Wednesday, July 18, 2018



the half-Victorian shanty is no more. well at least no more half, it is wholly turned into a pile of razed dust. it is much more Gothic now.

flattened like the pancake Auntie N used to treat herself to when IHOP still didn't serve burgers and had problems with black people.

this breaking news will break The Line's charging spirit, he doesn't know about it yet, blissfully unawares as long as he doesn't pick up his phone. shine it on his backpocket. he's at the Big 3 Tournamnet downtown with Phil. between the Ghost Ballers in purple and the Night Ridas in purple.

Phil: what are you doing here?

The Line: shouldn't you be in England? oh just watching has-beens and hacks toss the ball around a half-court. so sad my man Latrell Sprewell ain't in this mix. i'm making sure the 4-point shot gets implemented in the NBA so the Golden State Warriors will run state-run tv someday. doing my part for the beautiful game. when the halftime show is Britney Spears you know you're not in the NBA no more. i'm awaiting further instructions.

The Line's twitter blows up.

The Line: this is me...............................*he looks like he's seen a ghost*..................what? wha?, can't be...............who is this?.................can't be..............hello?

the person on the other end drops the phone for him. on the court. The slunches over his metal fold-in chair at the foul line.

Phil: everything okay, man?

The Line: what? who are you? what?...........i gotta get outta here

he brushes past security in a cloud of white dust and into the hands of the street. he slaps his lap to make sure his instrument is still with him in his hour of need.

The Line: baby never lets me down...

he takes the bus to Congress, he sits at the well of the senate before the Session starts. he crawls away in the dark of the blackened eaves high above the lowest oval, in the ceiling icicles. he trains his gun at the speaker, both of them for comparison, distance, and accuracy. and scale.

The Line: and relativism.

he cocks back his cock and his gun, past security on a cloud of white dust, not a sound, not a sound heard until the one sound, the sound which will bring him down, both hims.

Holon is at the lectern. the one on the blue spot in the blue carpeted well. with Amtrak rainbow lines. fuzzy blue carpet which stands against the hard white marble. Holon still has on his cut ear, mother's army boots, tied black, dusty, white pin, beige uniform, brown slacks, buttons which go all the way down, punk-rock poseur hairstyle. his orange headband covering his right damaged eye. he lifts up his arm in a diagonally straight line in the air, the same air lit dreamily by the falling light. slow-motion particles. arm banded with the SS. he is able to speak his first words:

he holds a yellow lined sheet of paper over his face.

the bullet hits its mark, through the sheet of paper perfectly, in the middle, deadshot like the last of a nine-darter. crinkling up from the center. Holon's mouth forever quiet. he was about to say something.

the body huddles onto the blue. on the sheet of yellow paper: I'm not racist, I'm just edgy

minutes earlier it was Ocasio's turn, the other guy, both sides, she in her brown suit, with her brown hair, dark-brown hair, and brown headband accentuating her left ear with the low-hanging glittery gold dropping chandelier. she with the shiny new pouty pointy heels and apple pin. she of the bare lipsticked lips and afro in a ponytail, red-and-green-bowed. she of the S armband, she raises her arm with the same diagonal angle.

Ocasio: *mic scratches* we will not be silenced! but we need a bit of money. the underground journalists do their best for us but papers just don't sell the way they used to. journalist don't journalast. what i am saying is that i am willing to be compromised. i speak the truth, when have you heard an old politician do that!!? i need to compromise to get the dough. our pizza is the best, it's flat like, well, we take all theories here, we shut no one up or out, all voices welcome, all safe, all right, never misguided, always out of concern, we are your representative concern troll. they call us angry, we call us passionate. they go low, we get high.

she steps out of the reverberating room, hollow with hallows and halos, to go to the bathroom. first she has a hard time finding the bathroom with all the spiral steps. then she takes a little longer in the bathroom cos she has to sit down and everything. she apparently takes too long cos the lightly-attended meeting is canceled on the spot per House rules and to make way for Holon who will take some time getting his prop cleared through security.

The Line skulks his black eyes into the overhead light to peek at his prey from the peak and peruse politely for a pip. no time for twitter, no time for peep.

The Line: *hushily* they were smokebombs..............but you're in Hell now.......i'll join you there soon and kick your ass some more................i didn't want to go this far................maybe i did..........there's no turning back after this...........the cause is cemented in my stomach is a giant truck rolling mixer machine, hypnotically spinning forever.........i've made my case, i chose a side, may my blood color within the lines. for my side. leave outside the lines for sportscenter, this is no baseball, no sport that's also a game, this bloodsport is no game.....................*breathing heavily* i am now an've crossed the line......................i've always wanted to say that doesn't feel as good as i'd thought or hoped at the moment.......this human moment..........

President Bump is playing checkers at Chequers.

Bump: i prefer this to chess.

The Queen walks in.

Bump: wow i never knew you were so short! the tv actually adds pounds to you!

The Queen: what i lack in stature, young man, i can assure you i more than make up for in stature. would you care to peruse the Crown Jewels?

behind the bulletproof glass of a red box with gold lint lie three sets of treasures: a crown with wooden jewels where the jewel holes are, a fleece made of golden hairstrands of silk bequeathed by Wonder Woman herself, Jason's sister, and a long wooden sceptre that looks like a ordinary stick but carries with it a slithering spectre.

Bump: nice. we don't have this where i'm from. 54 million dollars can you believe it!? loyalty is not a two-lane highway. if little tiny-hands Montenegro doesn't pay its bills there could be hell to pay.

The Queen puts her chipped teacup to her folded-out lip with a cold sore. and her saucer to that cold sore through spindly fingers.

The Queen: and what did you think of the Cup?

Bump: the Holy Grail? sham, just a chalice. o you mean the soccer shenanigans? glad it's over. that dragon with the red firebreath scared me to death. for some reason the color red is giving me the chills. the balloon and everything.

The Queen: *pausing to snide her elide* yes. well that drawbridge opening in the opening gave me the chills. in the wrong way. in my day that bridge went the other way.

The Queen: young man! what do you think you're doing!

Bump has his blue pants by his ankles. and is squatting by the gilded corner of all the wainscotted walls.

The Queen: and when you finally pull your pants up will you kindly remove that waistcoat, you waistcoat wastrel!!!

Bump: what? it's a vest. i thought this was Waistcoat Wednesday! think of it as a baby coat.

Bump: i was told i could poop in here. you guys fixed our plumbing, right? as in, ie, the Cream House plumbing was fixed by you to not work or explode the toilet when you flushed it or something, that's what i read a file somewhere. i've been holding it in this whole time.

The Queen: never mind all that business and come sit on these uncomfortable comfy chairs made of bolted red felt and hardened leather for stumps. have a pastry.

John Kelly: for fuck sake finally!!! THANK YOU!!!

outside on the life-size checkers board cut into the grass of the farm, a slew of chickens encircle and peck at the beak of The Penguin. Giuliani is jealous that the chickens can at least fly a fair distance when kicked and he cannot even do that. that gets his feathers all in a ruffle.

Bump: want me to help you with Brexit? when all else fails, sue. it's brilliant. it delays the problem until they eventually pay up out of just wanting it to go away.

The Queen: i'm afraid, sir. i'm afraid of you, sir. not of you, of course, but of what you might do. and i'm not afraid of anyone. i'm not afraid of God, unless She were female. cos then it's like, really? what the fuck, Ma'am.

Bump: i know God. *haha* there'll be a woman in the God when the Cubs win the World Series.

The Queen: i'm afraid the Brexit quagmire is simply unfixable. you wouldn't know about it. it's just something that cannot be done. really stretches the limits of democracy wouldn't you say? when is it democracy and when is it mob rule? i just wish they'd give me something to do around here.

Bump: wanna come party with me? after this i'm gonna drive up the palm-treed streets of East L.A. with my good friend George Lopez. we're gonna drink a few too many beers and pee on the sidewalks. drive around on that beige longboard skateboard he has which can hold both our weights. or maybe that ice-cream cart he drives. i still have some leftover pizza from the party i was invited to. all of it.

The Queen: why don't you share it with those nice Thai boys. did you see how spiffy they look now? they clean up well.

Bump: what a splendid idea! laterz yous queenie.

he reaches the big mouth of the cave riding on the North American Monsoon.

Bump: America first. howdy, boys? whoa, that sounds bad.

Thai boys: don't come any closer, sir, we may look healthy, but we may have psychological problems for years to come. issues with tissues. Gorgeous Gupta gave us the 411 area code. and seeing you here as a sign of normalcy might trigger long-repressed feelings.

Bump: that guy is your enemy. steals maple syrup from our trees, that's why everything's brown. hey where's Bill?

Elon Musk: he quit. i'm here in my human form. i'm usually a rocket.

Thai boy: sir, the mini submarine thing wouldn't have worked. it was some fantasy out of Yellow Submarine. it smelt of odd perfume that my dad wears.

Elon: i know. it's just ...i have to solve everything. it's a complex. like some have a sister complex and some a brother complex. and some a diving complex.

Thai boy: he was just a nice man, that's all. not in it for the glory like you are. nice men are hard to come by these days. we were just joking around, having a fun time.

