in a small club where Blind Melon used to play, where the wooden walls are plasted with dead grunge acts and Farouk's gum, a throng of the faithful squeeze into the bending boards and exposed brick to listen to a revolutionary, a tiny girl many thought would never come to have her day. she is Ocasio. Ocasio wears mad purple lipsick which highlights her ferocious brown skin glistening in a spotlight once used for Michael Richards. reserved for Kramer. or as the crowd chants unreservedly, "Lamer!" everyone wears tightly across their furrowed brows a brown headband. some rattail it with a crumpled bumper-sticker which reads Happy 4th! Fuck Bump!!! in red. Ocasio raises her finger she forgot to get beauty-saloned:
Ocasio: never let 'em tell you you ain't Murican. WE the real Americans...
The Line bumps into And Change in the audience like the return of the mosh pit.
The Line: well well WELL. o so NOW you show up to something consequential? NOW you're not busy tinkering in the basement? what's the matter, i'm not a pretty girl?
And Change: this is not about me. or you. it's about her.
The Line: sure sure. ain't this great, i haven't felt an atmosphere this electric since my last heist. before we had change but it was watered-down and silver and in a suit. this is the real revolution. it feels organic, but it tastes good. feels dynastic, like a soccer scrum which spills out from African plantations onto a redbrick Johannes street. my blood can tell the difference, this time it matters, this egg-time my blood boils at the right temps. this time we really CAN lose everything. everything we've accomplished by the centuries. so i'll fight free and with abandon and with my unconscious fists.
Ocasio: this is our time. Socialism is not a dirty word no more, it's Sicilian, a train Ayn Rand didn't have the money for to complete the tracks over the bridge. no gold for the spike. i am your bridge. to one world of science and robots. i will drive the Earth Ship when the time comes to abandon the planet. and education and housing and voting rights. we didn't need to go to war, we simply needed to fight. your ginger fingers direct my finger. my dimples are designed for deism and dignity. we savage our previous masters with their sin of slavery, never let them forget it, make them feel our Black Death, a black dot put upon their foreheads not by a priest but by a satanic acolyte. we melt down their Southern and Northern iron wills and stir the silver soup and refashion those iron cuffs after a fashion over their red wrists. we won't be shoved around again like cable fodder and shit. the brown headbands we each wear tonight are the new red berets, red stained from the blood of our foresistas. and now, tomorrow bright and early i have a Congressional meeting i need to attend, need to pick out a dress i bid you fond farewell and good evening.
Maxine crashes the stage with all the fury of a black grandmother who has never taken any shit nor green guff from any toddler since she was a toddler. she learned her lesson the first time a boy shoved her down to the building-site concrete. her words stream from a generationless grandeur.
Maxine: STAND UP. that's right. be heard, let them feel you. use your big shiny lips to sing the words of the spiritual when you talk. we are on the side of the God of the Fields. wait a cotton-pickin minute, President Bump, you listenin'? imma eat your lunch.
the crowd swells with abruption. Maxine's baggy beige smile belies her sweet tone as she demeanors for the drone cameras. a smile which interrupts the brown headband strap down her face. her purple pimp dress is a pantsuit with flat gold puffer wristbands.
Maxine: you know we do. our tack is ATTAC. you see how they treat our little black-boy brotha valedictorian? next time you see one 'em on the street give them a little SHIGGLE. storm up to their table at their fine-dining fast-food joint of choice where they're quietly nibbling on their homey honey-drizzled mini-biscuit nugget sandwich with their family by saucer candlelight and you give them a little SHUGGLE. touch their shoulders, let them feel you. push 'em, give 'em a little knock, a little reminder of the boy in kindergarten, tell 'em it's a kiss from me, a kiss from grandma, your sweet bittle grams who lives unobstrusively with nature in the ER Everglades. tell 'em your aunt flo sent ya and you need to speak cousin to cuzzin.
the crowd hollers. the millennials check their mentions. the white folk do the loudest hollaing. and the ginger actresses, they are really into it as they cry.
