Friday, October 20, 2017



* in this day and age, getting to age 30 is a miracle.

* not those beautifully-crafted 30 for 30 documentaries so rich in faded film file and ingrained insight which unfortunately are too long for me to fit in my meaningless schedule

* i know. i thought sports were useless, too. but then ESPN came along and added the entertainment aspect.

* granddaughter: 30 stadiums or bust?
Gramps: bust.

* granddaughter: so this is where you're hiding.
Gramps: apparently not well enough.
granddaughter: happy birthday.
Gramps: i don't understand, this envelope has no stamp.

* granddaughter: i was told you love the old Dodgers/Giants rivalry.
Gramps: not after that violence. it's dead to me. like i will be soon. who told you?
granddaughter: Grandma.
Gramps: i hate my ex-wife. why'd you write Gramps on the envelope? i have a name you know.
granddaughter: what is it?
Gramps: i don't know.

* granddaughter: free Wednesday?
Gramps: yes. but shouldn't you be in school?
grandddaughter: i work.
Gramps: as what?
granddaughter: cat burglar.

* granddaughter: i hope you don't mind i stole this blue Volvo from Jimmy Carter.
Gramps: i'm sure he deserved it. watch it girlie, the speed limit's 25.
granddaughter: i paid off all my speeding tickets with diamonds.

* granddaughter: how old are you, Gramps?
Gramps: too old for sex. my life now consists of oatmeal and baseball. not necessarily in that order.

* granddaughter: make sure to put on your seatbelt, Gramps.
Gramps: why? i'd rather die eating this here box of super-glazed bearclaw donuts.

* at Rolling Pin Donuts
Gramps: where are the rolling pins? you sell rolling pins, right?
Rolling Pin Donuts manager: that's just a metaphor, sir.
Gramps: i need backup when the granddaughter starts using again.

* Gramps: awwww you're so cute when you're sleeping.

* granddaughter: whom are you rooting for?
Gramps: some nondescript Red A team.
granddaughter: looks like a W.
Gramps: ashamed Nationals fan.

* granddaughter: look at me wearing my baseball cap backwards. i'm so gangsta.
Gramps: that went out with the '90s. which was the last decade anything mattered.

* Gramps: where are we?
granddaughter: the stadium. remember, Gramps?
Gramps: this isn't Van Halen? FUCK
granddaughter: ...
Gramps: For Unlawful Carnage Knowledge

* Gramps: did you pay for this popcorn with another diamond?
granddaughter: no, the diamond is in the popcorn. i'm hiding it.
Gramps: ate the whole bag in one handful scoop. haven't eaten this good in months.

* granddaughter: what does your posterboard sign say?
Gramps: 45
granddaughter: looks like a swastika.

* granddaughter: scoring at home? that box score looks like ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs.
Gramps: how'd you know about my Egyptian sidepiece?
granddaughter: she's Grandma's sister.
Gramps: this will be my last love letter.

* granddaughter: why are you crossing my name off this list? and crumpling the piece of paper up into a ball?
Gramps: *in stentorian voice* The Blacklist. on NBC.

* granddaughter: don't hug me when the stadium's empty. feels weird.

* granddaughter: Grandpa, i have a confesson to make.
Gramps: is this about when i saw you on Tinder that one time?
granddaughter: no. I am Catwoman.
Gramps: *in stentorian voice* I AM BATMAN
granddaughter laughs.
Gramps: what's so funny?
granddaughter: good joke. i knew you had it in you. Batman and Catwoman.
Gramps: oh. i was thinking like a baseball bat.

* okay, some alone time. the 1988 Dodgers were everything to my 10-year-old boy self. this was my team for life. i felt about them the way i feel about tennis now. baseball was my blood back then. i was in the middle of my Little League tenure. on '80s grass and pizza parties at newly-formed arcades. i played catch with my dad out on the front lawn of our tiny precious home. we alternated between pitcher and catcher. i played catcher cos i really played catcher in Little League, that was my position. the moms in the stands marveled at how my skinny frame was able to keep all that heavy equipment on my back without tipping me over. i always loved that catcher's mitt being different-looking from all the others. oiled it daily. the smell of tar and pine and hide. it was pure Norman Rockwell. i miss my dad. Mike Scioscia was of course my favorite. to this day i still can't spell his name correctly. or pronounce it correctly. Orel Hershiser was the man. i knew that even back then. didn't know he was The Bulldog tho. i called him Hershey's Chocolate despite the Dodgers' gleaming white uniforms. and Orel is just a cool name. he had that lean-into pitching delivery that all the kids on the block emulated. i mean this was smack dab in the maelstrom that was Fernandomania. there will never be a bespectacled, praying pitcher like Fernando ever again. anywhere! i can still see him from the stands looking up to the heavens before his pitch knowing he wouldn't trip on the mound doing this cos he had faith. and the long lines on the highway after the game. bumper-to-bumper. my half-open eyes would flash back from swirly red-and-white lights to inside loud reverberating freeway tunnels to my mini blue Dodgers flag and my inverted blue mini Dodgers helmet filled with three scoops of neapolitan ice cream i wanted to save to ruin my supper of Dodger Dogs that had long since melted into soup. we'd make it back to that sacred house in Van Nuys after midnight. the palm trees were neon green. a tired kid wearily followed his blanket to his bed and tuckered his thumb out. this was back when I still did things. collect baseball tickets and baseball cards. and the manager Lasorda. everyone's favorite Santa Claus Grandpa. he made it okay to be fat. you know, eat all the pizza and the burgers and fries and chips and pretzels and drink all the beer, it's baseball! these were my heroes. my titans who defeated the gods. the Giants would come later to me as a defacto adult. but those innocent times spoke as much about the Eighties Era as to baseball itself, the lore of the pure American pastime intact. as i grew my hard ball softened to a fuzzy yellow one, but i'll never forget those times. nostalgia is painful when the times were good. funnily enough, you know that whole Kirk Gibson thing where he rounds the bases and does that thing with his arm like he's pulling on the chain of a buzzsaw? yeah, that's the one thing i don't remember.