Bump: i would have helped but i don't like getting my hair wet. i could have fit in the wetsuit. i want to be funny, too. i try to be funny all the time but then a paper gets dropped in my face and i have to say something else that isn't a joke. brings the temperature of the room down. lights go off. it's a big paper.

US VAR Marine: i hope yous gentlemen can see the vital work these divers you malign do for the world, the real good. they prefer to stay unpublished. we need experts in the field. those underwater-basketweaving classes finally produced their first heroes.

Thai boy: so you're not gonna make fun of the Thai Royal Navy anymore, are ya, mister?

Bump: not unless it's the Thai Royal Coast Guard. now who do i see for this? where's customer service? where are the highlights of the football final?

Marine: i always kinda liked the sport, thought it was boring, but i have to say, this World Cup really explained to me the intricacies of it, the beauty of it, the passion behind it, the chess-like attitude of play, the fact that it's hard to score a goal which is why it's so special, takes timing and heart. being in the box on-sides is impossible. they direct traffic with those flags, airplane traffic. the waffling and going down the field off a cross and counter. running with all your speed down the park with the ball hoping you don't trip on the ball. finding an extra gear in extra time when you're so tired and you score the goal and there's still 28 minutes left you have to play. the poetry of Pogba. and yes, even the ballet of diving. i even learnt a bit of Russian psychology from that docu, i never knew the psychiatry of elation, never knew elation was akin to craziness.

Bump: see? Russia good America bad.

Marine: and that British announcer who does all the highlight-packages for all the matches. what poetry in his startling starting stirring voice! my favorite announcer by far, even better than Alfred Noyes or John McEnroe or the old goal ole ole ole ole ole ole guy.

British Indian woman on the pitch not waiting for cricket season: he's my father. my mother was that one from Doctor Who and that cop show. i hate Curry.

Thai boy: uh, sister? football, uh, soccer?

the British Indian woman nods pleasantly over her veil.

British announcer: and the Galic Giants drive through the driving rain, assembling an All-Star damp field and a dank way to dance in front of their manager. the Champs will be filled with Champs shoes and croissants tonight!!! as for Croatia, the Heavens have opened up and God is crying for them.

Croatian coach: hey, that's our line! that was from a Croatian poem. it's complicated like we are, 14 lines no rhyme. we know ourselves, we've been through some things. our history goes unreported. we play chess on our jerseys not checkers!

Thai boy: we know about your cave of secrets, sir. you want to preserve it, but we know why the cave we were in is a cave of miracles. we found something to occupy and preoccupy our time. we discovered a dusty soccer ball in the very back wall of the cave, in the corner.

it is Ellis Onizuka's soccer ball from the spaceship Challenger.

Bump: i don't want to live on this planet anymore.

the Thai boys present their coach at the press conference, who is Ellison Onizuka! the press scrum clap hardly and loudly. he transforms into a boy in front of the team, this boy with the overstuffed jersey and two twinkling stars in his eyes, the Final is about to begin, and the soccer ball for the Final is on its tiny pillar in front of the field. Ellis picks up the ball, looks up to the darkened sky, and the game starts...


each of the Thai boys are rescued one by one, and as each is announced on the news drones the huge crowds gathered at pubs and public parks and fan zones throw their beer up into the air and rejoice elatedly at the top of their lungs. Messi gets on his hands and knees and collects all this beer before it evaporates for the Germans later.

Bump: do you boys like to party? what do you boys do to unwind after a big event?

Bump visits Vlad at his private windowless office with no doors.

Bump: i await your orders.

Putin: da good, i see you've read the dossier. that's what she says, that's her trademark code line.

Bump: branded?

Butina bursts through after having gotten past security and having gotten adopted by Putin himself.

Bump: congrats on being a father! save that paper believe me. o i see you've gone down the same path i have, she's quite the stunner! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Butina: what?

Bump: red hair! oh hello, who are you? Vlad, can we get her in blonde?

Putin: but you see my friend, all Russians are blonde. the red hair is a cover.

Bump: *reading the picture* should be Marina Putina, rhymes, easier to remember. just tryna make it easy on me. and we have here a Marina Gross? on the far left. see?, Marina.

Butina: ewwww, she's gross! look at me, i'm the Comely Commie! my patience is hot, too. i got cold blood but i got hot patience. *raises fist in the air diagonally* Jesus fuck yeah! breakfast! pancakes! American waffles! i'm Kim Possible, pet my naked mole rat! no the one in my frontpocket American button-fly jeans! sex, drugs in pee, and Pussy Riot!

Bump: now why are you here? what have you come to teach us today for show 'n tell?

Butina: the right to handle a gun. and the right way to handle a gun.

Putin: we handle things.

Bump: wait, i hate real guns! icky!!! ew. i was told this would be how to master the light gun. the Duck Hunt gun. Dick Cheney is my Latrell Sprewell. i'm into playing long involved fantasy video games for a long time. i want to play sci-fi. can we start off with a little icebreaker, blowjob perhaps?

Putin: AFTER the mission.

Bump: okay. we need to burn two hours. anyone know any two-hour movies?

Putin: for these times: Clockwork, Pulp Fiction, Fight Club

Butina: Shawshank

Bump: The Place Beyond the Pines.

Putin: *puzzled* we thought you would say Raging Bull...but actually yes, i want Ryan Gosling's pecs.

Ocasio at a makeshift lectern: my fam, we will be hunted down! they will blame us! pull your headbands tight around and use your heads! this is it! for freedom!

Maxine: *spittin'* chillen now! I AM MARIAH NOT MARINA OR MARIA!!! STOKES STOKES!!! STOKE YOUR HATRED AND shoot it through the turkey-pistol of disappointment appointment! NOW NOW! I AM THE BLACK MARIAH!!! pick up your sticks like you're supposed to!

The Line skulks behind the wooden stage barely held up by a nail, gun in the grass.

The Line: Auntie N was my Agent M. now what? that's why i liked Maxine so much, she reminded me of my aunt. but right. a history i can no longer see, cos i'm dead. but with my scuba snorkel i could see the wave that carried me out to sea. on a moonlit night.

The Line picks up his stick. the stick. the stick attached to the sign, the sign which reads in bold white letters:


The Line jumps on stage and takes his place amongst the shouting and crying crowd. and he begins shouting what's on his sign. all hues. all hues held together by one brown headband.

our crones are on a lava-tour boat. the only ones. Gladyce directs the lava flow so it's only a sprinkling of rain on their heads. Doryce doesn't want to mess up her hair with an umbrella.

Gladyce: calls for monsoonal moisture.

Doryce: that's me erryday down below. o without Bama i am lost, sister. we tried to be each other's lookouts and beach trolls but the red lifeguards who weren't cute this shift thought we were actual trolls and shooed us out. i was just trolling for my next Bama.

Gladyce: when are the Taco Bell Baja Blasts coming with their little straws on a tray? you know in all my years i've never tried that blue drink when i go to Taco Bell.

Doryce: tastes just like the Baja Sauce. tastes like mouthwash, which is good for our teeth.

Gladyce: here, dear, have some burning-hot Texas firehouse chili poured into a specially-made sourdough bread bowl with a sturdy burning-hot bottom. you can't shape normal bread like this without magic. can't find it at The Store.

Doryce: i ate my weight in groceries at The Store! which is not very much. oh hi, dear! hi amby! hi ambie!

Gladyce: Ambassador McFaul, what are you doing here? would you like some Away Recipe saltines? eh.

Gladyce is reacting to Doryce biting down and chewing her teacup.

McFaul: does anyone else feel hot or is it just me? *Doryce raises her hand* i'm under a midsummer night's heat. uh, i think i'll stay in Helsinki a while longer. i have a hel-sinking feeling.

Gladyce: but the light show is here.

McFaul: oh didn't you hear? the fjords were formed by lava, too!

Putin: *flashing his steely-blue eyes and wooden teeth* i'll take the Browder Chowder in my sourdough bread bowl.

Dirg and Laertus at college:

Dirg: why do we have to compile all of Pogba's Diaries and write an existential essay on them?

Laertus: our professor said that by winning Pogba has moved from rapper to poet. Pogba won the Poetry Olympics.

on Dirg's watch: DeMar DeRozan knocks on the door of Genie Bouchard. Genie pretends she's not home clutching the inside doorknob.

Genie: *whispering to herself* i can't go to San Antonio...

the city is awash in smoke and bombs and fire.

Codrus smiles. And Change can only see the semblance of the edges of that smile.

Codrus: well you know, my student wanted to know what it was like to be a god so i gave him his wish. what can I say i'm a softee. i pander to my pupils, you could be one, too. i've got my emissary giving him the tour of godhood. go. take your daughter. i'll cover the fort here. you only have minutes. they're coming for you. this place is not safe.

And Change takes the shoulder of his daughter Sonnet, the corner he knows warmly from the other cold hanger corners, out from the slatted closet she's hiding in with Emma Gonzalez and Michael Avenatti on their knees covered in fuzzy red-and-brown grunge sweaters.

Sonnet: daddy, what's wrong? i can sense you. is it okay if i wear my Frozen princess dress?

