Puck brings home a dog.
Puck: no, not her. here is Belvedere, a Tervuren, they say they're the best, most homey and protective and huggable, most lively around a lived-in hemmed suburban neighborhood. the previous owners were calling him Bellend and whitewashing all the colorful flyers i was putting up around town, power-washing stripping them off all the brick, saying they were gentrifying the city. but THEY were the lost dog's owners! finally the kindly woman and kindly man who wore matching bandanas gave me a pence for my troubles, Bel licked the coin and it turned into a gold pence.
Judd: yeah i was tagging along by you for this mission but i didn't help much.
Puck: they said they were frantic and the dog belonged with his family. which was me. on the walk home to the House, Bel leashed me on all fours for our first walk, which is important in trustbuilding. Bel was having none of the Crooked Street. we sauntered past the bank of tvs, Bel spits on all the screens, the Asian owner gets mad, but we explain to her or him his her tvs are shiny now, clearer with the news. we celebrate by going to Bristol Farms, Bel wades in the fish pool and i wait for Pam's hand to give us the good stuff, the fresh stuff from the boxes out back, of Pacific Punch, a blue concoction drink that looks like Windex. Bel wags his tongue cos his tail is dead, won't wag no more, he can't believe what a fool i am.
Pedro: i'm a fool for love. i love the Windex that's yellow cos it looks like pee.
Judd: who's gonna pay for this mangy mutt? all dogs are liberal, you can tell, they've had baths and their nails did.
Pedro: he's gonna eat your dinners, Judd, you will starve. which is good for the creation. of comics.
Judd: ah, i could stand to lose a few pounds. i'm not skinny enough, i'm a match for skinniness of all the models i want to date.
Cory bumps into Geoff on the street, which happens a lot when the street is Crooked. Geoff is a kindly soul but it's hard to tell if he's a man or woman. he wears a pink shirt but it's a dark pink. Cory goes with it cos her life is in complete-standstill shambles.
Cory: hello. you're meeting me at my most vulnerable. the whole Macy's thing is up in the air.
Geoff: forgive me, i'm new to the City and i almost always never wear pants. oh Macy's, i love their Christmas ensemble. i love writing letters to Santa and nosing it in that giant golden mailbox in the center of the store. i wish i could ride those red planes hung high on the air in the sky of the glass ceiling but i'm not allowed up there without a harness. throw a guy a bone, you know?
Cory: oh you like Macy's, mate? okay, my wet nose is twitching, cold outside. i'm game. i'm not sure about you, Geoff, but let's give this a shot go, i literally got nothing else goin' on...
at the Australian Open at 1573 Court, Judy Murray is making her last stand. she stands very close to the baseline, her plain leather tennis shoes barely not touching, and poses to strike a spin serve. just as she's about to reach the apex, the fucking sun gets in her eyes and she whiffs it. a bird at the very tippy top of the edge of the stadium makes a squawking noise.
Bobble: SQUAWK!!! FUCK YOU!!! SQUAWK!!!
lineswoman: foot fault! point penalty. or game penalty maybe.
Judy: fuck you see that? that bird cursed at me! the nerve! what do you expect here, aye? this is really the moe Asian Open more than the Aussie Open. all you lot need to wear glasses like good Asians! i mean this is practically on the other side of the planet, a strange hidden paradise noone sees, a primate primitive land locked in other poles and destinies, time zones and arabathia keyholes. summer in January? you have to pee upside down in this place!
Caroline Wozniacki storms out onto the set of the stage of the court, which is something she never does.
Caroline: you fucker! because i had to take time out of my busy schedule to make a video-diary of all of your stupid son's lifetime good points, i thinned my practice time with pops and therefore wasn't as sharp and lost my match! you know how embarrassing it is to be the defending Champion and lose?
Judy: you don't know misery, that was your first time! hey girlie, why'd you switch sides? why'd you become Christian? do Christians have more sex?
Caroline: isnt it obvious? it's why every girl becomes a Christian. cos their fathers raised them atheist.
Caroline sinks to the lower level bowl of the stadium seating to meet Andy Murray who puts his arm around her and smiles that goofy grin of his with the brutal curved teeth. Caroline gives him a sugary peck on the underside of his chin.
Caroline: you think she bought it, honey? you think that dragon bitch will leave us alone now?
Andy: hey, she's still my mum, she's the only dragon i'll ever have. i'm not Daenerys Targaryen. there's an example that you don't need a readily-accessible easy-to-remember name to be successful. look! she's not even looking at us! she's too preoccupied in her own little sex life world as always!
