Wednesday, June 6, 2018


in the cluttered pantry of files and overstuffed finales, Robert Mueller is pondering not pandering his next move. he takes years to ponder. he paces back and forth on the rickety cat-alley hanging above the rafters with the one Cleveland Cavaliers banner hanging above the rim of the nonexistent basketball court. the furrows on his brow have grown wider but not longer.

Mueller: come up here, son.

his hand that was on his furrowed forehead now beckons Avenatti with a wave of fingers which require no ring. Avenatti's sparkling eye blues blink up as he acknowledges the signal and his head becomes a flaming burning sun. Ave takes hold of the long green tie Mueller lowers from the brown rafters and holds on for dear life his butt up as he tries not to fear life in front of his predecessor enjoying the ride. he makes it to the top and brushes off the nails from his nails. he ponders across the albright avenue bustling with breakers.

Mueller: enjoying the enhanced view, kid? this will all soon be your league.

Avenatti: should i speak or remain silent?

Mueller: never whisper a question you don't know the answer to, that's the prime directive of the Department. also, never be quiet when you can pound your anal fist on the table.

Mueller slides the tie around Avenatti's neck and pulls it close to his chest.

Mueller: you promise not to tell?

Avenatti: *sweat pouring off his bald forehead* gulp. you mean where i'm getting my information from for the cable talk shows, sir?

Mueller: no. about us. i gotta have one thing that Ashley Parker doesn't know about yet.

the two wrestle for a bit feeling each other out and then the claws come out. they make out and form a ball of dirt and wavy lines and flying four-letter-words and other nondescript xs and os and ox and symbols and equal signs above their heads as they fuck like cats. more descriptedly like Garfield and Heathcliff.

Avenatti: sir, are you sure this playground bannister will hold?

Mueller: sure, Ave, you just continue saying your ave marias. i'll be gentle on ya.

President Bump has been looking up and watching the whole thing. he has to rub his eyes and make them wider which is hard to do with his eyes. he forces his eyes wider by shooing away all the wrinkles with his fingers, but overflabby skin still overlaps.

Bump: do my eyes deceive me? is that Bob Mueller or is that...

Bump blinks his eyes repeatedly but can't stop seeing Melania go in and out where Mueller's bodyspace is, like a broken hologram on the fritz. Melania is wearing headgear after her hospital stay, cream-colored bandages wrapped tight on her pointy head in a cube held coarsely by a distinctive pin: a mini circular branch.

Bump: i think i've been at this too long. i better get back to work. or to work. WHOA! who's spread out splayed out nude on the wooden oak meeting table like this? with her long frizzy raven hair getting caught on the table corner knob? normally that was would get me exercised but i'm a bit discombobulated at the moment. are you the body sushi model i ordered? i mean Kim ordered?

Kim Kardashian: this is the Kim Summit, right? well here i am. time for you to climb the summit. i'd turn around and show you my ass but the hair thing...

Bump: is that a giant bowl of dip or your tits? or are you just happy to see me? like the bowl is a punch bowl.

Kim K: taste my raw fish but don't throw the sour rice. so you'll release that poor woman in prison?

Bump: sure, release all the women, they're just women. is she an illegal? whatever i don't care anymore, that policy was impossible to enforce and read. the only thing that's gonna seal the borders is that special black glue liquid-rubber sealant on tv that's rainproof. who says i'm not down with the blacks? where's that? Mooch, get Billy Mays on the phone. i have a computer problem so i'm glad i invited or at least someone on my staff remembered to invite Bill Gates's daughter to help me. hello.

Bill Gates's daughter: ...

Bump: so i'm trying to scroll for my nudes i mean my scores on my Apple Watch here and i get the same set of pics every time. it's like the internet is only spitting out one of five pics: it's either gonna be Prince Harry doing something, that woman who is on the first cover of Playboy when they decided to go back to doing nudes, Erin Andrews sitting in that damn courtroom box a woman who was granted a large settlement and never has to work a day in her life again just cos a man was being a man---talk about choosing a job you love---, Jennifer Lawrence clothed in red scales in her pool with that weird white parrot on her shoulder talkin' bout interminably her first nude scene in a movie like that was the first nude scene in ANY movie, fucking Greitens, and that mystery woman in the grey sweatpants and yoga tanktop who comes up when yous search housekeeping who's smiling into the camera whilst polishing the knobs of the pieces of a chessboard with an old yellowed picture of the ill-fated 1845 Phoenix ship behind her. can you make it so i get new pics come up when i search? keep the chess lady, though, she's blonde and hot and i feel i should learn chess finally. i have the face that you think this guy knows how to play chess!

Bill Gates's daughter: ... ... ... maybe try Pear Watch?

Bump: i like you. you know you have a hot body in that cockatil dress. like a cody body. it's strange that your shape came from one of Bill Gates's swimmers. sorry but this is all i have to ogle not google at now that Miss America didn't follow my example and go back to how tings were. what am i gonna look at now? would you mind trying on my robe? that's what Miss Zmerica calls "evening ballroom attire" now. i mean i guess your bra and panties which i can see through your clothes count as a bikini.

