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Just when I think I might be closing in on something concrete, Bootstuck takes a sharp turn back into the absurd. Tape 12 introduces us to Terrence, a man who apparently lives in a place called Nearby, which—naturally—is not nearby at all. It’s 70 kilometers away or, as Dave puts it, “seven songs,” depending on his mood and fuel level.

The rest of the tape is a dizzying preview of the upcoming Bootstuck Fair, a community gathering where you can get a license plate painted on your face or elbow (your choice), choke down force-fed funnel cake, and visit a “petting zoo” made up of whatever living creatures could be coaxed into a field that morning.

Hat Guy returns with more qualifications—this time ranked on Bootstuck’s patented “Interesting Abilities Scale.” Apparently flatulence earns high marks. Of course it does.

I now have vague locations, unverifiable names, and not a single Googleable reference. And with hundreds of tapes still ahead, it’s becoming clear that this project won’t end in clarity—but I’m far too deep to stop now.

So I’m settling in.

Probably should’ve done that ten tapes ago.

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Just when I thought we’d peaked with snuggle-based heating (see Tape 10), Tape 11 drags us even deeper into the metaphysical swamp that is Bootstuck. Our slow-talking friend—last heard counting snowflakes by the bucket in Tape 6—calls Dave (still wrapped in lights, I presume) from what he claims is a burnt-out Dodge. No explanation. No coordinates. Just the soothing, molasses-paced chaos of Bootstuck, as usual.

We’re also treated to a brief geography lesson featuring nearby "towns" with names like OverThere, Downaways, and Yonder—which feel less like actual places and more like shrugs wearing road signs. Add to that the revelation of pills designed to improve your verb usage if taken anally, and we’re fully back in the realm of unsettling backwoods surrealism.

This tape collection continues to toe the line between hoax, hallucination, and anthropological goldmine. I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop. Something about Bootstuck refuses to let go.

And then comes Tape 12...
The Bootstuck Fair.
God help us all.

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This tape gives us a rare seasonal snapshot: winter in Bootstuck. And, true to form, it’s not exactly what you’d call conventional. Dave is apparently wrapped in Christmas lights—possibly by accident, possibly as a coping mechanism—and the others decide to just leave him like that. As a display. A living, blinking reminder that Bootstuck celebrates the holidays... differently.

We’re also introduced to Caleb, the town’s unofficial lumberjack. He chops and stacks wood around the township like a festive squirrel—but here’s the twist: they don’t burn it. Not for warmth, anyway.

Instead, Bootstuck relies on a woman named Rita. Described as heavyset and—let’s say—generously cozy, she arrives during the cold months to provide communal body heat via prolonged snuggling. This is apparently the primary method of winter survival.

At this point, I can’t help but feel like I’m being pranked by a very elaborate, very rural performance art piece.

I just want one tape that explains anything.

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Tape 9—or at least what’s left of it—is mostly static, warped and broken. But somewhere in the noise, a voice punches through, crackling out what sounds like call letters: "JEAN." Maybe it's just interference, maybe I'm reading too much into it—but it feels intentional. And in Bootstuck, that’s enough to set my mind racing.

Once the tape settles, we’re back to familiar chaos. Our host and Hat Guy recount a baffling trip to the local Costco knockoff—Costdown—where he somehow buys a half pair of boots. A new name, Willy, is mentioned in passing, nudging Bootstuck’s known population up by one... though the average IQ might be trending downward, especially with glowing reviews of the town’s Applebee’s.

They have an Applebee's?

The tape ends on a strange, almost deliberate note. But by now, cryptic endings are just part of the scenery.

The deeper we dig, the weirder it gets.

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So Bootstuck has a radio station, which explains a few things and helps me get a sense of how these tapes were made. Mind you the news source, Hat Guy, is not exactly reliable so it's hard to say just what is actually going on over there. On this tape there is mention of a restaurant called " Eater Way" with a chef by the name of Dave. Not sure if this is the same Dave from before but it's not long before the conversation switches back to hats. As luck would have it I was about to find out where Bootstuck is located because at around 2:38 on the interview, Hat guy begins to give out what sound like coordinates but the tape is damaged or there is interference that blocks it out. Well of course it did.

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Tape 7 brings us a double feature: two interviews spliced together, each raising more questions than answers. First up is Don who’s starting to sound less like a local and more like someone with real pull in town. Then it’s the return of Hat Guy, ever the unreliable narrator of all things Bootstuck. The two of them discuss a place called the Tube Store—oddly specific for a town that barely seems to exist on a map.

In the second half, Hat Guy is on the move, possibly driving, which hints that Bootstuck might be reachable by road… though, as always, no clear directions are offered. Things take a turn at the 1:30 mark when the tape glitches—and in the static, there’s a voice. Did someone just say “There was a murder”? Or am I imagining it?

Press play and decide for yourself.

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Tape 6 opens with our familiar slow-talking, low-voiced Bootstuck resident and an enlightening—if baffling—discussion about snowfall measurement. Their method? Buckets. Literal buckets. They count the flakes. Allegedly.

Before long, Hat Guy stirs from what sounds like a nap and jumps right into, you guessed it, another story about hats. Of course. At this point, it’s unclear why the interviewer keeps entertaining these ramblings—but I’m practically begging for a single direct question. Just one.

Still no real answers. No purpose. No context. Just more static, more strange, and more Bootstuck. I’m holding out hope that, eventually, one of these tapes will explain why they exist at all.

But until then, we measure snow by the bucket, and time by the nonsense.

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