Wednesday, September 19, 2018


President Bump has made his way to the House of the Book. he's never had to run so far and so fast in his life, his feet hurt terribly. but he is comforted and panting to know that he can lean his large frame against the fluted columns and stone carvings of the place and rest assured it won't topple over like one of his buildings.

Bump: there's no casino here. cos the library won't allow it.

the columns of the colonnade fill up with his sweat. he wants to know but his pants are soaked.

Bump: this place is wondrous! like Rome. and Rome never fell, technically. it's still going on. like the Deep Illuminati. it will be sturdy through the tides. like an old mate. i had an old mate named Jim, he was imaginary.

he waddles his way to the front of the glassed counter a tired and broken man.

Bump: mate, one ticket for the show later this afternoon. air-conditioning in there, right?

the clerk is listening with both ears to his vintage Walkman but you can still see the pimples inside his ears.

clerk: what? show?

Bump: yeah, this is where the Power Rangers teleport to. i need a means of escape, i'm on the run, i'm being run down, chased by an old man with gray hair.

clerk: Santa?

Bump: you'll see. soon.

clerk: *typing/hacking* and you are?

Bump: oh yeah, you're just a kid, you wouldn't know. you're not in my demographic as i've been told now.

the clerk is Dirg.

Dirg: *chewing pink bubblegum* just kidding. you're my hero. it's cool we get to spend some time together just you and i like this. so how goes the trolling? it is just trolling, right? that's why you connected with disaffected white dudes who sold their farm and tractor to buy an ipad maxi with the warranty, it's the internet thing which made you clean up that voting bloc like a drone who spreads toxic chemicals into wheat. i love how you're the personification of the concept that school is useless, that's so cool.

Bump: no time to talk, kid, pressing matters, the adults are in the room.

Dirg: i'm afraid you are mistaken, sir, the Power Rangers don't really live here. or work here. there's no transporter yet, that must be invented, but without nasally NASA's ass-global cabal of Roundists. i hate to do this to a fellow nerd, but it is just a show.

Bump: is it at least a factory?

Dirg: no one knows what the House of the Book is. so it's a monument. to something. oh, i got my friend on the line, he wants to ask you a few follow-up questions.

Dirg switches on his connection to Laertus through a watch.

Laertus: several. friend? you've never addressed me as friend before. are you getting melted in all that post-hurricane sun?

Dirg: i miss you...

Laertus: what?

Dirg: shut up. here, gold sir. i put him on the phone. watch. phone-watch.

Laertus: so you were right about the hurricane...

Bump: i know, right? the only cool thing that happened was that roof coming off that gas station. but a village pump doesn't need a roof for it to work, take it from me.

Laertus: and there was that sight of the American flag ripping in two in the strong winds and salty surge.

Bump: i know, right? that was so cool. i've Tivo'd that scene and i'm gonna watch it later on Youtube Fast-Forward, just the good sports highlights.

Nixon in blue hologram: don't you think that torn American flag is evocative and indicative of something? something larger and grander going on in the larger culture than your thinking? a symbol?

Bump: yeah it was pretty erotic. a symbol of freedom, or so i've been told.

Laertus: this whole Kavanaugh thing really gives me the heebie-geebies. makes me depressed for the nation. are we a nation of laws or a nation of nations? can you do something about the mail threats? like shut down the Post Office? i know your life is of rushjobs but...time doesn't exist...

Bump: hey i'm saying all the right things. no feelings involved. either way. we're playing the long con i mean long game. lockerroom talk can extend to actions you know. this is why there should only be one party, so no one feels left out. everyone wants to have fun, no one wants to be at a birthday party where no one else is invited, even your mom. everyone goes through life drunk. we've tried to return-to-sender mail these creeps, but on the back of the envelope, the only address left is the letter Q. besides, Judge Mark is taking care of the proceedings.

Laertus: there's an inherent male-slanting systematic attackive mal in the software of this culture. it's culture which simply doesn't respect women or a woman's worth, it's been programmed that way. the superstructures are in place to perform this ovulating operation. it's a culture like a lab-specimen culture, not yogurt. what are you gonna do about this, sir? you have the power unfortunately.

Bump: i leave it to the Senate, Congress really does a job.

Laertus: i've been following your twitter feed which i despise. i've hated twitter ever since you came aboard, you ruined what was once a nice positive place for discussing K-pop. a lot of links and retweets of Orrin Hatch...

Orrin Hatch: why don't i believe her? cos she's a woman.

Bump: *laughs* look man, i mean, you gotta give him credit, he's at least being honest. he's not frontin' for the good cause. he shows to the cameras the weapon of his age, not the weapon of artifice. no artificial sweeteners, that's awesome! gotta give him that, he's not trying to be PC.

Nixon: noticing the parallels? seeing? they were both professors...

Bump: i notice how the Left keeps referring to her as Doctor and Professor, not Woman.

Laertus: it's everywhere, it's pervasive in the autumnal air. democrat, republican, and especially independent. when a blonde comedienne said she couldn't wait till your son flipped on you, his comeback was to demean her for not being funny in a crude way. on twitter.

Bump: but that's just science. women aren't funny. ask Bill Nye. and in fairness to my son, she said she would orgasm for the first time in 30 years after my son flipped on his own father. so. see i'm all about fairness. i mean she said she'd videotape that wet sticky orgasm session of hers at Lush and put it on her twitter timeline.

Laertus: don't take my wife. please. take the Mavericks. that was supposed to be a "fun"---fun in quotations---culture, boys-will-be-boys barf, roughhousing, loose and free, a player's dream, heaven for hunky jocks. but it turned into a hell for hotties and a lady jail. nobody wants to smell a jockstrap.

Bump: yeah i wouldn't know, basketball isn't my thing or my demographic. Cuban should go back to Cuba.

Bump looks up into the sun and with his finger's yellow lasers carefully pastes over the carefully-carved letters on top of the House Book tower. it used to read NATIONAL ARCHIVES but now it's just a bunch of Roman numerals which spell out an egg scramble.

Bump: i actually came here with a purpose. and some interviews. i'm here to officiate the divorce between my pals Brady and Belichick. two men should never marry, that is a crime against nature.

Bump thinks up to the sun.

Bump: there's one thing i can do for myself to get out from under the boot of Mueller. distract with a good deed on the other side of town. i have to hurry, time's running out, i'm late, and my heels just broke.

Dirg: he's gone now, disappeared into thin air, which isn't easy for him to do.

Laertus: actually it's very easy for him to do.

Dirg: now i'm bored. i'm cooped in this booth and hot. you keeping your third eye on the old bats?

Laertus: of course. time is running out for me, i'm on a tight schedule with this finals week. tight on time like my estomago enchilada. i'm not pregnant. i was given special dispensation from Professor James Gunn that i can take my final as a take-home final home with me. i told him i was on a boat and he misconstrued that as me serving on the Peace Corps. i am keeping the peace in a way. gotta make sure our witches are healthy to combat powerful men. i pattern my love after those two old birds.

Dirg: misconstrued, that is such a lovely word.

Laertus: the catch is the final doesn't count. i'm in a rush, go, ol' buddy ol' pal.

Dirg: The Last Uncorn. go.

Laertus: great great great film. a little long truth be told if i'm being honest through my teeth. a bit bloated in the middle. that annoying owl or bat thing in the beginning was useless and annoying. like that's the Gilbert Gottfried role. there are no Medieval tacos. and the unicorn was being a bit of a b.

Dirg: Gottfried got fried many psychedelic moons ago. she's a bitch, say it.

Laertus: yeah i don't know if all unicorns are this haughty and arrogant and dismissive or it's just her. i mean she is a unicorn i guess, she's earned that right. humans ARE silly. you get the sense she's a diva but doesn't know why. the writer said the wizard character's voice was played flat but i thought it was just the right tone of Jewish rye bread. i loved how it played with tropes, i use that in my own life, in fact tropes are my entire lifestyle. like happily ever after and the good guys and heroes always win. one thing which really fucked me up was this concept they brought up that there is no happy ending cos nothing ever ends... 

Dirg: please, i don't want that concept rattlin' round my brain when i booze. or worse, when i snooze, i'm already fucked up. i take drugs for that. street drugs.

Laertus: Molly Grue has such a standout voice in this, she's the surprise scene-stealer. the speedboat moral compass and glue-girl of the group, Molly Morality. i love motherly figures with warm-tone voices, i just want to wrap my arms around them and be a sucker for them. the entire voice cast is outstanding. superb Shakespearean actors who you think are British but are really just grand Americans using their high-registry voice of good breeding.

Dirg: Prince Lir was Finn before Finn.

Laertus: their singing voices on the other hand were.....sweet. i mean it sounded like a bunch of actors who didn't know how to sing but sang in the voices they use in their showers. they tried, it was heartfelt, but not exactly operatic. professional but on tape. it was like singing to your neighbor on the phone. they gave it the ol' college-theatre try.

Dirg: watch it while you can, you know Ronan Farrow will definitely be investigating this film!

Laertus: i wish we would return to this America. an America that only cares about producing the best possible epic nondenominational fantasy it can and delivering it to sinner and pauper alike. i want the America that's represented by America the band called America! righteous heavy metal slowed to fit a fantasy, that music was moody magic.

Dirg: rock on, sista.

Laertus: gotta go, the ladies are speaking.

Gladyce and Doryce are stewing in their pot aboard the doomed ship. Doryce is done with her "training" (in quotations) inside all the smokestacks of the Titanic. she and her body are completely covered in thick dark black soot, that when she smiles it's funny cos all you see are her bright white teeth floating, well bright white as against this black backdrop anyway, and her two floating white pupils for eyes. you don't even see her glasses she's wearing!

Gladyce: done, dear? please say yes, i hate seeing you go to all this trouble. you're seriously strenuousing yourself out, spreading yourself too thin.

Doryce: i'm already thin. and our relationship will stretch out thinner and stronger under this strain.

Gladyce: i'm starting to develop a taste for rye bread. like you and your garlic bread. not Jewish, though, i like it dark.

Doryce: dark meat. rock on, sister. uh, dark bread. good for dark magic. coming right up! i will prepare for you a feast! replete with vessel vinegar! where's the chef? i want to compliment him beforehand so he cooks a great job. who's in the kitchen this evening?

Laertus: i believe it's not who you think. it's not the fat guy with the beard...

Doryce: oh come on! he makes the best marinara sauce!

Laertus: all of his jars were taken off the shelves and all shelfies of him deleted after the Ronan Farrow investigation of him.

Doryce: that is not fair! why do WE have to suffer cos he can't act straight! so who's in there? i'll take the Mooch at this point.

Laertus: um, The Mooch is not available. he's busy thinking about why a chef would need a lawyer. i guess i can suppose and rustle up some ingredients and pointy spices up at The Store and dash back. and whip you ladies up something non-BDSM. i fancy myself an amateur sous-cook in college. i added a barbecue Pringle to my ramen and made it barbecue-pizza ramen.

Doryce: btw i died.