happy weekend, my babies. go Yankees! Madison Avenue desperately needs this Series again! i work for Madison Avenue. advertising for them. that's one step below advertising for cigarettes. edit: well at least there's something to do Saturday night.

Wednesday, October 18, 2017


Ashley Parker is seated on a soft sofa with clear plastic covering all of it. flanking her on either side are Mueller and Junior. it's an FBI office and it's midnight. a tall loopy fern casts a shadow on the tv crackling with the only energy in town. a warm blue glow emanates from the screen centering everyone's attention as the only sun around.

Ashley: the crickets are asleep. man this place is dead after closing hours.

Mueller: everyone's always on assignment overseas at the same time. go ahead, crack a window, no one's here. no one's watching. but be warned, the drones are invisible now. fuck tech and its rapid growth.

Junior: MOMMY! give me the remote! i want to watch TGIF! i want to watch Disney Afternoon! i want to watch Must See TV on NBC Thursday with the original lineup with Seinfeld and Wings! i want to watch Golden Girls while stuffing my kisser with cheesecake with one strawberry on top!

Ashley: shut up i can't hear myself muse. oh...sorry...yeah...this...shhhh....shhhh, honey, hush, shush, mommy's here, mommy's sorry, mommy's rubbing your armpit, mommy had a bad day. do you want mommy to make you some chicken fingers and tater tots and nachos and apple juice?

Junior: yes mommy. and you have to feed me.

Ashley: these chicken nuggets better be microwaveable or we're shitted. hey champ, little man, get to work on the drinks while mommy makes the soup. stick a straw in this apple.

Junior blinks his eyes and can't stop blinking them.

Ashley: come on, Bob, you promised.

Mueller: okay. i think you've earned a conjugal visit for good behavior. are you excited to see daddy, Junior?

Junior: *clapping hands* DADDY!!!

Comey walks through that door. bumping his head.

Comey and Ashley share a passionate kiss. their respective teeths hook together.

Ashley dusts off his shoulder.

Ashley: where have you been, honey? none of us have heard a peep out of you for months!

Comey: spying overseas. i'm just back from rigging the Catalonian election. that was pretty basic. what's the point of having a choice? of course you're going to vote for independence. still got shot at tho.

Ashley: and we're flipping. and we're flipping.

Comey: and we're flicking. WHO     IS     THAT    TOMATO   BISQUE   CAN?

Ashley: Molly Qerim.

Comey: and seated next to her is Eminem and his lyrics, that's how she got the job.

Ashley: oh, now i get it. i see you working. you rub off on me good. but that's Max Kellerman.

Comey: my eyes are still adjusting. long flight. on a missile. fastest way to get here.

Ashley: Molly has the hots for Max. it's obvious. women notice these things. she loves it when Max gets hot and bothered over some social issue that doesn't really have anything to do with sports. tangential tangerine at best. every man must confront this in his lifetime. there will be a babe at work who likes you after you get married and you're damning the gods that you got married too soon. what do you do? a lifetime of commitment down the toilet for one monster fuck in the office toilet?

Comey is half-asleep.

Ashley: oh look, the World Series. that Todd Frazier is a babe. he has the perfect baseball look. his chin is stone square and he has that trailing red mark over his right eye. his crew cut is straight out of '50s central casting. you know he learned to play baseball on a Kansas farm.

Comey: is that Jeopardy bartender still on? he was world famous. we were watching him over there. restoring the good name of New York from the annals of anonymity.

Ashley: yeah, that guy. with the puppet marionette hand actions during his commercial breaks. the charades would have been unbearable if he weren't such a cute glass pixie with a fro. i'd like to think he's still innocent riding on a chilly afternoon into the big city on his bicycle wearing nothing but his karma.

Comey: can't believe that officer won with one dollar. that's gotta be a record. can't believe we didn't handle that in time. when will i see you working?

Ashley: *smiling* i'm working on it i'm working on it. it'll be sourced before your next bullet. be careful out there, Catacomb, living is fun. here. take this paper. just came down the wire. Admiral La David will keep you safe.

Comey: your smile melts my heart. hurry up, i gotta go back to my regular job soon.


at the National Anthem played before Jeopardy, Jason Aldean sings a medley before disappearing into thin air. Tom Petty comes out on stage and stands on the very spot of the vanishing.

