Community

"Between two groups of people

"who want to make inconsistent kinds of worlds,

I see no remedy but force."

Oliver Wendell Holmes.

There was a point where all I saw were feathers.

Then I started swinging.

And then I hit something and heard someone fall.

Could've been somebody from my side.

In 2012, Greendale Community College

was the site of the largest and longest pillow fight

in community college history.

It shaped and scarred the landscape of their campus

and forever changed the lives of those involved.

A health care administration student,

who turned the storage room into a sanctuary for soldiers

with broken glasses and lightly grazed testicles.

A high school dropout and amateur photographer

whose borrowed camera would capture

some of the war's blurriest, most poorly framed moments.

A disgraced former lawyer

whose words would inspire tens of students

to take up pillows and fight,

most likely to avoid an upcoming test.

A loving wife and mother who would prove to be

as skilled at kicking asses as she was at wiping them.

The dried-up heir to a moist towelette empire,

who would prove to be the dried-up heir

to a moist towelette empire.

The sensitive high school quarterback

who became commander in chief of his own army.

He would later say of the war, "it was awesome,

but also, it wasn't."

And his socially dysfunctional best friend

turned bitter rival,

an uncompromising tactical mastermind feared by all

yet unable to pay parking tickets

or know left from right

without mouthing the pledge of allegiance.

The rift in their friendship would carry their school

into a conflict lasting days,

costing hundreds of dollars

and resulting in over 12 transfers.

There are people who say, "I don't get it.

So it was a pillow fight,"

to which I say...

"You weren't there."

Jeffrey, you have to come mediate Troy and Abed.

They look up to you. What's with the film crew?

- Don't worry about that. - Oh, I am worried about that.

If there's one thing I've learned at this place,

it's that a film crew means disaster.

Okay, they are here to document

Greendale's guinness record,

which you are going to make sure we get

by talking to Troy and Abed right now.

- This is your fault. - No, it's your fault.

- This is your fault. - Your fault.

- Your fault! - Your fault!

Okay, I've got good news for both of you.

Neither of you has to apologize because what you're doing

is equally ridiculous.

So here's the solution I'm pitching.

I'm giving you two imaginary Friendship Hats

that automatically make you friends again.

Are we done?

Sorry, Jeff, but this matter's a little more serious than that.

No, it's not.

You're children acting like grown-ups.

I mean, it's fine.

But just don't pretend it's anything but that.

Troy Barnes and Abed Nadir.

Friends so close, they once graced the cover

of Friends Weekly, a pretend magazine of their own design.

Earlier that day, they begin construction

on a fort made of pillows.

Its name... New Fluffytown.

Its goal... to be a newer, fluffier town than Fluffytown,

their blanket fort from the previous year.

New Fluffytown don't care who you were.

You were surrounded by softness.

It's just like crawling through a hug.

Well...

I guess all hugs have to come to an end.

When an opportunity arises for a world record,

it creates a rift.

Troy wants to go for the record

using blankets for rapid expansion.

Abed insists on pillows,

declaring world records to be dumb.

Troy declares the Declaration Lame,

stating that thinking records are dumb is stupid.

He secedes from New Fluffytown

and begins constructing Blanketsburg

on the other side of the campus.

Abed renames his fort Pillowtown

for the sake of conceptual symmetry.

Both forts expand until both are in each other's way.

Study Room "F," 3:00 P.M.,

things quickly reach their boiling point.

- You stand back. - Watch it, Star-Burns.

My name is Alex!

A softly lobbed, hypoallergenic sealy select

in a floral print case

collides with a load-bearing broomstick,

collapsing a queen-sized section of blanket fort.

It was later named "The Study Room Kerfuffle."

Protect everyone! Protect Pillowtown!

Jeffrey, you're not mediating.

Ah, Dean, what do you want me to say, huh?

I mean, some conflicts are so pointless,

they just have to play themselves out.

Fine.

The Legit Republic of Blanketsburg

says Pillowtown has until midnight tonight

to surrender its territory.

The United Forts of Pillowtown declines the request.

It's not a request.

I'm giving you an "all tomato,"

meaning that you give me the whole tomato or else.

Or else what?

See you at midnight.

Oh, my God.

Do people go to classes?

The deadline divides friendships,

families, even study groups.

Pierce Hawthorne takes Troy's side,

citing that Abed is weirder and more foreign.

Shirley Bennett decides her allegiance

in a text message to her husband.

I'll be home late, sugar boots.

Abed hurt Troy's feelings by being a robot.

Need to stay with my boy to make sure

Britta doesn't put him on the weed.

Please record forensic files.

Troy appoints Shirley Bennett

as his second-in-command, at which point,

Pierce switches to Abed's side.

There were those who thought that midnight might come and go,

and nothing would happen.

Well, I was in Korea, and I knew the sound of crap

when it was about to hit the fan.

You know what it sounded like?

That's right, Jackson.

Silence.

Midnight comes, and a campus holds its breath.

I know there's a lot of blanket stackers

and pillow packers out there

thinking it's going to go down tonight.

But there's a lot of us folks from the scene in between

saying, "Hey, we're all looking to chill out

and lay down with someone special."

This is real Neil with pipes of steel,

signing of with the smooth sounds

of daybreak.

I gotta get this on film.

I am straight trouncing spaz in go fish.

Dude, what are you doing?

Don't record this.

Wait, did you hear that?

What the hell is that?

12:07 A.M.

Blanketsburg soldiers charge a pillow fort in the library.

The pillowtonians move quickly to defend.

There were no rules in that first battle.

You hit someone, and if they went down,

you stop hitting them.

Call that Common Courtesy.

Then what if they get up?

Do you maybe keep hitting them till they learn to stay down?

We call that Common Sense.

The battle lasts six minutes.

No territory changes hands.

Blanketsburg has drawn first blood.

Pillowtown will draw First Blood part II.

Citizens of Blanketsburg, I ask you now

to prepare for war.

And I ask Garrett to please fix the microphone on my laptop.

It's doing that thing again.

The United Forts of Pillowtown

and the Legit Republic of Blanketsburg

are at war,

each side attempting to kick down and replace the other.

The unmoving line between them

is a campus-wide, fleece-laden strip

of pillow-to-pillow combat.

Britta Perry attempts to capture

the war's sublime indignities on film.

Unfortunately for Britta

and millions of photographers like her,

just because something is in black and white

doesn't mean it's good.

Rules are agreed upon, but casualties are inevitable.

Outside the science lab,

at the Battle of Big Bulletin Board,

Pierce Hawthorne suffers broken glasses,

a hurt finger, and erectile dysfunction,

which, in his words, had never happened ever

before that battle.

"Pillows, but no sleep.

"Feathers, but no birds.