Friday, October 13, 2017



* i can't really write on this.

* i am contractually obligated to write on all the phoenix things.

* great grandmother: hello, great granddaughter. are you listening to me? do you know how much i sacrificed for you? say something.
baby: goo goo gah gah
great grandmother: men don't like baby talk anymore.
baby: can you change my diaper?
great grandmother: you have to learn to be independent.

* you may never know me. for i am going to Heaven.

* little girl: i hate hospitals.
little girl: i didn't mean it!

* young lady: mom, what's going on out there? why do we have to hole up in a bomb shelter?
mom: it's just the adults playing hide-and-go-seek, dear.

* immigration officer: papers.
girl hands him her teddy bear.
girl: you have to let me in the country.
immigration officer: and why is that?
girl: cos you're my grandpa. i can stay, you can't.

* reel-to-reel is still the best tech. cleanest sound.

* young woman: mom wanted me to put my nose to the grindstone and hit the books. but i put my nose in other things and took hits of other substances. ain't that right, teddy?
teddy bear: i saw the whole thing.
young woman: NOW I WANT TO DANCE!!!

* young woman: when they were out of a book at the library, i wrote my own. i was always self-sufficient.

* woman: i don't understand. being a cleaners is a noble profession in my country. only the nobles have cleaners.
coworker gal pal: we're like Laverne & Shirley on the assembly line.
woman: i get that reference. here is my dirty glove on your bottle. you shouldn't be drinking at work.
coworker gal pal: that's a cute powder-blue outfit.
woman: i'm studying to work at Mel's Diner. i learned English watching Alice.

* 30s woman: what's this called?
boss: a cubicle.
30s woman: in my country these are called troll farms. we have a lot of fun in my country.

* 30s woman: what's this called?
boss: a computer.
30s woman: do i need to learn how to use it?
boss: no. in the future we'll just have ipads.

* boss: join me for drinks?
30s woman: no thanks. i drink water. i'll drink the rain outside.

* office worker: WHOA! who's the milf?
 older woman: i'm your new boss. dammit, i thought my skirt was long enough.

* older woman: where do i put this box?
office workers: we can't use that term in the workplace.

* baby: so apparently you're actually my mother.
great grandmother: i spent so much time laser-focused on getting ahead i forgot how i had fun.

* great grandmother: so, my great granddaughter, what have you decided to become?
great granddaughter: i want to play video games for a living.


happy weekend, my babies. don't go out tonight. it's pretty perfect that there's a Friday the 13th in Halloween Month.

Wednesday, October 11, 2017


later, when the offices are closed for the night, Mueller and company break back into the office.

Mueller: it's a 24/7 job we have.

Ashley: i miss him. this was Comey's old office, too, right?

Mueller: yes. i know. here, use this phone. it's untraceable.

Junior begins singing a little Italian ariata in front of the crescent moon.

Comey: that's amore!

Ashley: *smiling* you were listening in to our private conversation?

Comey: of course.

Ashley: *smiling* that is so cute! honey i miss you. i'll be over soon.

she heartily kisses the bottom circle of the phone receiver.

Junior spits on that bottom circle and wipes it with his pocket kerchief.

Junior: saliva is the best disinfectant. for coicles.

Mueller: untraceable.


at the weather center, Dr. Erika Navarro is interviewing a stubborn barkeep in the wake of Hurricane Nate. who has his arms around her.

barkeep: Nate? another one? now little lady, let me tell you you don't live to be as old as i am without learning to tune out. there can't be more and more of these storms, it's impossible. my shop was serving the slop and the juice through all kinds of disturbances and we ain't stoppin' now for some hype. some nother Nate. it's gonna come destroy us? record flooding for a Category One Half? come on! that's more of that fake news that's meant to divide us. i mean pick your poison, right? isn't it time for all of us in this world to be happy? come dance with me.

Erika: no.

Goody Paul: was he bothering you, dear? it's Goody in the studio.

Erika: yes. his staggering ignorance.

Goody: THE RAIN SHALL BE NAMED. this rain's got a name. unfortunately there's no rain relief in sight for those Cali fires. we name all storms around here at the weather channel, i wonder if we should name this firestorm.

Erika: probably in bad taste.