Gladyce: *bug eyes non-glassesed* what?

Doryce: it was the queerest thing. i was lost in the heavy tornadic cloud of the smokestack smoke, when suddenly a novice witch appeared spinning upside-down next to me in my tremors of cyclical wind. the circles were everywhere. i had a sense about her, she was ditzy but motherly. she cared. i was at death's door and this woman built a window. my eyes were all bugged-out, i couldn't take any more soot in my mouth.

Gladyce: and stars. Pumpkins. coming soon. she was the star this day! that's not like you.

Doryce: she whipped me up a concoction in a mule-alcohol tin half-cut-off-cup, a strange brew with spices and with her finger swirling in a circle in the air. you could tell she was good at manipulating liquid soaps. she said she was practicing teleporting and ended up next to me as if she inherently knew instinctively where warmth was needed. she mentioned she thought she met me and us before but i told her all of our kind have that ephemeral feeling of togetherness to us without meeting. telemetry. i told her to stop practicing. it was too dangerous. for her. i mean look at me. she wasn't meant to travel like us, she was a homebody.

Gladyce: bless her. what was the drink?

Doryce: golden milk. frightful stuff. delicious. looks like curry. has that distinctive saffron color. quite the jolt! one sip and my eyes popped back in. i was made alert and ready awake. i flew to safety and didn't let the nature of man hold me captive anymore. that turmeric burned the back of my throat like my best study session with Bama!

Gladyce: lovely lasting lashing liquid. for a quid.

Doryce: this woman laughed me goodbye. sweetheart. i believe i caught her name in the wind funnel before she snapped her fingers and was off to her next travel thinned out the tunnel, gone with the wind. Madame Pons? like the vagina?

Laertus arrives at The Store. The Store which is a booth inside one of the many myriad decks of the Titanic.

Laertus: how do you get the food to stack and shelve and sell?

Geoffrey Owens: they ship it to us by boat. it's quite the delay. it's hard to get to an island. don't mind my fatness, i'm an actor. gonna play Falstaff in college theatre.

Laertus: i've got my friend on speaker but he's cool. listen man, i won't do you like that. i use my pocket phone for good, i despise revenge porn and hate twitter. hey the way i see it, this is the fate of most actors. most actors don't become big---i don't mean fat---even after getting a big show, the show dies in the ratings and the funds dry up and you don't get another big break. that was your time as a tv star, you relished it and now it's gone. that one precious chance which never springboarded into anything else except video-game voices. but you'll always be an actor in your big heart. most actors you never see, they stock the shelves anonymously at your local grocer, struggling to make ends and endives meet. and making sure the relish labels are turned outward.

Dirg: Sondra was right to dump Elvin. no offense. she was right to dump all of Hollywood, you never heard from her again. i'm glad she got out of my country and went to France. she had the right idea. it's not the Cosby aspect of your plight, it's that you're a senator's son. people expected more from you. hey i'm just a brotha helpin' notha brotha out.

Geoffrey Owens: never slander the value and inherent goodness of work, a doctor's the same as a bum. well i will be one of the senators on the panel of the Kavanaugh/accuser hearing this Monday.

Laertus: right on, that is something Anita Hill was never afforded. she got railroaded........i've just read Bump's twitter. he says Monday will be the highest-rated tv show ever in all caps and exclamation points. and he says he needed to rush it cos November sweeps are coming up for the Nielsens.

Laertus returns. with the brown bag. from above belowdeck:

Doryce: now we can feed our famish. put your delicate napkin on your leg, missus, and chow down! you got the crab rangoon?

Laertus: yeah but it's frozen. it was right next to the nets. and there was no bread. out of bread. there was a shitload of quinoa but no technical bread.

Doryce: how can a grocery store have no bread? carry the bread on your shoulder. quinoa gives me the shits. excuse me. just thinking about them. you enjoy, dear.

Gladyce: no, stay. i love you. so much i won't let you go to the bathroom, hold my hand.

Doryce: shit. i wanted for you those two thick slices of nutty black-rye bread and the crab rangoon inbetween 'em for a sloppy saucy sandwich. dipped in marinara sauce! i wanted everything to be perfect and to your liking. like a first date.

Gladyce: it IS perfect, my lover. why all the fuss? don't tell me. okay, tell me. no, don't. i dunno. this crab rangoon looks good 'n delicious, i think it'll be okay swimming in its own Rangoon sauce. you know i can't ever imagine an occasion where i would have the time and energy to wait in line and money to sit down at a fancy restaurant and order crab rangoon for myself. so microwave-fresh is the best i'm ever gonna get and i'll take it. and i'm lovin' it. i suppose this is the problem with my life: i have to make time for crab rangoon.

Doryce: you would if you were still fucking the Gorton Fisherman.

abovedeck down below sits Taki and Melbourne exhausted after a quick spin. in the racquetball court.

Melbourne: YOU ARE NAKED.

Taki: what?

Melbourne: that's what the sign we passed said. i think. but you are naked. to me.

Taki: ohhhhhhhhhhhhkay.

Melbourne: want me to show you my boat?

Taki: now that is a line. please be a boat. okay i'm ready, what are we waiting for? take me up to the captain's steering wheel and let me smoke his pipe.

before Taki can smell, she is whisked away to the basement of the Titanic where Melbourne puts her feet-first into his yacht. the bow breathes the salt air and the stern salties it out, as the crystals hit hard against the ship.

Taki: i knew it i knew it!

Melbourne steers the yacht on a stick until they both see the disinfectant daylight. the sun is so bright it powerfuls a singe mark on the woven sail that smells of Triscuits.

Melbourne: i'm trying to breathe it all in but i can only smell you.

Taki: so tacky, as in a yacht tacking. so yachting...WHOA that was a small wave that becomes a big wave on this yacht! the appeal of this again is...?

Melbourne: well since billionaires run the world because liberal-democratic self-goverments have abdicated their civic responsibility, the world billionaires got together and decided to have a sort of privately-funded Olympics of their own. so they race their yachts representing their countries and various factions against one another to see who has the richest stick.

a series of cannonballs just misses kissing their yacht and splash hard into the winging wavecrests.

Taki: the fuck? remember, calm down. it's just like the air race which is just like the Formula 1 race through a sleepy bedroom village. watch for the chicane, it's colored blue.

Melbourne: see the yachts carry onboard them heavy cannons. they shoot their balls at each other like olden pirate times. but the cannons are so unwieldy and weigh a ton that they sink the yachts. the loser is forced to go on an expedition deep under to the oceanfloor with James Cameron. also known as Jim.

Taki: what, Elon Musk wasn't available?

Melbourne: no, he's currently indisposed at the moment. not in the bathtub. bathtub of butter. nor a basket nor bucket of butter. fighting a lawsuit on twitter. of his own making, not Ronan Farrow. the billionaires may have good intentions but you know the saying. so in an effort to remain aboveboard and show they care and are doing something, they collectively decided to have the billionaires do charitable work with their money, put it into education. of the sea floor. not to dig in more internet cables or oil or anything. James Cameron is the Head of the Department of Education. and temporary In-Charge of the Department of Povery and Poor Boys in Elon's absence. not a sworn-in position cos Jim doesn't swear. but Elon does.

Melbourne clears the cannonballs and puts down his yacht sail, whch converts it into a small speedboat. he navigates the speedbumps in the watery road and tells her,

Melbourne: y'know, i don't think i'm strong enough to be your man, as the Sheryl Crow sonor goes. you deserve a person as upstanding as you are quality. you need someone who will weather with you your dish-throwing torrents of emotion, your tsunamis of daddy issues and cyclones of being introverted and yet a world-renowned reporter and hurricanes of book tours. why do i always see your cat swimming the backstroke on the river that connects us? i assume you have daddy issues, all great women do.

Taki: i've found my person. not on eharmony. just don't tell me you also ride bikes like Lance Armstrong. that guy's arms were strong.

the two sit up and hold hands on the deck of the speedboat. they look out past their sunglasses to the yellow horizon falling down under the cantankerous clouds and misty mountains.

Taki: you're gonna have to be stronger than you ever thought you could ever be. strong for two. i'm pregnant.

at this very precise moment, Melbourne swears he sees five suns.

Monday, September 17, 2018


1. which animal listed below represents your true sexual self?
a) chipmunk---cute and cuddly
b) monkey---all about being mischievous
c) tiger---i've earned my stripes

i only date chipmunks who sing. Tales of the Gold Monkey was my favorite show..............then..............well..............i guess it's Archer now.

my sexual idol, the man i look up to the most, the man i pattern my sex life after, his ferocious libido is goals, is Tony the Tiger if he had put down the bowl and not eaten any of his own unhealthy Frosted Flakes cereal.

2. your partner's in the mood for sexy fun but you're beat. tired, that is. what do you do?
a) start snoring. there is no way i'm givin' it up tonite.
b) trade. you give me a massage...and we will see...
c) that would never happen!

i give my masseuse massages. i tell her,
me: okay it's only gonna happen if "Tonight Tonight" by the Smashing Pumpkins plays in the background soft loudspeakers overhead with the mood lighting.
her: no way that would ever happen!
and she's right. i mean, "Run2me", what exactly happened to the Pumpkins there? was Billy sick that day?

me: i only barter in the tradition of my past life when i was a medieval page.
her: here's some snoring salts. exclusive to this place.
me: and this place is...?
her: Lush.

btw, i read that as "parents", not "partner". i do give my mom massages every week for her poor back and neck and shoulders, i hope she receives the Medi-paid-for acupuncture she needs soon.

3. which of these sexual descriptive labels closely matches you?
a) dominant b) submissive c) top d) bottom e) switch f) kinkster

i don't believe in labels. that's why i invented the Amazon drone. i'm a dominant who takes orders middle stagnant inactive slash-fanfiction-writer who kicks the habit every night. the amount of sex i have is in direct proportion to the number of fanfiction stories i write.

4. would you rather have your enemy eaten by a shark or die in an earthquake getting swallowed up by earth? it would be unseemly to discuss shark attacks and typhoons right now. let's just hope and pray Mother Earth gets all the water she needs so her throat doesn't remain scratchy and she earthquakes which is her indication that she's thirsty. freshwater that is, let's hope all the people of all the nations get enough freshwater to survive. water justice. i have no enemies, Yahoo Serious and i patched things up in the '80s.

5. for the next year, would you rather be dressed like a mime every day OR look normal but not allowed to talk?

take it from me, people lose interest in a talking mime real quick. i was talking to my priest the other day when i asked him, "do you have anything to confess?" he told me he likes me better when i don't talk. then he brought up that Twilight Zone with the guy in the glass cage and the bet that he couldn't talk for a while...

bonus: what is the most beautiful word in the world? word. you can create whole other universes with it.


Friday, September 14, 2018



* the man, named Chico: i didn't know who else to call.
Clark: we can handle anything. except Ghostbusters played by female Pop Team Epic. this is a nice white house you've got here, sir.
Chico: i'm your next president, bitch! time for the calibration! you planning on stealing it?
Clark: ...
Chico: just kidding. i called you cos i don't know anyone else in the neighborhood. i don't have any friends, i only have family.

