Monday, April 23, 2018


1. tell us the problem with you in five words: CLICK HERE AT THIS LINK

2. 5 things you want in life: eternal cervical post-clitoral mature orgasm, eternal life that doesn't get boring, eternal bitcoin (must be waterproof), the full collection of all the Gunsmoke radio episodes, and one opportunity to write, direct, and act in my own short-film segment for Imagemakers on PBS.

3. 5 things you need to quit: remove the write/direct/act clause in my contract, they never understand what i'm saying/ that time machine i got that effectively nullifies the need for Heaven/ non-cowboy love stories on film/ my romance with my next-door neighbor that's causing Black Bolt to gossip/ and my staff that only works if i use the word "thine" with the "smite" and the "enemies"

4. 5 things you require in a lover: to be kind as the next Doctor Who, wise as the Hermione on Broadway, as beautiful as Teddy on Bob's Burgers, as ginger as Deadpool, and not accused of anything by the media

5. 5 things you are tired of: Wiki backpages, wars on information, lack of faith in Shy Kawhi Leonard, Joker without his makeup (he looks creepy), and sleep

i have a thing for shy guys. has Marilyn Manson decided that music has passed him by and his era of controversy is just over?

bonus: what 5 things will you never share on social media? the location of Cobain's Daphne Blue strat, the real reason bakers add one to the dozen (it involves a way to use fried dough), the real ingredients in Five Alive (spoilers: six fruits are used, including a way to use a lemon), the one piece of pop culture that has yet to be turned into a meme, and the Royal Baby's name.


Friday, April 20, 2018



* my fish dream involves the Gorton's Fisherman in nothing BUT his yellow rain slicker and slick tugboat hat. 87% of women achieve orgasm whilst fantasizing about Gorton. i can totally see this, Gorton-rescuing-the-mermaid roleplay. we need someone after The Most Interesting Man In The World went to Mars for no good reason in the worst advertising blunder of all time. the Gorton graybeard is the only one i trust, i don't trust monks or judges. thinking of sporting one myself. but my beard will turn gray before it ever covers my chin. have you seen Gorton---may i call him Gorton?---recently? instead of a scarf around his neck he has this heavy blue tugging rope. i wonder if that's accidental.

* Finding Nemo as an existential thinkpiece on A&E.............back in the '80s when A&E used to be what IFC is now

* agent: you're cooling off.
Fish Man: not funny.

* agent: Fishfellas, huh?!
Fish Man: Scorsese's still alive? i heard he got gunned down on one of his film sets. i'm not trying to be grim i really actually heard this.

* Fish Man: i want to be an artist..............a real artist.
agent: this is gonna hurt less coming from someone who loves you.........your photography? you forgot to take the lens cap off on ALL of your pictures for ten years.

* Fish Man: just do your job.
agent: fine.....................but can i borrow 5 dollars?

* Fish Man: see i was doing this thing with the thumbs up and thumbs was more profound before facebook.............hoping now that facebook's over my art can come back.

* SNL rookies: we're just here for the wine...

* Fish Man: Roger!
Roger: your hug was a little clammy. you look like shit. i do love the earring.

* Fish Man: i'm not sure what you look like under the makeup, but you sound like Jerry Seinfeld.
Roger: i get that a lot.

* Roger: i wanted to check in with you first before...
Fish Man: go for it.
Roger: thanks, bud. happy 420. i actually landed the part months ago. before your agent even knew about it. friends gotta be honest, yes?

* Fish Man: yeah these two fingers here........there's a question mark......did God really touch Adam's finger after all.........are we really here?...

* agent: so Fish Man. have you paid my phone bills yet?
Kyle Mooney: Beck Bennett, my lifelong friend and roommate, why do you get more skits than me? and a girlfriend?
Beck Bennett: cos i'm handsomer.

* Fish Man: see this red paint? this is the first ever film fade-to-red.

* Fish Man: this newspaper i hold in my worth 10 billion's the last newspaper ever printed.

* Fish Man: hi. you're an SNL rookie, right?
man: sort of. one of the nondescript castmembers.
Fish Man: i know how that used to feel like. hey can you help me finance the sequel to this indie bear movie i did?
man: Seth MacFarlane?
Fish Man: no, the The Mighty Boosh one.

* Fish Man: who are all these fucktards?
Roger: the friends i bought. hey Adam Driver's having a bender. he's driving us all there. get it?
Fish Man: Adam Driver's hot.
Roger: well he's ugly-hot like me, that's why i'm secretly into him. hey you gotta get out more. live a little. photography is for idiots.
Fish Man: but that's what my art is doing for me: living, stretching out, expressing myself.
Roger: at least when you were a dental assistant the room you were in was more spacious than this gallery, you had room to swim around.

* Fish Man: *after screaming* you're right. the acoustics in here aren't the best. at the dentist's i would scream for ten minutes straight and everyone would run away, even in the middle of root canals.

* Fish Man: i hate you, Roger. it's not fair. i was the one versed in The Force, you still don't know what that is. hey SNL, why the fuck do you keep cutting all my sketches, too original for you!!?
Fish Man: *sniff* excuse me while i inhale this line of my own fish-eggs...

* Fish Man: hey Roger, your joke is wrong. triathlon is swimming, biking, running.

* Fish Man: i'm homeless. but i have my integrity. and i kept my photos.
Roger: you didn't have to keep your photos. i coulda instagrammed them for you.
Adam Driver: this is our son, Crispy.
Fish Man: terrible name for a fish.
Adam Driver: but cool name for a human. it's like a skateboarder's name.

