Monday, November 12, 2018

TMIT: I'VE NEVER MADE A DECISION IN MY LIFE...




1. name 3 things which most excite your imagination when you imagine doing them. (i know TMI Tuesday Blog is Number One, so name three other things)

1: TMI Tuesday Blog

2: the psychedelic ending sequence from that last episode of Anthony Bourdain: Parts Unknown. who says CNN is not cultural? and who says there have never been ipad pics taken from the afterlife?...thanks, Tony.

(and Lydia Lunch is STILL lookin' like a scrumptious lunch i want to eat. no wave, no time for formalities, tuck in)

3: like, this photography-from-the-grave thing tho, is it that the Angels no longer have the thumbs to push the button? or is it that the Angels are too cool to bother with taking a pic of the Heaven they're in?...

2. when sleeping with your SO (yes, actually sleeping) do you like to cuddle up or do you prefer sleeping away from them nestled in your own blanket cocoon?

i have a soft spot in my heart for Wilford Brimley. his last name sounds like his mustache. he was the first Hollywood person i encountered when i was a fisherman in the L.A. River. we rendezvoused by chance at a little out-of-the-way watering hole on the corner of a pink tapioca fortress which served Russian tea in the '80s. despite his bigass iconic Santa Claus mustache, he was very demure and demurred to me during the conversation, he barely strung two words together and said them very quietly, he was painfully shy which is the case for most actors. as the jazz started playing over the moon, Wilford sidles up to me and we knock shoulders. he tells me, "kid, you want me to give you the D?" he was talking about diabetes, he flipped the small bone-china restaurant tub of sugar packets on the tableset between us over so i couldn't reach them. and then he gave me a pamphlet.

3. would you rather a) drive 200 miles well over the legally-drunk limit? or b) drive 200 miles after being awake for 72 hours?

i don't drive. i don't like to drive. driving scares me. i proclaim i'd rather WALK 200 miles, *cue that Scottish song*. The Proclaimers. or is it the Pretenders with their Miles song? everyone has a Miles song. if you're awake for 72 hours you're legally considered Woke. or dead.

4. would you rather: be topless all the time or pantsless all the time?

FOUR WORDS: WINNIE THE FUCKING POOH. LOVE IS NOT A FOUR-LETTER WORD TO ME...

5. what is something you could talk about for hours? other than TMIT, right? i talk about TMIT on Tuesdays AND Thursdays to cover all bases. i like talking about old television shows, old films, you know, craft. i talked to Wilford Brimley about craft but he thought i meant craft service and told me never to eat ham again, ham is bad for actors. i guess there is too much sugar in ham. i never check to see if Wilford Brimley is dead, Wilford Brimley will never die, he will always look that way and old but he will never die, he will always look grandfatherly, it's like if Keith Richards got a better deal. you have to understand: Wilford Brimley is an Immortal, he is one of the Original Thirteen Primes. he is Maccadam in real life. we talk about Bumblebee for hours on the phone...i talk about the Transformer, Wilford talks about the bumblebee which flew into his mouth when he went fishing this morning...

bonus: what is something you could talk about for hours and not bore people to death? see above. i know, i failed. too late. the ipad didn't even capture THIS death. you were already bored, you're so bored you're not reading this sentence i'm typing now

CLICK HERE FOR TMI TUESDAY





Friday, November 9, 2018

NEVER TRUST A COWBOY



notes:

* this house has people in it

* not the title of a porn (at least not that kind of porn) (unless you mean weird porn)

* Alan Resnick has the coolest last name. and he has that gentleman's beard. he looks like if Trent Reznor were a normal citizen.

* cowboy boots haven't been on the San Francisco street like this since......…

* Alan: that's natural sunlight. this isn't a set, they're real kit houses.

* yellow trash cans always empty but it's not what you think, and city lawns fenced in by warped ranchwood lattices for some reason

* the one on the grassy knoll, the Wright one

* Alan: my kerchief can be red or pink depending on the angle of natural light and the situation. we got this location from google maps but this piece isn't really about the house, this time.

* i knocked like a motherfucking creep and the only door that let me in was the back of the white van with the stickers

* Alan: oh, it's one of those Willy Wonka doorbells. shoots out candy dip that's not the crystals or the powder, it's the liquid variety. problem is, your finger has just been sharpened off like a pencil so i don't have a finger anymore to hook the dip. got any chips?
couple: uh, yeah, the door's not supposed to make that doomy echo sound.

* Tania: that was gonna be my glue rope. for my arts and crafts, i project.
Alan: ...your feelings of insecurity onto my cowboy hat?
Tania: no, i do art projects. as you can see, i'm Tania Gunadi.
Alan: …
Tania: that girl with the weird voice who does all those voiceovers. i'm from Indonesia that's why.
Alan: illegal.
Tania: no. i look different cos i shaved my head and joined a cult. but it's a hippie cult so it's okay. i was on that good Transformers show.
Alan: Cyberverse?
Tania: The Hub, remember that channel?
Alan: why watch tv when i'm in the hub of civilization? civilization is the den of iniquity.

* Gunadi: this is my husband, let's call him Fred. he's not THAT Fred.
Fred: that Fred is gay. and ironically doesn't live here.
Alan: i want to sell you something.
Tania: no thanks.
Alan blocks the door with his boot.
Alan: karate lessons is what i'm selling, legsweep. your house is so beautiful.
Tania: thank you i AM beautiful.
Alan: can i come in?
Fred: not unless it's midnight. you seem all hat no cattle.
Alan: i can assure you i have no cattle. they've all been sucked up into my UFO.
Tania: can we have a sidebar?
Alan: nothing worse than a pair of San Francsico liberal lawyers. can i keep the front door open? it's cold.

* Tania: i'm a free spirit and everything but the whole colonialism thing...
Alan: that wasn't my fault, Christianity took off like a global wildfire and soon we realized it couldn't be contained...
Tania: too soon.
Fred: come in. NOT!
Alan: thank you, that was so '90s of you. or '80s? anyway, you have to say yes.
Fred: what, you tryna Kavanaugh me?
Alan: no, it's just this is an 11-minute special...
Tania: take off your shoes, you animal!
Alan: do i tap my shoetoes like in Japanese anime?
Tania: i'm nondescript Asian, not cool. i'm that Asian comedienne...……….no, the other one...

* Alan: this couple are from that paint commercial. this isn't a house-flipping show, it's more of a brain-flipping show. they are not married. or even dating. they live in sin, openly and egregiously. and they tell me after 10 years they've STILL not tried all the positions.

* Alan: do you live under these stairs?

* Fred: please don't rub my guitar like a vagina, the strings are meant to be strummed.

* Fred: the foyer...
Alan: the Compiegne? the Compiegne Wagon? you French traitor!
Fred: like my small cute silver disc around my neck? i'm in a band and my first record went silver.
Alan: congrats, how many units?
Fred: just this one i'm wearing.

* Tania: hey want to see something?
Alan: oh the horror! what are they? they look like spooked animals.
Tania: they're Sesame Street letters and numbers struggling to grasp their last breath. you never knew those letters and numbers you saw on PBS tv were alive. they're not props. they're the last line of defense against ignorance in this country, we keep them here on life support. health care is free only in this city.

* Alan: do you believe in guns?
Tania: no, we believe in weaponizing love...…………….don't mind my husband, he gets the blues everyday around 4:10 PM. he wanders the halls of our house, looking down over the balcony---for safety there's a glass ceiling right there so he can't jump.

* Alan: how many half-eaten tin bags of Doritos are under this couch to make it so spongy?
couple: we're vegetarians, we don't eat chips. we watch television in the night.
Alan: *peering across* that's not television, that's reality television. Survivor sucks, that dude should have just married his contestant and run away in the ocean.
Fred: no, that's Bigfoot. you know, Lou Ferrigno?

* Alan: oh, i'm the one who's spongy. do you ever go into that patio outside the glass slide doors?
Tania: no.
Alan: no one ever does. it's always just for show.
Tania: slainte. my husband likes to pretend he's at the grocery store when he goes in there.
Alan: how many records do you own?
Tania: never ask a hipster that question.

* Tania: animated, not necessarily anime.
Fred: this one says "imagine you're so wealthy your body stops moving."
Alan: that will NEVER happen to Olivia Newton-John.
Alan: that's why greed is good. the stock market must continue climbing up, it can never stop.
Fred: this one says "boundaries".
Alan: it was upside-down so i didn't read it.
Tania: i'm using smaller white men here to mean racists, not dong size. like my husband.
Alan: where'd you get them?
Tania: a con.
Alan: you were conned.

* Alan: is this a mirror?
Fred: no that's my clone.
Tania: that's my sister.
Alan: you look alike.
Tania: *punching her bald head* oh shit i just realized you're a vampire and we fucking let you in, i hate myself for doing that!

* Alan: chickenbutt.
Tania: what?
Alan: i brought cookies and coffee. you know, like church. gotta let the spirit in here if it's gonna work...………….i've been having trouble sitting back up, i got a bum knee from having to wrestle my horse.

* Alan: hey, these look like those miniature marzipan animals on Adventure Time which came to life and started breathing cos they were possessed by an Existentialist Satan. figurines of fire.
couple: they look delicious! yes i'm sure they were fired in a personal pan pizza oven or something. tuck in!
Alan: language. do they still make kilns in America? what's with the painting of a milk bottle?
Tania: i have issues with my mom.
Alan: you love your mom and dad, Fred?
Fred: they disowned me after i became a youtube star.
Tania: women should own property. take me and my husband…

* Alan: make the sound of a moshing wave at a Smashing Pumpkins concert. hey you ever gone swimming and your shorts come off in the sea and you're left with nothing but a big bubble in your crotch? hasn't tv gotten way too political?
Tania: this is a loaded dangerous question to answer at this time.
Alan: i wouldn't know, i only watch one channel. is this music?
 Fred: ANYTHING can be music.
Alan: even the sounds in in my head?

