Cotard: BROTHER! unhand the girl!
Codrus, who wears the exact Cotard robe of everything Cotard is wearing, laughs head upturned.
Codrus: more more! more mores! *laughs*
Cotard: why must you follow me all around the galaxy? why can't i have my own solo adventure?
Codrus: cos it wouldn't sell, it'd be like Arya's sail voyage. oh brother, it pains me to know you hate me so, i can't stand to be away from you for an extended period. Mama would be so cross with us, she just wants to see her boys get along, for the sake of reality.
Cotard: you have crystallized anger in the universe, made it a sharp-pointed comet. you come to this one place in the boondocks of space where all yout shit will be tolerated and you will be hailed as a god.
Codrus: well why not? we ARE gods after all. what's the fun if we don't throw our wondrous weight around. if we don't constantly bop these pathetic paltry measly humans on their puny heads---like ice goalkeepers---with all their stupid smallminded soulsucking rules. it's our job nay duty to keep slapshotting pucks their way till one of their artificial saline tits bursts. pressure bust pipes. it pays to be selective. what is a taboo if not the ultimate excitement.
Cotard: life isn't only about pleasure.
Codrus: of course it is. we deities neeed to stretch our legs and blow to keep the universe spinning. we are too static on high, we live too much in our extraterrestrial towers, we need some terra-firma powers every once in awhile, live like the Romans did! you remember that time. we need to experience everything, not just know everything,
Cotard: you have it wrong, as you've always had: we don't know everything, we are everything. and as such we have a rapturous responsibility.
Codrus: it's time for me to have some fun. break the reins, bite them off. gods remain to break the rules, such as they are, and make new rules, for then to break. we're gods, we can do whatever the fuck we want *smiles suspiciously*
Cotard: you have too much fun. you're always having too much fun.
the ginger girl stays quiet, eyes lowered, kneeling, but she is not mute. her mouth trembles and her lower lip quakes with unspoken words of mutterance.
Cotard: have you named this poor innocent soul of the fairer and more-just sex?
Codrus: Sinphony. get it? *laughs* sin is phony. i rebranded her to suit my current needs.
Cotard: she trusted you like a father. she was an orphan at the whim of your strong hand. helpless and alone, abandoned and more vulnerable than a pygmy fox. her magic could have gone in either direction, but of course you squandered her last bit of sunshine under your juicer arm. you could have had a valuable traveling partner for life and lives, an altruistic asset on your journey of self-discovery, a person to show you another way, the female way, the softer way, the loving way, not the dirty way. but you were all too male.
a gale of grievous gravity blows the large windows down and open for all the townsfolk to peep inside.
Cotard: with her always being younger than you, she could have made you see the world and universe with fresh fanciful wondrous eyes, she could have been the drops for your languid cynical viewholes.
Codrus: my eyes are black holes. they saw it all. the people. her bounce and her filled mouth on top of the caterpillar of pillows. that sound wasn't the wind. i love how there's a bed in the middle of this church where the pews should be. it's even more fun in the Temple let me tell ya. this is the assertion of true power.
Cotard: *teeth and cara and carriage cringed* disgusting. shameful. Mama should throw you in the vortex of Hell RIGHT NOW and throw away the skeleton key. how can you live with yourself? she's only 12!!!
Codrus: i live eternally within myself. love is love. i'm showing her the way of the spirit. this town lives in an age when this sort of thing was frowned upon but acted upon impulsively behind closed moat doors all the time, the stone grey castle was quite the carousal carousel when the heavy gates were upturned. there are too many beige scrolls nailed onto heavy doors here to count. what's the big deal? see, brother, i know what humans really are: they're trash. you seem to want to constantly ennoble trash, like you're a weak-willed servant eunuch. learn from my Sinphony and get a better-smelling hand, a hand that wafts of perfume.