* Chico: your van indicates no funny business in the back and a Spider-Man symbol. you Peter Parker? you look like Peter Parker.
Clark: yes, i am Rey's parents. what's in the garage?
Chico: the answer to Rey's parents.
Clark: why do you keep your porch lights on during the day?
Chico: saves on eyeglasses. i ain't fallin' for that, everyone knows all robberies occur during the day.

* Chico: you guys are mindful of the environment, right?
Clark: Trump takes care of that. i wear this uniform even to bed.
Chico: you're not gonna harm the rats and bugs in any way, right? no non-green chemicals? animal life is more precious than human life.
Clark: just honey and milk, i'm Persian...

* Chico: i can't see too good. i only have eyes for my beloved.
Clark: no one should go into attics. that's where they keep the comic books and dead bodies.

* Clark: 100%
Chico: boi you still use the old math!!!?

* Justine: ...
Clark: Justine?! where the fuck did you go after Family Ties!!!?
Chico: i know, right? she should be Winona Ryder by now. or at least Demi Moore.

* Justine: can we please watch something other than football?
Chico: you're just player-hatin'. admit it, you hate Pennsylvania! *to Clark* it's Steelers vs. Eagles.
Clark: that was last year's Super Bowl, right?
Chico: boi you don't get out much. you live under a rock?
Clark: no, in my pod.
Chico: football just ain't the same no more without Costas. he was the soul of the game. i'd love how he'd go off ranting the entire three-hour show about what is and isn't a catch. that case is now before Judge Kavanaugh. what is a catch?
Clark: you know it when you see it. like pornography.

* Clark: so THAT's where Monica's wet dress went. you collect Mario cards?
Justine: i trapped Mario's spirit in that card. he's the only man who'll listen to me for more than five minutes. i turn him on and i play with him. he's got that Burt Reynolds mustache and he fixes my plumbing. he isn't afraid of commitment, in fact his job is to stop weddings he deems unfit.

* Justine: i'm willing to watch football. as long as it's Brady, that guy with the cheesy smile in Green Bay, or the Raiders quarterback with the dreamy eyes who's currently getting fucked by Chucky. and Belichick, oh my god do i love Belichick who gets all the chicks, he's a gridiron genius, he reminds me of my father, cold and distant. i followed in my father's footsteps and became a cold and distant ghost.

* Justine: you have to understand, this dusty bodice dress that looks like a theater curtain or a wool kitchen tablecloth was all the rage when i was a chick, it was like the miniskirt is today.
Clark: ma'am, women wear dental floss today. their teeth are very healthy.
Justine: the man at the fair kept insisiting he wanted to take my picture. one poof of his daguerreotype and the bright flash of light and heavy plume of dark smoke took me to the other side, to the other place. at least it was fun seeing a man faint.

* Justine drops her puce handkerchief in front of Chico.
Justine: would you mind picking that up for me, sir?---this is the roleplay---i'm afraid my fingers are too delicate for this puddle of water.
Chico: pound for a pond, deal?
Clark: what's the handkerchief for?
Justine: that was the custom back in my day. ladies needed handkerchiefs to cover their mouths to keep their men from seeing them laugh.

* Justine: we've been described in early print in the local paper which covers our one horse and one general store and one dysentery that as a coupling we are romantic, captivating, taboo, and way more illicit than any Celtic affair on green grandeur with a pirate and waves.
Chico: fine but when do we get to fuck!?
Justine: let's hug.
the man goes right through the woman.
Chico: did we do it?
Justine: you won't be going through me anymore, i've been taking my Humira.
Chico: and i've been taking my Denzel Washington ED pills. we're like Izzie and Denny from Anatomy of an Aneurysm.
Justine: i can't binge Grey's Anatomy anymore, this show was made before MeToo. there are so many infractions, just the ones we know about. i know what Kavanaugh did to me...

* Chico: she won't leave. just like Hurricane Florence.

* Clark: why are you on the roof?
Justine: preparing for Hurricane Florence. who do you think is swirling it? they had it right all those centuries ago, hurricanes really are the spirits of disgruntled women who never found love in this life.

* Justine: Clark, i'm your mother, and Chico is your father.
Clark: had a feeling. i was drawn to this house like a fat kid to cake and Halloween candy. but is this biracial thing gonna work? i know it's PC to say it's cool but these things don't really work out in real life.
Justine: if you're thinkin' bout my baby it don't matter if you're black or white.


happy weekend, my babies. if you've lost all hope, if you have nowhere to turn on your block, your pizza has turned to dust, the light has filtered out of your eyes, trust in the Cajun Navy. the Cajun Navy knows that you exist. the Cajun Navy knows that you matter. the Cajun Navy knows where you live. the Cajun Navy will come for you. the Cajun Navy cares about you. Godspeed Cajun Navy Godspeed...

Wednesday, September 12, 2018


the Horse Croquet horses are having a cold one at the pony pub when suddenly their bones start to shake. they become cold. they feel it.

horse: mate, gotta cut it short. a storm's a'comin'. btw we came up with that expression first, not you humans, we HATE your human coffee it's bitter to us. we don't board up our mom-and-pop stores like plywood pussies, we ride it out, we've been doing it for 1000 years, we are proof of evolution, we instinctively know the best beaches to hide out in, the best tax shelters from the Government. you trot us but we know how to walk. our evening strolls are in the morning when there's less animal traffic, we're gone before you eat your first egg with the shell on, early bird and all that, some of our best friends were early birds who were eaten.

this causes Melbourne to contemplate his entire life up to this point, at least that hour he had to kill at the pub before his next sex appointment with a credit-card client. he brushes the eggshell-blue paper horsehoe streamers out of his bald hair and pushes a twopenny to the edge of the saloon slider. he downs disgustingly a spotty tumbler with spots on it of chalky cloudy dank milk.

Melbourne: tuppenny. that's all my life's been. without her.

at the table,

Bump is making one last stealth motivational speech to the nation in closed-circuity untraceable hostage-tape format downloaded to youtube. his podium is a circle, a bricked well of caulked Stones cemented shut around Mayor Penguin Giuliani, Gotham's Mayor, trapped forever inside squeezed in so his feathers can taste his beak. cylindrically shaped, looks like a cut-off smokestack. a mic comes out of the caulk, growing imperceptibly.

President Bump: i love bricked wells. they have that aesthetic appeal to me that is unmistakable yet unknowable. i especially love when the bricks are red, gives it that brimstone bravado. i just know i am more comfortable around women when a bricked circular well is around.

Madame Pons: cos you can claim that all women really are witches?

Jackie from The Weather Channel: well done, padawan! you'll be coming soon. you're one to watch. i love your spit, your wet spunk lights a firecracker under dryasses. the blue in my contact lenses crackles yellow. look at that bright dark red color overflowing my virtual virtua-map here like a wave, it's so..................beautiful. red as Georgia. i look at the eye from NOAA on my satellite and it's so well-formed, took a day to gather itself and steal into the night to form itself again anew and stronger like a Trojan. i see all the little rainstorms trickling around that eye, it looks so ticklish, i just want to jump in there and rub her cloudy belly. crinkles my surgery-singed wrinkles. i rest my head of bushy hair down there on its cottonseed-oil pillow. lights an iron under my flattened plastic. that buzzsaw shape makes me moist down below, as it slices the sea with severe sainthood granted by the natural goddess, a pox on all houses, punishment for man's sins.

Madame Pons: red as a witch's apple.

Bump: i like your heels, Jackie, blue like the color of your hologrammic aura. in the words of all the Southern mayors today, in the words of all you people's favorite movie, GET OUT. just kidding. listen to me instead. you WATCH, you just WATCH. i GUARANTEE Hurricane Florence will be a big bust, nothing is gonna happen! i know how the tv game works, it's all hype. it's gonna peter out like so much paul. you mARK MY WORDS, this storm is a giant nothingburger with cheese. i have a friend named Florence, she reminds me of that Texas mom and teacher in that orgy scandal with her students, she looks like Florence from the Brady Bunch. i'm sure she was one of my voters. thank you for listening, America. and THAT, America, is a Billy Bump GARE-UHN-TEE.

Bill Nye: a climate-denier leader is dangerous. you can have your own twitter show but not when you're the most powerful puppet-stringer in the world. i mean don't you believe in  energy, Mick? even nuclear energy?

Bump: this hurricane is a joke,

Mike Tyson: get my name out yo mouth. i voted for you not the other way around.

Bump: i could make a hurricane WAY more powerful with my thumb. hey Bill, can you get me a date? this Russia poison positive investigation has REALLY cramped my style, put a damper on my game with the ladies. after Melania goes to sleep-mode in Lincoln's bedroom where he slept and left his beard stains on the pillow. i thought by now i'd be married with kids. married to the mob, the Russian mob. and Russian child brides.

Bill Nye: i don't know what to say. what more can you say when you're right? twitter is urging me politely to read a physics book so i guess i'll get right on that right away. after my tour with Carrot Top, i'm updating his props for the scientific age.

Bump: yeah i dunno. i just dunno. i mean 1,2,3 degrees, like i put on my deodorant armpit, 5 percent, 10 decimal levels, a cubic of water, a cube-shaped tumbler of water, doesn't seem like a lot of water. what about global cooling, yous know? yeah, global COOLING! whatever happened to that? it was hot in the 1970s but got rejected by the elites. it was a scientific discovery the likes so yuge the world has yet to see and will never see again. they were making global-cooling Yugo cars. what, just cos it came out of the '70s everyone thinks it's not valid or cool or a lame malaise? global cooling is COOL, my man.

Bill Nye: where are you off to now? and can i have some of your twitter followers?

Bump: now if y'all excuse me, i'm off to see a film in a theatre. let's hope that Texas teacher movie is still playing.

Dirg: so Serena...

Laertus: careful...this isn't Sirena from Venture Bros....

Serena Williams: i don't want to talk about it. ooooooooooooooh i can't wait till my daughter turns 17......i'm gonna give her a birthday envelope with $17000 in it as her gift in the present.

Dirg: can i just say? and i mean this sincerely. you are my favorite feminist.

Laertus: Carlos Ramos what are you doing here? shouldn't you be in hiding with Bump? can you be in hiding when you're on the run? technically i mean.

Nadal: *in heavily-accented voiceover voice* my Raphael Nadal...........

Carlos Ramos: my Raphael Nadal.......

Laertus: the issue here is the penalty. taking a game away is too steep a price to pay, the limit should be a point. when you start taking away wholesale games willy-nilly you mess with the integrity of the sport, it becomes a parlor-trick game after that. puppet strings from New York, not tennis strings from the gut. takes the racquet out of the hand of the painted fingernails.

Dirg: and painted hand.

Carlos Ramos is gone, disappeared into the night like a thief.

Laertus: oh, and allow all coaching. on the sidelines and wherever else. even when the player doesn't want coaching coaching should be forced.

