Monday, August 13, 2018


1. you can only keep 3 things from this list, pick and explain your picks:

wine or beer

without coffee i'd be dead, they'd ironically bury me in coffee grounds/ the only jewelry i like is Jewel/ without books i'd be dead cos i wouldn't be able to read the warning labels on dangerous books/ i think chocolate is one of those things you outgrow later in life, unless you don't have a love life like i don't/ i don't touch a drop of wine or beer cos it's too expensive/ i have no chill for Netflix/

and tacos cos Krillin, the pic up there above......the first pic, very funny come on Krillin's had a hard week what with his own family giving him the business inside that fishtank inflatable house he lives in that Goku visited the inside of for the first time.

2. if your job gave you a surprise 3-day paid break, what would you do with those three days? use those three days to ask for more paid-break, a wish-for-more-wishes sort of thing. that stuff always works in genie movies

3. have you ever tried a threesome? what was the configuration? some people do the Devil's Threesome: two men, one woman. some people do the Angel's Threesome: two women, one man. i prefer the Purgatory Threesome: Dante Alighieri, his platonic spirit guide Beatrice, and i lounge around the cobble stones of the bridge overlooking the plaza courtyard and have a chaste discussion on the implications of the Soul. we don't see the sewers underneath the bridge but rather look out to the city river in front of our eyes, eyes which lay on a flock of ducks getting the hell out of that water as quickly as possible and cutely waddling on the street with the commoners. Dante in his forward-thinker wisdom comments that you shouldn't feed ducks bread. Beatrice in her capacity blurts out that she once saw a gaggle of dicks.

4. in a threesome, do you like to be the star attraction or the bitplayer/personal assistant? this question is so Hollywood. as they say in Hollwood, there are no small parts, only small actors. and small actors with small parts like i have.

5. would you have another threesome? Dante is in Heaven. as for Beatrice, she became a nun. with a gun. it's weird, i started corresponding with Beatrice with long handwritten notes of letter-perfect calligraphy. they would take a year to write and a year to deliver. i'd reminisce about our times, about the raft of ducks, the skein of ducks...she was only interested in the paddling of ducks. Beatrice kept going on and on in her letter about how shiny her new gun was...

bonus: rate your last threesome on a scale of 1-5, 5 being fantastic. The Fantastic Four would have been awesome. but then the director got fired, it was this whole thing and to-do


Friday, August 10, 2018



* whenever you're alone, especially alone in a big new strange city, you have to keep repeating to yourself in your head over and over, "I am not crazy, the WORLD is..."

* woman: that's Lady EleGANCE, with the emphasis on the GANCE. French.

* Lady Elegance: and may i ask who was my pilot today?
van Gogh: it was I. i saw that pyramid to your right in my dreams.

* Lady Elegance: hi, got that email you shot at me, don't point your gun in my general direction again. acting. so do i get the part?
George Lucas: hi, no. there's no audition. i've just come out of the coma of my 30-year depression to find Disney has basically destroyed the Star Wars franchise that took a lifetime to build with one painfully-misguided funny film. i'm depressed again. i signed up to do the next Sharknado thinking easy money and those films keep going but it turns out they shot the last one so excuse me if i'm triggerhappy.

* Party of One: like Party of Five but more fun

* Lady Elegance: no camera NO don't show my ring! shoot! now this story's gon be diff'rent......i wanted it to be something else...

* valet: no one else with you? but you're a beautiful, elegant lady!
Lady Elegance: just me.
valet: loser.
Lady Elegance: hey aren't you Captain Obvious?
valet: obviously.
Lady Elegance: that makes me feel half-better.

* Lady Elegance: i suddenly feel freer than i ever have in my entire life. Las Vegas is paying for this, right? it's their commercial.
Marcus Aurelius: yes, ma'am, this is all a fantasyland, normal working folk could never do this.
Lady Elegance: i want to have that man, THAT man up there.
Marcus Aurelius: that's a statue of me, ma'am, and you're married. didn't you read any of my quotes? i was upstanding, my chest was fibrous with morality, stuck to my ribs like cream of wheat, i went to the bathroom frequently in my laudable toilet, i was society's moral barometer, the HL Mencken of Rome.

* waitress: you're eating at a restaurant alone? and you're not a food critic? that takes balls.
Lady Elegance: don't look at me.
waitress: it's weird that i'm better-dressed than you...but i love that you're traveling alone! it's the only way to not get caught. you have the world all to yourself, soak it all up like a woman's sponge.
Lady Elegance: but this world sucks.
waitress: is it really Friday? IT IS!
Lady Elegance: I KNOW, that's cool! what a coincidence! but i can't let my hair down with my husband and kids.
waitress: oh, so you're not really alone, this commercial could have been much more powerful. but you CAN let your hair down, especially with chemicals nowadays. ditch your family! the cult knows where you live anyway. when was the last time you had a day to yourself?
Lady Elegance: are you trying to get me to marry you? i saw the other Vegas commercial.
waitress: no but i need a getaway car.

* Lady Elegance: hi, rainbow peacock lady, can i borrow those bags?
rainbow peacock lady: under my eyes?

* Lady Elegance: hi, room service?
waitress: hi it's me. ready? i sent you over your crazy bread.
Lady Elegance: and WHAT praytell are you implying by that? i demand respect, i am a guest at CAESARS PALACE!!!
waitress: no, you're at Little Caesars Pizza.

* gondolier: are those clothes waterproof, lady?
Lady Elegance: i don't know. why?
gondolier: nothing.
Lady Elegance: i was promised the Joker from that perfume commercial.

* Lady Elegance: hi, thanks for the fruity drink, hon, you're a babe. but why is this urn next to me? reminds me of my husband and kids.

* Lady Elegance: you know this is the FIRST time i've worn this yellow bikini. i bought it on my wedding night......on that night, my husband ended up in a pool.

* Lady Elegance: what does the pattern of falling water and the blinking lights all mean in the light show?
waitress: lighting up the runway for the UFO craft obviously. i've got the last season of The X-Files on DVD in my hotel room. this was back when government conspiracies were still fun.

* Lady Elegance: hi, i'd like to order some champagne.
waitress: room service. how much, babe? did you get the car yet?
Lady Elegance: enough to fill the bathtub i'm in.
waitress: Nevada has strict water control. no water unless you're a showgirl or hooker or both, the economic backbone of our society.
Marcus Aurelius: if not the moral backbone.
Lady Elegance: remember the French Open?
waitress: no. don't remember Wimbledon, either, that was so long ago.

* Lady Elegance: *tissues* i always cry at old movies depicting highway construction.

* Lady Elegance: thank you for the car. i took an exhilarating car ride in the canyon. alone.
waitress: WHAT! that was the getaway car for the both of us!
Lady Elegance: it was so Thelma & Louise.
waitress: oh. this whole time i thought you were saying Thelema...

* Lady Elegance: i'm on the dance floor! i'm dancing alone! this is so awkward! okay i'm gonna attempt my first twerk, please don't look at me.
Lady Elegance's daughter: that's not how you do it, mom.

* Lady Elegance: hey! that wasn't me it was the wind! you're lucky i was wearing my yellow bikini underneath!

* Lady Elegance: oh? the audition's back on? sorry, i'm auditioning for Star Trek on CBS Digital Stream. that you have to pay for to get.
George Lucas in Princess Leia cosplay: but you're my only hope.

* this is originally how Thelma & Louise ended. but it didn't test well with audiences and focus groups. personally i like this ending better. gives a sense of closure. i mean i have a trillion headcanons about what happened to our heroines afterwards: they got married. they opened up a tiki bar on a Cancun shore. they played beach-volleyball with Hannibal Lecter into their old age: CLICK HERE


happy weekend, my babies. whew. i see you throwing shade at Roger, Djoker, but i can't hate, i'm genuinely glad Novak is back up to snuff and used whatever snuff to screw his mind right to be Nadal-Stopper again. don that cape on court and dance the night away, my healthy friend. numbers are everything, apparently. and it's just not the Rogers Cup without Roger. i remember when BOTH the men and the women played at the same tournament site, when we were all united, One Canada, One Love, One Last Liberal Bastion on Earth sort of thing.

Wednesday, August 8, 2018


Melbourne: NEWS FLASH!!!

Taki: what?

Melbourne: thought of the headline before you did i win.

Taki is dripping, once from the wet all over her body, twice from the trickles of treacly blood on her butt. but she feels no pain. she marches like a hellion up to the gathering party like a locomotive. steam coming from her eyes, not seeing another soul but her quarry. ready to let him have it with the boniest of wagging fingers. naked as a jaybird with hair all crunched from her inner heat.

Melbourne: i love the way your bottom sways with the force of nature, like you are a goddess of the wind felled from above my modest courtyard.