* Roger: is it for sale?
Fish Man: fine. one fuck. be gentle. i won't remember it anyway. fish forget.
Roger: this check probably won't clear. just being honest.

* Robert De Niro: why am i the third man on the billboard after two fish? i know i know, i stopped caring about my career after 2002. Shark Tale was the beginning of the end.

* Roger: is that a real tommy gun?
Fish Man: fade to red.....................


happy weekend, my babies. do fish dream? of course. a fish is dreaming your entire existence right now. and it's gone, the fish forgot all about you in one second. one word will describe my weekend this weekend: Cholula

Thursday, April 19, 2018


at the Summit President Bump is at Kim's red snow-covered Palace. Kim is not there cos he wasn't invited.

Bump: well the official White House line is his invitation got lost in the mail.

what surrounds all the dignitaries in attendance is a countrywide blanket of orange snow.

Bump is checking the scores on his watch. he's also looking at Robert Mueller through his watch complete his meal at Le Diplomate.

Bump: aw, man, this summit sucks. there's nothing to do here. how's it over on your end, Bob? looks busy tonight. how's the Meatball Over Manicotti? that meatball is the size of my ball. i want to be there with you where the action is.

Mueller dabs each corner of his mouth with the longish wool napkin and doesn't touch the food on his goldplated dish.

Mueller: this food is too dry, too bland, too merican, it needs spicing up..

Bump: what is it? like hamburgers?

Mueller: no, that would be German, German is exciting. i need some outside spices.

Bump: that Yasmin from MSNBC is an interesting woman. spices up the weekends. i do opposition-research viewing only. she looks like a bird. an exotic painted bird from a faraway rainbow land. where Toucan Sam lives. i'd love to go toe-to-toe with her, then cheek-to-cheek and finally beak-to-beak. they're right, i need to broaden my palette of taste color, blondes aren't the only fun ones. i'm growing weary of Laura Ingraham. she used to be the model for my Ivanka, i wanted Ivanka to grow up to be just like her, that was the blonde way. but then Ivanka's cosmetics line was one of Laura's sponsors to get boycotted. i'm into browns now. hey is it just me or is it too quiet on the streets? hey did you guys ever find my box of rare Batman comicbooks when you visited my lawyer's home? asking for a friend. i know he took them the fink i've been trying to find those everywhere, sweeping Bump Tower.

Mueller: you see, i have a story to tell. it's taking some time cos it will be a long story. and i won't tell it till my meal matches my story. i won't say a word till my meal is prepared in such a way that time is taken, care is given, and the right ingredients come together after a slow cook. waiter, over here, i'm not ready yet.

The Mooch barges out of the kitchen flaps.

Mooch: yes, sir, right away sir. i'll take your food back again and let it simmer some more in the back a while longer.

Mueller: why can't you wave your magic wand and join me?

Bump realizes this and appears next to Bob at his table-for-one.

Bump: whatcha doin'?

Mueller: oh just shooting the breeze, bumping gums.

a cloud of black smoke dissipates. Mueller quickly barges outside after spotting someone. his mission is to encounter any Russians. he bumps into Putin on the street.

Mueller: excuse me, sir, can I borrow your time? do you know a recipe to spice up an American burger?

Putin: deermeat. trust me.

Bump: can i do it, Bob?

Mueller: no.

Bump: *hands crossed and eyes baby* PUHLLLLLLLLLLLLEEEEEEASSSSSSSSSSE???????

Mueller: okay, one time, keep your voice down, genteel patrons are trying to dine.

Bump stands up abruptly. the North Korean servants who were catering to his every want leap from out of Bump's watch's screen and into the D.C. restaurant. from DK to DC. they hail in a cloud of black smoke and bow profusely but dart their eyes upward just a touch to see if Bump is choking or not.

Mueller: wishbone. my favorite Russian dressing.

Bump points at Mueller with vicious vision.

Bump: YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU'RRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEE FIIIIIIIIIIIIRRRRRRRRRRRRRREDDDDDDDDDDD!!! wow. that made my hair stand on end. trust me, i can feel it. my boss is right, there's nothing like the real thing. this is so much more satisfying than tweeting a firing. too cold. i'm a live performer at heart, i need the Broadway stage!

Mueller: satisfied?

Bump eats a Snickers with Almonds for dessert.


Chrissie: maybe it's just the lighting. dunno. your frame is off. you should have never cut your long hair, Nadal, that gave you strength, not those bad wifebeater shirts you wear with the sleeves cut out. you look like a slob watching tv on the couch.

Nadal: it's not called frame, it's called set. never go bowling on the first date.

Roger: i thought it was an inning. i should have gone into cricket, i have a cricketer's body.

Chrissie: now why YOU cryin? i got ya, my glistening god. jeez. the food better arrive quick.

Li Na knocks with the sweating cuisine. she has a fortune cookie in her mouth.

Li: *giggling* you still haven't figured it out? what ties all these rooms together? they each have the same thing.

Chrissie: soup's on! piping-hot tonkotsu for you Nada and bibimbap for you, Roger That. and here are your chopsticks that are also tamagotchis. i also ordered us some mini-popsicles from the Disney's Frozen line. i got me the white mini-popsicle, you Roger get the blue half-popsicle, and you Raffaelo get the purple wedge.

Roger: *still wiping tears on his elbows* what is this supposed to symbolize?

Chrissie: oh, lost youth. we've all been through it. now let's get down to business.

Chrissie pulls up a lounge chair she folds down by the bed and sets up.