Bill Gates's daughter: ...

Bump: thanks for the fix. no now wait now all i'm getting for pictures no matter what keyword i search is a BALD HEAD!!! THE SAME BALD HEAD!!!

Avenatti: mine? yes! i'm finally moving up in the world.

Bump: not you, cowboy. my eternal rival, me enemy for life, no room for frenemy, Lex Luthor! BEZOS that bugger!!!

Kim: i'm the other Kim, let's go, i'm in a rush to get back to my horses. which are my missiles. and i want to listen to the new King Missile.

Bump: thanks for the fix. i like to know i still have power to throw around every once in a while. what's this? what's with this letter? what's with the novelty envelope?

Kim: this is my Dear Kim letter. i wrote it staying up all night under candlelight. it's filled with my utmost heart feelings. for you all for you. it's how i really think.

Bump: okay, thank you. it's just weird that the envelope is fun-size. *opens it up with his fingernail* let's see what we got here to read..............wait, YOU'RE the last remaining Isis fighter we haven't bombed to kingdom come of virgins yet? damn it, Kim. i wanted to take credit for that 100% clean bill of health for the record, y'know?

Kim: of course i am. look at my black jacket!

Bump: *perusing without his glasses* wait YOU WERE the secret FBI spy embedded in my campaign?

Kim: of course. i had to know, Mickey, i had to know. why are you mad that the FBI is secretive?

Bump: *rustling the envelope like a bird* Kim, it's just, i mean, i thought we were friends.

Kim: friendships are built on a foundation of truth. like a pebble in a well. it's still a trial run, man. let's take things slow, take the tale by the tail. let's start wth frenemies first. you promised me a reciprocal. where's my Dear Don letter? i want to have it on record so i can take it back home with me and pin it to my ceiling and glance at it for reference when you're not around and laugh like friends.

Bump: i'll get right on that. prolly will take the summer. i'll have the Mooch dictate. i've never written a letter before. we have much to discuss and i'll talk to you later. too much noise, drilling in the Cream House, can't concentrate, i'm putting up the BUMP golden letters on the Cream House portico. kids! how are you?

Bump takes the kids from the Florida school to a local Bump DC-area Lazer Tag enclosed classic stadium. along 5th Ave.

Bump: you guys have great aim. how bout this forum, huh? sorry i know you wanted to attend a football game but since the Patriots lost that place is off-limits. wait, stay here unattended, i have to do something classic while i'm here.

Bump takes his laser gun and points the light at the forehead of a hologram of Comey.

in Guatemala, Nadal in his orange Goku gi flies around to the summit, atop where all that damn lava is spilling out, and rescues an old brown woman from the prison of the crater. as well as her 2yo little daughter who was gonna be sacrificed to an ancient god. Nadal plants his free jailbirds on the soft ground next to where Doryce and Gladyce are lounging in purple sunglasses.

Nadal: haha, i was granted the power, not Golden Boy Federer, how do you account for this, dumb smartguys in the press-room? i lift weights. didn't you hear? it's all over the internet! Volcan de Fuego. have you no strength? why aren't you helping? i know you can do something. don't you read what's under Lupin Lodge? i was so bored at the French Open i decided to save lives, and this was before the rain delay. the rain delay at the French was the only time i felt wet over there.

Dirg: *from Doryce's watch* perfect opportunity for man to fight volcano. nobody reads internet comments. everyone figures that these people are trying to make a name for themselves this one opportunity they have before they die anonymous and alone so they're deliberately berating the place with false facts. basically nobody believes anything about anything happening online.

Laertus: yeah. there is no god. you know instagram? nobody actually looks at the Instagram picture or reads under for the comment. they like the pic simply to show they're still part of your followers list and to acknowledge you're still alive and breathing.

Nadal: kicking. what do i have to do to prove the urgent? here, take a bite of my recipe. it's my infamous Borderless Enchilada. it's my mother's recipe pero i never knew my mother. it will bring the colonies together.

the two crones acknowledge that it is indeed quite good and tasty in their biteful but not spiteful mouths.

Doryce: *crusty, slamming her glasses into her KY handbag on her lap and putting the handbag on the ground* for you, young man, as i was saying, "i was born naked and i'm gonna die naked!..."

Gladyce: did someone call for a goddess? or at least a Welsh suffragette? okay, dear, it is accomplished. it's fixed. the volcano's over. done. for at least 1000 years. or maybe 2 i'm getting old. next time get more stable leaders, the Earth simply reflects its environment. leaders who are willing to be led. take care of and heed the magnolia pods which will grow around the ring of the ash on top of the crushed crust lava, they are magic spells. and maybe don't build those mansions on top of volcanoes?

it's Game 7 of the NBA Finals. Warrior Cav. after a marathon session of seven full tiring grueling strenuous overtime basketball games, it's come down to the last overtime. a half-second on the clock after the five minutes. LeBron is exhausted and touches his calf but knows he must take the last shot. he stands on the half-court circle bubble and a tear comes to his robotic red eye, he can feel all the emotions. he knows this is the finale to a ballet of ball brilliance the two teams, heavyweight gangs, have been waging on each other by dancing with each other cheek to toe across crosscountry streets. and this final shot which only LeBron will take, granted by no man, will be the falling curtain close of the suite. but before, backstory:

Draymond: sorry for punching you and glancing you and giving you that bloody eye, LeBron, i didn't mean it this time.

