Wednesday, September 13, 2017


the boy: I only falter if my eye stops dreaming of the moon as the sun beats it shut.

the man: leafing through the old legends again?

boy: we are the start. the beginning. it's from your writings in this green-leaf diary. there is no legend, yours is the first code. i shall pray upon this tonight as i slumber.

man: what are you doing with those? they're a waste of time. all we do is sleep. whch isn't necessarily a bad thing. it's an escape however painfully brief. how long do you think this candle will last?

boy: the torches should hold up. this cave isn't so much my home as my sanctuary.

man: do you wonder what the Sun is doing?

boy: probably being around longer than us.


boy: religious symbol?

man: SNIPER!!! a spot of light, zeroing in on your brow. did you hear that crackle?

boy: just as long as i don't hear a pop. the earth moving?

man: the earth settling. *snaps fingers*

boy: what is that? it's very artistic.

man: just made it up right now. my fingers slipped from sweat.

a giant tool burrows into the topsoil ground and enters the cave opening area, dripping with water and other fluids. a second beam of light hits the man in the forehead.

boy: you were saying?

man: my next chapter would have been on halos if i hadn't quit writing.


the Pope is at her mansion, blowing bubbles in her giant bathtub. she sneaks in a full head-down to take a look at the clarity of the water.

Kirsten Powers: don't drown, hun. how is it?

Pope: cloudy.


and Kirsten turns the big knob on the faucet.

Kirsten: doing my best She-Ra.

Pope: wait, i see something!

Kirsten: the pumps don't seem to be working. maybe if i drain it and fill it with milk your dunk will be more pleasurable.

out of the drain comes a beast of a woman. it's the Statue of Liberty. she dusts herself off and instantly becomes dry. she is a sight to behold! she makes the Pope cry.

Pope: you are so beautiful. my eyes have been jammed with a lot of stars in my time but your eyes!

Lady Liberty: thank you. amazon to amazon i bid you adieu.

Pope: wait. kiss me like it's the last time.

Kirsten: *glum* go on then.

Lady: what?

Kirsten: show us the goods. lift that iconic dress of yours. let's see what Murica is working with.

the Lady obliges as ladies do.


Lady: i'm French.

the Pope kisses the Lady passionately and all of the huge worms disappear forever. replaced with a different bigness.

Pope: what were you thinking just then?

Lady: i bid you howdy.

Lady Liberty violently removes one of the thorns on her crown. she brandishes them in front of the family of worms. they cower, which is distinct from their usual sliding up and down. more shakey. Lady bends the light in the arena to show them the way.

Lady: i light the path. you must choose to move.

the family of worms unlock from their group hug and slowly but surely crawl up under the Statue's dress.

Kirsten: so that's why your legs are hairy. for protection.

Lady: welcome, immigrants. do you still love me after seeing what i do?

Pope: more so. you're a dirty smuggler. that's sexy.

Kirsten: hey, where's your torch?

at the beach, it's nearing the end.

Dr. Erika: why are you with me, Paul?

Goody Paul: cos i love you. and you're the only one left.

Erika: you know i'm a witch.

Goody: i planned for it like i plan for a hurricane. plenty of batteries.

the couple squeeze their hands together so tight their fingers merge.

Irma batters the coast with winds so strong Dorothy is seen in the new tornadoes which touch down.

Goody makes one last plea with his look.

Erika: no, Paul, no more ladies. no foursome.

Goody: it's just everyone brags about a threesome......................where is Spaghetti anyway?

Erika: too small for him.

Erika collects a few things in her picnic basket: blankets, a bank, and the ham sandwiches. the first ham sandwich she made him and the first ham sandwich he made her. they kiss and await the swirl.

first come the waterspouts. then the concave half of the eastern eyewall. the seawall breaches as does all the satellite-tv satellites which bridge the Keys together. the duo are swept up into the eye and are afforded a moment of respite before their dams break.

Erika: dammit i love you, Paul.

Paul: dammit, Erika.

Erika: kiss me like it's the first time.


Erika: Paul, you know this is the end, right?

Paul: it's bad. but it's also overhyped. we'll get through it. trust me, i'm in the business.

Erika: this isn't a hurricane. it's the end of the world.

Paul: then pass the End Endo.

the two spin around, around, around, forever, but they never stop holding their hands, clutching to the only human thing in a natural world cold and unforgiving. Erika maintains her tv smile and Paul checks the scores on his watch. only weather updates now. there's another hurricane hot on the tail of Irma. Jose, appropriate. but then there's another hurricane after Jose, a tropical system begging to be noticed.