Taki can't help but take a moment for herself after that. self-care is of the utmost these days. she squeezes her butt for the first time in her life NOT to check how sexy and spongey it is.

Taki: OWWWWWWWWWWW my pretty ass is pretty red. got any Vicks Vapors Rub? this is the South after all, killer.

Melbourne: right this way, madam, don't mind these other people, they're guests of mine and flies on the wall. here, into the glass gallery. you are very special to me, i only let the very specialist of ladies enter my gallery, the ones who have entered my heart. this is inside we're talking now, where my secrets tell stories. i haven't pulled out a chair here in a very long time, i usually meet my clients at their place.

Taki: your lines won't work on me, sport-hunter, i am immune to anything but criticism, i'm a gossip-columnist for fuck sake. i'm watching you, you were gonna pull the chair out from under me weren't you! and me with a bum booty, that is doubly cruel! but typical of you.

Melbourne: i am LOVING this conversation! my clients don't engage in Philosophy of Art and Eckankar and the Gnostic Mass no more before, too in a rush. don't they know that when it ends it ends? why prolong the torture? why not relish this precious time we have together. it will end far too quickly and soon you'll be left with nothing, wondering. and of course any talk afterwards is price of wire transfer. o this pitiful wired age we live in, where everything is faster than your conscience can process, where a relationship is internet comments, where hate is all the rage. where is the love?

Taki takes out her small cute mini green notebook reporter's pad of real paper, real wire up top, and her electronic pencil.

Taki: speaking of fashion, i once interviewed Downtown Julie Brown...........................remember her?

Melbourne: MTV, right? when they still played videos? and The Real World mattered? at least we fogies still have VH1 tro grasp onto.

Taki: speak for yourself. i'm old but i ain't no fogey! my head is without fog, unless i'm dreaming. you have already lost. you have been cast into the net of my web and not known it, you're trapped and you like being trapped. you are knee-deep in an interview conducted by me, yours truly, the Queen of Mean.

Melbourne: well it's a good thing i wore my trousers this morning, the ones that are rolled up to my ankles. they should be rolled up to my knees but i'm embarrassed of my bald legs. and i've had to have knee surgery for all the times i've had to suck dick.

Taki: you? the perfect licking Casanova with a flower up your dick, ashamed? for shame!

Melbourne walks out and returns with a row of ice cubes on a long slender glass candydish shaped like a noticeable banana.

Melbourne: here, for your assburn.

Taki: thank you kindly. these would of course all be melted by now if they came form MY glass candydish in the Hotbox. where currently i cage a bagsful of Werther's Original candy-apple-filling. i so love that Werther's golden bag, i place it up to my chin and rub to get the golden fleece dust on my cheeks, keeps them ruddy and rosey. i never throw out that bag, i pin it to my visionboard.

Taki sneezes.

Melbourne: ah, your reporter's nose is itching! you sense you've seen this odd shape of my candydish before. how old are you? Peyronie's Disease perhaps? do you have to call the P.D. P.D.? the Peyronie's Disease Police Department?

Taki: at my place i have a glass candydish from a real-life bust of Marilyn Monroe's bust. her exact tit in measurements. you'd know about that.

Melbourne: it's a perfect replica of Rock Hudson's cock. what a pair we make.

Taki: don't flatter yourself.

Melbourne: if i don't no one will.

Taki: you're starting to make me think you actually hate your job.

Melbourne: oh no, quite the opposite. i love my clients. it's just that they are so needy i need to subsume myself entirely into their problems or the job doesn't get done. i can't think thought one about myself or the equilibrium is burst. they are going through fragile times and need a professional glasspane-sealer who tiptoes around balance.

Taki: at this very moment my candydish is being gobbled up by my son Takahashi who, sigh, lives at home and probably sleeps there when i'm at work, too ashamed is he to admit to me he has nowhere to go. he calls from a payphone pretending it's his place or dorm frat ghost hostel or something, i can smell the bad line. he goes to college.

Melbourne: say no more. it's hard. it's all hard. i was beginning to think you were suffering from Jennifer Aniston disease. i have a sixth sense when it comes to sussing out clients' hidden afflictions.

Taki: i have no patience, why i've never been a patient. Jennifer Aniston disease?

Melbourne: not having yet had kids and doing your darndest to the press to try to justify it when you're secretly crying inside. some people were not meant to have kids she says while leaking motherhood from her cheeks and sweet mouth and hair. some people were destined for another path she says while the spirit in her stalk dries up. haven't found the right man, sista, i can tell you stories! you can't justify your love if there's none there. i know that pain......which apparently you don't.

Taki: i was like her for many years, career-woman and all that, i was free to fly as a snowbird, but got unbound and untethered and soon didn't know what the ground looked like anymore. i was flying upside-down and no one was there to tell me. but now i got myself an anchor around my ankle. which i love very much.

Melbourne: yeah so just insert those ice cubes into your anus like so. let me help you. i'm here to help. i'm a master practitioner. of oracles. no charge. i do it for the loves.

Taki: you sound like my sister. i can do it, thanks. you need a mistress practitioner. buddy you betta charge, who's gonna pay your legal bills when your lawyer's in jail? whose red shirt is that? okay enough dawdling around, where are they?

Melbourne: what?

Taki: it's who? the bodies.

at the Old Spaghetti Factory in St. Louis, Doryce and Gladyce are sitting down for a once-in-a-lifetime meal. the woven napkins on their laps are bigger than either woman.

Gladyce: wow. so there wasn't a closer Old Spaghetti Factory to us than St. Louis!?

Doryce: nope. i checked my social media.

Gladyce: yeah it's just normally i wouldn't complain but we had to hoof it. we had to walk all the way over here cos my broom's in the shop. i don't know if you've noticed but we're old women. we have old women legs.

Doryce: nope, hadn't noticed.

Gladyce: where's your broom?

Doryce: broom? it's clean enough in here for reddit i suppose. this better be some damn good spaghetti. like i'm talking MONDO TRADITIONAL. that garlic bread better be so fresh the garlic makes me sneeze. that cheese better be direct from a Wiccan granary. i better taste the Old Country in that wine, Italy in the endive, and Transylvania in the tart! that meatball better be the size of the moon!

Gladyce: i think i've discovered a new thing on our travels, dear. food tourism! like this is actual food tourism, not what Guy Fieri does. y'know as i age i'm noticing i'm not so much into the theme parks anymore, i'm into food. i look and yearn for good food, that's what gets me excited, my next meal, i need it to be a good one. i don't want to be taken for a ride anymore. so a good vacation to me is one where we plan to visit St. Louis EXPRESSLY to go to the Old Spaghetti Factory. like that's it, not to see any of the sights, the airplanes or whatever, who cares? we've seen enough of Red Baron red planes hung up on strings like a stuck pig, we want the Snoopy. like that's what satisfies me now, the inside room-tone of a musty ancient family restaurant i've never been to before. not the Matterhorn. i'm not horny, i want FOOD!

Gladyce pounds her hands on the table, her hands holding a knife and fork, a soup spoon inbetween her crone fingers.

Doryce: you're so cute. you fucked one of the Wright brothers but are too shy to admit it. the taller one. during the pillow talk you gave him the recipe for flight. hell, he probably saw you flying on your broom and that gave him the inspiration!

Gladyce: those were the good old days, my love.

Doryce: yeah i'm just like you. except i've discovered something new on our travels: recreational drug tourism! *she takes a sip of water from the glass in front of her*

Gladyce: i'm taking any red-pepper packets i find on the floor, packets with the Old Spaghetti Factory logo on them are sure to fetch a hefty price on ebay. i need to feed my habit. they'll be collector's items soon enough. it's strange, i could have sworn there was an Old Spaghetti Factory right where we live on Fisherman's Wharf. but no, it's another spaghetti factory. wait, let me see that water. *sniffs* this smells fishy. and familiar. witch's familiar. i know that smell anywhere, this is water from Fisherman's Wharf!

at Exodus College, the new roommates are feeling each other out:

Laertus: sorry about the mess. you caused the mess. help me with my setup. just plug in the cable, even you can't screw that in.

Dirg: this is a pretty swank pad. how did you afford it?

Laertus: unlike you, i save all my money.

Dirg: by never having fun. do you think people will get the wrong idea about us?

Laertus: don't worry, Bert, you're never around for people to notice you live with me. what exactly do you do? well, since there's nothing to do around an empty cottage cept sit our tender butts on these hard hardwood floors while we wait for the couch and the carpet, what say you and I pass the time watching animated shows for two hours?

Dirg: where's your furniture?

Laertus: i never won any trophies to put in furniture...while we wait for the pizza to arrive, your clams-casino pizza...

Dirg: practice for later tonight. when i'm on a date. the other half of the pizza is anchovies for you. i heard that happens afterwards on a date...