Judy joins the Red Circle table and wishes to speak with Serena.
Judy: thank you, Williams, the good one, for getting rid of that bot Bouchard. now i have Nadal all to myself and entry into the Spanish lockerroom. there are perks to hanging around Carlos Moya!
Serena Williams: madam, miss, what is your feeling on foot faults? should they be willing to be reviewed like Pass Interference and Stepping On The Line in the NFL, where apparently i'm well-known? i did not cross the line.
Laertus: i know, girl, you always get the raw end. keep the fight, girl, the fight for justice, you know they will take every opportunity to bring you down. you know it wasn't until this very match that i started liking you, that i called you my favorite player. before you it was some other mother or whomever the redheaded girl player was. for me, i came to respect you over the years, admire you, before i liked you. and then this happens. i mean foot fault on match point? what a JIP! that obviously threw off your concentration game.
Dirg tries to hug Serena but he can only bring himself to air-hug her from three feet away.
Serena: what are you doing? i don't want a hug from you.
Dirg: sorry. i'm jealous of your ease in with these folk, Larry, teach me your Sith Jedi ways. it's just, Serena, well there's SO much of you, you know? especially in the back. i just didn't want to miss any of it with the hug, i had to have an all-encompassing hug with my short arms, not easy to accomplish. hugging you is impossible.
Serena: i'm sure i don't know. yes, that's what my press critics always like to say about me. i'm unapproachable and distant. and not "likable".
Laertus: code word.
Eye Luggage: Simone Richards has joined the Red chat.
Simone Richards sashays up to the edge of the table. she wears tallow yellow teeth but purple jogging pants.
Simone Richards: D/S? Dick/Simone anyone? i'm just like you, my idol Serena, except we're in different fields.
Serena: i started young, too, young buckess. but your ass beats mine, it just doesn't get beat as much. let's talk on the online-only chat later, we have much to discuss, padawan playa. your natural athleticism on knee-scraped stone park benches could be channeled between the lines of a gentler surface on your knees like grass when you fall. and we all fall. take it from me, your ass won't last forever.
Dirg: but YOUR ass DOES last forever, Serena. it will outlast the sun.
President Bump: yep. Danielle Collins, BEEP BEEP hello. never heard of you. feisty one.
Eye: *internal sigh which gets picked up on mic* you know. i don't have to announce it everytime. it's assumed. time for my Jewsih rye sandwich. my Eye Rye.
Bump: *eye rolls*
Laertus: you're the greatest exmaple of a college player making it not mailing it in. no male college tennis player has even SNIFFED the level you've achieved here or anywhere in the world! brava!
Bump: no. no. no. this can't happen! this is unbelievable your progress! get this girl a Heather Tom Collins to slow her down. you're too good-looking! you're the perfect spokeswoman for staying in college all four years, i can't have that! educated aren't my voters! in order to secure Reelection i need my electorate to be voters who come from war-torn countries, never had any army money for any kind of schooling other than armying, and took up tennis as a last resort, it was either that to save their family in a hut or their entire lineage are to be gassed in the war. playing tennis against the one brick backdrop in the city walls, cracking with each ball, learning to play from your grandfather who was a General with a grimey past, election decided by a foreign leader. working your way up the railroad ranks, tennis is all you know, not algebra, and then you make millions of dollars. i relate to that story. like you gotta have a certain kind of beauty, like these beautiful Russian queens over here! the heart of historic Europe. Svitolina and Plissken.
Bump: and stop screaming, Collins! you're scaring Nic and Keith Urban. they just want a nice peaceful urban time under the roof. tho your screaming, Danielle, is hot. hot like this weather we're having down under.
Pliskova: uh, that's Pliskova, i'm Pliskova. i don't play video games, in Hard Europe we LIVE video games. it's called everyday life in a warzone and some don't make it out with both eyes.
Svitolina: i'm Ukrainian, not Russian...
Bump: not anymore. i love you guys. love, get it? get love. i read all your calendars in magazines. i love your little love match with Gael Monfils. i even see his pics, they're glossy cos he's black so the light bounces off him and blinds my eyes.
Monfils: next time blood don't buy the magazines that are glossy. my skin is pure, as is my joking. check out our joint Instagram account.
Bump: yeah i saw yous two going at it on Centre Court of the Aussie. like two wild savage beasts and one belle. Gael and Svitolina, OTP. that's the real tea real sex right there, Indo-European conquering their slave, gave me ideas and hives.
Gael: i thought that was online-only.
Cory: see? black man, white woman, it's the natural order of tings. it's what everyone is attracted to. i am so enjoying getting this extra love and lovin' time from a pet animal at the House, makes me warm like never before. i've never been warm before where i come from.