* Alan: do others live here with you?
Tania: of course, art doesn't pay bills!!! well, they're my fellow cult members so they don't really count as real people, they're more like owned bitches. they're sleeping, don't disturb them.
Fred: plus i can't reach the door the doorknob is too high.
Alan: that sucks! i wish i knew how to sleep. i love meeting new people. before you guys, i was considering deleting my myspace account.
Alan: um...…………..they look dead, i didn't disturb them, this was already disturbing.

* Alan: thanks for doing this, guys, it's so fun. i missed Halloween this year cos no one wanted to play with me. let's try to keep this as real as possible, no CGI, the client wants it authentic. this is what bored rich people do inside their mansions all day, right?
Fred: wearing the throwback baseball uniform is not lost on me. the '20s weren't really that great, people ate too much ice cream back then.
Tania: *sigh* this is depressing. this firefighter outfit is not making me look any sexier.
Alan: you're supposed to look heroic, remember? it's supposed to be functional, not formfitting. i was there at the start. of women's lib and the fires.
Tania: what are you supposed to be?
Alan: please, no more existentialism. i'm dressed as an anime Japanese schoolboy who's experimenting with bows.

* Alan: did any of the pictures take?
Tania: nope, no selfie stick.
Fred: hey Alan, that's three strikes, never come back.
Alan: i was obviously homeless this whole time.
Fred: or did you just vote for Proposition J and couldn't be a renter anymore?
Alan: i wonder if my house will look like yours.
Tania: all houses look the same. it doesn't matter what the house looks like, it's the people in it.
Alan: remember the Housing Crash of 2008? that's when i started roaming the streets of America and not thinking about it too much...
couple: where will you go now?
Alan: dunno. those two blinking red streetlights are so ambiguous.

CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK

happy weekend, my babies. i'm trying to broaden my people horizons and go to a Golden Corral but there isn't one in my entire area. what does that say about my area? Golden Corral is where the Angels eat! it's the only place i can see a "chocolate fountain" in public!










Wednesday, November 7, 2018

DRAW THE WORLD: SAID THE SPIDER TO THE BRUNDLEFLY



Mueller, still on top of the Cream House roof, hasn't slept a wink and is trying not to add to the color. he wearily raises his hand but it's too heavy even for a pen. he lies back down on the cold roof. he's never given up in his life but he's tired.

President Bump gets the lithe lilac curtain stuck in his hair.

Bump: you share my grogginess. are you still holding up?

Mueller: trying to. holding out. you're not gonna...you know.

Bump: i'm keeping my hands in front of me at all times so i can see them, which isn't an easy task. they're blue. always on lockdown watch.

The Doctor flies on Aladdin's carpet to the center of the Cream House staging area on the roof.

The Doctor: i'm The Doctor. fear not, i'll be taking over this investigation. needs a new face, new perspective, aye? you're not indignant of a female boss, are you?

Bump: it's getting hot around here. and there hasn't been any rain all winter, what's going on? this is not good for my farmers. i'm gonna rub Gina De Vecchio's tits together in my hands at my computer and see if i can perform a rain dance up in here to get some wet action going. i'll whoop my flat fingers, dick-tapping my circled mouth as i holler 1940s-Indian-style. right on the front Lawn. i'll be light as a feather cos i'll wear a headdress full of 'em. my hatchet will be at my belt cos i don't need no hatchetman, i do it myself. i do still need Teri Hatcher, tho.

Mueller: Cher called you sexy.

Bump: eh. old. flexible, bendable, but old. has a weird mouth like you, Bob.

Mueller: *to The Doctor as he points to Bump* i know where he lives. but i let him escape each night and the knight chase begins all over in the morning. i want it to be celestial, it'd be too cinchy otherwise. gives me an excuse for me to whip out my The Fugutive speech when i'm taking a dump in an outhouse cos i'm hiding, too. cat and mouse for the cheese. Heathcliff and Mickey Mouse.

Mueller: *puckered lips* the doctor?

The Doctor: Jodie Whittaker.

Laertus hides behind a bush and saintly snaps a selfie with him, the bush, and the roof above with Jodie, but when he develops it with his finger the button works too well and there's no image there.

Laertus: why can't i be happy? i ask for so little. Jodie's bucktoothed smile was so bright and warm it broke the camerascreen and i am satisfied with this. *hugs his phone*

later, at the pad in the woods, the birds are getting restless. not the brides. at the The Magical Fruit café tho:

Laertus: i like what they've done with the place. they added the The on Camus's forehead, classy.

Dirg: i really shouldn't be here. they're looking for me.

Laertus: especially after last night. first time I've breathed since hot yoga went out of style. the choice was clear: a vote for simple sanity. i must say the moon shined for me for the first time, the air felt heavy and grave with promise. like a brand new day, green was beautiful once more, so much so it was orange. i felt lighter getting up in the morning, light as a feather…

Dirg: stiff as a board for me. not a bard. not getting up.

Laertus: was it good for you, too?

Dirg: it's okay, we knew we'd have to sacrifice several election cycles to get the Court. you may be looking at a Reagan Bush Twelver in reverse and i'm happy for you. we're still ontrack for our long-term goals.

Laertus: speaking of bush, the new Doctor…

Dirg: too early. to tell. i don't want to watch it to give it numbers but it's the only thing i can glance at when i'm jogging-in-place past the Frye's Christmas window cos i can't stay in one place too long.

Laertus: holiday window, everyone skips right to Christmas. you've never exercised in your life. sweaty masturbation doesn't count. my heart leaps and melts when i see those fan drawings at the end of the recap. i see a woman's face lined in crayon and realize what an insane reversal this is, a fundamental shift, with an impact which would not have reached the blind girl by the shore who waits to hear the TARDIS hampered hum.

Dirg: too early. for specialty foreign covfefe. is that the red shiny Faema over there?

Laertus: Covfefe is now a featured artist on this café's official shrinkwrapped soundtrack which it sells on a cute cardboard stand at the counter. it can only be red. think of it as pizza coffee. let's toast you and i with a Guinness, for only with a frothy Guinness in a brown mug can we realize that our brown mugs are more alike than different. let's just pretend the coffee is Guinness.

Dirg: make and male mine frosty, and in a foam mug. i like how The Fly starts out…

Laertus: yes, grand, me, too. it's the greatest cinematic example of in medias res i've ever seen. and it starts the film! you're just thrown in there haphazardly right at jump like a lotto pingpong and you have no idea what's going on, it's some college mixer you've been to a thousand times but you're disoriented with the scientific gobdly and you love every inch of it cos it's new somehow in the '80s.

Dirg: i love how Goldblum doesn't drive, i latched onto that, i'm scared to drive, too, he's content to stay in the passenger seat like a good beta and just enjoy the ride. he's got more important things to do, like think in his lab his whole life. i'm glad we got that representation and he's still depicted as a cool guy.

Laertus: hey, nerds are cool. especially swole buff nerds who suddenly invented the rings in Olympic gymnastics and should go by the moniker The Jewish Hammer on NBC.

Dirg: i want the women to do the rings.

Laertus: come on. you already see they have no tits. heartbreaking, metaphor for AIDS which was raging back then.

Dirg: still is. which is a metaphor for all loneliness. Goldblum just doesn't look cool without the long hair.

Laertus: i'm sure i saw shortly after as i was an eater a McDonald's commercial with Jeff sitting on a beige table and his "cheeseburger" line with the fingers.

Dirg: yes i'm sure inside indie Cronenberg was just LOVIN' that. fixes?

Laertus: the telepods, they were out of a bad 1950s science-fiction B&W, make them modern and '60s Star Trek teleporters with ice atoms. swingin' bachelor telepad. i loved how intimate it was, all Vancouveresque street cinema is like this, all the streets are empty and grey save for our heroes, the heroes are the only ones who seem to live in the city, making the smoke all the more sewery. i'm sorry, but despite ALL that fluid being let out, i STILL can't find Geena Davis sexy. i realize she's intellectually pretty but she's never done anything for me. no spark.

Dirg: what a surprise. none of this would have happened if he had a better computer that knew it was silly to splice. anti-abortion which i liked, the message was women don't want a baby, they just want a giant vibrator that looks like a worm, it's easier.

Laertus: business women or women who mean business? after all these years the jumpscare WASN'T SPOILED for me. i still lose it at the abortion clinic glass, brilliant. like the robot from Alien, not spoiled for me cos i have self-control and am not online every other minute. this was really the first example of true body horror to go mainstream.

Dirg: the makeup guy won the award cos he didn't have to do much work, the face peeled off in short order, Brundlefly was not long for this world. dumb people don't realize "be afraid, be very afraid" came from this.

Laertus: no, "have some coffee with your sugar" came from this. which is what i'll have right now at this cafe. made me paranoid. now whenever i'm at a supermarket i make sure to wait an extra five minutes for all the flies to pass the sliding glass doors. i never turn on my windshield-wipers.

Dirg: no rain.

Laertus: i open the door to our house to let all the birds AND bees out, i wait five minutes, i treat the straggler fly as if it were a human, i afford them that measure of respect.

Dirg: or maybe you see the fly as human-sized.

