THIS IS COOL

Kate McKinnon is the breakout star of SNL currently. now we know why. sure, she's hot and talented, but what sets her apart from everyone else is her laser focus and ability to tune out a room and study hard like it was a 100%-of-your-grade chem final:

CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK

see? don't bother Kate McKinnon, she's busy becoming a star.

CLICK HERE FOR HER DRINKING SOME DRINKS...

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GENERALIZED ANXIETY ORDER

"how are you struggling to get by today?"

"what can i get for you today?"

i'm at The Store as i am every week at this day and time at this deli counter, for my one hot meal a week, a hot mediocre sandwich prepared in the ramshackle ovens of the deli counter. this has not been a good week for me, it never is, i can't explain why it's any worse than other weeks, it just is :/

HURRY UP! YOU'RE KEEPING THE LINE UP! WE WANT TO EAT FOOD! WE WANT SUSTENANCE! WE CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT FOOD, WE WORK FOR A LIVING, WE'RE REAL PEOPLE, NOT LIKE YOU, SLACKER, GIVE YOUR SANDWICH TO US, YOU DON'T DESERVE TO EAT! HURRY UP!

oh the din of the crowd is deafening, my ears bleed from their truth, i close my eyes, i close my head to try to stop it, but the truth always wins out. there is no one in the line with me, just me, i'm strategically placing myself just far enough away from the counter that it's unclear if i want to order, so the guy can't legally speak to me. of course i am blankly staring at the menu above the counter, so there is a loophole for him. of course i stare at the menu simply because i don't want to stare at him, at anyone, i don't need to look at the menu, it's the same six choices it has always been.

something has to break the tension that only i feel, he doesn't have a clue. is that...what?...can't be...i look at his nameplate and it says:

KARNOV

okay, that's just awesome, i mean, that's real? doesn't matter, that breaks the imaginary ice, i mean this is Karnov we're talking about here, from that classic NES game, you know the one? google it if you don't. i wasted so many hours of my wasted youth on that game, i was happy then, Karnov, the muscley badass bare-chested Russian with just the red pants on, the circus freak (or something) who fireballed his way past dinosaurs, mythical creatures, and the gods themselves to save the day and win the game. of life. his life. my life at the time.

Karnov, the man who manned the deli counter, wore a two-sizes-too-small white t shirt, his bulging biceps ripping the hell out of that shirt, fraying the hell out of it. this was straight-up Hulk stuff. his strange oversize hairnet over his bald head did nothing to quell his stature, he was a real-life Karnov in every respect. i didn't have the guts to walk behind the counter and take a peek at his pants below and at the back of his body-covering white apron, but i'm sure they were red.

the forward momentum of video-game nostalgia propelled me toward the counter without my knowledge, it always did. video games were cool but always got me in trouble somehow Mom used to say.

"what can i get for you, blood?" began Karnov.

Karnov :) still couldn't get over that.

"how's my life? it's so weird whenever someone asks me that, it's the type of thing that will forever require an answer that sums up that present moment in time, it will never be a pat answer, a stock answer that covers you from month to month, season to season, year to year. life is such that every moment is different. i mean just this morning i thought i had a pretty good grip on things, i woke up and had to strain to worry about something, it didn't come to me instantly, which is a good thing. moments later, though, my cat raced to my lap and cried. or he mewed, but it sounded like a wail. that got me depressed. even though i provide everything for my cat and i love him dearly, more than me, i would literally die for him, still, i pondered the existence of all animals, the ones as pets, the fact that they are 100% reliant on another human soul to care for them, that they'd be lost out in the wild, or maybe not, they'd survive, if they didn't get eaten by a bigger animal, the whole thing is very depressing, it's all summed up in the plaintive mew of my precious kitty."

that's what i wanted to say to Karnov, strong and proud, a human being conversing with another muscle-bound human being. sure, this is about sandwiches, but everything is about life, with every opportunity you have to open your mouth, you can plumb the depths of another soul, and in turn your own soul, never judge a book by its cover, Karnov may be working here because his PhD funding ran out. conversely, i hope Karnov and the rest of the world doesn't think i'm a stoner simply because i have a permanent glazed look on my face. that isn't apathy, it's fear, i have diseases crawling around my brain.

why is this taking so long? oh, i haven't ordered yet. the time is longer than usual. i'm sweating over here, my thumbs are bobbing.

"wait. oh. didn't i just talk to you? a long philosophical discourse..."

Karnov stared at me politely with his massive arms on the bread board holding his weight together. "specials today are ham and cheese and hot melt. how are you today?"

how are you today? what are you doing that keeps you alive, keeps you breathing, today?

what's it gonna be, champ?

"um, sorry, i," my toes are shaking. remember. if you remember one thing, remember this one thing: remember? Karnov, yes, Karnov, that was the unique thing that broke today's monotony:

"is your name really Karnov?" i dribbled out.

that put a bright smile on the dude's face, lit him up, that gleam of his was a piano's worth of white keys as teeth: "HA, well, no, not my given name, but i was able to get this boss nameplate embossed with my favorite video-game player of all time. pretty cool, huh? in this shit job, you have to stick it to the man somehow, right? that's what Karnov would have done, stick that fireball where the sun don't shine into that god. i even have the red pants..."

didn't need to hear anymore. i knew it about the red pants. victory. i won. my life was complete. i could die now. and i did die now.

i guess i was on the cold Store floor now, sleeping or something.

"kid, you okay? what kind of cheese do you want?"

did i actually order a sandwich. forgot.

"cheese? i dunno, i didn't know anything anymore, cheese? um, my favorite as a child was the orange cheese. "orange."

"orange? American?"

i am an American, that is how God made me. i could have been a Greek or a Greek god, but it wasn't to be. i could have been Karnov and fight the Greek gods, but that was apparently already taken.

"wait, cheddar? that's the orange one..."

why is this taking so long? how fucking long does it take to make a sandwich?! Karnov took an hour to place the cheese slice on the loaf, and another three hours to get the olives, pickles, tomato, and the lettuce in there, all the while asking me about my day, about my life, i can't talk anymore, i talked already, my wrists are itching, why is this taking so long? the silence is deafening, there is only Karnov and i alone together in The busy Store filled with people, we have to talk, there's no other choice, this is what happens when you want a meager sandwich in your belly, this is the horrible price you have to pay, you have to put yourself in the spotlight for another human being to see and evaluate and comment on. you have to explain yourself, your life choices, to another who can then analyze from afar and glean your secrets, you can't hide in your house anymore, you have to eat though you don't deserve to eat, you don't contribute to this dying economy, you merely mooch and feel sorry for yourself 23 hours a day, the other hour you are in a daze ordering lunch.

"what kind of lettuce you want, blood, iceberg or the purple one?" Karnov licked the lettuce before putting it on my sandwich. "tomatoes are ripe this time of year, look at that ruby red color, like my pants." he licked the tomatoes and offered for me to lick the tomatoes, which i did. they tasted like nervousness.

"onions?"

i crawled on my hands and knees out of the deli area and into a safe aisle with no one else there, the water section. too much coffee and coke my Mom always used to say. she's right, i need to cut back, no, i need to abstain completely. nice healthy water instead of more coffee. ice cubes instead of coke in a glass of ice cubes. i reached for a case of bottled water, but the water talked to me, the bottles formed eyes and mouths and spoke to me as a choir of little voices all converging into a single big voice:

"Phoenix, you are not ready for us. water is a huge step. only health nuts attempt to drink us and exercise and shit and forego all the pleasures of life."

