Wolf Spritzer: Anderson, i thought i fired you.
Anderson Cooper: why do they really call you wolf? you haven't told that story a billion times lately.
Wolf: it really has to do with i was the inspiration for that dude who takes off his shirt in those werewolf movies to the teenie yells. shhhh, Andie, he's approaching the podium.
Bom Trady: i don't know why i'm here. i mean, thank you for coming.
press corps: who wouldn't come for Bom Trady.
Bom: i'm under a lot of pressure over too little pressure. i could pay the fine, but it's important to get out here in front of the cameras and address the snarky media cos it's not about the highfalutin arrogant know-it-all media, the media is simply the conduit to my trolls and fans. i love you.
press: we love you, Bom, you are so handsome! it doesn't make sense that the first male supermodel should play football, but here you are, and the combination is ratings gold! Bom, we have to ask you this, we don't want to, but a couple of online trolls have pressured us to. the pressure in your balls, did you have anything to do with that?
Bom: my balls are fully inflated at all times, ready to burst out on the field and shower my fans in the stands with the goo of life. Gatorade doesn't fuel us, energy does. sports is a metaphor for life. i don't know the exact metaphor, something to do with money. it's a business like anything else. grown men playing a boy's game. my boys swing with the wind, very random. we quarterbacks hate the wind most of all, can't throw the damn ball, deflated or not. generally we're not a fan of the weather. science is a nuisance. anyway the wind blows.
press: Bom, could you repeat that? we pushed the red button too soon. Bom, are you a cheater?
Bom looks seriously into the fourth wall, not at the press.
Bom: listen to me very carefully, this is serious now: i would never infect the integrity of the game by playing the game. i unequivocally 100% under no circumstances absolutely without question say:
i don't think so.
press (scrambling): Bom, Bom, what does your wife think?
Bom: would you care what she thought if she wasn't a supermodel?
press: we only care that you're a superman.
Bom: look at me, look at this face, i mean, come on, i don't need to cheat in life. look into my eyes, you are getting infected with my dreaminess, my perfect smile that isn't toothless like Tiger's, this has been a nightmare for me and my supermodel wife, it seems like a dream. this isn't serious, folks, it's a fucking stupid football game, this isn't ISIS, it's a laughing matter like Archer's ISIS. what we have to take away from all this is how much we prioritize this game and this sport. football is king which is a better king than a real king. we fought a war to extricate ourselves from a king. we fight ISIS. this is a distraction, don't think about the world around you, this is about fun and games, for nobody wants to bond through war, nobody wants a war, bonds between fellow soldiers are the strongest there is, football is fantasy, fantasy football is big business, people want to bond through a meaningless game, when the football players you interview say they are going to war every Sunday, they just don't get it, you can't equate that with that, concussions are serious, how many lives must we lose?, how many memories fractured and dudes who were your sports heroes who can't walk anymore?, can't see anymore, can't you see the truth? they do this for pure fickle entertainment, they break their bodies for you and how do you repay them? with false accusations that smear my legacy. when you go back to your offices to write your little stories, first feed your ficus, you've been neglecting your ficus, then finish up your FIFA scandal story cos there's no scandal here. this is what's important in life: number one, i am alive, number two: i am good-looking, painfully good-looking, number three: you are alive, number four: i love you and you love me, we're a sappy family, i always will, and you always will, you are hypnotized by my face and my laugh (off), never let balls get in your face, don't give me pain, i provide the food on your table, don't let anything come between our real realationship, it matters to the fans only, do your job and i do my silly job and our love will be infinite. any follow-up questions?
the press is silent. even Lena Dunham. even the voluptuous woman who always dances with the players on Media Day. even Pick Boy is hiding in shame under his cape.
Bill Belichick ruins the mood once again when he dispels the spell, attacks the podium to avoid attacking the press corps, turns to his right side, and asks:
did your daddy fix your hair for you today? you want to know what my favorite stuffed animal is? i'd be happy to talk about that, i was sick of lecturing you guys with science lectures. well...
Lacey: what'll you have?
Lacey: it'll be fifteen minutes, that's how much time it takes to write that on my pad. i only know how to make the eggs scrambled. it's so easy, the carton does it for me. i whisk open the fridge door and the carton whisks out and inevitably breaks a few eggs which i've always been taught is what life's all about. no need to whisk the eggs. i take the crushed egg from the bottom of my shoe and show you a good time with how delicious it turns out.
