Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters presented here. Reading this sentence indicates that you accept that I do, however, own your soul. No take backs. None of the behavior presented herein is advisable, although some of it is pretty easily glorified because it's great. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is either unintentional or awesome. The surgeon general has not advised me to let you know that guns don't kill people, Satan does. The surgeon general talks to me in my head when I am alone.
1
"There is no God, and we are his prophets."
Deeply poignant words, Finn thought to himself, as he leafed through the pages of the journal he had found embedded in an iceberg. Stirring, emotional, and unlikely to help him with his newest project. He tossed the book into the ocean, and sat down on the pile of baby shoes that he had so recently freed from a similar chunk of ice with his flamethrower.
"Jake," he said, "Do you ever think that maybe, just maybe, we should be saving these things that we find instead of using them to build adventure stuff?"
Jake looked back at him from an ice berg containing a mummified old man that he had just been melting with a blast of napalm. "Nah," he said, "No one's gonna' care until after we're dead, anyway, and when you die, it's not like anything matters to you anymore."
"You're right," Finn said as Jake went back to destroying the corpse of a man who had spent the last years of his life in unfathomable sorrow, "Let's get to building our Adventure Boat!"
Just then, out of nowhere, the air sounded with an ear splattering pop, and a blue phone booth just kind of showed up out of nowhere for some reason. Finn and Jake both paused what they were doing to stare at it. "That's...weird." Jake said.
As the two stared at the phone booth, its door flew open. Out stepped an overweight man in a white button up shirt, wearing glasses and short-cut brown hair. "Quick!" he shouted with a voice that sounded like a bizarre cross between a human being and some sort of duck or mallard, "Get in here! There's no time to explain!"
"Uuuuuuh, no." Finn said, "There's no way that I'm getting in that thing with you. Where did you come from, anyway?"
The man stepped outside of the phone booth and said, "Okay, maybe we got off on the wrong foot, there. My name's Peter Griffin, I'm from Rhode Island, and-" he grabbed Finn's head and slammed it quickly against the half-melted ice berg that he had retrieved the book from.
"Not cool, man!" Jake yelled, running toward Peter. Peter grabbed the dog under one arm, threw Finn over his shoulder, and darted into the blue phone booth, shutting the door behind him. In an instant, the booth disappeared again into thin air.