The Pool Table Universe: A Cosmic Trick Shot

Where physics, probability, and sheer chaos collide in the greatest game never played.

The Pool Table Universe isn’t bound by logic, physics, or even common sense. It exists in a constant state of barely controlled chaos, where entire galaxies spawn from botched gambles, time stumbles over itself, and reality’s rules bend like a drunk’s promise. If the standard universe is a precision-tuned engine, the PTU is a trick shot on a barroom pool table—aimed with swagger, executed with a shrug, and landing wherever it damn well pleases. The Friendly Robot Travel Agency drops you into this mess, selling tickets to worlds that defy explanation, from mob dens to caveman flops. TFRTA doesn’t guarantee safety, just a ride you’ll never shake—whether you’re bribing your way through Planet Zee’s undead red tape or dodging punchlines on Guffaw-7 where silence is a death sentence.

Across thirteen galaxies, each runs on its own twisted logic. Wishbones keep the wheels spinning, their value flipping from fortune to trash depending on who’s desperate enough to trade. Tee-Hees measure the rush, rating everything from Brad’s "Pharmacy"’s slug-juice highs to Booty for Your Booty’s pirate scams. Barry’s half-a-brain empire on Zee ties to iSi Environmental’s shadowy compliance game—nobody knows what they’re up to, but it’s big. Club iSi on Prearth hums with secret councils and asteroid beats, while Yarnia’s crochet wars stitch grudges into eternity. No two systems play the same—OOGH-IV’s cavemen worship fire over math, Washy Washy II’s sock puppets brawl in back alleys, and Spee-Ider’s Grove spins fame into feasts. The PTU isn’t a place; it’s a dare that keeps doubling down.

No one knows who racked this mess, but it’s a bar fight of bad bets that keeps paying out. Rick’s the PTU’s loose cannon, a reviewer so rogue TFRTA can’t leash him—his Tee-Hee ratings sink economies or spark riots with a single snarky jab. He’s seen it all and hated most of it. “Took a TFRTA shuttle once. Dropped a fortune in Wishbones for a seat that smelled like regret and landed me in a galaxy of sock puppet mobsters—still waiting for my luggage or a refund. 3 Tee-Hees for the hustle, none for the comfort.” Step into the PTU, and you’re betting on chaos—Rick’ll tell you straight if it’s worth the ride.