Chrissie: i can't wait to watch. i've never seen you two play before. live doubles.

Nadal climbs on top of Roger and begins shaking up and down. he rides Roger's penis with his butt.

Roger: no need to pick your butt anymore, isn't it freer with no clingy shorts? i still hate that del Potro.

Nadal: easy, amigo, you need to understand the Spanish mind. i can defeat delPo because i speak his language. you see me on top of you? you see me reach high up? i can touch the sky. well the ceiling. you see how high i get? that's the secret. that;s how i'm able to beat you like a drum so many times. like i'm beating you now. my ball has spin which jumps up, over your puny racquet. your little roger doesn't stand a chance, much like your little roger now. don't look up at the ceiling lights, they'll blind you. tenis has been betty betty good to me. notice i said tenis, when it's spelled with one n it's pronounced tenEESE.

after 100 thrusts up and down, with one more for good measure, Nadal's knees firmly buried into Roger's chest nipples that they spill milk, Nadal swings his junk away from Roger's nose and Rafa takes off his fuzzy wristbands and throws them against the huge open window-wall as if he had just finished another performance on court.

Chrissie: *hand on elbow* the court of 40 love. not public opinion.

Roger: *quavering* that was a hard lesson to learn.

no streaks. Fed gets up and sprays all over the lounge chair. with Chrissie in it. Nadal sprays all over the bed, with Roger in it.

Chrissie: that was fun. now for the main course. oh wait no you guys have to have the right shoes on for the atmosphere. right wear for the weather. gotta have the correct footwear to fuck. the right boots to knock those boots. we all gotta wear our heels. i got my boots on. what are yours, Nadal?

Nadal: Tecovas. only the finest leather for my footsies. *he rubs along his ankle to his kneecap*

Chrissie: of course. get them out of your closet. Roger?

Roger: i had Paraboots. but i wore them out. from disuse. gonna have to buy new ones here in this foreign country.

Chrissie: get to steppin. go out into that strange snow. the weather is right. it's not too cold, which is eerie. in the meantime how bout an appetizer?

Chrissie lines up both men's buttocks together and uses the chopsticks to tickle their assholes.

Chrissie: pucker factor. i love being the woman in this situation.

Roger trudges along the edge of the city in the orange snow barefoot looking for boots. it is barely recognizable but still trying to be a Japan snow, however imperceptible, measured and calm and beautiful, lightly drifting as falling. he encounters a huge white boulder on top of which he spots clothes left to wet: a young woman's plain bluejeans and brown loafers, and fuzzy seventies sweater with pink bow.

Wednesday, April 18, 2018


Gladyce and Doryce are lost running around the city which refers to walking. but they are having a gay old time cos they're together lost.

Gladyce: penaten.

Doryce: i know, right? terrible name for a baby butt cream. the poor dearie is gonna grow up to be slammed in the penitentiary!

Gladyce: look at these vitamins, dear. OLLY vitamins. fancy. only found on the Asian markets?

Doryce: everything that is a unique take on an old thing can only originate from Japan. there is no other starting point, it's what they do here. i'm leery of vitamins. i can skateboard on my own.

Gladyce: love is my drug. get those skateboard punks when they're young and still have training wheels on their boards.

Doryce: i'm rubbing off on you! for the worse but at our age it doesn't matter anymore. while they can still compete in the Olympics. i sense we are being followed.


Jeb Bush takes penitent footsteps darkening his new temporary room. he pushes the door and the Yoshito tries to move but hasn't the will. he hangs his head low as a dog so his key doesn't quite fit. he slumps on the bed and covers his large face with his big hands. Barbara Bush sits beside her baby son comforting his shoulder with her stern willowy branch of an arm.

Barbara: there there Jebsy. i hold you as i would any baby. before when touch wasn't used for screens. i'll kiss anyone. i'm fine. i'm with Robin. and she's fine. i'm more worried about the ol' Skydiver. i think he was jealous of me. he wanted to be the Enforcer of the family. the patriarch, but i was always too busy taking his name. how is Georgsy. in Maine that's how we talk, everyone is -sy.

Jeb: *face like a beefsteak tomato* Barnsey is fine. don't know about Dad. he's a wreck. he held your hand till the very end. i'm a mess. i miss you so much, mom. i feel i let you down. i could have won that Presidential run...

Barbara: i feel for him. to lose the love of your long life is the lonelieset of lonelies. it's become a Jessica Tandy/Hume Cronyn situation for me. i won't engage in rumor as i've never done. speculation sells but may incur the wrath of Nikki Haley. i just praise it up to my faith in Ferris Bueller. it's better to have dignity than a dictatorship. but i still have a few old friends at the Justice Department i'm keeping an eye on. i can really look after them now. no secrets. no you couldn't have. but i'm at peace with it. look at me, look at your mother.

Jeb turns around to see his mother's bright white hair turn back brown. she smiles gently.

Barbara: the old ways are scoffed at. they are accused of being genteel but they were at least gentle. in front of the scenes. they serve as the bedrock, and even old wrinkle-filled fossils like me will melt into the lava of nostalgia. time flies, and in the blink of an eye it's all over. now pull yourself together and get ready for Jamie Gangel's interview. here she is now.

the crone knocks the door with her nose.

Barbara: hello, Jamie, how are you. nice to see you again.

Jamie: hello. madam, i see that you are well.

Jeb: oh. you're nice and everything but you're getting old. i was hoping for Robin Meade. can i see her? got any more of those perfectly-good paratrooping planes in the back?