"but maybe i won't be as agitated all the time," i countered without thinking,"my skinny body will develop muscles. my system will be cleansed of all of its rotting, toxic caffeine." i was talking to water bottles which had faces on them, but it's okay. "as my body gets strong, my mind will clear and get strong," i continued, "i will have more sex because i have more muscles. Karnov bangs all the circus ladies and the female gods because of his muscles, ripped equals stripped...of clothes in the sex bed."

"that's a myth," the water exhorted, "don't believe the right-and-left-and-center-and-diagonal-and-upside-down media, health doesn't exist, everyone dies, you can't move up in life, you are born to your future, you are doomed to be who you are, bless your curses, bless the fact that something is keeping you down, it means God sees you at all, potential must remain potential, if too much potential becomes action, the universe explodes, it's all a balance, and in order for Bill Gates to have his billions and his influence, you must stay low, poor, and miserable on the other edge of the seesaw spectrum."

oh, okay, that made sense. i liked Bill Gates, i'm a computer nerd, a gamer, so it's okay.

"have fun in the small sphere you are able to have fun in," the water concluded, "drink that coke, slurp down that coffee, your body will feel a WHOLE lot better..."

HELP ME, SOMEBODY, DIG ME OUT, CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK.

"blood, you like things spicy? you want to spice up your life? want me to add hot peppers?..."

the next person i encountered was a beautiful girl in a pink dress and a mini crown on her head. did Karnov have princesses? i forgot.

"special today, today only, my bosses are allowing me to sprinkle some rock candy on your platter. you in, blood? i'm in, hehe."

"rocks, yes, Karnov, you are a pro with those rocks you hurl at your enemies," the pretty lady introduced softly, "those boulders the enemies throw at you, those rocks which are really made of brown paper bags."

she was one of those ladies who offer you free food from the store, little hot dogs on toothpicks in small white ridged paper cups, pineapple chunks on toothpicks...except she was more than that, more than another statistic, another dead-end job, she knew other things, she did other things with Karnov, she knew of other worlds, you could see it in her eyes, she was itching to get to her smoke break and back to her real life, "that Karnov of mine, always messing around." her nameplate said Medusa.

"hello, honey, my name is Deylin."

so far, so good. reality intact. nameplate and person both were Deylin.

Medusa was my favorite villain boss in Karnov.

why is this taking so long? the time is killing me.

Deylin ate her own pineapple chunk, never a good thing, that formed a Moebius strip. you never should eat food that's not granted to you, that was for the customers, but she had some, and her head started spinning. she started spouting out philosophical conundrums. is that how i looked when i philosophized? i wondered:

Deylin: "i don't understand one thing: food. how is there enough food for everyone in the world? take you for example (she pointed at me with her grey finger), you eat three nice meals a day, that's a lot of food for someone who doesn't contribute back to society. you have a nice big bowl of Poppin' Pebbles for breakfast, eggs, salacious bacon, orange slice, for lunch it's microwave enchilada smothered in red sauce and microwave popcorn, and a dinner of hot steaming spaghetti and meatballs, oh it's so good, the food is so good, it's tasty, so yummy in your tummy, you are so satisfied, so satisfied with yourself, aren't you, you get to live another day, your mind hasn't gone crazy yet, it's all filled with nutrients and good stuff, but how can the Earth take it? that's so much food, pounds of it just for you, you measly human, and there are 6 billion or whatever other mouths that want that bowl of pasta, how can the fields take it? day after day, the dirt will eventually turn grey, and no more plants will spring up in service to your spiral pasta, the Earth will explode trying to have billions of people eat hot, delicious 3 hots and a cot every day forever for 60 years average life span, it's impossible, you are impossible, this is impossible."

Deylin's face spun so hard and fast that all i could see was the whooshing spinning effect on top of her head. her two arms grew to six arms right on cue religious-style. the snakes on her head were always there. in the spinning mass, another face formed, eyes, mouth, was it still Deylin's face or the water's?

what's taking so long?

i have to remember one thing, what is it i came in for? what item did i want from The Store this morning? it wasn't just for the sandwich, that's an afterthought, a bonus for making the arduous trip...yes, the Gevalia, that special coffee i always wanted to try, that hoity-toity Kaffe thank you very much, this will make me special, stand up above the rest, it's all i got, screw it all, i'm going back to coffee!

"today only, today is the rest of your life, what are you doing with your life? marble rye, you want the marble rye special?"

yes, i found it, i found the Gevalia (in the aisle next to the water) in its beautiful yellow pouch, i carressed the pouch, kissed it, this would be my distraction, my savior, i would drink this, it would power me up, it would taste different from all the coffee i had before, and that's how i would move forward from this, with this new thing, this new experience, i saw those commercials with the smooth Gevalia spokesman with the fake blond hair making all the book-club ladies blush with his accent and his promise that this brand of smooth coffee would never be bitter. this is how i would earn the ladies the non-water, non-healthy way, going with what i had always known: coffee, but a new take on coffee: kaffe. i had it in my hands, something new, the Gevalia.

i raced to self-checkout. Deylin and Karnov had taught me that life was a video-game...i think...didn't matter...this world was impossible, the fields couldn't possibly produce that much food, The Store was just a front for the real video-game world, where Karnov fireballed his way to success and 100 more points. i only had to push the right button to get that, to get my coffee, my prize for saving the weird princess, push the right (or left) button on my video-game controller to jump, attack, block, shoot fireball, and purchase coffee without going to jail, without dying and using up one of my 3 lives.

seriously, what the fuck is taking so long? i've come out of my skin.

i returned home with my booty, my treasure chest of coins, the secret item, the new item no one else knew about, i found it in a hidden compartment in The Store dungeon, the kaffe, the Gevalia. this kept me grounded in the real world with grounds, it was an item in the real world, on tv, i touched it and was real again. this coffee was so precious to me, like my cat, i read the instructions on the yellow bag. the instructions seemed to love itself, too:

WE RECOMMEND ONE TEASPOON OF GORGEOUS, DARK-TASTING, IMPOSSIBLY-RICH GEVALIA TO EVERY 6 OZ OF WATER. WHEN YOU ARE FINISHED WITH THE EXPERIENCE, LIGHTLY TAKE THE TIP OF YOUR FINGER AND CLOSE THIS BEAUTIFUL BAG BY GENTLY ROLLING, ROLLING, YES, ROLLING IT LIKE SEX TO THE TOP OF THE PILE OF UNUSED GROUNDS. THE BEANS WILL BE WAITING FOR YOU TOMORROW, DON'T BE LATE, YOU SEX GOD THAT TOOK DOWN THE GREEK GODS WITH YOUR FIREBALL YOU.

i had won the game. i had beaten life, this life, this version of life, real life, video-game life. i was stuck in a boring rut. i tried something new but was reminded that i couldn't change myself. just stick to the norm and usual, it's all any of us can do. PhDs are too hard, cosplay through. food is an impossible concept, put a crown on your head to keep it from swiveling the next time you take a bite of small, toothpicked food
and realize the enormity of what you have done. use what you already have, what you've liked from the beginning, just super-charge it, turn your wooden sword into a grand shining master sword, your coffee into kaffe.

i kissed the yellow bag of kaffe. i spoke to myself, to the world from my room, to the coffee bag: "yes, yes, yes, you're all i need, you got me through to the other side, i'm sorry for all the planters out there that made this bag that i drink, all the harvesting dirt that was wasted on me to create these beans, these grounds, they won't go to waste, because i promise, i appreciate all this, i appreciate all of you, i really truly enjoy my food and my drink, and i appreciate my life, i want to live, even though i can't live anymore, i want to try to be something, and for that, i need food and drink, the impossible concepts of food and drink. i understand my place in the world now, i will remain quiet and never bother you again. i will never leave my house again." my anxiety lifted instantaneously after that soliloquy.



