (especially those networks that hosted Fallon One’s show) coursed through the veins of the structure. At its top, a paradise of perfection: the Arthur Gilbert Theater with a capacity to seat 1,500 souls within. Floor by floor Zune drafted the ur-rendition of mid-century downtown urban America skyscraper architecture. He was approaching perfection, a building nearly identical to Guy Blanco’s. The power of late night television surged within Zune’s body, driving him beyond perfection.

I can do better. Guy Blanco believes in me.

Toilet seat by toilet seat Zune masterfully crafted bathrooms that complied with the accessibility standards of the Bureau of Unified Kobold Labor Unions. Green terraces extended out from the building, held by cantilevers. Water features which drew from the plane of magic, cascaded from the top of architectural divinity to feed the now-dry river bed of the body of water that once flowed through Eden like wine. And even-

Zune’s pencil snapped from the weight of the potent late night television energy. Zune’s stomach rumbled.

What time is it? He thought, as he looked outside. The sun was hanging high above the barren wasteland of Eden.

“Can you get me the time?” Zune asked the narrator.

“It’s 2:37 in the afternoon..” said the narrator.

Zune reached for a rat from his rat-sack made of rats, and ate it. He taped another pencil to his divine microphone, and once more channeled the power of late night television as he envisioned perfection.

The bike path is only the beginning. He thought to himself.

The building must be connected to a thorough network of convenient public transit. He sighed and thought back to his days in the kobold warrens, and decided that a subway would be appropriate for the designs.

Several hours later, Zune finished drawing the last tile of tactical paving that bordered the subway line. He gave himself a rat as a treat, and wiped off the remnants of eraser from the page with his tiny kobold hands.

His hut was covered with his grand plans, but he was not done yet, not until he had broken ground. Zune walked to his set and went backstage to look for tools. Several minutes later, he stood in the middle of barren dirt holding a rucksack full of pegs, high-visibility fabric strips, some twine, and a large mallet. He hammered them into the ground with machine-like precision.

After 3 hours, Zune had marked off the area next to the stage for construction, minus the last peg marking where the foundation would be laid. The kobold looked up to the imagined peak of his magnum opus of steel and glass, and for a moment it almost felt real to him. Taking a moment, he reflected on his path. Mentholarix’s layer. Zune’s first paid appearance from the interview with the friendly cabbage merchant ‘Holy Shit Please Take Anything Just Don’t Kill me.’

What an interesting name. Zune thought to himself, again. He made to a note to ask people for the most interesting names they had ever heard.

Zune thought back to the Asisi Vermouth interview, and all of the friends he had made along the way. To the defeat of Killer-throatslitter-taxevasion-littering and the emancipation of Real Galadhorn.

Still, most of all, his former master’s words haunted him.

You will never meet Guy Blanco.

He, Zune, had created The Slightly Late Show with Zune Tee-em from nothing. He had founded Slightly Late Enterprises. And now he was expanding his ambitions. Not only did Zune know he would be rewarded for his efforts, he understood, deep within his soul, he had to defy Mentholarix. He had to prove the tyrant wrong. The dragon would be defeated.

Zune hammered the last peg into the ground in defiance.

Damnit, he would meet Guy Blanco.

“I will be syndicated.”