Barbara: that's why we agreed to that interview. and that specific HLN correspondent. Robin.


in another adjacent alley, the two top lawyers Jill Wine-Banks and Joyce Vance decide to split a room and end up on the floor. kissing and tearing each others' clothes off and kissing some more.

Jill: i couldn't take my eyes off you. when we were on MSNBC this morning together. you were in the Hollywood square just below me. like i am now on top of you. two boxy dames. you have such a command of the law. it rivals mine. and you're so cute cos you're one year younger than me. not really but who's counting. ravish me you raven-haired goddess! they're right, i really need to expand my options, there's more to life than blondes!

Joyce: you are so hot! you really have an engine down there! we're only as old as we feel.

Jill: that's literally true in my case.

Joyce: thank you for this hot comfort. you've helped me heal. i've been grieving the loss of my father for some time now.

Jill: it never goes away. and i'm an expert in time. i'm always on time. there is only now. hey what's that cute little white football with the red A you're carrying on your hip?

Joyce: my Alabama football. my good-luck charm. you won't believe where it's clipped on. here's my engagement letter.

Jill: oh honey this is no time to get married! did you say Bama? i have a friend....she's just a friend. save that football. we'll definitely use it later. you know what really sold me on you was your crooked lips when you talk. your sidemouth delivery of speech is hot. sidemouth-talking has been an attraction of ours in our clan for centuries.


back at MSNBC in the morning. the next morning. Nikki, Chris Matthews, Brian Williams.

Nikki: so how was your vacation together? it's not a bromance until you guys make it official. am i repeating myself? i don't repeat myself. i missed you guys. my guys are more rough.

Chris: it was a Holy Week like none other. i will never forget it. it was holy. we were nice to each other.

Brian: i needed the week. to recuperate from the everlasting surreal nightmare. otherwise i would never get a vacation from this.

Chris: you know i know i'm not supposed to say this, but the more Presidential you get, the hotter you get. now that i see you again up close under the hot lights...

Nikki: don't bro me if you don't know me.


in their room, which is a honeymoon suite, Molly Qerim and Jalen Rose are getting busy.

Jalen: get on up..............get on up................please, now is the time!

Molly's naked ass fills the entire breadth of the room.

Jalen: baby i'm trying to take a selfie of us, getting your good side. but i can't fit all of you in the frame!

Molly: *waiting and looking disgusted* did you put it in? i can't feel it.

Jalen is trying to focus his penis in the middle of her crack to take the best picture. it fuzzes in and out.

Molly: are you even slapping me with it? my butt hasn't moved an inch.

the motel moans and superfreak shrieks begin, and last all through the night long.

Moritz Wagner deadlegs it out from under their cream bed. cream-colored sheets.

Moritz: now this THIS is what my ears have been waiting for! i shall use your sounds to create the modern opera! modern for the Instagram age! your sex shall be the template. for what is music but another orgasm? i shall experiment with sound, my i-operas shall sound like none other, grand and grandiose and grim like my grandfather. i'll be the male Bjork. what? i've had to concentrate on my music minor now. this is all CBS's fault. if Michigan had won, i'd be a bigger German star than Nowitzki or The Hof. now i'm forced to take philosophy classes with know-it-alls with big heads who get Ritz Bits with loads of cheese stuck in their handlebar broom mustaches.

Molly busties out with a "we hear ya!". Jalen is singing to himself.

Molly, Jalen, and Moritz all high-five each other in a triangular tandem, the couple Molly and Jalen in full coitus.


Chrissie's eyes glaze over themselves. she licks her lips at this unexpected fortune.

Chrissie: what's going on here? why is it that you two are fused at the hip? like you can't discuss one without the other. you two are never separate entities.

Roger: oh no. not him. he's on my hip. please, no talk of hip fusing, that's down the line of my surgery bucket list if my latest back folds like a brown paperbag.

Chrissie: how did he know which room we were in? should i answer him back?

Roger: i've been through this before. it's no use hiding. he's a mad dog when it comes to his sniffing. he'll locate you eventually. his knees eventually will recover and he'll be able to run again.

Chrissie starts to push her finger down. before she can activate the key Nadal is at their door, still eating the half-banana, and crying.

Nadal: i found you, my love.

Chrissie: *blushing* thank you. don't mind me i'm naked.

Nadal: not you. though i was taught to respect my elders. my legends i mean. Roger, we really need to stop meeting like this. we need to hash things out once and for all. the frequent miles are killing my black bank account.

Roger: i'm not in love with you! stop following me!

Nadal: but it's fate we were thrown together at such an early age. you wouldn't be who you are today without me. and, how you say in English?, vice-versa.

Roger: i dunno but it's wrong. i think it's vi-SA versa though i always found it strange to pronounce vice like vi-SA.

Nadal: i have my visa. you can learn to love me. just like you learned how to come to net finally. forget these women, womens are crazy.

Chrissie: i'm standing right here. but it's true. well you're already here so you might as well come in. don't get on the bed, i don't want to mess it up. we fuck standing up. would you like to order with us some room service before? some menage munchies?

Nadal: please. i must bed. i must let my knees rest.

Chrissie: you know now that i get a good look at you as my eyes adjust to the newly-on lights, you don't quite cut as impressive a figure as on tv. the muscles seem to have been that state where the balloon deflates to a point where it can't be popped anymore? it's tough to describe. it's like you have rather spindly boring legs, legs which bore holes, and an awkward and gangly frame like a wedge of watermelon. your spine is bifurcated into rods, as if you rest on your backbone. your head looks like it could swivel around. your arms are coils and your feet are on rollers. your profile from the side looks like your nose is a carrot. as you stand there on the rug with your arms in triumph, you appear to be a kind of silly scarecrow Walt Disney would draw in his early days, presumably when he was still drinking.