Maxine: speech out, gotta save my voice. this gon be fun let it begin. ha HAAAAAAAAAA
she takes out a large gun. her teeth, chewing gum, are black-tipped and broken. a cannon. air gun, T shirt gun, hydraulic aerosol with a giant pumper. she guns tons of individually-wrapped Starburst candy mini squares at the audience. they glee with scream.
The Line: *unwrapping* i am so happy to be surprised to find out these are the new Sweet Heat Starburst. perfect for the occasion.
And Change: the mango one is burning my tongue, which you'd think it shouldn't do it's just mango. well, you are the man. apparently. these headbands are really catching on.
The Line: where's yours?
And Change: didn't fit. tiny head. The Lien sir.
The Line: gotta go. nature calls. next time we meet eyes i want to share with you the latest tracks of music i fancy.
at a half-and-half restaurant the logo out front is a chicken but it's not the colonel. Pruitt is trying to shoo the drones away.
a mother holding her baby by her proudly exposed espoused-on-insta tit approaches and broaches the subject with Pruitt.
mom: this is your rebuke and reproach. you're lucky to speak with me. you still have a sliver of soul left.
Pruitt: i can see the red on your own brown headband. and your eyes. did Maxine send you? are you the woman i fired for not spreading my pillows with lotion? those were for Mr. Bump. you're brown, are you legal? hey wait, are you the idiot who was trying to pull down Lady Liberty's skirt today at the Statue?
mom: we all tug at that skirt.
the mother puts down one Scurrilous Sour Sizzlin' Strawberry Starburst square at the very edge of his table as the penny tip and leaves.
at the theatre, Bump is watching the watchers.
on screen, LeBron is about to make his announcement. for the third time. in a bunny suit.
LeBron: i'm the king of bunnies. i make this announcement on July 4th Independence Day cos i'm the greatest living American. we takin' it back. what is ours. the soul of this country. the dark soul. soul. i didn't know what to do for my third time. had to spicer it up somehow. i did the Jim Gray interview where i looked gray in my Nirvana plaid shirt and the majority of the interview was strangely about what i ate for breakfast that morning. i did the letter-read in Morgan Freeman's and Frank Caliendo's and Frank Ocean's voice.
Bump: i like how that git i mean guy thinks.
LeBron: okay. here goes. you ready? Kawhi's comin' to Golden State! Boogie's comin' to Golden State! Oakland's the only place where it's still legal to dance dirty. just stay in your gang and avoid the 'ship or you're a ghost. Paul George's comin' to Golden State! Kyrie's comin' to Golden State! and we know Dame is comin' with me!!! and I am comin' to Golden State! next year's gonna be awesome! there's even a possibility i might come off the bench! cos i'm old y'know.
Bump: wait, what? the Beatles are comin' to Golden State? Paul and George? they're alive? i had a great stay in one of my hotels last night that's why i feel so comfortable here. Pruitt is doing a great job for me. the pillows had that lotion on them you know hides the smell? both before and after?
a man in the empty court stands and a Scarecrow-from-Batman hat encircles a crowded hush when he speaks and claps his hands in front of his face. long stringy gray hairs fall from the brow of this farmer's sunhat and fill the long deep gray grooves of his grizzled face. he is so skinny his pink fluffy sweater covers his entire body as he lifts his feet and knees and exposed toes up to the bench in front of him, resting his meek ball of a frame.
man: i like your style/ i like what you do/.........i want more of this.
Bump is jealous of Jack Nicholson who sits next to the reclusive owner-type. Jack's eyes are seen inside an arena for the first time ever, he takes off his sunglasses.
at the World Cup, the dreaded drawing-of-lots ceremony is about to take place.
Sepp: i love the drawing of the lots! it's so unfair, so medieval! is everyone ready? everyone got their robes on?
Messi comes out in his robe and trips all over the stage.
Messi: sorry. nervous. let's move this abomination along i got my dad on my ass. what do i have to do? put my finger in here? okay, it's drawed. do i win?
Sepp: Japan in, Senegal out.
Messi: no NO what about Germany?!! you'd said Germany could COME BACK IN!!!
