THE PURPLE HOURGLASS: BREXIT FIXIT

Llywarch and Laertus huddle together on the heath. they have become closer these weeks as Dirg is off doing devil-knows-what and not caring where Laertus is, Laertus is studying his ass off and needs a break, and Llywarch is always there, always there on that field marsh, whenever Laertus seeks him. they hug as a matter of course now.

Laertus: *quietly* i'm whispering cos i don't want Dirg to hear. even cyberspacially. but...i love you...

Llywarch: *laughing smilingly silently* heehee, yeah, i love you, too, my friend, not like that, i mean more. but why should we keep this hidden and suspicious? isn't it perfectly reasonable our love?

Laertus: well, not really, not yet in my world. i'm sure yours is far-superior cos it's been accelerated by the one-touch of a simple button.

Llywarch: uh, something like that.

Laertus: i think the omg-fall-in-love moment came for me when you declared that you would dedicate your life to activism. i fell in love with your civil civics. and your ears. you don't know how anathema that is to Dirg, he holds it as a sign of weakness.

Llywarch: well i do have three lives......that was a joke.

Laertus: you are a noble beast, in both ways. are you ready for tonight? there's gonna be a big freedom rally at LUSH. you gather all the animals of the forest who are your friends, and i got just me but i'm brimming with spirit! all of us---soldiers, friends, reporters, and allies---will turn back the tide of this salty scourge on the Earth of revenge porn. scorched can only get so hot.

Llywarch: i'm not exactly sure how to conceptualize these horrible images of which you speak in my mind, seeing as all of your images are taken from my land. but i agree with you that it must stop. you've been spending a whole lotta time here, are you sure you're not slacking off on your studies?

Laertus: i'm good as long as i don't sleep and don't sleep in the dorms and eat only coffee for meals. don't worry, i'm still really into and have time for my slacktivism.

Llywarch: hardly, most of the computers i know don't care like you do.

Laertus: i'll be there! we'll be there together!

Barr steps up to the microphone:

Barr: remember rainbows? i'm not telling you what to think, i'm thinking you what to tell. okay so i'm gonna keep it all to myself. the Report. it's just so interesting, i read an unredacted portion of it to myself every night right before i go to sleep to keep me awake. it's more lorey and magical than the best of Tolkien and more action-packed than Goodnight, Moon. come on, the President's a good guy, he's doing a good job. so i'm never gonna release it, it's better this way. easier for the country, let's everyone just move on. this isn't a scuttle, this is about the true definition of asylum. okay? thank you, bye. oh...here's the principal conclusions of what i just said: Fuck you, world, hands off, it's mine! 

Wolf: you got that, Cuomo? the handsome curly anchor, not the ugly flat-haired governor.

Chris Cuomo: no. i don't care about that stuff. what we're gonna do on my show is for the next year we're gonna dissect the Notre Dame fire. front to back pew. the nave, the candles, and those apostles with their heads cut off. both the statues and the real people. come on, people! where's your faith!? aren't you more upset by this? this is why Catholicism is dead. you can't have two Popes! you can't have one pope strangely in the corner like a quiet mouse who pops his head out for cheese and whiskers every two years. it died in the Crusades, it's just nobody ever recovered the Body. the Church is the Body, not a building...except THIS building! my idea: the Pope celebrates Easter-Sunday Mass at the site of the Notre Dame burn, that would be a powerful symbol of Renewal and the Resurrection.

The Pope: yeah i was planning to...if it had been a large pile of black ruinous dust. but as it is, as it stands today, and as it stands, i think imma gonna skip Easter Mass. got some frequents to Fiji i've been thinking about using, i need to get out more, use my miles. and mileage. yeah i'm gonna be missing this Sunday on vacation.

a large red double-decker bus screeches onto the grey stone cobbles in front of Parliament and the Tower and the Palace. a confab has been assembled, all the brightest minds from all over the world, to solve this Brexit thing once and for all:

Jeanie Buss: everybody get on the BUSS! MY buss!!! all aboard! this is more romantic than a train.

a radio program is being conducted while the bus drives around corners. the famous Naked Girl with BREXIT spraypainted on her chest by Banksy is carrying on as all Brits are trying to do with their lives but getting a million followers a minute, more than the fledgling station has ever seen. they especially like it when she wears the headphones with the snake-coils and sits on the radio seat completely stark-naked and the GOT throne trolls make that known in the live-comments.

Dirg: you can't choose your followers...

Jo from Real World: San Francisco and her ex are on opposite sides between glass in the non-soundproof room both with mics countering each of the Naked Girl's points for their own side's benefit:

Jo: as we all know Brexit Is Impossible. i love your fashion sense, love, but i'm afraid the listeners aren't listening very well to your cogent points. you are for...some things and against others.

ex: no, I love her fashion sense! that is owned by me! the proof is in the callers. I have a cause. I am the eaglehead of a revolution!

Jo: oh shut up! you're nothing but a loser! and you're taking the country down with your loserness ever since you declared for Brit citizenship.

ex: what can is say? i love British telly.

Jo: just sign up for BritBox in the States! stop ruining everything you touch! it's all cos of you! we had the votes, i voted Remain in the 100th general election---the one to break the stalemate---and it was looking good, the country was up by one, then you had to come along and cast your secret ballot which was livestreamed on Facebook and you voted Leave and it was a god-save-the-queen-damned tie again!!!

ex: okay i'll make you an offer deal: you sleep with me again one more time, and i'll break the tie and vote Stay, like that song with the girl in glasses. watch out for those feminazi girls with glasses.

Jo: in the summary words of Barr: fuck you.

Jim Hill: hey, family, keep the faith.

Chris Cuomo, microphone up everyone's nose: i like you, Jim Hill.

Julian Assange is dragged out of his home and is nearly run-over by a stray double-decker bus. a home a place he treated like a hotel room, trashed it like an undeserving rock star. he is muttering gibberish that only online trolls can hear.

later at the bobby box, he's telling the police and Doctor Who all about it:

Assange: i will assuage you. want some nuts? nevermind, you millennials will never get a Michael Keaton joke.

Officer Pete Davidson: SNL is the arbiter of pop culture. officers can be firemen, too. so what's the deal with you and Pamela Anderson?

Pamela Anderson in a red blouse: i honestly thought he was Santa. i mean Santa is the ultimate fuck for a girl.

Avenatti: let the record show, i do not sound like Telly Savalas...

Assange: i'll tell you everything if you promise not to tell Pammy this: well i kinda vaccinated her without her knowing, just to prove a point and my theory. that explains her balloon boobs. they didn't pop with the introduction of the needle so that's a good start.

Pete: come on, you can do better than that, you're a conspiracy-theorist for satan sake, your stories are better than the reporters'! don't YOU tell ME, i know who did 9/11 personally.

Assange: what i provide is 100% truth, and it's also 100% illegal. truth is illegal. look, truth is, i'm trying to get out of a jam. i looked up to Tony Hawk and always wanted to be a skateboarder. unfortunately that drew a lot of young fans to me and my various hostels. so i jumped at the chance to have THE Pam Anderson teach me extreme sports! to do with water i gathered. she was more into surfing and bodyboarding and the like, and i'm deathly afraid of water, i won't even drink the water in my diplomatic shack.

Tiger Woods has entered the chat and the world and takes off his red shirt, throwing it down on the meadow as it forms into a red circle which provides the Red Table.

Tiger: *on his Nike phone bugged by Avenatti* Roger? those back exercises you lent me were fantastic! i DID it!

Federer is at the mountain receiving the holy robe from Zion. Chris Evert is by Rog's side looking at him beatifically and zombie like Pence looks at Bump.

Roger: and now, my dear, it's time to make the Collezione spaghetti! with Giant Meatball!

Evert: oh, it's really food. i thought that was a euphemism. after munch, let's go check out this 4-hour-long tennis anime i unearthed from French Open soil while accidentally pushing the wrong button on twitter...we'll have to travel to Machu Picchu...all mountains are connected...

Federer: i look forward to next week when i'll join The Breakfast Club at the Red Circle Table to discuss my red logo and hats and that famous tennis movie. i'm happy for you, my friend. what are you gonna do now?

Tiger: i'm never gonna give up and imma continue my yoga with pancake-house waitresses! Jack? is that you on the other line?

Jack Bauer: i'm kinda busy...coming up with a new idea...

Tiger: no, not you, Nicklaus. hi-yo Jacko! how do you feel now, old man?

Nicklaus: come on, Tiger, i praised you, i congratulated you from the heart of the desert. i'm genuinely happy for you. but here is where this ends. you've had your moment, now don't you come any closer to 18 or there will be trouble. i'm warning you. you wouldn't like me when i'm angry. you wouldn't like me when i haven't had my Arnold Palmer drink at 6AM. old man, i'll show YOU old man! you want to end up like your old man, Tiger? and what's with that weak fish-kiss to your girlfriend?! come on, give her a real man's kiss like i will!

Bump: i was offended by what Obama said. i'm a divorced dad, you know, all my voters are.

Tiger: you're shaking in your loafers, Jack. hit the road. there's bourbon in your Arnold Palmer, not iced tea.

Jack Nicklaus turns into a huge golden bear and eats the clubhouse until it turns into a huge 19th hole.

President Bump: Tiger, can i...?

Tiger: no, sir. you see the difference between you and me is i make my crazy dreams come true for good.

Bump: you should be grateful to be here, Tiger. where you are. i provided the hurricane which delayed that Sunday up for you to win.

Tiger: what up, Russ?

Russell Wilson is filming himself naked in bed with a naked Ciara. as per his new exciting announcement. he twitters that spicy vertical vid out into the world.

Molly Q: Rus already won by locking down Ciara. whooo-eeee! well that's hot. that's intimate in the good way. why don't we ever do that, Max?

Max: Molly, are you EVER gonna visit my boxing show? it'll get canceled before you come.

Molly Q: i am known as a late-comer. i will be there, son, maybe next week...

Nipsey Hussle is inbetween the two lovers in blue hologram:

Nipsey: ahhhh. knew it. hustle to nip it in the bud. now i can just lean my arms back, build another foster-care home in the clouds, and rap to the God of Lazor Wulf.

Eye Lugagge: i love that show. slightly less than Wolf's Rain. i love how the wolves talk then stop talking and their tongue comes out of their mouth and drops right after.

Nipsey: i'm naked cos i'm an angel. this is my eternal reward.

Aisha Moodie-Mills and her wife are also in this bed made of redwood, both naked.

Aisha: straight from the Golden Bear of Berkeley.

Ciara: don't get any ideas, baby.

Russell: that's crazy. i thought that other Moodie-Mills on tv was your sister! but here you are the both of you!

Bump: i had no idea, either. Aisha, dark darling, what a waste for us men!

everyone: get out!

Bump: okay i'll leave the sheets, tho. no i just meant her as an in into the black community, that's all. to learn her ways. in the bedroom, for political purposes.

Russell: this is crazy! have you seen me in the new EA football video game? i look so realistic...TOO realistic. i mean the lines and dots in me are not vectors anymore, they're pores and freckles! when i blink with my game-me's eyes, real human glass is stained with tears. there's an air of disquiet when i play myself, during the silent moments when the crowd in the game isn't cheering in the back.

Ciara: *eating cereal in bed* i honestly couldn't tell you apart, your character in the game looked MORE real than you do right now staring me in the face (and head) in this bed next to me and my sexy eyes.

Eye Luggage: okay i don't get all this Game of Thrones hysteria! why is it such a dire situation? i mean except for those cute wolves. why are there guitars and RISK board games being made of this show? i don't give a fuck about Game of Thrones. i don't give a fuck who wins! who the fuck cares?!

