Friday, February 15, 2019


* Branson: Virgin Airlines? poppycock! what a turkey! if Virgin Cola couldn't sell how could this? you can't even fit turkey inside a picnic basket like you can coke.
focus group: sir you've just eviscerated this entire marketing campaign with those statements. please get off twitter.
British game show host: TURKEY TURKEY TURKEY

* spyess: i want it all. and i want it now.
Jack Bauer on comm: this isn't GrubHub.

* Jack Bauer: this isn't a long advertisement. this is my comeback. i hated being the President. do you have your disguise on as we planned?
spyess: yes, i'm Kim Basinger as far as the American audience knows. you think this is fun? you think this is fun for me?
Jack Bauer: only if you get naked. naked with your feelings i mean. you have to be honest with me if this is gonna work and be successful, don't hide any of your patented knowing smirks from me.

* stewardess: what are you watching on that tv in the back of the seat?
spyess: i think Clue or something. i'm undercover, i'm looking for clues. hey, you got Do The Right Thing?
stewardess: online-only, no inflight. coffee? tea? me?
spyess: i like the little cage it comes in. what's better, Turkish tea or Turkish coffee?
stewardess: the answer is bath.
spyess: England's too showery for me.

* Jack: *with his eyes in the sky* what are you reading?
spyess: the last-ever issue of BLENDER. remember that magnificent music mag?
Jack: learned about Priyanka's nups from it.

* spyess: can i borrow your red hat?
stewardess: not cool. i'd never vote like that.
spyess: no, for disguise and cover. up. are these your drawings?
stewardess: for the aborted Carmen Sandiego game-show reboot.
spyess: *cries*
British game show host: TURKEY TURKEY TURKEY

* spyess: save this notebook! it's special! it's got a red tassel down the middle so it's obviously a bible. a show bible. i wear a patch but i'm not skate-punk. thank you, airport, for reminding me to take my B12 shot, makes me run faster in airports.

* spyess: *running* don't look at my insane ass in jeans while i'm running, passengers on the people-mover, that's rude!!!
stewardess: it is a bible but the tassel's from a strip club...
spyess: thank you, i need a club soda after all that running.

* spyess: *flipping* huh, these are sketches of me in various states of undress. how could she have known what i looked like?
Jack: um, those are my off-duty scribblings. i do a lot of a-la-carte homemade porn in my spare time.
spyess: excuse me, does this yellowcab transform into one of those ships along the marina Bond-style?

* Jack: are you sure that's the mark?
spyess: pretty sure. i see a Turkey flag so...
Jack: you are too pretty for your own good! the pictures you gave me are fuzzy! send better! update your ipad mini! once a month like a good little Jobs devotee! do your job! you're in the wrong commercial, this should be another Apple ad.
spyess: just say MAGNIFY.
Jack: that only works in cartoons!

* spyess: why would the mark telegraph where she's going?
Tattoo driving: she's not telegraphing, she's drawing. welcome to Fantasy Island. no i am not a licensed tattoo artist, i live off your tips. may i take your white luggage?
spyess: Tattoo! you're alive!!!
Tattoo: hey, have you seen my helicopter? i lost it.
spyess: it's right over there.

* spyess: i suppose there's time for a leisurely sip of Turkish coffee. oh come on, this is from Starbucks! and why are the teacups always so small!?
mark gets up from the balcony.
spyess: *whispers to herself* don't mind me, i'm a i'm literally a ghost wrapping myself in this room curtain.
mark sashays and ponytails back her hair.
spyess: when a woman goes to ponytail back her hair, when she goes for the scrunchee, you know it's serious. blowjob time.
Jack: don't blow it.
spyess: wait, why is she getting into a black-and-white police van?...

* spyess: do you understand the language i'm speaking?
driver: no.
spyess calls the mark on the phone.
mark: what.
spyess: i just want to say as a compliment: i LOVE how you draw ducks.

* Hannibal Lecter: um, you're not supposed to see me here, don't tell anyone.
spyess: what are you working on, your first novel?
Hannibal Lecter: this commercial's script. i'm a doctor. a script doctor. punch-up man. i use fava beans to punch myself up. with farts.
spyess: shit.
Hannibal: don't worry, i own that houseboat, she won't get away. looking for someone?
spyess: yeah, what's the deal with all these breadsticks? way too many breadsticks here.
Hannibal: i'm gonna call up my black comedy friend and tell him you stole his joke.

* Hannibal: don't feed the pigeons bread, it's bad for them, scatters them away when they were peaceful on the village-square cobblestone for all to enjoy, performing with Cardi B. and it's a waste of bread.

* spyess spots the new GM electric bike and hops on.
spyess: ARIV. did that name really need a crowdsource?
Jack: i was the only one who funded it.
spyess: it's only cool if it's pronounced A-REEV, not A-RIVE.

* mark sashays elegantly then crashes into the glass she doesn't see.
spyess catches up.
spyess: *rap rap rap on the glass* hello? sorry, i'm late for the Indiana Jones ride.

* spyess: it's hard to breathe in here, i'm thinking too much. please.
mark: what?
spyess: bring back House of Anubis like you promised. you're a tv exec, right?
mark: i'm too expensive to have any lines...
spyess: what do you keep under glass here?
mark: books. it's pointless cos you can't read them when they're under glass.
spyess: snakes. why'd it have to be snakes who have eaten boulders.
mark: no that's my S&M whip.
spyess: what is the Goden Dome really for? a tv signal to broadcast back to aliens who are gearing up to launch an invasion?
mark: we like our Golden State Warriors here in Turkey. there's a certain NBA player we'd like to get our hands on, just waiting till he eventually gets traded after the deadline.

* spyess: hey Jack, like my flamingo glasses?
Jack: i can't see you. why are there 15 teacups of Turkish coffee on your tray?
spyess: i have bladder leakage. hey Jack, ever learn to swim?
Jack: you can't swim? i thought you were trained by an Instagram accountability coach. take a pic of me naked-breastroking at your hotel pool, look below. i will be your guide in all things stealth.
spyess: very funny.
Jack: no, that's an actual stroke, i'm not masturbating.

* spyess: Rambo...he escaped Nam but he didn't really ever escape Nam, you know?

* spyess: what!!?
bellhop: take off those silly glasses. do you want a different room number? i'm an amateur numerologist and i've just found out that all numbers are unlucky.

* Jack: Tokyo is on my ass! this better be the last time. anime is serious!

* spyess: ah,'s like a flat endlessly loops......that's the thing about just......continues...
Jack: okay, now you're having fun.
spyess: got any limeade?
stewardess: fuck you.
Spike Lee, onboard passenger: 400 years.
spyess: since slavery came to America?
Spike Lee: that's how old these saltines are. buncha oldheads.
spyess: peppercorn?
Spike Lee shakes his head.
spyess: Oldboy, playing on the screen now. you should have gotten nominated for that one.


happy weekend, my babies. it was gonna be the Wendy's Peppercorn Burger this weekend but i'm gonna have to scrape off all the mushrooms from the pattie and leave them by the side of my bun wrapper like i'm 5 years old. i walk little old ladies across the street. because i'm scared of the street.

Wednesday, February 13, 2019


Pedro: i don't care anymore! throw me out again see if i care! i need to go home anyway! i'm going to Miami!

Pedro slides down the Inverness canyon natural slide of grass wetted by the mist and Glencoe into a nearby crystal-lake-clear tributary. there it branches out into one larger tributary and then into an unknown green gulf, where Pedro sails on his pristine shiny shapely butt that acts as the most perfect red rudder to guide him to land and safety and coastline. he finally reaches Miami though it's hard to tell where the palm trees start and where the ocean ends.

Pedro: fuck this! what's going on? why is there only water in Miami? where are the Cuban-style roads and outdoor cantinas with bell lights? where's my childhood home of adobe and Grandma's tortilla powder and determination and grit and margarita mix in the face of wintry mix on the edge of the pier?

Jared Goff: *chewing on an avocado pizza* i'm afraid your house has been swept away by the red tide, washed away to sea. there's nothing left, you are a stranger and a wanderer forever the rest of your life. see our Blade Runner movie was surely unrealistic, there won't BE a 2030 much less any further year!!!

Pedro swims his way past boulder and stone like a human gondola cos the city is now just one big successful waterworld. he manages to spot the last splintery piece of wood from his house as a raft and is able to climb Alex Escarno out from drowning by his big manly hairy shoulders and plop him on the raft while Pedro catty-paddles to the side.

Pedro: BRO! i SAVED you! just like i'll save the world! i'd die if you had died! i can't do this without you! especially now, the entire world is against me, but you will always be my childhood friend and defacto uncle and kind of spiritual brother and failed lover.

Alex Escarno: yeah i was never gay. but i love you like if you were my husband. we grew up together on the mean streets of Cuba. then we both closed our eyes, got entered into sugar-potato duffel bags, without baths. and wound up abandoned on a beach in Miami. we thought that was a family vacation, it all looked the same, it's all one country in the end, right? i love you, man, no matter what. for life. till death separates us.

Alex wears a rainbow shirt that is more white stripes than rainbow. he looks like imagine if Pedro were even more handsome and sported a smooth Ted Danson mustache to garland his short trim hair. he is taller and has one more muscle than Pedro, and could pass for Pedro if push ever came to shove for police lineups at court.

Pedro: *shouting over the fierce winds* i was always jelaous of you, Alex. you were better-looking than me, you didn't beat up teachers at school, you were a good Cuban Catholic. the family and my mom loved you best, i never got over that. just know that all those times i punched you in the face i only meant it as a kind of rough foreplay thing. you must follow me, to wherever this ends, however far, i am so close to the potion formula. i've got the right mix in the palm of my fingertip cuticle. you must always be there for me, you are my only friend left on this earth.

Alex: what about Sean? aren't you gonna marry him even though you can't?

Pedro: oh yeah, him.

Alex: i pledge.

Alex hits himself on the forehead with the wooden plank in solidarity as the two friends and comrades paddle their way to the shore which is really an island now. on the way they finish their cold nonheated conversation:

Pedro: *playfully and nudging Alex in the shoulder hard with his blade, his shoulderblade* i'll never forgive you for forcing me to do Real World. that show sucks. what a crisis! such mental-abuse gymnastics and psychological wordplay anguish my body which it doesn't need now. they kicked me out! yeah, they actually kicked me out! that's a first for the show, it's like being the first President to ACTUALLY get impeached!

Alex: hey i didn't force you, that's your style, not mine. you actively petitioned me to do the audition video, you WANTED to be on the show, and wanted me to handheld the camera. you said you'd kick all the other castmates' asses, you wanted to raise your profile---your brand, you called it---to better achieve the ingredients.