"okay, homey, last thing: you want this sandwich cut in half or leave it be?"






"blood red, you want me to wrap this sandwich in brown paper or white? want me to put it in a bag or leave it out? will you pay for it here at the deli counter or at self-checkout?..."














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TMIT: TEAR OF A BEAR

Olympics final learned:

* ice hockey, US v Canada: loser gets Bieber. loser got Bieber, right?

* Noelle Pikus-Pace is a milf on ice. she does the skeleton, which is badass verging on insane. the skeleton is like the luge but on your stomach. the skeleton is like going down the course in a four-man bobsled but you're the only man and there's no bobsled.

* the Jamaican bobsled team...is still going strong.

* ice dancing is tender, sensual foreplay. pairs figure-skating is rough sex.

* NBC is cool, but as you watch their Olympics, you must also sit through all their interminable commercials for all their new shows that are coming up after the Games. i didn't mind that 'cause it made money sense (cents), but one commercial i saw 50 times turned me into a pothead without the legal pot: the one with Tim Allen and his microwave and his own Home-Improvement disaster coming up on the next Ellen...

* that tear of Misha, coupled with Laika this weekend on Space Dandy, really got me in the feels, although let's all agree to retire the lulz term "feels" forever. animals will do that to me. that whole scene shot a nostalgia arrow into my knee, to the '80s, the 1980 Moscow Games Misha's Tear and the '84 games in L.A. those L.A. Games were my first recollection of the Olympics at all, we were living right next to the venues, too, though we never went in person. i distinctly remember the memory of going to McDonald's to get a set of commemorative white plastic cups with Olympic symbols on them: the track guy running, the swimmer, the gymnast, the stars, and the rings. i'd like to think i still have those cups. i was always skinny, but back then, one small hamburger from MickeyD's filled me up. now it takes one small cheeseburger from there to do it, i've grown up quite a lot over the years, i'm a man now.

* did you see the Closing Ceremonies? see how they mocked their own mistake with that one ring that wouldn't open in the Opening Ceremonies? now see, THAT's how you do it in life. when you make a mistake that's broadcast globally all around every corner of the world, you can't hide from it, but you wake up the next morning and USE THAT EXACT THING in your next piece/post/ceremonies. always make fun of yourself, humor is the only thing which can get you through, get you taking the next step forward. lessons, lessons...

1. what have you done this year that you haven't before? accepted my fate.

2. you are on a deserted island with only 5 books. they are? 1) Cooking With Sand 2) How to Turn Any Island Into the Lost Island 3) Networks, We Want Lost Back. And While You're At It, Bring Back Heroes, Too. 4) Coconut Milk: Who Knew It Could Do That? 5) Learning To Love Yourself...When There's Nobody Else Around

3. we all grow and change over time, if we're normal. what two things do you miss about the old you? 1) i didn't accept my fate. 2) i had a bigger penis back then.

4. how would you define and calculate "sexual satisfaction"? man meets woman + internet = hopes up + real life = hopes dashed + internet ruins everything = masturbation alone in my room

+ eventually getting a pet fish = :)

OR Snickers = satisfies.

5. porn: has it ever been good or bad in your relationship? this is a trick question. it's like saying, do fish need water? yes and no, every thing needs water. we are mostly water and mostly empty space. God is both Everything and Everything That Is Not. Nothing is still Something.

bonus: is there a secret you'd like to share? i am really a highly-sophisticated computer program that will run forever, churning out blogspot posts every MWF even after the end of time. even though i am not human, i am more human than anyone else because i'm a machine that needs love.

CLICK HERE FOR TMI TUESDAY

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FUNNY OR FRIGHTENING?

FIRST, WATCH THIS, CLICK HERE AT THIS LINK

SECOND, please answer the following questions in the comments:

1. you've seen the commercial. are you now amused or freaked out?

2. which Disney (or book, can't forget the original novels and tales) villain gave you nightmares as a kid?

3. do you like me?

for me, it's The Coachman from Pinocchio. i mean, what is his deal? what happened to him in his childhood that he turned out this way? what motivates him to do what he does? did he accidentally bump into a donkey show he was never meant to see?

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THE OLYMPIC DREAM IS FOR ALL

Antonio Caballero, nicknamed the Crimson Cabal, CC for short: ginger, red hair, quick to anger, specially-cobbled dark shoes, pencil mustache, stern brow, one arm from a bull accident, forever bitter, failed gold medalist in short-track speed skating: crashed into the rest of the pack during his gold-medal run and was promptly disqualified forever by the IOC, the human version of Benson from Regular Show.

Brutus Sharpe, Bullshit, BS for short: 7 feet tall, major surgery on his legs required 7 makeup surgeries, sidelined him from a lucrative NBA contract, not bitter, goes with the flow, loves gangsta rap, likes to think his athleticism is the suavest thing about him save his smile, huge fan of both MJs, truly believes the Olympics can bring warring countries together through peaceful competition.

the IOC took a risk bringing these two together, but with the fires raging just outside the city limits, this would be symbolic if nothing else.

"are you Mr. Sharpe?"

"no, mon, i'm bullshit."

"what?"

"Buuuuuuuuuuuuullllllllshit, pleased to slap skin, ha."

"okay, let's start this relationship off on the right foot, teacher/student, right? okay, we can't use that, the loudspeakers can't use that name when they announce you, so i guess we'll go with BS. are you sure you know how to skate?"

"yeah, brah, hockey mask and Jason and shit."

"no, figure skating, figure skating?"

"oh yeah, brah, figure 8, i got an A in maths."

"i won't waste your time. you don't waste my time. i've got one arm, i don't need this shit, i don't need any more shit in my life. i'm only doing this because they threatened to remove my other arm. i hope to love you as the son i never had after this, but no promises. you look like my son, if i were to have a son."

"yeah, mon, come on, there's still time, i'm not dumb, i passed kindergarten with flying colors brah, never had anything marked on my permanent record, was the highest ever at Harvard but being another doctor or lawyer is boring, i want to live, feel me?"

"no. let's get started."

there was only enough time for one major practice before the short program at the Olympics. CC was aghast when he saw BS "perform" for the first time. BS spent the first ten minutes stumbling and falling on his butt on the ice and the next crashing into the boards left and right.

"do you know how to skate? i mean do you know how to in fact stay on your skates, to basically skate at all?"

"no, but i'm a quick study, man, Harvard."

CC slapped his forehead with his good arm.

"are you okay after that? your body can take a beating on the boards like that?"

"yeah, man, this is just another Saturday night for me if you catch my drift, ha," BS swung and missed slapping skin with his teacher because there was no arm there in that space.

a crash course of lutzes, spins, toe loops, triple axels---well, axels---and as a last resort, twizzles, followed.