Dirg: is that why your screen name is Dragon Keeper?

Eye: hey how'd you know about that? watch it, buster. no that was for before. that was when i was kid and had a crush on Dragon magazine and Tom Cruise. none of that iron beats the iron in my Harley Hammer. and fuck Opening Day! who cares about baseball anymore? that bat will NEVER compare to my Harley Hammer. but my Harley Hammer DOES give me wood.

the crones ride their brooms to Ronnie's Sex Shop after making a wrong turn at Colesburg in Cape Province, Doryce thought she was tracking down a Nat King Cole she resurrected with her spell.

Doryce: thought it would be providential.

Gladyce: you know better than all that malarkey, dear.

Ronnie is there dusty and with a toothache. he directs the ladies to their usual rooms, large beige-colored sandpaper/sandstone rounded interior desert huts that look like Star Wars. or Burning Man.

Ronnie: *with a peculiar accent* have you vrous been here before? i don't remember, i can't tell. want our Blockbuster's Video lifetime-membership card good for any Ronnie's around the world?

Gladyce: there's only one, that's why we come.

Doryce: oh sure, love, we come here all the time, i think. now get on the bed and hatch out a dozen eggs through your anus-hole. come on, hurry, it's Easter! you'll miss it! that's how you lot celebrate, right? i don't want to know how you color them. here, see? even the bed is hay so it looks like a straw basket. or nest if you like.

Gladyce snatches 4 of Ronnie's forced eggs and eats them whole.

Gladyce: *burp* sorry. missed breakfast.

Doryce: FOUR EGGS!!? who eats FOUR EGGS for breakfast!!? what a waste! i'm never talking to you again, Gladyce! fuck off and you! stuff it! stuff your straw!

Gladyce: i tried to think of the brown as chocolate, not poo. they were good.

Doryce storms out.

Gladyce is left with a hangdog look. so is Ronnie on all fours.

Gladyce: *sigh* huh, i guess she's still mad about the meatball, and me.

Ronnie: don't blame yourself. i created this sex shoppe to help women, it wasn't a man thing, i wanted women to bloom and flourish and nature-noble and be sexually free. there are still good men out there in this world, you know, with nothing to gain and everything to lose. how may i help?

Gladyce: i know, love. know any good world-famous buffets?

Ronnie: there's the Wicked Spoon buffet court. in Vegas, i think.

Gladyce: no, no more to do with Boston accents.

Ronnie: Cocoputt in the off Cook Islands.

Gladyce: that's better. she needs to work on her golf game. a tad. and her cooking. and her chocolate-eating. and the isles still fall under Her Majesty's stewardship, old witch blood. i plan to go next week. for next week's adventure.

next week happens now.

at the world-famous Cocoputt Buffet, the carpets are diamonds and the gold squares are filled from above with all manner of food...that has been replaced with nothing but dozens and dozens of eggs not from Costco cases...per Gladyce's spell. this makes Doryce smile though her teeth and she eats ALL the eggs.

Gladyce: all of these eggs you see before you came from my butt.

at LUSH the meeting is about to begin, there is an air of political-naughtiness in its spark. the white sheet is draped over the how-low-can-you-go pole outside on the back-lawn.

Madame Pons: the film is about to begin. this isn't a summer blockbuster with superheroes, this is an important film which every sentient being MUST see. it will change the calculus of how we nourish ourselves forever. mind body spirit suds interconnectedness and multiculturalism with animals. nothing regressive about dying for food, Americans without left thumbs do it all the time.

all the forest animals from Obec Woods and neighboring Wythenshawe and the young female college-students with bows are gathered side by side each other, some squatting, some standing up to watch it together. Llywarch's hen Yoricka acts as a kind of Green Day Ernie puppet crowdsurfing on top of the crowd.

Madame Pons: this will be our battle cry. this will unify us, make us a collective, stick us all to the cause with celestial and ceramic Fixodent-and-forget-it glue.

Llywarch and Laertus arrive fashionably late but no one notices cos this is serious.

Laertus: sorry, traffic on the information superhighway. what'd we miss?

Pons: hey, guys. oh, you can have the leftover food in those pink boxes over there. some justified desserts i picked up at Beard Papa's. cream puffs.

Llywarch: for us cream puffs.

Pons: these puffs seemed friendly enough, they were smiling at me under glass at the store. i mean Beard Papa is revered as Santa in Japan.

Laertus: there is no Christmas in Japan.

Pons: or, like, Beard Papa is Julian Assange to them then. you know, a folk hero either way.

Llywarch: can you more deeply explain deepfake, Madame Pons? i saw it online as i looked up at the sky on the way over here.

Pons: a virulent form of revenge porn we must extinguish from society. i've received threats from them mailed to my place of worship---my place of work, i worship the soaps here at LUSH---with pictures of college students i've counseled here at the University, young newbie women new to the adult world, freshmen and sophs wading into the world, trying out being sexually-free for the first time. it's not all pleasure and proactive pain, it can be daunting and danger. threats about taking their virginity not the way they want or exposing them as sluts when clearly they are not. the pictures have my girls performing the disgustingest of lewd pornographic sex acts on and in video but it's not them, it's their faces photoshopped onto other bodies but it looks so realistic---hyperrealistic---that you cannot tell the difference. in fact it looks MORE real than if the actual person was filmed doing these things. they tried this first with celebrities but moved quickly on to civilians. we must put a stop to this shock shop slop.

everyone waits in the crisp night air bottoming on their temples. with trepidation in their hearts and trepidation in the tumbler waiting for the movie to catch fire all staring at the sheet screen.

Pons turns on the reel, which turns slowly. spark of rebellion. which will lead to fire across the sky. she uses the turning light from her tiny tv below the counter, as the light turns...

TMIT: OUR SINS

yes that's Jack Nicklaus after receiving the Tiger news...from Annette Funicello…

1. would you rather get a spanking in front of your family or do a striptease at your workplace? you know my cousin recounted to me on the phone (i'm doing a newspaper interview on a secret subject for my column) that when he was a kid he would get spanked by his mom or dad or sometimes tagteam in front of the family as a deterrent for next time, the reasoning being the humiliation would stop him, this was the family meeting, the family was strong, the family unit held, and then afterwards the fam would go out to Chuck E Cheese like nothing ever happened. but it turns out the effect had the opposite result: my cousin grew up to love BDSM. he now works at a large Walmart-like place where there are hundreds of aisles of too-bright light to perform a striptease for customers. i tell him he's an actor and on that NBC show Superstore but he's not buying it. you know that's a set they use for Superstore, one person has to arrange all the cans and bottles on all the aisles, must take weeks for one shot.

2. you are a sexy_______

motherfucker...…...not literally…

3. hey baby tonight ___ me

i'm easy, i just want a lemonade. with maybe some poppyseeds, you know? sprinkle in a few three or four poppyseeds in there in the lemonade

4. would you rather have a rewind button or a pause button for your life?

i'd rather have the famous RESET button from the grey-box Nintendo video-game system back in the day in the '80s, that got me out of so many jams: i mean imagine if you were in a precarious situation in your life, like you're hanging for dear life by your scratching fingertips off a cliff, dangling in the wind, or you loved the wrong woman---you were supposed to love a man or something---all you have to do is RESET and you're safe snuggly back in your bed. it was all a dream. life is a dream, you know...

5. would you rather have noisy sex neighbors or nosy neighbors?

definitely noisy nosy sex neighbors. i mean if they're gonna be a pain you might as well be entertained. i want Megan Mullally and Nick Offerman to be my neighbors, i want to keep my evening blinds WIDE OPEN as i see them slinging all into the night. my Comcast is on the fritz again---even with no rain---so i'm thinking about entering the slinging lifestyle. you know Nick Offerman is contractually obligated to provide the voice of Santa in EVERY SINGLE cartoon ever made.

BONUS: would you rather mentally or physically never age? why?

oooh, i like this, very Twilight-Zone-Jordan-Peele-era. i guess i want the best of both worlds: i want to always physically look like John Huston in his older Santa days (voice not provided by Nick Offerman) but always with a mind sharp like a trap like David Foster Wallace's voice on tape, have a vault of quad tape reels finally opened in Italy after a long drawn-out court battle. i want to remain 12 years old mentally and watch cartoons as an adult...wait...and look like a celebrity no matter how old i am...so i can do celebrity-lookalike contests at adult birthday parties in Reseda. i don't mind being mentally-ill as long as i can cope with it...i want a day where being 100-percent mentally-ill is just another thing humans are, like their eye color, it's a trait.

CLICK HERE FOR TMI TUESDAY

PROM? PROM!

notes:

* girl: OMG here it comes, girls! the promposal!
geek: hello, may i offer you XFINITY today, ma'am? it's like Comcast but more expensive since the California fires. hey, watch the bowling trophies, don't all girls watch SVU?
girl: the fuck? why are you using a skateboard? you're not a skater!
geek: quiet, your dad is in the other room. so will you?
girl: will you what? why are you using all my birthday candles? you're gonna give us an expensive lighting bill. the bill went up ever since PG&E went down.

* dude: what's with the powder-blue prom tux, my man?
powder blue: my Kurt Cobain look. like his guitar. i'm too tall to play Cobain in the Lifetime Movie. but the NBA took one look at me and decided i was more suited for ping pong. this is the Honda random acts of help.
dude: in this neighborhood those aren't the random acts. before we go further i'm not buying a Honda, dude, Hondas are wimpy, i'm buying a monster truck. you need to be in a monster truck on the freeway so you don't die when you get in an accident Virgin Mary forbid. her name's Odalis.
powder blue: Idalys? like the MTV veejay? hello?
ride-or-die: hello? get the fuck off the porch, we don't want what you're selling, we're gonna vote next time.
powder blue: no, this is for Neeto. Neeto's promposal . Neeto is a neat guy.
ride-or-die: i know. intimately.
powder blue: um, you're alone here in this big house at 3PM on a school afternoon? you should be watching Disney Afternoon. where's your grandmother?
ride-or-die: she's doing a stint up the river. she's an Olympic synchronized-swimmer.
powder blue: who's that?
ride-or-die: the maid.
powder blue: the tux's not a rental but the van is, hurry up and bump, kids. and the balloons are rented, too, rented from my blow. you want the tux?
dude: i think i'll pass. i got this sweatshirt on, so...
ride-or-die: my gram's in the back of your van, sir, you betta watch out! for YOUR safety.

* me: this one's gonna make me cry.
son: dad, i need your help asking Jessica to prom.
dad: what's a prom, son? what's a Jessica?
son: it was heartwarming that you called me son. what's that, dad?
dad: a newspaper, son, the only place you can still do a Sudoku.
son: that's a sex act you don't want me trying at my first prom, right?
dad: wait, this is your first date, too? that's pretty heavy to have your first date be the prom. if that happened to me, you wouldn't be here i mean i wouldn't have met your mom.

* dad: love is like the ocean...
son: not the type of help i need, dad. what are you reading? Shakespeare's Sonnets?
dad: some Dungeons & Dragons manual from 1979. don't inhale the lacquer fumes, son, i know they're tempting but they're too heavy for your budding nostrils. take it from me, you sniff enough of that stuff and you're stuck in 1979 wondering how people had imaginations enough to sustain D&D back then.
son: my father is my Cyrano but he's supposed to stay hidden in the bushes. will you go to prom with me?
neighbor: get off my lawn, intruder! they're coming for us with large bright lights, firecrackers and missiles in the streets! bunker down, it's happening!!!
Jessica: yes! yes i will go to the prom with you! but only cos your bowtie is purple and i'm still not over Prince.
dad: okay so don't mean to be a wet blanket but you're gonna have to choose me chaperoning you in mom's car that night or all of us paying for your braces as a family.
son: prom! i don't need my teeth.
Jessica: you will need your teeth to work eventually. i'm adopted, too.
dad: i know. every kid on this block is. leave no child behind, that was the social experiment. i pray to God every night.
kids: you mean Rod Serling?
me: this commercial is so sweet.