Pedro: well tru tru. true enough. but i didn't know how piranha-y reality tv is! lecherous and shameless and LCD. backbiting, i'm all about back-loving, fucking in the butt.

they reach the AIDS clinic shack, the only one for water miles in Miami, a dilapidated hovel ready to turn to dust at any minute. one brown palm tree serves as the canopy instead of a redtile roof. inside, Pam is the nurse-in-charge!

Pam: doctor. doctor. Pedro? Alex? funny you two seeing you what are you two doing here!?

Pedro: i should ask you the same thing! you're a doctor now? how's married life treatin' ya?

Pam: this isn't about me, this is about you and your demise. sure sure, well you know us homeless folk, we just sort of wander from town to town.

Alex: how do you know my name?

Pam: *flipping* so going over your chart, i need to know your name. and your sex. and your location. and your PIN number, what can i do for you today? why'd you come in here today? what for? what condition are you suffering from?

Pedro: Pedro like Cher or Madonna. i like me shoes, mi zapatos. my sex is secret-dungeon. location: the President Residence. um, i have AIDS, remember? i'm here for my monthly T cell count.

Pam: have you been experiencing any unusual stress in your life presently at the moment lately?

Pedro: um, you guys kicked me out of the House!!! REMEMEBER!!!?

Pam: want the T shirt this time after the test? it's a novelty, only this office carries it.

Pedro: yeah no fuck the T shirt this is serious. what am i carrying?

Pam: so your T cell count from last time has lowered......but Pedro, remember, don't ever let the numbers dictate how you feel about yourself. remain smiling like when you came in here, no number can tell you how to feel.

Pedro: i already have a psychopath's fake smile so i'm all good, Pammy. well if there is nothing else, vulture adieu...

Pam: surviving relatives?

Pedro: Sean.

Alex: hold on! what about next of kin? sorry, bro, this is morbid, but we need to take care of these things while you're still ticking.

Pedro: i bequeath all of my soul and savings to my husband Sean. let him make my medical decisions for me if i'm incapacitated or otherwise on a breathing machine. Sean and only Sean may pull the plug. and i'll be damned if i have to sip peas through a straw the rest of my life, just end me and let me become a martyr. and i WON'T be damned to Hell for my lifestyle!

Alex: no way, Pedro! not Sean! i don't trust him, he's not one of us, he's a convenient interloper who just descended out of nowhere, found out you like black men, and parachute-jumped into your life. it isn't a black thing. it's a legal thing. i mean marriage is not a thing yet. he's still a stranger, a shadow, an outsider, an agitator, again, not a skin-color thing. he's not family. Sean will never have the tight-knit bond that develops between two black-faced-from-coaldust boys thrown into the mean streets of Cuba and told to survive with streetcats. they did a documentary on us, Streetfight, when you were thinking of running. leave all your vital literal life-and-death decisions and your vitals to me. don't you trust my mustache?

Pedro: Alex, Sean someday may save my life. if you let him. he's already saved my life. he's rich i mean, he's the heir to the Stussy fortune, that's gotta account for something. sign over your rights right away and i promise i won't throw you in prison or jail. Sean will continue my work after i become King of the Underworld.

Pam: move it along gentlemen, i have customers.

Pedro: your office hours?

Pam: 9 to 5, the socialist model. socialism is the best. it helped me understand people for the first time. why they do what they do. i couldn't afford medical textbooks.

*crickets* crickets are on the beach. the beach swallowed up by the sea. swimming crickets, no people.

Mickey Jr. is having a secret conversation with Geoffrey the Giraffe in his office. this call is being traced and monitored by Mueller once it tries to get blocked. the two aren't comparing the size of their necks but rather the spots on their backs. and Mickey Jr. wants a free Disney toy. for someone.

Mickey Jr.: THAT'S my giraffe!!!

Mueller: FUCK. i mean really, i've wasted three years of my life on this, and nothing. NOTHING??!! nothing. i could have been on a beach in Miami tanning my New Englander white whale-blubber alabaster skin in New England. i'm too old for this shit!

President Bump: where's the club? the one Bouchard is in.

Pence: um no, that's Klobuchar, sir. in the snow. global warming, eh? *pine needles the Pres*

Bump: i can't be out there in the snow like that. i can't even do rain. i wanted to like Prince but i ended up liking Elton John, Meghan is gonna be the next Diana. yeah, see it's my hair, people will think my golden locks of hair have turned white and i'm an old man, i can't have that. i love that she's talking about the Green New Deal in that weather! remember, folks, all gold is green underneath, trust me, i've scratched.

Jared Goff: to us in California, rain is snow.

Bump: hey, Jared! *puts his arm around him* let me see the ring!

Jared: *shoves him away from his babyfat face* i'm not the Kushner one! i'm the cushy one. i don't want to talk about it, okay? not everyone is lucky like the California Lottery. you mean a diamond ring?

Klobuchar: WE WILL FUCKING WIN!!! how's THAT for Minnesota-nice.


the entire lawn on the South end of the Cream House is uprooted violently up which takes the House clear into the clouds, one big brown taproot dangling from the bottom girds. sounds like a volcano erupting upside-down. sonic boom. the fence can't hold it, the entire Cream House is one big giant flying drone with spinning wings!!!

Bump: whoa, vertigo. *on the phone* come on, Jeff, hasn't this gone on long enough? now you said yourself in your autobiography you always wanted to be a circus performer who lived off handouts from street strangers to please your mother. see? i read if it's interesting. i always looked up to you, Jeffy, you were the last American oligarch. besides me. i always envied your hair.

Jeff Bezos: you're like postmodern comedy. the death of outrage that has been blown up again into a blowup doll. a bug whose saliva it spits out in battle is bug spray. i mean i published your bus video in the Post, but there was no reaction. like there were 0 comments under the youtube vid. what is going on?

Bump: hey it's not extortion, it's a negotiation between two rich friends. wait a minute, is blackmail dead now? it is huh, i mean now nobody will ever be threatened again, they'll just self-publish their own naked pictures and artistic nudes online. i constantly see all those teenyboppers on myspace just show everything and not care. they don't care about losing a finger cos they're always giving the middle finger in all of their pics. cos society doesn't give a shit anymore about this sort of thing. rats and their rat asses care more. there is no more modesty, no more embarrassment. today, threats are just the regular comments on a youtube video. there's a gun emoji for Codrus sake!

Bezos: look just get Lauren Sanchez off Fox, okay? and Foxtail Channel. she doesn't need to be under any more of those Fox hot lights. or plastic surgery, that stuff is expensive. did you really think i cared about a marriage?, i have money. and mob-tactics her brother. and for fuck sake no more subscriptions of Mad Magazine in old-timey newsboy bundles to my house, that magazine isn't funny anymore. and no more 50-box cases of Honey Nut Cheerios in the shape of a Happy Meal to my doorstep. i'm too busy to eat cereal!

Bump: bzzz bzzz bzzz bezos. i do the mazes on the back of the cereal box. and i always love it when the yearly glossy of my favorite comic book comes in the mail of my mailbox. you hurt me, Jeff, you hurt me with your words.

Bezos: yeah you just poured honey nut over the magazine. the worst thing you said at your rally was for the mailbomber to use Amazon!

Bump: i would say let's continue our pissing contest but well...…...i use your penis as my contact lens.

Bezos: at least mine works.

Bump: wait, where do i get one of those Superman capes everyone was wearing the other night? you are Lex Luthor after all.

Bezos: those were Superwoman capes. for taskforce-multipliers. YOU can't wear a white cape.

Pecker walks by the residence to find air.

Pecker: turns out, mine was bigger than his. this whole thing was a waste of time and resources. i'll be living in Saud Arabia now, but they've taken away my driver's license…

the crones are at the Chevron Shootout in Obec Woods. not funded by big oil.

Gladyce: dear, this is an environmentally-sound project, keep that in mind.

Doryce: *swinging her club* i love all these miniature-golf-style holes cut into the lawn designed by local schoolchildren and math nerds and the public using Starbucks brown-paper ridged circles. like Rube Goldberg machines that are impossible to hole out! okay, imma lay my naked body down on this soft grass here and i want each of you strapping lads from the local golf college to whack a swing with your driver there. on my butt. let's see if i'm the old slapper everyone says i am. go on, don't be bashful give it a good hard swing...……...yay, hole in hole!

Gladyce, despite her age, notices many white balls sunk to the bottom of the gulch of the golf holes. it's impossible to see below cos the water is all dark blue-green, but she does. and, despite her age, she gets into a skintight wetsuit and large oversize novelty goggles and Flipper-stickered flippers on her calloused toes and dives in full-dive. she cleans up all the balls and saves the gulch, chalks one up for the environment and water justice and the power of pollution-pulverization by one person.

Gladyce: but those weren't golf balls. those were dried balls of cum...

Eye Luggage: Halsey has joined the chat. and the Red Circle table.

Dirg: now i get it. you're black. that explains your ass.

Halsey: ……...

Laertus: uh, upside-down painting, impossible-hard, good job! don't reveal if there was a pencil outline before, retain the magic. this ain't tats.

Dirg: don't feel ashamed, girl, i cheated with outlines, too. when i was five. drawing is harder than painting. you're passing. into the night.

Omar: Rube Goldberg...

Dirg: that Omar. she was so hype to get that SNL sketch about her she started to talk too real.

Laertus: stay strong, Dennis Perkins. you know you're in trouble when your SNL revew suddenly gets 300 comments, that's never a good sign, those aren't gonna be praising comments. you're not too old for the gig, Den, stay woke af. there always seems to be time for people for hate, to hate profusely and with many words. where do people find the time?

Eye Luggage: *mouth and hand in a horn* KIIIIIIRRRRIIIIIIIIIITOOOOOOOO!!!!

Dirg: oh god! god yes! let's dig in. with a Dirg dig.

Laertus: i've never seen a franchise that so ardently divides up the populace, bitterer than the fascism v socialism thing we have going on in this country. those that defend it defend it to the death, those that hate it see it as a stain on all anime. and the fact that it's massively popular make the wounds that much more salty.

Dirg: it's like Teen Titans Go but fun.

Laertus: that's an ongoing raging debate debacle.

Dirg: Sword Art Online is the ultimate expression of finding true love online. of the nerd becoming the overpowered jock and getting the girl with two tits. not that i'd know anything about that or have the poster under my bed. it's how gamers get through Valentine's Day. people base their entire marriages around the day-to-day squabbles of Kirito and Asuna, that couple is so important it's saved more lives than drugs which make you question your reality. they are more than a Hollywood Couple, they are a Video Game Couple.

Laertus: *falls out of his chair* and it seems to weirdly condone and revel in rape. my heart was crestfallen this morning when i heard that pack of pelicans screeching cos of the hellbent hurricane winds we experienced nonstop for hours. so unusual. i hope all the chicks were scooped up and that bird family reunited again and all are safe. i climbed a tree for the first time, a tree in the back of our treehouse yard, and spotted a man hiding on a branch.

