Friday, July 31, 2015



* man: i'll have the new turkey thing.
 sandwich artist: okay but i'll let you in on a little secret, turkey's been around for awhile.

* sandwich artist: french bread?
man: use that bottle of salad dressing and squirt my likeness on the bread like one of your French boys.

* sandwich artist: i've seen you before, you stalk the entrance door every morning at 6AM. you must really love this sandwich.
man: i love it more than my family.
sandwich artist: you could become our new spokesman.
man: what happened to the other guy?
sandwich artist: no idea.

* man: OMG i mean you start with that bread like huge fluffy pillowy breaststststs, then the lettuce like long legs, turkey tits, jizz hot like jalapeno, slathered with savory bacon like a big ol' butt, on top of tempting tomato and clit cheese so warm and familiar, finally finishing me off with the guac, it's all about the guac, guac like the 'gina i used to lick in France.
sandwich artist: brah...
man: let me have this, i'm a ginger, this is as good as it gets for me.

* man: this sandwich is my religion.
sandwich artist: no judgment here, i only believe in Zelda.

* woman customer next in line: E.T. phone home.
sandwich artist: what the fuck, lady!
woman customer next in line: no sorry, you're not ugly, i got my movie quotes mixed up.


eat up your weekend

Wednesday, July 29, 2015


what is freedom?

Kenyatta: i forgot what i was thinking.

she slides across a large tract of patch until she sees the creek winding longingly all the way away from the parking lot of the studio.

Kenyatta: never knew this was here. finally peace and quiet. oh how i longed for this. you need your mind to be quiet and still to let the different thoughts come in. i have so much on my mind but i wonder why. what does it all mean? what's the endgame? i scroll on my phone and there's a constant barrage of motivations to keep the system in place, the constant drubbing in of that aphorism, that trendy catchword, you begin to mimic rather than magic, you lose your individual creativity. you must always find a space in your soul where you can laugh at the inappropriate and not agree. what the fuck is this pic of a dinosaur? BOTTOMS UP? that's a subtweet if i ever saw one.

Kenyatta steps on a gaggle of wet stones by an opening. the water brushes to meet her, dotting their spray on a dirtied face. she slips and falls, cracking her phone screen.

Kenyatta: you rocks won't get the better of me. where am i? did i hit my head?

she looks around but isn't it always the case that you go just a bit further than you should. she scrolls to a wilderness app but the screen is just blurry enough that she can't make out the GPS.

Kenyatta: what is tech good for? it's just the next iteration. it doesn't bring us together but it sure makes a glossy case. time to get old skool. i'll follow the stars when they come out in nine hours. all i have to drink is the world ocean. all i have to eat is God's bounty.

Kenyatta strips some moss off its bark and swallows it.

Kenyatta: tastes like ass. probably poisonous. i wouldn't mind if it tasted good. i'm suddenly hungry for hamburgers, the greasiest unhealthiest burgers on the block. oh my savior. oh to savor. when you're eating a hamburger, in the moments you're actually eating the food, your stomach plays a trick on you and regards it as ordinary, a chore even. it's when your mouth is parched that the concept of the burger salivates your glands. it's only when you crave something you don't have that you can taste it. she better be home.

Kenyatta tries to dial a number as best she can with the 1 button missing.

Kenyatta: of course the 1 is missing, the most important number, why couldn't it have been the POUNCE? what? yes, hello? is that you, babe? i can barely hear you. no i wish i was under a bridge. something's in the way, send help, i've fallen and i can't get up, hello? did you get any of that?


Kenyatta: goddamnit!

she throws her phone against a large muddy mossy stone, cracking it more.

Kenyatta: love makes you do crazy things. hunger, too. i'm not myself when i'm hungry. i hate being hangry, i get angry when i'm angry, i wish i could be anything but angry, it's very uncomfortable for me, it's slimy on my skin, i want to channel it into a bigger body of water as soon as possible. maybe insta still works, okay, got there, now does the emoji keyboard still work? i'll send her a DM full of colorful smileys and the salivating smiley and tons of hearts and the one that kisses and the one with the red blush on its cheeks and the burger emoji and hell throw in the pizza emoji, too. better to overcompensate than be ignored. when did grown adults start acting like giggling kindergarten kids with safety scissors cutting out cute shapes from cardboard paper as a way to express our feelings to each other? did it go through? the world may never know.

a large creature or something pounces on Kenyatta's head. the poor girl barely escapes with her head on straight but on animal instinct jumps into the water. she's safe from that whatever for now but is charging down the river.

