hello. my name is Mickey Bump. i don't get many quiet moments so while i have one i'd like to reintroduce myself again to the universe. i have been greatly misunderstood but such is the lot for great minds. i can't feel that great mind anymore by the way cos my head has been pumped with so many drugs by my father.
Jose: not to mention crazy ideas.
hey, they thought Galileo was crazy.
Jose: have another taco, boss.
not saying i'm in the same league. but i did name a hotel after him. the point is i see clearly. the knife rain is gone. all my life i've been given what i want. so i don't take no for an answer. i'm not distracted with sounding right...
Jose: *fingers shaped in a megaphone* WRONG!
...no, right and stop interrupting. i see a path and immediately cross the bridge. except there are no more bridges. we stopped building buildings. we got bogged down with twitter talk and no action. i don't care anymore. the time for tough talk is over. i will simply do it. i got the semen for it. thanks Hilary.
Hilary: no problem, take two and call me in the morning in America. i like it back here. nice and quiet. i can study my book.
don't make me break your glasses you nebbish! take a whiff. look outside through the narrow window i slit open. smell that peephole. it's nature. it's the open. when i
even i can be a better man. i'm smart enough to recognize i'm dumb. i may not show it but i want the things you want. i want what i want. i believe in an impossibility called the possible. and do you know how i know anything's possible? cos Kevin Garnett said so. i trust a man who knows balls.
wait, is this another drug?
Hilary: it's fine. the finest. it's a statin. worked wonders for me. it's a miracle drug.
i'm catching the man flu from you. but i'll be okay tomorrow. o how precious the morrow.
the Pope: and what of all the women?
i'll get to you. i'm going alphabetically. you can have my sloppy seconds in the interim. take a chill pill. and a captain's wafer and some aged vanilla you've earned it. what can i say? i want what i want. de gustibus non est disputandum.
Jose: que? i don't understand your language. you disparage my country with what you did to her and all the rest.
NO WAY! but honestly, hombre y hombre, bitches be crazy. they say i hate women but that's not true. i hate all women but one. never cared for that whole power dynamic thing. i like the power but i'm not dynamic. i can read body language and yours says you'd rather be at a dentist's appointment.
Jose: you're holding me prisoner against my will. which *sigh internally* used to be illegal. it's just weird that you are walled off here. literally. your office is a rotunda wall, a literal turret, the Irish round tower.
gotta protect myself. that's what happens when the universe hates you. and it does, Codrus told me himself. i built it myself. with just my two large bare hands. no one else bothered. see i like to have dirty hands.
Jose: where'd you find the time? i'm a newsman.
you must make time for the things you cherish. brick by brick. solid. but there's board games and stuff to keep us indoors. Adventure Time Monopoly. and instagram. man what is up with the gram lately? y'know? if it's not the boxing to everyone wanting to suddenly be an airline pilot to balloons and weddings and wedding balloons...
Hilary: *tongue out* fuck it! yuck! i hate the wedding!
no, Phuket. nah i love weddings! they're hopeful.
Codrus: did you do the thing?
Hilary: yes sir. i negotiated the Russian peace treaty all on my blackberry. *ring ring* that me?
the Pope: that's me, dear, remember we switched phones when we fucked. we share the same number now. that was one good schtup. oh may i be excused? i gotta take this, Gaga is complaining again that i stole her identity...
Hilary: love what you've done with the earth! that whole recycling number plot was genius! ingenius! no it was outgenius!
Codrus: of course it was. i invented genius. literally. but did you see the thing i did with the money?
Hilary: *cackle* heehee. finally a good use for coins! but how is this possible?
you mean you never played in an arcade? skipped school and hung out at 7-Eleven? seeing how big my bubblebum bubble got, as big as a ball, and placing that balloon in the tirerack? putting my wad into the slot. we're talking about public phones here...
1. are you more likely to ask someone on a date or a hook-up?wanna fuck? is always my opening line. to everyone. the waiter asked me what i'd like. we're an item now. 2. how do you ask someone out? dunno, i've never been outside. 3. when you think about sex, what do you think of most? that very large barn behind the drive-in 4. name two things you appreciate about your current relationship? i'm single so my soul always feels so light and free and well-rested in the morning, ready to soar to the next possibility. after a full day of flying my soul comes back home exhausted to an empty lonely apartment with three months' back rent due and has to take a pill for the crushing depression. the pill helps him sleep. 5. name three things that most excite your imagination: sleeping 24 hours a day, the creation of a 48-hour day so we could all get our shit done, and instagram DMs. see nothing would change, it would still be two days but it would be counted as one day so Wednesday would have to go cos that was always the hardest one to spell.
bonus: if you had three wishes that would come true, what would they be? let's just bring back everyone who died in 2016 and have a party. a zombie party. happy halloween.
* *MUAH MUAH MUAH MUAH* oH i love my blog i love my blog! blessed be here on this frigid Friday afternoon, wasn't looking good this morning. apparently you actually gotta pay your cable bill.
* that's it. it's done. after this they've covered all the topics. no more subjects to explore. there's no coming back from clowns.
* i wanted to talk about Pagliacci the sad clown............................but it got too depressing.
* clowns are creepy cos they wear all that makeup. go natural i say. be you.
* i'm goth but i'm too lazy to wear makeup.
* Gordon Ramsay's gonna be pissed.
* woman clown is hot. not sure if this has more to do with her being a woman or being a clown.
