A whisp of cigarette smoke dances through the streetlight. You hear your friends calling your name but you can't turn around. There are voices in front of you too, voices you know but can't quite place. You take another drag hoping the nicotine will give your synapses the jolt they need. It's there at the back of your mind. It sounds something like Poo Poke Aluminum but that can't be right. Who do these voices, coming through the darkness, belong to? One of them says something and it makes you laugh. Then the other one says something else and you laugh more. Your friends voices are still calling but they're drifting farther away. Was it Queue Bloke Condominium? No, that's jibberish. Maybe Crew Choke Cinamon? No, that's nothing.
"What is this?" You say out loud.
"A podcast." A voice says next to you. You hadn't heard the man approach. Maybe he'd been there the whole time. He's short and shaped like a bean bag chair.
"A really good one." Another voice says from the other side. This man was tall and built like Mr. Incredible before the workout sequence. He has crumbs on his shirt.
You take a long drag from your cigarette and say "What's it called?" with a mouth full of smoke. It changes your voice and you watch as the smoke defies graivty.
In unison the men on your right and left say "Two Joke Minimum."
The recognition clicks in your mind. That was the name you were looking for, the one you couldn't find. Suddenly sastified you flick your cigarette into the street. "Cool." you say.
Under the street light you hold the hands of the two men and enjoy the show.