Kenyatta: cheap shot, dude. law of the jungle. nature you scary. i guess it's only peaceful sometimes. please don't be a waterfall, please don't be a waterfall, leave that to the cartoons, this is real life.

it's a waterfall. Kenyatta tries to do a swan dive off the cliff. she kinda does it, lands awkwardly on the terrifying drop down but the fact that she dove in rather than bellyflopped it probably saved some teeth.

Kenyatta: Russian judge? 5? RIGGED! gotta make it look good if you're gonna go. whoo.

the stream finally lands her caught on a twig. her ass is sore, her mouth is sore, but praise she is still with us.

Kenyatta: I Survived. for real tho. one good thing, i don't have to do the Niagara Falls thing everyone does anymore, i know what it feels like. owww, this is when all the hours of tireless workout comes handy, or rather butty, this well-toned ass you see before you is the result of 24 hour fitness. see, it pays to look good. the flotation devices of women are on point, God knows what she's doin', doin' work, she gotcha.

*appropriate pause*

Kenyatta: oh lordy child, the water feels good, the more rushing the more tender, licking my wounds the natural way. what was the last thing i was thinking about? what was the last thing i noticed? i hope it wasn't a comment or a headline. oh yeah, it was. yeah, who cares if it's 4 games or 2 games, it's all a game anyway.

she launches a nearby stone which skips on the water four times before sinking like a stone.

Kenyatta: thud. there are more important things. like entertainment. the Jeopardy thing. man. woman. whose bright idea was it to turn America's favorite quiz show into a life-or-death struggle? it's hard to learn. when the curriculum gets harder it gets even harder to put all that stuff into your mind, it's already crammed full with fatuous pop culture. the ones who want to learn aren't allowed to, systems in place started from people who learned before are hampering the new learners. that's the life and death struggle. folk have died over education. that's the real struggle.

a rare firefly seen in the daylight without its neon flutters above her head.

Kenyatta: knowledge should be total and free to all. totalitarian. that's why i love my job.

the destroyed phone has managed to find its way back downriver to Kenyatta. it nudges her gently on the hip where her brown birthmark is.

Kenyatta: ah, never broken. these hands are small i know but they are my own, i do my thing with 'em. now....amazing it still works! im getting some things. how did we survive without cell phones? oh hell no i don't want to deal with that right now. quick, distraction, go to your happy place, think positive thoughts.....well i always loved the band Cranberries as a kid. there was something about that beautiful tiny woman with the big voice fronting. i love babes who say. i love when big things come out of small packages. the unique way Dolores (i only learned her name five years into my fandom) staggered her notes and pronounced her words the ancient way with curls and accents mesmerized me, it was foreign so i loved it, it was different. they were always in a glass case for me, you never heard of the band getting into trouble, they never made the bad headlines even back in the age of stones and Stones and newspaper print, where it was easier to hide sins. no, they were just a fooking good rock band with fooking good songs that got tangled in your mind permanently till there was no room left. it's like the manager trotted them onstage, they sang, they did good work, and it was off to the next city, no moss no fuss, just muse. they let their music do the talking, not their jaywalking. i admired that. but as such there was a mystery to them, not much was known about the band members. huh.

her knees finally achieve enough muscle memory to pick herself up outta the drink.

Kenyatta: bills. bills. bills. ah. no. work stuff. even when your shit is on the fritz the work emails always seem to go through. yes, i know. wish this was clickbait. what? so now when we're looking up words we have to sift through each letter of the word with our Google Translate sieve AND ALSO add an s to each word and an -es to each word? just being thorough, huh? there are so many words that sometimes i hope my mind will instantly forget the word the same moment i see it, i hope for it not to stain my memory so i have a legitimate excuse that i genuinely forgot the word i just saw. reduces the immeasurable workload immeasurably. Binny and the other one will LOOOOOOOOVVVVVVVVEEEEE these new wrinkles on them. huh, i wonder


she bends down hands cupped to swig a drink from the stream.

