The 1994 team of the Avengers were all sitting around in the Central Perk sipping on lattes. Phoebe was their waitress and she kept their mugs filled to the brim so they were all extra alert and even a little jittery.
"We have to find a way to deal with this thing," Captain America rumbled, deeply troubled by the shinning item he placed on the coffee table... the tesseract.
Doctor Strange examined the tesseract closely for a minute, sipping a pumpkin spice. "Yes... curious... these markings here," he indicated a junction on a circuit board only the Wasp's miniscule eyes could fathom, "this junction seems to indicate that the tesseract must always be under someone's care... and therein lies our quandary..."
The other Avengers slumped visibly dispirited, they'd been relying on him to tell them everything would be okay, but now this... They obviously couldn't keep it, and if they couldn't secret it away somewhere then that meant they had to find someone trustworthy enough to mind the thing... but could such a person even exist?
"Well, we obviously can't keep it," Ant Man murmured, to which the Hulk nodded sagely, hoping that counted toward his participation, Ant Man scratched his chin, perplexed and utterly bemused, "how about-" he started to say but then the smooth jazz introduction to a radio show blared over the speakers interupting him because back then people listened to Radio shows through the radio and not podcasts on their phones.
It was... Fraiser!
All the Avengers locked eyes, even the usually slow to catch the beat Hulk, they nodded in unison and soon enough they'd whisked the Tesseract across town to Fraiser's radio tower and left it conspicuosly where he would find it.
"Of course we can trust Dr. Fraiser Crane, if not him then who?" Captain America had said.
And that had pretty much decided it.
Since the Tesseract is a portal to all possible dimensions and times Dr. Fraiser P. Crane was just about the only man on Earth up to the job of keeping it safe...
But unknown to the eager heroes the radio sattalite signal intercepted passive-wave frequencies eminating from the Tesseract and caused a disruption in the chronological synchronization of the infinite multiple dimensions... so now... Fraiser is getting calls from just about everywhere in the known and unknown multiverse!
His first caller is none other than Homer Simpson!
Homer is worried because things have cooled down with his wife, Marge, significantly. Most troubling of all, lately, when he arrives back home from work he has been finding, every day this is, large volumes of ejaculate on his and his wife's bed. Normally he would just write this off as sloppy aim but as he had stated earlier he and Marge hardly ever do that anymore and when he is able to get a load out it usually isn't anywhere near that big!
To complicate matters all the males in the neighborhood aside from his neighbor, Ned Flanders, and his son, Bart Simpson, have gone off together on a mens-only wilderness retreat.
Homer and Bart had planned to attend but they had been comically late for the bus and, despite running to beat the devil they just couldn't make it onto the bus in time for the departure.
Standing there, panting in the middle of the road with the noxious fumes belched out the rear of the big yellow bus already a distant memory they are approached by none other than Ned Flanders who offers condolences on having missed out on the big trip as well as an explanation as to why he wasn't attending either.
"No sir-ee-bob," Ned had said, "not this fellow! You get a bunch of men together in the woods like that and there's just bound to be all sorts of sinful thoughts and actions going on! I think I'm just going to plant my keister right here thank-you-very-much!" And so he had.
"So you see doc," Homer continued, "it's probably him right? I mean, I figured Marge always thought of Ned the same way I do or similar at least, but he's the only man in town my wife could be cheating on me with!"
"You're assuming your wife is having an affair with a fellow she knows from town though now aren't you mister Simpson," Fraiser steepled his fingers, thinking deeply, "actually you're making quite a number of assumptions but for starters lets focus on that one."
"Okay, lets" Homer agreed.
"You have no way of knowing," Dr. Crane pontificated, "for instance, whetehr or not your wife is aroused by the prospect of being taken by a stranger, possibly she has taken out an ad, or even a number of ads, in a paper from a nearby town soliciting annonymous sex
"Shelbyville," Homer muttered in a near ecstacy of rage, "that's almost as bad as Flanders..."
Fraiser sensed they were likely to go off course so he refocused, "another assumption you are making is that it isn't your son Bart, tell me., Mr Simpson, is Bart old enough to produce to ejaculate? And in the quantities described?"
"We-elll," Homer said, sounding rather reluctant.
Fraiser had a pretty good idea what was going on. He himself didn't have a son but he thought he could recognize the note of unease in the voice of a father grappling with the recognition of his sons sexuality. "Mr. Simpson, let me reassure you that everything you say to me will never find its way past my lips. These sessions are purely confidential."
There was a moment of further awkward silence. "Well, let's just say there have been some... incidents... with a neighborhood boy..."
"So if Bart is producing then that possibility must also be left on the table." Fraiser declared, taking some of the onus off of poor Homer.
There was another moment of silence as Homer pondered that new possibility.
Fraiser almost slapped his shiny forehead, "oh dear, I've actually forgotten something quite pertinent, Mr. Simpson, something that should hopefully clear up this whole confusing affair!"
Homer sighed audibly, "thank goodness! You're a life saver doc!"
Fraiser blushed, even though no one could see him, "yes, yes, well," he said, "anyway; as everyone knows the ejaculate from male members of the same family has an identical taste! All you need do to clear up the matter and potentially exonerate your neighbor is to taste the ejaculate left on your bed the next time you come across it, and if it has an unfamiliar taste then you have your answer... er.. well dear... it seems I myself am now the one making assumptions, you'll excuse me for asking but you do know the taste of your own ejaculate don't, you Mr. Simpson?
"Well of course I do doc, I'm not an idiot!" Homer shot back.
"Yes, yes of course, pardon me, Mr. Simpson, but in this line of work it is unwise to operate on assumption alone, as I think we have all learned here today..."
Fraiser leaned back in his olive green chair, steepling his fingers over his bald pate, in the production booth Ros was giving him the signal to 'wrap it up' as they say.
"Well gee, thanks Doc, you've really just about cleared this whole mess up, if you'll pardon the pun!" Homer said, hanging up.
"That looks like the end of todays show folks, and remember..."
Fraiser Crane's sonorous voice droned out and down, to be replaced by the dulcet tones of a light piano number, segueing into an advertisment for Mountain Dew, and all across the multiverse, people dusted off their laps, turned off their radios, stretched and headed off to bed, eager for the next night's programme.