Welcome to TV Minus the TV, a column full of thoughts about TV shows watched on laptops published on the internet for you to read on your phone.


We understand not everyone obsesses over Rick and Morty the way we here at Random Nerds do.

So, to get you up to speed, we’d like to borrow this introduction to the series from HitFix’s Alan Sepinwall:

For those who don’t know, picture Rick and Morty as an animated version of Back to the Future where Doc Brown/Rick is both far more brilliant and far less kind (and almost always high on something, whether of earthly or extra-terrestrial origin), where Marty/Morty is constantly suffering for his relationship with the crazy old man, and where the universe (the show features frequent travel to other planets, dimensions and timelines) is chaotic, cruel, and incredibly gross.

Only it’s so much more than just that.

Beyond its simple homaging premise, Rick and Morty is a show about family and friendship, and about learning how to find meaning in a universe devoid of it. Every episode is gut-wrenchingly funny, yet the show also has an uncanny knack for yanking true, crippling emotion out of a scene right when you least expected it.

In a million different ways, Rick and Morty is a show about survival.

We here at TV Minus the TV can only hope to give it its due celebration.

Click titles to jump:

“Intro to Animated Explosives”
by Bryce Rudow

“Rick and Morty and the Crushing Freedom of Infinite Choice” by Danny Sullivan

“Mortyvation: Purposeless Humanity and You” by Jacob Oller


Intro to Animated Explosives

by Bryce Rudow (@brycetrudow)

In the opening segment of Rick and Morty’s pilot episode, Rick drunkenly stumbles into Morty’s bedroom and drags his grandson into a flying space car to make an inebriated confession:

I had to make a bomb, Morty.
I had to create a bomb. And we’re gonna drop it down there, and get a whole fresh start.
Create a whole fresh start…


But what Rick couldn’t have known — though as the creator of his own self-serving universe would certainly appreciate — is that the bomb had already gone off.

All of Rick’s brilliant discoveries and noble exploits, all his hopes and dreams, were actually the byproduct of a recent Big Bang-esque explosion, lifetimes in the making, which resulted in the still-expanding universe currently being constructed around him and his adolescent grandson by benevolent (if not twisted) greater forces who needed to create their own whole fresh start.

In a nice bit of cosmic irony, Rick and Morty exists solely because its creators Dan Harmon and Justin Roiland had to make a bomb.


Rick and Morty all started as a short called “The Real Animated Adventures of Doc and Mharti” that Justin Roiland (voicing both characters) screened at Channel 101, a monthly short-film festival in Los Angeles co-founded by Dan Harmon, back in 2006. However, while even the most casual Rick and Morty fan would be able to recognize the titular characters, and their distinctive voices, that short was a multiverse away from the show as we know it today.

Built around a plot line involving Mharti having to repeatedly lick Doc’s balls, it was really just a showcase for Roiland’s beautifully absurd sense of humor…

Roiland himself admitted as much in an interview with The Attack: “I wanted to just make people shocked and make something horrible.”

Or, in Dan Harmon’s more poetic, hyperbolic words:

It was just violent and aggressive and angry, but joyful.
The only words that apply to sum it all up are ‘punk rock.’ It was just fuck the queen, and fuck Pierre Cardin, and fuck my teddy bear, and fuck my mother’s lullabies. I just want to chant something. I just want to stick something through my nose until it bleeds.

Roiland had recently been fired from what he’s described on multiple occasions as a “very creatively stifling show,” and according to Dan Harmon, “had this desperate urge to create. And instead of that urge flowing like a garden hose being gently turned on, it was gonna shoot out like through the barrel of a gun. It was gonna be explosive, loud and cause as much damage as possible. That’s what was gonna make him feel better after feeling stifled for so long.”

For a demonstration of that explosive, damaging creativity in action, just check out the show’s NYCC14 panel, in which Justin improvises a scene as both Rick and Morty and takes the innocuous prompt of “breakfast-making machine” to “cum french toast” before one might think humanly possible#:

Which is where Dan Harmon comes in.

After being expelled from Community following the show’s first near-death experience, Harmon had been approached by Adult Swim about creating a prime time, 22-minute show for the ascending network. Skeptical of his abilities in the animation medium, he turned to Roiland, who had already been trying over the course of a handful of failed Fox pilots to incorporate his beloved Doc and Mahrti voices into a full-fledged show:

I knew I wanted to work with Justin if I was going to work at Adult Swim because, the truth is, my sensibilities left to their own devices are pretty bad. I’m not a huge animation guy by nature. I’m not tremendously visual, in terms of how I think. I tend to think in terms of dialogue and character and story.