LeBron looks at Draymond with a jerky headtilt. his red eye is androidic, and the red right light which streams out of his pupil shines a light on the scoreboard overhead.

LeBron: look at the scoreboard, JR Smith. it's right.

Draymond: how are you doing this? how are we tied 1-1?

LeBron: i went back in time to ensure justice. i am the Terminator. Swaggy P, how's Iggy?

Swaggy P: i thought he's still out and won't be playing. you mean my ex-wife? she's here!? in the stadium? yo LeBron can you do a favor for me? heehee, just playin' you know me i'm the Joker i'm always kidding around. i had a dream that you'd make the last shot and break out hearts.

Iggy Azalea: *in the stands* i was mad at you for a long. but art has helped me recover my spirit and your cheating heart. i no longer show my tits on Instagram. now i draw. i'm doing a webcomic on my blog. it's like Ziggy but it's more modern and more about fashion. i picked up my tips at a summer internship i bought taught by Alan Bored at Exodus College, you know the brilliance behind the Hurt Locket work? i didn't want to go back to Australia, they've disowned me there.

LeBron goes for the final shot. the big orange ball of tiny bumps slows midair in slow motion. no music. before it reaches the basket JR Smith blocks it.

at the rickety mansion:

Alan Bored: yeah so i was so glad when i got rid of the last of that peppered bacon. i can't strip pieces off that pepper bacon and give to my cats for fear of them choking. here. they're not gifts, they're parting gifts. part.

the reclusive author points to a beefsteak tomato for Dirg and a silver-spoon ladle for Laertus on the frilled table.

Alan: this is your tomato, Dirg, use it as you see fit. *hitting Laertus on the forehead with the ladle* just don't let THIS guy turn you into sauce!

Laertus: that felt weird.

Dirg: this is the game i play with myself when i'm bored. i look up any keyword, then type nudes after it in the box and look at the images which pop up. it's fun and unlimited especially if you start adding phrases and well-worn idioms. i'll get more into this next time.

Laertus and Alan: what?

Laertus: i think i have you figured out. you're a Bad Guys Win, you use Fridge Logic to throw us off our game, you're a Squishy Wizard...

Alan: what on fuck earth are you babbling about with this, boy?

Laertus: i use the site Tv Tropes to explain everything life has to offer. everything that happens to me in life can be boxed into one of those tropes. it's my Bible. i'll preach about this more at a future date and time.

Dirg: so come on, man. come back to college with us. teach us, we kids who have lost our way.

Laertus: yeah.

Alan: i can't. I...............can't............

the man whom the boys thought they had been talking to all this time was a hologram, not a man. the projection turns green and disappears and the resultant spark catches the curtain of the screen on fire. when the fire clears, the background is revealed. it's a machine of large lined-up cardboard boxes with clocks painted on them in white paint, clocks which are moving in real time ticking away. the ticking is like bees buzz. in front is a hollowed-out chair for a throne, on top of its seatcushion a yellow juice-box, on its right band sits a steel record-player with no record. a long cylindrical spidery needle of threaded copper spins the circle with a grating sound from hell. light-green computer paper with holed perforated sides is printed out fast with fast facts in ink spouting out on the left side through a slit. the source of the projection of its doomy voice is unknown.

Alan: I AM THE DOOMSDAY CLOCK. this is my art. my continuous stationery. from behind the beginning this creation curtain i was able to observe your species for centuries and galaxies. i recorded all the voices for posterity. and prosperity. i wrote all the books and drew all the letters. i shape the debate. never shake the debate. drowning the discourse. i spit out what you wanted. sure there were massive seachanges in human history, bumps in the road, but you always felt that eventually we'd figure it out and be on our way again. bets wouldn't be as dire and show themselves to be props. until all screens fell and we became one cured disease. when the arc defeated the arch without an Ark. but i must confess....and this scares me greatly and grandly.....i fear......this time.....this present time.....I do not know what is going to happen....................


Jules said...

It just won’t be the same if you can’t have a biter.

It’s all chess, my sweet.*)

the late phoenix said...

I never learned to play chess. for some reason, in 3rd grade you're only cool if you can do the double-stack jumping all over the board four times in a row in one move. it was all about checkers in the 3rd grade.

I need someone to bite me when people tell me to bite them. cos I have no more teeth, they've all been hollowed out, too much Coke my whole life, Coke instead of milk, finally caught up with me *)