Nadal: that is the hottest pick-up line i've ever heard. are you an Artist? the girls in Valencia don't speak like that. they do with much candor but i can never understand what they're saying, they're always whispering and giggling.

Chrissie: good. i hope you feel better. why were you crying earlier?

Nadal: oh. i was just thinking about the end of Adventure Time. that will be the saddest day in the world. that is my favorite cartoon.

Nadal begins to sing. his broken English disappears when he sings, it's just English:

Nadal: *tearing up around his nose* come away with the butterflies and bees......and then the rest of the song in the end-credits no one ever saw. i once got stung on the nose by a butterfly on the court. that's why i stay WAY back behind the baseline.

Chrissie: where's that room service!?

Monday, April 16, 2018


1. write your 3 sexual commandments and share them here at Tmi Tuesday:

* thou shalt not know a person until thou biblically knows a person
* the Parting of the Red Sea was actually the first documented case of climate change
* i don't know what substance is for the first year, but the perfect wedding gift to give Prince Harry is a chisel...
* bonus 11th Commandment: do not see The Last Temptation of Christ for bingo night at your church picnic

2. tell us your 3 Ds of relationship destruction.

* Special Dark chocolate: this chocolate seems sophisticated. it seems to cater to the coastal elites and media class. the college professors who weren't accused. i tried to get into it....................but i can't it's too sweet. chocolate shouldn't be that strangely sweet. it's like meeting a new person for the first time, it's slightly off. chocolate should have heft and nuts.

* DDs: the only thing which makes me weaker in the knees than DDs are DDDs but those don't rhyme. and only alien girls have three breasts.

* Carson Daly. this man is sexual chocolate. he's no Ryan Seacrest. anyone else find American Idol weird now? i mean it's on Sunday night. nobody wants to watch American Idol the night before the work week begins when you're pacing on your bed, you have enough numbers to call. why did they bring this show back? Seacrest looks uncomfortable. Clay Aiken's work is not done walking the broad way teaching us all how to be human.

3. WikiHow lists several steps to seduce someone. what are your top 3 moves of seduction?

have you seen those WikiHow cartoons? i dunno but that anime needs to be on adult swim. i play hard to get. i tell them i'm a poor writer, my health is failing despite doing yoga every morning, and i need help. the quickest way to stop an instagram DM conversation cold is to tell them you need help.

4. what is your sexual healing? putting a Marvin Gaye record on the phonograph, vaping before i go to my job where i telemarket at that company that's trying to end smoking amongst teens before the next election, 100%, Finish It, know the truth at The Truth Dot Com. tobacco and all that. and audition for Imagine Dragons for the 86th time.

5. would you attend a class that taught you how to have an orgasm? this sounds like my college experience. you start off wanting that liberal-arts degree but you end up a lifelong liberal. i still don't know what Rhetoric is supposed to be. then you start concentrating more on your minor than your major. you attend strip shows for the first time cos it's part of your Porn Class that's like Art History or the History of Literature but very narrowly connected to English. one thing that Porn Class taught me: there are good people in this world. and i was doomed to become a writer. that's two things. see? progress. progressive. i would attend such a class. but i'd be the only one in the room. even the teacher wouldn't be there. i'd have to teach myself how to orgasm. which is what i did in my dorm room for four wasted years when everyone was asleep instead of trying my hand at naughty underground comics for the school paper or something. at least put your frustrations to good art.

bonus: in which areas of your life are you overly confident? overly or overtly? i suppose it's the same thing. i need to get confident. i need sexual confidence. thankfully there's a WikiHow cartoon for that...


Friday, April 13, 2018



* i want my writing to be leveled up so high that the Cartoon Network show Level Up will be allowed to continue to some sort of natural conclusion. at least to run out that season. i mean they LITERALLY tore down the background props as the actors were finishing their lines. they took the mic out of Aimee Carrero's hand. the world needs more Aimee Carrero. her spunkiness must not hole up in Aspen. that was the first time i ever saw Eric Andre. who knew?

* grammarly: to grammar righteously

* Jake: i had the perfect opening line. but this toothbrush was in my mouth.

* Jake: wait i think i pushed the wrong button. you have to pay for this dating site? no. bye. i mean who's to say i won't find my soul mate at Petco?

* Jake: hey Eva, we both swiped right, it's fate.
Eva: i'm not on Tinder. who is this? how did you get this number?

*Jake: hey Eva, if we dated our couple name would be Javanka.
Eva: i voted for Pence to be at the top of the ticket.

* Jake: what? you thought i was just housesitting? look inside yourself.

* Jake: also, i think i love you.
Eva: how did you override my block?
Jake: sorry. i meant to say always i think i love you. thanks, grammarly.

* Jake: i spent all day trying to come up with clever catchphrases and film quotes. but then i realized i've never seen a movie or watched tv. i haven't eaten in weeks.
Eva: okay okay! YOU choose the restaurant! jeez! you don't have to be a baby about it!

* Jake: hey. Eva?
Eva: hey. *hug*
Jake: first impressions: it looks like you're not wearing any underwear under your polka-dot dress there. it's fluttering too much.