Kenyatta (continuing reading): i know, i know, i've been found out, pending further investigation that is of course, i've been demoted to the Cranberries Wiki only. hello kitty, who are you?.............................was that you earlier? no. maybe. was this planned all along? before i was born? before i could interpret it for myself? is there freedom?...................i think it's the ability to imagine, to imagine absolutely ANYTHING.

before Kenyatta on the bank is a large spirit of a magnificent lion, mane flowing in the ghost wind, paws fierce and strong planted on the firm earth, nose of eternal curiosity, ears back to hear it all, a prominent profile cast by the emerging shadows of the night centered with a jaw of mighty shiny teeth and glistening appetites.

Kenyatta: i remember you, from before, you helped us, you will always help us, this is something you simply cannot forget.

the lion stares into the woman's soul letting her know how he feels about all mankind. his body is rustic and boned, his tail points upwards, his roar makes the river change direction. his gaze is confident, he knows a foolish human will never stop him from his destiny. he is of bigger things than being here but he is here forever. his blood runs hot but his blood now is stardust. he looks up to find his master, not straight ahead.

the lion crouches back and sits there silently. there is a slight smile on his lips, he is on the level with Kenyatta as he looks down with a face part pathos, part disdain, part all contemplation.

Monday, July 27, 2015


1. what did you have for breakfast? spaghetti 'n' meatballs
2. what clothes did you put on? what are clothes?
3. what did you have for lunch? you. it was glorious. remember when we had to align our lunch breaks just right so we could afternoon-delight? that took a lot of preparation and organization. i hope our boss reads our personal he can see just how good we are when it comes to planning. i was in a daze for days. forgot to actually eat lunch, but i was full...with your love juice inside me...
4. what about dinner? what did you have? who cooked it? who did the dishes? the new McFilet Mignon at McDonald's. the Hamburglar. i did cos he ran away without saying goodbye.
5. did you/are you gonna travel today? where to? car, bus, train, or plane? oh yeah. where they make Kool-Aid powder, wanna get some free samples. Magic Dragon.
6. did you mail anything? did you get anything interesting in the mail? so there was something called the Post Office once i'm hearing? they used ponies, right? looking through my pile here and this certificate says i've won McDonald's junior cheeseburgers for life.............i've eaten just one junior cheeseburger and i already feel some creature living in my stomach.
7. did you send or get any interesting mail? i tried to send the spammers something back but they weren't there, after business hours. i clicked on a link for a celebrity sex tape and had to get a new computer. i'm never doing that again.
8. did you text/skype/messenger/internet communicate in any way? it's been quite the day, haven't had a chance to check my email, maybe that'll cheer me up. any love letters? any more sweepstakes i can enter? ah, no, just spam and bills.
9. did you use the internet for porn? i use the internet to get the latest news and real-time updates that only i can receive cos only i paid for the premium package.

bonus: did you get laid today? see pic above. as you can see, later in the evening after all this other stuff happened, i sprained my ankle from all the strain and was in fact laid up in bed. my neighbors who live in my village of shrooms were very kind, offering me orange mugs of piping hot smurfberry juice. then, Smurfette came. she, uh, comforted me for a very very long time.


Friday, July 24, 2015


i need to summer on Kepler.


* Golden Sea Triever

* Space Ghost, there are worse ways to die than by runny confection. you know this firsthand.

* directions on the back of the hot dog package: tastes best cooked over an open volcano. do not microwave. if it's good enough for Fred Flintstone it's good enough for you. Fred became a vegetarian after the trauma of having a huge stack of ribs almost crush him to death. he's had a stone bowling ball fall on his head so many times he still thinks it's normal to drive a car with your feet rather than walk. or use those new stone wheels.

* this was the original pilot for Gumball.

* this was exactly my life last week, flea-shampoo-bathing my kitty. she came around to it but resisted at first. it's not that cats hate water, they hate the indignity of it all.