Alexi: there really should be a fairer system. than bookings. nobody reads books. shots on goal. missed penalty kicks. Suarez licks. if a teammate kicks a ball into the air like a clown and it goes 50 feet into the stands, that team is automatically eliminated.
Kate Abdo: good morning. what did everyone do on their day off? fancy a felch?
Kelly: danced with Aly Wagner in the booth.
Alexi: danced with a ginger actress to keep my red up.
El Presidente: sewed Messi's robe all night didn't sleep like Ronaldo didn't sleep. and stuffed one of my plushes in that there robe for good luck.
Rob Stone: i'm not Roger Stone.
Cobi Jones: i'm not the black kid from High School Musical. or the Black Power Ranger.
Grant Wahl: i scared everyone out of the club.
Kate: dahlin, you have a lovely face.
Grant: cos people thought i looked like what a good Lex Luthor who ate too much cheese would look like. my smile terrified folk. Putin knew i had to be an American spy from his voracious reading of comic books but was too scared to put a mic on me. he told me later my face reminded him of the very first Russian folktale.
DJ Rudenko: i'm secretly a triple-spy! i'm Croatian wear the Croatian soccer shirt but am laying the groundwork spying here for Russia for the upcoming Bump Putin Bromance in theatres this summit. i'm also the bass guy for the Belgian guy in the commercial in the car who apologizes to America. he's here tonight under this huge pink bear suit. every Eurpoean DJ can't sign a contract until he agrees to have a giant stuffed animal dancing next to his turntables.
Bump: great job, El Presidente. come to America. just not on a boat.
Tony Meola: people come up to me on the cobbled streets of Italy to approach me all the time. thinking the rumors aren't true, like that couldn't have really been the Sopranos ending. they think i'm Tony Soprano alive and well and in hiding not from the mob. i faked my own death for other reasons. the fishermen hit me over the head with their brown shoe cos they blame me for eating all the fish in Italy and driving them to despair and bankruptcy and boredom.
Bump: see i don't get soccer. it's so artificial and fake. why can't they score the normal hard way? everyone scores the artificial way. with set pieces and penalty kicks. free kicks after tickytack fouls just to pump out artificial unearned goals. inflated numbers. earn it on the field of battle. it's like hockey, too, when they do the 4-on-5. they only do that cos nobody will ever score a hockey goal 5-on-5, it's impossible. especially with a goalie at the goal. get rid of the goalie to make the games exciting.
Bump: it was very unfair what happened to Senegal. see? i'm yous brothers, too. i'm down with the brothas.
Bump makes the X in front of his chest with his yellow hands and cuffed arms and smiles gainfully in the gully of a well of the theatre.
Bump: wait for me, i want to try something.
Bump ascends the slippery ringless curtains of the front stage proscenium arch. he climbs down them back---not slides them down---to avoid the tension of the golden rope hitting him in the face.
Bump: i loved my homeschooling i mean grade-schooling i mean college days. all those proscenium thrusts. who's got the popcorn? commercial time. oh, look, it's Loki! i mean my wife! i wondered where she went i was worried. for me i mean her. worked into the night didn't sleep to prepare Melania's jacket for today's event. i spraypainted in the back letters which read
heehee. how you like that, honey?
Melania looks into the camera fourth-wall and hisses at Mickey from the tarmac wheelable gothic stairs.
Melania: *whispering to herself* this you foisted on me was obviously not the green-notebook jacket.
Bump: Britney's back? who knew? hey it's that PC Matic commercial. *singing* MADE IN THE U.S.A!!! i love that commercial. but, what? i can't believe i'm saying this but get rid of this blonde and bring back the Chinese guy.
Bill Gates: Thai guy, sir.
Bump: i love Thai food. i love all food. i'm a very loving guy.
Bill Gates: the blonde from the plane is here to see you, sir.
Bump: show her in. and leave us alone. we'll do the Isis fighters' injured legs and the watercolors later. i knew i should trust my political instincts, they're so happy, new, and gay! is she grateful i saved her? why does my shredded bbq meat look like octopus tentacles?