And Change: you wear whatever you want, girl, you eat your oatmeal. let no man ever call you thicker than oatmeal. how could a man understand? sweetchild, we have to go NOW and brusquely. i know you are forever traumatized by a school shooting, you've had me homeschool you and i've done it proudly. you've only known this structure as your home. but baby girl, I am your home.

Emma Gonzalez: told ya they'd forget about us. my parents bless 'em thought my buzzcut was cos i was a dyke but it was because of the hot summers this place gets.

Avenatti: i'm here to help. anything you want, pro-bono immigration cleanup work.

Sonnet climbs on top of her father's skinny shoulders like a jungle-gum and kisses him on his lips.

Sonnet: daddy i just realized, the Pioneer Chicken logo of the man in the covered wagon i saw on tv was my first-ever concept of "chicken". what i mean to say is that i have no culture of my own.

And Change: you have me. and that's all that matters, natters. i can't ask you two to leave. cling to the closet, your country needs you. it's so easy to leave when they force you to stay. please stay and fight/we'll be alright/the brown headband/defend the Land!

he gives Emma and Ave his and his daughter's brown headbands.

Emma: but i know Mexico.

Avenatti: and i know Los Angeles. i was taught to be silent and steady, like God. i don't do tv interviews anymore.

And slaps them both on their heads.

And Change: bless you both.

And Change flies out his basement door like a ninja with his kunoichi in tow. to the back way of war.

Sonnet: daddy daddy you forgot your video-camera!

And Change: YOU are my life. and you are a genius.

the two make it to the Mexican Border. all the chain-link fences which line the Rio Grande are cut and swallowed up by yellow-and-black tape. they hop the wall. the 1-foot wall. out of danger.

Monday, July 16, 2018


1. if each of your index fingers could spew a liquid for the rest of your life, what liquids would it be?: whoa, i love a little scifi with my TMI. i'm thinking of Mars and a hopeful vision of Mars, not Mars Attacks! or anything, that positive Mars show about those scrappy CW kids who repopulate the planet after they realize the answer was millennials and Elon Musk all along. it's true, the adults will never change. i'd even take colonizing Mars as a possibility one day, just that would be a miracle. would require one hell of a beach-cleanup and some bottled water but it can be done.

fingers, Mars, thinking of Total Recall and my former governor and his feud and that one British photographer with the saucy blonde hair and cheeky grin, Alison Jackson of the Jackson 5, who puts powerful men in compromising positions for art. please don't sue, the pictures are all we have left of what really happened in reality.

okay i'm going with liquid asphalt so the construction just next literally adjacent to my house will FINALLY complete. it seems it's been constructing forever, like Mars, it never started, it's just always been there, like the Universe. please PLEASE i need to concentrate on ideas. i never asked for another highway lane, i'm a walker by trade. it's not fun when you're sleeping and the roller rolls by at 3AM shaking your home off its foundation. that's only fun if you're the one doing the driving of the roller and you get to blare the horn and flash the light into people's bedroom windows.

2. if you could talk to everyone in the world for 5 minutes, all at once, what would you say? LISTEN TO KOKO THE GORILLA'S URGENT MESSAGE TO MANKIND BEFORE YOU DIE!!! don't fall back on your default position that this is fake, don't take out your phone, just listen, don't immediately start thinking about how you can meme this on your youtube channel with 2 followers, one of those followers your mom, the other Koko.

3. would you rather not be able to eat for a week OR not be able to ______ for a month? let's get the eat out of the way, i do that now cos i'm poor and can't afford groceries. can't masturbate for a month? but what if it's Masturbation Month in May? i can't write unless i wank. i'm a writing wanker. or perhaps a wanking writer. i can't do it, believe me i've tried all the alternatives: reading, music, cucumbers. even good music, in fact the better the music, the more down i feel. masturbation releases and relaxes me, focuses my mind like no other. i took it up with my guru. i asked him plainly when we were both up in the tree: what's better for your soul, meditation or masturbation? he smiled devilishly, flicked his Wings Farrah-Fawcett-hair-mod-cut, and without opening his eyes addressed the topic: "they're the same thing, that's what my father taught to me"

4. what exhilarates you? breathing underwater for days, cos it literally requires you not to exhale. i am from Atlantis. i've just come from Atlantis. the casino.

5. what is the best perk of your job? what is the best perk you've ever had at any job? not working. sex on the helipad, sorry i can't say where i worked or i'll get in trouble. there's so much freedom and anonymity up there, you can do whatever you want and no one cares cos they're all down below. i could pretend i was part of the milehigh club when the helicopter came to pick us up. this was when i was with Bill Watterson. as a Calvinist, Bill wanted to try 69. i said okay but only if he would reveal only to me how Calvin first met Hobbes. after the helisex he regaled me with tales of his experience as a Calvinist teenager in the Summer of 69 and his golden Decade of work when life was simpler. i went on about my dim view of humanity. i asked him what he was doing at a hospital but he wouldn't say.

bonus: just how naughty are you? Putin-level naughty


Friday, July 13, 2018



* the Coen Bros. were Wes Anderson before Wes Anderson. but now that there's Wes Anderson the Coen Bros are kinda obsolete. but hey, half of the brothers got to be with Frances McDormand. there is nothing more spiritual and life-affirming and yogic and yonic on this green earth than sex with a strong independent woman.

* this is if Off The Air "Food" had a plot.

* lemme just start off by saying the concept here is absolutely brilliant, it's something i wish i would have thunk up for one of my stories, the carrot that becomes a weapon and this world's inhabitants don't blink an eye or eyelash at that. that ending just could have been so much more......................i'm gonna ignore the ending and say the film overall was a success like Ebert did with Smilla's Sense of Snow when he said he loved how cold Smilla got sexier the more she tried not to be sexy even though the ending was something out of Roger Corman.

* don't change the channel it's not PBS! but next time it is PBS leave the channel on, you might learn something.

* the source of all life is rainbows.

* good farmer, not playing an instrument, that's red paint on his ho. that ain't no eatin' carrot, that's a measurin' carrot. and for the first time in his life, the farmer wishes he were a woman.

* it's dangerous to play the radio when you're driving a truck. also: smoking.

* hitchhiker: hey, man, stop! we got matching neck tats, it's destiny! just doing my best Bugs Bunny i mean Claudette Colbert impression, who is Stephen Colbert's mother. my name is Kevin Anderson not Wes Anderson!

* hitchhiker: come on brother......o Coen Brother, where art thou?

* hitchhiker: all those who didn't stop are clearly going to Hell, doesn't anyone read their Bible anymore?......who says prostitution is the oldest trick in the book? i'm sorry for making you feel bad but you just got rubed by a country rube...

* hitchhiker: well who'da thunk i'd get murdered by a fuckin' carrot?!!

* casually slapping the murder weapon while ciggin' it

* that's why all the best police detectives are also the best stand-up comedians. case study: Detective Munch. why aren't the evidence bags easy to open like the pot baggies?

* I've heard of fucking like wabbits but this is ridiculous...........doc *munching*

* lady of the afternoon: 300. it would have been 200 if you didn't scream. wait, you really have a cottontail?

* lady of the afternoon: don't act like a cottontail!
detective: i'm sorry but i'm a cop i never have the money!

* tumblr food critic: Humboldt fog...
waitress: is not a kind of light-roast coffee, it's fog from Humboldt. the French are in the World Cup, consider me prescient.
tumblr food critic: you callin' me precious? i could've eaten a burger...
waitress: unfortunately for the soul of this community, the Seaside McDonald's which was a national art landmark was crashed and burned.

* waitress: is Diane your..............? i'm hoping daughter....

* manager: unlike most workplace scenarios, we're sleeping together so i'm a boss on your side. he's white, right? it's simple. you cool down and he doesn't get his ice until he abolishes our ICE.

* tumblr food critic: kinda looks like a soggy penis but i'm used to that...............tastes good!

* here's where it goes off the rails. this coulda been a seminal X-Files episode, not a comedy X-Files episode

* food leaves us humans vulnerable cos everyone must eat food. so food could possibly be turned into a satanic weapon. that's the gist. it's like every Japanese anime: why do humans exist? to be weapons. don't worry, as long as we eat red deermeat we're safe from Putin.

* please, no more orange over the White House

* i'm usually not in favor of remaking classics but this is a way for the Coen Bros. to work again: CLICK HERE / Frances McDormand is the modern Claudette Colbert. i will watch It Happened One Night, it will happen one night.


happy weekend, my babies. i just can't stay away, i need the beautiful game in my life! i don't know who'll win the World Cup Final, but i know what the final score will be: 26-24

Wednesday, July 11, 2018


And Change grabs the mic from off of The Line's bloody ears in one last single desperate attempt to wrest control forever. he speaks into the earpiece as if signing his electric-chair-confession warrant.

And Change: FAM!!! IT'S ME!!! I WILL BE WITH YOU SOON!!!

The Line bullies his head into And Change's skinny stomach giving it an extra one-pack.