* are bubbles solid, liquid, or gas?................sorry, that was my fart..........i'm definitely made of gas.

* trigger: spiders

* the original curse word was gonna be DUCK but they changed it to FUCK at the last minute. i'm a diehard Nintendo fanboy for life but i'll never forgive them for making me like Duck Hunt as an impressionable kid. those poor ducks! and that poor laughing dog is obviously not well.

* and that's how WWIII started.

* cum

* hey, the characters from Tool music videos have to grocery-shop, too.

* see? the desert isn't boring, it's nature's Tiesto rave.

* adult Slip N Slide by Wham-O


have an exploratory weekend

Wednesday, July 22, 2015


Cotard wants to take a victory lap but the swailing winds of salt keep getting in his eyes, he can't appreciate the surrounding vegeatation as he and Erneste walk around the grounds.

Erneste: the farm is yours. the big bad seems to have disappeared.

Cotard: i sure hope that isn't the case in this world. i mean i do want Manny to come back, i really hope he's not gone forever.

Erneste: life can never be gotten wholly, it must be savored in bites of distraction. for now, let's relax a little if nothing else.

Cotard: a respite free from spite full of LeBron's Mix Sprite, i'm down. told you i'd do it.

Erneste: it was the purple onions i keep telling you.

Cotard: nah man, pretty sure it was the Stones. it's all about the Beige Stones, they give you power but they change you, but they don't change you against your will, they seem to mold you into the type of person you are meant to be from jump, collecting from material deep down in your soul where you can't go, they reach to there and pull you back up from your internal roots.

the salt waves to and fro across the plains, i'm sure that's good for the banana crops somehow.

Erneste: as a reward we flew over your other cat.

Cotard: thank you so much my brother! it's been ages! i love them so much and it's rare to get both of them together with me to form the power trio. Kiss is always the troublemaker even when she doesn't mean to. the latest crisis is fleas, her whole body is covered in fleas poor thing. that explains everything, that's why she's been so jumpy since birth. how would you like it if all you knew of life is little bugs gnatting and gnawing their way into your skin, burrowing their way into your subconscious like an eternal stain you cannot remove with fire?

Erneste: metaphor for evil.

Cotard: so i've only just now begun ferreting those disgusting suckers out my kitty's body. i flea-comb her coat daily but it's never enough. they come back. they always come back. i wash her with special shampoo. she was terrified, never had a bath before. i relaxed her by reminding her that i had never been bathed before, at least not that i'd known of. we got through it with just a few scratches on me but the fleas returned the next day. her coat was nice and shiny for that one day, though, gotta keep it positive. there are expensive creams and pills i could buy but i have the feeling they would only work for a few weeks then back to square one. like humans. we have to bathe everyday. i don't but we have to. we can't stay clean forever off of one wash. we'll always get dirty again. being dirty is our natural state. we have to wet ourselves constantly, forever.

Erneste: we will never be clean.

Erneste picks up a stone pimp cup off the road which has been stained with Berte's filthily clean fingerprints and approaches a weeping willow whose hair is standing on end from the leftover crackling energy of the blast and maintained from the wind. he squeezes a knot in the bark---layers shed---and strains out some tree beer and takes a


Erneste: see, the willow's hair is returning to its natural state of sad and droopy. i wonder if that's our natural state as well.

he offers the monk a share sip but Cotard refuses instead opting to look at his red knuckles.

Cotard: my hair's always a bother. what is this? i don't remember this.

Erneste: you gave him a bloody nose.

Cotard: oh i hate the sight of blood. i want blood to remain inside the body and out of view. i abhor violence. but i thought i didn't touch him, i gave him an energy blast from a distance.

Erneste: you don't remember touching him before the blast? you scrapped naked. it doesn't seem to be that easy in this world. it's not a matter of doing things in the ether and forgetting about them. everything you do has consequences and you are connected to others whether you want it or not. you had to touch him if only for a moment for the attack to work, your hands with the five fingers caressed his face for a split second before the attack commenced, invisible to the eye but not to your subconscious. that's how this world has been set up.