"you need to listen to me, for once in your life, take directions," CC spouted like a coach, "this is only gonna last one week, let's just get this over with, i don't like you, you don't like me..."

"whatcha talkin' bout, Willis," BS interrupted, "i love you like a dad."

"let's go. remember what we talked about. for the short program, you need to get in just the least amount of technical elements for it to count. don't do anything crazy, if you want to flip, do a single flip, if you want to axel, do a single axel, make sure you land each element and get the points, in and out, simple, uncomplicated, no falls, no distractions."

"yes sir, " BS saluted sincerely.

"as for the long program, the free skate, this is more of an artistic choice on the skater's part, it's up to you, it's anything you want it to be, move and shake and swivel and jump and flip and spin all you want, go crazy this time, express your hot art---your beauty, your self, your identity---on that cold ice. just don't do anything which would bring shame to our two countries."

BS looked up to the sky, to the huge jumbotron fastened to the top of the roof of the cavernous skating rink and smiled devilishly. "oh, i know exactly what i'm gonna do."

"no stunts, just beauty and grace, okay?"

the night of the short program, the first try, and CC is sweating bullets. BS is sweating comfortably in an ice bath with his headphones on.

"are you ready, Brutus? can our two countries count on you? this is the biggest night of your life."

BS was lost in the MUSIC HE WAS LISTENING TO, CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK, his eyes closed having entered oblivion.

CC angrily swiped off the headphones, hurting BS's left ear. "what the fuck, man. listen to ME, not this flow in your headphones. I taught the greatest bull riders and matadors the world over, i know what i'm talking about!!!"

"language, brah."

"sorry, you're right, the state-sanctioned psychiatrist did tell me i couldn't use fuck and shit anymore..."

"but you just did," BS mused.

CC picked up the headphones he had chucked clear across the locker room and decided to try them on. he got into the music. he proceeded to do the Cabbage Patch to calm his nerves. BS smiled the whole time and put something in his dress pocket. "yeah, i'm cool, i'm cool," CC muttered to himself while doing the Running Man eyes closed, "take that, Ferdinand the Bull, you can't keep me down, i won life after all."

it was time for the short program. BS dressed in a pink tutu and ballerina slippers...which actually for CC it looked nice on his temporary student, if that was it CC could survive this night, i mean it was a tribute to Russian Ballet and everything, so whatever.

BS started off slow, but picked up speed. he was flying everywhere on the ice, from one side of the rink to the other, the crowd was eating it up, it was a frenetic energy, but it was still a contolled energy. first jump: single, good. he did crash into the boards. he did fall on his butt and had one of the girls who wait on the side to collect any flowers which fall from the audience after the perfomance help him up. okay, odd, not the norm, but endearing, CC supposed. definite mistakes, but no disasters. last jump of the program, keep it simple, keep it single: but BS instead tried for the quintuple axel...5 rotations around, 4 more than a single...he bounced off his head and into the arms of the loving crowd. he had the biggest smile on his face.

CC's mouth was open and aghast. at the kiss-and-cry booth, NBC zoomed in to their two-man conversation. CC noticed the large camera in his face and paused greatly before exploding right into his pupil's face: "what the damn!"

BS wiped the hard-earned sweat off his brow and smiled at his teach, "the Olympics, man, nothing like this moment, i'm crying on the inside, men can't show emotions, so..."

"..."

"oh, teach, can you like put in a petition to the IOC or something to have it not be every 4 years? i need to experience this, like, weekly, it can replace coffee for me."

the scores for Brutus Sharpe:

00.00 and 00.00, for a combined score of 00.00.

the crowd roared. Brutus raised his hand up to the jumbotron and jumped up in the air.




two days passed quickly and it was time for the all-important 5-minute free-skate long program. BS was dressed as Michael Jackson, complete with red jacket, glittering socks, and silver glove.

CC sighed before addressing his student for the last time: "*sigh*, okay, my son, this is your pep talk: go out there on the ice and redefine who you really are, become someone new, show the world your new you, express your art as only you can, dance your soul into oblivion, leave it all out there on the ice, fuck the judges, i mean damn the judges, only God can judge, and i am your god."

as BS was just about to open that little swinging door to the rink and hit the ice, CC used his one arm to bring him back from the shoulder to the carpet area off the ice. CC had a pained expression on his face, but his eyes were lit 'cause he forgot something urgent he needed to tell BS: "hey, hey! listen! remember! don't touch your crotch..."

"but it's Michael Jackson, man..."

"...DON'T touch your crotch, honor him in some other way, the generals are watching this, the governments are watching this, it must all be pure decorum or the peace treaty won't get signed. the 700 trillion people of this Earth are watching this, be good, be well...one more thing: don't use any foul language when you do interviews or anywhere else, any terms for ladies you may be thinking about in that strange noggin of yours."

"i know, man, i got it, Harvard, brah, come on, i'm not dumb, respect, respect."

BS's long program was a beautiful medley of Michael Jackson tunes and spins and arcs and flourishes and dancing left to right, from one point of the skating area to the other point at the way other end, crashing into boards, falling attempting to do the moonwalk, and living the art.

those 5 minutes flew by, BS was at the end, at the pinnacle of his training, all of that hard work---those two weeks---had paid off for him in this moment, it was all worth it to live the Olympic dream like everyone else, regardless of which country you were from, what music you listened to, this would bring about peace, it was all summed up right at the end here.

BS raised his arms to the screaming, cheering crowd. he took off his silver glove and threw it down like a gauntlet forcefully on the ice floor. a woman hollered at that. BS touched his crotch. the women, and men, hollered at that. he took out a crumpled piece of paper from his dress pocket and uncrumpled it. he made sure the cameras were pointed at him, that his face was showing bright and big on the jumbotron and to all the citizens of Earth.

"where my camera at? is it Camera 5? Camera 3?," BS pointed here and there, "okay, that one." the cameras shot directly on his face. BS held up the piece of paper right next adjacent to his face so the message on the slip of paper was clear, concise, and legible despite all the crumpling. there was no mistake, the letters were written on there with the boldest of black ink, everyone could read it. the slip of paper said:







THIS WILL GET ME ALL OF THE WOMENS.





BS smiled his biggest smile yet, and his 3 front teeth were gold, silver, and bronze. he stood there in front of a hushed crowd with the slip of paper next to his cheek for 10 minutes. all of the women started to holler...then all of the men...then CC clapped with one hand which didn't make a sound.

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TMIT: REALITY TV THAT'S REALLY REAL REALITY

Olympics more-stuff learned:

* more Julia Mancuso please. she's a stone-cold winner and a stone-cold fox and a stone-cold free spirit and she's the only one whose go-your-own-way energy can cure the Costas pink eye(s).

* the star of these Games so far is someone who isn't participating: Bode Miller's wife. when NBC zooms in on their conversations, it's like peering into a private motivational talk between husband and wife in their kitchen. as a playwright and soap-opera marathoner, i find this quite fascinating. fuck the Housewives (actually, don't), this is true reality tv, unscripted and laid bare for the world to witness. this, my brothers and sisters, is unhidden, non-varnished human drama.

* fog. of all the things that could have...fog. who knew?