The Line: oh no, my fran, you had your shot. mine is more waddy and sticky. it shoots better. and now before i was so rudely interrupted, here are the schematics for the next hit. it's gonna be the big one we're running out of time. don't you want to stop running? the times they are a'changin' so rapidly you gotsta keep your head on a swivel. that's a sportscenter analogy. i played a little college hoop with Stephen A. Naismith Hawking.

And Change: you mean Robert Allen Zimmerman with a Z Thomas. see you just don't get me, nor us.

the rest of the crew are busy blowing their yellow vuvuzelas the four corners of the room as background noise.

The Line: WAKE UP!!! RISE FROM YOUR SLUMBER!!! all you who are deep underground writing and pontificating and screaming at a screen, be a scream queen. scream screen queen. use your ginger fingers to crawl out of your graves, untomb your tombstones and be a zombie of a different kind, be the fodder for freedom!!! i want the whole world on my team! Team World! Team Universe! Team Crystal Gems! i won't lie to your face like Pink Diamond, i'll tell you you're doomed like Peridot. think of me as the Onion.

The Line: fam once you receive your pertinent individual instructions on a sheet of lined yellow paper we are all to collectivism meet at out required stations. blow up this tape so it goes untraced Inspector Gadget-style. hell i've made it easy for you, simply place the folded-in tape in one of the many bombs i mailed to you in a blue-and-red white envelope. two birds and all that to impress the birds.

And Change: what? bombs?! are you a crazy man?

The Line: just smoke bombs, man, you gotta learn to relax more or you won't ever be successful at war. put on your happy face.

And Change has never heard a collective sound so loud. he is used to solitary quiet so he can think. he presses his thumbs into his eardrums like fleshy q-tips.

And Change: and for fuck sake chrissake be quiet, fool! you want the enemy to spot you?

The Line: i'm lookin' at the enemy. you're either with us or you're in the sunk dunk. this is bigger than your precious kid.

And Change: no it's not. it's exactly for my child. my kid is small. no my kid is big. i am proud of my kid.

The Line: everytime you open your knob you make me feel guilty. that i fucked when i should have breeded. i'd have an army by now.

amdist all the chaos And Change is barely able to hear the most imperceptible beep from his phone. in his backpocket. the phone the guys don't know about yet. it's as if it's a sound only a dog at a specific spot in a certain time can hear.

And Change slowly raises the phone from his pocket to the perch of his puffy cheek.

And Change: hehe, just my lady, fellas.

the crew signals and returns to their determined delinquency.

it's an urgent worm. the message has gotten through and affected all of the systems in the half-house. but it's only lighting up to warn And Change here at this screen of his personal phone. the flashing icon used is a big instagram wave. ocean wave. with the comment:


And Change twiddles his thumbs to type out: i hope i have enough time to tell you...

And Change: drat. i should've lead with thank you

And Change: uh, we're friends, right? is your aunt's name Fran?

The Line is too busy wiping his teeth in front of the monitor with his finger.

And Change: right, gotcha.

The Line's twitter blows up. he picks up his phone from his frontpocket.

The Line: Auntie N? shhhh! *whispers to himself in cupped hands* quiet! what are you babbling about? why are you in such wild hysterics? i can never hold a serious conversation with you, you're always spouting nonsenses. Scarecrow? what? you had a nightmare before you had your dream? what'd i tell ya about watching those horror movies before your bedtime at 4PM? you always thought Batman was sexy? you want to lick off his yellow belt wih your tongue? took you back to flashbacks to your halcyon childhood on the farm? the first time you bad memories about it? yes yes i know! i'll pick up the queen-sized lasagna tins and bed on the way! the fellas and i are recording right now you know my music is my life. no, auntie, i'm not dating hookers anymore! okay, i'll be home soon, i'll take the first bus out. no i'm NOT mixing in the wrong crowd! bye.

The Line: damn it all, i need my twitter phone to be my burner phone. *non-extra-time voice* uh, cum'on crew, that was my lady, she's naked and wants it bad and on top of a large fan. she's already drunk all the milk that was delivered.

And Change: it's nice that your lady lets you stay with her. you're like the Eddie Murphy of the '20s.

The Line: *scowling* anyway. we'll settle things here later. you coulda been the first settlement. let's go, i can plan on the way to the bus i mean bust a move. you coulda been part of something big, bih. historic.

And Change: i prefer my spaces intimate. i got a message to record.

The Line ditches his homies the minute they reach the unlit busstop at night. under cover of his cowardice he hides in the bushes till the last bus train homes on his bright eyes. he slinks across the lined lines of the houses in a row, he's memorized this hood, this is where he peed in his first ice-cream cone. he makes it to the back way of an out-of-the-way late half-Victorian shanty with one pointy half-ivory pillar that wants so badly to be Gothic but is only Southern.

he climbs in through the webby window.

The Line: whaddaya want, auntie?

Auntie N is a towering figure tho she stands half her normal size due to the old-woman doubling-back on your stomach everyone goes through. she wears one gigantic gold-and-pewter hoop earring on her right ear which encircles her entire frame. her picture frames are of old farmers looking for dates, not wallpapered over, wallpapered under.

Auntie N: i nailed each and ev'ry one 'em. when you reach my age, you don't just fold inward, your mind folds inward and you contemplate your last words. heed me, sonny, i mean my son. stop ackin' da fool before your ass ends up on death row. the hood is the only row you know.

The Line: and my cornrows. i'm proud of those. did them myself.

Auntie N: shoulda been plowing the rows on farmer's row. a farmer's field is never far afield.

Auntie N: *pointing* now you listen good 'n ready, Constance. imma tug on your ear till you hear me and it hurts you!

The Line: Auntie N., i...

Auntie N: stop insulting me with that morbid moniker. guitar or unknown origin i don't CARE!!! imagines me all manner of nasty images. boy! my name is Netta. a tornado touched these lips. listen to me clearly. i do not debase myself the way you do every time your big nose breathes in all that air. i am a proud black woman, daughter of the South. i know what real pain is. and what it is not. there's grief and then there's grievance. i stood up and counted in Latin. married my Latin dancer. dancing taught me calculus and i formed my calculus. let no man identify me. joined the Civil Sevice and weaponized my civility, taught all those pointy-head kids how to survive in this world, fruitless, like any of your generation could ever conceive of such "cringey" concepts as fealty and sacrifice. you're the cohort cohort. i gained everything i ever earned, if a white man walkin' down the willowed street called me a name i gave him the look over my library glasses and that shut his quiet. stand up straight with my tigress sinews all red and chuck up my blood. once more unto the breach. like the look i'm giving you now. my yellow eyes are a well of depth so bottomless as to induce a flood in any man's eyes. i need not say a word, my hotstory history bespeakeths unto him like the very first Psalm. i don't run around in a brown costume like you lot do. go play in the parking lot some more.

The Line: aw, auntie...what are you watching? it's 3PM so it must be Judge Judy.

The Line is horrified to finna out........his aunt watches Fox News!!!

The Line: it can't be....auntie, what are you doing!....foxes aren't that i lone here?...and they say my generation has a problem with indoctrination....i used to think you were crazy cos you were old, but...

Auntie N: what? i'm a Republican. lifelong. i earned my money. i'm keeping every red cent. not givin' it away to no multilateral man!

The Line puts his entire fist in his mouth to muffle the scream. that leaves his eyes room to dart up to where he spots a strange-looking suspicious yellow-metal tin bucket atop the small oak telly set. Nigger Hair tobacco collectible. with a horrible image up front.

The Line: auntie! be straight for once in your life! be real! how did you get that tin? come to be in possession. did Holon leave this here as a housewarming gift in the present?

Auntie N: who? Oolong the pig? what you talkin' bout?

The Line: shit! they found us! fuck!

Auntie N: get outta my all-paid house with your gutter talk and tattoos. get a job, a real job, make something of yourself. and make something.

The Line: right away, ma'am. and i'm sorry for everything. you don't know me. i will cause you more grief than any of your forebears.

he slunks out the window and retrieves the long rifle skulkily hidden in the bushes.

at the airplane ride over there, President Bump is exhausted and takes up three seats.

Pence, with the white Superman curl: sir, it's time to choose your carrier.

Bump: Qantas, never crashed. oh, you mean Supreme Court Jurist? just watch Cory in the House. i dunno, SCOTUS sounds like a lady operation, or one of my bad dates where i end up upside-down on a stretcher. a dungeon stretcher. i gotta pick a dame for appearances, right? how bout Judge Judy?

Pence: she would be the first woman who had ever eaten out a man. and she hates your guts.

Bump: my sister the judge? here cum the judge, here cum the judge...

Pence: conflict of interest, she's not interested.

Bump: she's never been interesting. okay, fine, Aaron Judge even though he's being deported. sad. i wrestled his mother in a cage match. do i get my red sock now?

Pence: he's white, i think.

Bump: alright the judge from Night Court, he was always my favorite, he used magic to make decisions like i do.

Pence: sir, I hate to be the one to report this to you, but i'm afraid he's been aborted.

Bump falls back asleep, and at the NATO summit:

there's a huge gigantic plastic big balloon of Bump as a baby in a diaper with a safety pin and held by no strings like the British-humor mad psychedelic fractured version of our Macy's Parade. it lurches precariously close to being popped by Big Ben.