* i never went to prom so doing this post was hard on me...physically hard for me to type it...

* R.I.P. Ian Cognito. every artist wants to go out like that, on the very stage he loved and planted his toil his entire existence. you never made it big like Bill Hicks but that's cos there's no British Tool to put you on their cover. that's like the perfect spy alias.

CLICK HERE

AND HERE

AND THEN HERE

happy weekend, my babies. someone inform Daym Drops that the Olive Garden Giant Meatball is ready, he is the only way i'm ever gonna experience the Giant Meatball.

THE PURPLE HOURGLASS: 16 FIGURES

Jim Nantz: hello, friends.

Dirg: hello, Nancy-boy. you still a beacon of lighthouse after the Hannah Storm?

Laertus: excuse my friend as always.

President Bump: i caused that storm, i cause all the storms. this is a nice pastoral place. i was just up from visiting Mount Vernon. you know what Vern looked like? he looked like Ernest. Varney Vernon. check that cough, Jim, it's more than a cough, and it's not cos of the cold chill of the storm. opioids up in smoke. anyway, George Washington was my father and i can't understand for the lives of me why a golf course wasn't built here, it's untreated pastoral land. it would have killed in the ratings. why didn't George think of his brand? you only leave a legacy unless you have a physical structure on top of your grave with your name and a hat on it.

Laertus: tricorner hat. i believe China invented golf, not Scotland.

Bump: no my ancestors did, that's a Chinese conspiracy, they were playing games even then, they were playing Game Seven, but not golf games. and don't get me started on how wind is cancerous to your golf game.

Llywarch: what a wretched beast! Sir Jim, how are you enjoying the environs?

Dirg: hey, can i have an in with Charles Barkley? i want to console him. i want his tiara. you got him, Spike, and SLJ all together in one commercial spot, that can't be a coincidence.

Nantz: look yonder! in mellow tones, there he is NOW!

Charles Barkley ascends the mountain. he cries the whole way there, partly because he now dons the monk robe from Zion and is the most popular person on the planet, partly the burn of the Auburn loss which was a win if there were no wind in the whistle.

Laertus: i am greatly troubled by the wind. there is something in the air, something evil. have you seen Victor and Valentino?

Dirg: Valentina sauce? no i'd rather just eat a real churro. but i did see porn of the show even before it showed. porn of...you don't want to know...

Laertus: society, now fully culled and conquered by the internet, is hanging by its own rope and gleefully thinking it's a fun Tarzan swing.

the wind has taken the magic away from this world. it has also taken Magic Johnson away from the Lakers Facility:

Jeanie Buss wears one Stevie Nicks enchantress gold large hoop earring on her ear and contemplates living her best life. she stands in heels on the famed Lakers golden basketball court newly-sex-waxed with the three-point line in bloody Red-Circle-Table red.

Stephen A Smith: i've heard from my sources that Jeanie Buss has her back up.

Molly Q: *with tabbed nails* *whistles* oooh weee and what a sweet back it is! sa whish. ALMOST competes with mine.

Jeanie: i'm just here wondering why the hell didn't i become The Pope!? i heard she gets so much sex from around the world she doesn't know where to put it! in the backpocket of her vestment?

Gannon: The Pope sucks you know. not like that, i mean for real. she's bringing Western Civilization down i mean civilization.

Jeanie: you're just sore that you're ugly and she wouldn't give you the time of day. the only place where Time still exists in this black-hole universe is the huge Watch overlooking and blocking the tourists of St. Peter's Square. Jim Hill! you look the same as way back when i met you in the '80s when i owned tennis with Sampras---who looked back then like the same old Greek man he looks like today---and a baby Federer, 10 years old. when there was still tennis teams that mattered like NBA teams. you're still rough and ruggedly handsome and look like OJ, Jim!

Laertus: Herman Munster Jr., a swarthy fellow. the broad meaning of swarthy.

Dirg: hey. lay off Sampras, he's a good Republican.

Jim Hill in a three-piece jim gray suit: thank you. i think. you know i couldn't stay away from you, girl.

Jeanie: you are the hill i will die on, Jim.

Jim: and your two hills are where i lay my head.

Jeanie: one for you, one for Magic, that's why you two guys are such good tight friends, right? where was it that you first became attracted to and enamored of me? my Playboy spread? au-naturel bush was in voge in the late late '70s.

Jim: no, your Twitter profile pic. the two basketball breaststststs. i'm a young hip oldhead.

Jeanie: oh right, i should have become an actress but that would have been TOO L.A., you know? it was already too much that i went to USC in this hot climate. currently, hot climes here.

Jim Hill: i can't stay away from you! rub my nose in it, please! twitch your nose and make my nose bleed, you seductive witch. you are addictive like the purest meth! i should know, i'm an investigative reporter, i cover these things. well i see these things. you are the sexiest woman who has ever been born and graced this Earth! we now know in modern times, we have an example in you of what Cleopatra or Helen of Troy must have been like! when you combine your good looks with the older-woman thing with your charisma, you are Human TNT!!!

Barkley: John Mayer rejoined twitter, to the betterment of all mankind.

Magic Johnson enters Staples Center fumbling over his words as if his mouth has been stapled shut. he has been crying.

Magic: Jeanie i can't do this in your office!

Jeanie, who starts crying as well: then let's do it here on court!

Magic: oh. um. well, this ain't sister-love! you know how i feel towards you.

Jeanie: i know, Earvin, you want your Vern, everyone wants their Vern. but see, i want to get back with Phil, i want to get my back into Phil again, we have history. the orgies were fun but they were also a bit too L.A., you know!? i mean the palm trees would lower to take us to the mansions on wind. it's not an L.A. race gang thing, i like Phil Jackson cos he's tall and has a bad back, together we have matching backs, i should have been a masseuse-therapist. i will always admire your strength, Magic. i mean emotionally.

Magic: it's safe and i'm a human being who will never live again. okay, fine, but can i at least fire Rob Lowe please!? he has no business running a team, he's friends with Peyton Manning a notorious coach-killer.

Rob Lowe: hey! watch the alkaline aspersions! i'm especially sensitive about my mouth, got sensitive teeth. i'm not serious like Kobe is all the time, i'm silly. look into my mesmerizing eyes, imma samurai now! a silly samurai. i can take a joke, my West Wing debut consisted of my character mistakenly hooking up with a prostitute, i can poke fun not a gun at myself. i did it cos it was Sorkin.

Jeanie: you did it cos it was Cuddy. i heard Cuddy cuddles well. but she needs curdled cottage cheese. to keep her thighs toned.

Dirk Nowitzki: hey, want a brat?

Dirg: i am a brat. oh. are you sure you're not Dirg Nowitzki? so what are you gonna do now, big fella? close The Store down? open up a soul-sucking maple-sucking factory with Steve Nash? and Sara Bareilles? i always thought Sara Bareilles was Canadian. and continue to date outside of your master race?

Dirk: i'm gonna announce the retirement of Dwayne Wade one more time, at a gas station, see if Gabrielle Union joins a garage union with the three of us. Dwayne hasn't gotten his due all year, i'm going on tour. alone.

Gabrielle Union: still got my drank.

Maria LaRosa from L.A. stomps her old stomping grounds. literally. with her huge feet at The Weather Channel.

Maria: you know the best part of the job was early weekend mornings when we'd get our Instagram DMs flooded with weather porn of these videos of ordinary Americans shitting and fucking and cursing and bitching on over their vid clips of treacherous hurricanes, water spouts, and volcanos.

Bump: Marianne Williamson? Zion's mom?

The Mooch: sure, boss, we'll go with that.

Bump: Buttigieg? he looks like a butt. not a gay slur, i mean he's so small he's literally the size of a butt.

Bump: i'm big in the black and gay communities, you know, those are my two best constituents. hello? Don Lemon? Don Lemondrop? where's my invite to your wedding? i was expecting something with frilly fringes on the edges of the card. i'll bring the cake! i know how to bake wedding cakes, especially Christian cakes. i took a community-college class while everyone else was at Vietnam.

Don Lemon: *irises red* tell me exactly the same thing again not over the phone but on twitter, i'll meet you over there...

Eye Luggage: so...……………………..go

Dirg: just make Wet City a full adult-swim series, adult swim! this is My decree! I will like it if...it meets MY standards...My demands...you're gonna hear from me if I don't like it...Wet City isn't a porn btw...

Laertus: it's like if Waterworld were good.

Dirg: Kevin Costner should have introduced his new black bodyguard wife into the bloodstream of that group of survivors, they would have survived then. good swimmers.

Laertus: Hunter x Hunter finally explaining to us that a politician's very job IS to lie and manipulate facts to win at all costs, very relevant. British cats like on JoJo are better, The Red String of Fate is actually a cat like on Black Clover! that explains my two cats and the fact that i can't get a date with a redhead. i can't understand MHA anymore, and rape should never be a recurring theme year after year cour after cour. cours are for apple cores and series with French heart. i can't unbleach my eyes.

Dirg: and that was the censored version. i got the uncensored version in my van.

Laertus: bro, look into my eyes as i tell you this: it's not meant to get you off. it's not meant to get ratings.

Eye: omg that Family Guy episode! that was crazy! the one with the commentary over the episode. i swear i thought they were doing an old episode overlain with the new commentary, so i paid attention only to the commentary. i find out later that the episode itself was new and i missed it! i swear i thought i saw that Jesus Satan church pew thing before, and the Middle of the Stairs MOR Muppet song. i swear i hope they must include that episode without the commentary on the bluray DVD.

Dirg: on that, i'm gonna nod to you like Branski nods. there will never be another underrated show like Hot Streets ever again. Chubbie Webbers will be a plush doll bigger than Bart Simpson ushering in the '90s some day, that dog was the breakout star, not Soo.

Laertus: how does one come by the name Chubbie Webbers? "why are things the way they are?", that was the philosophical posit posted by this show which will last forever unsolved and unresolved till the last black hole.

Dirg: Vienna sausages, has to be.

a disheveled Chinese woman raggedy-andie-bounces her way up the clear wall into the backyard of Bump's Mount Vernon estate, Bump Cream South. she carries with her a thumb drive and flash drive and is appropriated by Congress customs. and customs agents.

Bump: see? the Chinese are all over! and sneaky. what do you want, lady? tennis shoes?

lady: flashing you! just kidding, you don't want to see that. especially after exposing my Kraft. i am chinese crafty. want my thumb drive up your bum? look, Nintendo was having all the fun and success, i just wanted tech so the Chinese could have their own Nintendo.

Bump: harmless, let her go. with a warning and some Michigan socks. and some competition.

Putin: can i call you a faggot? i mean to my domestic audience on state tv. it will go over well in my home country who own one tv the screen made out of a vodka bottle.

Mueller: whatever you need to make yourself look tough in your potato heart, you're just sore that i got Chelsea Handler and she thinks you're a hobbit. game over, i win.