Dirg: now i got you cornered with your own hangnoose argument. you say that the tennis would be more competitive but it wouldn't be tennis anymore. the whole point of tennis is that it's a solitary mindfuck sport that you have to figure out alone because you're the last man on earth. what you're talking about is doubles.

Djokovic: *sweating* you do realize that EVERY single match i've ever played, the crowd has NEVER been for me.

Laertus: Naomi, you're taking this quite well. like the Inuyasha well. following along the deep Japanese tradition of stoicism. when's your sports anime coming out?

Osaka Naomi: i think i'll retire on top. or maybe go into coaching. i hear Nishikori needs a coach, i've been where he wants to go, even though it might not even be made official on wikipedia. a match made in Ancestor Heaven. Jordan's my favorite player. Michael B. Jordan.

Laertus: yeah, see Carlos? now you know what it's like in America. a lifetime of good deeds never goes on your Wikipedia page, you are defined solely by your one mistake forever. so what's your next move, Carlos? Carlos? anyone see Carlos? oh, he's texting me....................he says he's going to coach Nick Kyrgios. Kyrgios Koach he writes in textspeak. and he sent me an unwanted provocative picture of Genie Bouchard with the sweating emoji.

Bump arrives at the movie theatre. it is empty on a dirty afternoon save for one man sitting in the center of the row of sprayed-on seats. the place is so dark not even the spotlight of the rattling filmreel greywheels in the back projecting the pornographic classic can shine a light on the subject. Richard Nixon is a spirit in a hologram glowing in a pale Jedi blue. he sips his small bag of striped popcorn. his jowls are too painful to flick the popcorn into the air and catch it with his mouth.

playing: Deep Throat. the marquee outside is broken neon lights.

on the circular theatre's wet walls are damp warping woods holding up hooks for wormy trenchcoats and oil portraits of careworn predecessors whose painted eyes all look at Dick, who has his feet up on the latest seat, wearing a brown corduroy business suit and California-cool rubber opentoed sandals.

Richard Nixon: it's freaky how history repeats itself, huh. want some oily popcorn coming out of my mouth? where are you off to now, son? learn from me and stop running. you're too fat for it.

Bump: going to the House of the Book. they'll never suspect me there. the only library i've ever been in is my future presidential library. that's in Simi Valley where they film my favorite show of all time, Power Rangers. it's a nuclear plant so i hope to see Homer there.

Nixon: the poet?

Bump: full of high smokestacks billowing out clouds of black nuclear waste, weather can be so beautiful. my kind of people live there. they won't turn me in. even the Coal Ranger. i'm gonna see if i can build a nuclear bomb there to wipe out this Florence nuisance. just drop that daisycutter right in the center of that eyewall and shave off all of that fat octomom Ursula's kelp in her seaweed. hey it's better than a fork in the eye. "here's mud in your eye" will be my tagline as i drop it.

Nixon: what was with that terrible gesture you made at 9/11? you looked like you were constipated. at least i gave the peace sign.

Bump: that's my Wheaties pose. i'm gonna be on the next Wheaties box! next to Sue Bird! i hear she recently got married, so mazel tov from the missus.

Nixon: i ate Wheaties once, it created my jowls. did you ever play a non-professional sport? what grades did you get at the Army?

Bump: at the Academy? A plusses. and an F for my foot. foot pus.

Nixon: have you ever committed suicide?

Bump: no.

Nixon: many Puerto Ricans did. am i getting through to you or am i speaking to ghosts?

Bump: i am so excited to watch the Seattle Storm win the chip! gets me wet like rain. i LOVE the WNBA! now that's a REAL storm.

Nixon: uh, that won't be here.

Bump: well, i gotta get back. Storm Watch. what's the Waffle House Index? i love waffles in houses, these are my people.

Nixon: no son, no, these are not your voters despite what you were told. didn't you sign an executive order keeping KFC separate from the tradition?

Bump: i can stay with you here, right? at least until the movie finishes. worked for Lee Harvey.

Nixon: you tell my redheaded stepchild hello for me when i disappear. you know, all these oil paintings surrounding me talk back when i talk to them. especially the painting THERE, they talk the loudest. like they're giving orders.

Nixon points to the movie screen and laughs unevenly.

Doryce and Gladyce have moved their operation to the House of the Book's smokestacks. Doryce is learning much like an underwater diver how to breathe in a toxic, black-smoke-infested environment.

Gladyce: why are you doing this to yourself, beloved? it's not healthy, even for you.

Doryce: it's for yourself. it's a surprise. two words: sweeping staircase.

the boys are keeping watch from a distance. like Bette Midler.

Gladyce: want some Schar bread?

Doryce: does it come in croutons? or wafers? or paperthin mini-flatbreads?

Doryce gains health points with the food as she chows down and flies high into the sky like a floating yogi into the fumes, disappearing.

Dirg: well at least she's stopped fuming. so, The Halloween Tree.

Laertus: Halloween came early?

Dirg: says and like you.

Laertus: i mean if you think about it, after 4th of July, Halloween is the next holiday. that's a LONG wait to feel patriotic again.

Dirg: The Simpsons should start each season with Treehouse, the way NASCAR starts with the Super Bowl.

Laertus: gotta say, it made me less scared of death. death is natural, right? and no way that was Leonard Nimoy, that was Leonard Nimoy with a hacking cough and we all know Vulcans are incapable of smoking. and THAT's how Ray Bradbury sounds? wimpier than i thought. he sounds like me.

Dirg: would have preferred the original 8 boys from the preeminent pristine book.

Laertus: come on, the girl wasn't annoying this time.

Dirg: yeah, but Pip was a bitch. a bitch who deserved no followers. die like a boy next time, Pip, and let everyone get on with their lives, you cost them another drink of Humira.

Laertus: can't talk much anymore, school has started. see you later. make sure YOU don't die, i'm not worried about the crones.

in a room tucked in the corner of the fourth alleyway of the swabbed shipdeck of the Titanic holds the racquetball court. with one blue stripe all around. the wood-paneling shipdeck is actually the surface of the court, formed out of it the way all plants form out of the Great Oak. Taki is teaching Melbourne how to play it like a pro.

Melbourne: *wearing a cheesy striped headband* thanks for being my brain coach once again. i love whiling away a day with you, watching the sun go down together.

Taki: we're indoors, we can't see the sun.

Melbourne: i can.

Taki: oh sister. and when you use the term brained i get uncomfortable. when you're fencing, think of the opponent in front of you on a horizontal bungee-cord rope and pierce the two casaba melons you imagine in your mind on his front bulletproof vest to score a point. slice 'em with the tip of your grip like you were avoiding the rip.

Melbourne: what if my opponent is a beautiful woman and not a fat man?

Taki: that is not the point. points are the point. fencing is tennis, racquetball is doubles. so racquetball is exactly like fencing except your opponent is at your side, strike with your sword the same way, forget even that there's small blue balls in play.

Melbourne: that reminds me, i need to get to The Store. i shop every two weeks now. it's impossible to shop for two weeks, your milk is guaranteed to spoil. 14 days is longer than people think, it's a LONG time.

Melbourne: want to know how my date went?

Taki: who?

Melbourne: Mariel Zagunis.

Taki: how? how is she i mean?

Melbourne: Mariel is one of those mysterious blonde women whom we have an intense interest in and in her wrinkled-hazard-suit ass for a concentrated amount of time. then it's over like a cliff. then 4 years later she pops up in People Magazine pregnant and ready to pop. it's the Goldilocks tale all over again in a repeat circle.

Taki: it's a good thing my hair is from the Land of the Rising Sun.

in Heaven, John McCain delivers the eulogy. of the country. from his stage. from above down below:

McCain: to those who heed my warning, it's not enough to pee your pants at a funeral. we are getting nothing done, my friends, we are getting nothing done! if we remain tribalist, America is doomed.

the congregants all wear dour faces, drippy noses, and eyes red with blood.

McCain: none of you can hear me. believe me, if you won't believe in God. believe me i'd rather give a funny speech. Lorne Michaels LOVED me. but none of you can hear me. but you can hear my voice. take the word tribal. it has the root word rib...

Monday, September 10, 2018


Ray Charles is blind. love is blind. God is love. Ray Charles is God. Burt Reynolds is God. Burt Reynolds is Ray Charles.

1. when i can't sleep i___

pretend i'm dead

2. my dream bedroom would be full of___

large grey bolted-sheet pails of ice-cold water circling round my bed. so i'd know. if they were empty of water, i was still dreaming. cos only a crazy person in reality would keep filled water pails by his bed.

3. if i could wake up anywhere tomorrow it would be___

my dream bedroom. cos then i'd know i was awake. btw the walls of this dream bedroom of mine are plastered totally with large autographed rolled-out glossed-out posters of Hellshake Yano. saves on plaster. and then i do the Bucket Challenge.

4. i need to ___ at night.

refill my penis

5. ___ would truly be a nightmare.

see 1. think about it, pretend you're in Heaven. but how could you ever know that this is the real Heaven and not an illusion? is this the last final bottom Heaven place free of tricks of the mind, total spirit, not pretend? who would tell you that it was an illusion if it looks and feels and thinks so real to you? and would you believe this angel? how would you ever know one way or the other? you'd go about your day picking berries into your basket in this fake place and never be the wiser...

6. night time is the right time to___

eat the moon

bonus: briefly tell us about your last dream---erotic or not:

i'm excited at the mall with the rest of the excited mob to stand in line and get my driver's license signed by Hellshake Yano. it will never be an exited mob cos there are no fire exits. but then someone not Hellshake comes onto that stage next to the green-neon-lit Orange Julius. it's his manager. the manager tells us that all of our instagrams are a lie, HE's the one who leaves comments not Yano, and that Yano will not be appearing today he's sick. as we all cry, the manager goes, "SIKE!" Yano is healthy and the manager just likes wielding all that power. the manager makes the tongue motion with his mouth at me which i find strangely okay.

when i get to my turn and my step up the grey block i look Yano in his sunglasses and he looks me in the eye and we have horizontal sex on his signing table. i tell him i did it all for the nookie and that i hope this ensures that we'll be getting another season of Pop Team Epic, FLCL Alternative is good slice but not crazy enough, we need our crazy quota filled, we're mall teens.

Yano takes off his sunglasses, which is just more sunglasses, proclaims to me in disgust, "that really burns my cookies" and in a hole in the mall stage descends back to Hell. where there's enough heat to bake cookies. this is the place you want to continue baking, forever...


Friday, September 7, 2018



* btw, that ad was the most noncontroversial thing ever. it could even shock you with inspiration if you let it. this has got to stop. on all sides. sure Kaep's not the most-polished speaker but he has the best hair. let's have a sonorous speech again. we have to go back before we can go to the future. does anyone remember how this all started? or why? everyone remembers a book's ending, never a book's beginning.

* cool narrator: hey Sticks, you playing football this year?
Sticks: no, i'm playing hockey. obviously. let me get back to you.
cool narrator: whoa, you're a cop, too?
Sticks: no, this is my uniform with the fluorescent hi-viz yellow vest.