Goody: i was thinking........Fire Man!


Mr. Maldark is called into Intendo's office. at school.

Intendo: Mr. Maldark have a seat. well, you'd be shocked to witness the stuff i see everyday driving around on the job. why just this morning i see a whole car crashed into the garage of this house. these are our neighborhoods. that thing looks like it's been there for awhile. hasn't been moved or touched at all. i mean jesus.

Maldark: i have class.

Intendo: i won't keep you. my men searched your place. ransacked the shit out of it. every nook and cranny as they say in Englandia. we checked your victory garden, nice government-issued plums by the way. seedless, right?

Maldark: i cringe at what pesticides you sprayed them with to achieve that. came with the house.

Intendo: i'll be honest. your place is a mess. papers everywhere. sheaves of scribble and plans for something and long trails of numbers. formulas written in blood. sumerian symbols. stacks of dust. books pinned to a large hairy bulletin board which is really just your bedroom wall. red yarn hanging everywhere.

Maldark: that's for my cats.

Intendo: yeah, and your purple cats scratched my eyes out! it's a bit nutty. a conspirator's cave. all that was missing was the tinfoil. what are you cooking up over there? it was like a sniper's nest.

Maldark: but i hate guns. oh no, i don't cook extravagantly with tinfoil anymore, too pricey. i'll never eat a roast chicken again.

Intendo: and what was that flag? like a good citizen you had your American flag up 24/7 but it had orange stripes and green stars. what's that supposed to symbol? the only time we didn't have eyes on you was when you did that tinkerbell thing in your morning robe where you twirled around and put the pieces of bacon to your nipples before feeding your cats. watch yourself.

Maldark: art. and, uh, the art community.

Intendo: you're dismissed.

Maldark: class. hey class! listen up! this is not a traffic school. this is an institute. thanks for fixing my stickshift, Deen, it was sticking something awful.

Deen: no problemo, Mr. Dude.

Less: brodacious.

Less and Deen high-five under the stressed tile.

Deen: hey are you feeling okay?

Less: no, not really.

Maldark: okay the movie should work now. if the power doesn't go out in the middle. hopefully you complete this and the teachers' starvation pay the bills around here. follow intently,


the students look on, mum.

Maldark: hopefully we all achieve. to dream like this. the first person to ever dream of space travel was a man by the name of Lucian of Samosata.

Less: and the aliens. and the women.

Deen: true story?

Maldark: yes, that was the name of his book...


Superintendent Intendo is pacing back and forth in his office at the FBI. he drinks his papers and rifles through his cup of coffee. of course this spills his coffee all over his desk, in a beautiful waterfall down the center. he lifts up his dripping papers as he ponders what his next move should be.

Intendo: there's something about a piece of white paper stained with coffee. the brown forms elusive complicated vein patterns, like crushed waterpaint routes. it is quite magnificently poetic. it's like the coffee belongs on the paper, it is a work of art meant to be. whatever this was for before it is no more.

he rolls the paper into a makeshift hollow pipe and begins sniffing the cocaine off his desk.

Intendo: civil servant. no rolled 100-dollar bills for me. but it works the same. the great equalizer.

*phone rings*

Intendo: yeah. did you comb the whole house? even the bushes? do it the way i showed you, bottom to top so you don't harm the rosepetals? miss the stem? right. i'll be right over.

he tramples over his coat, hits his head on the coatrack, and shatters the glass of his door screwing with the knob.


President Bump is on a bike. he struggles to sit down and ride but the pedals are too big for him. he is like a clown without makeup. he blows the novelty coiled airhorn on the basket.

Bump: rolling? always rolling. the French countryside is landscaped with the color wheat as the pumpkins dot the roads. flowers bloom in time for the riders to be seduced as the scent paints the way to their stage finish. the lines are paved with jealous onlookers who have to work for a living. look at this clean path! no one in sight. i could win the Tour de France by myself if this damn contraption thing went faster than 3mph. alas, it is French and nonunderstandable. we need an American Tour de France. i had one once, don't listen to Tesh, Sellecca was saucy, she was looking for the greatest American hero. it was called the Tour de Bump, then sponsors came in and ruined it as sponsors do and renamed it DuPont or something. it did huge numbers but the public was confused. their sons wanted to grow up to be firemen and cops and baseball players, not riders of bike. i mean who ever heard of anything so absurd as a bicycle for a Christmas present? where would you put the bow? anyway the whole thing was a flop but don't blame me, blame the froggies. they invented Frogger.