Tom Petty: i would not have approved of this. i am no second act.


Less is trembling before school. he is assigned by his beloved mother to recover his bus pass. he shivers on a sunny day at the bus stop for an hour before realizing he has no bus pass. he sits himself down at the curb of a scooter shoppe. he doesn't shudder, afraid to move an inch. he walks sidestep like a crab to justify the fact he is lost and has no idea where to go. he stops at an ice cream place to kill some time before realizing that wasn't the problem. he finally makes it to the DMV, which is next to the school, hoping to have a long line for a built-in excuse. ghost town. he reads the sign above the clerk and pretends to put on glasses he doesn't need and gets nervous when he realizes he'll have to speak and sits on the waiting-room bench alone for ten minutes before taking the long way home.

Mr. Maldark pulls up in his Pinto.

Maldark: don't ride in cars with boys. or strange men. get in, dude, we're late for class.

Less: this is my first official hitchhike.

Maldark: cozy, huh? we're all just human. look in my pockets for some leftover bus tickets.

Less: they're used gum wrappers.

Maldark: the nerve of that flatfoot. he asks me to stare at his cock and the 100 is conveniently sticking out of his pocket square visible. he says that's the department's budget for the month and that bill is worth many hotdogs and he's just like me. he ain't foolin' nobody. your boy is an angel. this is the only time i get to use my whip. after the morning the car is in the parking lot at school worked on diligently by Deen. i'd give that boy an A on his permanent record if Effort was a subject.


Maldark: welcome to traffic school! what are we all baking today? oh i see your desks are dusted and done. now we're cooking with gasoline. my favorite subject now: food. I am hungry.

Independent student: preserved lemon
Republican student: raw bird drumstick
Democrat student: fruit lunch
Less: Jittery John's espresso in a flask
Deen: Dave's Killer Bread. White Bread Done Right.

Kelechi: *laughing* haha, you funny, Deen. you white but you got some flavor.

Maldark: and me with my radiator soup! stewed right in my Pinto's radiator! go on while it's hot. the carrots are a little dry...

Mr. Maldark vomits all over the students' food.

Kelechi: and the broth's thick. oh Mr. Maldark, you're sick...

Maldark: i'll be alright. join me in the bathroom. it's not their fault. i haven't had food in a while. and then i had some. we need to get moving.

Kelechi: i know. he showed me his brochure, too. do you know anything about Formula One racecars? cos i got squadoosh.

Maldark: don't you know? you need a Master's at my driving school.


Mr. Maldark is back in his office. at home.

he tries on his ratty ecru robe from college and removes his baggy underwear. he sways with his clothes on as they become less and less. he grabs the hock of sweaty ham from his rattan hamper from college.

Intendo: so that's what's there.

Maldark: i gave your men quite the show this morning, Intendo.

Intendo: Nintendo. i mean, no, you had it right.

Maldark: do you know what it feels like, G Man?

Intendo: i'm as poor as you.

Maldark: i don't think so. it's all different now. i have to eat but one slice of bacon per day. instead of my usual two sticks of gum it's down to one. i fisted five Pringle chips without a second thought, now i carefully slice up one chip from the Pringles pile and place the rest in the tube. no more full bars this year.

Intendo: Halloween is cancelled this year. the kids will be so disappointed.

Maldark: no more full bars of Hershey's chocolate. have to get the almond ones for protein. can't fuck around with those empty-calorie Reese's cups which add no nutrition. half a bar of chocolate from now on. one envelope of sugar for my coffee. when there's coffee. i mean i would unconsciously crack two eggs no problem for breakfasts. one egg forevermore. like the number zero. the omelette is a dream. do you know what it's like, Super?

Intendo: don't call me that.

Maldark: today i'm lucky. i got bacon. the one with maple brown sugar. it sticks in my hand like a greased ball of gravity. i lick my fingers hoping to feel solid again. like it will coat my aching esophagus with a palliative petroleum. slime the skids. make it easier to go down.

Intendo: i've got some bad news for you, champ.

Maldark: please, i'm eating. and when i cook, i art, and when i art, i have to wear the right attire. this shirt of mine. oh my Brother got it for me. way too big for my wasting frame. it's more like a full dress and skirt it's so long. i'm almost tripping on it when i walk. so i have to each time twirl it into a snake and wrap it around my waist. i tie it in a bow and make sure to show my midriff. then i do a little dance. a nice long faggy dance. like this. see it? you like what you see? your boys did. do you think this becoming of a teacher? a leader of women and men? is this funny to you?

Intendo: i think this is very serious. but it's true you are fagged. you hit the skids. come on, get to it. put the bacon bits on your nipples and feed your hellion cats and let's scram.

in the car

Intendo: your house is being auctioned off. to the Feds. it's our property now. it's one huge crime scene.

Maldark: but my home is small. it's more like an apartment.

Intendo: the only way you'll ever get it back is if you refinance it or something. or rob a bank and get the money. you better come up with something fast. a scheme or a scam.

Maldark: you guys love to kick a guy when he's down.

Intendo: makes it easier. i've got a brochure. look over at my pants pocket.

Maldark: oh no. i'm not joining the dark side.