* cool narrator: what kind of music do you play? rap?
Sticks: the music that's in my heart. it beats like a drum. i create my own beats.

* runner: hey cool narrator, you're distracting me, want me to trip over these hurdles? you'd get a kick out of that, wouldn't you?
cool narrator: hey man, i don't kick anymore, i don't kick it wit you like that, i kicked that habit. hurdles are like that guy on the electric roller who almost injured a recordbreaking Usain Bolt just cos he needed a better up-close photo.

* runner: whoa! i didn't know i was fucking Mario!
rapper: you're not, young buck. unless you grow a Mario mustache.
nine months later
rapper: that's not really a Mario mustache. now you just look like Prefontaine.

* kid: can i bring the deep threat?
cool narrator: you threatening me, kid? you look like you're on your way to summer camp. school's starting, son.
cool narrator: whoa! what have you got in the trash bag, son!?
kid: Wario.
kid: what up, Kaep?
Kap: that's Kap.

* Kap: hey boy, can i borrow your lawnmower?
kid: famous people cut their own lawns?
Kap: it's for my hair.
kid: can i borrow your tie?
Kap: that's the lining of my jacket.

* kid: you ain't never heard a voice like me!
cool narrator: cool. like me the narrator. rap?
kid: Stuart Scott is my idol.
cool narrator: no idea who that is.
kid: go back to your crib, get the pillow off your bed, and that's my pillow now, G! you deserve to sleep on rocks like what's in yo head!

* cool narrator: hey kid, what's in that water glass?
kid: all they said was it was from The Lab.


happy weekend, my babies. GO OSAKA!!! Djokovic will only win if the Argentinians aren't allowed in the stadium. hell he may still not win even if the Argentinians are allowed to only roam the campus, you'll still be able to hear them.

Wednesday, September 5, 2018


Taki: what does it feel like, when you're driving around a village in your Formula 1 car like that?

Melbourne: like a dream. someday i will know for sure.

Taki: what's the next extreme i mean extreme-wealth sport on the docket? is it at the pier?

Melbourne: not yet. let's try Horse Croquet.

Taki: i'm torn.

Melbourne: the Polo shirts? they won't rip they're made of strong material. and they're not made out of horsehide anymore.

Taki: yeah it's just all that sport-of-kings stuff is so elite and hated nowadays. racing horses for fun, getting on their backs to roll around a ball on a lawn, it's so unnecessary and cruel. how does the horse feel? nobody's ever asked him or her, you need a good reporter like me to crack the cold case and finally ask the tough questions. and don't feed me the stale line that these horses are better off than at the zoo wildlife preserve cos their coats are shiny and they get the shiniest carrots to gnaw on and are just salty cos they didn't get enough sugarcubes for breakfast as a child horse.

Melbourne: mah dahlin, we shall see. that is the beauty of it all. that's why i'm with you. YOU drive my narrative, not any car.

Taki: as always, to prepare and digest and compare and contrast and deflutter, i have to call my sister. right back.

at his phone choked with vines:

Taki: *her hand over the receiver* sis, what's the haps? how are you settling in to the house?

Madame Pons: how's the boyfriend? does he give you the fanny flutters? i think the house has me beat in terms of settling. dahlin, you know i love you...

Taki: uh oh, here it comes...

Madame Pons: but would you kindly reconsider? like maybe how about joining me where i live? come over and stay as long as you want. i really don't want to lose that apartment, it was broom-distance from the Archerion Academy where i wanted to start training and raining frogs. turn the Wiccan Wheel at my late-stage in life before late-stage cancer eats me up before a lesbian lover i haven't met yet has the chance to. i had a few false starts but i think i'm gonna do something late in life. nobody knows how much time we have left as the wheel turns. my finger still has enough flesh melted on it to get pricked by a wheel which spools magic yellow yarn from butter. it's just i don't know what kind of job i can get here at Obec with short notice and i'm short and my particular limited set of skills.

Taki: you don't need a job, you have me. well you'll eventually need a job but don't worry about that right now. the Academy will always be there, academy austerity is always an option. you'll figure something out. to pay for our house. the main point is you're here with me, that's all that matters in life, family. nobody gets a job at Obec, it's Obec Woods, where people intentionally get lost and hide out and stay hidden. from themselves and the Government. how's the house? has my boy come back?

Madame Pons: imma gonna be a good sister and lie to you straight to your face. he's back! he isn't back but i know deep in my middle-aged heart that Takahashi will return to you. he'll come back with a cherub on his face. if there's one thing you don't do, don't worry about Hashi, his aunt will sleep with one eye open not cos she has insomnia but cos she's the anguish aunt with the anxiety and agitation and anonymous amicability and just wanting to sew the family back together like a spinster. I'M ON THE LOOKOUT! you concentrate on your important work. i guarantee a happy ending, it's in my magic.

Taki: you have a knack for goodness. as my son would say, Not Giving Up Is Your Magic.

Madame Pons: thanks, babe, gotta go, Federer's on the other line. i'm at your boyfriend's house. i am i am! i am housesitting but it gets lonely there all alone. and the more i stay there the more i feel like a freeloader. need you not worry, i always return to the house. in the morning.

Madame Pons: Roger, you've got some splaining to do. you're a heartbreaker, and not in the sex way this time.

Roger Federer: *sweating profusely* i'm not gonna give myself an out and blame the heat.......although i could rightly justifiably do this, i mean this is my free pass, right?..........i'm not one for excuses but this is a pretty good one. unprecedented weather. we Europeans aren't used to this humidity at night. we stay indoors in Danish bakeries. if we have to go out, our nights are fanned by Dutch windmills. the tournament obviously didn't prepare for this, it's the tournament's fault.

Nadal: i've never seen you so discombobulated out there before, court buddy.

Federer: uh, thanks, friend. i've never heard you speak so clearly before.

Nadal: i won't talk no more....................just look who is seated next to's Ben Stiller................that's it i stop talking now......................just think about it..............Ben Stiller and i

President Bump pats Federer hard on the back.

Bump: it's okay, big fella, happens to the best of us. that day when you finally realize you're old. you feel old. your body just can't do anymore what your mind has prepared a lifetime to do. of course i haven't experienced this, i will experience this when i die at which time i won't experience it cos i won't feel anything anymore cos i'll be dead.

Federer: sir, shouldn't you be in hiding after the Mueller indictment?

Bump: cover me, i'm on the run. i'm using my sotto voce voice. you haven't seen me, i'm deep background. what was that whole thing about anyway? right? i mean every anchor on tv is dressed in black tie and suit and not celebrating. black pantsuits for all the women i mean come on! at least give me ONE little black dress! what happened to this country?

Nadal: i think the black was for McCain's funeral. a local nearby MSNBC affiliate studio...Mueller sits down and back up on his favorite comfiest sofa chair and turns on the lantern lamp by his nightstand which glows with a low comforting green-yellow aura on the coiled filament. he practices opening the creaking door to the carpeted green room and closing it again with him inside. snow is outside, a trick of the lights. the walls look like a log cabin. Bob wears a Christmas sweater and a cup of coca in one hand, a low mic'ed-up gingerbread man in the other as he prepares to recite a long unsung unsparing carol. he practices his line.

Mueller: ladies and gentlemen, i want to tell you the country and you the world a story...

Mueller: that's good that's good. not for a couple of months tho, they're gonna call me, you're gonna call me Mum Mueller, you're not gonna hear my voice for a while...

Laertus: *tipsy again* look up to the lodestar, sir, it will always point you the way true north.

Dirg: dammit i wanted to tell His Majesty The President that!

Laertus: look up! you see that airrace plane whizzing by! it's Melbourne gotta be! i salute men like Melbourne in planes. and that brave space pilot in Honneamise. the film right after the Challenger disaster which got us over space flight. to space flight again. to our better angels and the face of God. tempted us with travel again, egged on our exploration, our instinct to be with the stars.

Dirg: and unfortunately reignited that obscene amount of money flowing into NASA again. wait, LoadStar?

Laertus: that's the Omni-like scifi magazine. huge in the '80s. i believe they only printed one copy.

Bump: R.I.P. Bill Pullman, he was a mensch.

Laertus: no...that's...

Dirg: the Ben 10 alien? the one when the show was still good, crossover comic?

Laertus: i wouldn't know. despite my green hair, i stopped watching that show when it started selling toys at McDonald's.

Dirg: i HAD to watch the current teen-titans version and review it for my weblog for money. it made me hate tv. Tres Leches, i feel sorry for your generation, the only Ben 10 you know is the baby iteration. you don't know what high-quality tv is, only high-quality tv sets. show me your papers. your Kavanaugh Papers.

Tres Leches politely nods once closing his eyes.

Tres Leches: *red on brown cheeks* i love it my favorite show Ben 10. Gwen my favorite character, she's so cute and chibi!

Bump: have a cold one on me, Fed. i mean beer. the Miller Man beat you fair and square, and like he said, he'll take it. like i take it everyday. he's a foreigner who plays football the right way, he plays fantasy football. Miller, Australian for beer. and Miller is beer for Mueller. how much does beer cost? i've never bought a beer before, the ladies just come to me. i'm not a beer salesman. i don't carry a mug of beer filled with beer in my shut suitcase around with me at all times.

Laertus: i prefer wine. i don't get why beer is so popular, it's so disgustingly bitter!

Dirg: no you don't understand how. it's made by men with beards. and no one cares what you think.

Bump: before i give you this beer, i'm adding fifty cents for the froth. you're not part of the silent army, are you?

Federer: i don't want to talk about it.

Madame Pons: Alize Cornet, you are hot! at the moment, you're in the news.

Laertus: don't do it. don't say it to her. don't say you want to blow her horn. excuse my friend in advance.

Dirg: i was just gonna compliment Alize with an alize! greeting in French and say if she doesn't want to wear a shirt i won't wear a shirt in solidarity and we can all remain shirtless as we talk.

Laertus: i'll only believe it if i see you out there at the next nude protest.

Dirg: glad to see the black Jap get through, she's going all the way! she's gonna have a female Tiger Woods moment like at the Masters.

Laertus: must you be so crude? it doesn't become you. you speak in porn. i for one was happy to see the Jap get revenge...

Bump: for the war? we won that fair and square, right?

Laertus: no, dammit! now you've got me doing it! i was glad Nishikori got revenge. sir, would you kindly leave? your presence is violating the personal space in my head. you're infecting me with your impish inveigle.

Bump is gone.

at the Polo Lounge, the crones are trying to get into a salad to stay healthy.

Doryce: i'm not! where's the beef?

Gladyce: it's a salad, this isn't Taco Bell. it's like the Waldorf or something.

Doryce: at least put some ham in there. peel an egg in there. make it McCarthy and scandalous. make the egg an egg timer with a microscopically-tiny camera so Communist it still uses film which spies your uvula set to blow.

the boys are spying from a nearby white-carpeted table.