Roger Federer: what. it wasn't my fault. did you see those red winds? it was fucking Dune out there! red clay got right in my eyes, i need my precious eyes to make pasta! why the hell didn't they reschedule? i missed my opportunity to give Nadal a beatdown on dat ass! i'm pissed off about this, this will be my last best chance to actually beat that banana-shorts-pickin' baboon at his own game! don't get me wrong, i love the man, he's like a brother to me, but NOT when he's 2 AWAY from my record! my precious record! that's too hot to handle in the kitchen! i mean what will happen to me when i eventually LOSE this record!!? what will my identity be? it was all wrapped up in 20. i will be shattered into a billion pieces of eggshell. i'll just be---GASP!!!---another tennis player.
Djokovic: i feel your red pain, bro. same thing happened to me. i've actually defeated Rafa at the French Open and you know what i got for that? nothing, big fat zero. didn't get a trophy or Grand Slam Medal The Size Of An Aztec Wheel or nuthin'!!! nuffin. don't worry, even if, i mean WHEN, Nadal surpasses you you'll still be considered the best. i mean when you think of the best player of all time, you just don't think of Rafa, despite him having the numbers, he'll always just be the clay-court specialist. some like me still consider Rafa the little boy from the isle of Majorca like he's Gon from Hunter x Hunter or something. now when I beat Rafa's record, okay THEN THEN, I will take the rightful place at G.O.A.T.!!! and it shall be legit!!!
Fed: thank you. people will forget about Rafa…
Djoker: ...and they'll forget about you, Rog...*Djokovic laughs The Joker Laugh*
Kevin Durant in a black hoodie: that's Kevin with an I not a O, i'm not Looney. so i patented my dance move---that ballet-toe tap breakdancing move---and i've been performing it on basketball courts around the world. but it just isn't the same. i'm on the basketball court i so dearly clearly love, but it's during the halftime show only. i've become a During Durant. i've opened up a chain of urban theatres---following in the footsteps of everyone's mentor Magic Johnson---to provide arts and culture to the inner city. to scare the youth into acting. you should see the inside: we have nice stone stools of red circles for all y'all butts to sit on, each spaced evenly the same amount apart.
in the audience: Jalen Rose: YOU WANT TO FUCK DRAKE!!?
Molly Q: shhhhhhhhhhhhhh! not so loud!
Durant: i play the part of Shylock each night. the kids get Shy-Guy Fry-Guy Pac-Man McDonald's toys if their parents can prove the kids went the whole show without peeing their pants. went without wenting. i play off a roving Antonio i pick out of the audience different audiences each night different towns. i want to experience how the other half lives, you know? fate dealt me a devastating hand, a blow that was not pleasurable. i am fucked, my career is over. i was played by heels, i was strung up and along by my heel, i just wanted to play. i am a Greek tragic figure, i listened to the Chorus online, got up all in their mentions, i couldn't control the chatter. now what am i? what is my identity? i'm just another bumhead like Drake. there are some things which money cannot cure. like love. a mother's love. love of the game.
Jack Dorsey in surfer cargs shorts: love is a game. hey Kevin, yo Kevon, i saw you in those Google commercials and you were great! mind doing a series of ads for us at Twitter?
Durant: sir the answer is no and you betta back the fuck away from me right now don't get in the path of my crutches cos imma cut a bitch. hey, when you think of the name Antonio, is it an Italian name or a Spanish name to you?
Ray Liotta: THE FUCK! a FUCKING TURKEY replaced me! yeah that's right, an animated turkey replaced me for the smoking ads! are you fucking kidding me. i'm bout to get Harlem-gangster in this bitch, that wasn't acting! let's go to the Bronx right now to settle things. they told me i couldn't act out of a paper KFC bag. i was counting on this campaign to refinance and eventually buy that white Hollywood Hills mansion you see in my smoking commercial! i was an actor playing an actor! where am i gonna get work now? i haven't auditioned for anything in 20 years! they said my face was rubbery like a chicken's. i thought that was a good thing, like Jim Carrey. i'll show you chicken! who's the chicken now!!? *knocks over the fish tank in his office* that goldfish got bumped off mob-style!
professor at Obec College: today's lesson: repeats. you know? i don't mean the repeats when there's not a new show and the season is over, i mean i've never ONCE in my life ever seen a film or a tv show i have already watched TWICE. never. never ever. once i see it i see it, you know? i feel it's offensive to my brain if i told it i was watching this thing AGAIN, like my brilliant mind couldn't intake it the first time, it was too difficult to deduce, catch, comprehend. there's so something dreadfully wasting-time about watching something twice.