Intendo: i swear, Maldark, just one time. right in the kisser.

Maldark: you wish, i don't like you like that.

Intendo: coulda fooled me.


President Bump: look at this landscape! cool countryside unspoilt by man.

Michael Fish: mostly by man they mean you.

Bump: i know. i'm awesome. i am the man. this is where my race will take place. and it will be amazing.

Michael Fish: then why don't you get out of that light van and walk a few meters, tubby.

a man stumbles his Ford F150 truck to the side of the curb and gets out next to the men. his face is ashen and he looks as if he's seen a ghost.

man: God Bless America.

Bump: yes?

man: i just came back from my house. what was my house. back from Hell. with its mouth held wide, letting all the bad feelings out. a hellspont of hellspawn. burned to the ground, not a crisp left. we can rebuild. even though i have no money. we can rebuild doesn't mean we can. it approaches you without your notice nor consent. like a spiteful spirit looking for revenge for what your grandfather did. before the warning goes out a pair of flames lick your feet fingers. you're disoriented cos you wanted one last snooze in your own bed before you have to scavenge for safety. the trees encumber under pounds of ash and cinder which fall like snow. i found my family photos but not my family. this area isn't known for fires. i hate wine. why did this happen to me? i try to be a good person. is the universe random?

Bump: next time you gotta get small. that's how everyone has to live their life now.

man: you can't get small once the flames have enveloped you, sir. what do you mean next time?!

Bump: why are you here? there are men on the weather channel?

Michael Fish: didn't you see me in the '80s?

Bump: distracted. i was trying to strike it rich at a casino.

Michael Fish: well i am here to say that Ophelia will be a ripper. she will envelop both islands with her stern gaze and squeeze the wind out of us! she is a fierce feisty spirit returning to her Gaelic granary atop the true spot of her Celtic church so rudely rubbled by the local nonbeliever villagers an aeon ago. they will rue the day they desecrated her with deism. she comes back to her coven along with the other mothers. i call all mothers now cos all mothers are witches. they wield their magic with their words on the telephone. they are the ones who control the weather make no mistake. we merely meteor their magic.

Bump: what about my precious golf courses? will they be okay? will they survive the storm? without much uprooting? those tufts are tough.

Michael Fish: i see it all now. on my map. a red sun has crept over your golf courses. purveying with its radiative rays. bands of birds fly crazy patterns along the seashore, pooping in all the holes.

Bump: NOOOOOOOOOOO. wait, England doesn't get hurricanes! there you go again, Europe, trying to be us.


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 when girls do the baby voice 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.


being poor changes you. you never think it's gonna happen to you. well you don't think at all when you're young. young and dumb. i never thought i'd find myself in this position, writing about something immediate. i was always into those thimgs of the past, exciting adventures in bronze helmets and wispy clouds and dubious food, i could reach back into the past cos it was safe. i could land myself in an ancient Greek War on the Peloponnese and not fear getting speared. cos it was all in my head. waxing eloquently about times when wax was the in thing, used in everything from letter-writing to sexplay. now it's used in statues. now i have to worry about every calorie i intake, and this isn't the diet plan i had imagined for myself. i hadn't imagined ever being on a diet. diets are ludicrous. and i thought i was skinny before. now i write to document, not to be funning in fiction. about real concerns not imaginary ones of made-up characters. i write cos i don't need to be saved. i need desperately to be distracted.

damn workers. they're building a fence next door. well tearing down the old sawdust one creaking loudly to be put to sleep and erecting a brand new shiny one. one built of craven concrete. i can't sit back on my own sofa cos the windows look outside to the workers on their break eating lunch. a triangular pole with a hardhat on top sticks in my lawn. i'm more sensitive to noise now than ever. especially my stomach. i know now what it means to go hungry. when your stomach starts howling at 11, not satisfied with the fried egg you had for breakfast and yearning for an early lunch. and all you can do is quietly touch your tumtum with your hand and hope it rubs its ruins away. but the pangs remain. of guilt more than hunger. the body you once knew, that you filled up without a care, is gone and weary. your gut wants food so bad. and you can't give it to it.

all this fucking noise is gonna get me sick. excuse me while i close the windows. my cats won't be happy to have their perches removed. i should turn on the tv. the ultimate distraction. my stomach is starting to swirl again. there is one thing that's worse. the sameness. i used to watch tv for the ads. those quick 15 seconds of pour shots and juicy newest cheeseburgers. and taquerias which went best with Coke. strange breakfast sandwiches i willed my body to get up for at 7. rise for good ham. now this was the lost art of food. i can never afford these luxuries again. i have to eat the exact same thing every day for lunch. it's the sameness which gets to me. i'm an artist. every time at around 11 i'm a slave to my stomach. the two slices of bread which will only be made toast if the plug is positioned just right for the toaster's lighted numerals to work. sometimes i achieve that position, sometimes it takes yoga. two balls of asparagus, one dipped in artichoke brine, on top of the first bun. sprinkle of salt. on the other slice of bread a sliver of iceberg lettuce, wedge of orange tomato, dash of pepper. sailor's mustard and low-quality ham top it off. smush together like two big breasts. and some seeds from the Cura Annonae, that should satisfy my Ancient Roman lust. make my cat-ears perk up with culture. like i'm doing something right. mozzarella if there's any left. all served with a side of cucurbita. as each day passes i'm getting better at the pepper. i use the same dash motion and the same sprinkle pattern stains the meat everytime. the same thing. the same sandwich. each and every time. once all day.