Greg LeMond: i rode that. i always seem to be everywhere the bikeracing community doesn't want me to be.

Bump: we'll be right back after these messages.

but i never gave up on sports. i should have been a producer. sports are the lifeblood of this country, you know? they matter more than finances and nuclear obliteration. people don't care about tribalism, they care about their Yankess. i know that full well. i was gonna start my own network, TSPN. but the NFL sued to block me from carrying any of my broadcasts.

stay tuned, folks, the break is coming up, but we'll be right back. this is usually the time the Anthem is played and no one cares so it's not shown. but i'm here now. will i make a fuss again? you'll see. it's the calm before the hurricane.

at the National Anthem, Rex Tillerson is singing it.

Pence: my you are quite the heldentenor, Rex! you are so rich. with the voice. i didn't know you could sang.

Rex: singing is my real passion. i want to open on Broadway. are the Muppets still there? i want to do an SNL monologue. you know i know it's incorrect, but i still want to pronounce her name Gal Gadough. it just sounds right. and cooler.

Bump: doh! i thought she was a porn star. her name is a porn star. i challenge you to an IQ test. i'm the smartest person who ever lived. the Bible tells me so.

Rex: fine. what's the capital of Maine?

Bump: Bangor. that's how i met Sarah Palin.

Rex: wrong. Augusta.

Bump: what? it seems it should be Bangor. that would be cooler. and right. i mean Augusta, really?

Rex: the public changed on me. i was thought to be the mean grandpa. but i turned into the kindly old grandpa. YOU'RE the bad grandpa! i challenge you to a duel. meet me on the set of Qi on the week-END.

Bump: what is that?

Pence: British.

Bump: then it doesn't matter.

Rex Tillerson disappears into thin air.

Pence: oh. i was just about to take a picture of you, Rex.


Ashley Parker is being dragged down a dimly-lit hallway by Mueller.

Ashley: are you sure this will work?

Mueller: if we're quiet about it. it's gotta. for the sake of the country. and the world. do you really have to still be wearing your roller skates?

Ashley: hey you called me.

Mueller: quickly come inside my office.

Ashley: are you fucking me?! do you live under a rock?! do you not watch the news?!

Mueller: no. that's why i need you. i told you. i no longer have my FBI office where i left behind vital files i need to close the deal. i'm afraid you're stuck with me till this crisis is over. it won't be averted. one Intendo is the current occupant.

the door has a hole where the knob should be. Junior jumps into the hole. Mueller gingerly taps his foot to the hole and opens the creaking door slowly.

Mueller: *ushering* come on, come on!

and he slams the door shut.

Mueller: let's pretend we're making out. i hear guys down the hall approaching. hurry.

Ashley: no. never. done. remove my wire.

Mueller: oh damn! the window pane on the door is cracked! Junior, do your thing. Junior? where'd he go?

Junior like a pistol bullet retrieves a new pane of glass. but in the best traditions of The Three Stooges, he is carrying the pane over him and nobody sees him and they all tumble down and crash the glass. three times.

Junior: *gluing the edges of the glass with white paint* there, boss. it's all set in affixed to the door.

Mueller: see i want it to be all noir. they'll see the shadows of you and i through the glass, just the silhouettes, and know a man and woman are busy in here.

Ashley: getting raped.

Mueller: and leave us alone.

the three men walk by.

Mueller: some things never change. that bought me enough time. i got the crucial file. let's scram.

Monday, October 9, 2017


1. i am me because______________nobody else wanted it.

2. ______________will never ever do________________ The Hulk, PCP (or we're in trouble)

3. he was grabbing ice cubes and _______________pretending he was all hard like Cube and Ice-T but he had no primetime shows. he was just slinging lemonade that tasted like iced tea in a commercial on the curb and getting stomped there.

Majin Buu was stuffing ice cubes down his pants. he danced in the air like Hammer and giggled.

