One time Mr. Raccoon took a long walk through a long field of tall grass. When he got to the edge, there was nothing. It was space. A vacuum. Being an adventuresome tiny bear rodent, he jumped off, but not into something, into nothing. As he fell through the starless abyss, in swooped Senorita Nighthawk, grabbing him by the neck scruff and flapping him off further into the darkness. There they came upon Archduke Flying Bear, and they all sang a song of bliss and ignorance and beers and laughter before going poof and becoming nothing. This nothing becomes an ethereal smooth dark lager from Thuringia.

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