Putin: that's just cos of the Wendy Williams connection. i thought Chelsea and i had the banned-from-Instagram connection. or is that Clinton? Chelsea Clinton i should pursue romantically? yeah, i'll say you thought your chest was the Matterhorn but you got the Mickey Mouse, that works, right?

the tournament is starting again on a lawn outside of the Hobbit Hideaway.

Jim Nantz: this week is the greatest week in sports, the Championchip is on Monday and just three days later the Masters begins.

Doryce: shhhh, quiet, man! i'm trying to concentrate on this putt. you see me wiggling my ass?

Jim: i see a mistress, i mean that respectfully.

Gladyce: witches must train their minds to concentrate at all times. or else our spells turn to jelly.

the Masters course this year is marked by strange almost-alien-like markings in the ground as the holes. 16 of them, not 18 and a club soda. all diamond-shaped and in strange patterns.

Doryce: where do you put the ball? i want my ball!

Gladyce: dear, don't go near those! that's geomancy! that's forbidden to us witches, that's like taking cocaine right before you golf. it's cheating and evil cheating and cheating evil! you have to learn spells the right not-quick way.

Doryce: i dig up holes like truffles. i want a nice patch of soil to plant my meatball tree. i want that HUGE meatball from Olive Garden! THAT's a real pastoral garden! i've been craving that monster boulder meatball for ages but my broom is in the shop and i don't want to travel all the way to Salinas on those country roads! that's 1000 miles! straight down to the center of the Earth! to its apple core.

Gladyce: Obec Woods is a minefield. but it's full of apple trees. that's where the Costco is at, right? sorry, love, my broom's broke, too. i can't take you. only on the wind of a prayer.

Doryce: fuck that! i'm gonna use whatever magic is necessary and illicit to get my way! at least i'm not one of those geode nerds.

dangerously picking up her not-yet-mended broom from the garage, Doryce travels on her new-yet-not-good-as-new stick to the palace place on the hill to get her BigBall of Meat. she runs into traffic many times swerving and almost dying.

Doryce: outta the way, i'm old! bad-as-new broom. fucking GrubHub delivery of this thing would have been 300 dollars, catering to large boat parties only, ridiculous!

she eats the big meatball with her knife fork and wand, all of it, and it makes her sick.

Doryce: *pink-and-green-faced* ugh, too much meatball, not enough spaghetti. too much meat, too much sour meat. too much worms, not enough sour worms, not enough seasonings.

Madame Pons sets up at LUSH as always, she rubs together a few rumballs as her latest offer of holistic soap. no radio. she unplugged it.

Pons: i trust the company will be pleased by my latest creation for them. now for the important stuff. the stuff which will really make us feel good. i've set up the sheet in my store's backyard. for the next film fest. my spirit is ready. even though my stomach is burning hungry, but i have the fortitude, i need this diet. for justice. i can make it, i can live off only Beard Papa's cream puffs. a bag of these is my whole month's allowance splurged in one pop but they are so good! especially the herbal green-tea-filling one. i resisted the savory mouthwatering Carl's Jr. Truffle Burger on tv. i just kept thinking in my head running circles that poor pig using his cloved hoof to clutch the mini-shovel working backbreakingly hot French unshaded summer days digging that soil for my measly paltry burger till it was ready for till. it's not like the truffles are big and juicy and lain over the burger like mushrooms, they are bits in the white sauce. from now on, only chocolate truffles for me.

she goes into the backyard and drops Llywarch's hen Yoricka out of her pocket to the grass.

Pons: go on, girl! write poetry in your own language, go recruit other animals of your kind! amass the army! i will do the same on my end! this will be our breeding and training and meeting ground! for the new kind of social justine warrior.

she reenters the shop to find a white receipt dropped at the counter but no one around. she inspects the back of the receipt to find a very-thin peeling-like-cheese flash thumb drive.

Pons: this is so small it could rightly be called a thumbtack-drive.

Pons finds a slit and inserts it into the tiny tv below the counter to the horror of what's on it. she is so sick she doubles-over in disgust and pain.

Pons: *welling and red-cateared* NO! don't show the screen! or the scream! to no one! it's worse! i thought the threat was to my family but it's to my family, too! it's not just my sister, it's my girls as well!

TMIT: ALONE ON VALENTINE'S DAY

1. did you leave your last love for someone else or no one else?

i would never leave love. but my last one was fated. it was a furious courtship behind the rose bushes and an even faster betrothal, but she said she had something more important to do than me. alas i could only concede relent and give her a pass. she became the Queen of England.

the unconscious-uncoupling treaty i signed in the Tower decreed that she would get the Jaguar and the Rolls and i would have to marry Meghan Markle's dad and move to the city...

2. do you enjoy being alone? this is a loaded question. and an all-encompassing one. i mean if i had had a normal life free of mental illness you would never have known me from this blog. i'd be a ghost in your imagination. i would have married after class my Berkeley Drama-mate Jennifer Pizarro---the Viking blonde---we'd take the bus to our familial bungalow in Tustin along the palm-tree street facing away from the highway. and both of us would parent our 2.5 kids whilst wearing matching bandanas. we'd be one of those annoying wife-husband writing teams in Hollywood who do Bob's Burgers scripts but can also write for Sesame Street, Arli$$, and Rolling Stone.

i guess what i'm driving at on the Masters golf course is being alone is terrible but it allows me to write interesting things. if i wasn't alone i'd be happy and a terrible writer. but i'd be happy.

3. which of these reasons is most likely to spark your motivation for solitude?:
a) it sparks my creativity monks are the most creative people on the planet. they write the best Satanic metal music---cos they've been there---but no one knows this music exists.
b) i enjoy the quiet to a point. if it gets too quiet in my head i start to chirp like a bird.
c) being alone helps me get in touch with my spirituality currently, Christian Atheism is doing a number on said head. CS Lewis is quite the fabulist.
d) i value the privacy every man needs his alone time and space to put his finger in the air and enjoin the rest of the town to do the same like that Diamond Is Unbreakable opening.
e) i do not feel liked when i am around others it's true, only my imaginary friends get me. when i am around others i feel they talk behind my back. btw i'm talking behind their backs to you now typing this. when they give me a toast i feel they're trying to ply me with champagne, you know?
f) i cannot be my true self when i am around others. my true self consists of talking like an Aaron Sorkin script around others, dramatic and pulling no punches. using many obscure news-item references and laughing at Rob Lowe when he decided to do that West Wing pilot episode where his character gets caught with a hooker...

4, have you ever tried to win back an ex-significant other? yes or no? were you successful? if yes, did you regret it? how long did the reconciliation last?

yes. by going all out. trying to find her anniversary gift i was flipping through a bulky fashion mag at the nail salon. where lo i discover some male models advertising manly musky perfume by recreating the Olympic Games naked.

it is then and there that i dedicate my skinny-ass self to being the best man for her i can be. the kind of man who is in these ads, who appears effortlessly, that they create weird scents for in a lab in Italy, to be the image when the mad Versace scientist working under the canal thinks up the body for POR HOMME.

the reconciliation lasted exactly two sniffs of her nose…

5. do you mind if your SO significant other gives or receives harmless flirtation?

i just wish she'd flirt with ME.

BONUS: if you really knew me, you'd know___________

i'm serious. i earnestly try to answer these questions.

CLICK HERE FOR TMI TUESDAY

THE BEATLES OF COMEDY

where's Cleese tho? you can always tell where Graham Chapman is in EVERY single group-shot pic he ever took from birth to his untimely death: follow the Freudian cigar. he will be the only one chomping on a cigar.

as Graham Chapman would say......Graham Chapman is off adventure-clubbing like a Hemingway man somewhere...paragliding off a cliff in Tanzania after wrestling a lion before noon and a poached egg for lunch on a cloud...all whilst smoking a cigar in his mouth…

notes:

* flights to Orlando? why would anyone want to go to...…...oh, right, to start a boy band.

* not one of those Instagram swipes where you always swipe to the farthest right no matter what content is shown. this is serious, people, this is airline travel. R.I.P.

* youth is wasted on the young. and first-class is wasted on toddlers.

* baby already knows that you should never do a vertical shot, only widescreen horizontal to get all of the pool. smart and savvy. too smart and savvy. you know people are starting to slowly but surely turn on social media in general. the world the world over is starting to wise up and wizen up.

* how do you say help online in many languages? like this: HEEEEEELPPPPPPPPPP MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

* share pictures with Erica? no, Erica doesn't want those pics of Erica, makes Erica look unflattering. Erica has blocked you. life hack: make sure you collect the pics of yourself before blocking someone.

* Google: remind you of the game tonight at 6?
me: nah, the Tournament is over for me, Duke got robbed.
Google: it's impossible for Duke to get robbed...

* me: how deep is the Atlantic Ocean?
Google: the Earth is flat so the answer is there is no water. we're all gonna die.

* teacher: Viewfinders helped me land my first date. Sadie Hawkins Dance at Grover Elementary. the year was circa 198...
class: we will never care about your personal life, teach. just tell us again about the '80s and E.T....

* President Bump: i want to see a Wheelchair President in my lifetime.
crowd at rally: FDR?
Bump: doesn't count.

* wolf: do not hug Jack London...

* coffee with Tom, team meeting, pick up John, call mom, family time: hot iced-tea with Tom, tennis team meeting so it's only one person, pick up John for sex, call mom and tell her my problems, living-apart-together time...

* teacher: open up your laptops, kids. wait, i'm a kindergarten teacher! do you even know what computers are, kids?
kids: yes, and we will all be leaving school forever now. all the information of the world and universe is on this computer, right? so, sayonara.

* me: hey where did the Amoeba Music go?
clerk: under new management. the racks and dividers are gonna be a bit disarrayed for awhile till we catch up.
me: no, i like what you've done with the place. Moby is in the SOUL MUSIC section, Michael Jackson is in ELECTRONICA, The Beatles are in BLACK MUSIC, that's good, and ROCK N ROLL has been replaced with a card which simply reads CHUCK BERRY.

* Steven Universe: pizza near me?
Google: kid, you live in a magical town by the sea where everything's located in one place: car wash, pizza, Taco Bell. sound familiar? you're a fat kid who should be eating more tiny trees.
Steven : tiny trees?
Google: broccoli. how's the depression going?

* mom: first day of pre-preschool!!! i'm free again!!!
pre-preschooler: otherwise known as me getting parked in front of Sesame Street.

* PRO TIP FOR PARENTS: do NOT involve your innocent children in your braindead imma-make-money-on-youtube schemes.

* me: is it busy?
Google: LIFE is busy. the constant play. constant content. the perennial pageant of colors and flavors. the human motivation unto death.
me: can i unsend Google for LIFE?

* man: DO NOT DISTURB. i am trying to make my family.

* The Beatles: have you ever felt that you didn't need help when you were younger cos you were an invincible teenager high on The Doors and purple haze? but then as you got older you realized life was more complicated than previously thought and you started to have no confidence in yourself anymore, you needed help with everything, even simple things like driving a car cos you got the shakes when you saw the jack in the glove compartment? you couldn't drink Mountain Dew anymore cos it used Real Sugar again? you felt down cos you couldn't push buttons and lonely all the time cos those helpers you relied on your whole life weren't around anymore?
Monty Python: sod off, you toffee-nosed pervert wankers.

CLICK HERE RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK

happy weekend, my babies. this weekend it's gonna be the Truffle Burger from Carl's Jr. and like a good red-blooded American worth his saturated salt the first time i'll be trying truffles will be truffles in a burger...

THE PURPLE HOURGLASS: GANAS

Llywarch: and the generational thing.

Laertus: generational thing?