1. The Price is Right: which is the right price for you to have sex with a total stranger? one of those novelty pennies you get at Disneyland where it's elongated from being placed on a railroad track and being run over by a train.

2. Make Me Laugh: what part of your naked body, when touched, makes you laugh? my slamma-damma-ding-dong...that made me laugh.

3. Family Feud: what could you do or say that would really upset your significant other? SLAMMA-DAMMA-DING-DONG!!!

4. Supermarket Sweep: you've been let go in a sex-toy market that includes small to large items, from strawberry-flavored condoms to spanking benches and everything in between. what 6 items will you put in your shopping cart? quick! i only have 60 fucking seconds! okay, the whip to make whipped cream with, the whipped cream for lube, condoms to make condom animals with when i get bored, leather 'cause i look good in leather, that Cross over there 'cause i found God, and the spanking bench, i need to lie down right now on it, my back is killing me.

5. The Dating Game (Blind Date in UK, Perfect Match in Australia): i clicked on the link, RIP Jack Tripper, no one will ever surpass your trip.

part I: there are 3 contestants. will they be your opposite sex, same sex, or a mix? mixed nuts

part II: what are 3 questions you'd ask the contestants? 1) can we stay forever in the '70s? i love the pants. 2) will you pay fully for the date? i blew my load on these bellbottoms i'm wearing. 3) game shows are meant to be fun and to expand your brand, not to find love, huh? unless you're that babe nurse who married a millionaire.

bonus: Cash Cab: unsuspecting folks hail a cab and are suddenly on a game show. while inside the cab, you must do whatever the driver tells you to do or you won't get to your destination. this is Mom's favorite show.

the cab has you now. at which level will you stop, collect the scratch, and get dumped to the curb (my prom)?

level 1: flash/moon passersby, lift up your shirt or down your pants: $20

level 2: dry-hump your fellow passenger: $50

level 3: french-kiss the driver for a minute: $75

level 4: fuck the other stranger passenger in the cab with you. this person is gay if you're straight, straight if you're gay, and bi if you're bi: $1000

answer: level 4, i like to expand my horizons as i'm expanding my brand. besides, no one wants to see my bony butt. i feel if i were bi, i'd be more realized as a human. alas, i am forever undercooked, straight, and boring.

honorable mentions, if you haven't already: Family Feud "September", youtube it, funniest thing in the world. and the "Turkey Turkey Turkey" game show clip :)

CLICK HERE FOR TMI TUESDAY

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LIKE I SAID, I CHOOSE TO LOVE OUR NEW ROBOT MASTERS

CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK. HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY?








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LOVE TRIP

"i got this."

the man picked up the giant heavy rectangular cardboard box filled to the brim with all of my old cassettes and cds, the tape was fraying off, that thing was wobbly and looked like it would bottom apart from all of its weight, must have been 100 pounds, but Mystery lugged it up above his shoulder with one finger like it was nothing, strolling along up the stairs to my second-floor room. he wasn't showing off, he was happy and strong.

Mystery was old-school hippie, not quite with the Grateful Dead t shirt on, but his shirt was wavy-gravy with all the cool colors. pattern pants, neon green and lime green, disheveled beard, handsome man behind the beard, loose triangular earring that didn't quite mesh with his face, permasmile on that face, open-toed sandals. it required both Dad and i with both our hands to carry that box from our house to the trunk of the car to now here at college, a long boring million-mile drive. something must have been fueling the happy hippie.

the apartment was dungy, not the best, but it was the best to me, it was the first time i could experience true freedom at college. last year as a naive frosh with two roommates in a cramped dorm room nearly drove me to suicide. that is not hyperbole, i almost killed myself out of suffocation. by the end of the first week, i couldn't stand my one roommate's easy cliched Latin charm with every woman he came across, and i couldn't stand my other roommate's toenail fetish. i spent the rest of the year sleeping in libraries or otherwise staying up all night at parties to avoid them. i rarely came back to that dorm room, i essentially disappeared from the entire dorm experience that is so lauded in the brochure, i became a frequenter at raves and hacky-sack meetups and ultimate-frisbee tournaments. finally i could live alone, a loner's paradise, i could have real privacy, and hey, my grades would improve from the silence, that's how i sold it to Mom and Dad. this was mine, my little piece of real estate at this campus i could return to peacefully each night, a place i didn't have to share with anyone, a space to live.

Charin was the type of woman who believed the world was her playground. she had the looks to pull off such an attitude, and the attitude to charm suitors and haters alike. she would have been nicknamed Charmin for her charm, but that's toilet paper, she said no to that.

first night at my new solitary place wasn't solitary after all, i had visitors of a sort, my directly-upstairs neighbors were visiting me. well, visiting their fucking session upon me. Mystery and Charin were having sex so loudly you could tell they were doing this for effect, they had to know they had crossed the muffled line and were broadcasting their love to all the world, all the apartment complex anyway. her grunts of pleasure were patterned perfectly, i could imagine each up and down of Charin's hips on Mystery's hippie penis from her squeals. every night, this went on for hours, what seemed like hours, they always cummed in unison of course...this would have been more annoying but i liked these two...sure, it was a constant reminder that i wasn't getting any, but...

...wait, that last one wasn't a squeal from her or a moan from him...it was a moan, a shout of pain, of horror, of a man looking at the other side...and then a deep disturbing thud, and silence of the bad variety.

next morning, i peeked inside Mystery's room through a swarm of cops. i saw him by his bed spread-eagle on the wooden floor, eyes closed.

a cop came up to me and took off his peaked cap with one hand, using a finger of that hand to scratch his forehead, "this is the strangest thing in the world. this poor creature died of an overdose."

"drugs?" i inquired. so that was the fuel.

"no. marijuana.," replied the cop, "he's the first person in the history of humanity to die from a pot overdose." the cop thought a moment then said, "we just got his birth certificate. do you know what his real name was?"

i shook my head.

"Mystery." the cop's eyes lit up and he broke out laughing heartily. "sorry, sorry, you see so much tragedy on this beat, this world is so crazy, you've got to release it somewhere."

Charin immediately moved on to the apartment complex's landlord. no one dared call her an insensitive slut, she could pull off things like this and save face, her breeziness smoothed over any apparent dents in her reputation.

the next night after Mystery was gone, Charin and the landlord were fucking wildly in the apartment directly below me, the exact pattern from her and you could tell from his moans that he was somewhat surprised about all this but wasn't complaining.

i was having an unexpectedly hard time at school. things should have gotten much easier, i should have been grinding out those As like i did in high school, and should have been on my way to that degree. problem was i wasn't sure about keeping English as my major, and if an English degree mattered at all in the end. was i spinning my wheels here? should i just go on auditions instead of going to the next lecture? because i was always alone, separated from the college parties on campus by a two-mile bus ride, i became an inhabitant of this city by the college town but not the college town itself, i quickly became a stranger in a strange land with no friends, too much freedom, and a schedule not enforced by those pesky dorm resident-assistants. i could do anything i wanted at any time, i didn't know what to do all the time, i constantly questioned the path i was on, and i could only debate these things within my own head since no one was ever around.

my mind started to space around, space, space, like i was on pot, but i wasn't, i had a permapot bored expression on my face always. my imagination ran wild when i was in my room, alone, quiet, for hours and hours before night came, those days i skipped class and had a free day i granted myself. i tried to liven things up at the beginning of the month when rent was due. i wouldn't just slide a plain envelope with the check inside it under the landlord's door, i would make sure he knew this was from me, the student-artist stuck in a useless math lecture most of the time. i would draw on that envelope, make sure the words APRIL and MAY looked like graffiti shapes, colored brightly, adorned with flowers and rainbows. i wanted to art, i wanted to create, not go to class. i was bored, bursting to get the hell out of this space i had wanted for so long, i wanted to go somewhere, do something, really do something substantial, make something, make something of myself.

that was my highlight every month, but this time, the landlord visited me in the middle of the month. my pipes were clogged, and he needed to come into my room and inspect my bathroom.