* this isn't disturbing, this is inspiring! i love clowns! clowns are people too! i'm a sucker for a spotlight.
* it's a common misconception that clowns can't dance on account of their ridiculously oversized shoes. that is not true as you can see. stereotypes hurt. this is the most socially-conscious show on television.
* taking pills can mean so many things...
* prayer is the best telephone.
* looking for a place i can spread my butter on my buns you catchin' my drift patna?
* shut it down! shut the whole place down i'm working out. look buddy your motel will be ruined in the process but this is serious business. i'm a professional cowpoke. if i don't stay fit your entire town will be run aground by stampeding buffalo.
* bout to be Mad Max up in this Nevada desert bitch you feel me blood?
* dinner with your family? yeah but it's just McDonald's, man, it's just clown food.
* required Monty Python intermission
* next time take the clown car. roomier.
* Dragon Ball C
* he's here for the birthday party. his birthday party.
* this entire last sequence with the unnerving flying clown and the manual laborer and the dogs and the dude with the dude on the bike can all be summed up in one word: Murica.
for Carmen, life was a marathon. she was always running. climbing up the ladder. looking down wasn't scary, she preferred it to looking back. it wasn't so much about accomplishment as staying ahead of the disaster that was roiling behind her, rolling down the pike, this thing that kept her up at night. she felt it in her pre-wiccan bones, she knew that any success she presently enjoyed was a distraction dustdevil which spun the boys up a little before the avalanche hit. and this thing was solely for her, it needed to be, it needed to hit her hard and turn her world upside down so she would lose her identity wholly. that's the only way to move ahead. when the path behind you is blocked by boulders. and that's exactly what happened. not because she was a woman. because she was a Carmen. the landslide hit and she lost her brother, the one person she loved other than herself. and the cats, the cats, though in fairness they were his cats, he was the lifer, she humored him. Carmen: not a cat person, well not an animal person, not out of a lack of empathy but a lack of time. she became a cliche. the woman who packs all her things into one Birkin bag and heads for the hills in search of a new life. but she loved it. she loved being outside. and it is exciting when you have nowhere to go, no schedule to maintain, no hours to squeeze blood-dry like the rest of us. boring but exciting.
she founded herself in the isle of Australia cos she figured this was the land of the rejects, the discarded, those with no place to go. she blew her life savings in one load on a planetrip that promised to just keep going, going, going until it ran out of fuel. before it crashed to a watery grave she jumped out of the plane and parachuted to a remote isle in the tropics, smackdab on a dot of the ITCZ. it was so peaceful she ran out of spontaneous meditations. and so boring she decided to learn a new religion to add structure to her life.
and thus, she became a witch. because all women in this world eventually become witches. they have to, they have to retain their power in the only way left. especially now with the world ending, they had to harness Mother Earth in a way only they knew how, passed down secretly from a violated pilgrim girl to her burned daughter, from the oppressed through the ages struggling to be smart and naked and free, liberated, who could laugh again cos they were funny, write music which gilded the Lilith, be tomgirls, not tomboys. be proud of their flabby core stretched thin to feed the earth. they had to grant our last and most fervent wish, one dug deep down in our DNA when we're born, the survival instinct so powerful as to stop suicide. these beautiful strong powerful women had to repopulate another planet. start over. bring forth a new identity using the old concepts. in space. and time was upon them.
Carmen: alright dearies, baked goods almost done. get the wicker baskets out, the loom is hot and my golden strands have turned a silver white. my feet have grown feet they hurt so much. standing here for hours slaving over a hot stove. but i am hot. and this is my role. this is how i help the team. this is what i'm good at.
guilty as a lady leaving the scene of a crime, Carmen plucks the damsons from the same tree providing the rocket wood. she gathers the one egg for the egg in the basket in her basket, she's good friends with the goose, they had an affair and the goose never lets her forget it by supplyin' her and plying her with free eggs from the goose's butt from time to time. Carmen cooks the toad in the hole. yes it's true the toad and the frog were friends but they had a bitter falling out when the toad said he liked the frog warts and all. Carmen hasn't forgotten her roots and casts a little spell when everyone is looking not at her but at the living room fire onto her own thumbprint to make the hallongrotta cookies. she saves the best for last, manipulating the dough made crusty and dry from the outside fires into fruit susans, named after Madchen's lost sister. Carmen will treat Madchen with them when the two find a quiet moment later tonight. Carmen will not tell Madchen what the cookies are called.
Carmen puts up her feet on the hanging wire egg basket and relaxes. she can barely spy through the dark doorway to her closet next to her knotty broom on top of a pile of furniture boxes her white running shoes which are now decidedly black. they look like the eyes of a faded ghost. she also sees another pair of eyes, that of Mother Earth!
Mother Earth: leavin' on a jet plane? don't be startled, child, don't move and i won't move, i like cramped quarters, keeps me hidden from those that would do me harm. i hate the outdoors. besides doesn't my instagram butterfly-tiara look nice on me? i made it real. don't want to knock it off with unnecessary movements.
Carmen: my heavenly, i bow to you, i beg you, what do i do?
Mother Earth: fuck if i know. you only find out when you die. until then you bungle around hoping to add light to darkness and not disturb too many bungholes. look at me. or rather look at my sister Mother Nature. she has drunk so much sap from so many trees over the years even her most ardent devotees were starting to call her a slut. the humans who are more secular had to intervene when infighting broke out among the fairy supporters. she claims that she needed to try everything that was out there.
Carmen: you're lucky to have a sister.