Atalan: so no scrambled?
Lacey: crushed eggs, it's my specialty, my own thing. one thing, though, have you ever felt around your eggs and noticed one of the eggs in the carton is soaking wet? a wet egg, it's the darndest thing. i always use that one cos it's gotta be a sign.
a cute monkey in a monkey suit glides by the tables and bumps Ata.
Ata: oh no, this isn't cute at all! this is animal abuse! i fucking hate humans!
Cotard: don't worry, God finds a way.
the monkey rips off his suit in a King Kong rage and takes Ata by the back and cradles him in his arms, singing to him gently.
Canbiy: go to sleep, go to sleep, go to sleep little baby...
Atalan: i'm really resisting sucking my thumb right here. Brahms lullaby?
Canbiy: no, Jewel's version.
Kenyatta: you're name is Canbuy? you have no nameplate but i read it in your aura.
Canbiy: it's Canbiy, madam, how dare you! you can't buy me, haven't you humans done enough damage to the planet? nature wins out in the end, you'll see. the dream of the Ape Planet will come years after i'm gone.
Kenyatta: my favorite movie. and how dare you call me madam! i'm a woman with a hot disposition.
Lacey: i could use a hot take on life, my eggs are anything but. ew, ew, they're cold, i don't know what happened, cold eggs, disgusting!
Cotard: you have to boil 'em, you forgot to boil water, it's tough i know. cold hard-boiled eggs are the best, deviled eggs, slowly sliding down my monk esophagus like the snake.
Ata begins to dance a jig and talk at the level of loudness of the diner so it all cancels out.
Ata: I WANT TO FUCK YOU, I WANT TO FUCK YOU, I WANT TO FUCK YOU
Lacey (smiles): that made me smile, thanks.
Ata: i mean fuck the system, not you, the system of dating we're all under. wanted more but thanks. trying out some new pick-up lines.
Cotard sees a bright painting hanging overhead the mini chalkboard with the exorbitant muffin prices that tail off the edge of the board cos there're too many numbers.
Cotard: that's a Hugo Simberg, huh. take it down.
Lacey: freedom of artistic expression is valued here, sir, no matter how controversial.
Cotard: my boy, i simply want it for my shrine, it would go perfect with my other religious imagery of death dancing with life. it's okay, boy, it's okay, the Vatican will pay for it.
Imzhan: you barely got out of there with your life. were you daydreaming or something?
Codrus: impersonating an officer. i have to at least dream of power if i ever hope to gain it. those fucking people of the enemy that stormed the offices during my lucid siesta, i didn't have time to take the officer's coat i stole. i am so sick of this.
Imzhan: here we go again.
Codrus: i'm serious now. have you noticed that some things you take seriously aren't that serious? you tangle with them, squeeze them of all life, tie them into knots in your brain anguishing the outcome or what your response should be, the perfect comeback comment or the shape of your life. those are unnecessary shapes you've made of your brain matter. in a week, the monstrous thing in front of you disappears, dissipates like so much air pressure farting out of your balls. it doesn't matter, nothing matters, life goes on to the next Big Game. realationships meant to crumble will crumble over this little thing and you dust your hands of it and it moves on for you, dragging you with it.
Imzhan: don't do anything foolish in this desert dust.
Codrus: this is not one of those times, this is important past the second week. i'm sick of fighting another man's war, i want to fight my own war, that war would at least mean something. i'm sick of living. i don't want to live on this planet anymore, not unless i have the rules of life which are buried underneath lava in the center of the planet, Brazil, where only the finest soccer is played. it's too hard to live nowadays, there are too many things, gadgets, shits, fucks given, internet rants, and false connections, you start to think if you're not sick you're sick. how does anyone wade through all the distractions to get to the playing field to play the simple game of life? it's too complicated. life is too complicated, it's impossible to live now, it's too damn hard, hardship is one thing, it builds character, but too much hardship builds the bad-guy character. isn't life meant to be enjoyed? after all, this is all that there is, there is no after, so why not enjoy this while it lasts? life is beautiful if you're born into a family of beautiful lifers.
Imzhan: you're not gonna get into your black suit again and wage a war against God? or slack life, the other extreme?