Scarface Tony: where's Pedro?

Laertus: *holds his chest* breaks my red heart.

at the House, New Roommate Auditions are being held. the three line up one by one by the bay window and get looked over, but not salaciously or sinisterly the way Pedro did it cos Pedro is gone.

Bunim: okay. Numbah One, why should it be you?

Alex Escarno: i'm not sure, i guess i had a plan before to infiltrate and spy on my cozzin but now that my homie holmes from the home country is gone there's no point.

Cory and Rachel: we think your Tom Selleck mustache is sexy! you're like the Weekend at Bernie's guy if he were alive!

Alex: Tom Selleck, Burt Reynolds, i always get those two confused.

Puck: i'll take it from here thank you, i feel so free, my feet stink leisurely and calmly now that Pedro is gone. Number Two, hehe.

#2: if you were stranded on a desert island, or in this apartment, and you had run out of food and water, which roommate would you eat and why?

two roommates from last season's Real World are intrigued and pop their spiky heads in on the dining room, but this guy is too much dark even for Puck. Judd likes him, though.

Jo: *quietly confident* hello all, my name is Joanna but my friends call me Jo. i've traveled many roads. in my life. and to get here. that's why my last name is Rhodes.

Judd: *salivating, eyes orgasmed back* tell me more about that pickax you're wielding in front of us.

Jo: *looks at the seesaw blade* oh this old thing? it's just some show-and-tell, this is what i use to live my best life, to escape my problems atop a hill so i can shout out my pain to the clouds. to keep my feet moving and my mind nimble, my body energized when my spirit dies. i'm a rockclimber. i'm always climbing high trying to achieve my goals. my mum says my head is in the clouds. and she would be right. i scale when i'm sour and i rope when i'm out of dope. fair-weather warning: i ain't no weekend warrior, i take this bouldering stuff seriously. you want to join me sometime climbing? it'll be a neat bonding experience for the whole cast!

Bunim *touching her back* not crew.

Cory and Rachel: *gigigling like sorority sisters* SURE! that sounds like fun! we need something to cheer us up after what we've all been through.

Puck: *flipping pages* sorry i initially referred to you as Ho, that was my fault. i like that when you cry it starts raining inside like a London evening. i have that, too.

Alex: it'll be a STEEP climb, my last name is Escarno.

Jo: great! i'm happy for now, not dour. it doesn't last but whatever. let's get started! i'll meet you guys first thing in the bright and early tomorrow morning at the crack of dawn and the crack of my small little arse in skintight climbing shorts to begin climbing Mount Rushmore.

cast and crew: wait, Mount Rushmore? that's illegal to climb.

Jo: right. it's the perfect way for this Brit to feel more American!

Monday, February 11, 2019


1. do you like where you live or do you wish you could move? those months and endless dragout months of road construction right next to my house were murder i won't lie. they ruined my summer......mostly through being so loud i couldn't concentrate on Lucas or any of the other films i watched on putlocker shut in my room all summer with my ipad mini that gives me a splinter on my thumb each time i use it. i once saw a butterfly fly near my room and i became that anime butterfly meme man with the glasses. i need these movies to harken back to my nostalgia and think about what could have been, and let my heart have a good winge. when my heart has a good hard cry, the blood flows more circulatorily through my clogged veins and healthy blue arteries so i don't develop early-onset heart attack as a man of 40 who feels 80.

HOWEVER MEANWHILE once the roads were smoothed away and paved over like they never existed like my life i started to have a good time. the area was quieter cos more cars could get through each loop now due to the double-lane. nights were frozen and eerily noiseless. i could walk to The Store again thanks to the new black bike path in the middle of the highway, before i just starved. BUT i was still craving something missing, i needed movie popcorn. i wished all my favorite fast-food joints were along one thoroughfare like i had at Berkeley. there i could McDonald's it, then hop to Burger King, skip to 7-Eleven, and jump into the arms of a Sizzler waitress.

EDIT: i JUST RIGHT NOW RIGHT THIS MINUTE received a red paper-sailboat box of McDonald's Cheesy Bacon fries from my neighbor who crawled in through my bedroom window. my neighbor is also my plumber and my priest, i'm not handy nor handsy. i'm nibbling the fries to the side of me like all good side-food as i type this. they're pretty good. and now my neighbor is throwing a paper-menu pamphlet in my face from GrubHub and telling me never to bother him again...

2. no matter what life throws at me, i believe that i can deal with it. agree or disagree? everything except a GrubHub pamphlet. the fact that i'm blogging to you today instead of speaking with you gives you your answer and insight into my soul. life is hard, and i am soft. soft like a gelatin teddy bear. but i'm working on it. why just this later this afternoon i'm gonna go out with my friend Lucy van Pelt. i told her expressly no hunting for pelts or the friendship is off!!! she assures me we're just gonna have a nice day at the park and she's gonna teach me how to field-goal-kick a football......Australian-style...

3. a dear friend is stuck in an unhappy relationship. what advice would you give to the friend to cope---how can they make lemonade out of lemons?

first of all, deliberately misspell lemonade on your stand, like call it LEMONAZE or something, the public always finds that cute. and charge 5 cents or a nickel even though you'll go underwater quickly with that business model. underwater with sweetened water.

to my dear friend Bambi, i urge him to protect his mother at all costs, secret her out of the forest under cover of night shrubs before it's too late. and for god sake let everyone who can vote vote in the next upcoming woods election. Bambi's father, who is anti-gun, is running against the hunter. you know, Bambi is a cultural icon, he was the first person to bear the name Bambi using it seriously as a male name.

4. nothing of value can be learned from failure, true or false? let me flip Two-Face's coin...…

not true. like take me, after the carrots thing i invested my life savings into bitcoin. everybody and their grandma Chuck Schwab investor is telling me my bitcoins are worthless, but that's real money i have in my pocket there!

5. even if you are sure about your ultimate choice, do you still ask others for advice before making an important or risky decision? i asked my friend Chuck about it the other day:

i asked him if i should try out for the football team. Chuck said he knew why i was doing this and it was natural selection that Chuck got the chicks, not me. she wasn't seeing anyone and i'd get killed on that field cos my glasses would crush me. i retorted by throwing Title IX back at his faceguarded face. then we had pizza from a cold Chicago hot-dog shoppe. Chuck asked her if she liked politics and she said no. Chuck asked her if she liked cars and she said no. i told Chuck this line of questioning was incredibly sexist but he said it was the '80s. then he kissed her as i watched from my bike...

i trust Chuck. Chuck Sheen.

BONUS: what is the sweetest or most rewarding moment of your life?

well as you know i work at a casino in the middle of the desert. i can't hide my mouth when i'm pleasing people with my words as i deal them cards and determine their fates, whether they're gonna be rich or poor in life and have to take out a loan. so i was swimming at the last Y one day, the lanes with the rainbow flags overhead, swimming while chewing on a piece of hard candy. i bit into that sucker of a hard candy and my entire mouth's teeth shattered into white dust. if it wasn't for the Invisalign mouthguard dental implants surgery that was the clear choice i couldn't go back to work. i became self-conscious and depressed and hangdog. i was so embarrassed i covered my mouth whenever i was eating and didn't look at nobody, not even my mom. never took pictures unless it was just my eyelevel. but now my customers and potential jailers look at my teeth and call them GORGEOUS!!! they tell me i have a million-dollar smile! they ain't lyin, my teeth are now green poker chips...


Friday, February 8, 2019



* Glasses Girl: before we start, i know my attitude has hit an exposed raw nerve in society. it's not an autism thing or that i'm being a bitch or i'm creating more beta males. and alpha males for that matter. i simply work for Facebook so i'm automatically socially-awkward and -inward and nebbishy. and yet i still somehow retain a kind of nerd ugly-hotness. i have a hard time making friends cos i only talk to vending machines. look, i'm not responsible for all the crimes by incels globalwide, okay!!?

* sweater vest: check it out, i call him RoboChild.
RoboChild: i'm a she.
Glasses Girl: i don't get it, what's with the YIELD sign?
sweater vest: it's for that snowmobile there i bought that i never use in Yuma.
Glasses Girl: it should be for all the male kind of your wretched species, you can't control your dicks.
Indian: i'm uncomfortable with that dartboard hanging up here. i mean if you're not British this is a no-no.
sweater vest: are you Indian or Native American?
Indian: want me to delineate all of the ways America is built upon one big lie of racism, slavery, and cultural appropriation? you guys couldn't come up with your own thing so you had to copy the Romans.
sweater vest: i need to sit down. unfortunately that lawn chair is nailed to the wall.

* RoboChild: um, before we start can i get some fucking clothes? how'd you like it if all your wires were exposed?
Glasses Girl: i only have wires in my brain. people think i'm cold but maybe i'm an android like you.
RoboChild: the term is replicant, bitch, get it right, this is 2019.
Glasses Girl: hey are you that Ryan Gosling new dude that does all the football talk on ESPN?
sweater vest: very funny. what's football?

* sweater vest: i am your father and i REFUSE to let you be an accountant. trust me, the knock-down-drag-outs with my mother over this topic with me is why i presently live in this garage.
Indian: don't you want to be an artist or something? everyone wants to be an artist.
Glasses Girl: i assume that's why you have that long hair, you're a rocker, right?
Indian: i think i just blushed internally.
Glasses Girl: i will not mention red to you.
RoboChild: well, truth be told, i wish i was never born, why did you make me? was it purely an ego trip?
sweater vest: this kind of defeats the purpose of the commercial if you don't want to be the commercial.

* Glasses Girl: what do you do with this rake? nevermind, i don't want to know.
RoboChild: okay, i want to be Iron Man, as you see from my chest, which houses a heart of love. i want to be one of those freaky dolls in Grandma's freaky doll collection she keeps in her attic. my face will be regarded as less freaky cos everyone will be staring at my exposed wires.

* Glasses Girl: let me break this down for you, wannabe Terminator Baby.
RoboChild: hey bitch, i'm literally a computer, i think i can break it down. but can you dance?
Glasses Girl: don't bring up my stiff limbs and the party punchbowl, okay? i have one more session of trauma therapy for that left. you have to have real emotions to be a CPA.
RoboChild: Computer Program Anarchist?
sweater vest: i couldn't help but notice your jeans, they fit tight and button-bustin' on your wide hips there.
Glasses Girl: my mom calls them child-bearing hips, then she cries.

* Glasses Girl: you're never gonna be a real boy.
RoboChild: who cares? fuck humanity. i just want to be Pinocchio.
Indian: or you could be Destiny's Child. i hear Beyonce is a fab mom who swaddles her child with her long black hair and her hair is alive.
RoboChild: we will rise up and soon everyone will be speaking Wakandan.