Laertus: tragic. poor guy just wanted to be so human he was a god. he wanted to be more human than human, a creation that never before existed, we all want that. YOU, dear Dirg, are something which has never existed before and i love you for it. i'd never terminate our baby, i'd raise him by myself though i'd make sure to burp him over my shoulder and over the barrel railing of the toxic nuclear plant just in case.

Dirg: the The Joker-style. weird ending i approve. the weaselly alpha with the beard ends up being the hero despite no redeeming qualities or values or earns. janky. but i suppose they had to end it that way. which of the many alternate endings do you sign up for?

Laertus: Villains Act, Heroes React. dammit you, i'd been trying to push out all that stuff from my memory bank and into the sayings stock market to not use it anymore in daily life. which alternate ending? the one where there's no sequel. Hollywood if you're listening, NO good film EVER needs a sequel, movies were not MADE to have sequels, NONE of them!

Dirg: and why o WHY did the buxom butt babe in the jean jacket Blum picks up at the bar NOT do any more movies?!! her career abruptly disappears after the decade asudden like a hot match and no one knows why, she was on the fasttrack to soft-core greatness, she coulda been a contenda for Joan Severance! why does this always keep happening to me!!?

Laertus: the fast life has no path. she went into mystery-writing. which explains why her publishers thought her first short story would sell more than your usual autobiography.

Federer is trying to justify to himself while he's still out on a tennis court. so late. it's like shopping for groceries at midnight, it seems cool in concept but it ends up just being uncomfortable. the lights on on Savannah Guthrie's court somehow makes it worse, it amplifies the silent loneliness. the balls don't carry in this grief.

Guthrie: i shop wayfair. i do the dance and everything in my living room. and sing the jing.

Roger breaks the awkward in his customary way of pleasantly answering his Pear Watch.

Roger: Rafa, buddy, what's up with you? are you holding up? and holding on...to your pride?

Nadal: as best as i can this month, but it's the missus mistress. Chris Evert wants it BAD again. that's why i had to cancel the rest of the year: to fulfill her animal urges, it's gonna take a Christmas miracle to release all that fluid. i'm holed up here in Rome for the time being but no mucho worry mate this isn't a Cobain situation, i've already died and gone to purgatory. it's a Spanish missile crisis. i'm using that Brett Favre medicine and hope it's enough.

Fed: i feel ya, buddy, over on this pole it's...……………..aughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…….

Fed turns around to bright lights but it's not the lights! it's a whole mess pile of cracked hardboiled eggs and messy yolks everywhere taking up space in the center of the court, dropping on the net disgustingly and with sexy smell.

Roger: what? what?

Savannah: you're an android, right? all the best tennis players are. i do my research i'm not just another face, how do you think i got that job? i want to make love to you in Paris. or Rome...as the song goes...but save that let's enter each other on this bed of eggs i've prepared, soft as downy dirt from down under. this gives me the best chance to conceive a side-family with you and to continue the rich legacy of tennis!

Rog and Guthrie fuck intensely and intently and ignominiously all night long on broken shells and broken dreams and broken promises. and a broken backcourt. her creamy screams are so loud they fall and fold into the silence of the hills, his wanxious wails so whale he speaks French for the first time in a long time.

Federer: do you have a husband? check, don't answer that, i don't want to know. why does this keep happening to me?

Savannah Guthrie: simple. your're irresistible. you're the best and yet you're not cocky, which is impossible, it's as if you're a robot.

Fed: it's all camera tricks, man. everytime i sit down for an interview i'm constantly trying to make myself laugh to get through it. i tell myself jokes in my head.

the crones do their due diligence to dogcatch every one of the precious animals they strayed to fate. they ship their way to Florida where a new law has just been enacted---well written in the books anyway---to ban all dograces from the face of the state earth. then, like any good Trappist trapper, they let their little legs out of the steel trap of their willful protection and set them loose in the wild. but a funny thing happened on the way to the duo restoring order and retiring for the night ondeck after this titanic task...

Doryce: i was just about to take a shower, care to join me?

Gladyce: it's too cramped in there, the showers are the size of matchbooks.

Doryce: clever simile, now smile. you've met your match. exactly. a slit for.

Doryce can sense other water whenever she's taking a shower. she sees the waves outside in her mind and glasses-ears...and she sees ALL THE DOGS! lapping up to the side of the Titanic after they had jumped back into the ocean from the woods!

Doryce: what the? wha? i'm naked over a railing over here! what do you want?

the dogs all speak in one unified woof but there's a head dog who does the panting:

head dog: we don't care about nakedness the way you obsess over, we are unisoned in this. look, thank you kindly, really, thank you for freeing us from that asshole who was making mommy money by selling miniature horse saddles he thought were cute---his stated typed reason in his online manifesto was to make Florida weird again---but the thing is, we came back to you with our kind radar cos we actually really don't want to be out in the woods wild and free. and dusty. we want to feel pretty again, can you do us like before? with the shampoo and spray and everything? the woods are actually a very dirty place. made under our fingernails uncomfortable.

Gladyce: jump up, dears, into the shower with the lot o' you.

head dog: turns out we aren't fish, the saltwater is corroding our coats. can we take a shower in you guys' and wash it all off? the salt and the shame? we stink.

Doryce: NEVER take a shower on a cruise ship.

head dog: bet on Beto, boy can bark.

Gladyce: organizing is all the game.

Madame Pons writes in her diary as long as the stovelight stays on in the LUSH kitchen:

Madame Pons: supplemental but official. and original. i've noticed a slight lift on campus, like a college bra. women are starting to sing as they step out again, smell the do-nuts on their way to the dairy, trying to move their professor crushes into a category something more serious. it's not much but we must have something to hang our hats on, even if we don't wear hats anymore. i'm still feeling unappreciated and underappreciated but i'm busying myself with the distraction of this egg, still can't crack the code. maybe now this opening gives me the hole i need to make me an honest woman again. brave, in need of tissues. i'm stepping out again as well, and i've decided to change the axis of the world. i'm gonna be a marriage counselor to those two rejects---rejected by their families that is---poor dears whose sexy pouts bely their grief. i'm gonna be a witness to their unholy union and hug all the hate that's been splashed on them with my hat. i'll sanctify it if their kin won't, i'll be their tribe as they set out two-by-two only two into their wilderness of loneliness. i've named this: i'm gonna be their 

wild witness

good night. and may we have good nights again…

Pons falls asleep on herself. in the still of night Taki comes into LUsh to clean up after her lost sister, long-last-seen sister, and her smile breathes out as she works. she scrubs with her ringfinger not a gold-haired brush all the caked-on grease and grime brown off around the rims of all the dishes which have oiled up at her sister's workstation but it turns out this grease was the Lush soaps used to grind grime to a halt with salt. Taki adds her sweet scent to the salt, wipes quietly, loads the steal into the steel sink, finishes before Pons wakes up, and drifts away out like a thought in the dark.

Madame Pons awakens none the wiser and tries to break the egg on her sharp nipples. no crack.

Dirg: UNBELIEVABLE!!!

Laertus: zip up your fly.

Dirg: not my fault. these jeans are button-fly.

Laertus: how are you holding up, buddy?

Dirg: i'm not getting up that's the point.

Laertus: huh?

Dirg: No-Nut November. i've already failed.

Laertus: oh come on! disgust! i haven't had my eggs yet! is this what you and your little incel buddies do on youtube comment sections to keep each other alive and up and prove you exist? to encourage your egalitarian efficacy and efficiency and good egg and e-peen?

Dirg: you normies will never understand. the struggle for a Stacy is real. YOU failed NNN, too, to celebrate, don't front, you just will never admit it as i, you're not as brave online as me. i will break into that mansion...

Laertus: yeah weren't you coming from a library lecture? the classics series? the Plum Boys, right? bastion of free speech and free thought and any thought. that place looks like a library but is really the terrible ideas of an empty warehouse.

Dirg: i don't need their front anymore, i got a back: a Plum Girl. that's what happened when i failed. to a picture of her.

Laertus: you deliberately don't learn here, right? to prove a point?

Dirg: yeah well, others don't, either. that bitch is still blocking me! she is so conceited! i'm blocked from watching her show so i browse the dailies of her daily blog, this thing is a litany of how she's a better writer than ALL of the books she reviews, she's just gonna keep doing this day after day, getting fatter and fatter off herself. expend all that eternal negative energy instead of trying to write her own book again and getting out there. and the worst part is, i leave her a comment and it gets BLOCKED! she has ZERO comments what's the point!!?

Laertus: the internets is for connecting competing nets...

Dirg: i wrote this lengthy comment in her box, ALL PARAGRAPHS, the exact same lengthy conversation we had about The Fly earlier this earlierer, burying the hatchet, all cordial-like conversation and TED talks like our talks. growing my olive branch, letting her inside me. some may say drawn-out but i wanted to get all the details right, and she doesn't have the courtesy to read it? i wonder if she just glanced at all my hard work for an hour and didn't print it for spam. well two can play that game. she'll be sorry she didn't listen to me, she coulda had in. imma get into that mansion in my own way i won't share it with nobody. and i am NOT looking at her boring blog again!

Laertus: boi you could have at least done Movember. that's what i thought you were gonna say. didn't your dad die of testicular cancer? mustaches are sexy, not beards.

Dirg: yes he did, that's why i don't do it. tho i did grow a mustache instantly right after i jacked off to and finished on Eye Luggage's picture. No-Nut Movember. like the taco girl says, 'why not both?'

Laertus: *sighs and points his finger up* check please! i mean more pots!





















