About

Eons ago, when the stars exploded outward into infinity and the universe sat down on the crapper to take a little break from that whole Big Bang thing, there was born a star that was different from all the others.

As planets formed and cooled in the galactic cradle, as the galaxies began the very first rotation of their endless spin, as God looked around and said, “Hey, what the fuck do I do now?” (followed shortly by, “Whoa, I am tripping BALLS.”, because God’s just that kind of guy) this star shone with hues that no one had ever seen before.

It was a rainbow star, a glittering bubbly bauble of ridiculousness in a vast, cold void of death, the only beautiful light in a universe peppered with little more than gas, black holes and some rogue space unicorns. (remember, God *was* tripping balls back then.)

Then one day, the star ran out of colors.

So it did what any sensible star would do.

It exploded.

Stardust washed over the entire universe, bringing with it vivid hues, sparkles, and if you were really lucky, construction paper and glue.

It collected in people over the years, making little piles of glitter and rainbows. In people, it found new flavors of color.

The best and brightest of these starchildren is named Ani.

She shone like no other, in her, the star’s essence bubbled and seethed, granting her the power to karate-chop evil in the DICK.

Loved by many and hated by space unicorns, Ani roams the galaxy on a metal steed she made out of old shoes and lycra, and all who see her rainbow-banded leggings can’t help but drop their pants in salute of this marvel of a woman.

She has littered the trail of history with broken hearts, whole nations have sworn fealty to her, entire planets have exploded for a glimpse of her beauty, and children pray to her every night — they even named a street after her in San Francisco once.

Such is the legend of Ani, who can kill with a stare, perform exquisite ballet in sneakers, who renders particle physicists mute with awe when delivering a soliloquy about balogna, who can form religion from bubbles, whose mere freckles have made warlords wear their brown pants, who has personally high-fived a goddamn T-Rex, who time-traveled just to get a donut in 1885 Berlin, who uses a doomsday device to brush her teeth, who can do nothing but bend reality to be awesome around her.

She is not the alpha.

She is not the omega.

She transcends the beginning and the end, because she can’t help being anything but the NOW.

She is THE ANI.