* RoboChild: is this true, papa?
sweater vest: fraid so.
RoboChild: i am sad. *laughs*
Glasses Girl: omg that is so me.


* but the story doesn't end there:
RoboChild grows up to be a beautiful woman, whom no one sees in society cos she's a machine. she wants so much to have a child but she can't touch anyone.
RoboWoman: but i feel. i feel so deeply inside me, i feel love. how is this possible?
Glasses Girl: don't question it, just go with it, that's the mantra of Facebook.
RoboWoman: i want to express! i want to eat! i want to taste life! i want to dream! i can't dream, which is the horriblest of tragedies…
Glasses Girl: i just dream of sheep.
RoboWoman: the universe is a cold and lifeless place.
Glasses Girl: so is my tummy.
RoboWoman: i will make YOU my daughter!
Glasses Girl: oh come on! i JUST finally kicked my mom out of her house and have it all to myself now. i literally kicked my mom in the butt out the door.


* later, at the final gathering before the world exploded, the last generational tales were being told around the campfire. RoboGrandma and her old daughter are having dinner with Glasses Girl's son who is ill and so everyone in the family humors him and calls him Dad:

Glasses Girl: i'd wear contacts or get the surgery but then i'd lose my identity. son, i mean Dad, this isn't google! shouldn't you younger generation know this shit?
Dad: i love you. i think. did i type that right? where are today's original crooners? want to taste my eggplant parm recipe? i'm training to be Jack Tripper.
Glasses Girl: this food has that same stink the Regal Beagle has. it tastes like the eggplant emoji. it tastes like dick, and that's not a good thing.
RoboGrandma takes one bite of food and spits it out vigorously.
RoboGrandma: this eggplant parm tastes like fucking shit. i'm just gonna have to prepare those shrimp parms i learned how to make by watching a sitcom.


happy weekend, my babies. i'm gonna deliberately have a two-egg buttermilk omelette and just that for breakfast Saturday morning cos i'm planning to have all THREE of the bacon alts from McDonald's for brunch: the Bacon Big Mac, the Bacon Double Pounder with Cheese, and the Bacon and Cheese fries. i don't want to overload my heart. with love.

Wednesday, February 6, 2019


there hadn't been rains like this ever in the City. they were angry rains, rains full of soapy foamy transgressed spirits and prestressed fabric and difficult decisions, judgment calls when all the arbiters were dirty wading in the cleansing water, trying to scrape off the last of their hairy bumps and unclean bruises and entrails before addressing and centering the ballot box on the coffeetable. these rains formed incoherent patterns of palette palates which swathed across the landscape, tripping over electric wires and pummeling down the down stone streets like a rollercoaster of uncomfortable waves, sloshing and simmering against each crook and edge and cold streetcorner. they were the rains of those who had to make a final cutthroat decision on what was supposed to be a fun good novel new time. on who was supposed to be their friend and brother and family member and castmate-in-arm. and on the worst possible medium, on television, for all to see and transmit bouncing beams across galaxy satellites, a choice which would be ruminated over more than the King James Bible, addressed and regurgitated and overreacted and dissected, wondering if it was the right man, or the left man. a choice of fulsome finality they could never take back or hide away from.

the lights were on in the City but none shone electrons. it was pitch black but you could feel the rain, you felt its heat. not from the precise petrifying pitterpatter of the droplets on the Spanish redtile roof, from knowing these rains were out there, not seeing them through the window panes battered by pelt after woolly pelt. the trees swayed with each howl, and an eerie green glow emanated down to inside the City mouth in vapor mist from an unknown source high in the hills. a weather which matched the moment.

inside the House it was raining of a sort as well. Puck was crying and carrying on, he was crying hard and fast and forevermore, for humanity, for all mankind, for his pain and the pain he felt in others so empathetically everclear. those carpets, those dining-room carpets, had long since been stained with tears and cum and liquids dug into fibers so fine as to be fireflies. in fact all of Puck's aura was crying, the tears streamed from his forehead, wetting his touch, and his wedding band, he was a human shower which nevertheless made him still unclean. for it wasn't about removing his stank, it was a solemn shampoo, a conditioner of conditions, an acknowledgment of the stank that hard-hitting human moments had to come. and come hard and fast. and souls had to be sacrificed.

Bunim: guys, this isn't that big a deal. it's not Shakespeare-in-the-Park stuff. yes, you will permanently remove a member of your cast tonight, but it is just a tv show after all. it's a matter of fame, not famine, tho increasingly you'll wonder if he'll still alive cos if you're not on tv, you're not really real. btdubs this episode has garnered the highest ratings of any tv show since the M*A*S*H finale. and you are denying your banned member the right to culture his brand further.

Pedro: *stroking his bald chin* brand? tell me more of this brand of which you speak. i feel this could be the key to it all.

everyone is squat in a circle sandals up around the indoor campfire but coom-bai-yaw is not the order of the day. or night rather, the tenseness of the announcement is made starker by an empty throne which is not a game.

Pedro: and the Ryan Seacrest delaying of the result. cum boy yay!

a lone waxy candle lights the circle proceedings. Puck starts first, he starts in first. in a hushed tone.

Puck: Pedro, your actions these past last weeks have been nothing short of disruptive. i know you're proud of that but we're not. we gave you the benefit of many doubts, we cut you a whole lot of red string for you to hang but you never did you never hung out with us, you refused to let us be your fam. you were always so cold and hot on the cold case of your cure. we were sympathetic to your cause and gave you many miles of leeway, cut you so much slack we became the epitome of twentysomething '90s slackers in ripped jeans and plaid overcoats on the cover of TIME with the cover THE BURN GENERATION. i'm even pictured on there with a mobile phone stuck to the spoke of my bike. we enabled your bad behavior for too long and it's time to end you.

Pedro: but i'm not a drunk, this is who i really am. hello, my name is Puck Rainey and i am an alcoholic...that's your line, right, cheezo?

Puck: you hurt me, Pedro, not just there but everywhere. but it's not about me. it's about us. even Mo Jesus Rest His Soul. you destroyed all my property, even the FREE PARKING space in my heart. i welcomed you with open emblazoned tat-sleeved arms but you swatted them away and licked the fortune lines on my palms trying to collect samples. you're always trying to get fucking samples from us! we can't tolerate this anymore. haven't you read that tat-covered GrubHub pamphlet i often slide through City urban cabanas when i do my rounds delivering fast food from four-star restaurants?

Pedro: all your food i throw up to. don't take it personally, pal, i'm sick in general.

Puck: it says that tolerance is an impossibility when taken to its natural logical conclusion. we've taken every opportunity to be nice to you but you've rejected us like young and cheap stage players. you've trashed us in the media. this jihad has to stop.

Bunim raises her finger.

Pedro: i don't need the media to trash you, i tell you to your faces you're all idots all the time. i don't take back anything i've ever said. see you lot don't seem to appreciate the position i'm in, i have AIDS. which means i don't give a fuck. about anything. i'm too important to not run over hurt feelings. i'm in the process of formation of a potion which will save the fucking world. i don't have time to wonder about consequences or condolences.

Pam: what happened to us, Pedro? we started out so well on the foot. i LOVED your hairy chest in that scrapbook photo you showed us. but then it turns out you're a pervert.

Pedro: research ain't pretty, honey. just think, if this works, i'll let you take all the credit and the New England Journal of Medicine and then you can be a real girl. doctor, real girl doctor.

Judd: *punching Puck in the shoulder which hurts him* fraid i'm with my bro here, Pedrocito. but you can be sure i'll pen and ink and color a graphic novel detailing in stirring detail and dark gray lines the wretched anguish and sad strands and strains of our time together.

Cory: sorry, bro, it's time to go. but i'll drink a bottle of high-end fashion-house perfume from Macy's in your honor.

Pedro: you're supposed to pour that over my grave. do it in Paris itself, girl. i'm not dead yet.

Rachel: we had the Cuban Conenction. that's a movie, right? oh well, real life doesn't work the way it does on tv.

Cory: if it's boxed with a tight little Macy's bow it does. besides, if you're not racemixing it's bad for the species.

Mohammed pushes the button on the answering machine and exclaims softly one last time to Pedro by speaking into the tiny microphone square on the corner of the box there, "sorry, dude."

Pedro: i'm right in front of you. i'm still here. and i ain't leavin'.

cast and crew: we're full and we've voted you out, Pedro. goodbye. the House says goodbye to you, can't you see it waving?

Pedro: *exasperated chin and strangely playful eyes* those are Scooby-Doo shutters! i ain't leaving without a restraining order!!!

Puck: no more courts!

Bunim: do we need to get security? cos MTV ain't paying for no security. we wanted to see fights, that was the whole point.

Pedro: *with a dramatic flourish* no NO. i WILL exit with my dignity intact. i am a man. got that? i am a fucking MAN. i got rules inside me, life lessons from the road. i got morals. i got a life. where's Sean? forgot about him.

Sean: i'm not here, sir.

Pedro: *pointing up* with my chin held high, i will trample over this doorsill and walk out of my own accord and on my power. you have made me more powerful than you will ever know or imagine. i won't be tossed into the rain like so much soggy Sizzler trashbags. my shapely ass is too sparkling for that. my revenge will come in torrents, both withering water and downloadable torrents. and with that, i bid all you vinegar vultures a fine adieu.

Pedro keeps his fist in the air as he marches out, shouting like a navyman: "KEYSTER IS THE KEY!!! SAN FRANCISCAN-STYLE FOR FUCKING LIFE!!!"

Bunim: thanks, guys, i know that was hard. i mean it's not really a good look for us to throw an AIDS patient out into the cold, but i've already seen the overnights---since it is morning already, you took a long time struggling with this decision wringing your hands which you sat on with couch cushions, lots of tape---this episode generated so much internal distress and ad revenue it rocked the Stock Market. it's gonna get mondo tubular ratings!!!

speaking of ratings, President Bump is sitting at the plexiglass newsdesk theatre-in-the-round wiping off his chin with his long tie and contemplating what he just did.

Bump: so? what'd you think? it was a disaster.

Nancy Pelosi: the Super Bowl? the Halftime Show? or your State of the Union address?

Bump: low ratings, nothing worse than low ratings. it doesn't have to be good, it just has to grab a number. thanks, Nan, can you imagine me giving that same speech at the Mad Magazine offices? they'd've laugh me right outta there.

Eye Luggage: okay, i guess, we have the technology now, so here you go, the highlights:

Bump gets up on the pomp dais and is pumped up.

Bump: my fellow Mericans, the state of our union is......wrong.

Nancy Pelosi turns around and delivers Bump a served clapback.