Pedro: no beast, no man...in the City. beast is a man of burden...
Pliskova: i started the whole Eastern-European-chick-gets-an-ugly-tattoo-art-thing-on-a-weird-part-of-her-body-part-that-besmirches-her-beauty thing first, not Shit Svit…
Bump: balls of your elbows.
Serena: i rolled my foot on that ankle fault, because that call hurt my heart. not again, i said to myself. my mental anguish manifested into physical pain. it hurt my fulsome ancient spirit. but i kept rolling like i do. Ms. Judy, why do the players autograph that thin sheet of silver clear paper over the camera POV like that after each win?
Judy: that overhead-projector slide? i used to be a teacher. of my ungrateful sons. that's so the FBI has a database of all the players' handwriting samples. notice how there hasn't been any rapes? that we know of. we don't want a Ronaldo situation on our hands, even a Steven Universe Ronaldo situation. that would kill our tiny engine-that-could game, right off the tracks like Thomas. keeps everyone in line, between the lines, even I had to do it. and i never won a match. all your base are belong to us.
Serena: oh well. i'm a mother now, not a moth, i got other things. the porchlight will be there tomorrow. gives me freed time to go see that greatest book of mine on the Sorkin stage...
Laertus: Ser, they're just jealous of your shoe game! girl keep ya head up. they can't have your golden kicks! or your golden locks! we were all ready in the studio van out back with that tape of Carlos Ramos for the next match---he's here in Australia you know, like nothing happened---but it's all good, you do you, mama girl!
Dirg: how do you do that so effortlessly?
Laertus: the driving beat of that Australian Open theme song, so Aboriginal!
Judy: it's original but not necessarily Aboriginal. it's more a driving beat from a Eurotrash dancehall. our ancestors, right? *rolls eyes* what are you gonna do.
Brad Gilbert: effortlessly? why thank you. my nicknames come trippingly off the tongue. Tsitsipas? easy, EZ Pass. we're all from New York obviously. or maybe Going Greek?
Judy: i like that one. it's salty. both meanings.
Bump: teach me your ways, Gilbert and Sullivan and Pianoman with a Quarter-jar glass Can Jedi.
Nancy Pelosi: where's my nickname, Mickey? come on, this is easy, i look like a Muppet. that's what i share with Elizabeth Warren.
Elizabeth Warren tries to carry a purse full of fried chicken into the Well of the Senate but is rejected by TSA workers.
Carol Channing slaps her forehead with her wrist.
Bump: okay Nancy, here's your nickname: how about Speaker? i call you Speaker! cos you talk too much like a typical woman. you know i saw you there in the Well with all the kids, and it took me back to my halcyon days as a carfree carefree youth. when there were a lot of kids trapped in wells on tv. and those kids would later all flock around a famous celebrity and sing a song together on Sesame Street...
Mueller, Mulder, Scully, and Comey are hustling on the streets of San Francisco collecting coins in a can. they have split a can of beans four ways. none are cold in this cold, their hearts have long since gone black from the job.
Scully: i still won't go naked in this weather to prove i'm tough like a man. women have always been tougher. inside.
Comey: how's tricks, boss? i never see you anymore…
Mueller: Ashley and baby doing well?
Comey: yeah but it's not mine. i did some DOD investigating. apparently a French-American expat in a cerulean blue fuzzy Yale sweater is the father of both hers and Katy Tur's kiddos. he sweet-talked them both with his broken learning-to-speak-French-like-an-American-dumbass routine taking a language course by cassette tapes. that doofheadedness is charming. apparently. Buddha is keeping me calm.
Mueller: that company that was keeping me hostage? Toys R Us. the naked selfie was of Geoffrey the Giraffe. his neck is not his longest awkward body part. that's what took down the company. was being used as blackmail leverage by a French company, Target.
Comey: i could use a Tots R Us account as leverage in my life right now...
Fox Mulder: being in this line of work has grizzled me. i'm hard and can take stuff. look at my baby soft face. but i can't abide animal stuff, no fucking WAY! furry porn okay, animal stuff no way.
Scully: no live giraffes. live births only.
Brian Williams: i'm the Williams brother. ready for the 10 Most this year, darlin' darling?
Nicolle Wallace: don't call me that. why do we keep doing these things in a weird smelly kitchenette luncheonette at NBC Studios? why do you keep that same blue fuzzy Christmas sweater?
Brian: i thought you liked this one. okay, ready. ready? the 10 Most Reasons Why YOU Say You Won't Take Me Back.
