Tri Bute: Our Lord, Our Great King: A Biographical Future Comic
ISSUE #4 (Part 1)
The Future Seal: Mus Ician

FUTURE DING! FUTURE DONG! FUTURE DING! FUTURE DONG!

The future bell rang as the future school day came to a close. The gleeful youth scampered out of their future classrooms and headed into town over the future hill. Little Tri Bute was the last kid out of future class. I’m sure he was just as gleeful as the rest of the youth. He was just slower. I think he takes his time and tries to be methodical or something.

Tri Bute made his way to the same hang out as everyone else. Sometimes he could hear people gossiping as he passed them on the street, but, he tried to not to eavesdrop. Tri Bute didn’t like to hear about other people that much.

“There goes that Tri Bute, kid.”

“I heard his parents were killed by alien robots,”

“That’s pretty cool.”

Even when they were talking about him like he couldn’t hear them, he’d try not to listen.

“No parents, huh? Is he future homeless, then? How does the kid eat?”

“Who cares? Let’s future point and future laugh at him.”

Tri Bute didn’t like it when people future pointed and future laughed at him. However, Tri Bute decided not to voice this opinion. Instead, he hurried off to the future record store.

The future record store was where all the cool kids hung out after school. Nobody ever bought anything there, but the owner was so happy that people came at all. He didn’t have future compact discs; he only sold future records. In fact, Har Monica, the owner of the future record store, would even hire future entertainment to keep people occupied longer.

“Now kids, today’s special guest is a very talented kid! He was born with seven future fingers on each future hand, but that didn’t stop him, now he can do anything. Without further ado, I present you MUSSSSSSSSSSS ICIIIIIIIAAAANNN!”

The future curtain shifted in position to unveil today’s act. It was a nineteen-year-old kid dressed up like it was still the 9980s. He pointed his future fingerless gloved future hand to the left, and then caught a future guitar. Har Monica wasn’t lying; he did have seven future fingers on each future hand. He wasn’t lying about Mus’s talent either.

The music rang through Tri Bute’s future ears like a trampooning stylilistastic superclashracrashindo darrencriss of beautifulcosity. It was a really swag thing.

This is life changing.

Those who survived the onslaught of future art, the never before seen future chords, and the witty, breathetarkernenian future lyrics, couldn’t future clap after the first few songs due to shock. Mus Ician played through his set with his seven future finger strumming technique.

That’s justice. That’s integrity. That’s zankustility. That’s Zeusrion. That’s J.I.Z.Z.!

The final future chord echoed throughout the future record store sending chills down everyone’s spine. The future ceiling cracked and split which caused future pamphlets to rain down from the ceiling. The survivors of the future concert came together in a sizeable round of applause as Mus Ician exited back out the future curtain. Tri Bute and the other future concertgoers picked through the corpses for fallen future pamphlets.

Har Monica called the future coroners as the kids hurried home for dinner with their future pamphlets.

Tri Bute read the future pamphlet on his way home. He discovered that he could do amazing things like Mus Ician if he got future finger addification surgery at the future hospital.

This is what the future Earth needs. It needs me to become this future man.

---

“Yes, oh yes. As you know, darling, on future HBO it’s 2004 award winning historical movie month! 2004 was such a great year for film; so, I just thought that maybe we should tune in. We pay future money for the channels, why not?”

“I told you to cancel that future service years ago, Vio, it’s just a waste of future money.”

“It’s not like it’s buying more future fingers or something stupid like that, sweetie. It’s art. It’s classic 2004 art. Let’s give it a try.”

Tri Bute’s great grandfather clicked the future remote and turned on the future television. Tri Bute busted through the door. He was so exited to tell his great grandparents about the future surgery.

“Hilary Swank,” said everyone. It was the largest future jinx to ever happen.

That’s when it happened. I don’t mean the largest future jinx I mean something else.

---

“GET DOWN!”

“Great grandpapa?”

“I said get down. We have to take precautions. You saw the woman on the future television, too, right?”

“Hilary Swank? She’s a great actor, right?”

“Maybe she should act her way into a future paper bag,” said Tri Bute’s great grandfather, making sure to put future air quotation marks up while saying ‘act’.

“You’re acting strange great grandpapa.”

“Worldwide ecological devastation has away of changing a future man. Tri Bute, you’ll understand when you’re older.”

I’m 11 years old. I’m pretty much an adult.

“Worldwide what?”

“Forget I said anything,”

Then Tri Bute remembered why he returned to his future home. He remembered his experience at the future record store. He remembered the trampooning stylilistastic superclashracrashindo darrencriss of beautifulcosity. He remembered that really swag thing. It had been so long since he last thought of that thought.

Tri Bute reached down into his back future pocket.

“Oh he-,”

“Oh hey, what? That’s no way to approach a future subject.”

“I’m sorry. Right before the Swank Incident, right before they played that film on future HBO, I was going to ask you something.” Tri Bute stammered.

“Out with it, Butey, we haven’t future time to waste on chatting like that. Your great grandmother misses you dearly. The Swank Incident changed us. The same way it changed every future man or future woman.”

“I got this future pamphlet from the future record store and I was wondering if I could get future surgery.”

Tri Bute pulled out the future pamphlet and handed it to his great grandpapa. He looked it over, and then he began to future laugh. After a few seconds of future laughing he began to future point.

“Butey, darling, we don’t have future time for this. Everything’s reverting back to normal, but it’s not in the future money to have this future surgery. It’s also a waste of future money. This is also a silly future conversation to have. The Swank Incident is rearing its ugly head. What are you going to do with more future fingers? Change the world? Does that even make sense? We have more important things to think about. Even in death a woman caused our future land this much future pain. This isn’t the future time to talk about future fingers, Butey.”

Tri Bute tried to say something, but his great grandfather tossed the future pamphlet into the air and shot it with a psy-laser. The future pamphlet was reduced to ash.

“Now, we have to get back home, before future time runs out.”

Tri Bute followed his great grandfather deeper into the future forest, but he didn’t want to.

The Swank Incident sucks, but this is about something more important. J.I.Z.Z. will make the Swank Incident a forgotten notion. I know it. That future face changed my elders and me. That iron jawed woman has stomped on my future dreams. Something tells me this won’t be the last future time; maybe it wasn’t even the first future time. Ms. Swank has stood in the way of justice. She has stood in the way of integrity. She has stood in the way zankustility. She has stood in the way of Zeusrion. I will never let anything stand in the way of J.I.Z.Z. again.

Tri Bute hurried to catch up; he knew that the Swank Incident was trying to catch up with him. He had to move fast.

(OOC: I'm sorry if anybody reading this hates the passive voice, but it's awesome and I love it.)

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