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The latest tape starts with caps. Specifically, hat inventory. Apparently, the King of Canada (real or dream-based, unclear) has advised the residents to prepare for winter with new ice scraper-equipped toques. From there, it veers.

There’s mention of a new goldfish-based restaurant called Fish Each—the name refers to a strict one-fish-per-person policy and modelled after Red Lobster or Red Monster as Hat Guy calls it.

Later, a moving truck that doesn’t move needs to be moved, which leads to a plan involving six people and a collection of wooden spools. Caleb is sent on a water run—literally. They believe the faster he runs, the warmer the water gets. Friction, they say. Science, they add. It’s difficult to follow.

There's a lot of discussion, some of it almost rational. By the end of the tape I'm desperate to speak to somebody who does not have a Wile E. Coyote grip on physics.

Also: diced pimentos in Coca-Cola. I don't know what Steven is listening to in the other room but it sounds like spliced together bits of old TV broadcasts from the 1940's era.

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This one kicks off like a 1940s social hygiene film before it collapses into a tale of unstable real estate, gravy-based adhesives, and existential architecture. Hat Guy shares a nursery rhyme, forgets how houses work, and constructs a two-bedroom, zero-bed home entirely out of playing cards. No one moves in. Fortunately.

Elsewhere, Hat Guy may be opening a business, launching a sport, or reinventing the economy—it’s hard to say, because halfway through his pitch, Steven interrupts to explode the dirty dishes. What begins as a plan to trade acorn tops for bottoms quickly mutates into a golf range proposal. A logical move for a town shaped like a ribbon and barely wider than a canoe.

There’s confusion. There’s paste. There’s “decoupage,” which immediately gets added to the official list of Bootstuck’s six Big Words. Also, we finally learn the town's exact dimensions: 6,000 feet long by 30 feet wide. Suitable as a runway—but what, exactly, is landing here?

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The Bootstuck tape machine coughs up another bewildering recording featuring a long, one-sided voicemail, a heated discussion about boot buckles, and a serious deep dive into gravy economics. The townsfolk debate the practical dangers of decorative footwear, the true purpose of a “gravy boat,” and whether Canadian Tire money can be legally used when the nearest Canadian Tire is 400 miles away. Meanwhile, we meet Luke Warm (from Yonder), who apparently measures up at six acorns taller than most. Bootstuck’s logic remains circular, its traditions questionable, and its gravy—plentiful.

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The holiday spirit arrives in Bootstuck with all the confusion and homemade flair you’ve come to expect. Tape 17 crackles to life with a musical tribute to the humble jug—an instrument that can be played anywhere, anytime, and preferably without warning.

Meanwhile, townsfolk debate the ethics of inflatable lawn décor (giant possums included) and hatch plans for an unsanctioned Christmas light show featuring Caleb, an axe, and a concerning number of flashlights. Things only get weirder when Dave’s mysterious last name—Juggs? Pemberton?—becomes central to a baffling plan involving power, music, and perhaps emotional instability.

There's also a visit to the reopened local store (now seeing upwards of two customers a day!), a philosophical bank rant, a buried jar economy, and a prank involving a very unfortunate telescope.

It’s Christmas in Bootstuck. Bring your own flashlight. And maybe... duck.

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Recovered in less-than-ideal condition, Tape 16 is a chaotic casserole of overlapping conversations, occasional military interference, and enough Bootstuck-brand nonsense to fog a lens. The first segment features Hat Guy wrestling with the existential crisis of which light belongs at which end of a vehicle—head or tail—while rhapsodizing about the convenience of disposable thumbs. Meanwhile, Dave enjoys what he describes as a “lower-half bath,” and somehow that’s not the weirdest part.

An abrupt edit later, we’re thrown into a caffeinated retelling of how Bootstuck’s signature morning beverage, “Joe,” came to be. The term “creamy Joe” is uttered, but mercifully left unexplored. Probably for the best.

Nothing runs. Nothing makes sense. But the tape sure smells like coffee and WD-40.

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We open on what might be a radio answering machine and Hat Guy is mid-panic, convinced he’s being hunted by dinosaurs (real? metaphorical? unclear), and then the message cuts off like someone pulled the plug.

The tape picks up later with our weary interviewer attempting a Bootstuck-style lightning round, which is to say: rapid-fire nonsense in hopes of coaxing coherence out of chaos. Spoiler: it doesn’t work. We do, however, learn that Bootstuckians classify champagne as a fruit. There is no follow-up.

As the conversation pivots to hot potatoes (literal, not political), Hat Guy hurls a sheep down a flight of stairs. This is treated as routine. Then we discuss housing: Bootstuck architecture includes popsicle-stick mansions, maybe a couch fort or two, and a surprising lack of zoning laws. Eventually, the interviewer gives up—again—leaving Hat Guy to blow up his stove.

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Tape 14 opens with what I can only describe as an audio endurance test. Our slow-talking, never-named narrator yawns his way into a conversation about Bootstuck’s latest developments—if you can call them that. We’re introduced to the annual Carve-Off, a celebration of, well, carving... though the categories are as off-kilter as everything else in Bootstuck. Caleb will be carving wood, naturally, while Dave has committed to carving spaghetti. Yes. Spaghetti. Apparently, you'll have to be there to see it, which seems like an intentional threat at this point.

And then things get even more unhinged. Enter John Maximum, Bootstuck’s only known real estate agent, who visits annually to hand out calendars and gift baskets to residents. His pitch: invest in Bootstuck’s highly valuable roadside acorns and pinecones, which are apparently the backbone of the local economy. Acorns with intact tops seem to hold particular prestige, though no one—not even the narrator—fully understands why.

The episode, if you can call it that, spins completely off the rails with an attempt to set up a transatlantic communication system using a bean can and a soup can connected by string. Predictably, it's declared incompatible. Things spiral into what I can only describe as an improvised, off-key acorn anthem before the tape mercifully cuts out.

At this point, I’m not sure if I’m being toyed with, trolled, or slowly indoctrinated into the Church of Bootstuck. Regardless, I’m still listening... against all better judgment.

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This tape opens, inexplicably, with a commercial for explosion protection—a service that suggests either Bootstuck has a blast radius problem, or someone got a little too ambitious with a microwave.

Our unnamed slow-talking friend returns shortly after, pondering the mystery of why pizzas are round, boxes are square, and leads to pitch of his latest business venture: a pizza place called Been Around.

Hat Guy arrives just in time to derail it with a fist fight and another unsolicited monologue about hat ownership. Somewhere in the chaos, we learn of a regional pastime: watching stacks of discarded VHS tapes featuring partial TV broadcasts, static, and Who's The Boss. This is followed by a German man yelling about Brand X in what may be a hijacked frequency or possibly just the neighbor’s HAM radio again.

I’m thirteen tapes deep and still have no concrete information, but I’m absolutely convinced someone’s having a laugh—and unfortunately, it might be me.

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