Nicolle: Brian, we had an affair, there's no taking back! we had to return to our respective families.
Brian: why'd you wear those tight black leather rocker-chick pants for Comey and not me?
Nicolle: i like tall men. look, it was a fuck and a small round stool and now it's over. here. while we still have the vending machine over there, here are a few gold coins i found on the street, get yourself something nice. maybe a TheraFlu Keurig cup, you have that sweater look of a man who enjoys his TheraFlu in a brown mug with the teabag slightly out dangling.
at the ESPN Studios, Molly Qerim is tusslin'. with Stephen A Smith like every mindgratingly morning.
Molly: why do you suddenly get to read the announcements headlines? the stiffs at Upper Management think your voice has more flava? they don't like my squeaky squawky Minnie voice? but it's just a normal girl voice. this is the Man reasserting his privilege, tryna squeeze me out of my own deal and edge me over the cliff like Tom Brady.
Stephen A Smith: the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away my privileges. and giveth away again. you, Mollywood, are revoked. Samuel L Jackson, can't tell the difference, right? we each got that middle-finger initial. but there is so much of you to squeeze out, Molly Hard Wood, you ain't going out without a nice back-and-forth! you're practically black now, right?
Molly: i swear, my headache is growing on my fivehead. need to go to bed and bedache. pronounced be-DAWCHI. the workplace has become a living hell ever since the Cowbots won the Super Bowl! the thing is, nobody actually knows WHO who won the Super Bowl! i can't hate cos i can't speculate. but i damn well know i can't tolerate.
Stephen: nobody knows. but i don't want to find out. finna. i know the Cowboys won and those fans will be after me with pitchforks and fires. literally. i am so mad right now and for the rest of my life, i hate Cowboy fans! except those cowboy fans that put out open-range cookout fires, those will prove useful, all dem cowboy hats are gonna burn with me!!!
Max: i hate it when i'm waiting for the ESPN Scroll to turn so i get the NEWS news and RIGHT as the NEWS news is about to hit, the commercial comes! some car max commercial thing which removes the scroll! when it comes back, of course, the NEWS has moved on...gotta wait another half hour for it to rear its ugly head again…that hurts my sensibilities...
Molly: you're cute when you're in your feelings, Max.
the crones are at Cape Disappointment.
Gladyce: i need a light. no, not a cig flame, a light, i can't see with my glasses.
Doryce: i need a yurt. to eat yogurt in. and to fuck in. creamy yogurt in a can.
Gladyce: there's something missing from the Store.
Doryce: yeah, they used soft lighting this time, gave the place a whole new warm inviting feeling, it was nice, changed it without having to do a makeover. they need to invent chocolate-chip cookies that taste like fresh-from-the-oven after you microwave them. can we not wait 30 minutes? for good sex? we need to cheat and use the better oven to simulate the old greasy oven. the flavor without burning my fingers. like heated-up anal.
Gladyce: you taught me simulated sex doesn't count. my teeth can't take all that cookie sugar. i think they have those, dear, you just warm up any prepackaged precut storebought readymade already-circular hard cookies in the microwave and you're there.
Eye Luggage: ...and so i'm telling him, what does it say that for American Hollywoodism exceptionalism that no American Hollywood actors got the part of The Grinch, a British foreigner expat actor doing a cheap American accent got the part! step ya game up, America! for that Oscars host. let Paris Jackson to do it, it'll keep her distracted, she needs to keep busy…
Dirg: that's what I said. Steven Universe finale, go.
Eye: that's what I say.
Dirg: everything that's already been said has been said. that was the series finale. nothing more to do. don't turn the show into a SpongeBob for added cash. tv-movies should always be shown in theatres.
Laertus: speaking of Paris, Zach Callison's last uke solo song with the somber timbre strings wasn't sad cos he thought the show was ending, he was mentally ill and questioning life. that finale had so much packed into it, it had too much, too much to take, for anybody.
Dirg: that's a show subject Untouchable Sugar should tackle sweetly. suicide has always for me been a more controversial topic than trans coming-out LGBTotherletter no-sex genderfuck comfortable with your female side emoprog spectrum cable rights, right? they're both the same thing, right?
Eye: they kind of obliquely reference it with the drill. i would have used a hammer. hang in there, Zach, me and all your fans globalwide are here with you. you have created a changed culture forever for the better.
Laertus: uh yeah, that's just the thing tho. if you have a million online friends, you really have no friends. it's like quarterbacks in the NFL. are you really here for him? in his space? in his head?