Carmen's tears have covered her ears. she doesn't hear her words but more the intention behind them. Carmen gets tangled in the wire mesh of the hanging egg basket and hits her head on the soft mud floor. in this upside-down state she gets up to pray, looking one last time out her window:
Mother Earth: oh my child, my light elf, i am so proud of you!
and they both disappear for awhile.
_________________________
there is a lot of activity in the Cream House in this last remaining day. a lot of bustle that sounds and furies but doesn't add up to much. of course only Codrus knows it's the last day.
Hilary: but wait, sir, don't you already know the future? and there are countless other futures. perhaps one where Mickey Bump legitimately becomes the next President. or one where the earth doesn't explode and harden into a big gooey ball of massless glue?
Codrus: i like your moxie, kid, you got spunk! you are much more inquisitive about the universe around you than some people i know. *rolls eyes at Bump*
Bump: *on his instagram* hey my insta is broken. it's full of terminally-depressed people doing repetitive nonsensical things and talkin' crazy who are all gonna commit suicide soon. i mean who the hell wants to watch other people working out at the gym! just cos you have a nice body don't mean the sex is better. even i know that. take me. please. *points to his temple* sex is all up here in the head, and i got a big hairy one that's worth its weight in gold. Stan Wawrinka is correct, it's all about the mind. your body is your temples. *Bump points to his temples*
Bump: btw all my blonde bombshells called me The Stanimal in bed. love combing through all the horse pics, though. and i'm not talking about Hilary's account, teehee. do not delete your account. hey boss, how'd i do in the first debate? i know it got a big number i knows that for sure.
Codrus: you don't remember? it was the highest-rated show of all time. no show will ever come close to those numbers. throw all the Super Bowls and the M*A*S*H finale into a pot, stir vigorously, and you won't come close to conjuring the magic of that show. the last of its kind. and i know that for sure.
Bump: heehee
Matthew Chris barges through the doors and puts up his dukes.
Matthew: let's settle this man to man. old school Catholic like they did on the mean streets of Philly. put up your duchesses!
Bump: me?
Matthew: no, Hilary, i see what's going on here. collusion in Washington shaking my damn head. never saw such a disgrace when i worked here. don't blame the staff, never blame the staff! they never know anything, it's always the poison head of the snake at the top. it was a hell of a time finding you, all the power centers of the world together in one room, i wanted to see the Pope about something else and they said she'd be here. isn't that a bit dangerous?
Codrus stifles a chuckle from the corridor.
Matthew: come on Hil let's go, i'm gonna toughen you up, make you a fighter, you are our only fighter for us.
the security drones extend their tongs and pick Matthew up. okay ten security drones are needed to escort Mr. Chris out.
as Matthew Chris is led out to the shirt store, well flown out, he keeps repeating, "America won't buy this shit. America don't want this shit. America don't need this shit. this is not the time for this shit..."
par for the course at this place, the greeting line extends. more and more people are kicked out.
Billy Bob Thornton breaks through the window to recover the vials of Angelina Jolie's blood that have been secured at Fort Knox.
Bump: just in case the vampires attack us.
Billy Bob: i need those! you don't understand, I NEED THOSE! I MUST FEED!!! I GOT A SECOND CHANCE!!!!!!
the Pope: poor Brad Pitt. i would have loved to have taken him up to my private chambers and converted him.
Bump: what happened?
Hilary: you don't know? he died of a broken heart after Angie's passing.
Billy Bob: YES AND THE FLUID WILL REVIVE HER!!!!!!
Bump: what? get outta here. stop invading my personal space. sex is sex whether it's with a zombie or a non-zombie. get this weird smelly skinny dude outta here.
Bump gets a call from the Bat phone. it's from Lieu from his hospital bed. after a few flubbed international negotiations, Lieu is allowed through the front door. Lieu is still chained to his hospital bed.
Bump: who are you?
Lieu: the only black man who'll work with you. you told me over the phone you were willing to sign the bill. it grants universal health coverage for anyone in the world who's suffering from a mental illness. sign here, here, and here.
Bump: okay okay okay. *signs*
Lieu: GOT 'EM! you just granted universal health insurance to every single person on the planet! according to a recent Harvard study, everyone who lives in the world suffers with a psychological disease because living itself is a mental illness! finally this country catches up and becomes socialist like the rest of the world. we aren't special anymore!
Bump: *puts his hands up* hey who am i to argue with Harvard? a lot of smarties over there. they know way more than me. but like i said, i surround myself with the best people. this country is lucky to have such people acting as a wall against ignorance.
Lieu: not anymore. that was their last study. the Harvard campus and all surrounding premises burned down in the fire. this is the last building left standing in the world with any standing.
Bump: suck it, Harvard, you entitled elites!
and the streets ran with actual blue blood...
--------------------------------
the cottage runs on the reinforcing rhythm of everyone working together. a natural bustle shields the hill from the outside world. in this inner life Herlina is heard in the background tinkering and tonkering fashioning the hull of the rocketship of the last group's collective new faith. she puts down her silver nippers for a smoke break as Carmen pins Herlina to the tree with her hug.
Carmen: hold on..............used your nippers to stir the spaghetti pot.
a frog croaks.
Carmen: what a night! what a day. we work but then we play. together. we are strong. break off that branch over there, the ol' girl won't mind, she is stripping, exposing her body to us so that we might be saved. she is giving her all so we must do the same. whatever our capacity. not for the fame but for the pain. take a puff off that sucker. it is said that your intention determines what smoke emits from it. mine earlier was a pale evil ghastly red smoke that i will discuss with Lysander first thing tomorrow morning.
a butterfly flies by chasing a sandpiper.
