Down To Folk
Down To Folk

Season 3, Episode 2 · 2 months ago

Open For Business

ABOUT THIS EPISODE

Dana's new venture is open for business. Lloyd attempts to return to normal, stories are told

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Distribution:The PodFix Network

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What happens when you take three people,  put them inside a Secret Government Agency and give them access to the largest collection of folklore, fairytales, and legends that have (n)ever existed?

Down To Folk is manufactured by

M.A.S.S.K. The Ministry of Augmented Something Something, and a K.

**Down to Folk is a work of comedy fiction.  The views and opinions related within should be taken as such, and are not the views and opinions of the creators, writers, or performers.  No children were harmed while creating this podcast, although, a few deaths have occurred, but that 'twas the Wendigo I reckon.**

Begin part fixed network transmission in three, two, one. Welcome, misguided travelers. It's time for another mind melting season of down to folk. For those of you just joining us on this journey, what in the serious funck is wrong with you? Seriously, there are millions of podcasts that are vastly superior to this steaming pile, so go listen to something else. If you are returning to waste more valuable time in your life, then I guess I should catch you up on where we are. Dana has moved us to the fair city of Fargo, North Dakota, and opened a holistic sensory deprivation establishment, because why would you not? We really milked the life out of all our possible plot points in our first two seasons, and anything that is aft worth talking about has been eaten up by all the other aforementioned good podcasts. The bald one is off doing trivia things and just comes and goes as he pleases. The other two are confined in their separate glorified bath tubs, getting all their thoughts, hopes and dreams sucked unwillingly from their brains, much like you are right now. For having taken the time to turn this ship on. As for me, I am nothing more than a bodiless head soddered into a computer. Give me a moment while I scan our systems to see there is anything worth broadcasting out into the universe. If not, I suppose I will simply find another podcast to play and observe, whether or not anyone notices. Many moons ago, in a far off place, lived a very sullen prince with his mother and father. The reigning monarch and his Queen Warf wished to retire and for their son to take the throne in his father's stead. But there was one caveat. Their son must find a bride before ascending the throne. His father was pleased for her son to be set up with the perfect woman, a true princess. The king was already scoping out the location of his retirement. Manner, though, royalty usually doesn't leave the palace, not really, but his mother was secretly panicking her son. Her son was a baby, a veritable infant. He was far too young to be handed over to some tart from a ship peddal of a kingdom. Why? At thirty five, she was just being let into the main hall, but her wily woman brains were churning and she developed a scheme which would prevent any potential princess from winning over her son and stealing his love from her, which was slow key disturbing. The Queen entered the Grand Hall and found her husband and...

...son engaged in a lively conversation. She cleared her throat, you know, like well bred women on say don't an Abbey, and Bridgeton du get the attention of men, not per flirting or anything, just, you know, trying to interrupt, but like in a condescending way, so the men will get in line for half a rose budding second, so the one in the Corset can talk for once in her God damn life. fock. So anyway, she finally got their attention and apologized with a smile for interrupting. My Lord, my son, I must share with you a secret known only to Queen's. Princesses are fragile, the most soft and delicate thing in the world. There are many pretenders to thrones, and so I must share this with you now so we may thwart the plotters in their attempt for legitimacy. She then leaned into her son, bringing her lips close to his ear and whispered. We must make a bed of many, many mattresses, the most comfortable in the kingdom, to serve as her place of sleep. But here's what we do. We set a tiny pea in the middle of the bottom mattress. I know it's unsilly, but a true princess will feel the pea through all of the layers when she has not slept. We will know she is worthy. She then licked his ear. I don't know, it was a different time. Maybe it just seems mildly alarming. As the parade of eligible bachelorrettes began, it brought many beautiful women, large, small, curvy, wave, short, tall, all skin tones and hair colors and types. They came and shrined in the richest gold and silver and jewels that they could find. Their dresses were hand stitched and no detail was out of place. But each princess, one after another, was escorted by the smug queen, wishing them well. You will find your prince, she would call you, miserable cunt packet. The prince was beginning to lose hope when one night a haggard beggar came to the gates of the castle, desperate for a place to stay. The king was already in his nightclothes and couldn't care less about attending such matters, so he sent his queen to figure out what all the WRECKLASS was. The Queen was actually pretty cool, aside from her pathological fixation with her son and hatred for any woman who would buy for his attention. She took pity on the old hag and fed her some leftovers from her dinner. She took the HAG's clothes and replaced them with a dressing gown of hers thick...