Laertus: MTV Spider-Man, remember this show? i watched the much-ballyhooed first episode...but then the 2000s took over and well, the 2000s were a lost decade for me. your impressions?

Dirg: I DO remember it. it was cool, but i remember it differently. for some reason i thought it was cel-shaded, not CGI. and i thought it was darker. like it was drawn on black paper the way BTAS was. in fact it was Spider-Man's answer to BTAS.

Laertus: it's still the last intelligent program broadcast by MTV. still now. ever since.

Dirg: that had to have been Lisa Loeb's one and only venture into voice-acting. she was surprisingly good. methinks she's a better actress than singer, ugh i hated all that fluffy shit, she's better as a goth. a goth with glasses. i'm sure you loved the good doc's performance.

Laertus spreads across his hard hardwood floor as if there's a bear-skin rug underneath.

Laertus: you like the ambient lighting? it's coming from the show.

Dirg: ended on a cliffhanger.

Laertus: shh, don't tell me---*he covers Dirg's mouth*---*Dirg spits in Laertus's palm*---i still haven't watched to the end. like The Last Jedi. people are on their redditstorms about how Star Wars isn't supposed to be funny like that. Star Wars has always been silly, it always knew itself, it never took itself seriously, the fans did. and Rey's performance is extraordinary. take the scene where she sees Kylo Ren's buff naked bod and asks him to put on a cloak or something. hilarious! what a dagger! *Laertus laughs and snorts strangely*

Dirg: i bet you loved that scene.

Laertus: yeah but then Rey has to do a hard turn and immediately start tearing up over how Kylo killed his loving parents for no reason. from an offhanded bit of levity and taboo sexual attraction straight into tears of pain. that takes acting and she pulled it off. well on you, Rey!

Dirg: *fake clap* well done well done. what was all that clapping?

Laertus: you only like her cos she's hot. yeah the snapping of the fingers in the funhouse mirrors. reminded me of those old beatnik bars i frequented in Paris, dives of the dispossessed. well like i said Rey did have to turn emotion on a snap. i've only seen a part of the film, i had to study.

Dirg erupts in a spastic fit of laughter and rolls around on the floor. the hard hardwood floors. he beats his fists down on the floor with each fist and roll and guppy-kick and Twister spin.

Dirg: study? study! STUDY he says! ahhhahahahahahahahahaha.....................OWWWWWW that would have been more enjoyable if not on your hard hardwood floors.

on the tv after the web warrior comes on a Sesame Street with Cookie Monster refusing to eat the letter Q cos it looks funny, it doesn't quite look like one of his cookies.

President Bump at the plantation is mulling over Mueller who is sitting right beside him on wire chairs.

Mueller: i'm almost done.

Bump: please, take your time, i don't want this to end. i'm scared, Bob. i thought i'd cringe it but i actually like this power. what am i gonna do when it all ends and no one cares about my tweets anymore? how can i make them even more outlandish to grab headlines? i'm telling you, i'm telling you right now, i'm gonna win reElection. and in the most annoying fashion, too. like, by 420 popular votes. there's no way i lose, i'm too entrenched in the system by now. Oprah will come close but just fail as she always does. the second Election Day will come and all those CNN reporters at their desks will have the glummest looks on their smug faces as they realize they got 8 years of me to go! in fact, the only way you'll ever get rid of me is if your Deep State investigation is successful!

Mueller: there is no Deep State.

Bump: i know but it would make my job a helluva lot easier if there were. i mean things are getting fishy around here, wouldn't you say? it seems that there really is a Deep State. i mean look at Collins. just cos the guy speaks Australian? i can easily make the case to the gnostic masses. i was watching the tv the other day and saw this, from that boring paper case:

Mueller: Mr. Gates, who was your illicit extramarital lover in London?
Gates: *crying* okay, i confess! it was Manafort!!! i love you, Paul! i've always loved you! we gave each other cute pet names as we exchanged cash, we were free to be gay lovers over there. only in lax Europe, never in America's LAX. i called him Paul the Poof. you should hear his laugh.
Manafort: *crying* i love you too, Gatesy! i never stopped loving you! you're my guy! you're my Gay Guy!

Bump: i'm starting to see the letter Q everywhere, everywhere i look. i had to bandage my thumbs from all my activity and used 3M tape, except it was 3Q tape. look! your swimming pool out there on your front plantation lawn, Mel, it's shaped in the letter of Q!

Melbourne: no swimming pool, that's just the excess water from the waterfall draining out in squiggly lines.

Bump: Q Score! OH MY CODRUS! so THAT's what that score really is for! for the Deep State to track your every move! and my every mood. i went to buy some vodka at my favorite mart. it was a Q mart!

Bosanquet: yeah, for Quickie Mart. excuse me, i'm a lensed licensed therapist and must be leaving here, or i'll get too hooked on your mind. make sure to use Q Tips everyday to get the rust out in the mornings.

Bump: i love quickies. no muss---of my golden hair, no fuss, just twitter.

a car in the middle of the front lawn is on fire. Q is smoking a lit cigarette by it.

Q: i had nowhere to go. i was living in my car. and i started a car fire, the Carr Fire.

Bump: what are yous doing? put out all the wildfires!

Q: i'm tryna help you out here. you have a plan? more water? destroy a nearby lake? a little help from above? maybe call on the Space Force?

Bump: all i know is you have to use a hose.

Don Lemon hands the President a glass glass.

Don Lemon: want my lemonade?

Bump: come on, man, that's disgusting! i like Ike. Perlmutter.

Melbourne: bodies? my ivory busts? of famous and infamous GrecoRoman gods? *hands up* WHOA WHOA WHOA i haven't even given you the tour yet and you're askin' bout rooms. this is moving too fast, i know you. for a day. the secrets will spill out soon enough. meanwhile take a look at all the black exercise bars i installed with my own personal bolts to the walls of my glass gallery. the bars are shaped like buttox.

it's at this point Bosanquet steps into the outdoor foyer inside. she wears an earring from which hangs a long silver metal chain that connects on the other side to her eyeglasses. which she has on.

Taki: very nice. now SHE reminds me of my sister!

Melbourne: this is my sports psychologist. would you care to join us for a day of air-racing tomorrow?

Taki: devil's threesome or angel's threesome? don't answer that, with me the devil is always involved. okay, i see what's going on here. i can play the game, i can wait. i know about the long con, too, i work for a newspaper for fuck sake, how do you think i get my sources?! i've taken all the men of our time in my time. why are you called Melbourne when you clearly have a South African accent?

Melbourne: oh starting with the easy ones. it's to filter out all the American ignoramuses who can't tell the difference. Americans are so easy to trick. i can charge more depending on how exotic they think i am. and it's good for spygames if i get in trouble.

Taki: moi?

Melbourne: perish the thought! i'm not implying YOU are an ignoramus, but you are clearly American.

Taki: why don't you cut your hair? that Dutchboy cut looks ridiculous on you.

Melbourne: aw, but i grew it out just for you! *darting his eyes* i will, but i haven't met the right woman.

Taki: what are you?

Melbourne: a man trying to hang all the banisters i slide down every morning. i am a male escort.

Monday, August 6, 2018


1. is falling in love effortless? yes. i fall in love with literally every person who crosses my path. i love my enemies more than my friends. Jesus likes this but my friends don't. one time i had a heart-to-heart with Jesus but Jesus showed me His heart and there was nothing more to say really after that. look! there goes the neighborhood black cat again! hey, the black cat is running away from me! (cats are people, too, they're familiars for witches.)

2. is your significant other more like your mom or dad? i had peerless parents so i hate to compare them and judge my lover against their paragon of virtue. and society's rules. suffice to say all my lovers were lovely and there's enough love to go around. she was a healer like my dad and a paladin like my mom, she left the seat up on the toilet like my mom and always had a deathly case of the munchies like my dad. all three musicans in their own right. although one played at the Philharmonic and one was poorly in a hospital bed. when it came time for the operation, he was cut open bless and a large solid black rectangular FruitBar of slag was pulled out of me pappy's body and soul. it was that ominous silent black floating thingie from 2001 and we all locked shoulders and stared at it cos that thing represents, symbolizes the end of all comparison.

3. which parent do you identify with most? from my dad i take my love of books. from my mom i take kindness and rectitude in the face of unholy hardship. from my third and fourth parents i take a love of obscure cinema. like, say, The Flight of Dragons. i used to say to my folks when i was a wistful wanting kid that i had another set of parents. i only mentioned they lived somewhere out in the country. now, through 23 And Me, i've discovered they were real and they did live out in the countryside in a cottage. their names were Milisande and John Ritter. i always took to Three's Company from the start but i never fully grasped why. now i know, now i appreciate, i had a subconscious leaning to the voice of John Ritter.