Bump has been sleeping this whole time. when he wakes up he can't rub his eyes............COS HE IS THIS VERY BLIMP!!! he is so exhausted he thinks he's still dreaming. but it's really him up there unable to move. he is too bleary-eyed to look out at the loch and forgets that he's claustrophobic.

Bump: i despise transatlantic travel. i am superstitious when it comes to flying over water. i get too tired, i miss everything. i want the gift of flight. i want to flight freely. granteth unto me! hear me up there?

Bump eventually makes it down to the ground as a man. he walks fingerly along the cobbled grills of the street. half-Monty Python walk, half-goose step.

he rounds the corner and is delighted in his eyes to find a balloon shoppe, an old red circus boxxe with gold grills missing its pull wheel. an old man with long gray strands overcrowding the city gutters climbs his nose out of the darkness below his scarecrow hat.

man: here, sonny, i know you like balloons. take this red one. last one. watch the string. wrap it around your hand. i know you like red, reminds you of your lost love. it's free.

Bump: expensive. thanks, strange old man. what are you signaling? the Ben of Clock? oh, that. that balloon up there was hysterical. that's what everyone says. heehee, like Robin with the baby hands. i don't care what nobody says, Teen Titans Go is a good show.

the man's hair makes a sound, the sound of water tricklin' down.

Bump makes his way into the Stadium of Ice Cream for the final of the World Cup.

Putin: did you make it up okay?

Bump: i hate climbing stairs. who's playing?

Putin, smiling: it's England vs....................a mystery team.

Messi, holding all the lots in his shaking praying hands: come on, come on, let it be Germany...

the other team comes out of the left field, 11 with 2 subs. they are all wearing robes with their hoods drawn over their heads. they reach the center of the FIFA Say No To Racism circle. they undo their robes, it's


the Thai boys all flash the peace sign to an uproarious reception, all the vuvuzelas fall silent and can only be played by rubbing the yellow circles of the horns up and down and left and right with a finger by the remaining Russian Buddhists in the vast country. a quiet chanting hum befalls the stadium.

Putin: the V-for-Victory sign.

after a quick push-up to get their bearings, the Thai boy soccer players erase all bad memories of their flooded-cave nightmare and concentrate on the soccer ball being passed around their weary psychologically-broken legs up and down and left and right.

Messi: how did you get out? i mean you can have my bicycle and my scuba snorkel when i go to Barbados. i mean we are so thankful to the gambling god...

the boys: we were stuck in that last nastily-narrow tunnel of rock with no way out. stoned. then we remembered our training. the only way to free ourselves was to contort our body as if we were doing the bicycle kick.

Tricky starts the scoring. he braces a splendid ball in a strike of pure class, footing the Beckham-bending aerial gem in the back of the net off a long penalty kick. cos he's Tricky.

Bump: but he looks white

the lads all pile on top of Tricky and he sustains two leg injuries which he has to be carried out of the game for later in extra time.

Thai boys: it's fate. our day today.

the spirited match on the pitch reaches a fever pitch. the extra time is so long and boring and yet filled with hushed-toned nailbiting tension. both teams kick the ball all around the park like little kids. finally the game reaches the penalty-kick shootout. it is tied 5-5 and it goes into golden-goal-penalty-ball overtime...

the last Thai boy rescued is chosen cos he has the most mettle and this is no pressure at all. he does the bicycle-kick from the spot with his tired leg and kicks it in.

Tricky can't go so the Thai boys win the World Cup!

Thai boy: i got the brace! and i need a brace!

Tricky trips over one of the boys but gets up and trips over himself to show good hospitality and English sportsmanship. they name him Jack Tripper in the English press which is a compliment. he removes the velcro and exchanges captain's armbands with the little kid.

Thai boy: mister, i, uh...without soccer, we wouldn't be here today. without soccer, uh, football?

the American VAR USM referee in the booth, bowing his head and making a signal with his face: it's okay, son. England was all i had, but I've come to realize today that you boys are what i have, too, and that is more important.

Thai life-coach: uh, Federer? what are you doing here on this green field?

Federer: doing Nadal's hair.

Marine: i don't wanna go home.

Sarah Palin shiggle-shuggles the marine's shoulder.

Palin: *carrying her Palin Psalms under her armpit* uh, sir, we need to talk.

another Thai boy: why are you here, Reese Witherspoon?

Reese Witherspoon: i'm half-Croatian. i think. related to John Witherspoon, the important guy, not the actor.

DJ Rudenko kisses Reese Witherspoon on the lips.

DJ Rudenko: just be cool, play it cool, i'm undercover.

the summer monsoons all rain upon Bump's head. pelting with grandueur. all on top of his hair, a dark cloud hangs over him above, overhead view. his hair doesn't move an inch.

a circle of ducks escape onto the field and form a circle in the centre circle. The Penguin tries to play with them but they all drown out his squawk. The Penguin is getting hot under the collar and is starting to smell like goose.

Bump: how is this possible? with all the accumulated yellow and red cards there should be no one on the field for the Final. that is so unfair! i wanted to see the drawing-of-the-lots to determine the winner. don't worry, you puke-green environmentalists, i'll make sure to make that Thai cave a national landmark, it will be a monument for all time. i saw those ancient cave paintings there when i was down there as a child...

Putin: where the adventure began! not knowing how many different endings there were!

Bump: i dunno, i like to have fun. i like wrestling. i'm invited to LeBron's pizza party after this. going on a joyride with George Clooney on his motorcycle later later. i like old movies, i like the Golden Age of Hollywood actresses, the dames, the scorching sirens of the past silver screen, the noir nuts like Sarah Palin and Sacha Baron Cohen. he's Royalty you know, the sex with Di was to die for. see? i like Jews.

Bump: i love that in France, Claude is a female name.

Doryce and Gladyce are shopping at The Store for Bama's wedding.

Gladyce: that Catwoman is one lucky cat woman.

Doryce hisses.

Gladyce: have you seen the new thing, dear? in the paper this morning.

Doryce: who reads the paper in the morning? i'm trying on suits. for my birthday. and insta-ing them.

Gladyce: tryna on poop chutes? it's the most marvelous thong i mean thing! instead of glasses, simply put a spoon up to your eye. cure! instant 20/20 vision! i'll pick one up.

Doryce: just steal a spoon from that deli potato-salad over there, that stuff hasn't been touched in 20 years.

Gladyce: anything catch your fancy, dear?

Doryce: 1850 coffee? light lantern-shade?

Gladyce: ooooh, that was the year i started getting going!

Doryce: Mayo man?

Gladyce: it's not what you think.

Doryce: oh come on. unicorn bust? Raisin Bran with Bananas? noir nuts? adjustable comfort? Purr-adise? puff-pastry pizza? melty boi? can i have nothing, Mommy?

the loudspeakers: service in. service out.

Doryce gives Gladyce the look.

Gladyce: no, child.

Doryce: but it was Supermarket Sex, my favorite game show.

they check their watches for the scores. it's Laertus and Dirg.

Laertus: who won?

Gladyce: Monty Python won! that cute sweeper Nobby Hegel saved the day with his foot!

Laertus: heehee, thanks. i got that reference, you?

Dirg: nope.

Dirg is wearing a Unicorn Bust T shirt.

Dirg: i hate college.

Laertus: me, too. i just want to draw. Queen Walkthrough 4 wasn't better than Too Many Cooks, i just liked it better cos it didn't involve salad if you catch my drift. or diced celery.

Dirg: don't feel ya. i liked the sequel better, number 2.

Laertus: so it turns out Day from Dayworld is actually an incel. yeah i know, i didn't know either, no way to tell upon first viewing. i'm not sure if that makes it a better experience for you or not. with this knowledge.

Dirg: at first, better, representation. but then, worse the more i thought about it and me. why does that bubble site get more views than me? i don't read any reviews on anything anymore, i do my own thing.

Laertus: oh, sir, you dropped this. here. where are you going in such a hurry? Rush concert? heehee. flashlight. you know, in Britain that's called a torch.

And Change: thanks.

And Change returns from The Store with supplies for his bunker. he quietly backstops the basement door with his two stuffed brown bags. he talks into his camera's mouth like a long lost love.

And Change: my fam, welcome back. i missed you. i'll never stop talking to you, for you help me help you help me. this is my video diary of enunciated words, i'm a rapper by trade. i need to get it out. like i lift those weights over there in the back to be less skinny, i need to be strong for you guys. it sucks not having a spotter for that bench, i can only lift so much weight, i need you guys. no that's not my forehead-sweat towel draped over the bar, it's those brown headbands. i need you to lift me, you are my VAR, we'll figure out life together. so i was thinking on the way over, there's the monumental figure. the monumental figure is both a monumental figure and a statue, you know? mental...'s the difference between getting your grind on and getting on your grind, you feel me?...

...wait, hold up...

And Change notices the cameras are crooked. he checks his scores. the screen says 1 FOLLOWER.