President Bump is enjoying his new cooking show. his face melts under the hot lights:

Bump: let me just remove my crown and put on this chef's hat.

the white long chef hat is too big and sinks to the bottom of his eyes.

Bump: today on my cooking show, we do the best things. did you know there were once things called grain supplies back in the day? Codrus taught me that. now sadly they no longer exist. we sent them all to Puerto Rico and they got lost at sea on a boat. cruise ship. we have no more supplies. for anyone. including ourselves. but never fear, ladies and gentlemen, i have enough whole grain for this sandwich.

Bump: we are here at Milk Street. and i have the best milk betta believe dat. look i'm twirling the light-spotted fern here that signals out the nook window.

Bump: so this recipe calls for two main things. i got them here. let me wrestle them from their packages. Mighty Bananas! oh well you know how much i love sucking on bananas. good source of potassium and unresolved rage. and a Tireless Frog! tireless frog like me! this little buddy was killed for science. full of squirts and red guts and the inner turmoil of nature. mix the ingredients all up in a bowl, soften with milk, hey you got any milk on Milk Street?

witch behind the camera: fresh out.

Bump:........and mix with a wooden ladle. mash them up. toss into a wok here and do a little dance as the pot sings and simmers and spits up its sauces. look at me twirl! not easy for a fat guy. 15 minutes at 15 degrees Fahrenheit, always fahreinhet never that European garbage celsius, and voila! le masterpiece!

Bump:...okay so it doesn't look appetizing at all. it's a smelly green dish of clump that is thoroughly inedible. y'know my advisors keep telling me to escape my ivory tower. get outside, they tell me, meet real people. so let's step out of the studio and see if we can't sling some of this product to the poor or something.

Bump: here i am. on the streets.

LeBron James is returning from a pick-up. his one finger twirls a sweaty headband, his other finger twirls a bouncing basketball, and he twirls his tongue singing the Globetrotters anthem. his face gleams with the asphalt of the inner-city park.

Bump: hey whistling black man, don't stick me up. where'd you get that basketball? i'm looking for a ball, too. red one. let me know if any of you hood homies steal one. want a hand-out?

LeBron: you bum! i can't wait till they throw the bums out.

Bump: i don't get it, food is food. this is why my advisors become my benefactors. do you hear that, home audience? are you still with me? my phone's ringing. now if i can only get this infernal ipad to update to 11!

Bump: hello? Elton John? i love your songs. you're my favorite man.

Elton: that's Sir. not Siri but Sir. no you know what?, i'm not falling for this again. i've received too many prank calls in my lifetime. i don't trust humanity anymore. i'm done helping. goodbye. or rather, toodles.


Ashley Parker is dressed to the nines and 22 cents for a typical evening out on the New York town. she wears high socks like a green candy cane to her crotch. her shorts are velour and pink and shimmy to the rhythm of her hips. her skates are old and brown football leather and retain that red stop. untied laces. her beige shirt with the words in '70s rainbow vinyl HIP CHIX is punctured by her razorsharp nipples. she hides big breasts as most babes in the era did with deceptively flowy T shirts. she makes sure to hip-check everyone else skating, even the little kids. she blows a pink bubble and the rest of the time her purple-lipsticked mouth is sucking on a lolly. her choker is African. wanting so badly for her auburn hair to be blowed into an afro, it's too sensitive to the aridness inside the studio so she settles for sparkles in her hair.

she hasn't a care in the world. cos it's her break from news. she spins around the oval track doing her figure-8s on the basketball court surface as the disco ball up above streamers into multi colors. christmas lights all year. the place changes from black to white but maintains its blue hue. she bumps into the sides of the rink many times but she's not drunk. one of her bumps is Michael Buble.

Michael Buble: care to blow a Buble?

Mueller approaches from the side. he comes from the bowling alley waving around a bowling pin in his hand like a club. he slaps his palm with the pin up and left, up and left. he unbuttons one button of his silk shirt. he leans into Ashley's ear but misses and catches her lusciously lovely lips.

Mueller: how's the multiracial coalition going i planned?

Ashley: don't you mean suspected?

Mueller: so whaddaya say?

Ashley: i dunno. i'm taking a break. i shagged your best friend for years.

Mueller: you sure did! it was days but time is messed up in this universe as we near the end. i can be cool, too. i know my mouth is weird but my collar is popped open. here, meet your son.

a little kid creeps from behind Mueller's short legs.

Ashley: i have a kid? when did this happen! maybe it's better i don't remember.

Mueller: i don't want to trouble Comey's wife with the news. she'll faint and die. let's keep this on the hush-hush, we're both good at that. i'll raise the kid with you as my own.

Ashley: but he is my own.

little kid: hey you're the lady who bumped into me!

Ashley: *covering her mouth* i am so sorry. for so many things.


at the U.S. Open the fabulous confab summit is doing an autopsy. the legends all sit around a white circle table in the middle of Ashe Court, with an umbrella for the heat. and waters. they all wear white. cept Fed, who wears a black suit.