Gladyce on the phone: Jill what spell shenanigans have you been nose in? i see your hidden hand everywhere out there in the world controlling things, i see your imprint bending world events to your whim.
Jill: Conan the Barbarian will, pashaw.
Gladyce: now dear, what are you doing? up there at the Homecountry Headquarters? what Motherland mischief are you pussy-deep in?
Jill: what. Brexit is now on Halloween, *cackles* i love it. i made the first match England vs. Scotland, heeeheeteehee. and the U.S. women beat Thailand 13-0. 13? hmmmm?...my favorite number, that entire U.S. Women's team are full of such nubile tasty-morsel babes ripe for the picking, i mean that's a readymade coven waiting to happen right there! two covens! such soft flesh on green-stained knees. we got the next three generations of witches on that one team to fill out our supplies, be our attack-and-defense army, carry things on when we're in our 300s.
Doryce: never trust a recruiter who's TOO into her job.
Abby Wambach: my head has been responsible for more deciding four-year-winning goals than any woman in history. and yet they wanted me to get a "more respectable" haircut for the photoshoot cos they said my shaved-sides punk-long-bangs was "too gay" and they needed to sell me to Middle America.
Jill: *smiles surly* pashaw! hogwash! what is this, the Middle Ages? you the lover of classical music, you who would never sell her country out to North Korea. my dear Abby, i for one LOVE your hairstyle! i want to write you a letter sometime, you give such great advice. i love that you expressly shaved your head to show off that skull-n-crossbones tattoo you have planted right in the middle of your shaved head there, that is so beautiful. your head is so gorgeous, so nice and dome. we need to take back our cuntry. come, my dear, this way...
Doryce: well there's a lot of excitement here locally in Obec Woods this week. The U.S. Open is going on but i've been banned from ever setting foot on a golf course again after that golf-ball lake incident i did. and of course the final season of Big Little Lies is filming here and in Monterey and in Monterrey, Mexico but i've been banned from stepping foot on any film set involving hot nubile Hollywood actresses even those in their 30s, cos of what Jill did and my guilty-by-association. thanks, Jill! you're doing a bang-up job, hon. i stepped on the message. i HAVE been asked by my agent Taki to take the part offered to me in Little Big Lies, which is the porno of Big Little Lies, i'm thinking about it, mulling it over like Mueller.
Doryce: hey, dirtbag!
Dirg: *points at himself* me?
Doryce: quit napping, you lazy bum! you heard what i said!? i'm banned, we're gonna be living here with you two numbskulls now, it's four roommates all under the same roof, what could possibly go wrong!
Gladyce: dear, can we move to Britain before it's too late? i mean i want to be able to breathe fresh air again, i'm too old to have a compromised respiratory system...
Doryce: DIRG! the gardeners are coming over to fix the leak. it's a huge job, big bucks, they're going to be here awhile long time, it's a massive leak in the bathroom which will require taking apart a part of the corner and banging on pipes all night long. NOT your kind of sick banging you think every night when you masturbate alone.
Dirg: hey, if the Mexicans don't get in my way, i won't in their hair, we're cool like dat.
Doryce: the cats are getting squeamish from all the worms which slime their way from holes in the leak onto the bathroom tile at night, slug stomachs all slimy, the cats screech and try to eat the slugs, which is toxic. our poor kitties.
Gladyce: yes, dear, remember what i told you, we need to protect these kitties as if they were our very familiars, which they are.
Doryce: in the meantime, i'll try to distract myself with Woodies on the Wharf, which i'm also banned from. o what i would have had there, scoping all the surfer hardbodies! but one i miss the most. Bama. he told me in his recent intergalactic planetary interdimensional letter that he was a shaper now.
Gladyce: he lost the weight and is getting back into the gym?
Doryce: no, dear, Bama's a pro surfboard-shaper now. perhaps i will spot him on the beach from a tower among the crowd like a Gidget romcom. that would make this lonely girl's heart skip a beat from all the way back in the '50s. spying with my glass from the attic. that would give me a woodie.