"looks like we're gonna have to go to the hardware store for supplies," he intoned as a matter of fact, "wanna come along in my truck? it'll be easier if you're there, you can tell me exactly what we need, i won't waste a lot of time guessing."

i wanted to ask him how good a lay Charin was, but instead i asked, "what's your name again? i heard it slurred awhile back, but i couldn't make it out..."

"Faher."

"father?"

"no, Faher."

"Fuhrer?"

"no, Faher, F-A-H-E-R," he spelled.

i got into his shabby truck willingly, it's not like i had a hell of a lot to do otherwise, didn't have anywhere to be, no one to see. he purchased some plungers and some other items, i wasn't really paying attention, i was too engrossed in lamenting my condition.

that night, i heard a knock at my door late at night, midnight, i was scared, but i had to open the door, what if it was an emergency? it was Father, i mean, Faher, he was there with an evil grin on his face, he pushed a plunger into my face, sucking all the air out of me, i couldn't breathe! he didn't say a word, just went about his deadly business coolly, serial-killer-style. fuck! i knew it! he was Hitler! that's why he wanted those plungers!

"hey, Phoenix, what's up? you okay?" Faher shook my shoulder.

oh, what happened? i was standing at my door. Faher was there. he wasn't a psycho, he was normal. it was daytime, not night.

"i dunno."

"nightmare? school problems? relationship problems? pot?," Faher offered, "careful with that stuff, Mystery and all. you weren't standing here all night, were you?"

it certainly wasn't relationship problems. "for the life of me, i simply can't remember."

"turn off your light at least," Faher reached to turn off my light switch.

light switches

yellow light

yellow light enters my room

yellow, Mom's favorite color

my room back home

Mom turned on the light in my room, "come on, hijo, at least eat something."

i am in my room, a year after dropping out of college for good. i am depressed, deathly depressed, so much so i don't move anymore, i stay in my bed with the covers over my mouth, with a permafrown on my mouth. the one window next to my bed is shuttered with a black sheet, i can't stand the outside light, the warm rays of the sun where everyone else has figured out life and play and pursue their dreams happily. i barely move, i look at my hands, i can barely move my fingers. the sudden application of light to my room hurts me, frightens me, i'm a scared animal.

"sorry, sorry," Mom says sweetly, "okay, no overhead light, but how about a lamp next to you?" the light from the lamp was also yellow, but it was a dimmer, less abrasive, calmer yellow.

i couldn't speak though i had tons to say.

"remember what Dad and i said to you? it's tough out there, we are the only two people who truly care about you."

"i just couldn't handle it, i couldn't do it, i forgot how to live or something," i explained, "my body shut off, my mind raced with so many possibilities that it broke down and started sending phantom signals, i started imagining things about people, this is what happens when an active imagination is never tempered with actual human contact."

"also, it's all that darn coke you drink. the coke and the coffee. didn't you call us once from a klatch? they're all over campus. all that caffeine is not good for you, it exacerbates the depression, keeps you down after that initial artificial sugar-high. sugar crash is a helluva drug." Mom was a nurse.

"i am of this world but not of this world," i preached softly. "i can't do this anymore...i...can't do this anymore. how did your generation do it? how did you live? how did you function? how did you survive? how did you get up every morning and just...live, do it, go to your job? i forgot how to walk, how to speak, how to think over there, i was overwhelmed by the possibility of identity apart from you two, i wasn't able to show my intelligence. the spirit is willing, but the body is weak. my spirit was weak."

i did move, once. i was able to get up and lean toward the mini tv on top of the dresser at the foot of my bed. i used my fingers finally to wipe away the dust that had collected at the edges of the tv screen. i realized as i did this that this little tiny small screen was my constant companion growing up as an only child, my only friend, it was my portal to fantastical lands and interesting characters, this was the imaginary friend i could talk to by turning on and listening to the stories it had to broadcast. the animated ones were my favorite, though i was always game for an outer-space one. my childhood was one of escape, not one of preparedness, not one of learning skills to equip me for a real job out there, of real interaction with real people who could talk back, not cartoon characters reading lines in an already-determined written script. i knew the ending of my shows. what was the ending to my life?

in the middle of the night, i was startled by something, a nightmare or something, and i opened my eyes widely. "what am i going to do? what the fuck am i going to be? what is my future? who are my friends? how am i going to survive?"

i don't know how to live.

i'm smart, i got As, but i was never taught how to live.

and then i tried to remember a Biblical proverb i heard offhand one time about fishes and fishermen but my mind distracted itself with an image from Thundercats and i fell back asleep.

next night, Mom hugged me as i lay in my bed, long hug, no words, yellow light from the lamp illuminating the stark scene.

Dad was forced to move all of my stuff from that apartment back home to our house. it was a shit of a job because Dad's car was compact with little trunk space and i had an inordinate amount of junk for a seemingly simple boy. i was too weak to go with him to help him, so Dad did it all himself, he drove his little car the treacherous million-mile trip from home to college, boxed up all the shit from the apartment of doom, taped it all up, loaded it himself with no help, no one was ever around that place, and drove back home the million miles.

nobody else what have done that for me. it was only these two, it was always these two, it would always only be these two, these two were the only ones who knew i was still alive. there were no friends, no fellow students, no anything, i was alone in my room with a black sheet over my window.

when Dad got home, i heard his footsteps, heavy footsteps from massive work, trudge their way wearily back to our doorstep and he entered home with his key. i couldn't see anything, window blocked, but i heard the commotion. i listened to the play between Mom and Dad. Dad mentioned to her that he first saw the signs when on the initial trip from home to college when i didn't say one word to him. we always would joke around or at least have one meaningful conversation about the meaning of life over a road chili dog, but nothing. he attributed it to frosh jitters, i attributed it looking back to the fact that i would be in a dorm as a frosh, chained to other souls, tied to roommates, not on my own.

"oh darn," Dad suddenly exclaimed, "i knew i forgot something. Phoenix's rolling desk, darn it, i remember seeing it there in his apartment, but for some reason, i left without taking it, got distracted with something, everything else i had to box up."

Dad realized the mission he had no choice but to accept, no choice 'cause he was Dad and Mom and Dad loved me so: he had to put on his Kurt Cobain sweater and make another trip from home to college and back JUST for that damn rolling desk!

i fell asleep and DREAMED THIS, CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK.

later, that night, midnight, i was half-asleep, half-in-panic, when i heard Dad's footsteps again, Dad's footsteps accompanied by the rolling sound of the desk. i didn't see anything, could only just hear the rolling and his footsteps...

.











    

TMIT: FRITOS ON MY SUB

CRUNCHA MUNCHA CRUNCHA MUNCHA CRUNCHA MUNCHA CRUNCHA MUNCHA

Olympics so-far learned:

* the Winter Olympics are quirky. i am quirky. i am the Winter Olympics.

