Anthropomorphic

Zebra Character

Portrait

Gilbert Jitterbug

Risking life and limb in the hopes of getting the good folk of Anthroxville goosed-up and grooving once more, is the anthro zebra, Gilbert Jitterbug. Coffee — that potent potion once electrifying the public's pulse — has been strictly outlawed for a number of bleary-brained years, condemning the populace to a languid malaise of endemic proportions. Streets once abuzz were now filled with pallid figures; heads hung low, groaning, shoulders slouched, each step an insurmountable effort. Conversations, if one could call them that, meandered to nowhere, stifled by the weight of a universal weariness. Eyes, once brimming with narratives, now looked vacuously into nothing, mirroring the haunting stillness of a world robbed of its stimulant.

Amid these ghosts, every so often, a glint would pierce the monotony — a hasty shuffle, a brief upsurge of rebellion, as if chasing the echo of a long-forgotten espresso. Yet, inexorably, the city's sedate gravity would reclaim them, wrapping them back into its melancholic fold. The architect of this gloom was none other than the tea-touting tyrant, President Clint Bigot, who championed the "superior" virtues of the leafy brew. Legend had it that President Bigot underwent a transformative encounter in the distant highlands, where he was first introduced to the nuanced world of tea. He spoke fervently of the health and spiritual benefits, from its calming properties to its vast spectrum of tastes, and how this beverage, so steeped in ancient wisdom and tradition, could usher in a golden age of tranquility and contemplation for Anthroxville. He painted a picture of streets not filled with the twitching hustle of swivel-eyed ghouls, but of serene squares where citizens sipped slowly, engaged in thoughtful dialogue, and embraced the art of mindfulness. Tea, he posited, was not just a drink but a way of life. It represented stillness in a cup, a chance for one to retreat from the frenetic pace of the world and find solace in the simple act of brewing and drinking. It was his firm conviction that replacing the schizoidic highs of the devilish brew with the gentle embrace of a freshly poured cuppa would cultivate a more enlightened, harmonious, and civilized society.

At least, that's the version the masses were fed. However, it was widely speculated that the President's ban on coffee was less about the allure of tea's health properties and more about maintaining a stranglehold on power. A jazzed-up populace is a thinking populace, a questioning populace — and as Anthroxville's crazed history has shown, thinking and questioning the state of things naturally leads to pitchforks. By draining the city of its caffeinated lifeblood, Clint sought to decelerate the minds of the masses, to keep them as lulled and compliant gimps. If the city's denizens were couch-locked in a perpetual haze of fatigue, they'd be less likely to go rightly berzerk about his horror-show of a regime. Coffee, with its invigorating jolt, could not only stimulate the intellect but also ignite the agitative spirit. And a populace pulsing with passion and energy was a looming danger to any despot's dominion. The more docile, tea-sipping Anthroxville became, the easier it would be for Clint to sculpt its narrative, to mold its destiny, to keep its constituents tethered to his whims and falsehoods. For in the drowsy fog of lethargy, revolutionary thoughts - akin to those that not only haunted but ultimately toppled his predecessors, Herbert Whiffpop, Ottoline Puffplinth, and Bertie Plimsoll of the Embaristocracy - is but a distant yawn.

In an atmosphere already thick with tension, the abrupt proclamation of the prohibition naturally sent shockwaves through the city. Mitzi Midriff, a latte luminary, whose gritted teeth and frenzied eyes were blatant advertisements of her caffeine addiction, famously declared, "Stay robusta comrades, and espresso your wrath so that the whole world knows what's frappéning," before jaggedly scatting off down some alleyway to try her luck in scoring some, now illegal, [gra]'nules. Other street names include C-Funk, Fee-Fee, Rocket Fuel, and Joe of the Morn. As it turned out, the more rigorous the embargo, the more rampant the coffee renegades became. Hidden dens sprung up in every nook and cranny of Anthroxville, where contraband baristas, roasters, grinders, smugglers, and bootleggers, met the relentless demands of those chasing that beloved buzz of the bean.

Gilbert is one such figure in Anthroxville's underground java scene, standing as a defiant beacon of the cause. More than just a merchant, he's a revolutionary, distributing the most coveted 'nules to be found anywhere in Anthroxville. Famously single-origin and expertly roasted, the illicit Jitterbug Coffee is unrivaled in both its purity and potency, and will have your tongue wagging at both ends in caffeinated delight after just a few dimension-shifting sips.

As to be expected in this line of business, threats to Gilbert's life were frequent, but what gnawed at him more were the countless knockoffs of his signature black brew. However, unlike his unscrupulous rivals, Jitterbug has never once considered cutting or blending his product to increase profit margins – he has too much self-respect to ever stoop to such treachery. The ever-looming presence of the law, particularly in the form of Sheriff Bobby Lockjaw and Lieutenant Larry Mooch, added another layer of peril to his operations. The anthro zebra has had too many close shaves to count over the years, with one occasion standing out where he and his trusted street-slinger, Jackson Jiffy, were enjoying a laugh about how one of their most loyal customers, the fortune-teller, Patience Bibble-Rose, had nearly OD'ed on cappuccinos that morning. "Didn't foresee that one coming," Gilbert quipped, taking a sip of his twenty-seventh cup of the day, when suddenly, Stickler Pipensmokeit came rushing around the...