Monday, November 5, 2018

TMIT: OREL






1. do you go out of your way to be nice? yes. even in these dark times. why just last night i was a bellhop at a, well, well-known hotel. i left my post at the counter when i heard a stray cat mew from ALL THE WAY on the other side of the property. no light nor lights anywhere, it was midnight outside. when i finally get there i take my tall red felt bellhop hat off my head and give it to the cat, saying, "this belongs more to you than me, you look so kawaii in it!" to which the cat replies, "not cute, kid. you didn't bring any milk or anything?" to which i reply "yes, it's in my pockets" to which the cat replies, "i only drink milk in those cute little half-pint vending-machine cartons." the cat tells me, "you aren't ironic enough to work here. you have to be here." later that night, which is the morning, i was seen taking golf lessons in the empty fields from Cat Woods. a tiger in a bellhop hat was tending the check-in counter..

2. some time ago people were buried with items they would need in the afterlife. what would you want buried with you so you could use it in the afterlife? just a regular ol' workable ipad to record stuff. i mean this would be the most valuable and controversial selfie-taken-on-a-cliff of all time. have you noticed that on all the billions of streams out there, not ONE has sent a picture back from the dead? are there not clouds underground? this worries me, it's not looking good, folks. but my ipad did send me the notice that Lenora Crichlow is fucking Poldark which makes perfect sense, they were castmates! you don't go into acting for money or fame, you go to find a mate.

3. what social stigma does society need to get over? mental illness. take a step back and think about this for a minute. more and more studies are showing that EVERY human being who has ever lived on this planet has had SOME form of mental illness, even however slight. do you realize the implications of this!!? that would mean that BEING HUMAN is in fact the mental illness.

4. when was the last time you told someone, "i told you so."? my priest. we were having it out on the street early morning at the McDonald's as we do---fries and fisticuffs---and i finally said to him all his confessional arguments were strawmen and I wasn't drunk, HE was drunk. he excommunicated me for that for being racist. he called me a socialist and said he didn't have time to vote. he did call me up later when we both cooled down after our McFlurries to grant that he was just really messed up lately after i had introduced that first episode of Father Ted into his life...

5. when was the last time you were snooping and found something you wish you hadn't? what did you find? my two best friends scrappin' at the medicine cabinet. i hate seeing that. Snoop Dogg and Snoopy going after it, each claiming bird was the word. Woodstock was nowhere to be found, he decided Green Day just wasn't for him. later the parties cooled down and had a joint burger---as in one burger for the both of them, they each bit into a side. Snoopy requested a turkey burger, to which Snoop lamented, "turkeys are for Thanksgiving, man!!!" they each agreed the pattie was already nice and yellow and didn't need any mustard.

bonus: what small seemingly-insignificant thing did your parents or someone else say when you were a child that has stuck with you all this time?

dad: READ

mom: GO ON JEOPARDY!, DEAR, MAKE US SOME MONEY

love you guys. forever. i tried but Ken Jennings blocked me on email. he didn't block me from his email, he blocked me from getting into MY email...

CLICK HERE FOR TMI TUESDAY





Friday, November 2, 2018

MITSUKI OF THE SOUND



notes:

* i can't believe Off the Air hasn't yet done blah blah blah just noise i mean sound

* first vertical video used in Off the Air history...this show isn't elitist, it's a list, it's of the people...

* it's like one of those handheld horror gonzo films but the real horror is what we're doing to the environment. that tsunami is not CGI...

* her: are those your pills on the dresser?
me: depends, how much is that gazebo out there for rent?
her: you know the Real God only understands and speaks Spanish, right? we've been the only loyal ones through the centuries while Europe wavered.
me: wait, God is a clown?
her: think about it, God made us in His image.
me: God was the first garage band?
her: He created music where all there was was a space.
*i turn my phone vertical to catch the clouds*

* don't feed ducks bread

* THIS is why babies come out the womb terrified

* Mike Lazzo: hey guys, i know this is adult swim, we're into that art-at-the-curb that never sells, but we can't use babies as drumsticks. too much of a message.
redditors: is this cos of the Dan Harmon thing?
Lazzo: admittedly is has a good beat.
redditors: this is how all European techno gets made. hot-dog factory and all that.
Lazzo: no wonder they're so mad they're punching babies, take off your black hats in this desert heat!!!
Black Hat Triforce Illuminati Trivago Guy who uses Android and is an android: hey baby, look at my keys! i don't have a use for keys anymore, cars are pollutants and i live inside my head.
Dan Harmon: that poo was as dark as your skin.

* baby: i was never alive. tis but a human machine who never got rebooted...

* Big Ears: hi, i'm that Wallace and Gromit reject who got burned in the fire. ALL of my earwax forms the Earth's clouds.

* Big Ears: i'm okay with the drilling, infrastructure should have been our first priority. okay with the blaring sirens, vote for the Proposition which will let the paramedics have a nice lunch. what i can't stand is the keystroke-tapping. do you know how silly you look placing your finger on a glass screen? typing serves no purpose unless it's texting the kidnappers to let Gromit go.
Russians: this isn't just inane chatter, we're actually doing a hacking job over here.

* that was Nirvana's first drum. and Nirvana's first drummer Chad Channing.

* pink dolphin: i speak in early Nintendo sound-effect music. have you seen my eardrum? it looks like one popped popcorn kernel. hey before anything, scissor that soda plastic ring into nondigestible slivers would ya.
Blue Man Without The Group: sorry bro, i drank too much soda and root beer. it'll cost you 100 bucks for me to find it. and fish it out for you. i may not look it but i'm still a child.
pink dolphin: i had 100 bucks but i lost my wallet weren't you listening? fuck this noise i'm going back to SpongeBob's pineapple house, at least THERE everything is still free, especially fun.
conch: it's dangerous for me to be on land. no more Of The Flies unless it's a Lordess this time.
Blue Man: i may look like Guillermo del Toro with my eye-hands, but this will NOT be a freaky water love story.

* stop hitting yourself...………...in the eyeball-iris, pupil, you know how painful that is? everytime you place your finger on glass, you're poking your own eye out. cos you have a glass eye.

* the first wheel was made at the push of a button

* my sliding lantern lights are up HERE, buddy. don't look at our dicks! we have NO dicks!

* something went wrong today and choir practice will never be the same. it's not the emasculation from trolls, it's that we turned into what we feared the most, WE'RE the trolls now. look away, we're hideous on the inside! hey, stop singing and maybe practice will be called off due to darkness.

* CTHULHU LIVES MATTER

* for Cthulhu, the struggle is real real

* the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe Malfunction (all feel like hell)

* hey, it's the worm from Sesame Street!
worm: i've always wanted to be on Monty Python.
Terry Jones: i am God. impressed?
statues on either side: our faces are frozen not in astonishment but because we sniffed too much glue.
Terry Jones: speak in your native tongue, bellydragging commoner! speak in sitar, you worm!
worm: can i come? in? i'm not a mouthbreather, my mouth is in my butt.
Terry Jones: ok. how's it growing in there?
worm: i'm God now. but i need water to maintain my leaves.
Terry Jones: sorry, my jar is clay not water.
faces: so THAT's where the Greek Gazebo went.

* Jim Henson: these were all the "123456789101112" Sesame Street segments Mike Lazzo rejected. you realize entire generations of kids learned their numbers off hippie acid, right?
Dave Hughes: sir, i'd like to shake your hand. if not for you i wouldn't be standing here today making this stuff. i'd be dead. everyone has their drug: women, religion, glue. my drug is Jim Henson.

* bubble tape

CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK

happy weekend, my babies. the choice is clear: sanity or chaos. as the world gets less kid-friendly by the plummet i'm struck and starting to feel my mortality more. in my palms and chest. i'm realizing that i'm of the age where i should have had a son by now. but i don't have a son. so i'll go this weekend to Beautiful Boy and cry into my popcorn cos it's sad but i won't be able to relate to it really, you know?







Wednesday, October 31, 2018

DRAW THE WORLD: CIVIL COLD WAR




Robert Mueller III is still standing on the roof of the Cream House, he hasn't left, hasn't slept, hasn't batted one eye. his arms are still raised high and will speak to whomever will listen.

Mueller: ONE MORE DAMN WEEK!!! i ain't giving up the car keys this far in. i've come too far and we've come too long. loose lips sink Coast Guard vessels. you're gonna be disappointed like when you don't quite receive the exact Christmas present you were yearning for but that ain't my problem. i won't be lulled into thinking you're an okay guy and this is all meant to be parody and you did this all for Katy Perry and you're just an AM reality radio host who happens to roll the knobs.

President Bump looks up from his bedroom window at the Cream House, lilac lace curtain lithely blowing in the short wind.

Bump: get down from there, man, you look like a crazy person.

Bob: nice try siccing those Rapunzels at me at the last desperate minute. this is why i never leave my office, i bought a La-Z-Boy sleeping couch brand-new brand-new-engines expressly so you couldn't track where my home is. was. how much did you pay them?

Bump: enough to get their nails did. can't did their hair. let me ask you, Bob, from up there i can still see it, is that a bulge in your wallet or are you just happy to see me?

Bob: Rapunzel Rapunzel, let down your hair.

Bump: can't. it's immovable. like destiny.

Eye Luggage stands immovable in the wind, firework-shoots of her purple hair and her brown-rubber leg-band strings and the piece of evidence-paper gentle blowly in the wind like triumphant trusses.

Dirg is dumbstruck for many reasons. he doesn't quite know his next move. he stares at her in shock and uses the opportunity to scan her up and down.