4. ok ok i'm really__________ok. i was just kidding the whole time. but i'm seriously depressed.

5. the charming______________got in my________________


it's all in there. the lyrics, the sexy dancing, and the burning sage.

bonus: tell us about places where you've been happiest. loud '80s arcades at the mall next to Sbarro. beige skeeball lanes easy to cheat, you wait till Chuck E Cheese turns his head and plunge the ball into the top circle for 1000 tickets. the 7-Eleven on Wilshire on top of the gas station. the defunct Lazer Tag which now serves as the Halloween Hay Maze one month out of the year seasonally. miniature golf: for years i thought that was real golf. batting cages: that one time i got beaned in the head, luckily i was wearing my oversize helmet, in the softball moonball cage, too, the slowest one, those things are dangerous for children. finding 60-dollar Nintendo railroad cartridges at some makeshift rectangular kiosk deep in the heart of some warehouse next to the mattresses and specialty-flavor Strawberry Icees you could only get there in the entire tri-state area, i swear it was like a bazaar but inside a cheaply-lit Target. Chipotle which back then was called Taco Bell. huffing under the bleachers which back then was called graffiti but now is called art. huffing under the bleachers which back then was called smoking but now is called incense. skating on the half-pipe which was really just a converted jungle gym.

i did a lot of loitering as a kid...


Friday, October 6, 2017



* just in time for Halloween. sorry, i thought you were wearing a costume.

* Virginia Christine, a name straight out of the pages of a paperback Harlequin romance.

* director: do you prefer Mrs. Olson or the Folgers Coffee Woman?
Mrs. Olson: i prefer you feed me all the pastries on that craft-service table.

* groovy man: this paint party is a great idea. and that's not my roller.

* groovy woman: you like my psychedelic shirt?
groovy man: that's how it came? i thought you painted that atrocity.

* groovy woman: how hard could it be? it's just coffee. it's just brown water.
grrovy man: your coffee killed a man.
groovy woman: your manner is creepy. you're either a soap-opera hunk or a serial killer. YOU killed a man.

* groovy woman: what are you doing here?
Mrs. Olson: exactly. i was hot once. i don't need this shit!
groovy woman: did you bring the sandwiches?
Mrs. Olson: what am i, your mother?!
groovy woman: yes. otherwise you're some vagrant cat-lady who unnervingly popped in unannounced.
groovy man: just in time for Halloween.

* Mrs. Olson: darling what are those blue pants called?
woman: bellbottoms. you like my butt?
Mrs. Olson: can't tell. next time wear jeans so i have somewhere to focus my eyes.
groovy woman: almost finished. just need to apply the yellow paint.
Mrs. Olson: i ate some of it. i thought those were cans of cold fondue.

* Mrs. Olson: you're not superstitious, are you, dear? follow me under this ladder.
groovy woman: i'm more unsettled by your Hansel and Gretel picnic basket.

* Mrs. Olson: there are no shortcuts in life or coffee *pulls out instant coffee crystals*

* groovy woman: will i have a good life?
Mrs. Olson: look at my face.

* Mrs. Olson: i think Folgers tastes best. they're the only ones who didn't drop me as a sponsor after my incident.

* groovy woman: Mountain Grown? what does that mean? which mountain?
Mrs. Olson: that's where the children are, dear.

* i have that same percolator with the flowered white cylinder pot decanter and silver head and black handle and UFO spaceship bubble. my mom keeps her lemonade in it.

* groovy woman: how's it taste?
groovy man: like air.

* Mrs. Olson: why is your shirt covered in white stuff?
groovy man: well i was...
Mrs. Olson: no need to explain, honey. you experimented with a billygoat. back in my day that was called the studio system.


happy weekend, my babies. R.I.P. Ralphie

Wednesday, October 4, 2017


Mueller:...we can make this work. you said this was the only place that allows you to keep your skates on after derbying and order cos the booth benches are black.

Ashley: who'd want to take them off? aren't they pretty? the wheels are actual stars. what's up?

Mueller: not my cock. i'm sweating bullets, doll. everybody's putting this tremendous pressure on me to deliver something dramatic. i don't know if it's all there. may stop before the juice. before the seller. or the buyer. i feel very deflated. we need your help.