Carmen: go on, dear.
Herlina smokes her stick and a batch of cute little bathtub bubbles come out of it.
Carmen: while i was dating El Chapo i had a sidepiece. wonderful plain man who treated me right. great great great grandson of Earl Carroll. and he was great. i put his life in danger i know but there's no love without danger as Angelina Jolie would always say. our clandestine dates were magical, so peaceful, the happiest i've ever been outside the family. i would hug him and we would be transported back in time to the old Earl Carroll Theatre. i looked at that big beautiful sign on the front entrance, that flapper girl, i imagined what her life must have been like, and suddenly the sign would burn up the night sky with its limitless energy, lighting up its neon letters:
THROUGH THESE PORTALS PASS THE MOST BEAUTIFUL GIRLS IN THE WORLD
1. do you think being a sex worker is as legitimate a work option as being an accountant? yes. but not as exciting.
2. which of these rules would you follow if your lover had to have it followed in order to be aroused? a) wear socks b) lights on c) tv playing, volume up d) complete darkness
i'd never be so rude as to have the tv playing while having sex. unless it was the Duckworth pilot. PLEASE put the full eleven minutes on your website, adult swim. it is nowhere to be found online. i even looked through the dank memes. it's that episode of Celebrity Jeopardy! with Al Franken all over again. Al Franken looks disappointed because he really wanted to be funnier but his fellow Senators don't get his humor.
3. you're planning an evening of sex with your lover. what have you planned for the evening? we go back to my place and search for my lost planner.
4. one of you is DTF but the other is not. you give that one 24 hours to get in the mood before masturbating. would this work? no. a LOT can happen in one day as Jack Bauer has shown us. terrorism kinda ruins the mood.
5. it's the year 2016 but there's still some sort of magical number placed on folk that delineates them into those that like sex like a normal person from those that are promiscuous. what's your number? according to a recent UK report more than 15 sexual conquests for a man can be off-putting while more than 14 sexual encounters for a woman may give a potential suitor pause.
don't know anything about this. numbers confuse me. not a Math Major. my Sleep Number is 42.
the first mascot didn't work out. he was cutting into profits by eating the merchandise. and he stole that bike from "his good friend" Ronald. turns out he wasn't a mascot at all but one of the colorful homeless characters who lined the streets in those days before the War. Vinny the Vagrant they called him. pleasant most of the time just don't call him short.
here is a decisive victory for Burger King. Dan Cortese is my hero. Dan Cortese taught me how to be a '90s man. i wasn't sure flipping my Dodgers cap backwards would be cool, it felt kinda funny, but Dan assured me it was. later i had no problems when i applied for my first job as a mechanic.
are you kidding me? McDonald's pulls way ahead! you think you can come in here and evoke the lonely Sunday afternoons out of my nostalgic heart and not suffer any consequences?
funny thing about time. it never stands still. it's one where then another. as soon as you think you're progressing naturally, retro is in. you think this immutable fact has happened, this thing which marks a point in the stars which no blue box can contain, but as soon as you get out your pencil to outline it, it's already moved. all of these events have happened before, in perfect synchronicity, in writer-speak outline perfect reference unison, connecting all the dots marked in pen. but all of these events haven't happened yet. just ask Codrus.
take Madchen. she is at the foot of a volcano but at the peak of her powers. her mourning mother powers. she raises her arms in a kind of mockery of the V sign and lets it all out. her blue eyes turn red. her soft mound of a mouth becomes the conduit of all of Mother Earth's pain. it spews a kind of guttural green-brown lava that is untouched by man but touched by woman deep within the earth's undiscovered crust, the primal stuff from which we were all born. it cascades with an unfossilized rage, spreading to all the four corners, coating the ice caps with a protective layer, reseeding the sod, rearranging the sods, transplanting them to other places beside their safe hometowns forcing them to see through exotic eyes. the globe is a marble regenerating, tired of the old ways but tired also of the solution. when the world was one. literally. one tectonic plate wanting to return to the simpler time when there was no need to find a way.
Madchen: today is Gold Star Mothers' Day.
that was when her world ended
take Codrus. at this very same moment in "time" the casual dictator has donned his Fiddler cap and pointed his ever-growing finger at the ol' White House.
Codrus: this is for my ol' Cornwallian home. here's the counterrevolution you inbred ingrates!
he explodes the House in an unusual way. it uproots apart from the bottom in a fireball of blue but not from an explosion. he literally transforms the House into the volcano that was standing there in its place originally at the start of prehistoric Earth. the volcano spews the same blue lava which in this case begins pumping the oil lines and offbeat paths and bicycle routes and cloverleaf interchanges full of a viscous gooey sickly brown glue. this substance is worse than drugs, it's permafrost but it's permanent. it covers each layer of good from Madchen with a layer of too-good. green becomes a relative color and the icecaps melt so fast only the deep divers out exploring as is their wont survive. those with the burden of a heavy helmet on their head. never wanting for courage. the courage to learn. the entire earth is swallowed up into a tight grey rubber-band ball which allows no room for growth. the earth was the humans' jail all along.
Codrus: heehee. climate change, was it ever real? moot point now. the sky is over. no more layers. we all return to the water don't we? even us humans with wings. but i can't keep this up, my hand is getting tired. hmm, that's what lackeys are for.
