Fate did not take kindly to Wendy Corduroy. Whereas Mabel Pines was blessed with the mace of Vishnu, Wendy was cursed with the pipe of Crack. After several excursions to the wacky town of Gravity Falls, Dipper and Wendy dated for a couple of years, got engaged, and both went to graduate school to study folklore at the University of Oregon. The two had lived amongst lumberjacks for a good part of their research, but the stress eventually got to Wendy. She was fascinated by the use of alcohol in logging communities, and it got to her liver. This led to her becoming increasingly physical with Dipper, and not even in the ways he enjoyed. After they were able to complete their doctorates, Wendy was moving onto more horrible drugs, claiming "to dissect the folkloric properties of cocaine and heroin in urban environments in the Bay Area or some bullshit like that, okay?"
This hit Dipper in the Bae Area, that is to say, his heart.
While the two were living together, Wendy's living conditions were considerably more squalid. She gave her first unborn child a baptism in Jack Daniels, and stole Dipper's only razor before the Great Blade Crisis of 2029, where many Katana wielding weeaboos committed seppuku. They eventually separated, and Wendy got a job at the community college in the ghetto's ghetto, Harvard State in Oakland. Dipper finally found love with Cindy, a recently tenured cutie in the religion department, a place where he would often sneak by in order to try some brownies that "totally are just made of fudge and nothing else, man." Wendy on the other hand, had a steady stream of lovers garnished with drugs. The two hadn't spoken in years on end, and Dipper needed someone to take care of his kids while he was traversing the globe with his mystic sister and his wife was in Central Asia with people who had neat facial hair. Dipper thought that it wouldn't be that wise to leave his kids and his 101 class to a crack-addled husband-beater, but he didn't know anyone else. He could try Bombleboy Bungus, the local babysitter and college substitute, but that guy always ate furniture and drank all of Dipper's cleaning detergent. Besides, Dipper needed an axe, because you never know what kind of trees or things for that matter need to be cut down.
Dipper took the BART to Simson Street in Oakland, a place that rapidly gentrified and rapidly decayed afterwards. Thanks to GPS based surveillance, Dipper was able to locate Wendy's hovel. It was a squalid house, sprayed in graffiti, overlooking the spiraling skyline where the tycooniest tycoons lived. Dipper knocked on the decaying door.
"Remember, I just want her to babysit, cover my class and to borrow one of her antique axes, nothing more." Dipper thought this to himself as he knocked so hard that the door was decimated before his very eyes. What faced him was a sight to behold. Cheap crumpled beer cans littered almost every square inch of the room, the light was flickering on and off, and corny faux-metal music was playing from the speakers. The only thing that seemed to be in relatively decent condition was an antique display of axes in the cabinet outside her bedroom.
"Wazzat? Who's there?" said a rusty, cocaine-punctured voice from the bedroom, awaking from a masturbatory stupor.
"Um, hey, Wendy, it's me, your buddy Dipper, remember?"
"Ah, Dipper, I remember you, come over here and fuck me like you used to."
"There's no need for that." Dipper retorted, afraid about what kind of Pandora's Box he opened. " Listen, I need you to teach my 101 class on folklore and take care of my kids while my wife is away. I'm going with Mabel to-"
"Ah, Mabel, I remember that little whoremonger. Didn't she start a brothel or something?"
"Well, actually she's a Hindu nun now, and before you rudely interrupted me, I said we were going to go across the world to seal off these weirdness hot spots where strange creatures have been appearing."
"Makes perfect sense." Wendy sloshed back.
"So, I mean, how's work at Harvard State Community College? Must be not that exciting, besides Berkeley is known for their drug use and hot professors, myself included. Here are my keys and here's my syllabus, now can I please borrow one of your antique axes?"
"Sure," Wendy retorted in a snarkily sly voice. "But there's something I need to tell you."
"What? This better not be about sex, because I'm not going down that road, oh no-siree."
"It's just that, I recently found this book while I was in a logging camp. It details these mystical drugs that are used to enter greater states of consciousness through trees. For some reason it's been controlling my life. I hid my most coveted lumberjack entheogens in it, and I think you should have it. You could use my axe for more than cutting down trees, you know, you need to shave that fucking beard. Good BILL is it long and scraggily."
"You know, Wendy, that's genuinely nice, this may help me in my perilous quest."
"Oh, and I'm also terribly sorry for beating you up, stealing your razor to sell for cocaine and killing our unborn child, I'll try to do my best with your kids, but it's tough when you have a grimoire you can barely understand dictating your life."
"Don't mention it." Dipper said as he traversed his way from the beer-can splayed floor, axe and book in hand.
"Oh, and Wendy?" Dipper said as he reached the broken door. "I hardly think that the book alone was the reason for you going all crazy. Get yourself together, woman! I know there's some of you that's at least a bit approachable in there. Class begins at 10:00 in Dambangus hall, so I'd get going if I were you."
Dipper felt more accomplished as he hopped on the BART to Berkeley, where his sister was oh-so-patiently waiting. As Dipper disappeared from her sights, Wendy smiled a perverse grin as she nonchalantly changed the music from Theory of a Deadman to Conlon Nancarrow, recycled her beer cans and called up a dear friend.
"He knows."