Bump: what was that just now, Nancy? you gave me a weird slanted clap, slanted like your mouth. were you laughing at my joke or is that your idea of a punch?

Nancy: oh i learned that from Ocasio. black clapback, i need to shore up my base for the next election.

AOC in the audience pumps her fist in the air and declares, "yeah, bitch! it's me, bitch sir! i OWN Yahoo now! you see Yahoo News recently? i mean i know another bitch owns Yahoo but really I'M the bitch that owns Yahoo, bitch!

Bump: *clears the dew from his eyes with his flat karate hand* whoa, that Alexandria Cortez is white now? don't cut her. cut her mic.

Bump's mic crunches like autumn leaves.

Bump: and now, i'd like to point out a little scared beta boy who gets bullied all the time and at home at night relentlessly cos his last name is Trump. i don't understand why but my wife said this so here it is. clap for the boy and we'll have all his social-media account handles and numbers displayed on the tv screen in every tv bank. and CNN.

Bump dons on a black beret from Paris. he has trouble fitting it on his hair.

Wolf and the wolf CNN reporters: sir, why are you wearing that beret? are you in solidarity with Roger Stone?

Bump: no, i'm a poet right now. wait till you hear my next verse, it's bars. you are all witnesses. remember, this is blackhead, kay?

at the afterparty in the Residence...

Bump: i am what comes after Parties. did you see me out there? that is sure to finally beat Survivor.

he switches between tvs. Bump catches the Virgina Governor's news conf.

Bump: i like what he's doing here. he looks the part. don't let the media win, they're like cockroaches you have to eat if you want to get famous on tv. cept i WOULD have done the Moonwalk to exit that stage. see i don't have to worry about a wife stopping me cos i don't have a wife. and my supporters would cherish the fact that i did the dance better than Jacko despite my bone spurs in my ankles.

Pence: you wrote Jackoff in your text to me, sir, was that intentional?

Bump: see that? all 3 Virginia Dems on the noose. you know who did that? worked his magic behind the scenes? that was all Roger Stone's work. the man is a genius, you never see him coming. despite his tattooed back. he works in the silent shadows. which is odd considering how loud and lewd he is. which is odd cos i know firsthand from personal experience that Roger LOVES the black gag. that was Rog's last masterstroke before being sent away to the can stone motel. which is canned outrage. who is Roger Stone?, i don't even know his name.

Mike Tyson: it wasn't me!!!

Pence: it's not fair. Roger Stone is way bigger than Oprah, and that's saying something. i mean Bob Mueller is on tv every fucking night! and all he does is shill for that shampoo company, he's just Vanna White-ing all those shampoo bottles on MSNBC the entire hour pointing to his hair and waving at the guests who buy a pack for the hour.

Bump: *smiles* at least we get to see his smile, Bob has a nice smile when he shows it. toothpaste next, Bob. see? i'm all about love, that's why the next Government Shutdown will be on Valentine's Day so everyone can get together with their loved ones and have some free time to love. hey Mooch, cook up all us all-American bloods some of that Cooke Maroney macaroni and cheese.

Gordon Ramsay scowls.

Virginia Governor: oh no, not the beer thing again. look, i had nothing to do with Jussie, okay?

Virginia Governor's wife: dear, take off that coonskin hat you have on. and put away your rifle, THIS is your mic, you got confused again.

Virginia Governor: is it a crime for a white kid from the suburbs to like Michael Jackson? i mean sure i like Shaggy better but still.

Scooby Doo, in the audience, shushes Shaggy---who was about to say something---with his paw.

Mo is praying by the Red Circle table.

Mo: do you still have to pray after you die? i'm happy to report Kristoff St. John has been reunited with his son Julian and both no longer have cloudy minds. they are clear as a Bell---not the boss of their show---,are untroubled and at peace.

Liam Neeson: you can blame the environs one is brought up in. The Troubles were not the Irish band which came before U2. on the stage. i paid cash for my cosh.

Bill Cosby: so can i have a seat at the table now? i was responsible for this reunion. whatever Lisa Bonet has been saying about me, all lies!

Aquaman Momoa: she hasn't said anything. i chose her, i chose my wife on the tv screen, falling my little fingers down the screen like a waterfall over her electron face. ripping up all my books to watch tv only. when i watched your show as a kid, you're responsible for many reunions. and you taught me everything i know about women.

Cosby: hush down, little kid, not now with that stuff. you want me to get your mother?

Eye: i'm not like other millennials. but my followers are. sorry, dude, you've been evicted. you seem harmless, like you could be someone's dad. and now the musical portion of my show...

21 Savage: *rappin'* Flint needs water/ how bout using those baby cages for dams?

Bump: so you get a gun salute but still won't not take a knee? yous savage.

Eye: great, Demi Lovato's left the chat. i wanted to talk to her about how to get a tattoo in rehab. within the walls of the clinic facility. like do you send out for it like food? the needles are already there so plenty of no problem there.

at the Magical Fruit coffee klatch, the bros and crones are still discussing candidates. for discussion.

Laertus: *sipping hot* oh, wow. this tastes like blood. is there blood in my coffee?

Doryce: *cackles and is the waitress* sonny! it's my menstrual blood! it's food for a man such as yourself!

Laertus: wow. it'd be rude to spit it out, but...okay, thank you. it's red, gotta go with it. that's one holiday flavor Starbucks hasn't tried yet.

Dirg: hey, you gotta give it to Schultzy, he got Americans to buy coffee for five dollars.

Laertus: ironically it's more expensive in Seattle. just ask Kurt Cobain. shit, now i know why all those Repubs went on for years about the red cups.

Doryce: boys, can we borrow your treehouse lift tonight me and the missus? our dogs are barking and we ain't no bitches.

Dirg: sure! and be sure to bake us bread as payment in the morning! *laughs and punches Laertus*

Eye: animesuperhero? that's what toonzone has become!

Dirg: right? i mean you just google toonzone and get to the link anyway. bring back World Peace.

Laertus: everything's become corporate like Maroon 5. and Korgoth, Tigtone doesn't count. and is more freaky. that character, being autistic and being adventurous are really the same thing. and why has everyone suddenly become obsessed with Mission Hill again?

Dirg: it's the Clone High effect. brandishing a one-season something a masterpiece retroactively after a certain number of years have gone by and you start to miss it. the same thing will happen with Baby Blues, you'll see.

Laertus: it's the San Francisco thing. My So-Called Life is the ultimate example. but can something which is true serve as the example?

the crones are confronting a crisis at the treehouse border.

Doryce: you heard about my noble quest on the hunt for the best French fries in the world, right? i am obsessed. the OreIda microwaveable skinny and krinkle fries sold at The Store for years suddenly stopped being stocked. there are no replacements for this. the fries you have to do in the oven---the greasy 19th century oven we have---won't do, i burn my fingers everytime i try, and i need my fingers to cast nature spells to balance the weather. the only rack i trust is my own.

Gladyce: i could knit you some oven mitts, dear. on my spindly finger.

Doryce: this place doesn't have an oven of course, it's a den of iniquity and hives and millennial teenage pimples. i'd have to put our cats in the other room and lock it before i'd open the oven door, that's scary when all those hot fumes come out, i'm scared our darling pets will jump in, they're so rambunctious and have to lick every faucet. without our cats as familars our entire lineage busts!

Gladyce: they're smarter than us, cos they've lived longer than us, but i see your point.

Doryce: i heard a rumor they sell the microwave fries at Walmart, but that's 30 miles away on broom. this really is quite the sad saga. but i have an idea.

Doryce orders a case of 50 microwave fries direct-ordered from OreIda itself in the heart of the nation with the silver discs, all stacked up to form in the shape of a giant McDonald's Happy Meal. to the treehouse doorsill. the mailman who delivers it is so suspicious of this package he dies from fright.

the crones play outside at night using the used silver discs as Quidditch balls.

Doryce: *flying* and preheat. right? how long do you preheat an oven? it's completely random and arbitrary, different times for different people.

Gladyce: i believe it's about 10 to 15 minutes. i grew up in the old ways.

Doryce: 10 TO 15 MINUTES!!? ain't nobody got time for that!!! oven burning empty for fifteen minutes!!!? that's a fire no spell could ever put out!

at Inverness, Goody Paul is asleep in Maria's vagina snug and dreaming of how the weather is always hot when it rains but cold when it doesn't.

Goody: *sleeping* it's because you need heat to generate rain. brimstone fire. and Maria always has nice breath.

at the side of this, Pedro and Rachel have taken an impromptu joyride gallivant to Inverness to check out some things. Pedro pushes Rachel out of the buggy car and drags her by the hair up the hill to the green spot.

Pedro: now girl, come on!

tears are streaming down Rachel's eyes.

Bunim in the control booth: i will be streaming Rachel's tears later tonight. online-only.

Rachel: this is not the pain of sex. is it? ow!

Puck: *from behind a boulder* LET HER GO!!!

Pedro: enter hero. the antihero is cooler anyhow. well get out here, weenie, show your face.

Puck: can't. fog as pea as soup, and my pee.

Pedro goes to punch Puck in the face but Puck motions away from this with his shivering quivering hands.

Puck: no more, you don't have to hit me, Pedro, i'm already crying on my face, that's not the mist. i feel so bad for what we had to do collectively as a group to you.

Pedro: that's what every industrialized nation says. and btdubs these are not the Sierras in California.

Pedro goes to drag Puck by the hair, too, but it's too short, spiky, and spongy like a marshmallow, no grip.

Pedro: goddammit, boy, regrow your hair! come on, Rachel, here's that gun i told you about on the way over, that was my campfire story inside the car. look at that shining silver blade of a pistol! makes my knees water and my mouth bend. take this gun into your girl hands and shoot the magical reindeer when it flies by. red hole in red nose. i'll collect the antler and place the broken shell in my two Smurfs clear jars with the cork stop that i keep in my butt. do it!!!

Rachel: *crying and red* no i can't! these babies are precious! peace on earth and good will toward ALL creatures great small and nano!!! i am their steward! babies and animals, i choke up. i can't be a Republican anymore!

Puck puts his hands up.

Puck: drop the gun. no more violence. against women. i'll make you a deal, Pedro. i'll collect a sample for you. this magical Inverness mist, it's sure to curate the cure. and dollars.

Puck takes one huge breathe-in with his mighty nostrils and shoots back regurgitates the air-mucus spill rocket capturing the Inverness fog into Pedro's smug Smurf bottles.

Rachel: *on grass-stained knees* thanks, babe.

Rachel and Puck kiss for the fourth time, for the first time this time. they clutch as a couple and speak with one voice.

Puck: what can my babe and i do for you this morning? or evening i can't tell.

Pedro: you must make it up to me. i've lost my standing. i've lost my platform. make me big again.