Federer: it just wasn't to be. Nadal and i will never meet on American soil. what do we care?, we're European cultivars.

Pat Cash: but you had it! did you choke? those two shots were layups.

Roger: no, it was the lights. they blinded me.

Pat Cash: whatever helps you sleep at night.

Cliff Drysdale: my South African boy had a nervous serving day. we're taking over!

Pat Cash: how's the love life?

Cliff: could ask you the same thing. you and your charge?

Pat: no, she's a tomboy. we're Coco & Cash.

Fed: sounds like a bad Miami detective agency.

Cliff: that joke can be said cos the hurricane swerved to the left. speaking of dank sex, i hear the black umpire and the white-woman umpire who winks are bumping uglies.


Friday, September 22, 2017



* modern love. don't question it or you're a grandpa.

* woman: hi.
man: you think i have big hands?
woman: i like your white shoes.
man: will we EVER get to that post-racial world i keep reading about online.
woman: sit next to me.
man: always the seat-filler, never the star.
woman: i like your stylus. it's nice and small.
man: *sigh*

man: i just wanted to draw a hopeful Reading Rainbow star-trail thing!

* woman: you paying for these drinks, right?
girl: i'm 12. i'm your niece. i look older but that's why you're my babysitter.

* man: watch the drawing on my crotch, you made me sensitive about that.
woman: i have a confession to make: i have extremely long rubbery arms that can squeeze the life out of your body when i hug you to death.
man: being loved is the greatest way to die. i'm kinky like that. you like being choked?
woman: no.

* man: whatcha doing?
woman: staring at the raindrops on a pane of New York cab window in a heavy, miles-away gaze like in every movie.
man: see whom i'm drawing to kiss?
woman: who's the other woman? are you cheating on me? good, i can go back to being infused and ponderous.

* woman: i think.................i look like Daniella Monet.
man: i look like.........................nevermind.

* woman: he let me shove him, that's the sign i was looking for.

* man: did you send it?
woman: this jungle music is distracting.

* man: who dis?
woman: that Paperclip mascot.

* man: i think i love you, too.
woman: that made my head snap back.
man: remember, i said i think, don't plan the wedding just yet.

* woman: the magical NYC streetlamps through the rain have shone light sparklets which have turned into the shape of little golden hearts. like in every movie.

* woman: has your Samsung exploded yet?
man: can't.................mention....................the name of the.................product

* i have the sudden urge to go out and buy Similac. no i'm not the father.


happy weekend, my babies. why does everyone in a youtube comments section feel the need to type what their phone is?...

Monday, September 18, 2017


anybody else miss Goren's scintillating psychiatrist sessions with his sultry shrink?

1. why would you go to a therapist?
a) you need support b) you want to take responsibility for your life's actions c) you need guidance and to be told what to do

North Korea made me.

2. thinking of the main male lover in your life, what is sex for him?:
a) stress relief, tension reliever b) a way to show love c) something exciting he likes to do

"all of the above," says Eric Wareheim.

3. do you feel a partner is invasive for wanting to know your plans and inner thoughts? the opposite. i hope the person working on me is Mr. Comey. only the FBI can rid the CIA from my head.

4. in your opinion, what is intimate sharing? drinking each other's fluids. oh sorry i read that as intricate survivalism.

5. would you enjoy a weekend by yourself, without the company of your partner? where would you go? what would you do? not sure enjoy is the right word. Disneyland without the lines. see here's the thing: you think it's gonna be a fun time going to Disneyland off-season when there's no lines on a Wednesday morning but you start to get paranoid the more lines you see. cos there's no one there. huge caverns filled with zigzagging rope-line meant to hold caravans of tour seasons and class field trips and Model UN brigades, empty. silent. nothing. the ropes sway in the light breeze. you try to see if Pluto is by the churros but he's not. "here, boy!" you cry out into the disquieting cloudless quiescence. you try to get in contact with Walt Disney but the sign says Walt only made house calls on phones. what's a phone? the rides are just not fun when it's just you and the noiseless animatronics. if you didn't have abandonment issues before, you will now.

bonus: would you buy an outfit that you love, knowing that your partner will hate it? then would you wear it as well? THIS IS NON-NEGOTIABLE!!! no matter what i wear, I NEED TO WEAR A GOLD CHAIN

gearing up for my three-day weekend


Friday, September 15, 2017



* Subaru is on fire lately. sizzling Subaru

* old man: if all else fails, the fishing rod will be my final sword.

* old woman: have fun.
old man: they can't fool me with a parka. that's not my wife. i didn't marry Nurse Ratched. i know that red light goes back to the mothership. i know that dreamcatcher is really a transmitter. joke's on them: i spiked her coffee with my coconut milk!

* old man: i can't believe they let me just walk out of the place!
he turns the knob on the radio and looks at the dashboard calendar.
old man: 1999? how long was i in here? that is cruel even for them! i get out just as music started to suck.

* old man: gonna catch me the big one! got its feather here on my dashboard as my guide.