Ashley: *sigh* did you bring the boy?

Mueller: of course! he and i are joined at the wire.

Ashley: and what are we calling the boy?

Mueller: Junior's fine. what's the scoop, Junior?

Junior: i like ice cream, all flavors. i mean so uh mommy, hi mommy. OJ Simpson was the Vegas shooter.

Ashley: uh, i have to check my notes but i'm pretty sure i can not confirm that.

Mueller: see? we make a great team! you're so pretty in the dark. i love it when you smile for real.

Ashley: i got chipped teeth. that's why i drink a lot. to cover my mouth. buy me a drink, that's what restaurants are for.

Mueller: another one? okay but the taxpayer isn't gonna like this.


at the weather channel Hurricane Jose joins with Hurricane Maria. instead of forming a Super Hurricane they blend and peter out.

Bump: what's the situation?

Goody Paul: Mr. President you're on with us live on live tv.

Bump: doesn't matter. just talk as if this were a private call. there's no privacy anymore.

Goody: they cancelled each other out, sir. all clear. it's just me in the studio. my wife is in the throes of her Wicaan hibernation and my usual partner is in the midst of a sabbatical.

Bump: what happened to her? she was hot. Martina the Rose...

Goody: Maria. a hurricane of unprecented devastation was her namesake. she's experiencing massive survivor's guilt. this really messed her up. she's challenging all her precepts. she can't even squeeze Starbucks anymore her hand shakes too much.

Bump: hey can you move the chyron on your broadcast? i can't see the babes' tits. they accuse me of not knowing where Puerto Rico is, well how can i pay attention to what's on the map when i'm looking at the weathergirl's high heels when she turns around?


at the National Anthem, the baseballs are flying over.

Aaron Tveit: i'm gonna sing the National Anthem now. i want everyone in the stands to join me in singing the National Anthem. you don't have to link anything just sing it, too. you don't have to put your hand on your heart, just don't put your hand on your mouth. i want to hear the whole crowd. i'm gonna sing the National Anthem now.

Tveit starts but he doesn't finish. midway through his spirited Broadway rendition of the Anthem he disappears into thin air.


in the breakroom Maldark is huddled in a corner and nervously takes a sip of his white styrofoam cup.

Maldark: oh that's good. the coffee hitting my throat like a hot snake. my vocal chords are bathed in this elixir of excess. for but a brief breathy moment i can forget...

Kelechi: hello.

this spooks Maldark.

Maldark: *frazzled* what are you doing here?

Kelechi: i work here. i'm the lucky one i guess. i teach the course. get to go outside and drive around. not that my dark skin needs any more color. but the classrooms have mildew from last semester. styrofoam was banned years ago.

Maldark: i was just...

Kelechi: my name is Kelechi. you don't have to drink coffee in this room you know. there are plenty of cups of coffee scattered throughout campus. they're on the chalk ledges, under the students' desks, and when you pull down the projector screen. those plants all around? that's not potting soil they're sitting in. that's coffee grounds.

Maldark: i see. thank you.

and he leaves. but gets blocked by Superintendent Intendo.

Intendo: how you liking it, Mr.? we're gonna do a surprise inspection of your house later this afternoon. i got a friend at the FBI. nothing to worry about, just normal operating procedure. legal formality. safety check. best if you don't show, it's gonna get messy in there.

Maldark: oh. i see. it's a bungalow.

and Maldark leaves.

Maldark: class, hello, my name is i'm hungry. i'm not good with tech. in order to pass this course you're gonna have to get intimate with a car. let's take a look at my beat-up Pinto. as you can see, i haven't driven in ages.

Deen: that's what i said! my old man's Mustang is basically a Pinto.

Less: under the hood, baldie?

Maldark: under the car. what do you see, student?

Less: a system of slithery pipes. skewering rods. serrated metal circles.

Maldark: i see the Sistine Chapel.

Deen: wow. perfect. but why aren't you on your back on a rolling gurney like a proper oily mechanic?

Maldark: because that's a common myth. Michelangelo painted his masterpiece standing up, not on his broken back. take a look at the art on your phone. sorry, i wasn't able to roll down the projector screen.

Less: i see God and his band of angels around him.

