Every moment of greatness has an epic tale that can be told of its birth. In order to reach that pinnacle of greatness, there are oftentimes labors that must be completed to continue the journey. This is the tale of the Founding of the Cooler, as translated from ancient scrolls found in a sealed cave, blessed by Dog Almighty. This is an abridged translation of the Second Scroll of the Sacred Cooler.
In the beginning, there was no form. It was all Chaos. Craig, Master of Bits, searched the Chaos for a pattern, a moment of clarity upon which to tread forward. Together, with his trusty sidekick, George, Third of Thy Name, a vision was bestowed upon them. A vision sent by Dog Almighty that would aid them in delivering the Cooler to their people.
At the edge of a great body of water, waves crashed upon the earthen banks, devouring the soil to feed the souls of the depth. Beneath the darkening cosmos, white waves broke out from the surface of the waters. Arose from the maelstrom a lady clad in alabaster robes grasping a blade glinting in the soft light of Luna.
In lilting tones, she uttered in a strange tongue, the words that would build an empire. Though spake in a language unknown among man, their meaning shone deep in the souls of Craig, Master of Bits, and George, Third of Thy Name.
“I bring thee this blade, struck in the forge of Sigurd, blessed by Dog Almighty as the steel of Barnstokkr, known as Excalibur. He who shall possess the sword, pulling it cleanly from the mighty dolomite of Niagara, shall inherit the reigns of this mighty kingdom. Wait. Who are you two?”
“I am Craig, Master of Bits and Emperor of the Greater Lockport Area. This is my trusty sidekick, George, Third of Thy Name. We seek a path to the One True Way of Dog Almighty. I have no need for you blade, dear lady, as the pen is mightier than the sword.”
“Well, damn.” The lady sunk back beneath the waves of the mighty waters, taking with her Excalibur and her knowledge of the One True Way. Our heroes turned their backs to the last ripples of the Lady of the Lake and strode further into the Unknown.
Mighty tempests rend at their rags, threatening to draw them away from their quest. Ancient scrolls of evil tempted their purity. George, Third of Thy Name, was drawn by the siren song of the Great Book of Face, a false prophecy meant to lure heroes to their doom. Twas only through the ministrations of the nymph Bahnn that he was able to rejoin Craig, Master of Bits, as he made his way to the mountain where the Answer rest.
At the foot of the mountain, an ancient scroll was found, unrolled, waiting for the pen to draw its words across the parchment. There, the elf, Howor Ballaba appeared in a sleeping mist.
“Along these skins of the sacred muskrat, the story of our journeys shall be recorded. These never-ending tales will be revered by the peoples of this kingdom, far and wide. From the villa of George, Third of Thy Name to the travels of Craig, Master of Bits, these stories will be told and retold for generations far into the shadows of the future. And I, Howor Ballaba, King of the Elfs, shall guide you through the rocky perils of the mountain. I shall guide you with the aid of my jester, Will the Laugher.”
The four knights of the slightly oblong picnic table banded together, and strode up the mighty cliffs of the mountain.
At this point, the scroll is damaged. The ensuing tales are lost until another trove of ancient writings are discovered. Somewhere, in a dark corner of a cave under our very feet, the third incarnation of the Founding of the Cooler may someday be uncovered.
Craig Bacon doesn’t have a horse. Or coconuts. But he does have a wooden rabbit.