Paul: wish i could have named the little bugger.

and after that, rainshowers are beginning to glide and elide in Africa.

Brian Williams: what began as the twinkle of God's eye, a cozy rainfall slighting its way over the brown terrain, over amber hills and monkey's paws, falling like glaze on African leaves, softly saturating the gardens and landing on lands, cold coats and heat relief, has now become the most violent system of all mankind. and it is our making.

Erika: there's another storm coming. and another one after that. look! it's a line, a string, a gallery of circles one after the other, now and then there's some space but mostly it's a continuation of histrionic hurricane havoc. the National Weather Service has run out of names for this endless destruction.

President Bump is on Oprah. first on a live feed.

Oprah: what are you doing, man? give me something. i unretired for this?

Bump chases down a half-jacked half pickup the stool on which drives an incapacitated man of one shaded eyeglass and quarter-mullet just trying to get his machines and medicines and pipes and provisional poles. stymied by both the law and larceny and luck. Bump dons the Gaming Warden beige safari hat and extends his hand to stop the man in his tracks, shoving his head back at him.

Bump: STOP, STOOGE!!! turn around! no one gets in to where i am!

man: but...*through his tickled moustache*

Bump: YOU, NO. *brandishes gun* did you vote for me? will you vote for me again?

man: i got my hands up! yes, i swear! this is Florida, man! i'm white and conch!

Bump: oh well good. those pesky exploratory committees aren't cheap you know. you saved me the hassle.

man: can i get my goods and services?

Bump: no bueno. *smiles*

Oprah: heehee, get in here you old goat! now that's good tv. how are you, old friend?

Bump: Oprah *kiss* you look like a goddess. let's dance. let me get a good look at you, just one twirl around and i'm already bored. you had the chance to be my Omarosa you know. you can let go of both my arms now.

Oprah: they need supplies, Mr. Resident President. they need generators.

Bump: i will be the greatest generator smoke of jobs ever. greater than Lincoln and he had a much easier time of it, there were fewer people in the country cos they were all getting killed off in the war. that's a civil way to go.

Oprah: they need gas.

Jonathan Swan: and that's when it happened, the leader of the free world bent my ear. me, lowly reporter me, and it went from there.

Brian Williams: go on.

Bump: you're from that Axios shit. i hate you guys. i got an ax to grind on your website. Swine, debut the dish!

Mooch: and here we have my piece de la resistance, a pumpkin-coconut custard.

Bump: get outta here.

Swan: he thought my name was Swine. i think that's why he let me stay.

Brian Williams: so take me and our viewers back to that fateful day when Bump fired Comey.

Swan: he had just spit on his four-iron. he was getting ready to smash his gob with a large platter of a large pig so roasted it had turned into a pig-shaped serving of chicharrones. instead of an apple a red handball was painfully stuffed in its mouth. and there were pieces of chocolate cake on sticks to the side.

Brian: wait do we really need to know this? don't go too far back.

Bump: i got all the gas you need. *whispering to Swan* hey kid, does KFC serve tacos? my constituencies are confusing.

Swan: i swear the guy never stopped talking. to me. finally we settled on me having my exit line be, "just pick up some Crisp Tacos-flavored Lays chips on your way out" and i took my leave. the President thought i had a stupid jokey face but i told him i was Australian.

Wolf: Anderson. Anderson. Amderson. Anderson. Anderson.

Anderson: what? shut up.

Wolf: now's your big chance. now's your big break.

Anderson: fine.

Mooch: rissole...

Bump: too Italian. EYE-talian. not quite white.

Bump: before we begin, let me show your audience some B-roll of what i did on the Lincoln Memorial on Lincoln's birthday.

the audience laughs and claps.

Bump: heehee, see that. washed. sparkling white. so i have a big decision to make. one rose and two ladies. do i go with Ms. Mavis L. Wanczyk, i mean we're talking $759 million here. or do i go with my dream girl, my secret crush, Katy Tur. Katy Tur would be nothing without me you know.

Anderson: ladies, step forward from the crowd. thank you. before we begin let the audience here and at home in on the letter you wrote to Mr. Bump just this morning when you were planning not to show up here.

Katy: attendance was mandatory. really disappointing to see Mueller knocking on my shower door while i was taking a bath.

Anderson: the letter reads:

         I cannot go with you or ever want to see you again. you have tried to ask why but I blocked you on twitter. just believe that I will never love you. go, my dear, frankly go, and Satan bless you,

Katy (without the e)

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