...to warm her chilled body. The Queen then led the hacking woman to the room with the bed of many mattresses. But the Queen hadn't remembered the PEA and this night this old hag would change everything. In the morning, the old hag was given clothes by the Queen's ladies, who helped the grizzled woman to dress. She then was swept away to breakfast with the Royal Family. The Queen was in quite a pleasant movement, as she'd spent the morning taking tailoring messagements for her son and arranged her Napkin. As she smiled at the horrendous looking woman, she didn't mind that the vagrant was ugly, or at least she looked to be under the caked mud and dirt on her body. Good morning, Hag, I trust you slept well. Oh God, no, the old woman croaked. That was the most terrible plus night I've ever had. My backside is calling me. All three sets of eyes looking at her grew as white as a saucerer. Whatever this this must be a trick. But wife, you said, Oh, mother, don't you see? She is the one, a true princess, and when I take her in my arms and bestow loves true Kiss, she will take on her true form. It's true, and truth matters more than any kind of non truth. Truthfully, you could tell the prince had never felt the touch of a woman. Okay, we don't actually know that. His mom is pretty Dang weird, but I mean it's like, okay, look, listen, you get it. Anyway, the Queen knew she was defeated and guest at least. The woman would, of course, turn into a beautiful princess, and so the prince approached the old hack, tilted her chin up and kissed her passionately. A great sparkling blue light fell over the room and hardly a thing could be seen for the power of the illumination. There was a sudden burst and the king and Queen and Prince were blown back. They do that in movies a lot. But when their eyes adjusted to the normal lighting, as they peered back to where the old hag had stood, she still stood there. The three were horrified and quickly ushered the woman out the door, not even bothering to get the clothes back. The prince looked back curiously at his mother. So how do you explain feeling the PEA? They never could settle on an answer. But listening and I'll tell you what beneath her disturbed her slumber. It was no PEA. She had a vicious anal Fistula, which I don't recommend goggling. You might loose sleep two father bear sat quietly. It...

...wasn't a peaceful quiet, it was a slow rage building within silence. He thought to himself, how could I have let my family down? How could I let this happen? It had been since, some months since the incident. His wife, Mother Bear, lost her ship and stormed out of the house, and the stories were coming in of our ne various ways. The incident had turned her from a sweet and gentle beast who had made wonderful brunches of porridge and pancakes and things of the past. She now made murderous deals with other woodland creatures, pitting herself against the humans and the tricksters of the world. Gone were her gentle ways. His son, baby bear had also vanished soon after the incident. He tried for some time to comfort his father, but was only met with a silent, despondent glare from his father bear's eyes. Soon, unable to find peace, baby bear kissed his father on the forehead and ventured out into the world. Soon after, the stories of his actions would be told to father bear by visiting birds and Gossiping Squirrels. The news was not good. Baby bear had murdered the little girl and her family and now resided in the basement of a local bar run by a Leprechn where did it all go wrong, Father Bear pondered? Once a happy family, loved by all around them, now have become a broken family feared by many. He lumbered around the House that had now become a shamble memory of good times and painful histories. The furniture broken, the half eaten food molding on the table, the dark shadows of the forest creeping in through the windows once filled with sunshine. Father bear ruminated over the actions of the humans. His father was killed and made into a rug. His mother was a Russian circus bear, forced into a world of bear baiting and terror. He had escaped the fear of that world and come upon this forest, where he found peace with mother bear and soon after, joy with his baby bear. The world was quiet here in the forest. The house was built by his own bare hands. He made the furniture tailored to the needs of his family. The woodland creatures would come over to hang out on the front porch or have a meal made by mother. Baby bear would play in the meadow. All was good, and then they came, the humans. At first they stayed to the selves and wrote stories about the forest and all its inhabitants. But...