Gladyce: i want to see you in your Gidget grass skirt, babes.
Dirg: want the rest of my leftover Chinese food?
Laertus: no. see the tears in my eyes? i'm putting a moratorium indefinitely on all Chinese food entering my belly.
Dirg: i want that 7-Eleven umbrella at the protest tho.
Eye Luggage: okay, anime roundup, go.
Laertus: OMG i got hearts in my eyes! did you see that move inward between the two mouths of Konan and Yahiko on this week's Shippuden last week? that was such a tantalizing scene! cos they go in for the kiss but the actual kiss isn't shown.
Dirg: and that pervert with the weird eyes Nagato is listening in the rain from outside, a man after my own heart. if you can't get some, film it and post it online for revenge.
Laertus: very filmic. it's so provocative cos it can imply many things: perhaps it's not just Konan's first kiss but her first sex.
Dirg: i like the gender roles, Konan the nurse bandaging up the real warior Yahiko, good. it's like Scott Baio always says proving Biden's a dirty rotten plagiarizer: women are the downfall of men. they've been laying the trap for us since the dawn of time. always trying to trick us, get us in trouble with our employer, when all men want to do is get laid. they're always out to ruin men's careers and lives, jealous of their power, success, and hard-won years of professional hard work.
Laertus: especially the pretty ones, right? the tv starlets. the untouchables, the unreachables? the ones Scott Baio personally himself laid the red carpet out for, er, well a blanket in the studio for...you think Nicole Eggert ever wanted this? her fatness is the proof, she wouldn't be fat today if not for all this stress. something happened to Scott Baio, he wasn't like this in the '80s...
Dirg: Eggert's got egg on her face.
Eye: SPEAKING of pure love, i now take the floor for a long time to discuss my hard-won inner spiritual growth and nostalgia. Ballykissangel. i experienced this week two of the greatest days of my life, two days which could only be experienced by waiting decades to see these specific episodes of Ballykissangel back-to-back. there's something about marathoning a long-running show, you know? you experience all the momentum and inner-hard-work and script-counseling and story-bandaging and lovepaths and character arcs that built up over years in one fateful sitting that your mind explodes. i experienced the concentrated entirety of the innocent Nineties in one fell swoop of a messenger pigeon. the passages and the bangings. that first episode which sets the stage, oh my the scenery…
Laertus: Assumpta. what a lovely name, you remember that unique name forever, never to be repeated before or since on television, strange-pretty name for a once-in-a-lifetime beauty, a truly one-of-a-kind soul of a woman.
Eye: the show is very much the Irish Northern Exposure. the quirks of a small town hidden away from the rest of the world dropped into a secret location, a beautiful isle on Earth cut off from society. looking back on that first episode---the one with the flying confessional---i mean the townsfolk are having a heart attack over the FAX MACHINE! the fax machine is the height of modernization in these times which they curse. they want to always retain their quaint buttermaking farmer's appeal at Ballykiss, you know, real folk, Bally butter, without all those wires and buttons and flashing blue lights.
Laertus: my pop talked about this show all the time, it was broadcast on tape on PBS on Sunday nights.
Eye: yes yes! this was SUCH a PBS show! i fastforwarded to the LAST episode and it's just not the same---as the classics tend to be. the show should have ended when Assumpta dies and Father Pete looks achingly back at the town he now must abandon and fade to Playmobil credits, that should have been the series finale. i mean NOW you have this other priest-transfer who's built like Arnold, a New Zealand hunk calendar-model who would never in a billion years become a priest with a chiseled face and Viking locks like that. and Susannah Doyle clearly is meant to replace the irreplaceable Assumpta. that female cop might as well be Janine Turner herself.
Dirg: did you see Arnold get drop-kicked by that dude at the convention? Arnold got flashbacks to when he was in that fighting ring in Conan the Barbarian. that's his Vietnam. Arnold was at that moment contemplating life and thinking life and death were the same to him. i like how the Ballykissangel parish priests and cardinals are villains, they're all portrayed as grumpy old misers, very Pope Benedict Darth Sidious.