Cotard: i'm having difficulty focusing on which things to remember. my body is naked, my mind fragmented in scraps. all glory. it's better this way. we have to be connected, otherwise what's the point? loneliness is a disease. it's like alcohol, it seems like a good idea at the time but soon the layers of quiet increase. the quiet is soothing at first but then it gets too quiet. man desires desperately for the silence to be broken with something glorious. mew mew!

the cats run up into the monk's lap. he takes out a block with letters and numbers on them and has them play with it.

Cotard: rudimentary language. it'll help them form words later on so they can tell me what they really are saying, what they want, what their cries and yowls mean.

Erneste: pretty sure they either want to get outside somewhere or they're hungry. that covers about 90%.

Cotard: but what of that magical 10% untapped potential? we need a new language over here on the human side of things. our problem is we've run out of words. maybe we need to go back and make already-established words mean something else. there are still feelings we experience that defy wordic description. and besides, my concept of a word isn't yours cos no two humans ever have the same experience. quick, when i say the word disarm, what do you think of?

Erneste: the drones of course.

Cotard: i of course think immediately to that black and white and color Smashing Pumpkins video with the squeaky toy at the beginning.

the monk gets out from his other cilice pocket a squeaky toy for his pets to wrestle with.

Erneste: i see. connection is impossible.

Cotard: yep, absolutely vital and doomed from the start. way of the world. way of this world anyway, the one we all seem to be in at the moment.

Erneste: i brought you here to this peaceful shed away from your adoring villager fans cos i want you to start sensing your sense memory again. i want you to think of your precious mother.

Cotard: why? burying the urn will be painful enough.

Erneste: but your mother brings you no pain, she's the only one who doesn't, she brings you life, unconditional love and happiness throughout. memories are all we have at the end. each one of her memories must be strong within you, it must take you to a place of strength. always, forever and always, no matter what, no matter what overwhelming thing happens.

Cotard: what's this all about? are you holding out on me?

Erneste: call it a hunch. okay, yes, i've watched a couple of online videos despite my mild disdain for it and general attraction to the open fields. i feel this is important. feelings, that's what it's all about.

Cotard: no, moms and i had our share of knock-down-drag-outs which i deeply regret. but that's the thing with regrets, they can never live in the oxygen of the present. when i was a boy she would lovingly lay my clothes out for the day on my little bed. i never appreciated it back then but like a stupid kid i deeply inhaled them because they were always so fresh and so clean, as if a new wave of sunlight had bathed the mud and grime off last night's travails and were anew again, strong in fiber and loyalty. the sniff and smell of care. i still do that with my clothes, lay them out the night before before sleeping on top of them all night.

Erneste: sounds a bit creepy.