Or, in Justin Roiland’s more poetic, endearing words:

Basically Dan and I got together and we kind of merged our different sensibilities and created a show where he sort of boxed in my insanity and put a little frame around it.

To add to the show’s mythic lore, the two apparently wrote the script for the pilot in six hours in Dan Harmon’s unfurnished Community office the very same day they pitched it to the network.

Diehard fans of Harmon shouldn’t be surprised by that last fact, though. He is, after all, the man who constructed his own 8-point guide to story structure based off Joseph Campbell’s “Hero’s Journey,” which Harmon revealed in a 2012 Reddit AMA was “actually designed for Channel 101 directors who were letting ‘I’m not a writer’ stand in the way of them shooting something. It was my way of saying, ‘Look, there’s such a thing as a paint by numbers story; so if storytelling isn’t your passion, just get Jack up and down his beanstalk so you have something to shoot.'”

Anyone who’s seen the infamous episode with King Jellybean knows he’s not kidding about that “just get up and down the beanstalk” thing…

Except now, with Rick and Morty, Dan Harmon also has Justin “Cum French Toast” Roiland’s unlimited imagination at his disposal, plus the newfound freedom that comes with working in animation; and with a network that fully supports him. Unburdened by the heavy weight of Community’s study room table, Harmon has finally been able to truly test his narrative abilities.

As the first season of Rick and Morty was just beginning to air, Harmon positively gushed to Alan Sepinwall about his new playground:

And it’s all bets are off. There’s no fourth wall you can break too much. There’s nothing too taboo. There’s no tender, tender heart that you can break by going left or right.
There’s 8,500 ways to do Community wrong. Because it’s a good show for good people that have supported it for five years, there are now over 8,000 ways to do it wrong. There are less than zero ways to do Rick and Morty wrong.

In a separate interview with the Los Angeles Times, Harmon said it was “like kicking weights off your ankles or playing basketball on Venus,” which might explain why there are more alternate universes# and esoteric homages# than even Abed would know what to do with. Thanks to the lax laws of physics established in Rick and Morty’s world, literally anything can reasonably happen at any given moment.

And Harmon has taken full advantage of that narrative liberty…

Still, the truly thrilling part of getting to witness this universe being built has been seeing how and where Harmon is able to inject his trademark pomes of beauty or purpose into this vast new world of his.

Take Roy, the video game…

What could have been just a simple spoof on virtual-reality games is instead a 2-minute-long visual haiku on the tragic beauty of human existence that gives the opening scene of Up a run for its money:

As Harmon himself noted at Comic Con back in 2013, with Rick and Morty he’s no longer forced to always be “the weird sci-fi guy going ‘How can we possibly justify this on a sitcom?’” like he was at Community. Instead, “At Rick and Morty, I’m happily the sane one who is always going, ‘How can we make this about feelings?’.”

That’s why you’ll hear him fawn over the character of Beth# or her relationship with Jerry# as much as he does about the cthulhu appearance in the show’s opening credits. Community was always a show about broken people that was masquerading as a major network sit-com, but Rick and Morty has let Harmon take off the cheap disguise and really examine the scars underneath; because he knows that beyond the homages and the spoofs and the sci-fi, that’s what people really respond to.

The “Total Rickall” episode, in which an alien parasite imprints false memories of fake friends and relatives, is more than just a chance to pull a few dozen ridiculous characters out of the writers room’s collective ass in a “Paradigms of Human Memory”#-esque mock flashback episode; it’s a fable about how the shitty moments in life are a realistic and necessary part of being a real, live human being interacting with other real, live human beings.

That shittiness, it turns out, is how you can know you’re living an authentic existence.

Above all else though, what makes this show feel so singularly special is that, in the character of Rick Sanchez, Dan Harmon has finally found the perfect vehicle for his own beguiling existentialism and misanthropy…


There’s a passing line in the “A Rickle in Time” episode where Summer is about to start lambasting her grandfather with some inane question, only for Rick to immediately silence her by curtly replying, “Whatever you’re asking, the answer is I’m amazing.” It’s a basic corollary to the ‘no fourth wall’ concept Harmon was praising above, though it also demonstrates the deific power Harmon wields with his all-knowing, less-caring genius of a main character.