Eye: think about the innocence of that last Ballykissangel episode in 2001, just months before 9/11 when the world changed forever and would never be the same. the two topics in that episode which got the townsfolk in a twist on the edge of moral heart attacks were DIVORCE and MEDICAL CANNABIS. seriously, those were the two, those were giving the community fits and dividing them along blue and black lines. can a divorce remarry back into the Catholic church? even on a mountain when nobody was looking? is it okay to grow pot in your backyard for pain? and the sex.
Dirg: there never was any. the thing's called Ballykissangel and there was never once any shown kiss! some soap opera! just a lot of Mulder/Scully-esque UST season after season.
Eye: true. the New Zealand Power Ranger Priest and the Assumpta-wannabe are on the couch in a compromising situation---meaning fully-clothed sleeping near each other reading dueling books by the fireplace---when the parents come in to find them this way. the father remarks about how randy the priests at Ballykissangel are and always seem to be and that's it. THAT's PBS sex!
Dirg: Dervla Kirwan was everyone's first masturbation model, she certainly was mine...
Eye: Assumpta Fitzgerald: A Life Of Tragedy. she was THE walking embodiment of the Irish Goodbye, she WAS Irish Tragedy Herself in the flesh, the personification of a grand Greek James Joycean epic of sorrow. i mean here you have this beautiful young woman---a galactic green Gem sprung from the Green Land itself---with the whole world in front of her and she gets stuck in the dead-end job of tending pub at a small gem town. she has the smarts for anything, she could travel the world, she's University-educated and trained up for combat by the hard cobblestone streets. she's an atheist who fooking despises the Catholic Church, hates all it stands for. i later read the books to find out more of Assumpta's backstory never shown on the show, stretch out her bio a bit more. she as a little girl blamed the Church for the divorce of her parents who argued all the time and made her homelife childhood miserable. and that stuck with her as she blossomed into adulthood.
Laertus: always read books, and any underlying evidence.
Eye: she is an alone soul, lonely, she wanders this world aimlessly and angry. her sarcasm keeps others at bay, but the goofy lanky priest cracks through her armor. she FINALLY finds love, a man who is her soul mate, and the bloody man...…...is a fucking Catholic priest!
Laertus: talk about irony!
Eye: and then right before he is to be defrocked cos she's too hot for him to keep his vows and they are to be married in a memorable pricey drunken ceremony on the mountain the whole town's invited to, their whole lives in front of them in love and nasty sex, this lovely complicated young woman DIES YOUNG by pricking her spinster finger like a godsister from a fable on the faulty wiring of a fuse in the basement of the bar she keeps! ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME
Dirg: basements are dangerous places, believe me on this. see? modern technology, too many wires in the world, get back to American values. that really sucks for him, he's about to give up on his career for her---not to mention his eternal soul---just to be a good househusband. and he doesn't even get to pick the fruits of his betrayal to the Church. that tasty sin. the only way this would have been MORE of an Irish tragedy was she gets electrocuted smoking dead BEFORE he confesses his feelings for her so she dies forever alone and unloved. magnifiying the strange arc of her life cos she's such a babe.
Eye: exactly. you know, i don't know how this is possible, but i remember being in college when this episode of her death was going on, it was all the buzz in town, under breath, i remember people talking in faint bursts about Assumpta and her death and the faulty fuse. all inbetween drowned out by the new Star Wars, but it was there in the irish background in bars and coffeeshops. the sound came in murmurs, everyone gossiping and in shock over the episode of her death. i imagined what heaven would be for me then, Heaven for me then would be me in that pub when the lights go blinking flickering and warning Assumpta NOT to go downstairs and instead enjoy the Chinese food festival inside her pub with the alive lively townsfolk. i also remember something i wrote back then---again, i don't know how this is possible---it was on a webpage, one of the very first websites on the internet, when all you could do was type on crude weblog diaries, my feelings over this character of Assumpta, how it was crazy to be so obsessed with her life, but she was more real to me than my own family, i felt her struggles in life, i related to her on so many levels. i had to write about her RIGHT after the new tragic rain-soaked episode aired, her death shook me to the core. it was the most beautiful essay i've ever written before or since, my schoolmarm would never believe me cos i never did any of this stuff for her class eyes. it was on a green page with pink print on that screen, and i added a few pictures of Assumpta through the years on the show. i explained in great detail and fancy words just what Assumpta meant to me, how she taught me a young girl just starting out the hardships of life, of NOT finding love, of being denied happiness, of NOT being given a fair shake at life, of NOT assumpting up to Heaven, it should have been a rooftop pub, of dying too soon, of dying unfulfilled. i signed it with my real name and the year: 1997.