* old woman: is the tracking device you planted holding up?
grandson: yep, he has no idea.
grandma: you taking the red Subaru? won't that color stick out in the crowd?
grandson: nah, nobody notices a Subaru.

* old man: get the hell outta the way, big truck! i can't see the damn Eclipse! this is my last chance! you're worse than that cloud that blocked Jim Cantore's view.

* old man: that reminds me, i need to stock up on my coconut milk. i'll just rest behind the wheel here for a bit, that always does the trick.

* grandson: i'm at the airport. this could be my chance to escape. my fiancee's waiting in Paris. nah, they'll just hunt me down. no use fighting it. i'll get another girlfriend.

* grandson: i can imagine we're drinking the same thing at the same time, that's how connected i am with him. i'm drinking my grandfather's coconut milk.
old man: i drink my own coconut milk.

the grandson plays his Zelda whistle.

* old man: HOW NOW BROWN COW
brown cow: you're hearing things.
old man: well it is foggy.

* old man: what are you doing here?! they had me followed?
grandson: calm down, i just want your cool car-side stickers, grandpa. i got boring flames.

* old man: how'd you track me?
grandson: it's not on your car, it's on your board.
old man: dammit i love the surf too much. more than any woman.
grandson: you told grandma you were going fishing?
old man: yeah, what gives?
grandson: nobody goes fishing anymore, that tipped us off.

* grandson: can i have your peace-symbol sticker?
old man: i always thought that was a Mercedes-Benz-symbol sticker.
grandson: you just forfeited your check by mentioning the competition.

* grandson: okay, grandpa, we had our fun in the sun.
old man: it's cloudy.
grandson: fun in the water, now it's time to go back. i came here to take you back.
grandson: come on, grandpa.
old man: NOT THE MACHINE!!! ANYTHING BUT THE MACHINE!!! look i'll make a deal with you.
grandson: does it involve stickers?
old man: i'll strike a deal with you. i promise i won't be Ernest Hemingway anymore. but i need to still be Santa.
grandson: no, grandpa, remember? the deal was no more kids.

* this episode brought to you by Dashboard Confessional
the old man turns on the radio.
old man: this Chris Carrabba character sounds like he enjoys drinking his own coconut milk.
grandson: and his own eggs.
Chris Carrabba: you laugh at me now, but when Gen Z become parents they'll sit their kids down at a Carrabba's Italian Grill and tell them that i was the only one doing actual pure punk music.



happy weekend, my babies. my Breath of the Wild walkthrough is almost over and that makes me sad. i need a break.

Wednesday, September 13, 2017


Mooch: does the audience want any poppers? i got veal Marengo.

Bump: there's something not quite right about veal. it's too mob gangsterish. not a good look for me, i'm almost halfway there.

Oprah: sir do you have a message for all those out there who are suffering and are at odds with themselves and their environment?

Bump: it's being handled. don't think how. think how come. my boss knows what's up. i should know, i was a boss once. we all must vanquish together. it's not about Republican or Democrat or Independent. we are all one party, the Party of Lincoln.

Anderson: i'm an independent Independent.

Bump: i'm a fair-minded person. leave the vanquished with something, Anderson always used to say on that sports-debate show on tv in the mornings. my message is simple: we all gon die.

Mooch: i know, sir, we all know this, but that's just not helpful coming from your position.

Bump: to whom it may concern: so whom should i choose, folks? let's hear the roar either way. tell you what, this is a grand occasion. and i can't choose believe me. i'll give it to the womanbitch who can successfully drink this Veuve Clicquot from this high-heel. my goblets are gams. hey Oprah i'm having such a great time on your show i want my exit to be grand. can we take a break? i need to change out of these clothes into something more comfortanble. suit slip. i need a wardrobe malfunction.

Oprah: uh, okay i guess. we'll be right back.

*audience clapping*

Oprah: and we're back. you seem to have come back out, Mickey, in a soldier's uniform. hardly cotton.

Bump: infirm maybe? uninformed?

Swan: that's the uniform of the Romanov Family.

Bump: Party of Lincoln. get on your knees, Mavis! that's it, chug up! you've never drunk anything like that in your life. but you've drunk. whom should i pick, people?

the mob swerves, sways, and stammers.

Bump: who should i choose, Nancy? who should i choose, Chuck? who should i choose, strange lady? who's that?

Oprah: it's Ted Cruz's stepmom.

Bump: take her away she ugly.

woman: *dragged away by cops* i know who shot JFK!..................

Bump: i'm having just the best festive time. i'm in such a great mood, you know what i'm gonna do to your loyal mom viewers? FREE VACATIONS FOR EVERYONE! we're all gojng to the U.S. Virgin Islands! i hear it's a paradise down there right now. blue and white. tropical but not too exotic. they probably won't let me in know..............i'm not a virgin. let's go everyone! vamanos!

Anderson: how do you feel? i have to get that in every segment.

on the plane instead of peanuts high-energy biscuits and plumpy'nut are served.

Bump: i hear the full-moon hikes are nice there.

Swan: that's Bryce Canyon.

Mooch: my cousin is buried there.

Bump: i tried to play Knock Knock Ginger on the cockpit door but the pilot's no fun. in-flight movie is boring. oh wait, who's that on tv?

the Pope: *Beats by Dre headphones* Carol Lee.