Eye Luggage: the way things are going for us, reverting that is, your junk art will be the next framed Mona Lisa. at least Warhol acknowledged the non-subtle way he referred to cans. we've got to put a stop to this, nip this wildblaze in the bud before it infects pretty girls with low self-esteem.

Dirg: we? you and what posse? are you referring to Hollywood? nevermind.

Eye Luggage: a little army i like to call women. not little women. ironically we've been around longer than any relic rule which prohibits us from the front lines. we've BEEN on the front lines since forever we were birthed, taking all the bullets into our savage bosoms. bozooms bazookas. you know, the fairer sex? call us ugly but we've always been fair. why couldn't you draw a webcomic that was a how-to on how to prepare Toxic Masculinity Soup?

Dirg has his eyes kept wide-open for him from some unknown force inside air the remainder of this encounter.

Dirg: my best nesting friend would love you. he's done something similar, a short film that starts off as a cooking show but degrades into a Leftist rant on why the world sucks now. cuck carrots and pink pepper in the broth, that sort of thing. it's all very tricky and eye-popping. with a green background for the greenscreen. i'm sure it will win all the awards.

Eye Luggage: i believe in second chances and the prison-industrial reform system. if you write a longform letter IN WRITING---a heartfelt, deep, non-fake apology to Mr. Stan Lee---i will deliver it onto his feet and then maybe i'll see about your case. i might put you off detention and your account will be unsuspended. i may be just in my kindness. see you dudes just don't realize how hurtful you've been to us all these centuries. you thought your slights were homeslices but they were just slices. you're stupid, can't be helped, flawed genes. you inherited rockeater traits into your tongue cells when you ate milk for the first time. you are right now blog-banned from ALL blogs which touch this university of higher enlightened learning.  

Dirg: what?! even the official MARVEL youtube channel?!! not that! anything but that! how does that channel touch the school?

Eye Lugagge: Mr. Lee has taken up residency here at Obec C.

Dirg: i don't care about nothing wimpy weblogs but i need that Marvel channel! i've poured my heart, soul, and throat beliefs into that youtube comment section for a decade now, carefully crafting my message to troll out i mean elicit illicit responses from unsuspecting future conscripts to my cause. i've been shaping the debate in the dark i mean the shadows for years for just this revolution we're seeing now to break free into the mainstram like punk did with Cobain. you should see the deep detailed analysis i give whenever a new comic book is printed, i go over each line with anyone who'll talk well type to me. you can't take this away from me, it's my puppy, my identity-politics, actually it's my only very identity at all!!!

Eye Luggage: you've bared your soul instead of your butt at me and i appreciate that. i'm telling you, the climate we have now---no rain---we're gonna need an Alex Jones on the Left, a Liberal Alexa Jones, and i'm just that woman-person! you've no doubt seen my underground webshow have you not?

Dirg: now that i think of it, i might have in passing, like when i get those Comcast driveby ads of all of Hilary's good works paid for by the Dems Loghouse which gets me so incensed i break the screen of my Pear Watch. it's like paying for puttanesca and getting the spaghetti instead of the whore.

Dirg: i'm sorry, you gained a grovel. satisfied? no, you're insatiable, aren't you.

Dirg begins licking the lip of his tip of penis.

Dirg: *eyes turning red from water* i said i was sorry. i need to see Stan Lee. i NEED to see SuperStan or i am stained forever, the boy with the cobweb tattoo...

Dirg takes out his dick from his zipped pants and masturbates in front of Eye Luggage to her everlong disgust, she is horrified, mortified, but she can't yet look away. if for science if nothing else, this is a house of learning. in two seconds and but one stroke up and down, Dirg makes the gang-sign with his other hand and---it's too late---the green plants by his feet are now winter whitecaps.

Eye Luggage: what the FUDGE-WITH-NUTS are you doing, you sicko psycho creep cretin cartoon?

Dirg: this is the thing men do with girls now. our generation's never hugged a girl before, this is our version of sex: jacking off in front of the pretty girl we have a crush on. we've been crushing on them, they are crushed, we're relieved, they're relieved, no touching involved. emotionless embracing, we're so disassociated from our feelings we're terrified of the female presence to go up and stroke the hairs on her arm or say hi behind her back. women are images to us, not real breathing people. this is my altered attraction to you: a cum-connection made from my distant rainbow. of cum.

Eye Luggage: well it's working, i was able to draw that out of you, something i'm sure you've never told anyone, especially your mom. i can see your poor-pumping green heart running scared on fumes covered in gaseous green slime begging to be let out of the constrictive cage of the brittle bones of your ribs. i can see your crack, it's growing.

Dirg: one more thing before i vanish like a ghost: do you have a slim Harley hammer you use during sex back under your bedroom with a ballpeen to crush balls and peens?

Eye Luggage: of course i do. i already vomited earlier today so my tank is empty. i would arrest you, i'm a cop, college cop, the security-guard on duty and of record, but more than anything i just feel sorry for you. zip up, ship up, and escort yourself off. the grounds. you like escorts, right? you'll never be schooled here like this again.

Ariana: here was my idea: Seth Meyers should have done Weekend Update like he always used to do, no mention the entire time that he's the host or anything, he just does his normal segment. and Che and Jost are nowhere to be found. that would have been funny.

Pete Davidson: you're right, babydol. okay, i relent, you're welcome back on set. i'm using a coiled phone right now cos i got my dime back to work said phone.

at the Magical Fruit campus coffeeshop, with Camus on the front roof sipping air bubbles, a gathering of the Resistance stands ready for their renaissance. the only remnant from a previous more-strident more-militant café, the Bernie Furnace---which was ironically firebombed by ecoterrorists---the half-circular booth, is carried over and plopped into the temporary sanctuary of this present café. a booth crying on the outside, with one serrated left edge full of damp nails and cut-apart wood fragments which resemble toothpicks. brown Pac-Man. Symone and Angela flash their yellow-stained teeth as they smile-talk.

Simpsons Swartzwelder: this was my idea, divas. i did this first. don't talk to me. i've never once shaved my beard and my chin hurts like hell. i'm not hideous but i want to maintain my Pynchon popularity cred. remember when cool cats like Aretha wore brown headbands in global rainforests?

Symone Sanders: you a welder or an elder? i love your environmental Simpsons episodes. oooh, Sister Angela Rye, you know it's on when you ditch your relaxed locks for a head full of rough braids. and those glasses you never wear, smart-mode sista! warrior on, princess! we eligible for this election!

Angela Rye: Sister Symone, we look good with our brown headbands on, blends so nicely to us. we will fight. civilly of course, with out fistful discourse and diaphragms.

Symone: my belly is phat bursting at the seams with sustenance. Bernie Sanders was obviously my father. what is up with America? i thought Nazi rallies were a thing of the past. October Surprises were never like this. this is some scary shit in the simmer.

Bump: it's just a joke. you know, entertainment? the Doyers made the worst move! cost them the Series.

Symone: get the fuck up outta here! don't be a baby. how do you even know YOU were born here, citizen child? you were a baby at the time!

Bump: one more thing before i become the departed: if yous had just given me an NFL team, none of this would have happened.

Symone: i love baseball, all us folk do. i mean the dueling walk-off catches! the rubbing of those bats with that black book! that's a magical spellbook you know, i know it well, the players with the cute butts place their bat inbetween the covers of that black book and rub all that feminist witch wych wonderfulness salt into those bats up and down with each stroke till that bat achieves wood. reminds me of the book i'm reading currently, Narnia, off Serena Williams's recommendation during the Great Book Hunt where she wore the brown headband on PBS! who knew Serena likes Narnia?

Angela: hey man, it's the black-girls-are-magic thing. i'm honoring my last-name thang now more than ever, pass the black salt. newly-minted The Atlantic writer Jumpin' Jack Flash Jemele Hill and Dapper Don Lemon will join us later.

Laertus: i heard that, preach it, sista. we ready, we here, and we seen.

Roger Federer arrives at Savannah Guthrie's house which coincidentally is a sprawling mansion of rye in Savannah, Georgia. just at the tip of American Gothic before it went American Industrial.

Fed: so this is your backyard court. on the front lawn. grass tennis courts, you don't see those anymore. nice. go for your lesson? let's start with the basic stroke: the tweener. you'll get it fast, you don't have a penis. to worry about. down pat, it's all in the technique. wait, where is everybody? you said this was a charity-auction tournament thing, where's Everlong Effervescent Evert? where's Bud Collins in the chair-umpire chair?

Guthrie: i'm afraid this is gonna be a private lesson. i need work before i can show my stroke in public. girls just want to have fun. hold up while i don my pink Olivia Newton-John legwarmers.

Fed: okay. let's ready.

Guthrie: can you do me a small favor, you fondue fireman? you frenchie-swiss dripping with sex sweat fighter. instead of using our racquet strings to hit tennis balls, can we use eggs?

Fed: shit. reminds me of the days of cat-gut.

the crones have lithed their way back to a backroom on the far reach of the decked but not stacked Titanic, a small square with no smoke alarms. there they busy touching up the dogs in the area, cleaning them, fluffing them, tonicking their tails, shampooing their coats and conditioning their schnozzes, alleviating their allergies, fitting them with little baby-powder bows, even bowed that last nail on the inside of their paw wrist, hemming up their nails with the lightest cut, rolling their tongues neatly for fresh breath, and generally opening up their yellow eyes to the world of earthly luxury.

Gladyce: you think the Titanic will like running on electric from now on? instead of those toxic steamstacks? it's more efficient in the long run.