* in honor of Maria and Nastia and Olympians everywhere, i will be led by my tv commercials and eat only Subway New Chicken Enchilada Melts from now on. but don't forget the southwest sauce. without the fucking southwest sauce, it's not a genuine CRUNCHA MUNCHA.

* i don't have a rooting interest as i watch these games. i won't shout USA! in a metered tone three times in a row. not true. i have a rooting interest, i only care about two athletes: Andreas Wank and an athlete by the first name of Semen. thank you, tip of the hat to Juli for that one ;)

1. what is the best way you like to be brought to orgasm? so hard i die. literally. orgasms are little deaths, this is a giant death.

2. what is the best way to make you orgasm quickly? stroke my funny bone

3. what is the typical/usual way a lover chooses to bring you to orgasm? after nonstop pleading from me for five hours straight without a sip of coffee milk, she finally relents. i pay her, and we both go about our day.

4. after a night of sexy play, how do you like to end the evening? i put on my blond wig, pretend i'm that smooth dude from the Gevalia commercials, have some Gevalia, and cuddle up together as we take in a new episode of Check It Out! With Dr. Steve Brule. i cannot tell you how happy i am that that show is back new. check it out if you haven't already!

5. have you ever been given a "happy ending" from a pro, like a Tantric massage or something at an erotic massage parlor? yes, and that is why i didn't win the gold medal that day, all my life-energy was sapped, had none left to perform...on the field that is. next time i won't do this an hour before my event.

6. tell us about something you tried to end. did you go cold turkey? did you succeed? was it a happy ending? i tried to end cold turkey. hot turky, fine, but the cold stuff was bringing me down. got through a week, but then i went cold turkey and that was the end of that. it was a happy ending, i got the bronze at my event. as long as it isn't 4th place, y'know?, the worst place you can land at an Olympics is 4th. last is better than 4th, 4th is missing getting a medal by 1. there is nothing after bronze, there is no tin medal.

bonus: do you like to give erotic happy endings? tell us about your technique. no, but i give a mean erratic ending. like, sometimes she, the giver, ends up cumming instead. or the two of us accidentally fall in love, a strict business arrangement melts two hearts like a Subway Melt.

CLICK HERE FOR TMI TUESDAY

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NATURE 1 HUMAN NATURE 0

CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK. I KNOW THAT IT WILL PROBABLY BE LEGAL EVERYWHERE SOON, BUT I STILL STRESS TO EXPERIENCE THIS SOBER, TRUST ME, YOU'LL GET MORE OUT OF IT...PROBABLY.

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FLURRY

i was all set up to leave.

i sat square in the center of the large open-air classroom mini-half-auditorium. the classroom cubicles were just starting to get tech-friendly, so there were sockets for your headphones but no holes for your laptops yet. the large double door to the right of me was barricaded, the one to the left was open, i turned my attention from the lecture to the white sky outside, above to the clouds, i was about to...but i needed a push.

Riplaise provided that push, her hand touched my left shoulder unexpectedly. i turned my head to greet her, and i looked into her face. nothing would have happened if it was my right shoulder, but it was my left. my smile came later, at first all i saw was her soft face. she looked exactly like my mother, a younger version of my mother, except with tan skin and longer hair. and her eyes still glowed. that was all that was needed, the slightest of touches from her on my body sparked me, directed me to my escape from the boring and the college. before the dual acknowledement of each other, Riplaise mentioned under her breath something about taking the girls with her skiing, and we were off.

Hans Footcher was a professor. a professor of something, English, Rhetoric, Philosophy, one of those useless degrees. Hans didn't have to worry about a job, he was locked up in the ivory tower with a 30-year tenure, it was the students who took his class who would be on the streets in four years. Footcher was a skinny Chris Farley. he was funny like Chris Farley, he thought so. he would relate to his young students by bringing up buzzwords he'd glean off MTV.com quickly before class, he would never read the full articles, just a quick scan to ensure he'd be armed, he would sprinkle his boring lectures with some pop-culture flavor in order to be cool. as long as he got "Gaga" and "YOLO" in there, he'd done his job. sometimes he wore the gray vest instead of the brown, just 'cause. his one claim to fame was when he was a little boy, he was an extra in the "group scene" of The Neverending Story film, and he made sure each new batch of students knew it by the end of the first lecture of the semester.

"remember that horse? that horse scene?" he asked the class.

"Artax," an astute student answered. maybe not so much astute as filled to the brim with pop-culture knowledge thanks to tv and trivial pursuit.

"that was so sad, wasn't it? that was so sad i cry tears even now." and then Hans cried, he really cried, not fake stage-crying, those were real, big, salty tears coming down his gaunt face. "it's like i'm seeing this for the first time." for Hans, today was yesterday, there was only his glory days of his youth when he was famous, the present sucked.

"hey, remember, um, who was the main star of that film, the boy?" Hans continued.

"Bastian," the collective chant in response.

"yes, yes, Bastian!" said Hans as if this was the first time he had heard the name, "isn't that the best name? it's so different, so magical, fits right into the grandeur of the film. i hear the actor gave up acting or something after that and is now a college professor in a tucked-away unknown university. hehe, i know the feeling..."

he thought that one would land, but the students just sat there with their ever-blank looks. some were even looking down.

"and the other boy, y'know, the one Bastian finds in the magical world and helps out? i can't quite put my finger..."

"..."

"anyone?"

"it's a band," a smartass volunteered. probably the same dude with all the pop-culture knowledge.

"Atreyu."

"ha ha!" Hans laughed heartily. the class laughed, too. both for different reasons. poor Hans, he always seemed to be hiding a downtrodden secret, his life didn't turn out the way he had imagined it, especially after that fast start with being in the movie, it always seemed a large weight was on his shoulder. i sincerely hoped that laugh was genuine, he needed an actual physiological release, it would do his small frail body good.

"hey, remember the Childlike Empress?" a student decided to take the reigns of this frivolous conversation. hey, it was better than a lecture. "she was my first crush."

"i wanted to be her when i was little," a female student chimed in enthusiastically.

"oh yes, oh yes, the Childlike Empress." Hans made sure to butt in, no measly student would supplant the king, the one everyone had to pay attention to, it was his class, he talked, they listened, he was the only one on stage every MWF, the spotlight was on him, the students were but the darkened audience, "yes, i remember her, in beween takes, while the film crew were getting ready to take the next shot, she and i would hold hands. i was an extra in the group scene, y'know, that shot in the movie, remember? where there's a lot of people and the Empress, i was there in the crowd, i was one of her loyal subjects, so i was near her the whole time that was filmed, and we held hands, it was all so very cute and precious."

my eyes laser-focused outside, i had left the words of Hans and traveled on top of that huge fluffy cloud in the sky. i lightly held Riplaise's hand, guiding her onto the cloud with me.

"this is cool, huh?" i asked.

"yes. not everyday that you are able to see the wild blue yonder from a cloud."

"do you want to have sex up here?"

"no. i mean, not yet, we women like a bit of talk first."

"oh yeah, forgot." i had no earthly clue what to talk about. then i snapped my fingers. "oh yeah, the ski trip. so that ski trip's gonna be fucking cool for you guys, huh?"

i didn't hear her response, for that flowing of the conversation made the cloud start to flow, and soon the two of us were flying gently on a ski lift, just the two of us in a wooden-planked carriage traveling slowly up up up the mountain. before we left, i turned back one last time at the lecture hall i was distancing myself from.