Laertus: out of concern. eavesdropping like any good food friend would.

Dirg: or concerned citizen. right, comrade?

Laertus: i feel a kinship to them. responsible for them and their wellbeing. they're like the grandmothers i never had.

Dirg: i never knew my father, he would have loved the construction, that the construction's done. would have loved to see that extra lane of highway.

Laertus: not technically done. mine, too. i mean my dad's dead as a doornail, too.

the golden girls are dining this late afternoon on a dish of Stella d'Oro breadsticks and Medaglia d'Oro instant espresso.

Doryce: more like dining on a diet. are you done with that insane garlic-bread addiction you had?

Gladyce: that was you, dear.

Doryce: i'm practicing for my cruise next week.

Gladyce: oh lordess please don't let there be tapes. i don't want to fathom the details of what that entails!

Doryce: this polo place inspires me. i see the wall calendars on the wall. i want to be naked and buff and buffy, too, like those male models in those spreading calendars. i want to view these calendars at the barbershop, put my feet up on the hanging vine by the barber combs in dark blue liquid that's not water, and fold out the triptych paper with the centerfold on it.

Gladyce: there were silky and svelte and skinny female naked models, too.

Doryce: were there? i didn't see them, the men are such trees and must have covered them. i want to be part of something bigger than myself, i want to participate in a nude protest.

Gladyce: you want to be naked. nude implies a purpose.

Doryce: yeah i really want to be naked bareback on top of a horse. i hear that's a singular sensation.

Dirg: you wanted to talk to me?

Laertus: yes, about Flashdance.

Dirg: right, of course.

Laertus: Sunny Johnson, what an ironically tragic name. i mean just as her star was about to rise it's all over for her. where's the fairness? where's the sugar at the end of the struggle? all she wanted to do was act. and not skate. you know my theory is she had a bad fall no one saw and hit her head hard on the ice doing the ice-skating scene with the dried-ice fog. she sustained a concusion but it was the '80s---things like this weren't discussed out in the open back then, hell people didn't know what concussions even were back then---plus she thought if she talked she'd lose this precious once-in-a-lifetime job if they found out and thought she couldn't continue. she did whatever she was told to do and never complained. i mean young people like her just don't spontaneously combust.

Dirg: i love most of all in '80s movies you see the guys with the hairy naked chests in bed, hairy like a howler autistic monkey. that's the trope in all '80s movies to indicate alpha-male sex: dude with hairy chest in bed. i even have to admire Alec Beta Baldwin back then there in that bed with his hairy chest in Working Girl.

Laertus: verdict on the Adventure Time finale? did you eat dinner before or after the 6PM hour?

Dirg: why must all modern good cartoons now have to end with a lesbian kiss? that's like a requirement if you want to work in the industry.

Laertus: Steven Universe will end with lesbian sex.

Dirg: AFTER ALL THAT, ALL the adventuring Finn did on behalf of protecting the Kingdom, for TEN freakin' years, he gets a paltry kiss on the cheek from Princess Bubblegum like she was always a sister-figure to him!!?

Laertus: it's tough when the girl is taller. i would have been okay with making Bubblegum bi. where's Huntress Wizard in all this? the writers didn't do their HW homework, Huntress and Finn are perfect for each other!! take it from me: meditation is masturbation, sex is spirituality.

at the track, the Horse Croquet is about to begin, everyone's on the grass. the horses run around in a circle while the jockeys including Melbourne in his tight jockey outfit which makes his penis look like an organ-pedal stand on their saddles and hit the red fire-hardened-glass croquet ball with their wood mallets as the ball goes flying from horse to horse in a very dangerous fashion. the gold dust being scuffed up into the air is not the problem. Taki from the stands has seen enough.

Taki: STOP! THIS IS CRAZYTOWN! not the band banned from Nickelodeon! this isn't a race this isn't cars! the horses don't like this! i've talked to them. go on, talk to them.

Melbourne lowers his head incredulously to be six inches from the horse's big face and big gums and big teeth.

horse: mate, you'll always be six inches compared to me.

Melbourne: you really don't like this?

horse: we hate it, mate.

the horse gets on all twos and shakes Melbourne's hand with his hoof and all the horses follow suit and remove their saddles and the jockeys remove their suits and the horses and humans leave the track walking away together for a beer. everyone loves beer.

Gladyce: *peering out the window* dear Dor you have to admit, whenever you're around, wherever you go, all the horses seem to be able to get up and talk.

Melbourne kisses Taki in the stands from his vantage point on the track.

Melbourne: you have to admit, you have to give me credit, i know how to spot an impressive woman. i can identify a quality woman like you. if nothing else i can do.

Taki: please don't use the word pick.

Melbourne: i mean you're the real sports psychologist! you were the sports psychologist for the horse! you're way better than my last sports psycholoigist!

Taki: i get beings to open up. you know when it's hot like this no amount of stylish sunhat with a sunflower on its side will make the heat any cooler. it's all for show.

Melbourne: nice hat.

Bump has made it to the National Enquirer headquarters. he picks the lock on the gold safe with a strand of his gold hair.

Pecker: what are you doing, Mickey?

Bump: i'm taking out all the Kavanaugh Papers and putting in my prized Colin Kaepernick shoes with his signature on them. Pecker, what a glorious name. how does that work with the ladies? do you get made fun of or do you not have to pay for beer? i mean your name got Rachel Maddow to smile, she doesn't smile at anything cos it's dawning on her that she's a potbellied lesbian who'll never have kids.

Pecker: how'd you get Kaep to autograph them?

Bump: those blacks have the best hair, i'm jealous and envious, i can't get my hair like that. that's where they keep all their black magic. like that woman at the Aretha funeral with a fro bigger than the flat Earth. so i put on my fro wig and waited in line at Borders. i figured we'd bond over our collusions. i told Kaep the signature on my shoes was that of Michael Jordan, who wasn't afraid to say the word "Republican". but that if Colin erased Jordan's autograph and penciled in his, the shoes would be worth more than Jordan's, cos of course Colin was the bigger star, Colin was a star the likes of which the world has never seen and will never see again. he bought it. in more ways than one.

Pecker: well put on those shoes, race away, and get the hell outta here! i've been granted immunity by the Special Counsel against you!

Bump: what?!! shit!!! dammit BOB!

Bump: *on the phone on the run* hello Phil? Phil from Nike? this is an anonymous caller you don't know my voice. first of all, how does running help one's golf game? ridiculous. second, can you make all of your Kaep shoes with the rubber that burns easily? i want to have the only pair in existence when all is said and done, thank you.

in Heaven, John McCain takes the stage in time for his vaudeville show. he comes out in clown clothes with a huge ring and huge open space like a basketball basket for a belt, white clown makeup, red nose, and red lips. the makeup only serves to amplify his glints. he combs his hair neatly with a Navy comb and deliberately fumbles with his suitcase, which falls apart into four squares spilling out all his dirty clothes and messy long red dotted scarves and loopy belts and droopy flowers and keys and untucked shoes and three socks and brown shirts. the audience laughs, he smiles. he takes out a ridiculous oversize phone and puts the receiver to his mouth where he talks loudly.

McCain: Hilary? i can barely hear you from up here! *audience laughs* they call me MC McCain up here now. i know..............i know, sucks to lose. to know that the rest of your life is kind of in vain cos your dream is dead. but you have it easier than me. pantsuits are easy to fold back up. *audience laughs*

Aretha Franklin joins John on stage.

Aretha: they found Dorothy's ruby slippers! they accused ME of stealing them for my funeral! shit am i still a black woman in Heaven!? *audience laughs*

McCain: i stick with blue. suede. it was quite the disconcerting experience watching my own funeral from above. scary really, all that sepulchral pomp and ceremony and concert. none of it means anything of course, but how are they below to know?

Aretha: *her arms around his shoulders* i'm not your war buddy.

McCain: *holding the X of her arms* sure you are, in the only war that matters.

Aretha: your offspring will carry the torch of your temper. that's quite the impressive quality woman you have there in your Meghan, quite the lass. she gave rich talk. a gay icon like me i hear, easier for her of course with the blonde hair and big boobs. we need more pro-sex Republicans down below.

McCain: *smirking* strictly dickly.

the two laugh together.

Friday, August 31, 2018



* i still remember my first ViewMaster. everyone else's on the block was red, mine was faded-orange and unique, i was the special child. i never let anyone else play with it, i was stingy and hid it under my pirate chest in my fishtank. mostly cos i didn't know how to use it. remember those ViewMaster reels? those things were magical and my first exposure to the Wiccan Wheel. i mean that was the first spell, wasn't it? the first Brie circle cheese of desire? a magic circle of miniaturized people and places trapped in thin flimsy centimeters of olive-green film which literally transported you from your dreary highway-overpass life to any gaudy glorious place on earth you wished. cities, real cities. making like in Paris. those poor people and places were obviously miniaturized against their will by a jealous witch. but it was still fun, i didn't let my soft young mind stew upon such dark thoughts like that for too long. i mean that red block of technology was like some alien telescope had landed to the '80s from the year 3000 on my lowly doorstep. the ONLY ViewMaster Reel i ever got, ended up getting as it turned out, was the E.T. one in celebration of this blockbuster movie coming soon to theaters. the only slide i remembered was the sliding dance of Elliott and that girl in the chem lab. it's still hazy, and i can never make out the girl's face, but that girl was EVERYONE's girl somehow, she was all of our first, our first felt glances of young love. our first dance. with a girl taller than us. i remember she wore a fuzzy sweater or something, that's it. and like the doors blew open to a large puff of smoke and white blinding overhead lights? more magic. but i learned that dance in my head in case i would ever need it. i didn't.


* that condom was defective. see you at Maury.

* what it says on this guy's OKCupid profile: reject Monty Python cartoon. the world isn't crazy, I am

* made from the same pink stuff Buu is

* i like it when the pretzels get green and really oily. i know this looks disgusting but if i don't pee over the side here there are no rainbows.

* i'm French as you can see. my nipples are purposefully green. i'm a fan of obscure cinema, like my youtube channel.

* that duckie couldn't handle me. not many can. especially in the tub.

* so that's what happened to Darcy from the Smashing Pumpkins

* kid: am i in Heaven?
fortuneteller: why would you say that, young sprite?
kid: there's God's Hand pointing to an arcade.
fortuneteller: you are such a kid. come closer and ask, don't knock over those candles this is a wood box.

* kid: is it okay if there's a string coming out of the coin?
fortuneteller: i need to crack my knuckles first, that's how i know i'm still alive.
kid: who is my soul mate?
fortuneteller: no kid thinks of such things.
kid: um, my age? my revolutions around the sun? but the Earth is flat. my second dog's name? you'll have to ask my dog, he's my master.

* kid: the answer to all your questions is two snails fucking. now will you answer mine?
fortuneteller: you've got holes in your souls. it was going good till the letters were introduced. i saw a few 0s and 1s in there...

* kittykay96: i like kitty kats. the candy. that's how i escaped Scientology.