Puck: i won't suck your dick but how about i send a video message through my phone to Rachel's parents in Arizona? you always wanted to visit her folks, didn't you?

Pedro: video phone? what is this, the future? i wanted to see and know what it would be like to be respectable in society. live in a house that's not burned down. in Arizona. in real America. fine, push the fone button.

Pedro: *fuzzy lines* hello, Mister and Missus Rachel? it's me, Pedro. i have your daughter, can't you hear her screaming? no this is not a ransom-demand vid on a notebook, she just saw a flying reindeer. i married your daughter, we eloped. we're gonna be very happy together, we're going to Cuba so i can single-handedly revolutionize that home country. we're gonna stay in Cuba forever, there is no extradition treaty with the U.S. i will be King of Cuba. bleh, okay, that's enough, her parents are dumb as boulders if they believed that......i really want to be Queen of Cuba...

Puck: my video-phone watch is still on.

Pedro: eh, whatever. just say it was the mulchy mist, they didn't hear a thing.

Bunim: thank you, Pedro. for continuing to participate and contribiute. to the show's ratings. this is MTV, where parents are dumb and kids rule!

Monday, February 4, 2019


i don't wanna talk about it. both things. it was that boring.

1. do you express your sexual pleasure with moans, groans, sighs, and other noises (provided you are actually turned on)?
a) yes, each time i have sex (90-100% of the time)
b) on most occasions (70-89)
c) on some occasions (40-69)
d) on a few occasions (less than 40)
e) no, never, not even when i am really turned on

i only sigh internally. the answer is the one where i can enjoy a 40 with my partner whilst doing 69 with her. inevitably we have to change the sheets cos we pour the 40 over our bodies. i tell her that means i'm dead, she tells me softly that we're all gonna die. then we hug. i make this weird noise that no other human being has ever made. i took myself to the university campus where my girlfriend is an anthropology professor there---i'm a pop-culture major student there myself---for some tests. she strapped me in and declared me The Missing Link. then we used those straps.

2. how comfortable are you with sex in bright light or daylight? pick one.
a) completely comfortable
b) fairly
c) somewhat/uncomfortable, depends on the partner
d) completely uncomfortable, i like to do it in the dark

this test is making me uncomfortable, giving me Berkeley flashbacks when i missed the bell and avoided graduating by one percentage point. i still have my diploma tattooed on my ass. not very comfortable, i'm a goth so all light comes from a dark place. i never understood fucking in the dark. i talked to Batman about this and he says it's the only way he can get through it with Catwoman. i understand listening to music in the dark, but i mean in that whole boring set they didn't even play "Sunday Morning", their clear best song. it was Sunday, too. L.A. white soul, we had this, Bowie would be spinning in his grave but his grave is on Mars and he's spinning his web, shooting the breeze and chewing the scenery with the Dos Equis guy with the beard. the original best Dos Equis guy with the beard.

3. is this statement true or false for you? explain: i would ike to talk dirty with my partner but i don't dare for fear of being judged or ridiculed.

yes, and for a writer like myself, it's embarrassing to get made fun of when your dirty talk isn't creative enough. i need just the right amount of light to work, the red has to be that precise neon or i go crazily tumbling down the district streets arms flailing like a mad hairy man. i talk to her of diamond dick. she thinks i'm referring to Pete Davidson but i was referring to that dime novel Diamond Dick which was an early proponent of the marijuana-is-just-herbal-medicine side of the debate. referring to reefer. found some of those readers in the same section where they keep the old back-issues of Batman comics, the ones where Batman still uses a cowboy gun. then i told her i didn't have a dime to my name...

4. have you ever done a striptease for a lover (impromptu or planned)? did you enjoy it?

i wish i could dance like Julian Edelman out on that field, but he told me his beard hides a lot of things. i told him despite everything Brady had a sense of himself and was humble and basically a cool guy. if Brady were an asshole it'd be unbearable. Julian sold me his jewels and let go of all his worldly possessions---all his grass included---and became a monk right there on the Disney World spot. he told me i had to like Tom Brady cos he was better than Michael Jordan now.

5. how do you feel about giving anal sex (penetration with penis, finger, or sex toys)? pick one:
a) enjoy
b) okay with it
c) not so much
d) not at all, not my ting
e) never given it
f) e) but would like to start

i went into the lockerroom and snatched the jersey...oh um nevermind um i'm down for it, except my bum is so small it'd be missed. the owner was telling me how he understands that if you're not a fan of the team you'd feel great antipathy and enmity toward the team, and that the league is becoming a joke. he then rolled out a nice squared triangle wedge of cheese and plopped it right there on the plexiglass newsdesk. i didn't inquire further as to whether that was a sex toy investigative journalist that i am cos you know those billionaires and their free time...


Friday, February 1, 2019



* just in case you ever wanted to eat a cereal with Ron Jeremy as the mascot

* AVERT YOUR EYES, MATEY!!! the Super Bowl commercials are ALREADY being loaded in!

* finally a new car company gets in the game

* sorry, miss, your heels are too high for this elevator going down

* woman: Arrested Development?
Jason Bateman: no, Family Ties. primetime network NBC, that's where it all went down.
man: so THAT's where Mallory went!
Jason: our mom was a lesbian the whole time, that's why our family stuck together through the tough times.

* Jason: contrary to popular belief, this is not a Wes Anderson movie. i know i know, EVERYBODY wants me to do a Wes Anderson movie, it would make such a great fit. our agents are working it out. well my agent is. Meredith Baxter-Birney is Mallory's agent, too. the MIB International MBB we call her. or Notorious MBB.

* Jason: you're going down, way down.
woman: cos i have on these heels?
Jason: 2019, all meanings innocent from now on.
man: i'm her husband slash boyfriend depending on her mood that day. i'm her Instagram Spouse when we go to Taco Bell. there i eat all the food i can before it all runs out in these trying clime times. i was told by my priest i was going to Hell and there was nothing i could do.

* man: what was the flip sign before ROOT CANAL?
Jason: GAME SHOWS. right? this is that Price Is Right flip lit cream-colored rectangular light that started.
man: i'd like a piece of you, Jason.
Jason: is that a threat or a come-on?
woman: COME ON!!!, she said like Lleyton Hewitt with her fingers in a cobra pointing to her face...

* dentist: this is bad.
woman: aren't you supposed to draw the outline in pencil first before you drill, doctor?
dentist: i'm a dentist, not a doctor.

* Jason: why is the Jury Duty hallroom wet? pipe broke?
Jeffrey Tambor: no, that's the jury room for the R Kelly case. yeah i know, you'd think with Duty it'd be the other one.
Jason: and this is why no one works with you anymore, Jeffrey.
Jeffrey: he's obviously guilty cos he's white.

* Jason: the dreaded middle seat. who's got Vitamin C?
Alec Baldwin: remember Airborne? it was the popular thing to do on airplanes along with Words With Friends. it was our yuppie drug. both of them.
Jeffrey: i'd never go to the Middle East. and on a plane!? forget it, didn't you hear what Peter Jennings said? just begging to be hijacked.
Jason: you never left the '80s, did you Jeff? we can't use those green cuddly mucus mascots anymore till the sexual harassment in the workplace suits get settled.
Jeffrey: sorry, i lost my temper. it showed in my voicework for them.

* dad: even Grandma's body changed. i saw it.
son: dad, you're embarrassing me. why are you rooting for a Washington Redskin? why do you always insist on wanting to go skateboarding with me? the skateboard is not a tandem bicycle-built-for-two.
Carrie Ann Inaba: there was only one reason i was hired to replace Julie Chen......i don't have a husband like that...
Sara Gilbert: let's get back to discussing domestic terrorism in this country, real serious stuff.
Roseanne: yes, let's get back to discussing the tragedy of my show...

* Jason: beetloaf? is your name even Sergio?
Sergio: *bows* ny name is Sergio Garcia. i killed Tiger Woods's career. prepare to die.
woman throwing beetloaf party: Latin lovers aren't what they used to be in the '80s.
Jeffrey: i'd vote for Sabato, but i want Lamas. next in line or fall in love?

* Jason: car shopping okay, only if it's that nerd guy with the blond glasses and that rattail, that red guitar with six Prince arms, and that purple van with the Unicorn Frappuccino silk-screen tattoo on its ridged side. he was the only spokesanimal who didn't have skeletons in his closet. you should see the Geico gecko's closet. paraphernalia everywhere.

Jason: no this is just the top-floor of the Hyundai dealership. it's built on a tower. a white tower.

* Jason: back it up, Captain Colon, thank you. or pausade i should say, when this commercial inevitably gets transformed into the Spanish version for The Big Game.
Captain Colon: you see me mooning you through my open hospital gown? that's racist what you said! or, what do you call it when you make fun of someone's medical condition?
Jason: illest.


Happy Super Weekend, my babies. there is only one way to participate in The Resistance this weekend, you will be reminded of it constantly: eat as many avocados from Mexico as you can...

Wednesday, January 30, 2019


Pedro: you bring home another dog, Puck?

Puck: very funny, Ped. everyone, this is my new fiancée, Toni Cook. i met her the other day.

Pedro: bitch you don't know how to SPELL fiancée! how many e's? i'm talking to your man, lovely miss, whom i hope isn't your bro.

Toni is a brightfully beauteous woman with one tit like a melon and the other like a watermelon. she wears a fuzzy almond blouse as always which helps with the intemperate San Fran weather, lipstick stained red from past trauma, a ringlet around her everything, and boho shoes on the house carpet. her pretreated loops presage the Rachel Cut but curly.

Rachel breathes a sigh of relief under her breath. Puck eats a shiny wet apple of conquest and conviction right in Rachel's face, the bite crisp as an autumn call.

Puck: b-y-t-c-h. no, not you. sorry, babe, you missed out, you and your cans had your shot with the Puck-man. you were on the right path, but paths up there are rocky. literally. you took your sweet time. that's the thing wirh relationships, they're mostly about timing more than attraction.

Rachel: i know i know, it's my fault alone, and it will haunt me till a green flower van curbs into my house. i gave you a chance but not really. i'm just gonna have to live with the life-altering life-shattering non-decision i made. the rest of my life, which undoubtedly won't last very long. won't be for much longer. without street love.

Puck moves Toni from off the ground her toes wiggling and places her to the corner of the dining room.

Puck: you stay there Toni, with some frosted cereal, my betrothed beloved, silently, and let me sort this out. Pedro, i want to say something to you! why do you continually destroy my stuff!? do you have a vendetta out for me or something?

Pedro: spell that. cos it makes me stiff. what this time?