In the Alan Sepinwall interview, Harmon concedes the point:

I think Rick is the intellectual equivalent of the Hulk. He’s that Zuckerberg, Howard Hughes kind of archetype that just doesn’t have time for everyone else’s bullshit.
And we love being that guy, and we know we’re not supposed to be him, but it’s fun to watch him operate.

With Rick Sanchez, Harmon finally has a way (that isn’t via social media, and thus directly tied to his name) to share his unfiltered thoughts on topics like:

  • the public education system
  • the whole Community drama#
  • running and hiding as it relates to stereotypical villain one-liners
  • individual freedom vs. the advancement of the state
  • Worf from Star Trek

With Rick, Dan Harmon is able to look over the breakfast table at a bunch of younger-skewing viewers and say, “There is no God, Summer. Gotta rip that bandaid off now; you’ll thank me later.”

He can, via Rick’s proxy Morty, scream at every network executive and upset viewer who thinks he gives a shit about what they have to say:

Maybe people that create things aren’t concerned with your delicate sensibilities.
Maybe the species that communicate with each other through the filter of your comfort are less evolved than the ones that just communicate.
Maybe your problems are your own to deal with, and maybe the public giving a shit about your feelings is a one way ticket to extinction.

He can suck you in and make you trust him as an infallible authority figure, only to then immediately cut you down at the knees for inauthentically laughing at a “Redgrin Grumble” joke he made up explicitly to test you:

Because of Rick’s near-superpower intellect, Dan Harmon is able to casually pose the kind of introspective philosophical and psychological questions that we usually save for great superhero tales (our modern-day Greek myths):

Does Rick have affection for Morty? Does he have empathy? Is he able to appreciate the value of an individual human life? I think that is one of the handful of questions that charges the whole show.
Rick is an amazing character to me because he has diagnosable qualities of various mental illnesses but unlike a character on Parenthood or Community, he’s a cartoon character and a scientist who has seen 30 years of an infinite universe with infinite alternate universes arranged around him in a multi-spherical wave front. So if Rick does or says something that indicates that he doesn’t care about you as a human being, is he expressing a flaw in his brain or is he more evolved than us? Or is it both? And does experiencing the world on a chaotically large scale make you crazy or can only crazy people experience the world on that scale?
In either case, what’s the difference? What are our obligations to each other? What does it mean to be a person? What do we hold valuable?

It’s not a coincidence that the man who once filmed an entire documentary about himself ended up writing a love interest for Rick whose main qualification is that it can give him unrelenting mass adoration. But it’s also not a surprise that the loss of that love, though deserved, is masterfully painted with all the raw brushstrokes of painful, uncomfortable, humanizing reality…

Even Rick’s seemingly-throwaway catchphrase — “Wubbalubbadubdub” — becomes a shimmering glint of imbrued humanity. After an entire season of beating audiences over the head with the nonsensical word, the finale sees Birdperson (voiced by Harmon himself) explain to Morty that Rick’s signature gibberish actually means something quite significant in his native Birdlanguage: “I am in great pain; please help me.”

Despite their best efforts to highlight the randomness and desolation of the universe, Dan Harmon and Justin Roiland’s impulsive act of creation infixed embers of meaning in the cold cosmic chaos. And like everyone’s favorite older brother, but better, Dan Harmon is the kind of person you can trust when he says, “Don’t run. Nobody exists on purpose, nobody belongs anywhere. Come watch TV.”



Rick and Morty and the Crushing Freedom of Infinite Choice

by Danny Sullivan (@SannyDullivan)

Part of the humor at the heart of Rick and Morty is the juxtaposition between the awe-inspiring worlds the characters visit during their exciting interdimensional adventures and the overwhelming cynicism and disinterest in Rick’s reactions to them. He is a man with access to any corner of the universe in an infinite number of dimensions and, as a result, nothing in any of them is capable of eliciting much of a response from him, positive or negative.

But if Rick’s cynicism is so overwhelming, it must be asked why he goes on these adventures at all? And more importantly, how his cynicism can coexist with his freedom to fulfill essentially any desire imaginable?

The answer to these questions can be found in the existentialist philosophy of Simone de Beauvoir, who states that the basic problem of existentialism is the following:

If there is no absolute morality, mankind is free to take any action it wishes. But this absolute freedom cannot be achieved generally; one can do anything but one must limit oneself to doing specific things at specific times, limited as we are by our perception of time and space.