Llywarch: yeah like when you're on Instagram and you think Westworld is a brand-new cutting-edge leading-edge scifi series that has broken all the rules. nothing on tv has ever been done or seen like this before! it's revolutionary! writers are having a hard time writing for it cos no one fully understands what it means……...and then you find out from your new Instagram friend you just followed 30 minutes ago who's a nostalgia geek and freak and really into bringing back Jem pink hair for men that Westworld was already a wellworn '80s series that had weird blocky robots and cheap sets of noon-dust and was generally laughed out and forgotten. i feel for you millennials, you have nothing to hold onto that's original.

Laertus: can it be green hair that's not a hoax?

Dirg: i love when a piece starts with the word and. just goes right into it. that was my favorite part of The Shivering Truth if i'm being honest. yeah the sets were elaborate, the puppets were freaky, but the stories tended to meander…

Laertus: that was definitely the point. eep, you scared me! when did you get back here?

Dirg: i am always around. around you, inside you...

Llywarch: hello Dirg, long time no see. i think. how are you enjoying these environs?

Dirg: oh so YOU'RE my best friend's lover. can't say i blame you. or that i'm jealous. i mean you're not real, right? you're CG.

Llywarch: be careful with that question, mister, those simple labels. the more you think i'm computer-generated, the more you have to ask who it is exactly who's pushing the computer button strings.

Dirg: yeah so it's a nice-enough pastoral setting. if a little bland and predictably green. want to sleep with my hood over my head like that shepherd hanging over the hanging rock cliff over there. welp, that NPC shepherd just got hooked off the screen by his own hooked staff. that's always unpleasant.

Llywarch: no, you're missing everything as usual! your New Zealand was patterned after this area! don't you see it? you have to venture forth a few miles on foot past the purple mountains to get a gander at the sparkling-emerald lush landscapes and a sea so blue you can spot the green Loch Ness Monster belly-flopping at its bottom.

Dirg: you said bottom. the Loch Ness Monster was not in the brochure. so where are all the Hobbits?

Llywarch: yonder.

Chris Matthews at the MSNBC studios: fuck. let's play Hardball. *cue Hardball music*

Chris Matthews: seriously tho, i seem to be the only one at this network who's upset by all this. i'm flustered, that's not easy for an Irish guy.

Chuck Todd: have you signed up for my new Toddcast yet, Chris?

Chris: fuck. you. sorry, i'm on edge all the time. hey they should have your infamous flicking-off middle-fingering finger when you thought the cameras weren't on you as the cover for your podcast page, that would get people to sign up!

Maria LaRosa has moved a few feet with her beautiful small big feet and now resides in New Zealand:

Maria: this is gorgeous. but i don't like the new changes. right after i left, they refurbished the intro prompt for Weekend Recharge on The Weather Channel to feature that black bitch who replaced me and you, Goody Paul. i don't like it one bit, it shows you and her beautifully smiling and folding arms, they never took my picture for that ONCE all those decade-years i was there! not once!

Goody Paul: i do like how we're getting a surplus of Alexandra Steele now. there can never be too much Alexandra Steele. i mean except for you, dear. i like when she's paired with the black dudebro Alex. Alex and Alex. the ratings go down when it's Alex and that other black dude, scientifics show. and meteorology is nothing if not a science thing. and i like the diversity of when i'm paired with the black girl, it shows diversity. which reminds me, i have to spelunk out of your orifice now and get to work. it will take me the weekend to hike to the studio. i wish i could layabout all day fucking you but papa's gotta pay the bills.

at the ESPN stiudios, Molly is adjusting her fluted skirt.

Molly: thanks JRose, for caring. i know this isn't what you bargained for when you signed the contract and thought you were marrying me the unattainable bombshell. it's been hard on you. but i hurt down there, and i have to go see a specific doctor for my down-there every week, that's why the viewers hardly see me weekends beginning Thursdays, i'm not in studio for In Studio anymore cos i'm always at a doctor's office.

Jalen Rose: i know, honey, and i happily take you to the doctor's and vet's. in my scooter. that's what a loving husband does, his duties, to be in a sexless marriage of just love. all love, boo and bae. truth to my troth is, we're in an empathetic twinship you and i, for i too am troubled in my down-there, it hurts for a different reason.

Max: you know you two are weird. when the cameras light up, you talk to each other and interview and ask questions and answer like you're two complete strangers, Molly addresses you as Basketball Player Jalen Rose, it's weird.

Jalen: i know, at least mention the Fab Five or my socks.

Molly: *playfully* shut up, Max, i'll get to your new boxing show next week. i actually wasn't at the doctor's this time, i was at an audition. i can't believe that bitch Tiffany Smith got my Meghan Markle part! i was a shoo-in!

Dirg: oh, so THIS explains Tiffany Smith's long absences and hiatuses over at the old Marvel YouTube Channel. renamed R.I.P. Stan and some twelve-year-olds think it's pronounced Rip Stan and are confused. mystery finally solved. this is kinda a Red Circle table, right? just soaking it all in for my reeducation. Max is more black than Stephen A, Max was an actual street-rapper.

Stephen A: *stands up flabbergasted and points his finger at her* don't stress me more, Molly Q! you know that Tiffany Smith is an absolute stunner save for the turkeyneck and she ain't no chickenhead i checked. and she is a DEAD RINGER for the new Princess so don't you even front!

Molly: *slaps his hand away from her face* *not playfully* shut up, Stephen A!

Stephen A: hey man, if you want some more learnin', get into that car that i'm seeing right now pulling up to the studo downstairs, many floors down next to the Statue of Liberty by the bay. with my own two peepin' eyes that don't need no glass. eye don't lie. that's the ride you need to get into.

Dirg: *attempts the pound-hug on Stephen's back* thanks my brotha. lobsta on the house.

Stephen A: don't touch me i don't know you, don't say brotha, and don't speak with a Boston accent near my general vicinity.

Dirg races downstairs as fast as his skinny nerd legs can take him without any drone cameras noticing and skips into the cab with an open side door willing.

Dirg: still smells like shit. i was expecting at last some passable Persian musk. oh! the cabdriver is Wendy Williams! well, hello fierce doll! you are hot to me, imma tell you on front street from jump, you do not look like a man to me at all when i masturbate at night.

Wendy Williams: look. let's keep things on the QT, not-cutie. i don't want the papa razzing and on my back---my big shapely round tail. that's why i'm wearing this hood. and a wedding ring. and a wire. i divorced him and i don't wanna make it a big deal. that's why i'm taking, like, three months off, starting my summer vacation early.

Dirg: Fiji, right? this is perfect! i mean this really is perfect timing! i need to learn the black life. i need an in at the inn table, ya feel? take me to one of your many palatial Manhattan high rises mansions. and let the chicken-chewin' begin in earnest!!! hey by the way, whatever happened to Lauryn Hill?

Wendy Williams: that remains a tightly-guarded secret in the black and black-twitter communities, but I am Lauryn Hill.

the cab screeches over and drives one block in traffic. at the nearest curb, President Bump gets in.

Bump: this cab smells like my hair. so you're still going with using the yellow-checkerboard cabs, huh? haven't moved yet to the Brexit black cabs? i mean i ain't telling yous how to run your ship, all i know about cars i learned from Michael Cohen and he's more my best frenemy than anything.

Dirg: a pleasure, sir! may i shake your hand?

Bump: of course not. you masturbate with that hand, i can tell and smell it. i'm a guy, too, you know. wait you said shave your head? okay, good, that's a vote. yeah, i knew that about Lauryn Hill, i'm into black culture, i know her oranges story.

Wendy: oranges? or origin story?

Bump: don't tell anyone, it's a tightly-guarded secret in the Fort Knox twitter community...…...but, well, i have orange skin.

Wendy: now you know how it feels to be colored in this society.

Bump: my father was Hitler. wind farms cause cancer. yeah, those spokes on windmills, you know? those are actually sharp pointy autism-vaccination needles. hax vax. those wind turbines gave Deborah Norville cancer.

Dirg: i hate wind. not that any wind could bring down the strongman strength of YOUR hair, sir. and you do it without any hairspray at all, right? just pure willpower. strength of your own will.

Wendy: um, i'm the cabdriver here, i'm supposed to be the crazy one who rambles incoherently to keep from the awkward silence. but i'm really rambling meta-coherently. we're almost here. just round the bender.

Dirg: wait, this is a sober house. what...…...the...…...fuck.

Wendy: yes, i'll be living at this sober-facility-residence for the next, oh, three months or so should cover it.

Bump: that's fine. i can adjust, it's already less-stuffy than the Cream House. more loose once you start drinking. get to know my voters. like the ones who sell oranges at the Border. i don't drink, by the way, and i'm not crazy.

at the highest point-tip of New Zealand, Coach K and Zion have traveled a long and arduous journey by sandal up many steep paths and hilly crags to reach their final destination: Mount Zion. the Mount closes its Eye of Sauron to sleep, Maria covers her vagina with her two dainty hands like a proper fiery Spanish woman, Fuerza looks on in disgust and jealousy, and the Eye opens up once more, pried open by Zion's dunk-hands, it rains bright red warm-to-hot light on the young acolyte, burning his skin.

Coach K removes the hood of his brown monk robe and bestows it upon Zion's body.

Coach K: here you go, son, from now on you will be more famous than me. i saw a spraypaint the other day on a bus which read Cock K and i knew right there i was done, i couldn't take this life anymore. go and form your own religion.

inside the cave Rog Federer in an all-white seersucker suit is entertaining Chris Evert wrapped in his medium-sized arms. she's a bit tipsy.

Chris: i'm telling ya, hunk, the Miami Open is gonna replace New York as the U.S. Open some day!

Fed: needs a better atmosphere, dear, a more---what's the word in Swiss?---a better tomato atmosphere.

Chris: tomater?

Fed: and more Communism. good European Communism. but i do love the salsa dancing on court instead of the serve motion. not all by Monfils. i still gots it. and you gots it, too, toots.

Chris: look out for FAA, he's the next big black thing i mean big thing. and look out for Tiafoe, he's the real deal, he's what Donald Young was hoping the fans wanted. Tiafoe has the ancient spiritual African wisdom, he's Manut Bol's son, right? or cousin?

Fed: FAA? is that an airline?

Eye Luggage: thank you for listening, folks, joining us just one week on from the New Zealand massacre tragedy, so we know everyone's still a bit tender. we hope you can work through your raw and maybe lighten up for an hour, distract yourself from the interminable world pain and have a few tips and tip-backs and tricks talking tv.

Dirg: Silverchair predicted this massacre. and why didn't the Power Rangers stop the shooter? they were right there in New Zealand.

Laertus: dude. bro. dudebro. it's too soon. it's still too soon. it will ALWAYS be too soon for you.

Dirg: i am digging the new season of Power Rangers tho. well up to a point. so far. they should have been dispatched like the real New Zealand police.

Laertus: the initial concept for the show this year was right on point, inventive and so relevant to current times what with the energy thing, the moving away from fossil fuels. just three Rangers, makes it less busy, more time for tight writing.

Dirg: and the asses. right? i mean i thought Yellow had the best ass, but then you get a look at Roxy's ass and it's like UMERFGHHHHHHHYASHHHHH

Laertus: a couple of episodes in, and it's starting to suck. it's starting to go back. to middle-of-the-road, ordinary, normal, and boring playing-it-safe. standard. we'll see. of course nothing tops the interestingness of the cast: Teuila Blakely is on Beast Morphers!

Dirg: THE Teuila of the blowjob?