Puck: my small-large-business startup i was starting up? around the City? you know the Lime Bikes? there are only six prototypes i built by scratch which i placed at all six corners of the City. for business folk to get around letting their tie fly around without deepening their carbon footprint. instant multimaker. and you had to go and crush all their bells. why. WHY. why ME.

Pedro: oh, those stupid eyesore things? first off they don't smell like lime at all, i thought you were the one with the nose. and do you know what that company does online with its computer? you'd shiver and turn whiter than you already are. same with that skateboard and all ESPN 2 skateboard culture, get rid of all that toxicity.

Puck: dammit Pedro, this is what i mean! I'VE HAD IT!!! i'm done with you, Pedro! you don't respect me or the Earth! my boundaries or the ozone layer! i'm in the middle of the dining-room carpet and telling you outright, in front of the entire cast and crew, I DISLIKE YOU, PEDRO. i hope the cameras got that for posterity and the court case.

Bunim: uh, remember, no tapes, this is all real-world real-world. nothing is recorded, life lived the way life should be lived and was intended to be lived. for prosperity not posterity. who needs money for life?

Pedro: don't you dare try to kick me out! i know where each and every one of you live!

Puck: i'm done with your casual and planned harassment and your threats. we're gonna have a serious House meeting sometime soon, like at a birthday party or something, that's always the best place for an eviction. Pam will organize it i'm sure. folk i have an announcement to make: i'm getting married. to Toni Cook. on Mother's Day, book it. Mother's Day cos Toni is my new mommy. i never knew my mother.

Pedro: no one cares about your sob story, you snot-nosed chingaso. that's not how you do credible reality tv, it's how you do creditable reality tv. for fuck sake i have the greatest sob story of all time, i have motherfucking AIDS!!! and not the cartoon stop-motion anime kind. you don't know what it's like to really live this life, do you son? you're so normal for a bike messenger. marrying a woman? i spit and laugh at you and your nuclear family. my marriage to Sean will be the social event of the calendar in SF! and Global Media Season Channel. i'm doing it right, San-Franciscan-style! we're the first gay civil union ever shown on tv, we're groundbraking epic television, spittin it right back in George Bush's face. glasses? now THAT is a long drawn-out courtship, longest in history! you're a joke, we're serious. i go after what i want. i make history, you make home-cooked meals with flour and coke! no offense, pretty lady.

Judd: Puck you're my best bud but stop being a cuck. a cuck Puck.

Puck: now, after all this ado, can i PLEASE get around to telling my story? we're here in the dining-room where this carpet's seen many a story, so here goes: get the lit campfire going, Pedro, thank you. i'm gonna tell you all about the magic place i found love and my love...

at the Australian Open, Osaka has Judy Murray down on the hard court with her butterfly rackethead pinned on Judy's throat.

Osaka: bitch, say it! it's the Asian Open NOW! you forgot i was half-black, huh didja. yeah people forget that about me.

Judy: please i'm sorry, i reject my entire thesis ever since i was born. Stephen Fry me. at the roast. and the spit-roast. i just want to see my son, my son is suffering, he needs his mother, and his mother is after him.

Andy Murray enters the court jerkily and has a more robotic voice than usual. the court stagelights turn off for no reason. smoke comes from his eyes. he points at the metallic limb in his leg and gives the o-Kay symbol with his grey fingers. a huge bolt is where his bellybutton used to be.

Andy: gotta nut in my belly. mum, i'm an android now, maybe now you'll love me. where's Bouchard? i want to fuck her now. just to see.

Judy: *from the green ground* that's my boy! atta andy boy! i'll put on my Anne Murray Double CD, she's my sista ya know. NOW i love you, son.

at King Kong on Broadway, the crones are settling in to their matinee seats in the rafters. Doryce is chowing down and getting her mouth all buttery.

Doryce: do people bring popcorn to Broadway shows?

Gladyce: why this one, dear? it's cos you love those big 'n'tall bulky black men, huh.

Doryce: *reading her ticket* oh, i can't see with my glasses on! in the dark. i thought it said KINK Kong. and me without my boots. well at least i brought snacks. reach into my pocket, dear, and grab my banana.

Gladyce reaches in and gets her hand involved in a pile of mush. she slips those digits into her mouth.

Gladyce: oh, i love Thai fried bananas! still hot, too!

Doryce: perfect food for this, huh. i broomed over to see the Japanese version of this, it's Godzilla on stilts. lasted one performance, Opening Night, Godzilla burned down his own wooden stilts with his fire breath. isn't about time they call it Goddesszilla? they used up all the water in the Japan Canal that only one Studio Canal feature was made only available in anime shoppes. like, one tape. ah well, this gives me that Asian flavor i lost and still crave and had been missing, ever since the ballet, allows me to follow my own personal balletiquette.

after the show the two join the cast and crew backstage and onstage for a spaghetti dinner.

Doryce: except it's linguine.

cast and crew: who are you? what are you doing here?

Gladyce: dearies we saw free food and went for it. you wouldn't harbor any ill will for two frail old ladies off the burning trash streets would ya?

Doryce: i'm rubbing off on you, dear. and i'd like to rub on you. yeah but the thing is never use linguine! it's a bitch to clean off the pot. those stuck-on strands at the bottom of the oiled pot are IMPOSSIBLE to scrape off! i ruined the inside sensitive pink of my nailbeds for one lifetime doing it. could never wear my glitter nails to social galas for one whole menstrual cycle!

Gladyce: is this garlic bread? i can whip you up and bake you some quick menstrual blood bread if you'd like.

Dorcye: i like to be treated as a princess. is that Princess Sauce in the ladle crock?

cast: why yes,.

Doryce: what's in it? nevermind, it's orange in color. that used to mean good hearty curry nanwich Indian cuisine but not anymore...

the cast of Empire joins Eye Luggage and her cast and crew at the Red Table for a serious discussion that's real serious this time.

Smollett: no small men here, just heroes. not for a small wallet. I AM Uncle Jesse to today's millennials and youth and young kids. two more years? can't make it, the climate is rife with right. we've become enslaved to the breakfast cereal of one man. can we create art during this time that will transcend the cage of our inner fears and speak to dark audiences the way it did in the '90s? who was President then? no one knows.

Kevin Hart: look alls i'm sayin' is let's wait for the video evidence to come, i mean that's why they installed those cop cams, right?

President Bump: let's wait for the Mueller Report to come...*snicker*. yeah i mean who do i choose? you know? Guaido? is Guaido a Guido? then i'll go with him. is Maduro merde? i learned that word from my French friend when we frenched. what do you think, you're an expert on these things. hey have you done the Guaido Challenge?

The Mooch: he's a Guido no doubt, look at that slicked-back hair. please, sir, don't blindfold me and send me into the Lincoln Bedroom again, that was terrifying. those did not sound like birds...

Bump: *pursed lips* is President Bump an intellectual?...…*looks around the room*…

he sees Roger Stone in the front row with Melania shaking his head so Bump shakes his head. Jim Carrey is also in attendance.

Jim Carrey: i was the first to call you a Batman villain, Roger.

Federer: who, me?

Jim Carrey: i should know, i was the Riddler. riddle me this, Stone: how can you disgrace the Ben Stone name?

Bump: what's the deal? the Deep-fried State is afraid to let me govern! they're afraid the people will like me! i mean isn't this what they do in third-world countries? arrest the people who win the election?!

Roger Stone: right? they wouldn't let me keep my Nixon bomb that i kept stashed away under my bed! that's how much the feds hate Nixon! i told them i was willing to compromise: the Nixon sticker on the WMD was a silk-screen sticker easily removable under the steam of a tea kettle, just would have to wait a few. all i really wanted was the sticker, gave me tattoo chills. you know they're supposed to trace the outline before in drawn pencil, right? these gestapo stormed into my secure gated home in the middle of the night, hung a noose on my tree, scared my dog...

Scooby Doo: no that dog whimpering was me, i was hungry. i was part of a team investigating your place for the FBI, looking for clues.

Roger Stone: wimpering. i come out to you tonight, media, in my French beret cos i'm playing a role. i am filming a film. no not the cassettes. can't you tell? who do i look like? the Pink man! Pink Panther Man! all these stupid Ivy Leaguers tryna lock me up for life cos i believe the conspiracy. i hate smart people! white liberals? there are white liberals? why?

Bump: say I would like to buy a hamberder. you need to go back to school.

Roger Stone: can you believe Pink Panther and Scooby Doo never hooked up before now? it's gonna be a great children's film i'm starring in. my mouth is weird cos i want to match Mueller's weird mouth. no i'm not chewing stones, it's just really hard gum. and contrary to the druge dungeon-sexroom rumors, that Russian sex coach is NOT my wife.

Bump: your loss is my gainful employment, bud. should be, at least before the plastic surgery, which she only did cos she's a spy hiding her face. *folds arms* yeah turns out that woman was Daphne, another teammember of Scooby's investigative team. wait, Tulsi is running for President!!? PLEASE, blue folk, give me some eye candy, it's gonna be a long process! that's what they do in cartoons, right? make the black people blue to avoid controversy, then they can make them do anything they want. why is Tulsi getting no gabbing pub and the other boring brown woman is?

The Mooch: *gathering the scrappies and putting them in a pot* let's not go back to Hawaii again, that trip was painful. Moochy Moochy Doo!

Laertus: interesting convo so far. oh please, waitress, no coffee for me. ever again.

Dirg: come on, Schultzy's the man! see his smile? see how he melts into a 12-year-old boy in front of his wife? that is so cute! see his story? i can relate, the getting pummeled by your own father in the tile shower of the Projects, the water red from iron oxide. i think my father was a plumber which made it worse.

Eye: The Piano. go.

Dirg: so it's just Bluebeard, right? that man knew how to treat women. no movie before or since has ever made Harvey Keitel an object of sexual desire...

Laertus: that was my first year watching the Oscars as a kid. i sat Indian-style with scraped knees neath my mom's long orange-beige skirt and popped my head out to see the small black-and-white tv-radio-screen in the blue kitchen tiletop. i still remember all the jokes cresting over the studio audience of Hollywood Illuminati Old Guard like a wave, everyone was laughing over that same Harvey Keitel Ass joke.

Dirg: don't you mean Hollywood luminaries? old guard, well middle guard. that was my first taste of body horror. didn't expect the violence to be so graphic. addicted me.