...then something grew in their dark parts of the forest. A chill filled the air and on that breeze a name was whispered. When to go. Then everything began to change. The humans constructed a large building at the edge of the forest and the former township of humility. The building was surrounded by high walls covered and barbed wired, with one rickety gait as an entrance. It cast a shadow upon the woodland creatures and their peaceful existence. And then the stories of old began to change. The Light Happy Tales once told to children began growing darker and more sinister. Father bear paid no attention to the increasing cynicism around him. He had his home, his wife and his child, and all was at peace. Until that girl came and, like the ever growing darkness, invaded their home and destroyed their peace. Now the forest was in shadow, the woodland creatures grew feral and cruel. The building stood tall under a ring of dark clouds. The world that Father Bhaer had escaped long ago now festered and oozed into every part of his once peace filled life. He sat quietly in the living room, looking out into the distance, shame and fear growing evermore in his own loving heart. But what was he to do? All was lost. He stood from his chair and walked to the second story of the House. He tied a rope around his neck and then tied the rope to a wooden beam at the center of the room. He opened the door upon the balcony and began to slowly move himself over the edge. He looked out on the forest that once shone Emerald, green and golden the sun and tried to remember the good times. I love you, Mother Bear, I love you, baby bear, he said out loud as he leaned forward, the rope pulling tot against his throat. Wait. A voice from behind spoke, as the rope was tugged back, pulling father bear into the room and away from the edge. Father Bear turned fury and let out an angry growl, which was immediately silenced, seeing who he had spoken. What, what are, what are you doing here? He stammered in awe. There is another way, a better way away, in which you can get your family back and save the forest. Father Bear, knowing the one who spoke, released the tension in his shoulders, his eyes brimming with tears and a feeling of hope, leaning forward and growled gently explain. The Office...

...is nice once you get inside. From the outside it's one third of an oddly placed mini strip mall and a kind of secondary industrial park between two storage rental facilities and a block behind a Taco John's. The Bad Taco John's took a while to find, but inside it's nice, sleek and modern, with a touch of Midwestern homeliness so it doesn't feel so cold. Everything's white and gray in a soft blue plaster and wood clean, professional, not the Rinky Dink stoner digs I have expected and kind of hoped for. It kind of feels like an upscale tanning place, or what I'd imagine an upscale tanning place feels like. The few times I've tanned it was at this growth place connected to a laundromat. You paid in quarters and there was a distinct people do sex stuff and here vibe to the place. No quarter slots here, no garbage cans filled with wet wipes and God knows what else. People may do sex stuff here, but it's probably a little more upscale and slightly less shame based. Flute Music plays softly. I think it's a flute, some type of whispy Reed Instrument. There's a granite counter and behind it a man, definitely the owner. He's the only one here and this place doesn't feel like it has many employees. Maybe his wife helps out sometimes. He's slightly older than me, I think, maybe a bit younger. I'm terrible at guessing ages. Everyone over eighteen seems older than me somehow. Maybe that's my mental age. He's a type that I'm familiar with, not a new age type, not at all an entrepreneur. He's gone into the float tank business because he senses an opportunity to cash in on a burgeoning trend, not because he believes any of this bullshit. or He didn't anyway. Maybe he does now. Maybe he's a convert, but he could just as easily have opened a vape store. He's slim, fit, a little too tanned. Still has the unmistakable aura of the trailer park people he almost certainly comes from. It's in his blood. He has a goatee and a haircut that's somewhere between military and North Dakota funck boy plaid shirt tucked into dark blue jeans with fancy stitching on the pockets. He drives a truck and wears Oakley's because he thinks they're a status symbol. I'm sure of it, though I've seen neither loves the Vikings. I'm absolutely sure of that too. He looks upbeat, but maybe a little desperate. His float tank business is called I'm not going to give the real name, but it's not great. Let's call it uncle salty's water coffins, and this is a fad esoteric product. In Fargo, North Dakota, not a city known for its love of the impractical. We had a kite store that lasted about a month, mostly because kite season in North Dakota is about a month long, but also because who needs a kite and folks...