* Jake: Café Regular?
Eva: why you crying? do you have IBS? don't worry, this café serves prunes.
Jake: no, thinking of the cancellation of Regular Show again.
Eva: i love Cartoon Network! you look like Eric Andre.
Jake: yeah that's a thing now ever since the cancellation of Level Up.

* Jake: are you named after that anime?
Eva: what, just cos i'm?...................look inside yourself. where's my purse? oh. there it is. i dropped it.
Jake: very funny. my name is Finn, nice to meet you. Jake was my stage name.
Eva: nice to meet you. my real name was Kelsey all along.

* write the future, right the future. not copied from that Ronaldo ad.


happy weekend, my babies. stay indoors tonight. there are no fireworks for Friday the 13th. (edit: redacted)

Thursday, April 12, 2018


a strange man with long hair, uncouth beard, and willie mustache. unrecognizable. it's Boehner. he wears his polkadot bandana under his jeans shorts as a belt. he has Paul Ryan with him. they commiserate over an untapped keg of beer on its side.

Boehner: well young buck, you thought it would be easy to eliminate welfare. your college dream has been shattered. how do you feel?

P Ryan: relieved. i can finally get that haircut to fix my crow's nest. make my hair presentable when i visit my wife and kids.

Boehner: don't relieve yourself on me. little hard when you hold that Gavel like a croquet mallet, huh? this isn't exactly the cheap farm beer you envisioned with Wisconsin cheese, but it's better. take a swig.

P Ryan instantly gets high. he is too stoned to cough.

Boehner: i never knew there was green in green. I LOVE POT. you see this bong here that Paul used? it's simply my usual whiskey bottle, rejiggered. i call it the Boehner bong.

Fed: the loveliest shade of green is matcha.

Molly Qerim in yellow: the worst part about Michigan not winning it all is we had to come home early, i had no excuse to stay over here in the wild west. our Final Four was halved. i had to return to the dregs of my job with that knucklehead.

Jalen Rose: i must have done something right in my life to land you. i guess i had an extra foul in my backpocket after all.

a small school from Baltimore wins the tournament. but no one cares. it gets swamped in the ratings not with the Masters but with the Country Music Awards, for the first time in history.

Molly: *addressing the narrator* no messages, just fun. more a past life. yes, but The Boys From Balty got a win at night.

Kenan Thompson: i am the patriarch of the Ball family. never lost.

Breanna Stewart in her evening makeup: yeah actually I never lost.

Kenan: woah! you are a tall drink of water. that's never said of a woman. you are my amazon queen. with a gummy mouth, my perfect woman! lay it on me, Bre, tell me how wrong i am.

Canelo takes a bite from a McDonald's hamburger of Siberian deermeat. Putin looks on with glee in his teeth. Canelo's red hair starts to fall out.

Grayson Allen clings to the cord of his room phone. his eyes are dreary and loose after the loss. the walls seem to be thin everywhere cos he swears he can hear his coach's ghost from beyond the grave.

Grayson: i'm gonna do it.

Coach K: now Grayson, we talked about this. all year. i'm speaking mannerly. you are a very sick person. you have the sickest shot i've ever seen. you missed the bunny which would have advanced us. Duke Nation is forgiving, it took Laettner decades to achieve the hate Patrick Reed engenders now. you go through these mood swings. ups and downs. that's called life. the life of the bipolars of the Earth's crust. don't be rash and erratic.

Grayson: i'm gonna do it. i'm gonna run away and never come back. in fact i just did it. you'll never locate my location. you'll never find me.

Coach K: now Grayson, i'm speaking to you as your Army buddy. you had that tip-in. if you just tipped the ball in the basket things would have been different. for all of us. just the tip, remember what i always teach you boys? i now do one-and-dones but you are not done, you are my one. forever family. now i'm coming in, okay? i'm in the room next door.

Bump positions Budden like an erect ragdoll with his hands to the center of his harsh orange room. he makes her stand on the spot meekly while he turns around, he gathers himself for his permanent performance. he turns cruelly back around and with bloodshot eyes and foaming mouth and a shade side he delivers the blow of death:


his hair gets out of place for the first time ever. his finger wags at her face so hard she bites it. she holds the glass jar with butterflies in it above her head as a shounen girl would do.

Budden: i'm not that kind of girl. i should be paying you for that. can i go now?

Bump: yes, like i said. thank you. i was hot but now i'm cool. it's just it's been a long time since i've actually said those words out loud in an open setting. feels good. the acoustics in here are malapropriately magnificent.

at the far-off last room on the floor sit Gladyce and Doryce holding hands together on the bed jumping on the bed with their butts.

Doryce: you know Kathy Griffin could always get a job doing that spokeswoman for that pill or whatever. you know that redhead i see on tv in the full pink bodysuit like she's the inside of the body? does a funny dance and cock-blocks the woman who's trying to have anniversary relations with her husband? thinks she's funny.

Gladyce: i thought that was Kathy Grifin. i remember when the inside of a body was a man. or am i thinking of that blue fairy who does the toilet paper? why did they change the blue lady? i am blue over this.

Doryce: and where is that kaiju kuseum museum that was promised us that's supposed to be around here? that video-game museum with no doors. do they have early-bird tours? Bama must be there!

the lights come back on. they are restored and recovered. but not before all of these stories are told.

Chrissie: wow. there's so much activity on this level! stories on this storey. all of these mini-dramas seem to be focused on this floor. i wonder why.

Li Na knocks on Chrissie's forehead. she giggles like a schoolgirl but doesn't cover her mouth. she speaks English forcefully. she has Nishikori under the gray puffy covers of her bed in the open-doored room across the way opposite. she giggles again. she has a flower in her mouth.