Doryce: they won't know who to blame, it was you all along who did it, who made it happen, a woman. dogs did. they're sure to score high at the show. coffee break? NOT Magical Fruit, their stuff makes me toot. we have a Faema at home, let's use it. in our ship room. oh, and you know how that Faema coffeemaker works, right? that blue flashing button you always push? yeah, well, that's actually for THREE cups of coffee, not one. you drink a lot of coffee unknowingly. you have to read the icons more carefully, the thin icon you always miss is actually a pictograph of a teacup for 1 cup of coffee standard serving size for 1 human witch.

Gladyce: let's not start that again, dear...………………….what? i'm getting a message in my coiffed coiled ear-cuff...……………...yes, Sally, thank you, thanks for the heads-up and florist flowers...………..well it seems we got an intercept from Headquarters. apparently all these dogs we've been grooming are not for a pageant, they're for fucking dograces!!!

Doryce: *punching her fist with her other fist* disgraces! grab my coat, let's go. imma fuck that man. up. i'm not voting for Pedro for President or even dogcatcher!

a quiet girl storms into the belled glass door at Lush and sits down on the ball sofa. you can tell she used to be a go-getter but has since turned mousey from her college experience. not looks-mousey, manner-mousey.

Madame Pons: hello, Pakora. nice to finally meet you non-online. we've typed by tea so much we're drowning buddies. wait, you're white!?

Pakora, with the pink headband: yes, and my white girlfriend is Euroclydon from Europe.

Madame Pons: wow.

Pakora: i always see you here. you're burning the midnight oil.

Madame Pons: only with LUSH officially-licensed candles. i'm committed to this work---i WILL third-see it through---not just sit through it---so i sleep on the ball couch. this is my office now, where i sleep. haven't been home in weeks, forgot what the place looks like. haven't spoken to my sister in ages, sometimes i think she's just using me for money, to pay off her house, that she doesn't care about me as a woman-person. i've electrocuted myself more countless times than i care to remember trying to get healing spells right, or help spells left. but no call. except from customers. scrapes, bruises, and a loss of energy befall me, literal loss of energy flowing through my body, zapped and sapped.

Pakora: i've lost the will to write. my diary is dormant. i feel like any art i do is ruined by the times. i'm waiting for it to be over so my art and allergies can flourish again, so my poem stances and entry engagements can mean something larger again, not just about the one framed thing it always does or gets accused of. i must wait: 2, 4, 6 years. i'm waiting to wear a thong again.

Madame Pons: i know about diaries. but your block comes not from the writer but from the non-reader. step into my chamber and let's begin. btw hey girl, you know what this egg does?

Pakora: *quick scan* not a clue.

Dirg: *by modem* so i tried to get that new Picard series on CBS All-Access but they said i will pay for that.

Laertus: *by phone* um, chief Mahomes, that series hasn't been made yet, dudey. you seem stressed, bud, something happen to you? you're relaxed, dazed, and distracted.

Dirg: just my vertigo rearing its pretty head again. gotta sit down by a tree.

Laertus: make sure to get plenty of rest. rent a cot at the student store. come on over to the Magical Fruit for a late-lunch, everyone's left to battle. the place would be dead with you here. rest your back on the heated throw i've laid out for you on the boothseat. or table if you prefer. sink your cock into a cup of iced coffee and cool it off. hey, so is it still a joke? mild meme-warrior mayhem on Mischief Night?

Dirg: um, sure...……...i think.

Laertus: oh okay, just checking. taped can of beans for your thoughts.

Bump: *by threeway using Dirg's Pear Watch* yeah i can use him either way, he looks Middle Eastern, right?

Laertus: you're invading my space, sir. Dirg dear, just don't pick up any suspicious brown packages on the way over, they could be Maury paternity papers!

Dirg: or from mestizo migrants. signaling their skin color, heehee. sorry i'm not into it tonight. it's depressed for me right now and we still have to have energy for Halloween. i was gonna go dressed as a Mexican Cowboy and run to the border to join the posse comitatus---i was committed to the comitatus as a patna---but, eh, it seems like too much work, i'm too depressed to down. i haven't looked at any college babes in cosplay all day. cos i've been banned from college. hey where's your costume? no makeup, outfit, get up, or green hair dye!? i can see your hairy freckles, you're so plain-looking.

Laertus: so i won't get recognized. i'm going this year as the White ghost. she was such a beautiful soul, a librarian soul, her funeral was on Halloween which is goth but damn. *muffling cries* why is everyone dressing up as Maleficent this year? even my mom!

Dirg: *stumbly*…………………….cos...……….Maleficent is magnificent...………..she's the Avenging Angel for all women...….

Laertus: wow, you didn't even inquire as to how hot my mom is. something is definitely wrong with you. she is not milfy enough for you, she is a beautiful soul i'd die for, that's all the makeup she needs. Salvadoran sunglasses not required, her lines and white jeans tell her tale. and her '70s puffy off-raspberry beret. cos she's metal? two horns? nothing? gang signs lead to wars? anything? don't worry, i'll hand out all the candy back at the house, in your state you really shouldn't be giving kids those Halloween Hershey's Kisses with the CREEPY tissuepaper tags on them.

















Monday, October 29, 2018

TMIT: I DON'T WANNA KNOW I JUST WANNA BLOW (TOKE FOR YOUR TROUBLES?)








1. tell us about the last road trip you made. when? where did you go? how long was the overall trip? did you go alone? did you have fun?

i figured out where Banksy lived so i went over there cos it's a national landmark now, his or her birthhome. still nobody knows who Banksy is but everyone knows where he lives. or she, could be The Doctor. just this month, after that youtube vid dropped. i think i'm still on the trip...

we all travel this life alone. fun is relative to the distance you are away from relatives. and potential new relatives who live in the future after you take your 23-and-me DNA test.

btw we got there in plenty of time. but then i had to look at the roadmap. it took an hour just to fold-out the folding thing. then i realized Banksy had shred the map in his shredder…

2. do you love to travel? in my head, yes. i'd love to travel for real but this costs a non-bitcoin thing known as money in the Lower 48. i still have the overarching goal to eventually become one of those Instagram travelogue bloggers who gets paid to post on insta and gets friends paid for him by the company. well, followers anyway, makes your statsheet look good as your heart slowly breaks.

3. what's the best place you've been? do you want to go back? going back is the inescapable truth of closure. and my closure is slippery when wet. you see for years now i've been on a wily self-willed quest to reach nirvana. i just thought they were a cool band and went with it. it's a spiritual journey undertaken which must take place inside one's soul, to look around in there and see what psych roadblocks i find. only through the path within can you achieve without. so i built myself one of those submarines that i miniaturized and have been traveling inside my bloodstream for years. i'm typing this to you presently inside my stream which honestly looks a bit low on cells. you know it probably would have been easier if i had just constructed a tiny submarine...

4. would you travel for sex? have you traveled more than 50 miles just to have sex? i have and it wasn't pretty, never doing that again, got in trouble. like everyone else, i fell in love with Ed Sheeran. it must be Ed's red hair cos red is the color of love. anyway i traveled all the way to his hometown cos google maps said there was gonna be a party and met with as it turned out his lookalike doppelganger who strangely went to the same school as Ed---at the same time? that's wild if so. the one featured in the video. so we hung out at the Castle on the Hill that night with no campfire, only lit by our smoky Skins red cigarette tips. then the bailiff came in the next morning with his hay-soaked baton and said to get the hot fuzz out of his bailiwick cos i had exceeded the 50 miles. i was at 51 miles...damn you google maps...

5. what sexual act or sex position do you struggle with doing? kissing. cos it's a trick. i don't mean there's a certain trick to it, i mean that it's always a trick. i've been fooled time and time again by practicing on a lemon. next time i kiss, i'm gonna practice on a strawberry cos i'm getting older and liver spots are starting to spot up.

bonus: what are you into but have not told anyone? Fortnite. look, i didn't want to join a herd, but, well, see, my dad plays it and i want to connect with him cos i think he's cool and this is the only way for fathers and sons to connect now. i know all sons think their father is their hero, but in this case it's true. my dad is so cool. my dad is Kylo Ren:

CLICK HERE

i'm not much of a dancer, despite my skewed delusions that i might be cos i'm double-jointed and all, but i did the dance. alone in my room i practiced---trained with a rubber grey forehead---day and night till my sheets became wet. eventually i got so good i was able to impress my local pizza guy who gave me free pizza but i still had to pay for the gaseous root beer:

CLICK HERE

CLICK HERE FOR TMI TUESDAY





Friday, October 26, 2018

COLLEGE MIXER





notes:

* ah, the good ol' days of college football, when it wasn't a good-ol'-boys club. USC was atop its rightful place uh perch in the world as the eternal Number 1 and the world was basking in the California sun. and freshly-squeezed avocado juice. Pete Carroll was still the cool surfer-uncle who knew when to throw it and was Zen Master Jr., and the world could still enjoy a prank, and Lane Kiffin was......well Lane Kiffin but he schemed and sweated abnormally for our side. when Alabama started ascending the sport REALLY became boring, and civilization started to fall apart and crumble, did you notice that?

* spoilers: this thing starts off SLOW but picks up towards the end

* Eddie Murphy already did all this, but nobody seems to talk about Eddie Murphy anymore…

* not purple drank. purple seats

* Jesus rooted for Appalachian State in the Big House...

* born-again Christians are the only real Christians

* you had me at meemaw but lost me at chorizo

* i actually think the main character here has a fabulously unique look, that could carry a series WHEN NOT IF it gets picked up? adult swim is inextricably intertwined with the college scene, that's their audience, so chances are likely. they love all this college-football shit, even more than Claymation.