4. what one thing are you lacking that you believe will make your life run smoother? books. i need more books. not self-help books, no, god no, real books, fiction books, books which will teach me to love again. love magic again. i had fallen in love with the pizza and forgotten about the magic. ('80s Shakey's's were dens of opium and Dungeons&Dragons. we had to move many times, it was a lonely life. when they kicked us out of Round Table we were scared but we were together. we eventually set up our own men's beauty parlor so we could talk in peace.) this is me whenever they allow me to get a new book in here:


5. which is sexier, constantly pushing the boundaries or playing by the rules? playing by the rules. you see Tom Cruise out there? he got hurt slipping on a stunt he insisted he had to do himself and almost shut down production permanently. yeah, it's all fun and games, it's all biting your fingernails and clutching your seat's armrest until someone gets hurt and that armrest rips off and flies into the screen and makes a hole in the screen. that would have meant the loss and cost of many jobs, many livelihoods. please, everyone in the industry, i beg you, don't romanticize poverty, please take care of yourself and your friends. R.I.P. C. Martin Croker.

bonus: do you think confessions make a relationship stronger? only if you're in a relationship with a priest......wait that came out wrong...


Friday, August 3, 2018



* one day this will all seem normal again...

* representation, more valuable than green money. cash that is, not a check. tho we need checks. greenbacks. poker chips.

* still the best logo in sports. a year old and already an Arthurian legend.

* lady A: wait for it...
lady B: mom?
lady A: if you want. you can be anyone in Vegas.
lady B: who's Lady A and who's Lady B?
lady A: doesn't matter. tho i've been called an asshole more than i've been called a bitch.

* lady B: thank you, i haven't showered since my parents disowned me.

* lady B: let's get married.
lady A: yeah right, on what planet?
lady B: we're currently on an alternate Earth. you read about this sort of thing in sci-fi paperbacks.
lady A: i wish they hadn't burned all the paperbacks. that was as sci-fi as it gets.
lady B: why do you wear that ring on your finger? is there something you're not telling me?
lady A: it's on my middle finger.
lady B: i've always wanted to ask, what does that signify?
lady A: down-to-fuck i think. i dunno, i don't go online. not even for tickets.

* Phoenix: lady A: Thelma, lady B: Louise. easier. i think, i think their personalities match. carry on.

* Thelma: we knew we'd get married when we met, it was love at first sight.
Louise: i thought you were my sister. we kinda look alike. agreed, we met here in Vegas, but this was five minutes ago, but if you want to get married, fine.
Thelma: *flashback* i didn't plan on anything to say to you.
Louise: well whatever, you just said it. that was your opening line whether you liked it or not.

* Louise: this is supposed to be a commercial, right?
Thelma: yes, about love is love.
Louise: why is everything hazy? why are all the pretty colors whizzing by my head? why can't i ride that blinking golden-lights horse in the sky?

* Thelma: what do you mean your parents aren't proud of you?
Louise: well i kinda converted all of their life savings to poker chips and gambled them away here at Vegas. this isn't my first rodeo. here at Vegas. i keep this gold poker chip around my neck as a reminder. the cops know it's me and keep me from the poker tables.
Thelma: you're beautiful. you're successful. you're charming and funny.
Louise: being beautiful is all that matters.

* Thelma: my shirt is a stack of plastic champagne glasses, drink up.
Louise: my parents would never forgive me.
Thelma: because they weren't invited? or the gay thing?
Louise: my mom and dad are both priests so it's hard for them to forgive.

* Louise: they don't see the world the way we do.
Thelma: what's this?
Louise: a rainbow-colored scarf against the backdrop of the Grand Canyon...replica.
Thelma: where did my peacock go?
Louise: i know, i don't have to ask. my parents are blind monks.

Louise: you are such a kid, that's why i love you. never change.
Thelma: only if you promise we never leave Vegas. hopefully i won't do something bad.

* Louise: Vegas is the only place where you can still play the petite bowling with the long candlesticks.
Thelma: grab one of those candlesticks for our moonlit spaghetti supper later tonight.

* Louise: Shark Week roleplay, intriguing.
Thelma: which one's the shark and which one's the chum?
Louise: i'm allergic to water. this is how much i love you.

* Thelma: we're gonna be together forever.
Louise: we just met.
Thelma: trust me. it's magic. i know these things. i'm a Romanian fortuneteller.
Louise: oh yeah, i just noticed your accent just now. i'm a gypsy, too, but more of the Stevie Nicks variety.
Thelma: i predicted the rise of Dracula.

* Thelma: look, it's a wedding! a wedding in Vegas, that never happens, it's fate!
Louise: no, dear Thelma, that's a candlestick bowling alley!

* Thelma: let's just peek.
Louise: as long as we don't peak. i have the doomy feeling this is the high point of our relationship. but i am blinded by all these pretty golden lights making my brain not work as it should so let's go in.

* Thelma: SURPRISE!!!
Louise: *verklempt and overcome with emotion* who are all these people?
Thelma: i bought all these friends and family for us. that kind nicely mom from the South who is my mother who is the stand-in mom for any same-sex couples who want to marry but are afraid of attending their own wedding alone is unfortunately out of town. she usually lives here at Vegas. so i guess we'll just have to use your parents.

* Thelma: here, use my phone.
Louise: this is my phone.

* Louise: where did you get the money for all this?
Thelma: stole it from you. long con. i still love you, babe---the love is real---but a girl's gotta get paid. yeah i don't really have a job, i'm a professional card-counter or something. here at Vegas.
Louise: i love the big hanging yellow balls, i never went to prom, scared my prom date off. the theme was Under the Sea But Aboveground like this wedding is. he later jumped in a lake.
Thelma: yeah, i always wanted a house that finally had stairs, never lived in a two-storey home, but you can't always get what you want. especially in the desert where the second stories tend to blow off by haboobs. okay, let's go.
Louise: go!? where!? why go back to our old lives? we must stay in Vegas forever, the outside world is dead and dreary, this is the only place that makes sense to me, this fantasyland of lights and lambs.
Thelma: we can't stay, i'm on the lam now.
Louise: what if we switch identities? that would solve both our problems.

* i once in Vegas started dancing to the beat in my head. i had drawn the curtains to my luxurious suite which i was staying in on someone else's dime, friend of the wedding, and i got the curtain caught in my faded-jeans zipper. not only did my curtain come down exposing me for all of Vegas to see, all of the curtains in every room in the hotel all came down in one fell swoop of a sweep. needless to say i was wearing my shame that night in more ways than one.


happy weekend, my babies. why did they bury Andy Murray to the graveyard shift? it's not cool to play tennis at 2AM, believe me i've done it. it seems like it would be cool but it only ends up being eerie. every bounce of the tennis ball magnifies and is heard by all the snarling hounds who howl nextdoor at the graveyard. nobody should be doing ANYTHING at 2AM except sleeping, and maybe watching anime. especially in Washington, D.C.!

Wednesday, August 1, 2018


lives a witch in them thar woods. but it's not what you think. a witch for the modern world.

Taki Kettleflower is a reporter for the most egregious newspaper in all of Obec Woods, The Kettle Flower. it was named after her, cos she was the only one doing work. she was the last hard-nosed reporter left, the only one who dared---deigned---to go after the truth in this post-truth world which had fallen on its arches. unlike her coworkers---who would while away the days in their little offices fanning themselves with empty printer paper and moaning at how slow their gold pocketwatches were turning---Taki went after stories and personalities like a bull in a japan shop. they and everyone else in business had resigned to the conclusion that the world was forever fucked, that you could present a complete and utter lie as truth and not only would humans tend to support the liar---so distrustful they were of the press---the more outlandish the lie, somehow the more believable it seemed to the public.

Taki: of course this isn't about truth or the news. it's simply human nature. if you tell people not to do something, they will do it to their death. it's completely counterintuitive and detrimental but it's fun. we're little wascally rebellious rodents like that.

remember, this is the time where "literally" means "figuratively". everybody in her news division---which is supposed to be serious not the comics room---conceded that the truth had been the first casualty long ago, in a war that was never declared but seemed to be going on forever. Taki's compatriots spent their business hours fiddling with their own Wikipedia pages---which you aren't supposed to do, not allowed---crafting jokes from the day's headlines---hoping for that one golden meme to viral on 4Chan---or discussing said headlines on their youtube channel like somehow THEIR take on the events of our time will be more earthshattering. but Taki had a different bent, she saw thing differently. she would never let herself forget where she came from, how her father died---in that industrial accident that was only in one panel of the manga---that honor to her was more important than her life, she would carry on alone, she loved being alone, she could think of thoughts not infected by the mass media---or worse, the alternative media.

soon it became painfully obvious that Taki would be working from home from now on. she really despised her coworkers' nerves. and why not? this special house of hers was the scene of some of her and the early 21st century's greatest journalistic feats and accomplishments. Taki loved being surrounded by nature so she fashioned her home out of the bark of The Great Oak. her kitchen tabletops were the Tree's knots, her linoleum was made of beewax, and her only overhead lights were fireflies.