Laertus: one and the same. she's on there. playing a no-nonsense commander. and i hope she gets to address the issue right there on the show. i mean isn't that what Power Rangers is for? to address societal ills? i hope she arches her back and points her fiery lens of eyes to the camera and fixes her commander madam vest and tells off the world:

Commander Teuila: yes i gave that handsome rugby bloke a roadhead blowjob! well a jeepjob. yes! i'm a woman dammit and i can do what i want! i'm a woman of power! and if i want to be Kim K fuck that bitch! we were just having a bit of fun, everyone has fun! i used the cum as a mixing agent to harden the green goo slime we need to save the world! that's what separates us from Evox! Evox only has fang spit.

Llywarch: these are dangerous times we're in. we all must be allowed to be human. we all give blowjobs, we all have to come to terms with this.

Eye: let's move on to that feature film-fest special we did on the white sheet outside the dorms on campus by the moonlight, for the first time ever on bluray on the blue sky: Stand and Deliver.

Dirg: South Park did it better. i don't like learning. why watch a movie about school at school? that's a beach bummer. they prolly cheated anyway, look at the college scandal, Operation Varsity Blues Was A Crap Film. Operation Aunt Becky.

Laertus: but what a film! oh you know you would lie down on a busy highway on the broken yellow dotted lines drunk to get initiated to a sport if you could play a sport. any sport. that Edward James Olmos heart-attack scene tho! that went on and on and on the stairs. i guarantee you this: EVERY actor practices the heart-attack in the mirror, prolongs it like that, takes up ten minutes of film by gesticulating on and on and on with the heart attack till her or his fall is broken by the bottom flight of stairs. but EJO can get away with it, can win awards for it, cos he's Captain William Fucking Adama.

Dirg: *shaking his damn head* Karla Montana, where did you go? you were hot enough for the white rich businessmen in Los Angeles who drove their Porsches up to the curb of an innercity gang chainlink public high school in danger of being disaccreditationed, why'd you quit acting? you could have at least guest-starred in an episode of Hannah Montana. we need your body and beauty...and yes brains...on screen. and that one poor actress, the only one who was actually based on a real student---the one who served tamales at her family mexishop---she didn't need to die but got suicided-by-cop against her will cos she was crazy. she didn't get pregnant like her father feared but they put something else in her: lead. hey it wasn't her fault, she got touched by the George Clooney Curse. all women will eventually get hit and struck on the head by The George Clooney, he has that affect on women. we knew her, Laertus, from her stellar work on the early seasons of ER. only Eriq La Salle even bothered to twitter-mention her after her death cos you know he got some of that on set with his hair goo. did you know you could bend a taco?

Laertus: taco bender? taco vendor? yeah, sure, not the hard crunchy Taco Bell shells but the soft white flour-tortilla shells you can bend. they should make a soft Doritos Locos taco shell. Prop 13 DESTROYED California forever. i mean didn't our forebears know better? not to get all millennial here but the warning was in the name: 13!

Eye Luggage: Lou Diamond Phillips IS Jesus. Lou Diamond Phillips in peaches and i'm all set for dreams. no relation to Wilson. right? but yes relation to diamonds on my toes.

Eye Luggage: why wasn't this film called Ganas? it so obviously should have been! and why the hell is the film called Stand and Deliver? what does stand and deliver even mean? those words, that phrase, is not mentoned ONCE in the entire film.

Dirg: pizza.

at a cottage just outside the burbs of the New Zealand space situates a tavern off the beaten path yet fully marked with a golden path. it's the Hobbits' Hideaway, one with a flashing neon arrow pointing at it, a touristy attraction now ever since the films but more ever since the Disney merger. inside there is much merriment, gladhanding with furry feet, and backslapping amongst the hobbits, each wiping the foam off their fellow hobbits' beards.

Dirg: you couldn't do that with women. just think, one touch of the shoulders is gonnna cost you four more years of Bump.

Laertus: thanks, Sticky Joe.

Gladyce has turned herself into a catgirl, her glistening listening ears cutely demur as she prepares the spaghetti sauce. her tail circles as she boils but not necessarily toils nor troubles:

Gladyce: mew Mew Zealand! almost ready, boys! just one more turn. and twitch of my catear. or a trick. i'm making sensitive marinara sauce. for you sensitive men, you gallant gents.

Doryce roughly puts her feet up on the rough-hewn table. and her arms back to touch her Cover Girl hair.

Doryce: i'm making Fradiavolo spaghetti sauce. yeah, *spit*, learned how to cook from my bitch. Fradiavolo, i figured Frodo would enjoy it.

Frodo: fraid not, love, i'm a man. a real man.

Doryce: yeah i hear ya, and i feel ya, and i want to feel ya up. yeah, i just came back from a high adventure, much journey. i had to take a shit, you know? i had to go poo so bad. i just woke up one morning and thought i was gonna fart as i always do so i turned my asscheeks over to an opening in my sheets but instead i shit all over my bloomer panties! streams and streams of liquid brown feces unexpected! it was so bad my delicates weren't even worth saving with a wash in a tiny tub. and then i had to go to The Store for my weekly biweekly grocery-shopping, the entire two hours i was there pacing the halls on my flying broom my asscrack itched so bad. SO BAD! i wanted to sink my entire karate-chop hand into my asscrack to ease the pain of the itch but if i did that, my only other panties would be ruined. that would be unmentionable. i should prolly just go naked from now on, huh? o it was so distracting, the only thing on my mind, i even forgot about sex for two minutes. so the first thing i do when i get home is to the bathroom and used the entire roll of toilet paper. which was thin like tissue paper. i forgot to buy any food!

Bilbo Baggins, smoking a pipe: i wish you hadn't told me all that, madam. that story made my beard fall out.

outside from the ruckus on a wet patch of green grass Madame Pons squats wetting her purple lace dress while she listens to Llywarch by the fire. he's spit-roasting a small bird and turning a crank:

Madame Pons: i'm getting told.

Llywarch: never, madam, you are a very-sensitive woman, not like the others in there. i can feel your aura, no i can SEE your aura! right in front of my eyes, your aura is spilling out of your body in bright rainbow gum stripes which bend around and shimmer into sparkle pots. dare i say you are even a more sensitive being than i. i pray to the goddesses that it is you who are equipped to save the world.

Pons: this beats the drivethru. ah, nature. and that roasting bird is making my esophagus water.

Llywarch: almost ready, golden brown like Amercia should be. hey, when you gotta eat you gotta eat. one wing or both?

Pons: i know i need to eat, for strength, it's just...i can't. and this isn't a Hollywood fad diet excuse, i follow The Pope's diet. of cinnamon holy wafers. but i need to deny myself right now if i am to grow. ignore the hunger pains, pass the pangs with the salt.

Llywarch: i see. very austere, very monk, i commend your communion. poor Yoricka, i knew him well. well her. that's the name of my hen. she was my constant companion, my protector, my guide. she was good for a few belly laughs but she belongs in my belly. and a few poems. but it's over now, everything must end.

he eats the roast hen in his mouth, but there's a twinkle in his eye as he looks at Madame Pons whilst he eats.

Pons: that's hot. when you look at me as you eat.

Llywarch, smiling, even his teeth smiling: behold what happens next, madam. and realize that i am fully-stuffed, i have had my fill, i ate Yoricka, i had dinner.

the roast hen comes out of Llywarch's mouth, reforms its feathers which fly back from clouds in the sky, and the hen is healthy and happy and alive once more, fully-together, shiny coat, legs kicking, rustling the ground for scraps, clucking up a crazy storm, pompadour blowout blowin', chickenhead bobbin'.

Llywarch: good as new. better even after having been inside me.

Pons's eyes awe. darting back between Llywarch and the hen, Pons's eyes star.

TMIT: JUST WATCHING MY TV STORIES...

...and my Sherwin-Williams paint commercials with the animated hanggliding safari animals made out of paint samples.

1. consider your current lover and your relationship as it stands. if this person were on a dating app would you swipe left or swipe right?

this is so cold. is this what love has come to? i refuse to play the game. i WON'T submit facebook a profile pic of me and what i look like so my "friends" can easily spot me no matter WHAT facebook orders me to do!

i met my current hotness doing these here blogspot blogs, they are WAY better dating apps than Instagram cos they employ writings and books by authors, not just pics of apples.

luckily i never had to confront this. i was on grindr and the first pic which popped up was a pic of Swiper from Dora. after ten minutes of stony silence, i asked Swiper why he wasn't in the new live-action movie and how he felt about that. he laughed in my face then licked my face, gave me a nutmeg in my private parts in the private picnic area then ran away into the forest to find more nutmeg.

2. have you ever done speed dating? did you like it? did you get a real or full date out of it? i got a half date. allow me to explain:

i was really getting a jones for fucking Flash. i wanted The Flash in all his glory, if he broke the bed doing it in a whoosh of wind i was okay with that. if he wanted to show he was much more worthy than Shazam i was okay with this. well, the sex lasted -1, negative 1, seconds. we actually went back in time, but not in the good way. i asked him later while we were scarfing some mint-chocolate-chip popsicles…

me: what happened back there, The Flash?
Flash: please, it's just Flash, no need to be formal, we just fucked. this is how i fuck. it's over in a second. the cum disappears instantly and spirals to form a new galaxy in another dimensional universe. but it's still hot, right? cos i'm a superhero. it's superhero sex.
me: not really.

3. if your date texts during a date do you find it annoying? if yes, do you say something about it?

i don't speak, i think a thought and let my cyberbrain do the rest.

well, it was just...see during our date she was texting to her husband for tips on how to best get rid of me. later, we were at the same four-Michelin-star steak restaurant---that only serves one side: baked potato, no pizza---and my second date was texting Pizza Hut to see what my favorite pizza topping was. credit due, i have to admit that when the steak arrived and we sprinkled it on top of the pizza, it was good.

4. how do you like to arrange dates---with an actual phone call or all via text message?

i love the smell of an old coiled-corded phone: the old spice, the brush, the cigar, the brandy, the harsh lacquer. sometimes i lick the phone while i talk into it cos there's a drop of leftover brandy on the receiver.

i arrange dates much like i arrange flowers: haphazardly. you didn't think i arranged flowers, didja? helps me get dates. life hack: do the azaleas go with the iggies? just wondering. i know the toffee goes with the coffee...even tho c comes before t. did they get lazy when naming toffee? like they just said it's a candy that goes with coffee so we'll just change the one letter to t.

5. for a first date, which do you prefer---drink date or dinner date?

well i tried the whole dinner-date thing and it clearly was too expensive. for my soul. so i like to go to Starbucks with my date and have dinner. you can have dinner at Starbucks you know, just grab one of those sandwiches from the brown dusty spinning-tray next to the cash register for your four-courser. she will order the acai bowl, i'll bet you my Digimon cards. thing is, the coffee there is so expensive it was more than the steak. i ended up just sucking on a toffee alone in the rain, outside the Starbucks. a raccoon offered up his umbrella to shield me from both kinds of cold. but it turned out he was only interested in my toffee. i tried to talk to him but all he wanted to do was lick my face. i thought all raccoons spoke with a British accent...

BONUS: have you ever been a cockblocker? why did you do this?

yes, but it wasn't my fault, i have a cock and that is how they are used.

what i find most disconcerting is that if you google cockblocker you get the Wikipedia entry FIRST before the urbandictionary entry…

CLICK HERE FOR TMI TUESDAY

CAN'T SLAM DOORS ANYMORE, SENSORS EVERYWHERE...

notes:

* if you're not trespassing but merely loitering, do you still get a ticket? to sit at the table? and get an adult swim show of your own?

* KEEP OUT? we should be building bridges. when's that promised infrastructure bill hitting the links and skids?