Deen: and that famous shaka sign of pointed fingers.

Maldark: look at God again. and the angels surrounding him in a shape. what's that look like to you? it's a brain!

Less: just in time for Halloween. what was gonna be your original opening line for us, Mr. Maldark?

Maldark: society has outcasted us. we are cast in a particularly dim light. we are the failures and the felons and the losers and the crashers. we are not famous and never will be. we are simply the mounting masses. we who live our lives without a name. the rule-breakers and the left-behind. the unspecified, the unknown, the unqualified. well, folks, i will find something that will bind this family together against the world. a project will turn into an idea. an idea will turn into a concept. a concept will turn into a creed. and if we're lucky, a creed will turn into a catharsis. class, there is no place i would rather be than right here right now with you.


Less is a thoroughly unremarkable young man. his best friend Deen is his sidekick, at least he has that going for him, though Deen would beg to differ and offer that it's a matter of view. Less is typically seen around town lost and missing the bus by minutes. he wears a white T-shirt cos it's the most unremarkable piece of finery there is. Deen sports his ever-present burgundy felt hoodie and that moptop of Kurt Cobain dirty blond that never seems to go out of style. the two are joined in best-friendship not at the hip but at the foot. it is on this day, this day which has vexed youths since time immemorial, the Monday of all Mondays which wrecks full seasons of Summer saturdays and sundays: the start of school. driving school.

Deen: you walked here?'

Less: i don't want to talk about it. i mistook my lottery ticket for my bus pass. it appears when the dueling seasons merge and the colors clash and change i get to stepping. i recall clearly stepping on orange leaves but never green leaves. i don't meet with trees in summer. where were you this weekend?! it was the last gasp of summer i wanted to hang. i was bored to my skull.

Deen: i'm assuming you didn't win. sorry, Lester the Pester, i was severely grounded. i crashed my old man's Mustang into his garage. i tried to plead with him to lighten my sentence but he wasn't having it. mostly cos he wasn't hearing it.

Less: you got off lenient. i can't imagine what my mom would do. she'd kill me. not really, though, she loves me. that's why i don't drive. too much of a bother. it'd be easier to claim i was busy playing video games if you had bothered to show up. as it is, this is the only compromise my mom will accept.

Deen: i wish i could still shut up my mom. yeah it seems these rollerblades are my method of transport for the foreseeable future. they're still cool, right?

Less: for maybe one more year. have fun while you can. enjoy riding coolly without having to pull up your hoodie.

Mr. Maldark arrives in the cramped dingy room with the dusty sheetlights. he immediately spots the ridiculously oversized red/yellow/green black streetlight prop straight out of Mister Rogers' Neighborhood. he does not introduce himself. well other than by his garish Hawaiian shirt. instead he busies himself clearing all the empty tins of Folgers Crystals from his desk and plopping down his chickenscratch notes.

Maldark: put away your skateboard.

Less: that's my book bag, sir.

the class laughs.

Maldark: in the daylight my plans make no sense. okay, ditching the notes. what are you boys in for?

Deen: being kids.

Maldark: uh, attention. um hello. i was gonna have a prepared opening line for you practiced in front of the rear-view window. but i'm ditching that by the side of the road. my name is Maldark. and i'll be your favorite house-elf.

the class breaks the ice on the road with small snickers.

Deen: *shaking the surf's up sign* sir, please say that we can call you Dobby. you look just like him if he were an adult.

Less: i think he already is an adult. *shaking the shaka* i'd settle for calling you dude.

Maldark pushes all the buttons on the screen by him but nothing happens.

Maldark: does anyone know how to work this square?

Deen: it's a tv, sir.

Maldark: you know what, let's take a break, we can see the movie another time.

this rouses the dead-eyed class into a small cheer.


President Bump is dressing up Christopher Kimball. or rather dressing him down.

Kimball: why do i have to look like a street urchin? why did you dip my apron in chocolate? this particularly offends me cos we pride ourselves on being disinfectant clean. i won't say spic and span in front of you. is the tar on my face really necessary?

Bump moves him into position squatting on the curb.

Bump: it's just for the cameras, Chris, you know i have a great deal of respect for you. and action!

Bump points disparagingly at Christopher Kimball.