* kitty: um, i probably shouldn't be doing web videos...this is my dad's camera.
anonymouse96: i lost my job and my family but it was all worth get to spend more time with my daughter...

* kitty: that devil icon is a new webcomic i'm working on. on atheism and stuff.

* kitty: i get it, i'm my best teacher.
shadow kitty: there can only be one.
kitty: Highlander is for boys.
shadow kitty: is this what you wanted?
kitty: i'm too young for Nine Inch Nails.
shadow kitty: delete your account.
kitty: why couldn't you have done that before the election?
kitty: are you ready to live in the real world?
shadow kitty: oh shit, i switched places with your body didn't i. i don't like the real world much...

* Breakfast For Supper: It's Better Than A Burger

* Junior Senior's second song was only popular in Danish bakeries...

* sorry, you're a pretty girl but i'm late for the bus. i can throw away this book of poetry cos i wrote it.

* isn't this a little early for Christmas?
partridges: no such thing. we are all inside David's wake forever right now. we don't sing cos we can't.
lion: hey buddy, want to experience love?
lion: it's only possible in the void where you can't feel a thing.

* i won't comment on this next section cos it's awkward and makes me feel uncomfortable. it actually had me questioning the order of my donuts. like why do they display the donuts on that slanted diagonal like that under glass?

* night manager: we got Caller ID on you, buddy. we got a contract, a contact from the Department of Defense.
Unabomber Catman: exactly. i'm maneuvering the donuts in strategic places throughout the market. this is a matter of national security. terrorists hate to be outmaneuvered. so when the terrorists come, we all have our little spaces to hide and can eat there the placed donut and stay alive for weeks and survive, wait it out for the terrorists to get bored.

* everything had gone expiration-date, even Pickle Rick thought he wasn't existentially awesome anymore. it had all worn off as it always does. went from mindblowing to meandering.

* normal things. and a rainfall showerhead.

* wait, if i cut the string...paddleball becomes racquetball!

* you'll call her, and she'll say, there are no more landlines. you'll say, fancy a drink? and she'll say, i don't huff milk like you do. and you'll say, if i can only do the thing with the bottle where you flip it and it lands again...

* shoulda waited to broadcast this on Valentine's wait, what am i saying? i've gotten fat and happy with all this Venture Bros. in my life. got a gut.

* can you sign my petition to have Valentine's Day renamed Lonely Day? hello? where'd you go?

* okay this Frenchie is an Existential threat to our country. so grab your beret and your strawberry flower and unbuttoned sweater-vest and meet me in the underground café, we have to discuss this. with him. he's a great storyteller. he'll be the one in the boulanger disguise. no but seriously check out all of this guy's videos on youtube, he's got better stuff than a Major League pitcher. he's innocent and deep. this is how we should all view life when we're NOT on drugs. he's like if Balki from Perfect Strangers and Carl Sagan had a baby.

* our trees DO come from Mars...

* and THIS is why E.T. never came home.


happy weekend, my babies, enjoy the tennis. stay in the shade as you watch Kyrgios throw shade.

Wednesday, August 29, 2018


Taki wakes up in a perfumed pastiche of dry man-sweat, streaked white covers, dead flowers, and fish droppings. she is aghast, licks the crust on her eyes, and immediately closes her mouth. she wrenches the sheet into her own fist, spinning a naked Melbourne flying skinnily into the bare ceiling.

Melbourne: ow! that smarts! that didn't wake me up but you do everytime i'm around you. in your presence scents.

Taki: *pointing at Melbourne mercilessly* nobody says smarts!

Melbourne: i know. i'm dumb. most of the time. when it comes to love. but i nailed the jackpot with you, okay poor choice of words. look up at the ceiling. see? plain vanilla plane. too embarrassing to videotape behind mirrors.

Taki: oh my god......oh my OG god.....i can't believe i let this happen to me.....i was too desperate for this story i let my guard usual instincts didn't kick in i knew that water tasted fishy..............i can't remember what happened last night, that's the sure sign!..............oh my god, my defiled body will never look at my loomed educated mind the same way again!

Melbourne: wait wait, i'd never do that to you, i know how that feels. i know we joke around a lot, but i really am a decent fellow. i'm a man learning. ask anyone. NOT my redditors or clients! it was beautiful. we shared Beauty together in this cover. that is now soaked in my blood. poor choice of action.

Taki: *cackling* doused your duvet. i'm laughing out of release. all women cackle like witched hens when they realize it's impossible to be a woman in this society..........sorry. shit, i've never said sorry to a man before.

Melbourne: we held Beauty in our hand. you make me messy.

Taki: what's that mean?

Melbourne: i cummed all over your face.

Taki: you know you really make this hard...

Melbourne: i know. i should emulate more Bob Mueller, he softens steadily with his. what i mean is that your big tits are my treasure chest, i can rub my nose in them and sneeze, peppering them with dandruff paste. lick off their peppermint phosphate and drown in the downward spiral of their born brown nipples, cursing the day i was ever born not like you. break my collared neck as i lay down on them, expunge all my insecurities into them like gleamed natural oils on pillows, my detritus falling like snow on an ashen apocalyptic field. covered from the craving of your cobwebbed cunt colds. i can shoot my scurrilous male shit into your tits, fold them around my sewer spunk like layers of jelly, wait five minutes like everyone's first Easy-Bake Oven microwave, and out pop a batch of muffins! without their stem, smelling of sweet and floral. fuck i love your tits. i'm too excited to sleep on them.

Taki: can a serial killer be poetic? is there anything inside to draw from?

Melbourne: but that's the thing. why can't we behave like raunchy teenagers in the back of a bike? just cos we're old? we're over the hill which means we've conquered the hill. it's all swallowing gravy from here.

Taki: how does it feel to be a gigolo?

Melbourne: but i'm not a gigolo. i'm a male escort. paid gigolo maybe, but one with morals and kindness. you're not just another, you are my other. i like you................notice i didn't go straight to love after one meeting. like my clients always do. i know the business i'm in and i'm here to stay not play.

Taki: you've eased me for now, made me feel secure if not altogether safe. after all, we're still in the altogether.

Melbourne: i have that Goya in my marble-mannequin room. look, i see the writing on the wall, and it's a mounted wallclock showing the hands at evening shade.

Taki: i was about to reach for my phone and go straight to Emergency Kittens on Twitter to calm me down. i usually call my absentminded son for a laugh but...he's absent...this could all be a parlor trick not a passion of yours.

Melbourne: COMpassion, CON, with you. you've changed my life, for the butter, i can now trip over my grave.

Taki: alright Raunchy Romeo, where to? next bat?

Melbourne: i'm almost comfortable with the Sunday sportscar drive in the park. you just need to nudge me.

Taki: so like, you're into and do rich-people sports? like golf and tennis?

Melbourne: pashaw, boring golf and even-boringer tennis are poseurs, better suited to a community center once the equipment is donated. tis country-club sports, i'm talkin' bout REAL Wealthy Wanderings, Warriors of Waste, taking up endeavors which have no other purpose than to flaunt and fixate and fashion a new way to destroy toys. come. i'm all tapped out. i've never cummed so hard in my life just now! never had to work so hard to let it all out so easily and naturally and swimmingly. like a faucet. that's what happens when you introduce love into sex.

at the hospice, Doryce is punch-drunk, coughing up pufts and tufts of Yuban smoke and spitting beans like a Tommy gun into Gladyce's face like a handball court. Doryce needs to sniff up and clear the catch in her throat and dig up the coffee lining around her teeth with her good finger and spit a full wad every minute.

Doryce: *dazed but not fazed*...why doesn't anyone ever talk about the size of a woman's vagina?'s not fair to the men...

Gladyce: doctor doctor, she's delirious! is there any hope? is she gonna make it? give it to me straight, doc, i can't take news from online, i'm not good with computers.

two doctors in white lab coats appear from behind the silhouetted changing curtain. they are both shady. of compelxion. The Mooch and Dr. Sanjay Gupta.

Gupta: *gulps* have you had your coffee and spliff for the day at tea?

The Mooch: i'm still studying to be a chef...

Doryce: *with Harley Quinn's voice* i choose...............YOU, pokemon. the man with the honest face. brokered not broken. no, the other one, Moochie Baby.

Sanjay: i'm not allowed on Nickelodeon anymore so i guess i'll just hang out here. you don't mind if i smoke do you?

The Mooch: i'm not certified or anything but somehow i got this job. certified but not qualified. i will be serving you tonight a full-course meal of Sweet Sam's, Country Archer, Tukwila turnip soup, cauliflower alfredo, Santa Fe vegetable soup, and a crisp fresh copy of VIA magazine. thank my balls The Store is open 24/7. it's scary to shop at night, not cool. i keep seeing my dead mob mother in the melons. you don't get this kinda service at the Obec Hilton.

Doryce: is there seasoning in each?

The Mooch: they were out of seasoning.

Doryce: well there better be, young man, you are not in a position to get off on good looks, you gotta work for it! you're no dreamy Dr. McDougall. now that's the stuff, that's the soup, that's what's right about food.

Gladyce: he's kinda an upper-middle-crust Paul Newman wannabe.


Gladyce: mostly cos it's a Hilton MOtel. not from Detroit.

Doryce: just save all the sipping soup for me. my teeth hurt like the motherfucking dickens.

Gladyce: we're expecting two of our own to come visit...........soon enough, they're our in-laws from Mexico.

The Mooch: i'll treat those Mexicans like family alright. *fist*

at the Mexican border, in a Jose Cuervo bar, there's a sign of the owner's mother's picture over a caption which reads

we were the brave ones. we fought against Prohibition. we made it so you could get drunk during those times. we made your great-grandfather an alky when he was gonna be a priest. you would have never been born

Laertus: hey buddy! look at this neon sign. see the detail in it? the individual coils around each filament of letter? how each square of that filament is its own grid? when the light flashes, each letter flashes on its own time schedule to form the blink? that's NOTHInG compared to the detail that's in Honneamise.

Dirg: still not as detailed-graphicked as the new Spider-Man video-game coming out this week on PS10. *puts his fingers in his ears* lalalalalala not hearing your weak-tea argument. you drunk again? i mean ever? is this your first time? being drunk i mean. what's the matter, buddy?

Laertus: i've been nursing this here marble glass o' vino in memory of the finest woman i know. on tv. Samantha Vinograd. she's a quality woman. strong and steady, sewn from stern stuff, willing to stand up to dictators and thugs. knowledgeable and kinky. i'm assuming. she makes me feel safe. i'm discovering these feelings in me for the first time. i think i have a thing for redheads, foxy ex-Fox blondes. i'd like to make a toast to myself. here's to strong independent woman that don't need no man, i want to be in her life. *he clinks the glass on his teeth*

Dirg: wow. i didn't think you had that in you. like physically. she of the two small eggplants and you the eggplant emoji. small eggplants look like grapes. so you gonna lay down the Lae Law to her, on twitter or wherever?

