A figure in the background grumbles and contemplates, rhythmically plucking their feet from the ground. âMy genius is the only thing holding this cultural wasteland together,â he thinks to himself. A sobbing boy is embraced by one person, then another and another, but the figure remains stationary aside from their comforting rhythm. âMy genius is the only thing holding this cultural wasteland together,â he affirms aloud.
Itâs open to interpretation. Squidward is uncomfortable and repeats a delusion to himself while in the presence of an unrelated outpouring of support. The rest is up to you.