Codrus transfers the unrelenting glue to the first struggling mouse person he sees on the ground, who just happens to be Mickey Bump viciously kicked off his horse. Mickey tries one last time with a hand gesture to will himself up and finally speak his truth but all that comes out is glue. the glue that will seal his fate and those of his fellow believers. not believers in him but believers in humanity. believers in heroes. in not the first hundred days but of the next. believers in hope.
the press crew are trying their darnedest to keep on their feet by kneeling. Jorge Ramos leads the charge as Bump gives a quizzical look at the useless show in front of him.
Jorge: my friends in the media and my real friends, we must not relent. don't give up don't ever give up. the way we respond to this gutteral campaign is a mark on our souls. we will be judged on how we decided to fight the menace in front of us. or if we surrendered our inconvenient truths. try try try. Viva La Raza!!!
everyone tries to touch their knees to the ground but by now the golden air layer of Stones dust generating from the blue canton box of the American flag is too much and crushes all dissidents, bending them to the Will of Codrus and forcing them to salute. Bump sighs out of that signature rich boredom.
Bump: Jorge, i love you. *makes the heart with the hands sign* amigo te amo. you helped me early on. that was a good show i can tell yous that. got the entertainment thing kickstarted. got a packed schedule today as you can imagine. people making lists for me so i don't forget. but honestly the only thing i'm looking forward to is lunch! join me in the Cream Commissary with the whole gang for a core burrito, stop by in your taco truck, free parking in the rotunda, we validate! i'm getting sick of these taco bowls i have to eat.
there, at the Cream House Drawing Room, Bernie is flapping the face of Hilary on the couch with his National Geographic Nude Special magazine.
Bernie: they had to use the special crane. they pried open the roof of the bathroom nice and clean the way the TouCan can opener attacks a can, from the bottom up, removing the entire top not just the lid. this is my big break!
Hilary: not so fast, old man. shit i'm old, too. when did we get so old?
Codrus: i wouldn't know. Hilary, the people are begging to see you!
Hilary: i can't. i'm all a-flustered. i'm coming down with something. or something is coming down on me. i'm in love! with the Pope!
Bernie faints and takes a long hard nap.
Codrus: it is fascinating to watch you folk grow frail. not being able to rely on your bodies anymore. what then do you rely on? poor ol' grandpa didn't take his pneumonia pills.
the Pope: *wiping her mouth and continuing her darning of booties* there are pneumonia pills? damn. what wonders of science!
Codrus: there are pills for everything. but they merely assuage the symptoms, never attack the root problem.
Bump: i take pills for my migraines. get horrible headaches from having to carry around this hair all day. and the fact that my head is literally pumping drugs into my brain doesn't help matters.
Jorge: your head hurts, sir, from all the nightmares in your mind. not that anyone cares about a person like me but i took pills to learn English. can we get this over with? i'm really uncomfortable in mixed company.
Bump: right this way, senor.
and the two bosom buddies lead into Bump's new walled-off tributary of a circular room with a view of the rotunda and not much else. a flat-earth globe is next to the red Bat Phone. the Tributary Conservatory it's called. for some spicy paella.
*knock knock*
Bump: awww dad, i'm with my friend. what is it?
Codrus: address me with the proper tone, old man. it's the biz. you got beeswax in your ears. are you attending? will you be seen?
Bump: fine. where do i have to sign?
Codrus: here, here, and here...great. so you authorized Ryan Lochte to go into hiding witness protection, promoted Gary Johnson to Ambassador to Aleppo, and declared war on Iran effectively starting WWIII. last one's just for me. it won't happen, time is up, but the thought of another world war, the war to end all wars, melts my heart and will keep me warm at night long after the earth is toast. not the earth night, the universe night, heehee. midnight snack in the galley if you get peckish after the show. leftover paneer from the gala banquet tonight.
Bump: why wasn't i invited? im the fucking President.
Codrus: it was for GSF, your real vice-president, the one i chose in secret to govern. as a joke of course.
Bump: GSF? Game Show Farce?
Codrus: Gold Star Father. you know the funny dude with the nice tan whose name no one could remember to pronounce? yeah everyone calls him by his lovable nickname. we needed someone to root for round here after the RGIII debacle. he would have made a great resident, i mean president. but we'll never know.
Bump harangues a bit more about hating his life then slams his door, jumps into his bed, and pulls the covers over his large head. the covers is his autographed poster of Hilary at his wedding. Jorge stares at the speed-painting of Bump in the room for a second then tries to jump over the fence to freedom.
__________________________
at the Wizard of Oz show:
Oz: i'm a licensed registered medical television doctor. we have here a manila envelope of your results. anything you want to get off your chest before i continue?
Bump: *continuously folding and unfolding his hands* my heart. that's a nice suit you're wearing. one of mine? i got factories all over the world. nah i'm good. i'm in perfect health you'll see. i eat junk food all the time not fazed.
Oz: you are what you eat. but that's what they say i wouldn't know. i'm kind of a charlatan truth be told. in it for the show. can't hide it anymore with all these drones in tow. and now we....raise the curtain!
Ivanka, who now works for the show as a glamour model, appears in a dazzling gold-bead form-fitting dress hugging all of her milf curves with a baby on her back and the folder in her hand.
Ivanka: sorry pop.
Bump: only care about one woman.
Oz: well it reads here that you are indeed pretty spry for an old guy. but that's not what we want to know.
Bump: taxes? too taxing. you don't want that boring stuff, you want to be entertained.