One then must decide how to occupy oneself and formulate a moral compass. And neglecting this last step has dire consequences…


Characters in Dostoyevsky’s novels often struggle with this paradox. Both Dmitri Karamazov in The Brothers Karamazov and Nikolai Stavrogin in Demons collapse the problem into the adage, “If God does not exist, everything is permitted,” and by doing so, they doom themselves to dissatisfaction when everyday existence does not live up to the lofty expectations inherent in the phrase “absolute freedom.”

Dostoyevsky’s characters often compensate for this disappointment by becoming hedonistic. By pursuing any whim that enters their heads, no matter how debased, they believe they can capture something of the freedom the necessities of living have denied them. Hedonism is the uncreative answer supplied to stand in for freedom by some who do not know how to make use of it.

To be clear, this is the freedom to determine one’s actions absolutely autonomously. But how are we to do so?

Simone de Beauvoir argues in The Ethics of Ambiguity that in the absence of outside justification, the only recourse available to us is internal justification:

The passion to which man has acquiesced finds no external justification. No outside appeal, no objective necessity permits of its being called useful. It has no reason to will itself. But this does not mean that it can not justify itself, that it can not give itself reasons for being that it does not have.

In other words, with the nearly infinite possible choices I could make right now, it is almost absurd to believe with any security the single choice I select can be called truly correct. There is nothing outside myself to justify my actions, no absolute metric against which to measure my choices, leaving me at a loss with how to occupy myself unless I supply a reason.

And if this problem of choice feels crushing to me, someone with limited resources, intelligence, and mobility, imagine how much worse it must be for someone whose abilities make his possibilities literally infinite…

Rick — a man so intelligent he created an entire universe and a man so lacking in a moral code that he used this universe as a car battery — has a portal gun that gives him access to anywhere he wants to go in any dimension. This kind of power, the power to realize any desire imaginable, gives Rick what may be objectively called too much freedom. Not only does Rick have to decide what he will do with his life, he has to live knowing there are an infinite number of other Ricks out there (whom we met in “Close Encounters of the Rick Kind”) who are also attempting to determine what they should live for.

This means that not only do Rick’s choices have no justification outside of himself, but no justification can come from within himself either, as his “self” is fragmented into an infinite number of Ricks all living with different values. This leaves him in the unfortunate position of being unable to justify his actions on any level. And finding oneself unable to justify one’s actions – to find that one cannot justify the existence or purpose of anything because everyone and everything has an infinite number of other-dimensional duplicates — leaves only one possible attitude toward the world:


Nihilism is the belief that nothing in life has meaning, an attitude that, according to Beauvoir, people deal with by falling into one of several distinct mindsets.

Rick fits squarely into the category she terms “The Adventurer.”

This attitude is characterized by the attempt to distract oneself from the meaninglessness of the world by throwing oneself into a quest of some sort. Unable to generate true values that could provide a general formula for their actions, the Adventurer substitutes a specific goal whose pursuit provides direction so long as the quest remains unfulfilled.

Beauvoir describes the Adventurer in detail:

Hoping for no justification, he will nevertheless take delight in living. He will not turn aside from things which he does not believe in. He will seek a pretext in them for a gratuitous display of activity. He throws himself into his undertakings with zest, into exploration, conquest, war, speculation, love, politics, but he does not attach himself to the end at which he aims; only to his conquest. He likes action for its own sake. He finds joy in spreading through the world a freedom which remains indifferent to its content…The union of an original, abundant vitality and a reflective scepticism will particularly lead to this choice.

The Adventurer’s problem is that though they are resigned to the meaninglessness of all actions, they have too much energy not to act. They are a restless leg personified; there is no reason to move, but the energy inside will not be contained and irresistibly seeks the freedom to do so.