Taki: call me crazy, it makes good print. but i take the Disney Hayao Miyazaki films seriously, to heart, they aren't just movies to me. nature will eventually win, nature is like China. i figure all this nature will counterbalance all the hate i sew in and spew out daily.

she swims on her linoleum floors each day before her breakfast: one morning peach. she sits on her huge wicker peacock chair three sizes too big for her small but spunky frame and sips her elderberry tea. a stripper string of parrots lowers down to greet her, tickle her one-line cheek with their feathers, as she gazes at the circular mirrow mirror on the opposite yellow-wallpapered wall which looks back at the series of infinity mirrors in back of her, incrementally capturing the rays of the sun till the sun disappears, fun mirrors which do serious business, going on forever till reaching the point, like the ones in Enter the Dragon, her one all-encompassing window out to the world, a mathematical, geometric window.

this room, known as the Hotbox to everyone else, where she comforts her subjects---confronts her suspects---loosens them up with some Swedish fish candy from her candydish by her chair, glass candydish in the shape of Marilyn Monroe's tit. that always does the trick, man or woman. and then all the heavy green vines close in on the interview-subject and curl around their body forming their chair, making them feel nice and secure, if not warm and a little constricted.

in this very room, this spot, she got Michael Jordan to open up and laugh for the first time, admitting he made the whole thing up. she got Cher to admit she didn't actually believe in any afterlife, but she still thought she'd see Bono again cos Bono was that stubborn. back then the drones weren't what they are now and had a hard time transmitting back from the dense forest. she got Arnold Palmer to confess on the day of the OJ murders. she even got Les Moonves to crack:

Les Moonves: no.
Taki: Moonves, do you know who i am? my last name means Moon in Japanese.
Les Moonves: i did it.

in this same room is where she calls up her son on the telephone. Takahashi, he attends Exodus College. she rings around her bony finger on the rotary dial:

Taki: Taka, honeypot?
Takahashi: i lil busy, mom!
Taki: is that any way to address an award-winning journa?
Takahashi: sorry, babe, your trinkets mean nothing to me, only your love. you called RIGHT as i was working on a particularly-dark panel of my graphic novel that needs a lot of inking.
Taki: son, look, art is fun, but it doesn't pay the bills. did the Cosby thing fall through?
Takahashi: no it's still on. someday. when the lawyers clear and clean it up. art is the only thing in this world which cannot be corrupted. look at the courtroom sketches by Art Lien, President Bump is having a hard time on twitter discounting those. hard to manipulate or otherwise rearrange drawings.
Taki: now see, i am so proud of you for that, i look forward to your Cosby Column! i KNEW you were brilliant after all! let's both eat an acorn at the same time. mmmmmm, chewy. that's what you should be focusing on.
Takahashi: i took an alternative class...
Taki: OH NO! HASHI!!!, son, video-game journalism is not journalism...

Comic Con has come to Exodus College! landed there more likely and accurately. most are gleeful, others, like a particular machine who lives in a haunted house on the edge of campus we all know, is fretting bullets. he needs peace and quiet and recluse to carry out his work, not an unnatural influx of nerds.

Laertus is setting up his presentation. in Hall H with a sizeable crowd who doesn't know what's going on or who the speakers are, fidgeting with their ridiculous costumes, drunk off makeshift tiramisu made by pouring con coffee into crumbled-up cookies in a styrofoam cup.

Dirg: RAGE, YOU DAMNED NERDS!!! same to you. i've never seen you mad, Laertus, i'd hate to see you when you finally flip. what are you doing here? shouldn't you be at class?

Laertus: i think for us, this IS class now. help me with the humidifier slash overhead projector.

Dirg: can't, sis, i'm a man.

Laertus: HEY, man, we're friends but not if you continue freelancing hate. that be scurrilous slur/scandalous......i won't take it this year! i ain't skird! i need some one person on my side. be my aide.

Dirg: relax, man, post-PC world, remember? go outside and smell the whatever.

the professor, who looks awfully like James Gunn with his hair shaved off, points Dirg's shoulder back with a brush from his long pool cue.

professor: Mr. uh Dirg...screenname?...sigh...sir, it's your turn for your presentation. i won't hear any more of your lame pathetic ancient excuses! you've slacked off long enough in your life. lax is NOT short for LAX!!!

Dirg tries to set up the screen slash smoke machine but fails miserably. he's only able to recover the first few minutes of the assignment, which are the only minutes he did, a supercut of Gabriel Byrne as The Mechanic from Smilla's Sense of Snow repeating

Smilla Smilla Smilla Smilla Smilla Smilla

for 5 hours.

Dirg: now THERE's a man!

the two are escorted out, under an official complaint filed from Laertus. and under the plastic gun of one Gunn, James Gunn.

Laertus: hey, if you want to mortgage your future away for a frat house, that's on you. i'm getting a dorm room this year, outside campus. which you are free to crash, i get lonely nights when the gunshots start. i swear i've held this image of Smilla's Sense of Snow in my mind ever since i first heard about it. i honestly thought it was some Finnish foreign-language film about a long-lost folk tale of a doll that comes to life and must navigate the harsh winters of Scandinavia. ritual subtitles, everyone speaking funny, and the butler turns out to be the father. not what we got, we got a brilliant crime drama from a spunky socialite and some Doctor Who monsters buried in ice.

Dirg: i saw a VHS video-preview on tape for the movie Brassed Off. i thought it was gonna be about a philharmonic in New York City or something, metal woodwinds and a kettledrum. i saw that one babe in what i thought was a fluffy red concert dress and red heels. there would be a hot sex scene in the orchestra pit. they would gather in the interiors of carved mansions when they weren't practicing to play.

Laertus: yeah, i had no idea about the miners' strike storyline or the scab angle or group man showers and stuff. or how unions are impossible. this was back when trailers were good and misleading. very strange film: there's so much coarse language and rancid innuendo, but there's no actual sex shown. but of course the mob violence just outside a family lawn in front of young impressionable kid eyes always seems to squeeze through with a slicked palm. the guy's dressed up in clown cosplay and everyone's taking things too serious. like some mini-Godfather. don't take away the tv! i never saw the priesthood in the same way again. brought back memories.

Dirg: realism. what a shame, the bird in that has legs like pub lawndarts! and an arse that just won't quit....shaking like a tomato can in a swirling Essex laundromat washing machine when she walks down that Skins brick the tail of a peacock, the birdiest of birds! i love how in Britain, women are called "pets".

Laertus: i don't like coffee either...that had to have been Ben Kenobi's very first film. it was marketed in some States as simply a romcom between the lass and the jedi.

Dirg: makes sense. nobody in, say, India would care about getting down 'n dirty in dirt painted on the sky of a dreary England grey day, too busy making glamorous Bollywood choreography in many colors. hard-earned wages democratically-won and animal baths in bathtubs are for the boreds. wanna join me for coffee? the next café's indoors just blocks from here. coffee is the only thing you can drink in college.

Laertus: sure. Frappuccino isn't technically coffee, it's flavored filtered marsh-water made in a lab in Florida.

the two walk past infront of Mark Zuckerberg's overhead-projection on screen, creating two large looming nerd shadows, masking the numbers.

Mark: ...and that's why i deleted facebook. i mean my facebook. SECURITY!!! get these fuckers off the stage! ban those bozos for life! i was sayin', jus, justice, yeah, i mean the thing is, it's impossible to control. for the next half-election and full election and half-erection and beyond and the foreseeable future and unforeseen consequences. we've merely created a platform that is impossible to corral. it's quite impossible to do.

The Queen of England: right? exactly! same with us!

Mark: your facebook-numbers problem and Russian problem?

The Queen: no, our country!

on a Viking Crusie ship somewhere out in the sea where many tragedies go missing, Doryce is kvetching again.

Doryce: i thought i'd met a real Viking. oh well, it's slower but planes are too unreliable these days.

Gladyce: blessings forever. how can a final report say that there is no explanation? then it isn't a final report is it? Mother will care for them for eternity. less and less peope are believing in magic these days, magic doesn't have the nascent hold it had in folk of past ages who lived mostly in forests.

Doryce: forest folk, my kind of fuckers. walnut-eaters. who communicate by whispering in woods. i would like to learn to fly, dear.

Gladyce: deary do not avert your gaze to the honking birds presently flying our pointy heads overhead. they are precious animals, more precious than ye or me or we, they deserve to live more, that's what i'm learning the more i live. i will protect those ostriches with my life, they shall not know fear or hurt under my tenure. i was born to be a protector. when you are cold i will wrap you in my cold crone arms and you will know the magic of a witch's warmth. on a broom is safest, protected by magic. avoid small and medium-sized airports. how soon people forget.