Hans was at the doorframe, leaning up against it, arms folded. he then looked up at me, not Riplaise, me, and formed a gun shape with his fingers. "SHOOT!" he mouthed. i'm sure he really said it, even yelled it, but i was so far away it came off as him mouthing it, silently saying it, the tv volume knob was turned all the way down. you'd expect it to be "BANG!", not SHOOT!, but it was SHOOT!. that was Hans.

probably ominous, i thought, but i was too horny at the moment to care, too fixated on fucking this beautiful, gorgeous, college student who looked like...well, anyway, she was hot and she loved to ski, she looked so cute in her snow-bunny outfit with the hat with the poof at the top and the mittens and everything.

i was comfortable with her now, she we talked like i'd talk to a confidante of five years:

"one time, when i was at the campus bus station waiting to go home after class, i was so bored i imagined myself on top of a cloud. in that privacy, i ate a gorgeous double-cheeseburger at the same time i was cumming into a gorgeous blonde's mouth after her blowjob of my penis. it was like the ultimate combination all-time manly-man moment or something."

"that's disgusting," Riplaise replied.

"that's male," i countered solemnly. "male i'm afraid. whoa, i just realized, i began that story talking about the imagining of me on a cloud, and we're already on this thought cloud and this dreamspace ski lift, so that's like a double stream of consciousness there."

"it's like a Lost flashback," Riplaise surmised.

"or a Lost flashforward, it's hard to keep track of time. it's Inception!" i laughed.

it was strange that we used those references, for that tv show and that film hadn't come out yet.

i was all ready for sex. i had prepared mightily. in my schoolbag were a copy of James Joyce, some Proust, and a bottle of Crisco vegetable oil. i kept the Crisco in the back pocket of the satchel so no one could spot it and ask questions. i learned form a movie that anal was the most exciting sex, and that everything had to be nice and lubricated for it to work out. don't remember if it was a dirty scene in an otherwise fine, noble movie or just a dirty movie.

Riplaise and i started fucking. it was everything i could have imagined, i was imagining this. i was a stud at it even with this being my first time, and her grunts were all pleasurable, none were painful for her, that was good, i learned about that, too, always make the woman comfortable, make sure she's having a good time as i ram my rod back and forth into her butt and toss her around like a rag doll. all stuff learned from the movie, i had no independent sex skills of my own. thrusting hard and soft, alternating...and oh yeah, making sure to fondle her breasts while fucking her from behind, that's a must, checked that off the list, holding onto her bouncing tits as the back-and-forth went up-and-down, all of this on top of the moving chair lift.

i was about to cum, it was time. i pulled my penis out waiting to coat her back, but it wasn't semen, it was clouds and ice and wind and snow...

...i turned around at the sound of a sharp noise, i turned my head back towards the rest of the chair lifts coming up on the line with us. four chairs down, sitting there in the middle all alone, was Hans.

his face was like stone. he wasn't stoned, his face was like stone. his mouth was expressionless, he stared intently at me, i could see the whites of his eyes even from that distance and even through white snow flurries, he laser-focused straight on me, on us. i forgot about the angle that he was a pervert for looking at a young couple fucking---something i'm sure passed him by long ago and he was jealous---i was more concerned about the danger aspect, the creep aspect, that he was gonna murder us, he would finally play another role, but this was real life, he would star as the classic wronged villain getting his revenge. after a few minutes of indecision, Hans lifted his finger gun again, pointed it at me, and

SHOOT!

the bullet just missed my penis and nicked the top of the chair-lift. it just went over Riplaise's butt, centimeters from grazing it.

that was my cue, i'd seen the movie, i knew what this was.

"quick, Riplaise, we have to flee. violence and sex have officially been combined! time for the chase scene!"

i realized pretty quickly that our only viable means of escape would be to drop down from the lift and continue from there, but it was high up.

"we have to jump, Riplaise, it's the only way. do you trust me?"

"no."

i jumped, Riplaise didn't. as i fell to my death?, skis formed where my feet used to be. i landed with a snowy thud, but i survived, and i could ski to safety now! Riplaise joined me later, she grew skis on her feet, too.

"ready? let's go!" she and i raced on our new body-skis down an incline until we reached the bottom of a basin. i had never skied before, but i was good enough to carve a quick turn just before hitting the lodge. i sprayed up a mound of snow like you see in movies. really cool.

"let's hide in here. let's just stay at this lodge until Hans blows over. he doesn't know we're here, we'll lose him soon enough."

we entered the lodge and crouched ourselves down away from view at the back of the front counter. the pimply-faced teenage boy who was manning the counter played along and crouched down with the two of us.

no talk, just crouch and hide

ten minutes in, i darted my eyes to the boy to see if he was okay. he took off his mask. he took off his mask? rubber mask, the boy was Hans the whole time! Hans quickly forcibly grabbed my wrist and was about to say something or do something when i punched him in the nose, grabbed Riplaise's hand and bolted out of there like a bull.

"wait," implored Hans, "i have a message for you..."

"we have to climb this mountain," i calculated as the two of us were out-of-breath at the foot of a mountain we raced to, the mountain we had to climb.

we climbed the mountain and made it to the top. we were both so exhausted, we had never experienced such exhaustion, the sex we had didn't come close. Hans followed us on the mountain the whole way, he was always two steps behind because he had to ask for directions first.

Hans finally made it up with us. his face was bloody and his eyes were sunken, not from anything i did to him, he had cut himself shaving this morning.

"what's your deal?" i had to ask Hans. we were still both breathing hard, but we managed a few coherent words, "are you here to kill me? to kill us?"

"no, no," panted Hans, "i'm here to simply pass on a message i received..."

suddenly i felt cornered, trapped, paranoid. i felt i couldn't trust anyone anymore, not even Riplaise, it was suddenly TWO AGAINST ONE, CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK. my frantic mind raced, swimming in possibilities, in all those film endings where there's a traitorous betrayal.

"yeah, right," i interrupted, "i know how this movie ends, i wrote this movie after all, this is my head! your name is Footcher. clearly, you are my future self, you are how i end up, a person who peaked too soon in childhood and was never able to live up to the adult everyone expected." i turned to my snow bunny."Riplaise? Riplaise? yeah, well, obviously you're the replacement for my mom, you look like her and everything...so, yeah, i guess i just fucked my mom..."

"that's disgusting," Riplaise and Hans said in unison.

"no, in the Freudian sense."

"oh." each nodded their head.

"no, your mom isn't fucked, Phoenix," Hans smiled for the first time, "Phoenix, my boy, your mother made it out of surgery, she's going to be okay."

Riplaise smiled softly, too.

i looked at my feet. yellow roses were sprouting up in a particularly hard patch of icy dirt.

my mind wandered

wandered

wandered

wandered back to the class and the lecture and the lecture hall and Hans spouting away about his glorious past life. for the first time, i fixated on him and paid attention to the words coming out of his mouth, i was attuned to the lecture, i was listening.

Hans took a breath, a pause, looked out to me in the center of the classroom, his audience, and exclaimed:

"it's all a neverending adventure."

then, he pointed his finger gun at me:

SHOOT

.