Oz: no. it's the elephant in the room.
Bump: okay there are three parties now, happy?
Oz: no, the flaming goldness on top of your head. who are you working for? what is your real agenda? is it the Russians? you a made man? not a self-made man? you mafia? you a gangsta?
Bump: sure. oh my Russian blokes they are good people. fearless cos they're godless. they look up on the computer anything i need, i'm not tech-savvy you see, i'm more of a concept man. big, broad ideas. heehee just the other day they were laughing about their latest video seeing their enemies' bodies get sawed in half by an errant missile. who are these people getting killed? no one knows. that drone footage nowadays is fucking real, man, anything you want at your fingertips, uncensored, unfiltered, and crystal. even fingertips if you want. battlefield bruises up close and personal, everything is taped now. we got an app that lets you see the blueprints of all our secret underground bunkers. no more spying. no more secrets. we see everyone's parties.
Oz: what is health? what is heart disease but a broken heart? schizophrenia but a bloated brain? too much information but the only information that matters is god. is there a god?
Bump: yeah yeah of course. i work for him! he's my boss! bit of a hardass. he thinks he's god or sumpin but once you get to know him he sheds that biblical veneer. yeah relax it's all taken care of. always been taken care of. we'll be fine. we'll be fine.
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the ladies are conjuring and commencing trail-and-erroring trying to come up with the perfect formula. all the world's fires have locked arms into one large conflagration scorching the entire earth surface that more and more resembles a giant flame which burns angrily despite being alight on the one earth ocean.
Madchen: i can't keep this up much longer i'm only human. i can only talk so much. but ladies, the lava flow is flying up to the sky showing us the bridge out. this is all so weird but i'm going with it. for Hart.
Carmen: good news everyone. i'm working on something here. the mineral of my tree is unknown. it's like simonite but not quite. wish i knew, it would make the rocket-manufacturing process smoother.
Madchen: i don't mind chunky. just build it big enough to hold all of us. *sniff* all of us but my boy. i'd help but my hands are tied.
Herlina: it's okay, things are myths not because of what they are but because someone once believed in them.
Madchen wriggles her arm away for a second enough to touch Carmen's shoulder.
Madchen: hey. look at my fire eyes. i need you. i believe in you, buddy. this isn't a joke religion anymore.
Carmen: got it. *lowers head*
a kokeshi doll washes ashore. Herlina finds it but gives it up to Carmen.
Carmen: okay if i douse this doll with some unani medicine powder i whipped up after i used up all my garlic salt for the spaghetti, that'll do the trick.........no..........
Madchen: *tightening* just swallow your codswallop load and DO IT!
Carmen: *sweating like a man* i profusely DID IT! the doll works!
Madchen: DO IT!
Carmen: right.
Carmen pokes her finger into the forehead of the doll and stretches it to reach the body of Hartwin on the ocean bottom.
Madchen: see the moissanite in his third eye? what color is it?
Madchen: perfect. it blended. it's settled. rip it out and we'll take him with us.
Herlina takes a look around at the world closing in on her. seven hills are forming forming a perimeter against the fired-up dead world outside the circle. on the first hill Madonna hits the remaining human-animal hybrids trying to climb up into her mansion with her microphone. she sings into her mic and it transforms into a gleaming silver sword. on two other hills Weird Al Yankovich and Jesus are shooting back the breeze:
Weird Al: i thought I was weird. you're speaking in tongues. but i can understand you!
Jesus: *sticks out his tongue* people think i'm the King but i'm really the Trickster.
on the fourth hill a phoenix is foraging but the mudflat has turned into a dirt circle. a bit of the redness from its wing has joined with the flame outside and the hill has caught fire. it's too late for the ol' bird. he's resurrecting whether he wants to or not. he transforms into a bennu for a split second then turns into a grey heron squawking like a rubbing saw.
the remaining three hills remain distorted from view.
y'know there was just something about that Bump presidency. it was as if the Earth itself simply wouldn't let it get past the first day.
bonus: my weekend was________, tonight i'm looking forward to_________, tomorrow my plans include_________, and next weekend i want to_______! fuck all. as in fuck in all the blanks. or eating Apple Pringles which turn me into Dr. Phil's wife's pet bird and i cry from my cage that this is not the transformation i meant but all that comes out are chirps and she calls me her favorite purdy birdie and makes me wear a tiny bell and feeds me that disgusting birdseed that tastes like birdseed................but it was all a nightmare, there is nothing to fear, i just got into the party powder a bit early is all. my date is waiting: my good-looking doctor Dr. Phil.
* Sarah: Juan i love kissing you but your car is a piece of shit. we were supposed to go to the movies but we just stayed parked at my house cos it's leaking oil. i really wanted to see The Seventh Seal.
Juan: still with the peppermint i see
* Juan: those are my favorite shorts you wear. just wanted to vocalize that.
* Sarah: here's your peppermint.
she kisses him in the falling snow.
Juan: got any gum?
* Sarah: kinda weird how we're not going to prom together, huh?
* Juan: i'm writing the next great American novel on this wrapper here.
* Sarah: what's with this porn stash?! hundreds and hundreds of boxes of dirty magazines. you have me now.
Juan: i know i'm sorry. but i'm not a pervert. i'm just a man.
Sarah: okay but why did you have to fuck the entire volleyball team!?
Juan: got any gum?