And Change: dammit, those scoundrel burglars left the place a mess. they mess everything up. i need my cameras angled just right. you see the background now? my weights? wait, who's that? who is that in the back?

he makes sure it isn't a mirror trick. in the very back yellow-wallpapered wall on a creaky stool sits the man with the Scarecrow hat and tails of gray prortruding from his hidden black face. And Change can only see the man's white eyes like they were white cartoon eyes against a black cardboard-paper backdrop.

man: i love that song. an honor to finally meet you. nice. i like what you did back there, kid.

And Change: uh, it was all you, sir, you provided me the crucial intel.

man: we make a good team. don't worry, the cameras are turned off this whole time, we can talk freely. you are vital to my grand master plan.

he takes off his hat. And Change is completely mesmerized by this face, he can't see it, he knows it's there but he can't see it, he can only see the man's outstretched hand so he goes to outstretch his own hand. And Change is in a psychosis hypnosis.

man: cute meet. cited.

the man bellows like a beluga whale.

man: excuse my face, train rope burns. i like you, kid, i like what you can do for me, only you can do this. you're smart, you got blood in the head.

a pall comes over And Change's eyes, it's as if his eyes have been swallowed up by the screen in front of him. his black hand is a silhouette upon the white hand, white large hand bigger than the whole man himself.

man: you wanna know about strength? i can help you, you and yours are in grave grievous danger. take my hand. shake my hand.

And Change reaches out below without losing his gaze. he gulps in absentia. he shakes the man's hand. the man's hand is not clammy, it is beyond clammy, the palm of the man's hand is all the world's oceans at once, swirling into his lifeline.

man: you may call me Codrus.

Monday, July 9, 2018


R.I.P. Boner. i still think about him.

1. what is the most marvelous thing you have ever seen? Maisel. and Smilla's Sense of Snow. oh Smilla, your sense of snow is equaled only by your sense of love! i would have added and your sense of justice to that infamous Family Guy clip quip.

Greenland is not an area often showcased by the lit spotlight of Hollywood so i give the film credit for that and appreciate. the movie was beautiful, i got lost in the dreamy-white frosty-tundra scapes, the scope of the place, igloo-bunker-mentality innovation, and the call of the wolf wild. the more i live the more i've come to recognize the importance of representation in media, i used to think such things were fodder. it was delightful to see the Inuit mother and child held in high prominence, the Northern Exposure ethos alive and well and writ large on screens dug for silver.

Gabriel Byrne gives a bravado performance:
The Mechanic: Smilla Smilla Smilla Smilla Smilla Smilla Smilla Smilla Smilla Smilla Smilla Smilla Smilla

and of course the movie was beautiful because Julia Ormond. she has to be the most beautiful woman to ever live. beautifullest detective with arctic worms? she's certainly the hottest shrink of all time. really wish there had been a second year of just Goren and his police psychologist, of all my rotten luck the last year this show started to get transcendentally good they cancel the CI thing with the L&O farm. maybe it was just i was really into psychiatry-as-dark-arts during this period. more were best. Goren vs. Severin, where the only two winners are hate and love. no need to lose your job for going fully-nude model, definite Mick-Jagger-the-shrink-seducer potential in this small cramped windowless room. when you seduce your own shrink, who foots the tab for therapeutic footsie? Severin, perfect name for the severe beauty.

otherworldly seeing Peter Capaldi and his moptop in this. think about this, he is already 40 years old at the time. go on and escape in his blue mode-of-transport, Smilla Smilla. time will tell. who knew, right? thank Boe he wasn't relegated to being another Bond villain stiff in a casino. even back then his (babyface) face was rubbery...

the critics didn't like the original author of the book's next offering. they were incapable of understanding it, left the critics cold...

2. are you a starter or a finisher? always the finisher. my room is a sticky mess

3. when did your heart last skip a beat? why? just now. cos i have a heart condition. i got 99 problems and a heart problem is one. the doctor i mean dentist tells me i will die if i don't brush my teeth first thing every morning. talk about pressure.

4. what does your perfect day look like? playing chess in the park with Lou Reed. Lou Reed lets me win again. his gravelly voice matches his gravelly face, he spits and coughs and nothing comes out but his next song he's working on's refrain and last verse. the only acid that comes from his mouth is in his tongue...

5. what would you call your autobiography? The Impossible Job (go England! in this year's World Cup final)

bonus: how does it feel to be photographed? violated. i don't like my body read by anyone other than Harry Pooter uh Potter. post-Rear Window life will never be the same. but i'm using this as motivation to chip away and eventually feel empowered by all this. after all, i am a Russian wedding photographer on Instagram, i can take it. i come from tough film stock. i am hard like Greenland winter, so hard Soviet Russia ban me. i have followed 10 billion people on Instagram.

i'm not gonna say anything, i'm not gonna jinx it


Friday, July 6, 2018



* i'll try not to make this double-length

* the King Walkthrough wouldn't have been better

* this scared me off video games again. i just can't bring myself to wear those scary headphones and mic up to your mouth. they are so unnatural, back in the day it was a pop, a popsicle, a pizza, a joystick, and a kid's dream

* if Tom Clancy were alive, what would he think of Trump?

* triggered=Nirvana shirt. there is no such thing as an energy drink, they all sap your energy, you energy drunk. Florida will secede before Texas. your mom doesn't exist, she's in my bed.

* it's simple: close the tab to your video game and visit your sick mom in the hospital. bring her a Tab to pep her up.

* spoilers: none of this matters. it's all a distraction. be sure to get that hidden 1UP behind her tongue there after you accidentally impregnate the alien queen

* Garcia is the name of my mom's nurse whom i'm attracted to. mental block, why i can never save him in the game.

* ass and acid=same root word

* a government soldier waiting at a bus stop: America 2018

* ginger soldier: what's his name?!
girlfriend: does it mater? i knew you'd react this way! you're no different than Kids React!
ginger soldier: you're screwing a goddam bug!?
girlfriend: he has bug juice, reminded me of summer camp. we're gonna hang up now and watch Mostly 4 Millennials together on your porch.

* mom: i'm your last link to the real world, to a real life. groceries, wife, job?
you: what's the link?
mom: why would you want to hurt me? without me you wouldn't know video games existed.
you: who are those people whizzing by us in the open jeep?
mom: your last hope.

* mom: hot girls like dudes in skinny jeans. i should know, i married your father. that's why you're really a skinny dude in skinny jeans in real life, not this muscley warrior.
you: why did you change my room into your craft room?
mom: the other Rosie is big again.
mom: i ran out of caulk.

* mom: Duck Hunt. see? i told you.
you: why is the water spot telling me to kill myself?
mom: no it's telling you to drink more water, less energy drinks. lie on your leaky mattress.
you: the job i chose to get back on my feet is a drug store...not the best decision. i have a gun, those cool yellow guns which gun on those little tags on cans. tag, i'm it. you can't peel off the tag once placed, impossible even with sunlight. and my coworker has a skin tag, do not rip that off unless you want to die. surgery is expensive.

* deleted bonus cutscene: if you enter that house with your ex and her new boyfriend, you win the game, it's the only way to win the game, you become Santa.

* historians have checked this: the side who brushed their teeth before the battle always won

* i don't mean to be insensitive, but your mother does not like to be choked.
you: mincemeat!
mom: son! what are you doing!!? i ATE actual real mincemeat during the Depression!

* why wait at a doctor's office for PTSD meds when you can work at a drug store?

* you: well she found a doctor, can't really blame her anymore.

* this is the real "Hot Coffee"

* Uncomfortableness of Existence, name of my next band

* she's gonna cum! oh, hi, Firequacker. big hearts...............uh, right.

* Firequacker: look i'm a girl who's normally into pony games, okay? we enjoy what we enjoy. let us enjoy things. i'm hungry. mom doesn't allow me to eat food till i'm done with my homework, this is the only time i can eat food freely. gimme that fucking ice cream carton!

* Fire: shit, even the post-it notes belong to my roommate?!!

* take nap, masturbate, same thing

* Fire: oh so here's where the pony stuff comes in, very funny, developers.

* Killian: i'm Killian Anderson. i'm like Gillian Anderson but with black hair. The X-Files will never end. i don't cum, i make others cum. that's MY Uber, bitch! wait....oh okay i thought that was a ....okay it's just a chef....dodged a bullet there.........EAT MY SWEDISH MEATBALLS!!!

* you: no fair! i can't sway around side-to-side like those old cartoons, my legs are in a bind inside my dropped pants.
roommate: try back-and-forth. jiggle more.

* you: i don't understand my roommate's illogical actions, we used to be best friends. then we started video-gaming together. you ever feel you're not in control of your life? like someone else has the joystick to your arms and legs? joy is a one-way street.

* you: MOM, why doesn't my computer i mean your computer work?
mom: you said you would use it to find a job, there's only one page on it, the job-finding page.