Gladyce rolls out a faded daguerreotype from her bosom peak and unspools it. it's of her as a young woman beside a green hill smiling into the light for the first time.

Doryce: wow, you were quite the babe back then! i'll save this as a memento when you're...

Gladyce: let's talk not of dreadful things, lover, let's enjoy the moment of ourselves right now. that is such a long way off.

they embrace. Doryce licks the photograph.

Doryce: i'm sorry, my love, i'm just scared. of everything and everyone in this world. i cover it with sarcasm and soot.

Gladyce: used the silver and salt in that mine to process this photo. one of the first ever made.

Doryce: you should have quickly taken off your pants and shown your butt. it would have been the first feminist statement in a photograph. of course the press would paint it as the first porn.

Gladyce: the same salt and silver in those pepper shakers on your tray just there.

Doryce: *deshading her sunglasses* hey, can a bitch get some wine up in this bitch with the broth! there's only so much fizzy Cawston elderberry soda a girl can drink without dissolving the lining of her birth canal!

at Melbourne's sprawling estate, a plantation hides the first non-bark brown seen in Obec Woods in some time, a tuft of lawn grass held up by two Roman ivory pillars and a pink two-storey house spraypainted all the colors with cucumber-shaped balloons. Melbourne is entertaining guests quietly on his outside Southern patio without a porch like he usually does on mellow Wednesday afternoons, in wire chairs and a big white circle with holes to breathe, on a circle of recently-mowed plants by hard workers recently browned by the sun, muscles developed, to the music of the mower, set to the natural rhythms of the forest, everything in its sundial place, the stone sundial by the human naked chessboard. the gardeners with denim shirts off and gray pants pulled above their heads as bandana headbands. everyone sipping the latest pleasant spirit in long glass glasses. discussing the day's events cos there's nothing really else to talk about.

Melbourne is an unassuming fellow, he with the tropical shirt always open and unbuttoned, always revealing at least one nipple on his hairless chest, a face of skinny circle, sunken and always with that crewcut like he's always ready to go to war, with dark eyes like Nero's but kind eyes. more an expression of placidity than smile on his lips. gray shorts which always are rolled up to his ankles, his two hairs on his ankles cropping out of purple socks and purple Docs shoes. eyecolor like the river...

Melbourne: the battlefield of love. please, ladies and gentlemen, change behind my crystal corsair. i want everyone to feel relaxed, comfortable, and free to express any opinion they want.

Ashley Parker: from the online paper. why do you call your plantation Strong Mentality? does this have something to do with Fuerza?

Melbourne: S&M. just kidding. *chuckling blithely* please, don't call it a plantation. estate? okay i'll go with estate.

everyone chuckles blithely.

Melbourne: Tara Strong, my favorite voice actress. plantation mentality, i'm subsuming that term before it gets out and gets twisted by the enemy of the people who seek love. want more love, less hate. we brothers have to stick together. in real harmony. there is only one answer to our chains: love.

Jonathan Lemire: can i? now?

Ashley Parker: okay, NOW you're cool.

Jonathan Lemire: you are amazing, Ashley. even with your sunken eyes you look hot. have you been on vacation?

Ashley: a reporter never goes on vacation. because the vacation is the story.

Melbourne: i'm technically on a break. between paths. but i helped out with the lawncare and yardwork and mowing this afternoon. cos i love those guys so much. i did the hard yards with them and got them to smile. i did more than open the gate. i gave them each a hug and they ended with giving me a group pat on the back. Serena, hello! are you disappointed?

Serena Williams: Meghan Markle and i are no longer friends, she says it's gonna take her full focus to reconcile with her father, she has no more time. she was bitter cos she said she gave me a show and i didn't really return the favor. and i kept some of the wedding party favors. kinda ruined the mood, spoiled the party atmosphere, poured water on the storybook ending, coronation fever was still sparking the air. but i got my kid and i'm alive, so i always win. don't take that drubbing with too much salt and silver. my kid is with Meghan now, she really wanted to play with her as she decides if she has cold feet with this whole thing.

President Bump: *to Serena* who are you?

Melbourne: sir! where did you come from?

Bump: coming from buying the groceries.

Melbourne flashes the red dotted flowing see-through light of a grocery-store price-scanner.

Bump: *coiling* whoa whoa whoa! yous be careful with that! what is that?

Melbourne: keep it, sir. hand it to your men, i use it to chase away the rodents that get in my garden.

Cliff Drysdale tries to crash the party, he hops over the fence but Melbourne is there at the estate gate to let him in. Cliff is surprised as he was willing to show his forged ATP card to one of the gardeners, but instead cuts the card in half with a lying-around garden tool of pincing pliers. Cliff is now ashamed. he shows his glove and touches Melbourne's cheek with his gloved hand, Melbourne takes off the glove and kisses Cliff's palm. Cliff cries away.

Melbourne: no need for an escort, Cliff knows he was wrong. i love Cliff as a brother, he is my brother, i kiss him on both cheeks. but he can't keep pretending to be Kevin Anderson, it's not fair to Kevin. one day there will be a 5th-set tiebreaker at all the Slams and Cliff and i will look back on this incident and laugh.

Bump: i hate marathons, too boring, not good for ratings. i currently have no place to go. the bathroom pipes at The Open were atrocious. i was practicing with my best friend Kim for the tournament.

Melbourne: Carnoustie looks like my lawn in summer. i love seeing my lawn brown during summer.

Bump: so Kim shoots a hole-in-one and that's that, i need to go back to Q school, yous know? and then a balloonist with a hose of water hits me in my head hair like some Civil Rights hydrant cannon. what was all that about?

Melbourne: hoses save lives. they're from the Garden.

Bump: that Manafort trial, amirite? i mean why doesn't he plead? Paul told me he can make more money on the inside than he can in Ukraine. the world we live in. he won't flip, right? not after all this time. i sent him my KFC pancakes to his jail cell this morning, hey i went without breakfast this morning that was a sacrifice. as a little sign. he can use the file as a knife.

Melbourne: *hands behind his head on the chair tilting on one leg* i've been known to flip the best of 'em. and men. but i can't seem to flip this house, no one wants all the work. and lawdy this manse needs a good flipping.

Bosanquet sips her horseradish vodka.

Bump: good, right, honey? i'm proud of you. it tastes good. real horseradish. straight from Butina's bosom herself. yeah, that's what she used to get answers. made from real horses, well Vlad's was, mine was sipped through a McDonald's straw this morning. definitely made up for not having a real breakfast today.

Melbourne: anyone for a liquid lunch? *stroking his hairless chin* Butina, Butina...i knew a Butina when i worked in the field, she had three nipples...on one breast. she got all the bad boys i remembered. very exotic.

James Gunn: why would anyone have a Twitter? no seriously. and if you're gonna twitter, why keep around five-year-old ancient tweets? they serve no purpose other than to remind you you can never escape your past no matter what kind of a good person you are now.

Bump: yes, with yous, patna, can you delete only part of your twitter? like just keep this year's tweets, that's it? get rid of the rest?

President of Finland: everyone's leaving. all our Viking Cruise ships are being moored. in other Scandinavia. or set on fire. nobody wants to come anymore. we had the reputation of SOLVING crises between countries, not STARTING them with a soceer ball. the doves were all ready in their cages to be let out to fly in the frigid sky. temps were tamped. we are the SUMMIT, the highest point of human experience! now we will go back to being what we've always long suspected: we're nothing more than a giant iceberg. we were once quoted in the media as being the most depressed people on the planet. but we had challenged the curve and were looking up, people were getting happier and more educated, and we became the happiest, friendliest Finns in the most-recent poll and The Simpsons. but it looks like we're going back downhill.

Taki is on the phone again. this time to her boss.