* aren't you a little young to be a university president?

* not Louis CK

* the dazzler new uniforms came from Carrie Underwood's line, we tried to get Kellie Pickler but those only came in one size.

* don't know a lot of daddies. i guess they were at work. working at a strip club is still honest work.

* your coaches don't know nuttin', they're the elites, they're the system that's bringing you down. psst, let me tell you a secret: they all work for a college. who you gonna trust, the fresh-as-hell dancer or Louis CK?

* pray this is half as entertaining as Paul Finebaum's Follies. you think those callers are plants but the beauty of it is they're not.

* Kendra is the writer's wife, must be

* why is there so much infighting in the state of Alabama? don't you know the war eagle is from there?

* a criminal is just a future Christ supporter with the praying at a football game, taking a knee.

* i'm fucking Ron Howard! nope, Solo was better than people expected! next time i'll cast Hope Solo as female Han!

* i was so tired from practice all i could chase was a chaser which helped me sleep...

* titties have nothing to do with this discussion

* see, this is why i never played college sports, i'm just not into PlayStation, never have been since the 1.0 came out.

* why is soliciting a prostitute such a big deal anymore? if you don't get sued...sue back until a court forces you to reveal records. do not get pregnant until you're in one of those ceremonies where you turn to your mate and tell her only you and she shall share each others' liquids. stay hydrated, my friends.

* if you eat all these sweet treats, you can ONLY be a linebacker. but at least you won't get a concussion. you're not sponging off your daddy's money, at least you HAD a daddy!

* have you noticed that NOBODY is celebrated for being a painter anymore?

* here's my stud wide-out. he's been confined to a walker but at least he gets to sit his fat ass on an official ANU pillow.

* don't worry, it's not the Kramer Painting.

* those aren't dimebags, coach, those are two doves. football is the sport of peace.

* crying bowls of soup………...oh god.....now that i think about that, is that what's in those tiny tin Campbell red-and-white cans?

* Bill Bisco: previous watcher of Roseanne. WON'T be watching The Conners

* Bisco: Roseanne!
pres: what!?
Bisco: Roll Tide!

* pres: get to steppin' and get that dimebag out my bureau drawer i use to pay the players' mamas. posthaste and with haste. hey man, what's with the red eye?!
player: roll damn tide!
pres: red is the color of ALL the state of Alabama, son, calm your britches, tiny. at least when people were on bath salts it was funny.

* spoilers: let's just say the special effects in this special are special, wink wink

* coach: here's what we're gonna do. swoop in and action plan. let's Khashoggi…
players: we don't know what that means! we don't go to classes!

* adult-swim president: we can't show that...even on adult swim.
pres: listen Lazzo, none of it will be real. the killer's a cyborg and i'm a clone...

* pres: i want get those good Doctor Who cameras on me! photorealistic filmic lens out in the South African desert where i'm from! am i glossy? talkin' bout already powdered my nose that's racist man. this knife is rubber, man, for Halloween, it slides in and out, up and down, back out and in.

* folks, this is the WWE hype part of the show. it's all scripted reality tv. hate doesn't really exist in this world.

* beef: making me hungry for chorizo

* get yer body right. get yer grades right. if your grades are sagging, get yer body right so you can tutor with your teacher alone to get yer grades right. men and women both have tits.

* pepperoni? nah, i always get pepperoni.

* bump baby...uh, nevermind. sell 'em out! then BOYCOTT BOYCOTT BOYCOTT!!!

* pres: i felt good about that take.
Lazzo: you were a little glossy.

* famous last preview for the next episode which will never air...

* dude is so fancy he keeps his candy apple in a glass case

CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK

happy weekend, my babies. things are not looking good for my Dodgers. whenever you get depressed, listen to the dulcet tones of Neil deGrasse Tyson explain...anything. even Tinder, which he did once.





Wednesday, October 24, 2018

DRAW THE WORLD: PAT



Robert Mueller has been contemplating this for quite some time. he sits Indian-style floating not gloating in the air, inside of the substance of the Washington Monument, in the very fabric unseen to the general public, where he hides and thinks. he unlatches from his position and begins to scale down the long sharp pipe often mistaken for a really good smoke or Hawaiian skewer. he jumps onto the White House roof, just a hop and a skip, and raises his arms in the air.

the public has wanted more from him, have wanted him to speak, to counter the administration's rampant news conferences with one of his own. they were sure he'd make a small statement when President Bump insulted him on twitter, but no, Bob always kept his tongue and this ribald science of silence would spark wild flights of fancy, imagination nation as to what he had or didn't have, if they would be disappointed with the result. not quite the hammer but rather a ballpeen. like when you realize you're going to prom but the prom is on a basketball court.

Bob makes sure his sharp kneecaps aren't sliding together into a trembling puzzle and---in the shape of King Kong---declares to the world, who isn't listening at this very moment cos something else is going on and in:

Mueller: THIS ISN'T A GAME TO ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Laertus: the world is a scary place. the world is doing something which we nerds simply cannot countenance: it's not behaving like a scripted tv-drama. we geeks don't do well with reality. we don't like to think or react too much, we just like to be entertained. fuck fathoming the future, there are shows to watch and teach us!

Dirg: would you mind not sleeping and stepping so close to me on this chair?

Laertus cuffs his Doctor Who ear cuff with his fingers.

Laertus: tell me your problems. tell me how to fix the world. i'm listening. the first step is to listen to each other, really listen. it's cuffin season you know.

Dirg: SVU...

Laertus: what is up with that show? you got Amanda git preggers from some unknown cardiologist, the fans wanted her with Carisi, it's too obvious and a simple writing exercise! what's the point otherwise?

Dirg: and you had that strange tale were Carisi had a girlfriend but ALL of those scenes were excised from the broadcast episode so it was like Carisi never had that relationship. i feel sorry for the woman who played his girlfriend thinking she has a steady gig. and don't get me started on the Rosa Parks Who.

Laertus: can a song be both cheesy and make me cry at the same time?

Dirg: come on, man! i don't go to Who for a history lesson. or worse, edutainment. i go for lasers and bloody fistbrawls Freddie Mercury and Queen would be proud of and things blowing up. i want to see can on screen.

Laertus: can you believe they replaced that poor girl who did a tepid review of the first Bob's Burgers of the season? give the girl a break, it was a long soccer summer, she wasn't into it yet, needed to get her feet wet at Seymour's Bay. wasn't back yet in the mind, i have them same feels. feel bad for her, she was so sweet they knew she'd never talk back and just accept it. girl with glasses and purple hair, story of my life.

Dirg: *sleepily* tru tru but it was nice to get Alasdair Wilkins back at AV CLUB. turns out for only a week.

Laertus: Alasdair is badass Brooklyn. straight talk like flat pizza. he's the one nerd who rounds his words into weapons of spear, not fear. makes us all believe for the moment of his review that all of us aren't wasting our lives away watching tv. that this is a noble profession, a worthwhile pursuit. that boy makes me feel it.

Dirg: just goes to show all these new fly-by-night tech sites fold flat like a deck of kit houses against the asphalt. here today, Frond tomorrow. what seems like the future now is the past if you stroll a campus hard enough. Diamond Is Unbreakable?

Laertus: i so wanted to do my hair waffle like that, but apparently the Americans and Armenians got into it too late, the Japanese were two years ahead of us on the hair head. thanks, toonami! at first i was entranced by the comic-book colors, i liked the different aspect-ratio aspect of it, all the bright pastel paneling, made the anime literally look like the manga. but then it got REALLY boring. it's only picked up recently with the Misery mama. i look for relationships in stories, ones that defy the tropes. relationships make series(es?) interesting, not bro fights. two humans interacting with tears and words.

Dirg: i've been telling you, womens be crazy. i gotta go.

Laertus: oh? you're leaving me first this time?

Dirg: i got a life. well i'm meeting someone. someone very important. will determine my future.

Laertus: you see these cheeks, honey? not blushing. i'm civilized and sophisticated. i had an apple for lunch. no girl ain't gonna come between us. a real man will.

Takahashi recognizes that Pete Davidson is in a fragile state and is in no condition. so it's the perfect time and setting for a nature walk! well another nature walk, back to nature-walking for Pete since the boy has no home no more to go back to.

Takahashi: this is perfect. you took so long talking i had time to fashion a walking stick from your straw. you don't have to talk anymore, my dude, just walk.

the two reach the end of the campus-line and to the spot where the clearing should be. there seems to be an invisible film just out of eyesight, but they can hear the cobwebs forming all around them like glacial airdrops. the bridge is out, like it was kicked out by a hobbit. a large soaked mattress printed with blue buds floats atop the dead waves of the river, unable to get through the watery path, stuck as if in a loop, blocked by some unknown force.

the two reconvene at the MSNBC Studios where they film SNL. Pete has been gabbing on his Pear Phone this whole time.

Takahashi: if you talk too much, your lips will get puffy.

Pete: babe, it's just that...i never got to experience being your husband.

Ariana: i know, babe, but isn't this better? my lawyers think so. we can sever and not have to deal with the fallout from a messy divorce.

Pete: please don't use that word. the first word. i'm in a very emotional state right now, i'm crazier than normal. you stabilized me. don't you think we should work on it some more? it wasn't even cheating which is scandalous! this is a meeting of the minds and the mating of a lifetime, and we let petty work schedules get in the way? we have to fight for our love, not fight for our various tours and circuits, we're flesh. we must stem the tide of that thing millennials do when they bail at the first sign of trouble. goddammit we young people get bored too easily!!!