Li: oh yes. everyone's here. have you tried the new rooms? but i bet you're missing one very important guest at the moment. he's staying in R111. check your mentions.

Li tries to bow her mini-bellhop hat on top of her square head but it's fastened on by the chinstrap like a McDonald's birthday hat.

Li: i kissed Nishikori in the mouth one time and it was so magic it corrected all of his crooked teeth, heehee.

R111 is the one door that's closed at the moment. Chrissie checks her email. under the spam heading reads Tokyo tryst? Rome rendezvous?

Chrissie clicks.

the caption your cute is over a picture which slowly downloads like slatted blinds. of Nadal. in his den. sitting on a chair. naked. eating a banana.

Wednesday, April 11, 2018


Chrissie cups his face with her hand. Roger kisses that hand and embraces her the length of her arm, undoing her pillowy crease.

Roger: Mirka doesn't know. she was just about to read your tweet when i tossed my phone up in the air and smashed it down the 17 stories of the hotel we were staying with my racquet. i'm not known for a powerful serve but that was the hardest serve i ever hit. 100 i'm sure. we're not divorcing only separating. she's taking the kids to her sister's. they do that, i'm never around so they have vacations without me.

Chrissie: i'm not exactly sure what you're saying. something about a bird. you here for a Tokyo tournament?

Roger: HELL NO. what is hell in Romansh? it's hell. Hell is Hell in any language, we are all humans destined for Hell.

Chrissie: you speak Swiss. which is just English, right?

Roger paces back and forth the considerable length of the room.

Roger: i can't believe i let Delpo into my head again, his accent is alarmingly disarming. speaking of, can i fuck you? maybe you can be some sort of jammer, what do the baseball players call it? rutbreaker. i love those baseball jocks, they're always on ESPN challenging me to a rugby match, saying they're gonna tear my knot corduroy sweater.

Chrissie: wow. this has been my dream all along. but things are moving too fast. why don't i show you round the place first. swanky room, huh? i paid for it with a credit card. look outside. smell the technology hovering my brain. it's like Tron out there, no roads, just lights. Tron was the last movie i saw and remember, cos it was the last movie that was paid for me by a date. damn you, Jimmy. everywhere you turn, buttons to push. the Yoshito, this hotel is a modern marvel. they say it is made entirely of a mech's penis. whatever that is. the tower is suffocated in lasers like a candycane lighthouse struggling to breathe. the stories move around like alive tetris puzzle pieces. except this floor. the city is purple. never all red, never all blue...

Roger: can we move this along? let's go, let's do this.

Chrissie: right here right now?

Roger: there is no other place i'd rather be.

Chrissie: i'd always imagined our first time would be at least in a bed.

Roger: this expensive Asian thread rug will catch our droppings. sorry. what are you wearing?

Chrissie: *sashaying in a twirl* can't you see?

Roger: i gander. and i gather. but i mean what are you wearing? i don't know. the brands.

Chrissie: well it's my usual. my Henley nightshirt...

Roger: i need to get over this. remove everything save the boots.

Chrissie: *smiling proudly* my Markons. spitshined them this morning, had a premonition something special would happen.

Roger: save your spit. you'll need it. it the spit. i spit on my tennis balls like golf balls. can i please slide inbetween your insanely-big tits?

Chrissie: wow. you are more of an Adonis naked than i pictured. you have perfect proportions. your dimensions are from another dimension. your asscheeks are the same size as your facecheeks.

and so the two novice lovers motorboard without a manual and with only a stickshift. standing up. Chrissie rumbles and rocks her matronly mammaries, swamping his little Switzerland-flag-red roger hiding it away in her crease. Fed is rollicking against her slappy flesh and mumbles in Swiss.


and Roger is not known as a screamer. and he cums so hard. harder than his hardest serve. 101 mph at least. he shoots his cum like a frozen rope up to the ceiling tiles and tastefully gaudy chandeliers of the old Shinto gods, knocking out all the lights in the room. and the building. the hotel power goes off. for a second, until the ingenious sedulous Japanese kick in. the emergency power glows an eerie green in the back corners.

Chrissie: i'm exhausted. i did all the work. that required extreme coordination of limbs and sinews, i'm not getting any younger. my wrists hurt. i may never serve again.

Roger: *panting* thank you. that was hot. it cooled me down. you were my favorite player growing up, the boys in Brazil made fun of me for liking a girl. my back is broken from standing but it was worth it. i can't see you now. i went blind!

Chrissie: i'll order us room service. but it's gonna take awhile cos the food needs to be cooked over a candle. let me call my girlfriends in the interim, i must give them the play-by-play.

Roger: it's already on twitter. how do you achieve power?

Chrissie taps her phone against the back of her head.

Chrissie: darn, no bars. had one bar for one second.

she steps outside her room. she pokes her head out full of dirty blonde authoritarian hair that is all messied up but still manages to form into a bun.

Chrissie: room service?

all the other occupants in their rooms roll out of bed baked or naked and poke their heads out. in the middle of their stories. the middle of what they were doing. wondering what's going on. with the lights. they are all on the R floor. Chrissie's room is R611.

one drop of rain falls from the sky.


"have you tried the new thing?"