Bump: you bum! you real-life Pig-Pen!

Kimball: i hate you, i can't wait till you get impeached.

Bump: where are the peaches? can you direct me in their general direction?

Kimball: you moron.

Bump: where did you learn that word?

Kimball: i like Tillerson. aways back i wanted to get my favorite actor Jerry Orbach on Milk Street. but he dead so i got the next best thing, a man who has an oil portrait of Jerry Orbach hanging in his press room.

Bump: speaking of dead your bowtie's gotta go. Doctor Who is dead as a character now and Bill Nye spreads fake news about science and sex.

Kimball: don't speak of flat. boobs or anything else.

Bump: and so...walk the camera with me...and so when i visit the Scottish countryside, which is where we are, before i visit my many golf courses i like to take stock and breathe in the air of the amber fields. this is where i pick out pumpkins. the biggest juiciest ones there are. Big Max. i like the ones with the accent. it's that time of year again, folks. sure i'm but an amateur farmer, but i dabble in a lot of things. i'd put on my farmer's hat but it'd mess up my hair. be vewy vewy quiet when you approach a pumpkin that you don't startle it. i believe this is a Young's Beauty like my wives. and there's the Connecticut Fields from Connecticut. and the Dickinson Fields from my dick. the Howden Fields are from Connecticut, too, bet you didn't know that. see i can expand my attention when it's a subject i'm comfortable with. i have a kinship with these oranges. the Happy Jacks are my favorite. oooh, but we have a winner! see that one straggling over there to survive beneath a choking vine? that's the heirloom pumpkin and that one's all mine! did you know the pumpkin is just a giant squash?

all the pumpkins lined up in rows belch in unison and all their beige pumpkinseeds are upchucked in a blaze of glory. even the ones not jack-o-lantered with a face. it is quite the spill on the path.

the scarecrow awakens.

scarecrow: mate, you're making everyone around here sick. you have a ghastly golden glow to your persona that is unceasing.

Bump: never fear. i got this. you know what is the quicker picker-upper?

scarecrow: of women?

Bump: Bounty paper towels. i happen to have some in my wallet.


at the midnight club, Ashley Parker is exhausted from reveling. there is sweat and grease both on her brow and at the bottom of her skates. she pulls up to the nearest table feet first and coughs out a quick lie-down. on the other side of the booth is a row of tall plants with a black hole in the middle. a pair of gleaming white eyes, just eyes, stare at her.

Ashley: well aren't you a sight for sore eyes. aren't you the Friday comer.

Mueller: would you like fries in a napkin cone with that? they're like a bouquet-holder of fat.

Ashley: oh it's you. how did you spy me here?!

Mueller: we agreed to meet here, exactly here, exactly now, remember? come on, baby, don't be like that...

Monday, October 2, 2017


1. how do you gauge the success of your romantic relationships? if we can still talk to each other while we're both blindfolded at the same time...

2. how often do you prefer to talk about sex with your lover? as little as possible. we just do it.

3. during sex, what is your top priority? simultaneous cumming

4. what advice would you like to give your partner to be a better lover? are you afraid to give that advice? can we please use the cocoa butter? i've cleared out both shelves of cocoa butter at Costco and the entire town's mad at me. yes, cos she's the Costco regional manager.

5. while in the moment of having sex, what is the best way you like to receive feedback from a lover that they are enjoying or are not enjoying sex?
a) moans and groans
b) tell me in dirty talk
c) give me direction or be explicit
d) just fuck, tell me later if it was good for you

a) they could be complaining at how bad a lover i am
b) how do i know it's dirty talk and not just you acting weird?
c) we're naked in bed together, we're already being explicit
d) how do i know you're not just being polite? if you answer no we can still go back to being best friends, right?

bonus: are you an idiot? why or why not? according to Dostoevsky, yes.

be good to each other.


Friday, September 29, 2017



* plastic sunglasses

* JUMP SCARE in time for Halloween month

* the chair by the mirror is also a mirror...

* male model: allow me to...
Natalie Portman: PROVE IT!!!
male model: you kinda stepped on my line there.
Natalie Portman: my name is Natalie Portman.