Sarah: GUM WON'T SOLVE THE PROBLEM! GUM CAN'T SOLVE EVERY PROBLEM! I HATE GUM! I FUCKING HATE GUM!
* Sarah: gotta plane to catch. new job.
Juan: don't go.
Sarah: have to. i'm the only provider in this family.
Juan: the gum novel is progressing i promise.
* Sarah: your face looks weird.
Juan: that's just your computer screen. gotta clean it.
Sarah: you eating enough?
Juan: yeah. gum.
* Juan: we gonna fuck finally.
Sarah falls asleep...
* Sarah: oh my god Juan this is fantastic. our history drawn on cute little wrappers. Draw My Love Life! how did you get the booked art museum to lend you this space?
Juan: i didn't. i rounded all the wrappers from all the gum i chewed my entire life into a big rock and threw it at the windows. silent alarm. the cops are on their way. let's wrap this thing up. pun intended. Sarah, will you marry me?
Sarah: of course my love. wait is this a Ring Pop?...
happy weekend. don't get gum stuck in your hair. if you do, peanut butter! eat a peanut butter sandwich and try to think of a way to get gum out of your hair.
it's the story of a lovely lady. who had one son of her own. and this one son was her everything. her lone loneliness lighter. that is so cliche but in this case it was true. he was her pride and joy. for she had none. you always hear of parents saying, "you are the one thing i got right" to their children, the good ones anyway, and for Madchen Hartwin was her excuse to keep on. she poured her endless soul into him in hopes it might purify. she could look herself in the mirror and not expect the crack. everything she had to do, everyone she was escaping, she forgot the past for he had a future face. she could wrap her leaden arms around his tiny head and be swallowed up in a black hole of sublimation. she never understood him, what mother can, but she could always make sure to have the string cheese and saltine goldfish and Hi-C ready for him after school. she justified her existence, he was her yeah, but, he was her shoes. you live long enough and the cracks begin to show. your reasons lose enough threads and get deleted for being old. she is crazy. Mad is in the name. but he was the crazy one. accept he was able to live it whereas she feared it. and now he is gone. and that's the thing with death. the finality. words cannot paper over the caldera. whether you fancy or dumb it's over. there's no going back. for the hole is already white. dems the rules of the pubs, even in this age of magic. last words are the prettiest words, aren't they? what hurts the most is the love that carries on as if nothing has happened. that seems to operate on a separate track. parents are not supposed to bury their kids. because who could ever survive being buried alive?
Harfi: hey! hey! i'm still alive!
Harfi was put on the double-booked doublebill funeral of viking barge pyres cept she was still ticking. she gets out by the hair of her chinny chin chin as she douses her alight hair in the lakewater taking an unexpected underwater swim.
Harfi: (spitting out water like a fountain) is the Demi Moore shaved look for girls back?
speaking of hair, Colin Kaepernick rises his neck from his roots chair and approaches the podium as the last speaker. well the late speaker. he takes the mic from the silver-and-black coiled stand but before he can speak, all the congregants stand up and ovate him. he doesn't need to say a word, his fro glistens in the peeking peaking sun. unknown forces slide the chair from under him. Kaep falls, is removed, but he gets back up and takes a knee for the rest of the ceremony.
Harfi: i need an adult.
Lysander: (checking the scores on his new apple watch with ears buds and no cord) Cotard is in the Admont Abbey library.
Phelps: i think the other woman needs more.
Harfi: there can be more than one woman.
Lochte dances over to her and says, "i'm here."
Harfi: no not a big body but a big mind. and i don't mean smart i mean spiritual. where are the gurus? they have left their native country and taken the mandatory shuttle downtown. they have put on a suit. it's over for humanity. everyone knows that but i mean it's really over for humanity. i seek guidance and goo. salve and sauce. filling with the fire. not bread. i shall confer with the animals, they still get it.
Harfi leans over and begins an extensive conversation with the local coyote, who explains to her that he is a confusing symbol that can either be good or bad on the day you look at him. but he's always magic at night. amongst their topics of scintillation include: how a Trickster is needed to keep the serious King humble and human, meaning in a meaningless universe, and how the local Trickster Fox is his cousin.
at the insane asylum Edward Snowden is allowed to roam the halls freely.
Lieu: what up my nigga. how's it hangin? by a thread? what you in for? heehee. take your meds yet? i'm a shell without my afternoon dose of vanquishing vicodin.
Snowden: i'm not the real Snowden. i mean i am. but i'm not the one galavanting with Putin. that's the impulsive one. i'm the one who takes a thought before he acts. we all have two versions of ourselves. that's what the Stones have made manifest. that's the secret of humanity. and that's why the gods are jealous. the gods only have one version of themselves. boy it must really be nearing soon, the shit is hitting the smelter. i mean the Stones are actually creating two versions of each of us. we're not supposed to air our dirty laundry like this, we're supposed to keep both our selves safely behind the closed door of our one split personality. inside, not outside.
Lieu: i think it's just you, bro. you really need to take your morning meds. like coffee but stronger. now i don't take 'em cos i want to sleep. hey man you started all this and i thank you. we thank you. if we don't challenge the status quo we ain't no diff'rent from the animals ya herd. no worries, you'll get your lives back. next hype.
Snowden: this, too, you shall not pass. i read that in my fevered dream. dreams predict the future. or is it anticipate? i don't know where i'm going with all this. i feel like i'm already dead. i guess that's the feeling of being doomed. it's easy to see the beginning but never the ending. what, am i thinking?
Lieu: it's just a question. right? we're all in the same sinking boat together. how'd you like the film?