Bump moves his podium in front of him, the podium which reads in carves:
HAPPY birthday, Mr. Bump
at the Royal Ascot, Doryce and Gladyce are dressed to the six six sixes.
Gladyce: you do look quite dashing in your morning suit, dear.
Doryce: i wear this every morning. when i shower. you never join me in there, you're always sleeping. anyway i'd like it if our Stanford man would show in a morning suit. or just the tallhat.
Gladyce: Bama would never do that to his hair. he's a college man now, he doesn't do mornings. he doesn't get up mornings.
Doryce: well he would get it up if he did me mornings. did he ever get off that Ayn Rand train? is his European vacation over yet? why did NBC suddenly broadcast this thing when they never before?
Gladyce: two words: Markle Sparkle. more powerful than the pixiedust fell off any spell.
Doryce: and there's also a horse race here nobody pays attention to.
Gladyce notices a purple horse winning the race no one sees as all the fancy fashion folk raise their champagne glass to their face at the same time in the fashion circle. she waves at this purple horse. the purple horse waves back.
Gladyce: hi, Amethyst.
at the basement, a crew breaks down the door. the door to the basement. those steps have never been so hardly trod on. with heavy boots. at first And Change thinks it must be the fired shots working. the gunshots all around on and in the streets always begin around 9. And Change is filming his latest:
And Change: and so, fam, i learned something today. when i was listening in earnest to the speeches at the club. i love women ya feel me? like no i actually LOVE women, i respect them...
The Line: HEY!!! ANYBODY DOWN THERE?!! you okay in there? today is your lucky day! we're comin' to free the slaves!
The Line sticks his huge mug onto the camera gun. it appears huge on screen in the back.
The Line: hello, fam! what are the chances, And Chance? Mulatto Messiah OUT...
they block his screen with big black cards.
And Change: what are you doing here? how did you get in here?! QUIET, Son is sleeping! or studying , whatever way, osmosis.
The Line pushes And Change all the way to his back wall, his shoulder under his neck.
The Line: you've been holding out on me, Superman.
Amd Change: huh? what do you mean?
The Line: uh Kate Abdo? that's enough to get a brotha to watch a European Right sport.
the crew all laughs.
The Line: we. uh, taking over here, Mr. Mad Mad Scientist. hello, folks, welcome to your new god guru underground journalist geist. this arena's area is under new management. yeah, brother, it's all mine now. i mean ours. we need it for the new headquarters, got locked out of the old place. hey it's not for me, it's for her. this revolution's actually got a shot now. let's see, let's see, first order of business. need a bumper-sticker to slap on a slogan.
The Line strokes his chin while the crew coils up all of And Change's old black wires around their armpits.
The Line: *pointing* yeah yeah got it ladies and gentlemen for my first act! my very first video on this channel. she was impressed with the signs i showed her.
And Change: i didn't show anybody my signs.
The Line: but, uh, i told her i could come up with a better sign if she kept me on. i could get her things. i'm steering the ship. they all pay attention to her, especially the white womens. i could secure a location, a home. her youtube vids get a billion views. and i can and i will. as soon as i find a black pen...
And Change: wow. you sure fancy yourself fancy, sir. doncha, don. gotta be great to appreciate. Janet say: it's all about control. never let the opportunity get in the way of your good story.
The Line: *red in the face* CAN SOMEONE SECURE ME A GODDAM BLACK PEN UP IN HERE? you'd think an underground lair would have one damn dungeon drawstick!
And Change: this bitch.
The Line grabs And Change by the neck and pushes his head onto the camera point with his big greasy knuckle palms.
The Line: and now my man And Change here will tell all the lovely folk of your heretofore secret underground audience the title of that precious song of yours you keep playing over and over ad nauseam like a bad radio ad till we all throw up. you know that, right? that we all get sick from these same vibrations? how do you keep getting good numbers? time to crowd-surf!
And Change looks plaintively into his own commandeered camera.
And Change: sure. fam, it's called "Fourteen."