Still high. Typing this on a phone that says “Battery: ∞.” The second acrobatic isn’t a trick — it’s a permission slip. Q left me a note: “You failed the first acrobatic because you tried to land. The second? You never even touched the ground.”
The room became a flipbook. Every blink advanced the page. Q was no longer human but a striding chess piece with a top hat. We were to perform “The Second Acrobatic” — a legendary maneuver mentioned only in a deleted Formspring answer: “First acrobatic: juggle time. Second acrobatic: become the juggled.” HussiePass 24 06 14 Shrooms Q An Acrobatic 2nd ...
June 14, 2024 Location: The Q-Drop Theater, abandoned 3rd mezzanine, Portland State: Light psilocybin (1.5g, Golden Teachers), one hit of a Q-brand vape pen (unknown synthetic, probably DMT-adjacent) Still high
Shrooms chewed slow, bitter. Q handed me a pass: laminated, rainbow-hologram, read “HussiePass 24 06 14.” Said it lets you step between panels. Not into the comic. Between them. The gutters. The second
The call came through the old MSPA forums’ dead chat. A single letter: “Q.” No, not the conspiracy Q. The Q. The one who used to animate the unanimate in late-night Flash games. Q promised a “second acrobatic revolution” — the first being the impossible pirouettes of problem sleuths. Tonight was the second.
Came down hard. Broke a coffee table that wasn’t there before. The HussiePass melted into a puddle of 2009-era GIFs. Q bowed, then faded into a panel of John Egbert doing a sick kickflip on a pogo hammer.
Tried to cartwheel across a 2D floor. Failed. Landed in a pixel gutter. Heard Hussie’s voice (or a voice like his) whisper: “You’re thinking in three dimensions, idiot. An acrobatic second requires forgetting gravity was ever invented.”