Taki: yes, boss, got it, i understand your instructions. the assignment is good as dead. i mean done. possible illegal you say? hiding out here in Obec? sounds like a real sicko serial killer. yeah i saw the clippings online, after i clipped them out myself from my own newspaper article. a supposed collector of ancient Grecian and Roman statues of goddesses? ivory with their arms chopped off. huh, the drones work this time. collector, huh? nice racket if you can make the least racket. hidden in plain site. the black market will be the least of this dude's worries, he has to contend with his black soul. prolly gets all juicy excited amd soy-fed inspired by those demented monuments, testaments to his testes, he likes 'em motionless. i'll nab him with the sheer power of my presence. i ain't paranoid, i have a pussy! yes, i only take orders from you cos you're a ladyboss. i think. you have a very deep voice. chain-smoker? this is my scoop, sergeant, save tomorrow morning's broadsheet for me! but first, allow me to endeavor and entertain you with my morning routine. witness me exercising my spirit. you won't see me reveal my secret, i run on pure instinct.

after her peach and rolling around in her fur, she slips off her cotton robe and splashes into the Long Hope River which perfectly crosses her path and her green getaway's path. the house's wood is bathed by the running stream, the stones in the center of the river add silver and salt. Taki is so giddy with bubbling potential energy and dreamy this morning she forgot to dream the night before. she closes her eyes letting the current carry her wherever today. she can feel each drop on the back of her spine. she is lost in a daydream of discovery, a dam of defense, a jurypool of justice.

some time passes in the oasis. how much is a tree. her body feels that it's taking a path heretofore unknown to its back, forked left when she thought it could only fork right. but she is oblivious. her consciousness lost to another world

her naked body its own open raft. quickly descending an incline and into the foamy mouth of a slippery and quite-high waterfall that empties out literally on a fast ground landing of spray in the middle of Melbourne's garden.

Taki's body gets embarrassed before her mind does. though she is red-as-a-heart-attack on her face---Japanese folk don't usually get THIS red---only in manga---her reporter's mind quickly rattles through her lists, her possible headlines, her Helvetica, picking the winner of the wordsalad raffle in her head:

Taki: hiding in plain site/plain plantation/plantation rude! how rageful and full of spite your waterfall is, no way this waters your garden, it's too hard. it spits like you do to their female faces!

Melbourne smiles.

Monday, July 30, 2018


1. one thing that you will never do again? attend summer camp! what was i thinking all those years!? it was horrible! i didn't mind the cockroaches or the bugle horn in my ear, what i minded was that we couldn't watch tv! i'll take a cockroach-infested cot as long as i don't have to share it. i didn't mind the shorts-as-flag-up-the-flagpole thing cos i hated swimming in that dirty bog. we would gather round the campfire in the still of night and sing campfire songs, i never knew the words to any of them, it was so embarrassing when everyone would look at me to continue the round. one of the counselors broke the awkward silence with the sung lyric "turn your head now baby just spit me out". that counselor was quietly and quickly asked to leave, i could see him escorted by flamelight under cover of night. i guess he wasn't a good singer or something, didn't spit fire.

2. who knows you the best? Ed Roland from Collective Soul. he chose love.

3. do you think a relationship should be 50/50 all the time? yes. unless you're in a relationship with Barbara Walters in which case it should be 20/20.

4. when was your most recent act of kindness? was it appreciated? so i sit on my toilet every night around 3AM after my writing sessions. and invariably as i'm so tired i can barely walk and i bump into the hard corners of my faux-ivory sink, there's a little bugger there to greet me. always. a slime worm from the sewer below my house (my house is on a shaky foundation) smiles at me, hanging on by its slime, sticking to the bonzai-blue bathroom tile wall directly opposite my sightline like Spider-Man, waving its pincers at me. i have to get up, crink my back, and carry the sucker all the way to the other side of the house in the dark stepping on god-knows-what to get to the kitchen and the outside door, where i slide him off a soft napkin to the outside tile and close the door behind me. i don't flush down the toilet anymore. the next early morning, the same slime appears on his favorite spot shivering, telling me he's cold. i knit him some tiny tiny tiny scarf and mittens using only my pinkie finger, it's like delicate microsurgery, all while sitting on the toilet. it's good cos it gives me something to do. on the third night, the slime slug sticks on his favorite tile and gives me the thumbs-up with his pincers, his pincers wearing the mittens. he in turn knits me a long long long sock...

5. are you a good friend? why or why not? i should think i'd be a good friend, the best in fact. but i don't know since i don't have any. i would be the best friend cos i would know the pain of being friendless. empathy. it's like one of those eternal infinite conundrums where you're not allowed to show your talents.

6. what is something that you tried really hard to like but just couldn't? The Last Jedi. it was funny! it can't be funny, Star Wars is serious business! hey, i bet you'd thought you'd never see "serious business" in print again, huh, thought that meme was dead. now mind you i don't know if the rest of the movie is like this, i've only seen the first 15 minutes. Star Wars stream-of-consciousness. Joycean. meeting a cast of characters who are really yourself. streaming it at the theatre.

bonus: how was your month of July? did you do anything interesting, fun, new? it was all a blur. cos it was so boring. can a blur be one of boredom? a boredom blur? a boring blur? Blur is not boring, you take that back! i watched The Last Unicorn. i know, i know, this was a film you'd think i would have seen by now what with my medieval-page-reincarnation thing going on, but i've only now gotten round to it, freed up my schedule enough for it. that Butterfly is a hoot! Robert Klein was on all cylinders with that meandering performance, randoming singing songs like a drunken sailor full of desire, i pattern my life and speech pattern after The Butterfly, that's how i learn how to stay appearing functioning. Bob Klein is the next De Niro! one day i will meet my soul mate, my perfect match, my matching unicorn, who will be the last unicorn, and we shall uncorn together into a rainbow waterfall. i can already tell from the first 15 minutes that The Last Unicorn will be funny...

wordpress is good for business?...


Friday, July 27, 2018



* i don't understand this commercial cos i don't shave and i'm not a man

* can every retailer please go back to the 4-minute commercial that takes its time to breathe and make room? it would make my life a whole lot easier.

* i've been there. Stephen A. Smith, dabbing your armpit grease with a damp brown paper towel from an airport bathroom, having to eat a Mr. Pretzel in the lounge waiting for your flight to ChiTown cos Jordan has announced on twitter he wants to laugh instead of cry, having that flight delayed cos Dennis Rodman rummaged through your luggage...

* bears love tubs. that's why you always see them in backyard swimming pools.

* blame the Romans for starting that tradition of peeing in the hot tub. they thought it would add to the heat. the Christians thought otherwise.

* Ariel is a hero to all of us. we don't eat with forks, we eat with our hands.

* fat guys especially love Mike's Hard Lemonade

* you know who sings this? not Sinatra, not Sinatra Jr., Brian

* OH, St. Elsewhere ending! TWEEST! this was not in the truncated 1-minute version, sneaky devils. all the world's a stage, men and women mere poor players. me so poor i can't act, and i never got past the developmental stage where i'm puking and mewling on my handmaiden nurse

* only women can make that sexy, where they squeeze their naked bodies into a small ivory tub like that, it's so Grecian fresco, shiny legs sticking out like a fan. i'm a skinny man and did that but it only came out Roman Bath.

* i do my best thinking on the toilet. and i beat the high score in Pac-Man and Donkey Kong, really this time, i didn't cheat with quarters misted with vegetable cooking spray or somehow manipulated the arcade cabinet. i'm starting to get into Fortnite...

* even Banksy in his blue trunks gets the bathroom blues...

* a clown needs a good pair of tweezers to makeup his pain.

* if you're not gonna shower, at least shave your pubes so they don't get lice

* Ariel: not slicked-back, honey, no.
man in pink shirt: but i gotta be me.
Phoenix: i gotta be me. whoever that is.

* man sniffs out of his nostrils his contact lenses...

* it's the talented blonde from SNL! missing SNL inordinately this season without any summer stopgap shows.

* puff a few sprays of your perfume into the air and run into the spray cloud careful to avoid running into the bathroom mirror or your coke glass. do NOT do this with your Old Spice pomade cos you'll be flying a Red Baron plane at the time

* man: it's the LeBron powder thing but involving my pubes.
old man: Jordan never did that. what do you call that move?
man: "Coming in L.A."

* red trunks: if i have to masking-tape my nipples to get Trent's attention i'll do it.
Trent: i'm a family man now, my woman made me see the light, all that goth stuff was so childish.
Trent's wife: so we introduced the goth lifestyle to our kids...

* blue trunks: can you do my back?
black man: the woman in the tub is still doing her legs?

* i blow-dry my pubes cos i'm bald...up there.

* okay, i was wrong, the two men squeezed in the tiny tub facing each other is the sexiest, heehee

* i don't care who you are, or if you care to admit it, but when you're alone in the shower, you pretend you're in the movie Flashdance.

* next time, move the tv in the living room to the toilet BEFORE i go. i got my dirty hands all over the video-game controllers for nothing.

* the current leader of the Tour de France, Bernie Sanders warrior-goddess, Andrew WK, and Ronaldo who recently signed a billion-dollar offer tender to sell chicken tenders at a South African KFC

* sports fan: what does it say on your chest?
other sports fan: i'm so manly my chest-hair instantly grew back over it.

* that's an '80s-movie trope, the whole spraying-your-penis thing with Binaca, urban legend, myth. just plug it up with a breath mint, THAT has been scientifically proven.

* man applying a white substance to another man's back: so i work at a deli. i was transferred.
applied man: um, not that that isn't interesting but why does my back smell? suntan lotion, right?
applier man: no, Bengay. Ben-Gay when i was young.

