Cloudy With A Chance of Lesbians: Explained

It's dinner time.

We're crowding around a dining hall table because, dear reader, this is college and that's how we do things.

Talk, per usual, turns to stranger tides. Namely: the Queer community and how God-awful hard it is to find a soulmate in the midst of a hookup culture.

"Can't we all just wear signs or something?" says my lesbian Australian neighbor. "Like, 'Hi, my name is so-and-so, and I like women.'" Sure, that would be easier. But what if... what if, reader, there was another way? What if we could enlist the help of overactive imaginations and children's stories in order to create a world in which there was no wondering, no maybes, no chance of rejection and subsequent dejection but only progression in the name of romance? Thus, Cloudy With A Chance of Lesbians is born on a dimly lit oaken table surrounded by chattering students and clattering dinnerware, all blissfully unaware of my labor pains.

Here's the plot. Bear with me. The last lesbian on earth is quite a lonely woman. In this time and place, dear reader, there are no signs, no way of certainly knowing she is in fact the last of her kind, but given the amount of rejection in her life, she is positive this must be it. She is, after all, attractive, well formed, Yale educated (she denied Hahhhhvahd; they were simply too prissy), and all other positive adjectives and fun facts.

She lives on an island, somewhere pretty isolated, so her chances of finding a mate are lessened further. What's a girl to do? Why, build a machine that spews out potential lovers, naturally! Each day, she uses this machine to calibrate characteristics of her idea of an ideal mate. She makes a range of women from kind hearted and motherly to thick skinned and aggressive. Day after day, week after week she makes them. Day after day, week after week, her island is flooded with potential life partners. Day after day, week after week, she does not find Mrs. Right. On the plus side, all the other lesbians she made are having a grand old time meeting and greeting each other and slowly pairing up.

Frustrated, our protagonist brutally destroys her creation (the machine, not the lesbians. This is not a sick murder story, reader). Meanwhile, the old inhabitants of the island are partying it up with the lesbians, but soon they realize that there is a lessening pool of straight mates and eventually leave for more hetero pastures. This turns the island into a modern (post modern?) day Lesbos. La protagonista, however, is still alone.

All is not lost, reader! Lesbians from around the world who also felt alone and isolated have heard of this marvelous, isolated island where they are free to hit on all the women! Huzzah! So they flood in. In this crowd is a very special woman, reader, special because at one point she had a secret crush on our protagonist who, unknowingly, returned those feelings, fully believing they were in vain. They find each other. They fall in love. They adopt babies. They live happily ever after. Boom. Love story.