Snowden: remember when that Joseph kid was some anonymous annoying brat on that '70s alien show? now we have real aliens to deal with. anyway my voice isn't that low, is it?
at the Cream House Codrus is finishing up a meeting with Anderson. the Russian soldiers mix with the gift-card millionaires all stumbling around the card table counting cards and taking out cards from their digital wallets. they are betting their dirty stacks of captagon. they are playing for the drug of it. Codrus plays penny poker by himself on a different circle. the soldiers already sidelined wrap themselves in nori.
Russian soldiers being interviewed: (in Russian accents) love this stuff. we stole it off our conquest of the mysterious Eastern lands. in New Soviet Russia it's a seaweed wrap for your injured body but then it's a seaweed wrap for your hungry mouth. you eat it! you eat it after it's been drunk with all of your juices. keeps you feeling yourself. i love when it goes down and makes your stomach lining bleed worse.
Anderson gets up to shake all the hands. Codrus rubs Anderson's forehead.
Codrus: thank you, my happy pale friend, you did a fine job as moderator, media sir. we got lobbed all the softballs as planned. i was worried the idiot wouldn't remember his name. here you go.
Codrus still passes the envelope under the table for show. even though there are drones down there.
Anderson: hey this is monopoly money!
Codrus laughs heartily inbetween his swallowing and coughing up of clouds in the sky.
Bump is sulking in the corner.
Bump: post-presidential depression.
Codrus: Hilary, that's enough Honey Hole for today. give the Pope a rest, she needs to attend to matters of debateless state.
Hilary: (wiping her mouth) that was a good sammich.
Codrus: how's the Brexit Fixit going?
Hilary: you know you know. people are too impulsive these days. they really need to think before they send out their opinions.
Codrus: hey boy, i spy with my little third eye an intruder on your grass. and it is your grass, Mr. President. he has a worrying tan. he's an illegal, deport him.
Codrus points Bump's shoulders squarely out the window to a President hobbling around the rotunda from the shrapnel in his right leg.
Codrus: he has what you want. he has the ball. ever see his head? it's small and weirdly-shaped. his head is the ball.
Bump was never one to resist a trance. it's his favorite music. and Codrus is his favorite god. Bump washes away the oversize floor-model suits and long ties and one pair of soiled pants in his floordrobe and picks out his gold comb with the one broken pick. he walks methodically out the gate and approaches the President calmly.
the President: (looking like Pig-Pen) do your worst, fool. you already have and i'm still standing.
Bump: B, fellow B, sir, i respect yous. well i respect your post. i hope to succeed you. life is short. and so are your stubby legs.
Bump points the comb at the President's left leg and fires. BANG. the pick tine comes out in a puff of fired smoke and spears the President in the other leg. the President falls to the ground agonizing on the street like an aching homeless dog. a press junket has gathered from beyond the security line flashing and reeling away.
Bump looks up to the crowd, raises his arms in the air and shakes his hands.
Bump: told ya. nothing. ooooh i hate guns, they're icky.
the american flag perched on the Cream House front step transforms. the many white stars commingle and become one Golden Stones Star that shines hazily as a kind of porchlight in the approaching purple-red dusk. the white from Anderson's hair drains and becomes a snake that slithers its way over to Bump's toupee, finally turning Bump's golden hair grey, accentuating his orange skin making Bump more oompa-loompa. the sun is peach, the color it will remain till the end.
Bump: midnight in Murica. this job is really getting me.
back where it all started, water. the lake is becoming more like the river, which is becoming more like the sea. when the boat carrying Hartwin's battered bought body reaches the center, his motionless mannerisms are on full display. the sides of the pyre fall off and his body grows grows grows, soaking up all the water. he slowly becomes a giant. with one wing. at the sandy bottom. his clavicle and backbone bits fit perfectly into the lakebed, fossilizing in a hurry. the lake is being drained. but by Madchen.
she finds a private grotto and begins her ritual on the 2-miles-across plains of the Kilauea Crater. alone. of which she knows not of. she just starts dancing. freely. freestyley. without a script. for there is no script. but she is not free, she carries the biggest burden in the world. the huge heavy red plastic water cans that poor children in the jungle must carry if they want to survive. cept they do it to keep their families alive. so they can keep themselves alive. generation after generation. she is her generation. for Hartwin was a once-in-a-lifetime soul. she must generate. solely. "the last of her kind" is thrown around but this time it's true. she's been thrown around and for what? this is a different time. this is now. this is this time. and this time it's real. she spins around and twirls the dirt and slops herself in the mud like a pig. she tries to crumble the ground into her hair but it's too bone-dry parched to move. so quickly it has turned to stone. before her disbelieving eyes right in front of her. and turned in stone. she tries to jump but her feet have no more wings. this isn't her happy dance, this is the dance of the dead. and it must be taken seriously. that is what Hartwin would have wanted. or her precious child's soul is lost forever. she will do what she can, she will feed him his last meal. and then step back. she is done with the espionage. the spying. which is lying. her face betrays her calm pattern. her crooked lips and twitched nose and yellowed teeth and fire in her eyes are a jigsaw-puzzle reminder of a life of pain. putting one lanky leg in front of the other. she can barely sing the words out inbetween deep breaths of ash.
____________________________
she is building towards something. something is building towards her. something summoning from her summer of summoning. deep inside her betrayed by the shallowest of emotions. bubbling inside. but time is not right. she's not quite in sync.