This description fits Rick to a tee. In just two seasons, we have seen Rick engage in almost every activity Beauvoir lists: Exploration of new worlds is a near constant activity, though the shot of Rick walking around the tiny world in the Season Two finale “The Wedding Squanchers” literalizes and compresses Rick’s exploration into just a few seconds #. Conquest is most evident in “The Ricks Must Be Crazy,” in which we see the lengths Rick will go to in order to maintain his control over a world. Speculation is less common in that Rick rarely seems to worry about money at all, but “Morty-night Run” begins with the sale of weapons just for the sake of some money to take to a casino. “Auto-Erotic Assimilation” sees Rick embracing love in his relationship with Unity, a hive-mind that controls entire planets (this is in addition to Rick’s allusions to his failed marriage with Beth’s mother). War and politics are less directly observable, but the revelations in “The Wedding Squanchers” about Rick’s involvement in a war against the Galactic Federation (or whatever it’s called) for the sake of preserving the freedom of individual planets, actions for which he is now a highly wanted fugitive, writes this into his backstory#.

Rick is an Adventurer in every sense. He has lived a long life and seen too often the absurdity of existence, he is too analytical not to be skeptical of most everything, yet he is still too energetic to disengage. His age belies his vitality, but it is this vitality that allows the audience continued hope for his character. As long as this vitality persists, Rick will continue to engage with the world, and as long as he does so, hope remains that he can overcome the existential horror of an infinitely fractured existence and find a way to justify values to himself.

However, though this seems all but impossible, there is still one part of life that seems to be capable of inspiring feeling and moral action in Rick…

In the third act of the second season finale, Rick turns himself in to the Galactic Federation, committing himself to life imprisonment for the sake of assuring his family a normal life on earth, revealing a side of himself that still cares about the well-being of others despite their objective worthlessness.

The brilliance of this ending consists in the show couching its most hopeful evaluation of Rick’s character in its most hopeless story development. While he is always fun to watch, it is rarer that the audience really sympathizes with him. By acting selflessly, Rick reduces the distance at which he usually keeps us just in time to leave us to worry about his fate until the next season begins.

It’s only safe to assume that he will be freed, presumably by his family, the perfect outcome for someone with Rick’s mentality. Even when acting morally, Rick finds a way to incite another adventure.

The guy really knows how to have it all.



Mortyvation: Purposeless Humanity and You

by Jacob Oller (@JacobOller)

“There is no god, Summer; gotta rip that Band-Aid off now. You’ll thank me later”.

The semi-titular Rick has lived too expansively to value human existence any longer. In response to the only purposed character on the show ever shown to be unhappy — a butter-passing robot — Rick simply says, “Welcome to the club, pal.”# For Rick, not only is God dead, but all gods, and many alien races too. Crossed between outright hedonism and Heideggerian nihilism (at one point literally reducing beings to exchange value by making their world power a battery), Rick parties away his problems.

The rest of the Smith family, though cosmically naïve, prove inherently unhappy because of this lack of purpose too. No matter how hard they try to hide, disguise, or distance themselves from it, they exist in perpetual existential struggle, slowly dipping into crippling depression. There’s Jerry’s insecure, often-paralytic Nietzschean anxiety#, Beth’s underachieving alcoholism, and Summer’s high school angst – which, coupled with her increasing inclination to be swept up in Rick’s adventures, has led her to literally flirt with evil.

But then there’s Morty, on the other side of the title, who has faced his own corpse — as absurd as it sounds — and decided he can live with it: “Nobody belongs anywhere, nobody exists on purpose, everybody’s going to die. Come watch TV“.

In a world where purpose seems obvious yet unattainable, Morty is still defiantly searching for his, and it remains one of the most fascinating aspects of the show.


While the main family struggles with their mortality, their dreams, and the infinite influx of alien and/or transdimensional beings constantly barging in or being barged in upon, those said beings are almost always free from these problems. The side characters, especially those with amusing aptronyms, don’t deal with existential anxieties — in fact, they’re perfectly happy. Philosophically sound.

In the Rick and Morty universe, if your purpose, your very being, can be summed in your silly name, you’re far better off than someone with a sad and/or meaningless name like, say for instance, Jerry.

On the simple, untainted side of this spectrum exists a vast array of characters proudly announcing themselves as the Aristotelian ideal of people inherently linked to their “final cause,” which Aristotle defined as something’s ultimate purpose.

These characters are completely encapsulated by their names — Stealy steals because that is Stealy’s purpose. Stealy’s end goal isn’t to change, to one day renounce his stealing ways; he will steal forever and host his TV show centered on his stealing adventures. The same goes for Ants-in-my-Eyes Johnson, Eyeholes Man, and Mr. Booby Buyer#. Ants-in-my-Eyes Johnson and Eyeholes Man brand themselves for their businesses, providing mascots for an electronics store and breakfast (?) cereal (?) respectively, but Mr. Booby Buyer, well, he just buys boobies. Even when rejected by a happily-boobied waitress, he doesn’t seem all that broken up by it; there will always be more, and he will always have a purpose.