Codrus: suit's in the shop. i still haven't given up on slack life, i won't go the slacker route on that one. no, i love God too much to wage war on him, it's the symbolism of the black, we're saying that anyone who wears the suit is lovingly mentioning to God that the system he's created is impractical, that no one can beat his game. we do it cos we're fans. a video game that's hard is cool for awhile, it challenges you, but it can't be that challenging that no one knows what the Final Boss looks like. so far, nobody has beaten the game of life. nobody knows what the Final Level looks like.
Imzhan: i was more a Cluedo dude. still fascinating how they made a chldren's game out of the most effective ways to murder. still can't look at a lead pipe simply as a water conduit. when the pipe breaks, i let the water flood my house, can't bear to look at it, have to call a plumber.
Codrus: Mario is the perfect metaphor for this, something about jumping higher for something better. i'm sick of this whole thing. soccer is fun but not desert soccer when it's just you and me playing on hard sand and a net with no net. as we wind up our foot to kick the goal, a gale of sand slams right into our esophaguses. now if that isn't a metaphor i don't know what is!
Imzhan: it's true, we're waiting around twiddling our thumbs, using our gun swords to poke out lines for our soccer field, it's not as fun when it's just the two of us, especially when we play for the same team. just awaiting our orders. i don't want you to die. you talk big and scary, mostly scary. you are a man of extremes. your past is so extreme you've chosen to forget it, which is impossible. i wish you'd open up to me more. i hate it when you talk about your life and you start foaming at the mouth. it's not that bad, we have each other, i need you, partner, bouncing the futball on one's knee gets old real quick. we're here, we're alive, we're waiting to die on the battlefield. rejoice! and hey, you forgot about Jabir.
Imzhan: some dude who's our parole officer or something, assigned to watch over us, make sure we wouldn't desert. he jabbered on about the rich desserts he was missing back home. he deserted his post into the dessert, i'm sure right now he's getting his rich desserts.
Codrus stands at attention like a good soldier, a soldier for his cause, and he lifts his fists into the air. he yells at the top of his lungs:
ENERGY BURNING WITHIN ME, CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK.
small pebbles in the ground begin to move forward and backward. a flap of goal net forms.
Imzhan: what is this external force?
Codrus: everything internal can be expressed externally. that's the secret. every man has the power to be god. i've been reading a lot of books. books, who knew? fuck these tablets the army gives us. nobody reads these books cos they're all covered in dust. the next person sees the dust and figures it collected that dust cos it wasn't important enough for the first person to dust off the dust, so they leave it to third person to deal with the dust. it's too complicated, they don't have the time to read it, well if not now, when? there is only now. i have the spine to dust off these book spines. there's a lot of esoteric stuff in here! it's wonderful! i don't understand any of it but that's the point, i understand this point, life is complicated.
Imzhan: or they're sick of dust. i know i am. i see what you're saiyan. i'm not sure i like seeing you with this much power but i like seeing you with a goal. no one will ever join your cause, it's crazy and life is crazy enough, i do it cos i like having you around.
Codrus: that's exactly the point i understand. you understand. i won't be around for long, i will ascend to a higher consciousness, a higher plane, i won't need a plane to travel, i'm on a plane, not plain anymore. just last week during the AFC Championship Game i started with these meditative outbursts of power. i had my first success while you and Jabir were stoned out of your mind watching the game on tv.
Imzhan: we were swallowing little stones alright, the wind was fierce that day.
in the Patriots locker room, 11 of their 12 footballs started to lose psi the moment Codrus began his first psi-energy experiment, summoning all of his inner strength to expel his force into reality in order to move little things like stones, it's good to start off slow, stones which were lodged in the throats of both Imzhan and Jabir from the Sandstorm.
Codrus (he said to himself): what a stupid composition.
Codrus tried but could only help Imzhan. poor Jabir wasn't as lucky. Codrus was so filled with disappointment and shame he knocked himself out by manipulating the air in his head. he passed out but Jabir passed on. Imzhan came to, saw his hapless haboob boob of a friend Codrus with tears dried on his cheeks, and decided to let Codrus's blackout continue longer so Codrus would really have plausible deniability when he woke up, which is a big thing in the army. Imzhan buried Comrade Jabir properly alone and came up with a cover story for Codrus upon his awakening. it wasn't Codrus's fault after all, he was only trying to help the only way he knew how, he isn't a doctor, doesn't even pretend to play one though he knows all the accupuncture points and healing energy within the body, the Naruto chakras, it's the weather's fault, blame the weather, it's an act of God.