This tape starts with snowmobiling. Or rather, the sound of snowmobiling — since the machines don’t move, the locals just make noises and call it “Skidoo.” Caleb provides ear-wind simulation.

What follows is a baffling rundown of Bootstuck’s print-based “social media flyer” (which might be Facebook, or a hand-drawn newspaper), an attempt to replicate the Sears catalogue by hand, a supplement run “from the mothers,” and a local philosophy that includes boots falling off, yelling “John!” into the void, and using wood for everything.

The more I listen, the more convinced I am: these people might actually believe they’re hosting the Olympics.

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I’ve been cataloguing these tapes for months now, and I’m still not sure if Bootstuck is a functioning township or an elaborate performance art piece. This tape starts with something called a "snowman minute"—a unit of time defined by how long it takes to both build and melt a snowman—and somehow drifts into what can only be described as a failed Winter Olympics bid… held in someone's backyard.

There’s talk of a ski hill (five feet high), a chairlift (manual, powered by Caleb), and skis fashioned out of chopped wood and tied to boots with straps. There’s also “top ball” competition, which is apparently snowman-related and definitely not regulated. Eventually the conversation devolves into a series of increasingly frantic declarations about pop tops, bottle caps, and imaginary medals—all shouted with more enthusiasm than clarity.

Oh, and the mayor might be trying to bring Olympic events to town… one at a time… mostly in the basement. With soda. And possibly darts.

I don’t know anymore.

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I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this.

This latest tape kicks off with a brief mention of Titanic 2 (apparently still unreleased in Bootstuck), and only gets murkier from there. There’s discussion about avoiding spoilers—of both the cinematic and automotive variety—followed by a story about someone named Stephen who didn’t wave and has now been entered into a “wishy-washy book,” which I suspect is a very real, very serious document in Bootstuck governance.

And then we get to the hall. Not City Hall or Town Hall. Just the hall. Where Caleb sleeps. It apparently doubles as a civic building and possibly a waiting room, assuming you bring your own chair. Zoom, as you can imagine, is not an option.

BUT— and here's where it gets concerning—the mayor may have internet access. This was dropped casually, like it wasn’t a massive revelation. The man has a modern haircut, which, in Bootstuck logic, is apparently correlated with news consumption and outside awareness. Questions abound.

The episode ends with a truly unsettling segment involving a creature named Eddie—possibly a man, a myth, or a toilet-drinking beast with cold nose and pointy ears. It may or may not be Dave. No one seems to know, including the people involved.

I’m no closer to understanding what’s going on in Bootstuck, but I do know this: if you’re ever invited to “the hall,” bring a chair, don’t mention Zoom, and never assume your toilet is off-limits

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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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