Pedro and Judd visit a fiery speech by Randy Shilts. in a church converted to a town hall and governed by no man. the pews are on fire, separating ones from people worried and praying with one eye open. Randy throws mounds of dog poo at the spraypainted signs being held up and hoisted with wood splinters swayed by putrid protesters. protesters from Westboro.
Randy: see this Bible in my hairy hand? i shit on it. i throw dog poo at you! Westboro? what a joke! you borrow Western culture for your own evil ends. Westworld is coming...it already came...
Judd: i'm not comfortable here. i don't like these tactics, they're dangerous.
Pedro: man up, Judd! he is the AIDS activist we need! and deserve! to win the war! he of the bloodied elbow and broken backbone! we need those who will fight for our cause! die for it! before dying of it!
Randy: they call me Shits. so here i am, throwing shit. throwing truth bombs like fire. look at me, i will paint my own portrait on my own Wikipedia page when Wikipedia becomes a thing, i'm like if Bob Ross painted his draft card instead of burned it. if you knock me down here, i will become more powerful than you can ever imagine. i am unarmed and my both arms are wide open like Jesus, exposing my chest, go on, take the shot, i know where your Leader is, in Hell, i saw him there.
a silver shot is fired from the pew crowd. the crow crows. the bullet strikes Randy directly in the chest of his heart then flies off in an angle straight up into the clouded sky. screams overtake singe.
Cory: are you Geoffrey the Giraffe?
Geoff: no, but you're close. i was right under your nose.
Cory: we can't see each other anymore, Geoff.
Geoff: is it cos i'm white?
Cory: well, yeah. it just wouldn't work out with a white girl like me.
Geoff: but you're giving up on so much of the world with your limited thinking. you're dismissing me outright, you're not seeing me for who i really am. don't you see?
Geoff shows Cory the bullet inbetween his teeth, that same silver bullet.
Geoff: i've been Belvedere the dog this whole time. you missed your chance at happiness, honey. you didn't learn the lesson.
Cory: fuck me...…...can i have one more lick on my face for the road?
at the NBC Studios, Pedro is setting up for an interview with President George Bush, who won Reelection by defeating Bill Clinton.
George: you look weak. did you vote for me, son? or are you one of those new sisters?
Pedro: no, my T cell count is low.
George: what's it been now, two decades? the Republicans will never lose again! i see, weak, not well. i'll make sure the public never finds out about you, let you keep your privacy. my son will serve pizzas one day. a day the President won't be allowed.
it went from there...
Mohammed is revving up his pregame crowd on the stage, getting them warmed for the show. a silver spark shines in his large hand with black hairy pimples.
Mohammed: i know we artists lie all the time, it's our jobs. but this time it's different, the preshow won't be the best part, stay for the show, folks, i promise you won't be sorry. you're gonna see something you'll never get etched out of your head again. with a crowbar or pencil. fire me up, fam!
the cornrowed crowd roars with an underbelly wave that rocks underneath the stage. Mo stomps on the rusty plankboards, making little holes bigger, and shapes the silver object in his hand. his headbanging to the opening riff is a little silly with his shaved head. to the audience's gasps, the object is not the mic but the gun, that same silver gun.
Mohammed: NOW IS THE TIME!!! check your watches, everybody.
Mohammed commits suicide. time stands still forever, everyone's watches are forever etched dead on a Rolex crystal with a picture of a milkman on its face. perfect scratch of the DJ record records. the force of the blast is so strong it knocks Mo's head back to the point where he regrows all of his lost braids, cornrows, and dreadlocks. Mo turns into a giant blue naked genie with no tail point, no end.
Mo: do you NOW see?/ they can't rid of me!/ love is not free/ <but death is>/ i am now an indestructible idea!/ ideal that cannot squeal/ they can't forget what they see/ i am the stray dog nobody ever sees/ the man never given a chance to succeed/ cos of my T/ respected by C/ that's the real tea
Mo: see, i have now become what every black man is in this country society: invisible. my own very music led me down this path. i can better see my people's plight from down here, from this angle, all my dark-skinned peoples from all over, it's over. i have read the holy feature script, secured it, and optioned it to Hollywood Hell. i can help now, not just wish, i AM the Blue Genie! like Robin Williams---the best Williams in his field---shown at this very moment walking the sacred Sanfran steps of this city, his city, in HIM do i follow the steps. i am the fulsome ancient African spirit. i AM spirit. life is not about the love, it is about the lodge, i can assist from this side of the aisle cos now i am the thought/ thought personified, a thought in waking life. i am the Islamic tonic! taking back our country before it's too late. me, the late.
Mohammed: i am the BILAL!!!