* the Earth should put out a sign that says BEWARE OF MAN. and stick it in her still-blue air.

* me: those little teacup dogs are the ones you have to watch out for, they'll bite you and you'll think it won't hurt cos they're so small but it will hurt.
teacup dog: yeah there's no such thing as a cute bite. don't blame me, mate, i haven't realized a relaxing cup of EG tea since this whole Brexit mess started.
me: have you thought of getting Tips?
teacup dog: nah i like it all shaved, it's healthier. hey mate, can you hop the chain-link fence and set me free? i'm tired of looking at this brown lawn, the '90s and Dr. Dre rap videos are over.

* waitress: why'd you stop talking when i entered the open space? that's always so awkward and rude. are you planning a Hawaiian vacation together? i won't tell your wives.
men: that's just palm trees painted on your back wall there, you're the one who painted it.
waitress: i know you guys' wives, they come in here all the time. i could have been your wives but i got the mumps the day of the Sadie Hawkins Dance. Sadie was the first feminist, not the Sadie that's into nature.
men: do you have any Sugar In The Raw?
waitress: don't change the subject. is it cos i'm slightly got some padding? give me some fucking change! and a new braid would be nice.
men: fine. we're planning to cook the books and bilk Trivago out of all of the Trivago Guy's Dollar Shave Club products, you in?

* Burns: he he he they'll never know. i keep all my files the old-fashioned way in rainbow-colored binders in a grey cylindrical filing cabinet that looks like the Tower of Babel which i commissioned. with a key at the top drawer that only i have swallowed. what's this, i pushed the button of the key and accidentally unlocked all the doors!!?

* mother: honey, why are you so mad at me?
teenage daughter: i dunno, i just am.
mother: is this cos of your red hair? i have red hair, too, but i'm not as fiery as you.
daughter: cos you're OLD, mom! i'm pissed off right now!
mother: when i get mad---which is quite often i just don't show the family---i pray to Jesus.
daughter: JESUS WAS A GINGER!!!

* Lion Doorknob: answer three riddles.
Phoenix: man.
Lion: no, the answer has been updated to woman.
Phoenix: Monty Python.
Lion: they're all dead now, right?
Phoenix: more wishes.
Lion: no, the answer was gryphon, stick your finger in my mouth...that's where the video doorbell is...

* boy: this is my treehouse! no girls allowed! i don't want them seeing my dad up here with me, it's embarrassing!

* steward: are you VACANT or OCCUPIED?
Jean Luc Picard: Earl Grey, hot. i'm the Captain, i don't do Number 2! and i don't use pot. and i've never had pizza with "oregano". well, unless it's synthesized pot done by my private personal synthesizer. not the instrument, the holodeck thingee that can provide you with any wheel of French cheese you desire.
steward: you stole my identity! security! Worf!
JLP: are you gonna watch my show on CBS Access?
steward: nah. but i'll give Twilight Zone a try, never heard of that show.

* man 1: don't look at me when i'm in the loo standing up.
man 2: just admiring your rustic backpack, sir. how many inches? is your backpack?
man 1: i'm tall. i could play for the NBA. that's your answer.
man 2: sorry, i'm George Costanza. is your urinal cake working? mine doesn't smell fragrant after i hit it.
man 1: Kramer was a racist.

* black girl student: teach, that's not fair! why do i have to eat my notes?
teacher: cos you don't have a dog at home. i know, i've visited your home.
black girl student: joke's on you, Authority. i wrote that note on my perfumed paper, it tastes smellerific.
teacher: so you like someone in this class, i knew it! who you got a crush on? the redheaded girl next to you?
black girl student: of course, she's Jesus!!!

* but what if you want to paper-shredder the paper-shredder?

* Asian guy: let's make one thing perfectly clear. i'm not creepy COS i'm Asian, i'm a creeper who just happens to be Asian.
woman doing her makeup in the car: that's what these car mirrors are for, right? doing makeup?
Asian guy: yes. i should know. i put on mom's makeup every morning. mom's convalescing. from having me.

* Greg Google: hey! watch it! copyright. you can't do a Psycho commercial, too.
Tim Apple: get in your free kicks before the Government regulates us all. just cos it's a shower curtain doesn't automatically make it Psycho. now if you'll excuse me, i haven't been naked in 30 years.
Alfred Hitchcock: i like to watch...

* woman: hello? Apple Genius help?
Apple Genius: i was sleeping, what do you want?
woman: i put a lock on my phone. like an actual square lock-and-key physical-security-device iron copper lock on my phone.
Apple Genius: like the water-navigation lock? okay, i'll be right over, i know where you live. have any idea where you put the key?
woman: let's just say the key is inside my body. and i didn't swallow it. i don't swallow.
Apple Genius: just tell me when your water breaks. you stopped smoking, right? the ash tray displayed at the end of this commercial notwithstanding. see? Marketing should have come to me for the focus group. i told them to go with the juul pod.

CLICK HERE RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK

happy weekend, my babies. how should my mom resolve her car-troubles situation this weekend?

a) pick the black Volvo sedan

b) pick the black Nissan sedan in honor of Dad

c) get the ol' dusty green Volvo stationwagon fixed, bought at a Woodland Hills lot out at 9:32 PM when Reagan was still President

d) ask for an extension to May 22

THE PURPLE HOURGLASS: TRIGGERFISH

creature: are you still laughing?

Laertus: when i'm sad is when i try to laugh the hardest. helps to clear the phlegm.

creature: that's good. my name is Llywarch btw.

Laertus: o what a grandiose appellation worthy of your delightful designation! i will dream this name late at night when i see it cloudily attached to your frame and friendliness. you are the beast of my burden. the apex of appearance! what i'm trying to say unsuccessfully as i walk over my own vocab words is i like you.

Rosie O'Donnell: i like you. that's why we had heated-fucking arguments all the time. it wasn't for the cameras, it wasn't the camera-lights, i was preparing us for heated sex. i'm not related to Chris O'Donnell. i'm the bad Rosie according to the State, it's on my provisional driver's license.

Elisabeth Hasselbeck: there's no crying in baseball. i don't play baseball. i play softball like a good lady who curtsies at home plate. do you know what Fox would do if they found out? there's crying in sex, that's how you know you're doing it right. i am a straight woman from the heartland, i genuinely bought season tickets to the WNBA and women's soccer cos my daughter said she was interested. in the sports, not the ladies. i hardly spend any time together with her anymore ever since you retired, Rosie.  

Llywarch: *smile-laughs* thing is, it's a brand new name. at least here in my Medieval times. hasn't had a chance to yet catch on and be memorialized in epic poetry, legended in a Sorkin screenplay. it's like the Rachel Cut of names, it's still hip new and trendy. thank you, my friend, and i you. even though i know i am not your first, or your first beloved.

Laertus: what? oh you mean him? no, we're not...hey how do you know about him? i haven't introduced you...hey where'd he go!?

Llywarch: oh Dirg's been around. the block. and video block believe you me. the thorn in my side. we've encountered, mostly unpleasant stuff whereby we don't fight in the traditional taking-turns sense but he ends up asking me a series of searing and deeply personal questions about my cud-chewing habits.

Laertus looks down to see a large brown bandage along the ulnar of his wrist and he doesn't know how that got there.

Llywarch: huh. was probably my hen. sorry, she's very protective of me, i have a glass heart. literally. she's around here somewhere. usually hides in the bushes as i'm hiding in the bushes, it's a game she plays.

Laertus: ah i see, so that's your wife. you are a married man. upstanding i mean outstanding.

Llywarch: no, my pet hen. i use her for inspiration...that sounds so cold. Instagram has really become an elaborate dating app. but it's a dating app just the same. just with a lot of original weird basement art.

Laertus: right. but you know, couples have discovered each other on Instagram. many have gotten married. which i don't understand cos how can you get married if you've never met the person in real life and pressed the flesh? all free. at least until facebook is regulated by the government next week. a free app. you have to delete and reinstall many times and it's always scary cos you think you'll be deleting your entire seven-years'-worth of work opus by deleting the app. cleaning, yeah right! there it goes, like fluff in the wind. it's essentially free love that works.

Llywarch: raise the peace sign. or in my case, peace hoof. *shakes head and trots tremblingly* my soul soft like this Bud Light mead meadow has been disparaged. i can't take it anymore, where did the love go? you know? why is it that people still trying to find love in this world are called crazy. it's the crazy ones who actually live this life, they should be called the normal ones. look over there, the People's Park of Berkeley, on my side, where Andrew Martinez came over the threshold when he bag-died.

Laertus: suicide?

Llywarch: it's too painful and guttural and sphincter-shut for my tongue to even try to mouth to utter that word. The Naked Guy he was called, respectfully. our park is clean, i maintain and make sure that, yours is dirty and full of trash. ours is full of bushes, yours was full of shrubs on trees and bus tracks in the mud. all the inspirational signs of everyone having a listen have been torn off by the alt-right and jokesters hucking and chaos agents and those who don't want to see anyone happy and believe in nothing and clothing. where are the dreamers nowadays? the ones who bend the needle and find along the dial a new undiscovered radio station that plays Foghat AND Galaxie 500. Andy was trying to make a statement, he was seeking love in a world of hate and was hated for it. of course he didn't fit in. why is it that only the mentally-ill can do something inspirational at the cost of their freedom? everyone else is too scared to love, hate is cooler, more acceptable. i am heartwarmed to know we might have touched the same plastic over the same LP records at Amoeba Music when i crossed over one time for a lecture---nobody there gave me a second look---browsing through the racks of tracks. of course neither of us were science majors, we were both too fanciful. he was trying to bring back the era of free love, of hippie farms, not letting the dream pass by. the dream of imagination and caring and the revocation of lines. i mean you look at the Wikipedia page for the People's Park now and it's just some 12-year-olds trying to make a name for themselves in whatever incel community they find themselves in---they wouldn't know love if it hit them in the ass---i have to deal with those types daily since my birth---trying to score hate points instead of really trying to understand this sacred magic history. of peace and love.

Laertus: hippie is not a four-letter-word. i learned how to skate, well i got into skateboard culture, cos of old A Martinez. his thoughts floated up in the sky, for real. like literally. don't cry, Llywarch, i hate it when you cry, even though your tears are literally pure-gold dust liquid yogurt. don't worry, i'll come back soon, i shall return, i just got to get to class for awhile or my roommate yells ironically at me for not paying the rent.

the two hug, imagine a centaur half-man and full man hugging in a clearing for a long time.

next to the People's Park is a touristy pool of green grass where sits a homey hovel of a motel with a quaint storyteller-with-lute thatch hut and wooden sign on top that flows in the breeze, gilding its glidepathing canton with the painting of an old boot. it's the Put the Boot Inn. surrounded on the east by a sleep hollow and the west with a copper garden. this is where our crones have put up their dogs for the night.

Doryce: oww, my toes are barking! got any salt?

Gladyce: you always provide the salt, dear. sure, but you have to butter-churn the salt yourself. is this tub big enough for your feet?

Doryce: very funny. that's a small tub, i really do think that's meant for the both of us to bathe in, not making a comment though you are heavier than me. like this is true vintage actual medieval-sized tubs the masses and wenchfolk used.

Gladyce: who says it's vintage? tonight, dear, pay special attention to how i prepare supper. how i make the spaghetti sauce.

later that night Gladyce pours the spaghetti sauce in the glass bottle into the tub, sticks her broomhandle into the pot, and gently heats it under a fire sparked by two churchmice rubbing matches together with their feet and tail. she stirs the sauce ever so fragilely using her finger transformed into a wooden spoon.

