It was just another night in Sprott, Alabama, the cows a grazin’ and the brussels a sproutin’. All was at peace…or so it seemed.
A mysterious wind began to blow, which smelled faintly of hot Cheetos and Takis. The farmers emerged from their homes and ran to their orchards, anxious that the winds would destroy their apple harvest. Instead, they found that creature Roz, sipping on freshly made sparkling cider and tapping his foot, casual as can be. He told them that he had traveled from a faraway land called Mukanda, in search of the perfect rhythm.
Leaving the farmers dumbstruck, Roz went along his merry way, drumming ceaselessly on anything he could find. He was consumed by his desire—he sensed that the perfect rhythm was waiting for him over every hill. He stopped for nothing (except the occasional baseball game), traversing over the continental United States three times before he finally ended up, weather-beaten but undefeated, on the Tufts University campus. There, he heard a clanging cacophony spilling forth from the basement of the Aidekman Arts Center. Upon entering said basement, he found a collection of the most raucous, beat-driven lunatics he’d ever met. He joined their ranks, and the perfect rhythm has been spilling forth from his devoted hands ever since.