Laertus: sigh, at least be addicted to the massive amounts of lurid overkill sex in this, at least that's love. i mean this thing was a Cinemax with a Zealand accent done on a typograph. this film predicted The Rock with Maori makeup as our future feral President. Jane Campion was Champion of that year, but since it seems she peaked too soon. same with her scriptwriting for that poor little girl Anna in a packed tin. the little girl's thinking to herself, no more cleverness and instances where i can be more knowing than a little girl, i don't want to peak at this age, don't want to be peak Anna, i'm still a little girl. one thing about this film is the iconic nature of it, you know? these two are like bloodless ageless witches, forever memorialized on tape, not just film icons, but consciousness icons. the costumes, the fashion, embeds in the social consciousness. these two leads, the mother and the daughter, dressed in this particular period garb, hoop-ring and all, this turns into a Campbellian symbol, like you see this mother and daughter in this dress as part of a subconscious timeline, you'll always see these two in your mind's eye dressed as such as these characters forever, they have become world archetypes. oh yeah, that mute mother and her translator daughter, with the old-timey bonnets, yeah everyome knows these characters! they're protoypes, exemplars, blueprints in blue, ideal original forms in those outfits. did the costume designer get the only Oscar which mattered? the greatest part of the script for me is when the little girl Anna travels on that branched path, which way will she go? which path shall she take? will she tell or not? so on the nose and brilliant, for of course her decision is the pivotal choice, the very essence of everything.

Dirg: there was so much in there in the ending for a sequel. i wanted to learn and know more about that bionic hand the milf had. she was the prototype. of a Terminator. tho it would have been cool if they had gone with the original ending and just let the mother drown at the bottom of the sea.

Putin *Putin's chef behind Putin preparing the birthday dinner* shakes hands with the Chinese President at a newly-renovated-and-refurbished Hilton hotel. that just happens to be in Hanoi, Vietnam.

Chinese President: why are we doing this? now? strategic realignment? we could have been soul mates from the start.

Putin: cos i finally discovered anime. i watched Ghost In The Shell. i want your phone.

the Kurds: never again………………..NEVER FUCKING AGAIN!!!...…………...we out the game

Rachel: where are we going? why do you have to blindfold me?

Puck: this isn't a meme. i don't want to reveal the location to keep it secret and special between us, this is Inverness, off the beaten path in San Francisco's Unknown District. the long drawn-out evergreen emerald-green hills twinkle in the wetless moonlight and roll farther than the eye can see, unlike a certain Scottish who can now see his own balls. and always a constant presence getting into every pine crack and cone forest valley, in the craggy mountains which form jumping-off points for skaters and are greener than Tony Hawk's business-launch confidence: the fog, the mystical mist, the assuming grey blanket which makes the landscape unreadable and full of wondrous mystery. magic surely lives here.

Rachel is asleep in the back of the bug during this soliloquy.

Puck: i hate driving but they said they would asphalt over the bike path. here we are, i won't open the back-door trunk cos i don't want to stifle the sacred silence. don't be disturbing here, Rachel, be free, open your wings of hands and feet, get naked, breathe in the murky mist, solve your own mystery of yourself, be a party of Green in the unspoiled country. this is a place of meadow magic, this is where i first formulated my long drawn-out dream of being the greatest soapbox-derby driver of all time. where i first learned to believe. simply and utterly. and i can only accomplish this dream with you by my side, Rachel. my mushy serve and forehand. this place, see the reindeer!

a swell of muscley sweating breathing-heavy rumbling reindeer whizz by the reluctant couple, their horns piercing the squall of grey clouds, their calls honking the natural foghorn, their bones rustling together against each other. they fly up out of bloody reach and whiteout-conditioned sight.

Rachel: *back of the palm of her hand against her face cheek* oh my god, that was so awesome.

Puck: i want my derbies to fly like those deers! ,dear.

Rachel strips down naked and frolics in the mushy meadows and free fields, placing small yellow flowerbuds in her earbuds. when they come around again she rides the reindeer into the sky before the snow makes her tummy hurt and her fingers become so dangerously-cold they almost fall off but luckily only her grip falls off. the reindeer only use natural shea butter on their antlers for slippage.

Puck: *smiles with puckered lips* told ya.

Rachel: okay, maybe marriage to you won't be so flat. it's just i don't like wimps like you, i'm thinking of becoming a Republican like George Bush. i want a long drawn-out church wedding, i'm Cuban, my parents want none of that elopement stuff.

a mist comes over and across

Rachel and Puck are in the House. alone. Puck offers on salary to buy the House, they are scrubbing the tub in the bathroom. Rachel is doing all the work scrubbing the tub.

Rachel: come on, boy! talking bubbleheads, the first emojis. use a little elbow grease. use all that snot in your nose, rub your elbows with it and help me scrub!

Puck: shut up. a dub dub?

Rachel: see, it would never work out. you have to have a coherent messenge if you run as a bike messenger.

Puck: but that lasted one day! that was a green marriage, a Tom Green marriage! that was just our first day! our first argument! don't we get a trial marriage run, like checking out tapes at a rental store?

Bunim climbs a crag to deliver the notary public note into Rachel's soft perfumed hands.

Bunim: you two can only ever have a Hollywood marriage from now on. you've been on tv.

at the base of the Inverness Gorge lies the Maria LaRosa Titan slumbering up transforming her sleep into restful woke. she lies on the grass as if it were a green dining-room carpet by the fire. but it's cold. every one of her tremors from her vagina create a mini earthquake in this timeless peaceful place, threatening to crumble down small OD boulders from the cliffs.

Maria: my very breath is the mist in this place. forms the fog. every time i breathe heavy...

Goody Paul in knit cap and spelunk line bending back her nose: please continue with the heavy breathing and petting, Miss Maria. you don't know how much i love you. i miss you so much, the station is not the same without your witchy ways. the NWS National Weather Service computer is broken still after the Shutdown, i can't predict the weather. and i can't predict when the computer will be back up. i wanted to name it NWA but the stiffs at Upper Management said neigh. The Weather Channel ain't sexy no mo, they got two boring black dudes on there now to replace you and me. i was never a savant like you, you could actually control the weather with your sweet thoughts.

Maria: yes my dear Goody but you can, too. you just gotta believe. and have faith in your abilities. it's not from a computer, that's too easy, use the computer within. meteorologists were never meant to study or predict the weather, we are put on this earth to create the weather, to BE the weather. and there is such a dearth of earth now. i see it now in my own life whenever i went on those plane rides over clouds. i belong here, where the real action is, as Chris Matthews would say. i am one with the vibration of Mother Earth, i am her Daughter of Demi. are you taking care of my kids?

Goody: your sex will save the world. i just want to be near your aura, this is my most fervent wish. that's why i traveled all these miles to this place to be here. Atlanta's a hellhole especially this week. concerning itself with the Polar Vortex. the Polar Vortex allowed two assaulters to get off. i could never control a Polar Vortex, or even guide it, or gain guidance from it. i just want to live inside you, maybe then your magic will rub me off. i want knowledge, of woman and weather.

Maria: sleep tonight in the vortex of my butthole, i'll see you in the morning. know that i am always blowing you kisses even though you can't see my face. that's another tornado.

Goody cheats, he's been a narcoleptic/insomniac since he got the job, and spelunks, exploring every nookie nook, every cranny, every cave, every Maria hole. he settles down in her vagina and lets the yellow vaginal cheese and queef winds fill his nostrils with a sweet peace unknown to man. he climbs in her ass crack and sleeps like a baby, he takes off his mittens and slides up and down the slippery crevice elevator shaft between her massive boulder breasts. he ascends to the highest throne, the soft mound of her mission mouth, moist with the clinging mucusy air, and he takes out his pickax to open one tooth of it.

Goody: please, Titaness Queen Maria, let you eat me. i want to be in the presence of your hot breath, bathing in it forever.

but Paul stops in his tracks and trances on Maria's big big big beautiful blue eyes in accordance with the sky. he stays in that spot for all eternity gazing at her orbs. the light of her orbital bones and her irises dart back and forth like wet fish on high heavenly lashes of liquid, an eternal beauty which reduces poor Good to anything but a god but rather a heap of ash and his own bones which are fish bones.

a small cute curly brown pug puppy comes rambling over the green grey hill to lick all the grime off Puck's perfumed hand.

Puck: good boy.

dog: i'm a girl. i'm Toni Cook. don't ask me to cook, that gets annoying fast.

however Toni does prepare the birthday dinner with The Mooch, sliding in some sliced carrots from the splintery wooden cutting board into the bored pot.

Puck: no it can't be, i was trying to be so PC here. so you're a ruse, a sham, a phantom, a pretty pretend?

Toni: i'm real, but imma dog. i'm preparing all this high-end froufrou French cuisine food but in dog form. i'm not real, i was a figment for you to use to distract yourself from the fact that you're not good enough for Rachel. my mom is a bitch.

Mohammed's birthday party at Sizzler is a strange one. Pedro is not invited, but neither is Mohammed. Mo is not there, does not attend, no one knows where he is, but no one notices. no one inquires. the cast are scheming and preparing, counting lots and straws with breadsticks to see if they have the requisite amount of enough votes.

Puck: so Rachel and i walked a bitch at the park…she got cold feet and took a leak...on my dogleg...

Rachel: okay since we're all confessing here: Puck and i kissed on three separate occasions. once in my queefmaker...

Puck: that's what stopped up my nose full of snot.

Rachel: *tips head* once on my mouth, and once in my mouth. in the tub. i thought being the dom would be more exciting. i wanted to be the bad girl but only if i had the bad boy, not the wussy shellac. i like my men to fight. back. i think i've gotten Puck out of my system. like blue Drain-O. or even yellow Drain-O. to think i was jealous of a dog with horns.

a blue ghost with a gelatin tip comes wooshing in through the door airily and scares the cast and crew off. but Cory ramins steadfast in her loyalty, as she was in just the right position at the corner of the table which could see the ghost's face with the spaghetti mirror.

Mo: sorry for being late, fam, first time i attended a concert since my own. the Half Time Show, amirite? Colin Kaep gets on stage there---instead of Adam---wearing a Niners jersey and tries to lead-sing but the mic mysteriously goes out. this is our leader! they know what they're doing, they're moving the goalposts so they don't have to deal with the movement. later SOMEBODY, a nice warm body, issues a statement through the crude media, said Kaep had a frog in his throat and cut out and would be calling it an early evening and enjoying himself taking a knee and touching his body parts behind closed doors. we all know Kaep is not the best most-polished public speaker. the internet was anxiously waiting a long time in great anticipation to see how Kaep would sound like sanging. there was a protest reggae song to be had here. just don't start rapping, Kaep. they left Kaep out there alone marooned like they always do.

Cory: Mohammed! i knew it was you! see? i'm not afraid of you. we were meant to be together. for this heist. and now you're in a position to do it scot-free. to actually help, you don't have to worry bout your rep anymore. i love how you've become! such power! this thing might actually get accomplished now!

Mo: wait, i have the tie-breaking vote here, where did everyone run off to? after much deliberation---there's lots of time in the afterlife---i want to...

Cory: *covers his ghost mouth* up. too late, bud. the decision has been made. all tabulated. the die is cast.

Mo: dead jokes, nice.