* director: didn't your mother ever tell you not to jump off a bridge?
Natalie: i never had any friends. wouldn't you go crazy for love? do anything wild to grab it?
director: sure, but don't prove it the Black Swan way. insurance doesn't cover things in life which require living.
Natalie: i'm Padme tho.
director: exactly. you might be needed on an upcoming Star Wars set.
Natalie: JJ Abrams ruined Star Wars. Carrie is turning over in her grave.

* male model: when we divorce, you can keep the split-level glass mansion. i just want my line painting.

* director: is that number you're wearing the little lithe pink chiffon nightie or are you naked on the beach?
Natalie: nightie. my skin is just that perfect. it ebulliently blends into the landscape.

* male model: how does the Eiffel Tower look?, i can't see it.
Natalie: you handcuffed me to your back. this is not how kinky sex works.

* director: why are you screaming on a merry-go-round?
Natalie: i was doing my mouth exercises. the audience was not supposed to see that.

* Natalie: pink car, but not a Barbie.

* Natalie: we're at the back of the bus. it's symbolic.
boyfriend: your red skirt is mesmerizing.
Natalie: thank you. i'm breaking up with you. the symbolism was just about you.

* Natalie: come on, director, i'm orgasming right now, this you can film.

* Natalie: these aren't my real friends in the car.

* so it seems Miss Dior has done quite a bit of growing up since last we saw her in a long-form commercial. she takes more risks now, unlike her teenage years. she dates a man named Christian. never date a man named Christian.

* Natalie: we sand-carved the word LOCO on the shore. the tires are ruined.

* Natalie: and you, what would you do for love?
Phoenix: jump in a fire. i have the feeling i'd be okay.

* i am picturing Natalie Portman that last scene.

* when you forget about a song but it comes back into your life and you never realized then how powerful the vocals actually were

* director: is that pimple meant to be there?
Natalie: yes. i'm ready for my close-up.

* Natalie: let me explain something to you. my name is Natalie Portman. i am a once-in-a-generation beauty. you will never see a creature as gorgeous and intelligent as me in your lifetime.
director: aaaaaaaaaaaaaand cut


happy weekend, my babies. pray for Puerto Rico.

Wednesday, September 27, 2017


at the National Anthem, Jordin Sparks gets up to sing. she has Scripture written on her thumb. as she warbles her dulcet notes fade into disappearance. Jordin Sparks vanishes into thin air.


i knew it! what trash! tv is garbage these days. was it ever golden? it's all just conpiracy theories which are so well-crafted they become conspiracy theories of their own. this country has hemorrhaged its heart. and i couldn't care one wit. let it burn as i continue my insular learning in a cave. all i need are my cats and my books. that was instilled in me by the Men From the West.

all i need are my books and my cats it's true. i love my cats. they are two purple cats. lynxes which yawn and carry on and turn up for me to receive their bellies. perfect purring creatures. mysterious. silent. if they spoke it would ruin it. two furmale females. who often raise their left leg to lick it. let you love the way an illegal god intended i say. have at it, pussies!

the house is quiet at night. at least there's still that. thank the stars. the fence is all gone. it looks eerie at night. wide dark countryside with no protection. it's not much but it's my home. not Victorian or anything. but a crowstepped gable for bad luck. and the ledges are dangerous but noir sash weights holding up the windows. perfect reading weather.

i might lose this home. in which case it would turn into a house. that's why i have to work. i hate work. but i have to feed my cats. catfood ain't free just cos they're cats. my home is built on a floodplain. cos my thoughts are a flood. it's all uninsurable. but it's more than a loan for me, it's a lifetime guarantee. this is where i do my thinking. if i don't get that reverse mortgage i may have to dip into boring bulging law texts. universe forbid. not all reading was created equal. i wonder what i'd miss more, the gable or the hammock in the attic. i'm not tired but i have to go to sleep now, have to get up early tomorrow morning. that's another trick: go to bed early so you don't have to eat more. i'm still drinking five times a day. i have class bright and early at 7. i hate people. goodnight.

i dunno. i suppose i'll survive. but it's an adjustment. i just went for that old box of Irish oatmeal hiding itself at the back of the cupboard. there are some oats in the bag but it's not enough for a proper full batch. half-meals. that's cruel. i'm hungry.