* here begins the Walkthrough-ception, it can all be explained with this one lyrical sentence: the soldier needed sympathy cos the government didn't care so he crushed rocks on the moon instead of Earth/ The Flying Spaghetti Monster interestingly looks like an Octorok in 8-bit, not something from an Italian plumber/ the mooncrusher hasn't posted in a while cos he didn't exist till now, or he was on rocks/ this is all about the guilt of your mom the guilt of you over your mom/ if you don't have haters you're not important/ Batman/ the video-game industry ended with Tetris/ i should have gotten a tablet instead/ Narnia/ this is the real unicorn's cosplay of Firequacker, i know it's confusing/ the interactive-movie laserdisc genre would have survived if they allowed cowgirl porn, now THOSE were cutscenes/ Q*bert was the first pay-to-play, Q*bert was how i learned AP geometry, they used each quarter you spit into the machine melted them down for mercury you would need later for your depression/ keep the likes coming if you don't like me who will? i'm not allowed to like myself until i collect 100 likes mom said no more masturbation if i don't exist in the virtual world where do i exist? why can't real life be a video game? cos God likes Sega better than Nintendo/ Bjork should have done video-game music she's the one who said there's more to life than this/

* anyway, let's not think too much about what life exactly is and that it may not be anything at all..................or that it may be everything and everything and everything, which is worse.......there are video-game Saturn caverns to be have a least until you beat them...........oh it's such a dark day when you finally beat a game...

* Satan had a Son...

* wait! we're all being controlled by a folding-bone mindcontrol device implanted in all our brains!? by a devil in denim? YES! IT ALL MAKES SENSE NOW! (MAKESENSE)

* ive never seen a yellow rubber-ducky for the tub that was made in yellow yarn before, cool

* take your smartphone. and your smartgun.

* secondary sex organs are first in my book. booking: got a red card for that

* it was all an invasion, you WERE doing something with your life!

* here's the thing: you can only win Anya back by becoming the thing you fear the most: a bug. you won't feel the sex but it'll be kinky, she'll appreciate your love of Kafka.

* satanic bug: but you're just a game.
ginger soldier: your mom's a game. *drops the mic*
satanic bug: you've won every Yo Mama rap battle ever in history and in future forever for infinity even after the glitch.
ginger soldier: i hate you i mean i hate myself.

* better to be bored than nothing

* love the combination Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind/Christmas Day yule log

* the update was buggy. get it?

* listen to the fans. this update will need a patch, God is a smoker. save often. you run the risk that you are a simulation if you run that program. shoulda went running instead.

* God spelled backwards is PONG

* 5/4, don't remind me

* war is easy, love is hard


happy weekend, my babies. tonight i come out as pansexual, i want to fuck everyone in the world. tomorrow morning i'm gonna wake up and it will all be over. the matches.

Wednesday, July 4, 2018


in a small club where Blind Melon used to play, where the wooden walls are plasted with dead grunge acts and Farouk's gum, a throng of the faithful squeeze into the bending boards and exposed brick to listen to a revolutionary, a tiny girl many thought would never come to have her day. she is Ocasio. Ocasio wears mad purple lipsick which highlights her ferocious brown skin glistening in a spotlight once used for Michael Richards. reserved for Kramer. or as the crowd chants unreservedly, "Lamer!" everyone wears tightly across their furrowed brows a brown headband. some rattail it with a crumpled bumper-sticker which reads Happy 4th! Fuck Bump!!! in red. Ocasio raises her finger she forgot to get beauty-saloned:

Ocasio: never let 'em tell you you ain't Murican. WE the real Americans...

The Line bumps into And Change in the audience like the return of the mosh pit.

The Line: well well WELL. o so NOW you show up to something consequential? NOW you're not busy tinkering in the basement? what's the matter, i'm not a pretty girl?

And Change: this is not about me. or you. it's about her.

The Line: sure sure. ain't this great, i haven't felt an atmosphere this electric since my last heist. before we had change but it was watered-down and silver and in a suit. this is the real revolution. it feels organic, but it tastes good. feels dynastic, like a soccer scrum which spills out from African plantations onto a redbrick Johannes street. my blood can tell the difference, this time it matters, this egg-time my blood boils at the right temps. this time we really CAN lose everything. everything we've accomplished by the centuries. so i'll fight free and with abandon and with my unconscious fists.

Ocasio: this is our time. Socialism is not a dirty word no more, it's Sicilian, a train Ayn Rand didn't have the money for to complete the tracks over the bridge. no gold for the spike. i am your bridge. to one world of science and robots. i will drive the Earth Ship when the time comes to abandon the planet. and education and housing and voting rights. we didn't need to go to war, we simply needed to fight. your ginger fingers direct my finger. my dimples are designed for deism and dignity. we savage our previous masters with their sin of slavery, never let them forget it, make them feel our Black Death, a black dot put upon their foreheads not by a priest but by a satanic acolyte. we melt down their Southern and Northern iron wills and stir the silver soup and refashion those iron cuffs after a fashion over their red wrists. we won't be shoved around again like cable fodder and shit. the brown headbands we each wear tonight are the new red berets, red stained from the blood of our foresistas. and now, tomorrow bright and early i have a Congressional meeting i need to attend, need to pick out a dress i bid you fond farewell and good evening.

Maxine crashes the stage with all the fury of a black grandmother who has never taken any shit nor green guff from any toddler since she was a toddler. she learned her lesson the first time a boy shoved her down to the building-site concrete. her words stream from a generationless grandeur.

Maxine: STAND UP. that's right. be heard, let them feel you. use your big shiny lips to sing the words of the spiritual when you talk. we are on the side of the God of the Fields. wait a cotton-pickin minute, President Bump, you listenin'? imma eat your lunch.

the crowd swells with abruption. Maxine's baggy beige smile belies her sweet tone as she demeanors for the drone cameras. a smile which interrupts the brown headband strap down her face. her purple pimp dress is a pantsuit with flat gold puffer wristbands.

Maxine: you know we do. our tack is ATTAC. you see how they treat our little black-boy brotha valedictorian? next time you see one 'em on the street give them a little SHIGGLE. storm up to their table at their fine-dining fast-food joint of choice where they're quietly nibbling on their homey honey-drizzled mini-biscuit nugget sandwich with their family by saucer candlelight and you give them a little SHUGGLE. touch their shoulders, let them feel you. push 'em, give 'em a little knock, a little reminder of the boy in kindergarten, tell 'em it's a kiss from me, a kiss from grandma, your sweet bittle grams who lives unobstrusively with nature in the ER Everglades. tell 'em your aunt flo sent ya and you need to speak cousin to cuzzin.

the crowd hollers. the millennials check their mentions. the white folk do the loudest hollaing. and the ginger actresses, they are really into it as they cry.

Maxine: speech out, gotta save my voice. this gon be fun let it begin. ha HAAAAAAAAAA

she takes out a large gun. her teeth, chewing gum, are black-tipped and broken. a cannon. air gun, T shirt gun, hydraulic aerosol with a giant pumper. she guns tons of individually-wrapped Starburst candy mini squares at the audience. they glee with scream.

The Line: *unwrapping* i am so happy to be surprised to find out these are the new Sweet Heat Starburst. perfect for the occasion.

And Change: the mango one is burning my tongue, which you'd think it shouldn't do it's just mango. well, you are the man. apparently. these headbands are really catching on.

The Line: where's yours?

And Change: didn't fit. tiny head. The Lien sir.

The Line: gotta go. nature calls. next time we meet eyes i want to share with you the latest tracks of music i fancy.

at a half-and-half restaurant the logo out front is a chicken but it's not the colonel. Pruitt is trying to shoo the drones away.

a mother holding her baby by her proudly exposed espoused-on-insta tit approaches and broaches the subject with Pruitt.

mom: this is your rebuke and reproach. you're lucky to speak with me. you still have a sliver of soul left.

Pruitt: i can see the red on your own brown headband. and your eyes. did Maxine send you? are you the woman i fired for not spreading my pillows with lotion? those were for Mr. Bump. you're brown, are you legal? hey wait, are you the idiot who was trying to pull down Lady Liberty's skirt today at the Statue?

mom: we all tug at that skirt.

the mother puts down one Scurrilous Sour Sizzlin' Strawberry Starburst square at the very edge of his table as the penny tip and leaves.

at the theatre, Bump is watching the watchers.

on screen, LeBron is about to make his announcement. for the third time. in a bunny suit.

LeBron: i'm the king of bunnies. i make this announcement on July 4th Independence Day cos i'm the greatest living American. we takin' it back. what is ours. the soul of this country. the dark soul. soul. i didn't know what to do for my third time. had to spicer it up somehow. i did the Jim Gray interview where i looked gray in my Nirvana plaid shirt and the majority of the interview was strangely about what i ate for breakfast that morning. i did the letter-read in Morgan Freeman's and Frank Caliendo's and Frank Ocean's voice.

Bump: i like how that git i mean guy thinks.

LeBron: okay. here goes. you ready? Kawhi's comin' to Golden State! Boogie's comin' to Golden State! Oakland's the only place where it's still legal to dance dirty. just stay in your gang and avoid the 'ship or you're a ghost. Paul George's comin' to Golden State! Kyrie's comin' to Golden State! and we know Dame is comin' with me!!! and I am comin' to Golden State! next year's gonna be awesome! there's even a possibility i might come off the bench! cos i'm old y'know.