Gladyce: see, dear? this is love. i'm actually making the sauce. making it sizzle and adding myself to it. i'm adding the chives and lettuce and my green spit to it. just how you want it, the exact temperature and consistency. it's like i chopped the tomatoes myself. i'm not just pouring the sauce into a microwaveable mug and nuking it in the microwave. this is to show i am in love with you always.

Doryce: *kisses Gladyce on the spoon* thank you, honey, i love you too. i get it. though that was my favorite coffee mug. it's weird to put spaghetti sauce in a coffee mug. the mug is stoneware, i got it at Mattress Warehouse, and it reads as follows:

John Oliver, the 16th-century John Oliver, says witches were used as a euphemism for bitches in polite society. anyway, you're Number 1 Bitch i mean Witch.

Gladyce: come to me when it's real medieval stone.

Dirg arrives home with ashes on his forehead.

Laertus: that already happened. you only do this one time, Ash Wednesday.

Dirg: i missed Wednesday watching Empire. so imma put blackface on my forehead from now on, every day, cos my religion is sacred to me. i missed out all those days as a youth with my stupid father being the worst kind of Christian, a Christian atheist.

Laertus: oh brother. i'm rolling my eyes but you can't see it under my cakes of guyliner. you suddenly got religion? the way the President did? it's clearly evident in your actions your whole life. okay, gander and all, watch this, watch me reenter the room chorus-style.

Laertus returns into the fireplace room wearing an ash mark on his forehead that's the hashtag symbol.

Laertus: a hashtag symbol of ash, a black octothorpe. for the millennial generation. the Church is losing young people and followers.

Dirg: didn't we already do this? black symbol of the satanic Kraken?

Laertus: hey, your own Pope Herself was wearing this pound-number-sign hashtag-ash on her forehead. she was trying to shimmer her way out of the greeters-line, holding back her ring when each tried to kiss it.

Dirg: getting a pounding. layup line. yeah, i saw that on tv. she was wearing some nice see-through white heels underneath her robe-dress.

The Pope: please don't kiss my ring, folks! i'm very sensitive to that. it's a sensitive area, i wear the ring as a vag ring.

Eye Luggage: Hot Streets ended. probably. unfairly reviewed on sites. review-bombed like Captain Marvel.

Laertus: i was scared to look at the reviews for the latest Simpsons episode which took on the MRA. even tho i knew the writer was a feminist-femme legend who would take the time to craft the script to make it accessible to all and still-funny and keeping-in-tradition traditionalist and informative and good, but there would be those out there who would trash it anyway. and yet, despite my concerns, i still had to read the reviews. regretted it.

Dirg: Captain Marvel? what's that? let me get out my phone ipad and just check the scores. yep, made the Wiki edit and we're golden to go.

Eye: i was worried about where they were going with Soo Park. then they brought her back so i was less worried and breathed a queef of relief. that a creepy kids airplane wasn't in charge. but then i cringed so hard again when they went with the old tired trope of "woman crazy". le sigh, i guess i'll just have to be comforted tonight by my hammer honey and some soft-core falling-pink-blossom Korean soap dramas. and pink bottom.

Dirg: yeah but it turns out it wasn't a conspiracy, Plane wasn't a spy. that's not the usual course, that was some innovative writing.

Laertus: the man killed Soo Park. it was also Cry Night on Toonami. Hunter x Hunter, Boruto, and Megalo Box. should i just go and you listen?

Dirg: as long as it's not s-CRY-ed Night, worst anime of all time. i don't watch anime anymore ever since you started to like it.

Laertus: obsess over it you mean.

Laertus: as a screenwriter, this is how i would have done the Hunter x Hunter ending: the no-credits intro to the episode was played good. Meruem lain down in that white scene with a tearful-goodbye-in-her-eyes Komugi by his side holding his illuminati lizard hand. they talk, the dialogue is crisp and learning and alarming. but then the two stop talking for awhile, like a good two minutes. the scene fades to black, the last line of dialogue is The King, who says softy, imploring of Komugi:

are you there?

and she answers firmly sweetly, after another minute for silence:

yes.

that's the end of the episode, title card. no end credits or music, and no damn annoying loud-calliope-music preview for the next back-to-normal happy episode.

Dirg: or a tearful hello. that's impossible to do you know. except for Army family reunions at the airport on tv.

Laertus: and don't get me started on Boruto. actually, do. see, Karin SHOULD have really been Sarada's mother! that held such rich dramatic potential. then the lesson really would have been that Sarada's mother, Sakura---tho despite not being her real biological mother---loved her more than any other person in the universe and THAT's what counts when it comes to a mother. families really do rally and come in all sizes and shapes.

Eye: that was so beautiful. that wasn't a crack at my weight, right? imma call my bio-mom tonight cos of you, thank you.

Laertus: and finally Megalo Box, the ending, oy the ending. you know the endings of things make or break whole things. i liked the concept they were going with, the final match interspersed with flashbacks and flashforwards filling out the story in the corners. there should have been no end card revealing the result, it should have been that the audience REALLY DOES NOT FIND OUT who won the epic final fight. THAT would have driven home the point that it doesn't really matter who won, but that the two pugilists became lifelong friends, from competitors to companions. one in a wheelchair and one becomes a dance instructor. man am i crotch-deep in rewrites tonight.

Dirg: meh. Joe---which was never his real name, what the fuck WAS his real name?---should have just died in the ring, and then the end card comes out and says

NOT DEAD YET

but this time ironically. i mean that's real life, right? a swamprat scorpion dog from the streets can't really make it, he will die trying. but it's still his dream, right?

Coach K knocks hardly on the medieval moat door of the UCF fraternity, which justso happens to also be Nike Headquarters.

Coach K: open up!!!

Tacko Fall: *snickers whilst eating a Snickers* come here cos you had a Fall too? heehee. you're hardly knocking, we can't hear you! hey, Mike, no more taco delivery for you today, that Taco Bell GrubHub free-delivery-to-your-house thing was limited-time-only! *laughs* expired. no more talk about my disappearing candy, you called me Manut Bol's son when you recruited me on that olive-green couch the first time, that's what you get o holy honorable venerable K!

Coach K: *speaking like he has a cookie in his mouth* come on, i want to speak with Nike. this is all because my player blew out his shoe he was never the same, this cost me the Championship, we lost to Michigan State. AGAIN! Tom Izzo mocked me by yelling in my face and passing out Championchip chocolate-chip cookie-sandwiches to my players right there on the court, forcing us to watch them cut down the nets.

Tacko Fall: yeah i know. i got the connections. the connections which will save the world. my deep ancient spiritual African connections.

a player steps out and crosses the frat drawbridge. it's Russell Westbrook, after having finished his chicken pesto lunch at the Red Table and crumpled up the wrapper and tossed it in the waste basket for 4 points.

Coach K: i've got my lawyer here with me, Avenatti.

Mueller: why'd you do it, son? and who's your new master?

Avenatti: sorry, Father, i just got so depressed over your findings. would have really kickstarted my Presidential bid. you were my Lord and i went rogue and Bad Samaritan and prodigal son on you, bowdlerizing with the fair maidens and sowing my royal oats when i had no royal blood. ending up faceplanted on a stack of hay. is it just me and my blue eyes or is the world literally going full-animal crazy right before our eyes? spinning on its axis as it should but, like, way faster than it should. like every turn just reveals more crazy for more people caught up in the net.

Laertus: what i'll never comprehend is how these high-profile people actually think they can get away with it! they actually think that this will be kept secret, kept under wraps, FOREVER. in this ipad age! shaking my damn head.

Avenatti: i did it all for the nookie i mean the NIKE. the frat cookie. i did it all to protect the tournament, to protect the player, to protect Zion, Zion Williamson---must have been named after my favorite '70s prog-rock LP record---is the next sure thing, the next Jordan, well maybe the next Anthony Davis. i'm a college-athletics fan just like the rest of the country is, even college gymnastics.

Mueller: i understand, it was a bust. i was about to kick the football but Barr grabbed it out of my feet at the last minute. like a Barr of soapy soap. spoilers: it's a trillion pages, easily digested in a beach weekend, light reading under a big rainbow umbrella. honestly i got bored with it, like two weeks in. i knew it was nothing but i was too bored to go on vacation. i wanted to tell America, tell them to tamp down expectations, but i didn't talk. i'll be sure to explain all at the Mueller Hearings. but you see this is the existentialism we all must face as humans, i have often been compared to God what with my demeanor and the fact that i would have to be invented if i didn't already exist. the people wanted me to provide them with Everything. but, like God, i am what happens when we die: nothing.

Russell Westbrook enters the arena, gets his motor going and running, which never needs much oil, and storms the court in battle. he scores 100 points in the first quarter but no one notices. everyone, and the camera, is pointing at the loud obnoxious fan heckling Russ.

Russ: hey i'm good and old and old-fashioned and good-natured. what's your beef wit me? i try harder at my job than you ever will at yours.

fan: i hate you cos you're different from me.

Russell shoots the fan with a toy laser gun. and gets immediately arrested by NBA police security guards who were there to shield Russ from the fans.

Russell: i don't get it. why doesn't it work the other way around? why doesn't it work with brothers?

President Bump: nope, never will. that fan was a supporter of mine. the world has changed.

Russell: but we're playing on Fifth Avenue across the bay in the Knicks stadium, it should have worked. don't we have recourse, too?

Bump: no, especially now. this is MY Green New Deal: money. unless you're willing to forfeit your bail bond that comes from the Robin Williams genie. or dress like Michael Jackson like you're still hot stuff and stroll down the halls of a Hearing courtroom. or sell a couple of PUSH hats. see? whether it's MAGA or PUSH, hats are the thing, man! hats are the thing!

Russell: why am i in jail!? i did nothing wrong! it's a laser gun!

Bump: doesn't matter. only when we're In Session at a Hearing are the lasers justified and real and effective and damaging.

at the edge of campus, Madame Pons makes the curve turn and rides her broom into the cement cylinder space where all the cars go by in the drivethru. she parks in midair at the window, slid open by a young girl college student counter clerk with just her bottom-lip painted.

girl: OMG! you're the legend! Donut Sticks on the house! they're just churros anyway.

Madame Pons has been crying which blots her raccoon-eyed Pope eye makeup. she forgot her tissues at home.

Madame Pons: i don't feel very well-connected. no. no thank you. got those Rattlesnake Fries still?

girl: not here. you know they make those with real rattlesnakes, right?

Pons collapses into coughs and cries.

Pons: i'm sorry, it's been an emotional day. i've been trying to reach my sister on the phone. to talk about it. when i think of her i...…

other emotion. i usually don't do this, i've never made a late-night fastfood-run like this before. but i'm starting to have animal cravings. cravings about animals. got the Biggie Bag?

girl: not here. we got a Bucket tho. Bucket O' Rainbow Chicken. comes in a rainbow bucket, also the chicken is rainbow.

Pons cries.

girl: hey it's nothing to be ashamed about. gotta eat. college, now college is something that can never tamp down tears. especially the sex.

Pons: i'm not so sure about that anymore. but i have no other counter, it's not like i have a pet or anything waiting for me at home. the grease hits the spot, temporarily. and the seasonings, which i try not to think about. i'll try my sister again when i get home. even though it's hopeless, she won't be there.

girl: nutritious food. here. drive safe. *waves happy-goodbye*

Pons pushes the button on her phone and hastily madly throws the phone over her shoulder into the back of her car, which is her broom. the phone hangs by a thread stuck to the last straw of the broomhead.

Pons screeches away.