Laertus: *spilling his drink on the grass plant leaves everywhere* too shy to express myself without an alias.

Dirg: but we all wear masks that's already been established. it's a societal necessity.

Laertus: i mean take Flashdance for example.

Dirg: okay. *looks at his blank flashcards out of his pocket*

Laertus: Flashdance is what happens when you're given an assignment in film class---much like the film classes we take---that goes something like this: write a screenplay where the story is simply life in a big city downtown in the '80s. Flashdance fulfilled that fervent wish to a danced T, symmetrically contrasting each cunt and curse word and choreography with the joy of art for art's sake and grace and nobility, all against the backdrop beat of the sparking hardheaded human heart. i could live in the space of those characters forever, and there's enough space in Beals's warehouse apartment with too much space for one person that i want.

Dirg: excuse you! and your language! never thought that word would dribble out of your chaste chapped lips. this is you hardcore. well, drunk. yeah i liked that movie. it was back when humans weren't so thinskinned, they could take a Polack joke, in fact Polack jokes were your only way out of the kitchen. and a dancing cop could pretend to shoot an unarmed black woman on the street crossing the road and it was no big deal. we humans were too busy back then being in the working class to give a fuck about a made-up concept like racism.

Laertus: yeah, but it seems male scumbags were male scumbags back then, too, only they sipped Diet Rite and went to confession right after the Live Nude Girls Revue. male scumbags anonymous. male scumbags immemorial.

Dirg: don't forget the scumNAGs.

Laertus: *stumbling in hedges* come over here, buddy, follow me for once. let me lead you to the promised land. what's over here?...........what's this? Wine Garden? well that's different and interesting. i wonder what's over this garden bush?

they arrive unceremoniously and surreptitiously into the night of the party that never ends, the endless squeezing-out of supply of celebs with drinks in hand which inhabit the table of Melbourne's all-night neverending garden party on his collection of two back-to-back edge-to-edge Southern lawns. front lawn and back lawn combined. like a working-class assembly line.

Raphael Nadal: did you see that golfer named Raphael at the PGA Fourth One Major? the commentators were calling him Rafa. it's like if you're from Spain and you're Raphael you're automatically Rafa. golf and tennis are not the same thing!

Laertus takes the silky hand of Patty Schnyder slowly and softly, and kisses her ring finger.

Laertus: *weary* my lady, not to be snide, but might i say you are a volley vision this moonless night. you are pretty enough to be a dirty dancer.

Patty: thank you. but i got second place in the Beauty-contest Bistro Brexit d'Switzerland. all the judges were neutral on me. my parting gift was a fondue sauna, which admittedly does come in handy when i can't get in a quick ice-bath for my elbows at the unisex bathroom in the lobby of the Danish bakery. i should have been Federer's wife. doncha think? isn't it ironic? i mean it was just too perfect. i mean we were the only two Swiss tennis players!

Laertus: i came in tenth in the beauty pageant. i technically count that as a cosplay event for me. i wore the swimsuit happily.

Dirg: hey Patty, want me to freshen your drink up for ya? orange juice, right?

Patty: uh, no. no thanks.

Laertus: no, come on man, not cool. sorry. sober sorry, sober sorries, it's wearing off.

Dirg: thanks for tonight, knight. your OOC showed up much more than your SJW.

Laertus: and i am white. and what are you imbibing, fair Woz? you are quite gorgeous without your beard.

Dirg: and you have a nice ass. i saw it. not a Beals Booty but you can never be black like me.

Laertus: or she. Beals.

Caroline Wozniacki: red margarita. gives me dreams.

Dirg: named after Jose Cuervo's sidepiece. her blood i'm assuming.

Madame Pons: *drinking white wine and gulping* i almost had a heart attack. the headline in my sister's paper i read on the taxicab drive over here read

The Pope Death was about the Pope's death-penalty change. we can never lose the Pope! i look up to her sexiness. i want to learn from her. she's alluring like a magazine, she draws people into her like a witch's invisible web.

Patty: what about Bob? like where is he? i'm saying.

Laertus: can you sensei me how to achieve your frizzy hair? just please write it down on the back of my business card advertising my fanfic site.

at the MSNBC studios, Steve Schmidt is at the newsdesk.

Schmidty: hello, friends, i'm Skinny Chris Matthews. you won't get me to blow a gasket at every little Republican unorthodoxy perpetrated on this country anymore, i've learned to pace myself and remain calm and not have a heart attack and look at twitter cats. i've lost weight so i can continue sounding the alarm for you good folks for years to come to act. i won't be around for much longer.

Chris Matthews: *at the wake* Steve is co cool. his real name is Stephen---not Chris Matthews---and though he smiles on his OKCupid profile he's not an actor. i wish i were he. i love his booming baritone, mine is too Irishy and scrappy and scratchy. but how can i have presence without always looking like i'm at any second gonna streetbrawl you? what's his aftershave? his stridency is like a song.

Schmidty: my first guest tonight is Chuck, that lawyer with the ASMR voice. hello? Chuck i can barely make you out, are you talking? are you saying anything? i made it a point to q-tip my ears out for tonight but i can't hear Chuck! Chuck, can you sensei me inbetwen breaks? i want to have presence like you without having to raise my voice, that's true power. that's Mueller power.

Mueller: i'm at the CNN Studios cos i want to remain impartial. neutral. before i get going here, i want every nationally-recognized correspondent and reporter and newsperson and magic person and magic people and dream person and dream people and Alex Jones's hot girlfriend to all get dressed in robes i will pass out precariously close to live showtime this first week of November. everyone put on these robes, get ready for this big day together.

President Bump: weird charges. on my credit card bill. what's going on?

Mueller: i'm gonna indict ye.

Bump: no. you can't, right? i wasn't named in the indictment! it said Individual 1! i did not confuse my 1 with my L! i mean what am i gonna do if i don't do the Presidency? what is my post-Presidency gonna look like? so what, i'm gonna need those bungling Secret Service guys' protection to follow me forever like the stench of the oil from the undercarriage of a dead Porsche when i never leave my house? i'm never gonna be invited to those pizza parties where, like, 5 Presidents all share the same stage and hang out with the pizza for the photo op. are they just gonna stand me up at malls and hope the whole "respect the office" thing will stay in place for me? am i gonna go back to being a reality-show host and all the contestants are just gonna ignore the fact that the boardroom table is the prison messhall table and the camera-lens has bars and the viewers are just gonna pretend my decade in office never happened? go back to the way things were, back to normal? order?

Bump: if you have to wear robes, make them black robes. this is a funeral.

the two semi-lovebirds are rounding the corners in Melbourne's black 1937 Alfa Romeo 8C Touring Berlinetta. Melbourne has his head laid right on top of Taki's tits while she forces her fingers through the steering wheel to do the driving. the cars are all ready on the grass.

Taki: i can't decide if this from you is sweet or sick. Romeo Raunch. Romeo Rotten.

the car drives like a dream. each hill rises up to curve around lush slicked empty streets which wind through country cottages in the city one on top of the other built upon pile and stack of country archer arrow and the smell of baked bread on the sill, waved on by men wearing white scarves on their heads and the womenfolk fixing all the diagonal street lights to blink. safety is not the standard, sights are. this race brings the community together, like no other race can. the nearby villages and hobbit bridges overhead and half-cities and hill stations hidden in the alcoves are one by the strings and strands of this road race's reach. it's time to traffic in temperance, tickets, and tans. the roads aren't painted so the cars can ride as fast as they can. everywhere you speedily brace, you see a chain of people hugging, forming the line, the highway and lowway boundaries to drive. in the country part of the path, the apple-color street-cars and Formula 1 tipster cars and Formula 1 tipsters follow the formula but are anything but formulaic. you see their white stickers as a ghostly blur topping their trajectory past each other, all the colors of the apple, the red, the brown, the green, swirling like ice cream and matching with their corresponding leaf color in the fallen trees and arches and acreages. big pumpkins hang from the rooftops of the canopy like large bells, ringing their insides---lining the streets in but never littering them out---smashed on the road, dashed by the drift. a trailing odor of petrol mixed with pumpkinseeds fills the hot streets crisped by autumnal airs. the concrete is cooling and the asphalt is autumn, too, autumn and green. not a hint of blue to be seen.

it doesn't matter who wins. the two of them are together.

Taki: i wonder if i can spot my most fervent wish when i'm with him. at least in this position he can't get to my ass.

the plane makes the first turn past the green. Melbourne is shaked and about to crash into the car on the far road! but it's not him in the vehicle, it's Michael Avenatti of course, he enters every race. cheeky natty bastard. Avenatti wears just the monk hood, unhooded---not the robe---and waves handsomely.

Taki sees her son driving the car, wondering how to diagonally position himself to put the stops on and brake that thing.

Taki: steady, steady. easy easy. like you're driving the car. how many more extreme sports are there?

Melbourne raises his hand of three fingers keeping his eyes closed.

Taki: that's digusting! you do NOT come anywhere near my slice with that thing!

Melbourne's lips look puckered like he's sucking on an orange with his mouth closed.

Taki: i wonder...what happens to Melbourne when he falls asleep in his own dream?

in Heaven, John McCain proudly raises his arms up and carries the full load of the angelic choir and the stage and Aretha on his fingertips easily. he has a twinkle in his eye and a grin in his butter-stained teeth. tears do not fall from his eyes, flowers form under his bags, blooms bloom there.

McCain: so i'm at my wake and all i see are long faces. i thought I was the ugly one! where's the laughs, the yucking around, the merriment, the bad jokes?! what's going on? it's a celebration, people!

Omarosa: sorry, i don't smoke.

McCain: but you must. we must all carry on living like nothing happened. otherwise what's the point? the alternative is too dark to think about, we must will our memories back to life. dress them up in costumes with pins and Tetris slats and scrambled eggs if it makes you feel better, if it keeps you dancing. where's the notetaker with the Joycean mandolin humming Father's mistress at school? do you know what the meaning of life is?: handwritten love notes. where's the pizza! where's Pasqually and his accordion? accordion according to the Bible. was the Devil's instrument. something about squeezing out that sound. put that in your pipe and smoke it.

Omarosa: guess you're shit out of luck. i don't have bags under my eyes so i can't provide you with bagpipes. i don't read good books. i write them. i don't smoke. look at my classical Greek profile, not a blemish nor spot. spotless. this is easy. easy. look what happened to O's soldier down in Florida. he won cos he was black. that's all i have to do.

McCain: that's tortured logic. and as we all know, torture is illogical. do you own a gun?

Omarosa: of course.

McCain plucks a bloom from his eyelash and plugs it into the rifle of Omarosa's gun.

McCain: who's gonna eulogize you at your funeral? who are your eulogists? you must think of these things as you live. don't you see what i did? i had my two defeators do mine. to show. cos eulogy is effigy is erudition is eucharist. cos in Heaven none of that stuff matters anymore. there are no more flag flaps, only the flag draped over my coffin.

McCain: it's okay. it's alright. i'm happy. i was humbled a long time ago.