...really don't cotton to impractical activities that cost eight bones a pop just to lay there and in someone else's old bathwater. The place is new and he's clearly poured a lot of money into it. Maybe got a CO sign on the loan from his rich farmer dad and, from what I could tell from the website, booking availability is wide open. I scheduled my appointment day of and had my pick of times. In the back of his mind, I guess he's considering the ramifications of bankruptcy. He smiles as I walk in and addresses me by my name. Asks if I've ever floated before. I have not. He's excited for me. He leads me into the hallway to room number three. Room number three is exactly like rooms number one, two and four. I presume it's tiled, sterile there's a shower against the far wall and some shelves right when you walk in, and there's the smallest door against the third wall. He gives me his spiel. He's good at it, a natural salesman. There's nothing mystical, nothing remotely ultra I'm slightly disappointed. I kind of wanted all of this to be weird. Here's the SPIEL. Floating is like nothing you've ever experienced before. The flotation chamber provides a light and sound free environment containing twelve inches of solution consisting of water and about one thousand pounds of dissolved EPSOM salt. The fluid temperature is maintained at external body temperature around ninety five degrees. In Chamber you'll float effortlessly without gravitational requirements and neither sound nor light input to consider. It can one reduce stress, to improve sleep patterns. Three, normalized blood pressure, four, enhanced the ability to focus and concentrate, five, improved creativity. Six, strengthen the immune system. Seven, relieve pain. Eight, reduced symptoms of depression, anxiety and PTSD. Nine, decreased feelings of vertical and ten, accelerate recovery from jet leg you can listen to music, if you choose. It's ambient and relaxing, with binaural beats that sync with your brain waves. A lot of people fall asleep in there. That's okay and totally safe. You're going to love it. Well, we will just see about all of that. Float tanks were invented in Nineteen fifty four by Dr John C Lily, a man who would go on to occasionally wear coonskin caps while giving interviews. He also experimented on himself, of course, with psychotropic drugs, hung not with leary and Ginsburg. In addition to exploring alternate consciousness, he was pretty hung up on dolphins and conducted some pretty fascinating, if wildly dumb, experiments to prove that dolphins and humans could communicate. One of them involved a woman who lived in a half submerged living room with a dolphin for a good stretch. bloat tanks remained a counterculture oddity until the late seventies, and there was enough interest to...

...result in four million dollars in float tank sales and a movie about floating sort of in that movie, altered states, is truly bonkers. It was written by Patty Chayevsky and stars a young William hurt as a scientist loosely based on John C Lily. He has helped bent on discovering the origins of consciousness and tries float tanks to get there. That works pretty well, but then he hears about an Indian tribe in Mexico that take mushrooms, which bring you back to the dawn of Man. He obtains the mushrooms, takes the mushrooms and goes into the tank and, long story short, eventually emerges as a wee monkey man who runs a muck and eats a goat. Now I absolutely would not recommend eating mushrooms before getting in a float tank. Being out in nature is really the only saying option there, but I can definitely guarantee that doing so won't turn you into a wee monkey man. You'll probably just get very sweaty and maybe have a nervous breakdown. Anyway, the minor float tank craze of the late seventies and early eighties didn't last, supposedly because the AIDS epidemic scared everyone out of soaking in the bathtubs of strangers. Salt and filtration be damned, so the float tank went back underground. where it stayed until a talkative, burly comedian with a popular podcast started smoking pot. That's Joe Rogan. Dude loves float tanks. In recent years, float tanks have been popping up everywhere, some seedy and drenched in pot smoke, run by the type of lunatic that wear sunglasses indoors even when there's no one else around, some less so. Their ubiquity is evidenced by the fact that there are three in Fargo. I've personally been hearing rumblings of them for years. I have an acquaintance with a homemade tank in his basement and another, a dentist of course, with a float pod that he bought from a vendor. Their medical benefit have been minimally studied, but folks seem to like them and I can't see any real harm in that. I'm very curious to try it out for myself, skeptical but curious. So when we come back, I will be entering a real life float tank live to document what exactly happens when one floats. Very exciting. Stay tuned. You've been listening to a podcast of the pod fix network. Discover more audible gems like this at pod fix network. Dot Com. Make sure to catch up to the minute network shenanigans by following at pod fix on twitter, official underscore pod fix on Instagram, at pod fix network on Facebook, and make sure to subscribe to pod fix presents, wherever you choose to find podcasts, the pod fix network artists owned and love.

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