Totally alien and completely within their respective niches, they are happy.

However, when Rick and Morty’s conflict-bringing protagonists stumble in, these self-descriptive characters feel the aftershocks.

Sleepy Gary, a sleepy, caring parasite posing as Jerry’s constantly-pajamaed male lover, and Scary Terry, an off-brand Freddy Krueger, only have their existence-defining adjectives destroyed after the Smith family’s interference: Gary is shot to death by Beth after reminding Jerry of his lost happiness with his last breath, and Terry brings his frustration at unsuccessful Rick & Morty-cide home with him, upsetting his Scary (yet still understanding) family. The Meeseeks, maybe the most purposed beings in the show’s history, have their entire natural cycle of death and rebirth threatened by Jerry’s incompetence.

For them, the schisms between methods to improve Jerry’s golf swing sound like theological arguments for how best to answer the question of life’s meaning — because that’s exactly what they are.


Ultimately, our heroes are often the philosophical villains of the show, which means that as the series has gone on, Morty has been forced to absorb multiple moral perspectives.

Take, for example, the episode with Unity — a utilitarian collective hivemind and Rick’s former lover who controls minds and forms alliances for the greater good. Her continued infatuation with Rick’s complete moral detachment serves as the main complication in her quest to create a completely peaceful society, impelling Morty to reckon with dizzying philosophical concepts like individual freedom v. communal welfare and the potential negative consequences of extreme romantic obsession. Not to mention, his grandfather hang-gliding into stadiums full of naked redheads wearing only a crotchless Uncle Sam costume…

That may sound like a lot of 14-year-old kid to take in, but at this point Morty’s now seen (and learned from) the various destructions Rick has wrought plenty of times before.

As he lambasts Rick for meddling with utopian affairs, he scoffs at Summer’s panic amid the chaos: “First race war, huh?

Morty’s burgeoning morality in Season Two — most prominently displayed during his quest to save the sentient gas cloud named Fart from assassination — has been defined by Kierkegaard as a “leap,” who argues that while life clearly makes no sense, one must make his or her own values in an indifferent world. While his mission to preserve Fart’s life succeeds, Morty realizes at its culmination that it wasn’t the right thing to do, even though it made conventional ethical sense, facing down his own selfishness and rejecting heroics for heroics’ sake.

Over the course of the series, Morty has figured out how to live meaningfully in respect to finite things (like TV) despite his vulnerability to life’s (and Rick’s) dangerous randomness. By forming his own moral code in the wild west of infinite universes and space travel, he’s been able to bridge the philosophical gap between the desultory nonsense of humankind and the pre-defined euonyms living completely fulfilled lives, and if the final episode is any indicator, he has taken it upon himself to be the liaison between the sincerity of an alien universe and the bitterness of an apathetic alcoholic.

Whether or not this will save him from his family’s neuroses remains to be seen, but that defiant act of earnest hope means his search for purpose — the ultimate goal of a Rick and Morty character — progresses forward, and thus remains one of the most intriguing aspects of this story.




Thank you so much for reading! We hope you enjoyed this experience as much as we did.

Bryce Rudow (@brycetrudow)
Jacob Oller (@jacoboller)
Danny Sullivan (@sannydullivan)

And then we’re gonna go on even more adventures after that, Morty. And you’re gonna keep your mouth shut about ’em, Morty. Because the world is full of idiots that don’t understand what’s important, and they’ll tear us apart, Morty. But if you stick with me, I’m going to accomplish great things, Morty. And you’re going to be a part of them. And together we’re going to run around, Morty, and we’re going to do all kinds of wonderful things, Morty. Just you and me, Morty. The outside world is our enemy, Morty. We’re the the only friends we’ve got, Morty. It’s just Rick and Morty. Rick and Morty and their adventures, Morty. Rick and Morty forever. And for 100 years, Rick and Morty some things. Me and Rick and Morty running around. Rick and Morty time all day long forever. 100 days Rick and Morty forever 100 times, over and over. RickandMortyAdventures.com. www.RickandMorty.com, www.RickandMortyAdventures, all 100 years. EveryMinuteRickandMorty.com. www.100TimesRickandMorty.com