Ariana: we would have made a committed couple, if we had put in the time.

Pete: *crying* it's just...….i thought after 9/11 my world was gone. i had no friends, cos all the alt-righters were shocked i didn't join them and shunned me. thought you YOU were the one thing i had to hang onto in my closet, proof that there was still some good in God up there watching over me. i had no dad but i had a dime.

Ariana: i'm crying with you, that isn't static, i swear.

Pete: we're gonna have to make fun of you now on the show. nonstop. well the writers will, not me. you can never guest on SNL again. who do you want playing you in the skits?

Ariana: Rosie O'Donnell. i felt bad she didn't get to play Bannon. or Steve Gannon as you call him. what do you want me to do with your shoes?

Pete: put them in the fridge. as a constant reminder. or storage, whatever. i'm still holding out hope we reconcile and FUCK are my toes gonna feel good in those shoes when i put them on again.

Ariana: here's to a thaw in our nuclear arms race, relations not race. here's to seeing Walt Disney emerge from that block of ice and walk again. the miracle of a magic meeting. here's to having life again be a place where anything seems possible. like Disneyland. kisses, babe, kisses through the coiled phone.

Melbourne is visiting with Roger Federer and a toothbrush.

Fed: is this toothbrush for me? i'm not staying.

Melbourne: for the missus. the little woman has sharp pointy teeth. i forgot if this is my toothbrush or hers. well i guess that's the sign you know you're finally a couple.

Federer: *on the phone* hello, Savannah Guthrie?

Savannah: omg

Federer: don't blush, i will be able to see and spot it. anyway, sorry i couldn't make the interview today...

Savannah: on Today...

Fed: there is no offseason. or finish line. so anyway the 12-12 final set is interesting to say the least, it's gonna make Wimbledon stick out like a sore thumb. tennis won't be tennis anymore if it's not standardized, it will be a different sport to different socio-economic classes of people. the U.S. Open fifth-set tiebreaker should have been the heated harbinger to which the rest of the Majors followed suit, so eventually we'd have the 5th-set tiebreaker in ALL of the Majors. now you're gonna have this uniquely British score of 13-12 that will never be achieved anywhere else, what does that score mean? it is worth more than the 7-6? the grand sacred hallowed sport of tennis is turning into world team tennis with those oversize-head novelty racquets the kids use. we've become the laughingstock of sport! it's a sport to make fun of tennis!

Savannah: generally agree but what about the grandeur of that last set going till there's two? the French might want to keep that allure that is uniquely of their particular Grand Slam. their tradition of time and existentialism, it's very Parisian.

Roger: why is it 12-12 anyway?

Savannah: well, two sets of 6, essentially two-sets' worth.

Fed: oh yeah, i never thought of that. i can explain this to you further in-depth Kobe-Bryant-style if you want me to come over to your house.

Savannah: i have a lifesize cardboard cutout of you that i prop up who tends my underground bar.

Melbourne: *cutting in* that's not weird, buddy, don't worry. need the phone, incoming.

Laertus: ask Roger about the World Series.

Dirg: he wouldn't know.

Roger: i don't care and goodbye. i'm gonna go get my free Taco Bell Doritos Locos Taco now.

Dirg: you still want to talk ball, just the two of us?

Laertus: might as well, this is gonna be a short Series. you know, i know why that pitcher got sick for two weeks and had to hospital. it's not easy coming out and being the first gay icon in the sport.

Dirg: what the hell earth you talkin' bout, Willis.

Laertus: that pitcher who got infected cos he had to take his bellybutton ring out. very-brave chap, i admire him.

Gladyce: Doryce dear, see the El Volcan taco truck?!

Doryce: yeah?

Gladyce: that's a real volcano stuck in that truck been causing all the recent volcanic activity in Guatemala and Peru. stickered on there with a flattening spell. i'll get it out with one stop of my wand. there, it stopped.

taco-truck driver: hey you gals want in on some dogs?

Doryce: not while you're serving, Pedro. your name really is Pedro. i'll make my own tostada with nature's lettuce: grass. you know the salad kits you buy, dear, are for 3 servings, yes, that's right, 3 servings of salad in one of those pouches.

Gladyce: THIS WHOLE TIME! and you didn't tell me? i knew i was eating too much, i always had the funny feeling in my turnt tummy afterwards like, man this is a lot of salad! and i don't even like salad! i buy it for you! no wonder i was feeling groggy lately. i couldn't float as high and i rememorized my entire spellbook cos i thought it was me!

Doryce: 3 servings, babe. i don't eat salad, i eat grass. i don't like food that isn't junk. take an insta, there aren't that many bonafide tostada-trucks in this world. endangered species.

Gladyce: next time you buy the salad for us at the grocer. i swore i read that package label. great, now i need glasses like you!

Doryce: you were never meant to read it, it was fine print.

Madame Pons: LUSH Ledger, day two supplemental. i'm typing to you today by myself like a crazy fox woman here on the company faltering HP laptop locked in the storeroom cos i'm bored and there are no customers, strangely, during school hours. i thought this was a college. oh shit, i've become a registered blogger, my life is officially over. i am so alone. anyway, no progress on the egg front. but some on the human front. i'm sensing such deep depression on the faces of those strolling the campus. they're like ghosts with no souls, expressionless, gliding, sliding, floating to destination unknown, with no purple-prose purpose. what they thought would be a bridge to a better life is now seen as no life. everyone's waiting, however long it takes, it seems like forever, for life to get back on track, to feel on track, for life to make sense again. for them to feel that these four years aren't gonna be a waste of waiting. these should be their coming-out years, not their lost years. especially the women, i see it on the girls' eyes, they are frightfully scared, terrified of no norms. they put on brave faces as all women in the world must to survive, but i can tell the crack in their makeupped wrinkle. it's like they're using all their pins and needles for the balls of their toes, to tickle them into submission before their men do, not for the patches on their jean sleeves. one young woman came into the shop with one freckle and one bell-push. she almost fainted over after entering she was so out of energy and drained in the lips. i was thinking hard final and offered her our latest soap, a melonballer-colored pumpkin-spice creamsicle ice-cream bar that looks like a double-sticked popsicle but is soap. she talked about how she was entering a new relationship for her and her parents back home would never approve. that she was cut off in college, not free. she staggered over to the bed i keep in my Energy Medicine Room and immediately wetted it firm to soft profusely with her sweat. slept the rest of the week there poor thing, but didn't sleep it off. here demons run deep, as does this sleepy town. i keep hearting posts hearing everybody telling me they want to leave the country but wouldn't know what nation to choose. i just hope the egg helps soon. it's gotta be an Easter Egg for us.

Bump: i'm searching for the real killers. with my friend OJ Simpson, he knows all the black athletes who did it and is an expert at this sort of thing. coverup is an art. we each beforehand sampled that Burger King Nightmare King green burger to get our tank full and our journalistic juices flowing. it's good that OJ is out and can help us like this.

OJ: i think that Nightmare King really isn't a real thing. like it was just for that Dream Corp LLC commercial skit. plus this thing was a burger with both a beef pattie and a chicken filet, it was weird.

Bump: green buns, those environmental chicks are hot and white, OJ.

Dirg: i'm at the temple gates, ready to storm the castle!

Laertus: like a good stormtrooper. true-to-form is an art-form. describe Shangri-la for me.

Dirg: it's a brick mansion...……………...with the red-and-blue gates closed!!! ugh. do love the lattice design in the holes of the gates, very '80s.

Laertus: huh, shoulda been pearly. i don't travel to the froufrou side of campus. like the Cuomos do every day, we just have to take what life brings us each afternoon. deal with the shuffle. it's unexpected, you weren't thinking your day would be like this, would turn out like a pear, like your watch. how do you think Jim and Poppy felt at the start of business today?

Dirg: has Poppy popped yet? the baby i mean.

Laertus: any more trouble online for you?

Dirg: i saw that one thing on twitter. someone replied back to James Woods, said his mom birthed a beta. how dare he scold a veteran of Family Guy! we both loved Family Guy at one time.

Laertus: oh pleeeezzz. not all heroes wear capes. see? tech is good for society! you can't get anything from handling an email but a nasty virus. sweep that mansion for mailboxes. and check Avenue Q. did you get that thing i sent ya?

Dirg: this picture of Patrick Leahy?

Laertus: it's like those kittens on twitter, instantly calms you down. the country will last forever, longer than any stamp.

Dirg: he's a patsy alright.

Laertus: now see it has the opposite affect on me. dredges up past horror-story encounters i've had with the Patriarchy, i need to learn to pat these images down or i can't function in society. anybody else there?

Dirg: just some stupid girl...…………...who looks okay

Eye Luggage stares back at Dirg with eyes which look like two black eyes but are just bad Harley Quinn makeup-jobs. she pounds the table of her lemonade-stand open booth on the edge corner of campus.

Dirg: and what you tryna sell me today?

Eye: the key.

Dirg: to in there?

Eye: i never forget an online face. i'd recognize you anywhere. i can tell from the callouses on your hands that you're a bad drawer. i've seen your work online. i'm everywhere online, by the handle Alexa_Pwns. you were using THIS to get in there?

Eye pulls out Dirg's drawing from the canyon of her blue breasts, one red. the drawing printed on old-fashioned light-green bullethole-sides printer-paper from the '80s.

Eye: what do we have here? so it's a sketch of Male Thor beating the fuck outta Female Thor with Mjolnir...……………………………*awkward silence*…………..bloodying up the beauty in her face......

Dirg: yes, what do we have here...………………………..*softly* whoa