Chrissie Evert was a woman who knew she packed. and not just her clothes to galavant around the world spreading her tennis knowledge on the benighted. which was mostly the United States, the world pretty much were cultured on the sport of princes. she was the envy of her best friend who couldn't find her attractive, and of the male commentators on ESPN who loved everytime she wore one of those flowery prints which highlit just how massive her tits were. her breasts were sources of great pride and wonder, Chrissie was old but her front frame kept her vigorous and youthful, the entre of trays which welcomed you to her world of high-breeding, eternal beauty, the elegance of the ponytail and the wooden racquet, and a granny's experienced love. her history preceded her, but of course nobody remembered her playing days. she was simply the hot milf who never could let the sport go, and was teaching the young whippersnappers who were ebony queens and pregnant themselves. and did charity tournaments for unknown Hollywood celebs and the worthy Bud Collins in the summers at her tucked-away mansion in Florida where there is no winter. she commiserated over the phone nights to her friend Beadle, who reminded her that you cannot be a sportscaster and a feminist.

which brought back a lot of things for Chrissie, even if the public had long since let them go. she remembers that infamous interview she gave the BBC during the height of her popularity and winning ways when it became painfully obvious to anyone observing that no matter how much of a jock she was the public wanted her to be a princess. John Major conducted the interview. Chrissie is speaking to herself through her pillow in her room at the hotel as she notices a beetle sprawl across the balcony rail:

Chrissie: i remember the blindingly hot lights. the Prime Minster was grilling me for hours as if i were at a grandstanding Congress hearing. i was not one to showboat so i stood there quietly like a dumb-jock mouse and answered all the invasive entries into my personal life. they angrily shouted questions at me but i was not the President. they demanded to know why i broke it off with Lloyd, why wasn't i loyal to Lloyd. in truth i had forgotten all about Lloyd, i was onto the exciting dark underground Jimmy, which they didn't like. relations between our two superpowers have since cooled, but they were as hot as those lights. not so much thawed as cooled. the Minister demanded to know why i made that sexy Lipton commercial where i rub the glass over my neck and throat.

John Major: tea is not meant to titillate! you're playing tennis without a net, young lady!

Chrissie: it was the '80s!

i couldn't believe they found that objectionable. i still had my lesbian haircut which Martina groomed into me. and a frumpy '80s one-piece on those palms and pines and climes. reclining on a sandy lounge chair. anyway that was the very same night Jimmy cheated on me so i wasn't so thrilled to delve deep into my investigations. i wanted to get back to those 17 match-points i saved. i was done with men, i was feeling my haircut.

Chrissie receives a knock on her phone. it's Kris Budden.

Budden: preparing for 420? i suddenly found myself alone in a hotel room with the President. so i decided to step outside for a phone break.

Chrissie: smart girl, what's up?

Budden: i was doing my remote for my tribute to Dick Enberg.

Chrissie: i'm gonna miss that Dick. this is giving me ideas...

Budden: prepare yourself for the invasion. your inbox will be inundated with spambots up the wazoo. pay no mind to any of the forwards claiming to be from celebrities and tennis celebrities, they're not real, they're net traps.

Chrissie checks her watch for scores. there's one from Roger Federer. it simply reads your cute.

Chrissie: that is so adorable. i have always secretly had a thing for Roger. but i dare not tell anyone. i thought he was the one to restore my faith in humanity. and men. he is the paragon of virtue. his sweat glistened in the Australian sun this past Major, he had that surfer hair though i'm sure he doesn't know how to swim. his racquet is a golden trident. he is a god amongst men, he will never retire, he is the Ageless Wonder as Fowler keeps braying, i like the McKendry Chris better. he is the most ordinary-looking superstar we've ever seen, he doesn't look like he would be athletic at all if you cornered him at a busstop. that's what makes him cheeky and cute.

she types exactly as much as she says above into the body of the box. but she doesn't send the paragraph back to Roger's private email account. she's a grandma so she's bad with tech. instead she sends the message to her twitter account which she accidentally starts and with an illfated push of one button this becomes unbeknownst to her her very first tweet. on a platform she knows nothing about. it immediately gets a million sycophant likes and a million and one jealous unlikes and is retweeted throughout the unknown universe.

Chrissie receives a message through her phone, the same phone Budden was just on.

Chrissie: moshi moshi?

Roger: where are you?

Chrissie: is this...........Roger Federer? funny, i was just thinking about you. i'm sure Mirka won't mind. i have too many Ms in my life. what's up i'm busy. no i'm not i'm being a petulant 13yo girl.

Roger: where are you? i need to speak with you right now.

Chrissie: you sound just like Quentin Tarantino. so distinctive. but without all the baggage and luggage. you should ask me, i know how to pack for a trip. i really have nothing to do now, i live off my pile of money like a bed, semiretired, travel the globe on a whim. go where i'm not needed. bored mostly. i've been staying at this swanky new pad in Tokyo for several months now. lounging. chillaxing. not sure how i got the reco. it was swimming in my inbox one day. i can forward you the directions. or the coordinates. come up and see me sometime, sugar!

immediately after she puts the phone down, by turning the off-button on, Roger is at her palatial door.

Chrissie: *answering* you are fast. where did you come from?

Roger: *panting* no i am not. look at my soaked shorts. don't look it's embarrassing. there is no finish line. Miami. where you live. where damn del Potro beat me again. i always let him do this to me. he has my psychological number. i can't beat down friends. he is not my friend anymore, he is my frenemy. i lost the Number 1 ranking again! i was doing so well, i wanted to go undefeated at my age all year and the rest of years. i'm taking off the French cos i need months for my psychoses to rest and recover. i am fragile and vulnerable and in a skipping mood. hold me.

Chrissie: come in, Friend Fed. step inside my humbleless abode.