Bump: *dorky-looking headphones* she's fucking ravishing! rush her in for me when nobody's lookin', wouldya?

Pope: sure, i'll, uh, greet her at the door.

Bump: ALALALALALALALAL!!!.....................Greek war cry.


the first light the two boys see is the Statue of Liberty's torch, held by the hooded figure.

the boy: what is this? who are you?

hooded figure: get out of there, that's no place for life!

the man: *being lifted up* bless the stars! you are friendly. i can tell by your voice.

hooded figure: we even did that thing where we shook the elbows of each other's arms. we are true bros! what do you call this dirtball you live on?

the man and the boy: home.

hooded figure: Kepler according to our flying horse.

the horse is flung over.

boy: sweet ride you got there.

hooded figure: those old things? our pony car in space. you guys were burrowed deep within one of the newest grounds this place has, did you know that?

man: are you our guardian? our savior woman?

hooded figure: alright alright i can take a hint. man it's hot here! is your sun twice the size of our sun or something?

the hooded figure removes her hood and reveals her smile for the first time. she is Amelia Earhart.

Amelia: *smiling* okay let's get to it. you, too, you two! everyone hold hands in a circle and let's get to the ceremony. surprises are better sung. you really had no idea huh?

the Men From the East: we are Japanese if you please...

Amelia: you guys are always japing around. enough of that drivel, let's get to real music! cool it with the cozen, cousins.

man: please, ma'am, leave your hoodie off. you are so pretty.

Amelia: oh thanks sweet stuff but i sing better with it on.


boy: you have a lovely voice, miss. it bellows as if from a womb.

Amelia: and now, ladies and gentlemen, i am going down.

Amelia quickly falls asleep on her stomach under an elm.

slowly but surely the site of the burial ground crumbles and planes. up rises the impressive figure, the 20-foot woman pluming in grey and amber smoke. in a thin lacey gown of milk. barefoot, toes scratched with snakebites. her shoulders are narrow and pillowy and her forearms are unusually long. her hair blends with outer space. she has one eye that's a black hole and her other eye when she talks a tinny organ plays along. she wears a crown of stars.

Madchen: phew. ow. gesundheit. i would have liked to sleep more but whatever. it's all seeing back to me now. i was bare to birth and out borne a born. and now i have my bearings. i see the bear in the sky. this is the Beta Crucis. your astronomy is our art. this is the Caverne du Pont-d'Arc in another timeline, crucial to prevent war. gimme. gimme my sword.

horse: hungry eyes. right.

the horse lets go of her mouth and slobbers the Sword of Saad in her hand.

Madchen: this led you to me? you could have just called.

horse: lost it. and you are a number.

Madchen: Peggy!

Peggy: i hate when you call me that.

Madchen: Peggy Sue!

Peggy: fine.

Madchen: my what a glorious steed you've become! you're a veritable gray now!

Peggy: am i? i never got a chance to look at myself the entire trip. where's a mirror?

Peggy saddles up to the lake.

Peggy: you're right, i'm hot! this is why i never actually drink the water when i get led to it. you must preserve this natural resource, my lordess.

Madchen: you didn't notice the sandhill crane on your back, did you?

Peggy: *shooing* shut up!

Peggy flies on her one wing to Madchen's shoulder. on the back of Madchen's back grows one whale of a tattered wing of blood red. it cuts into her backbone and sprouts tiny feathers. Peggy melts into pure light and forms Madchen's other wing.

Madchen picks up a sleeping Amelia and eats her.

Madchen: not letting this one get away. she's one-of-a-kind. what say you, boys? how are you holding up?

Men From the East: ALAY! thank you for noticing us! *bows in unison*

Sun: hey hey hey! what's all this then?

Madchen: ugh great, you! you're already starting to dry out all the water from your mere presence.

Madchen takes the Sword of Saad and holds it longways to her lips. she blows on it and her ice breath scuttles off the blade and into the Sun's nose. the Sun turns into a monstrous snowball the size of a Super Dragon Ball.

Sun: da fuck?

the Sun's lips are chapped. his expression is forever frozen in a fuckface.

Madchen: who's up for a snowball fight? gotta get some circulation in these old creaky bones, they've been fossilized for a billion years. now then, time to work. you think you boys can build a civilization again on this spot?

Men: sure! we like to create our lands separate from what everybody else is doing.

the men from Japan finish the pyramid by sunsets. they enjoy sweet clams caught in the nets around their new structure.

boy: that's pretty. it's so big!

Men: it's the small version. but closer to our hearts. it's the ancient Mexican pyramid.

Madchen: and so...

the boy clutches Madchen's ankle and blushes. the man rubs Madchen's leg and blushes.

Madchen: which of you wants to leave this embarrassing situation? a mother knows.

the man: if you don't mind, if it's all the same to you and all our new friends gathered here, i'd like to stay. i feel i can help. there's so much to learn. my eyes have been opened against my will.

Madchen: and you, my child?

the boy nods and spits out his drink.

the man and the boy: yes.

Madchen winks at the boy. with her black-hole eye.

the boy is a star...........

CLICK HERE..........................................

..................he no feel. he know