Bump: wait, what? the Beatles are comin' to Golden State? Paul and George? they're alive? i had a great stay in one of my hotels last night that's why i feel so comfortable here. Pruitt is doing a great job for me. the pillows had that lotion on them you know hides the smell? both before and after?

a man in the empty court stands and a Scarecrow-from-Batman hat encircles a crowded hush when he speaks and claps his hands in front of his face. long stringy gray hairs fall from the brow of this farmer's sunhat and fill the long deep gray grooves of his grizzled face. he is so skinny his pink fluffy sweater covers his entire body as he lifts his feet and knees and exposed toes up to the bench in front of him, resting his meek ball of a frame.

man: i like your style/       i like what you do/.........i want more of this.

Bump is jealous of Jack Nicholson who sits next to the reclusive owner-type. Jack's eyes are seen inside an arena for the first time ever, he takes off his sunglasses.

at the World Cup, the dreaded drawing-of-lots ceremony is about to take place.

Sepp: i love the drawing of the lots! it's so unfair, so medieval! is everyone ready? everyone got their robes on?

Messi comes out in his robe and trips all over the stage.

Messi: sorry. nervous. let's move this abomination along i got my dad on my ass. what do i have to do? put my finger in here? okay, it's drawed. do i win?

Sepp: Japan in, Senegal out.

Messi: no NO what about Germany?!! you'd said Germany could COME BACK IN!!!

Alexi: there really should be a fairer system. than bookings. nobody reads books. shots on goal. missed penalty kicks. Suarez licks. if a teammate kicks a ball into the air like a clown and it goes 50 feet into the stands, that team is automatically eliminated.

Kate Abdo: good morning. what did everyone do on their day off? fancy a felch?

Kelly: danced with Aly Wagner in the booth.

Alexi: danced with a ginger actress to keep my red up.

El Presidente: sewed Messi's robe all night didn't sleep like Ronaldo didn't sleep. and stuffed one of my plushes in that there robe for good luck.

Rob Stone: i'm not Roger Stone.

Cobi Jones: i'm not the black kid from High School Musical. or the Black Power Ranger.

Grant Wahl: i scared everyone out of the club.

Kate: dahlin, you have a lovely face.

Grant: cos people thought i looked like what a good Lex Luthor who ate too much cheese would look like. my smile terrified folk. Putin knew i had to be an American spy from his voracious reading of comic books but was too scared to put a mic on me. he told me later my face reminded him of the very first Russian folktale.

DJ Rudenko: i'm secretly a triple-spy! i'm Croatian wear the Croatian soccer shirt but am laying the groundwork spying here for Russia for the upcoming Bump Putin Bromance in theatres this summit. i'm also the bass guy for the Belgian guy in the commercial in the car who apologizes to America. he's here tonight under this huge pink bear suit. every Eurpoean DJ can't sign a contract until he agrees to have a giant stuffed animal dancing next to his turntables.

Bump: great job, El Presidente. come to America. just not on a boat.

Tony Meola: people come up to me on the cobbled streets of Italy to approach me all the time. thinking the rumors aren't true, like that couldn't have really been the Sopranos ending. they think i'm Tony Soprano alive and well and in hiding not from the mob. i faked my own death for other reasons. the fishermen hit me over the head with their brown shoe cos they blame me for eating all the fish in Italy and driving them to despair and bankruptcy and boredom.

Bump: see i don't get soccer. it's so artificial and fake. why can't they score the normal hard way? everyone scores the artificial way. with set pieces and penalty kicks. free kicks after tickytack fouls just to pump out artificial unearned goals. inflated numbers. earn it on the field of battle. it's like hockey, too, when they do the 4-on-5. they only do that cos nobody will ever score a hockey goal 5-on-5, it's impossible. especially with a goalie at the goal. get rid of the goalie to make the games exciting.

Bump: it was very unfair what happened to Senegal. see? i'm yous brothers, too. i'm down with the brothas.

Bump makes the X in front of his chest with his yellow hands and cuffed arms and smiles gainfully in the gully of a well of the theatre.

Bump: Zamunda.

Bump: wait for me, i want to try something.

Bump ascends the slippery ringless curtains of the front stage proscenium arch. he climbs down them back---not slides them down---to avoid the tension of the golden rope hitting him in the face.

Bump: i loved my homeschooling i mean grade-schooling i mean college days. all those proscenium thrusts. who's got the popcorn? commercial time. oh, look, it's Loki! i mean my wife! i wondered where she went i was worried. for me i mean her. worked into the night didn't sleep to prepare Melania's jacket for today's event. i spraypainted in the back letters which read


heehee. how you like that, honey?

Melania looks into the camera fourth-wall and hisses at Mickey from the tarmac wheelable gothic stairs.

Melania: *whispering to herself* this you foisted on me was obviously not the green-notebook jacket.

Bump: Britney's back? who knew? hey it's that PC Matic commercial. *singing* MADE IN THE U.S.A!!! i love that commercial. but, what? i can't believe i'm saying this but get rid of this blonde and bring back the Chinese guy.

Bill Gates: Thai guy, sir.

Bump: i love Thai food. i love all food. i'm a very loving guy.

Bill Gates: the blonde from the plane is here to see you, sir.

Bump: show her in. and leave us alone. we'll do the Isis fighters' injured legs and the watercolors later. i knew i should trust my political instincts, they're so happy, new, and gay! is she grateful i saved her? why does my shredded bbq meat look like octopus tentacles?

Bump moves his podium in front of him, the podium which reads in carves:

HAPPY birthday, Mr. Bump

at the Royal Ascot, Doryce and Gladyce are dressed to the six six sixes.

Gladyce: you do look quite dashing in your morning suit, dear.

Doryce: i wear this every morning. when i shower. you never join me in there, you're always sleeping. anyway i'd like it if our Stanford man would show in a morning suit. or just the tallhat.

Gladyce: Bama would never do that to his hair. he's a college man now, he doesn't do mornings. he doesn't get up mornings.

Doryce: well he would get it up if he did me mornings. did he ever get off that Ayn Rand train? is his European vacation over yet? why did NBC suddenly broadcast this thing when they never before?

Gladyce: two words: Markle Sparkle. more powerful than the pixiedust fell off any spell.

Doryce: and there's also a horse race here nobody pays attention to.

Gladyce notices a purple horse winning the race no one sees as all the fancy fashion folk raise their champagne glass to their face at the same time in the fashion circle. she waves at this purple horse. the purple horse waves back.

Gladyce: hi, Amethyst.

at the basement, a crew breaks down the door. the door to the basement. those steps have never been so hardly trod on. with heavy boots. at first And Change thinks it must be the fired shots working. the gunshots all around on and in the streets always begin around 9. And Change is filming his latest:

And Change: and so, fam, i learned something today. when i was listening in earnest to the speeches at the club. i love women ya feel me? like no i actually LOVE women, i respect them...

The Line: HEY!!! ANYBODY DOWN THERE?!! you okay in there? today is your lucky day! we're comin' to free the slaves!

The Line sticks his huge mug onto the camera gun. it appears huge on screen in the back.

The Line: hello, fam! what are the chances, And Chance? Mulatto Messiah OUT...

they block his screen with big black cards.

And Change: what are you doing here? how did you get in here?! QUIET, Son is sleeping! or studying , whatever way, osmosis.

The Line pushes And Change all the way to his back wall, his shoulder under his neck.

The Line: you've been holding out on me, Superman.

Amd Change: huh? what do you mean?

The Line: uh Kate Abdo? that's enough to get a brotha to watch a European Right sport.

the crew all laughs.

The Line: we. uh, taking over here, Mr. Mad Mad Scientist. hello, folks, welcome to your new god guru underground journalist geist. this arena's area is under new management. yeah, brother, it's all mine now. i mean ours. we need it for the new headquarters, got locked out of the old place. hey it's not for me, it's for her. this revolution's actually got a shot now. let's see, let's see, first order of business. need a bumper-sticker to slap on a slogan.

The Line strokes his chin while the crew coils up all of And Change's old black wires around their armpits.

The Line: *pointing* yeah yeah got it ladies and gentlemen for my first act! my very first video on this channel. she was impressed with the signs i showed her.

And Change: i didn't show anybody my signs.

The Line: but, uh, i told her i could come up with a better sign if she kept me on. i could get her things. i'm steering the ship. they all pay attention to her, especially the white womens. i could secure a location, a home. her youtube vids get a billion views. and i can and i will. as soon as i find a black pen...

And Change: wow. you sure fancy yourself fancy, sir. doncha, don. gotta be great to appreciate. Janet say: it's all about control. never let the opportunity get in the way of your good story.

The Line: *red in the face* CAN SOMEONE SECURE ME A GODDAM BLACK PEN UP IN HERE? you'd think an underground lair would have one damn dungeon drawstick!

And Change: this bitch.

The Line grabs And Change by the neck and pushes his head onto the camera point with his big greasy knuckle palms.

The Line: and now my man And Change here will tell all the lovely folk of your heretofore secret underground audience the title of that precious song of yours you keep playing over and over ad nauseam like a bad radio ad till we all throw up. you know that, right? that we all get sick from these same vibrations? how do you keep getting good numbers? time to crowd-surf!

And Change looks plaintively into his own commandeered camera.

And Change: sure. fam, it's called "Fourteen."