* product spokesman: i could put toilet paper down my pants, but why don't i cut out the middle man and put the brown toilet-paper-roll in my junk? i could do this for you, too.

* we all want Richard Simmons to come out. of his mansion i mean. come on, Milton Teagle, there's nothing to be afraid of. the world is scary but it's only gonna get scarier if you wait.

* McGregor got off easy

* i pushed down all the walls which hindered my dream of becoming an actor, a success in Hollywood, at least a writer for the CW or something. i ended up homeless...

* that one wasn't a prop. it was the actual heavy blue-beetled Grecian-stone seashell-pattern bathroom wall of that dude from Australia who was transplanted to Carmel and is the husband of that famous Southern tv chefess who's from deep Georgia or northern Alabama or somewheres, you don't know her name but she still manages to have half-a-million followers?

* Ariel: flower in my hair, waterlogged don't care.

* there's a shortage of pistachios in this country! Hershey's, get on it! fix the problem from the top!

* you know what tonight's Blood Moon means? this is the one day a year vampires are forced to be vegetarians. it's like The Purge in reverse, back to the original meaning.


happy weekend, my babies. what should i do for my soccer withdrawal? i'm on an aggressive regimen of pills, products, and pomade. the doctor says i will eventually cheer up but i won't be completely cured until four years from now

Monday, July 23, 2018


i won't be able to get through that PBS docu without a symphony of emotion on both sides. a catharsis from the Canal. it was different with Robin Williams, he was fam, he was San Fran fam from our community, he was San Francisco artistry. there's a special breed, brand, of San Fran art which distinguishes from the mean streets or the prairie, it's as open as can be, it explores the edges of a heart, not just its light. and there he landed on his spaceship, communicating the alien's wish, in his pre-grunge orange stripes and psychedelic rainbow taxi-cab-driver's cap and acid hair and Seventies shock and suspenders from the most beautiful bridge in the world. a drawbridge which allowed us ogres to see how we were made one night when God was drunk. he was everyone's weird uncle, the weird uncle you wanted to visit in his hot house in Marin cos he had the lost U.N.C.L.E.. out of the set and into our shag living rooms from a Sesame Street both demented and demure. a man from a different time, an era of engagement, of care and of caring, when we were all in on the dirty joke, when his warm human smile always followed. big nose, big heart. he took on the burden of the clown cross for us, painting with orange paint, making poetry come alive and our suits less stuffy. made us believe in our wishes, included us, made us feel better, he was the doc not the docu. he will never come back, for those peerless decades will never come back. the first taxi-cab confession on NYC mean streets. that time is gone. he taught us our numbers, letters, and colors.

will we ever laugh again? no, no we will not.

1. what do you need to learn but won't admit to? i need to learn. i need to learn so much. so much more. i need to go to college. and learn stuff. but Harvard won't admit me.

2. if you could erase one event from your life, which one would you choose? briefly describe the event, tell us why you would erase it. go back to when i was about to commit the crime of watching Minority Report and stop myself before the precogs find out and the cops nab me.

but here's the thing: that's what THEY want me to think. the thing is, i ENJOYED Minority Report! no it wasn't a kid's film, no i don't care how many views that famous youtube rebuke of the film got, that doesn't mean you're right, for all we know YOU could be Cruise!

i'm now in future jail for having bad taste. where are the pitless black olives for my toes? for liking things not directly marketed to me. i now know how Gene Siskel feels. at least they've hooked me up with all the bubble wires i could dream of, they've submnerged me in a jacuzzi so i'm constantly calm. i constantly feel anachronistic.

this frees up time for me to comb over A Scanner Darkly in preparation for the secomd season of Dream Corps LLC on adult swim. i'm on a bit of a Philip K. Dick kick currently---no time to watch tv---a Philip Phase, the time when his wife left him (a mutually-beneficial decision probably for the best for both of them) alone in that swanky pad in Marin, county commune, with his new drug-buddy friends. the other wife actually wrote the book. i like Philip, he cries when he writes like me.

3. who drains your energy, and why do you let it happen? Dracula. he drains my life force when i'm with him. like literally i feel my blood run cold and empty, i don't know why or where it's going. he's also a massive time-suck and i can never reach him at his office during business hours. why do i stay with him? he knows DIO. and the sex is out-of-this-underworld.

4. do you practice self-love or self-loathing? i practice a happy medium called "self-loafing". i bake myself a loaf every time i start feeling low like i could blow, place it on the sill to cool Snow-White-style. i talk to the bird who tweets in my hair. also i find practicing my archery naked in the woods helps in these loaf moments. i'm an archer.

5. what must you do daily to keep yourself sane? writing prompts. i wish TMIT was week-long.

bonus: who do you blame? the man in the mirror, Dracula.


Friday, July 20, 2018



* i'm always one for keeping the family together.

* there were the variations on The First Purge for the title that will never happen on my watch

* this starts the way the Lifehouse "Spin" music video ends, with the dude smoking at the sun, defying the sunset

* spoilers: he has a daughter. remember?

* this is the kind of stuff Tolkien would write if her were alive today...which he is...he's buried in a magic mountain not the theme park

* will i be alive to see if the Blade Runner future is real and what really happens? perhaps the more pressing pertinent question is will Harrison Ford be fitted with cybernetics and a personal robot pilot so he'll survive long enough to see it as well?

* executive: the ads are everywhere.
CEO: and whose fault is that?
executive: yours.

* CEO: flip the switch.
gamer on his first date: you don't look at all like your profile. is your name really Ms. Taco Belle?
attractive red-headed woman in silhouette: that's cos the lights went off in this Taco Bell establishment.

* filter team: don't worry, we got this, boss. we'll spraypaint all the Nacho Fries posters on bus stops and replace them with posters with just the Batman logo against a black backdrop, no other words. people will freak out and have no idea what's going on. is Tim Burton coming back? is this the new Bruce Timm thing on HBO so he can finally add all the deviant sex and strange ships he wants? which Tim is it?
CEO: what's with the clown makeup? Tim Burton should have played The Joker in his own movie, he already looks like the Joker.
filter team: no worries, Australian CEO boss to hide our assets on an island, the makeup is so we don't get recognized.
CEO: but by being crazy clowns you'll attract the attention of the cops. or worse, Batman.

* daughter: i had fishnet stockings. now i just have a net.

* CEO: that's small potatoes, Jim.
executive: nacho cheese.
CEO: i don't get it.

* man: i'm homeless. but i got my hands on the one thing they can't take from me.
daughter: freedom.
man: no, Taco Bell Nacho Fries.
daughter: next time put out your trash fire so we can talk in the dark.

* daughter: LET GO OF ME!!! tho i must say this is a nice red-carpeted gilded spiral staircase. reminds me of that one Titanic scene. this is from all the money you collect from unsuspecting gamers, huh. pretty pretty nice.

* i really need to start watching Outlander, huh? i hear the sex in that is great. or The Bastard Executioner cos i want to tell people out loud around the office watercooler the next morning the title of the program i watched last night. or at least Milwaukee Blacksmith.

* man: a-SALT with a deadly ketchup!!!
the crowd goes wild.
man: i won't say pepper cos i don't want to bring attention to myself. also, thank you for this beret, makes me look like a sophisticated revolutionary.
daughter: and thank you for these Lara Croft bootyshorts. can you turn off the cascading heavenly spears of light waterfalling into this abandoned warehouse? my light skin burns easily.

* Josh Duhamel: I'M BACK!!!
daughter: DADDY? i thought you were dead! you missed all of my formative years. i went to the prom with my Mr. Potato Head i was so obsessed with the cause......we're getting married in the Fall, he's an honorable man and we had a bit of a wild prom night. spent the night inside. i went to college in Idaho. i did my graduate work in Wisconsin when they wouldn't let me into Mexico.
Josh Duhamel: for a limited time! get those Nacho Fries while they're hot!!!
daughter: don't you have anything to say to me, daddy?
Josh: here's a salt-n-pepper dog i gotcha to make up for everything.
daughter: i can't sing so Fergie's not my mom, is she?

* daughter: *flipping the script later to director flipping the script* um, i was told the father was dead and this would be a star-vehicle just for me...

* for SHAME, Volvo!!!: CLICK HERE

i was so excited when i heard there was new Walt Whitman from Volvo but why does the woman waitress only get 30 seconds when the man got 3 minutes! so disappointing, this was going to be this week's showcase in my head.

* Christmas In July. no, ALL MY CHILDREN <---now THAT should have been the title


happy weekend, my babies. the weekend is shaping up like a hosel-rocket arch. nicely: the British Open or The Open i guess it's called now is gonna be a burn-burner with Rory and Tiger in the mix.