Gladyce holds the printed-up paper of the weblog in her bony hand and smiles sincerely at Eye Luggage.
Gladyce: you're making great strides of progress, my dear, i'm proud of you.
Cotard takes Velvetta by the hand around the back of the church bush for privacy.
Velvetta: my lord, are we in a competition with that other god and her acolyte? i want to win, we should win, and i hate her red hair!
Cotard: never hate, Vel, only love. please, call me Cotard. don't call me daddy, that's too weird, especially now. here, take this.
under his robe he hands her a tape.
Velvetta: *cringes* sick.
Cotard: *closes his eyes* no no, you don't understand. i am NOTHING like him. i'm the exact opposite of him. by design. i will protect you from my sick brother's clutches, from Codrus's diseased reading of infinity, from his powerful powermad abuse. i won't let him touch you or your blonde hair with his bony finger. believe me, he wants to, you're the ultimate prize to him with your blonde hair. till my dying breath of the breadth of the universe. i want what's best for you. that's why i'm advising you NOT to become an acolyte! DO NOT ENTER THE CHURCH! don't become a nun, sister, or anything else! break free and free to roam yourself on this town's green hills and be a girl and be happy and become anything you want, a thing which will make you smile internally and want to make you get up everyday from your hay barn pillow, just help people!
Velvetta: i don't understand, sir, this is my very reason for being.
Cotard: no it's NOT! i thought that, too, for many many years, for my entire life. i thought all roads paved my consciousness the path to the priesthood, the religion road, i thought i'd become a monk in a secret ceremony and be happy as i gave my freedom away and my freedom to ever enjoy a mint again over for a nebulous concept always just beyond my reach, give up sex and happiness and purpose for a cold ideal in the clouds. i was WRONG, don't you see? i'm trying to teach you a hard-lost lesson here, learn from me, this piece of my life i can never get back in pursuit of a false spirit, all that time wasted away on pointless prayer. i'm handing you the lesson of me, so you don't make the same mistake. be free as a blue butterfly, fly! don't glide on an empty path.
Velvetta: what happened to you?
Cotard: it hit me like a ton of stone when i was walking slowly up that satanic layup line to get confirmed and banished from the outside world, the acolyte stepping in to become a man and a permanent monk, in that temple Codrus talks about. it all hit me when i watched myself on this VHS tape, please watch it yourself.
Velvetta: where's the Temple?
Cotard: it's a secret, i'll tell you at sunbreak when we discuss the tape. see?, tv shows can lead you astray, when i saw how happy Stephen Tompkinson was when he arrives at Ballykissangel and sees the grandeur of the church cathedral steeple spire and the untamed wild countryside of the Irish landscape, he becomes dazzled and actually thinks it's gonna be a good time being a sexless priest with Assumpta's ass there tempting him everyday when she bends over to find the shandy bottle to fetch him a drink and he has to kill the passion inside him with more and more mint drinks of scotch, that never works! he sees her ass! nay he sees the very arse of Irish lore and yore! at least not for long does the drink help. not for Final-Vows Forever!!! that smile of his was SO damn deceptive!
Velvetta: yeah, that wake scene on the mountain after Assumpta's death didn't strike the right note chord for me. Stephen Tompkinson should have been crying the whole time, reddish-than-normal cheeks, eyes burnt, unable to get any word out when trying to explain what Assumpta meant to him, deep-down, that ineffable inducing insight. he turned out to be an unfulfilled vowbreaker. sound familiar?
Cotard: wow, you really are progressing quite rapidly, my dear, i'm happy to see. that's nice, stay nice. Goddess Bless you.
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