Cotard: perhaps. but we really do need to understand each other, we need a new vocabulary to connect to each other again. one man's creepy is another man's misunderstood. is it creepy if everyone does it a century later? time is long and so are the rickety lenses we use to observe current mores. the only constant is change which is an impossible statement if you think about it. it was all fine and dandy when i was a beautiful little boy on my mother's warm shield but when the stupid world attacked and firearrowed our castle turrets, dragging us into their ill-conceived war, i became angry. i never knew i could get angry, never was as a kid, and the floodgates were broken open. on a typical July night i was mad and mad over something life-shattering that is now a drop of water on the Moon, i couldn't attend a party i had to go to for status but didn't want to. my friends dissed me making them not my friends the moment they dissed me. we had just installed a pool table where the dining table used to be with mom's second-job money giving injections which led her each night into the middle of dawn. instead of appreciating my mother's gift, i thought back to how i loved to eat chicken fingers on that table as a boy, i hated being a youth, i wanted my youth back. youth is wasted on the young, another impossibility. my mom never lost her spirit, her faith was rock-solid, not Stones solid. she patiently waited out my fumes and noxious diatribes against the whole of existence, especially her since she was the only soul in the room, mine was already gone. i was the only one in my clique without a girlfriend so the empty pool table stared at me, laughed at me at how useless it was being played on with solitary games, its balls were breaking my balls, the rack was hooked on its nail on the sidewall all Illuminati triangle before that was a thing. all i wanted to do was take a cue from other angry disaffected people in literature and smash all the balls apart with a pool cue, cut the pool table in two and poke a hole in the ceiling. mom draped her apron over the felt pool table, taking her time to deliberately round off the sidepockets tight with hospital corners. i could see myself angry like this and i felt relieved, i had gotten it all out and prayed my mother would forgive me like she had before, hoped she would always forgive me throughout all of space and time for eternity. i saw myself with red eyes in my own movie causing all this damage and destruction to our house that i hadn't paid one red cent for, i saw myself reveling in my righteous anger, but just as quickly as those feelings swelled up they let back down. it's as if nobody is ever bigger than the balance of the universe. i didn't do it, no no no no, i didn't actually do it, i just imagined it, it was all a dream, or a nightmare, thank God for nightmares, thank God for spaces which are not of this life and this life's consequences, spaces we can go to to work out our problems with air and pictures. i found my terrified face dug deep in my mother's apron, staining it with my wetness. the apron strings swayed back and forth in perfect time, both equidistant to each other, never touching, like a grandfathered-in clock. i was not in control, i couldn't control my hacky hackneyed breathing, but i could control one thing: what i thought, what i felt at that moment, i could turn a switch on my brain and force myself to think of happy thoughts, to realize that everything was fleeting, save for one saving thing: a clear picture of my mother which spanned the generations and was written in dripping stars on the unbound canvas of inner space.


Zach on tv at the hallowed grounds: i'm at a loss for worlds. i never thought i'd get another one. to do this at the birthplace of our sport makes it eternal. this game is full of people who are salt of the earth, who enjoy a drink with friends, who destress with divots and depressed sand. but they always replace their divots. they mark their scorecards with their little pencils honestly, fairly, they don't cheat by giving themselves an extra negative stroke, they use the stroke they were given positively and improve upon it, spit on it to shiny it up, to clean it up. then they all gather round the pub at the gloaming, never speaking out of turn, never raising their voice, making sure the legends get their iced-tea/lemonade before they quietly ask for a napkin. sippy cups and straws. the golf is the gateway, but it's the darts which opens everyone's eyes in the dimly-lit bar to what family is, of togetherness, of people with other people in a space enclosed from the harshness of whizzing cars outside, of the inside with a window to the rolling greens and perfectly-cut fairways, the daily cuts of life, ensconced in tradition as old as time. thank you from the bottom of my golf heart, my golf soul.

the crowds gathering for this speech break the silence of the sunlit hill with one layer above a golf clap, but it's still not as perfectly interspersed as the cries of the gulls from the beach.


Codrus: ...thank you for joining us today. we believe we have uncovered the meaning of the first writing on the head of the first tablet. it appears to be a title: RULES OF LIFE though LIFE could actually be FREEDOM. and the first line below it also has the symbol for RULES so i'm thinking it's gotta be some sort of iteration of RULE #1: THERE ARE NO RULES. that's what the Jeopardy! tournament will suss out: which man is smart enough to join my company. we need the best and the brightest here, people. think of me as Bill Gates only now it's REALLY important. life is not a computer game.

Monday, July 20, 2015


no Grand Slam :( but there's still the Denny's Grand Slam Breakfast :) i wake up early.

1. how do you handle it when someone you're speaking with crosses the boundary into TMI? i don't believe in boundaries. boundaries limit. the imagination has no limits. there is literally nothing you can tell me that will make me cringe or think less of you, i am unable to be shocked. unless you tell me that you're part of the Rebel Alliance. i won't call you scum, let's keep things civil, but that's not cool. do you know how much that Death Star cost?

2. when was the last time you realized you were crossing the line into TMI with someone? how did they react? i was explaining what Tim was saying on ESPN that baseball is the hardest sport to play. my friend was flabbergasted at this crazy information, he had always thought baseball was boring as dirt. this changed his mind. he got hard. see, it's good to speak up, speak your mind, say anything, you have the power to turn people.

3. which subject matter is mostly TMI to you?
a) sex i want to fuck you.
b) medical treatment/history there is no more privacy in this internet age. everyone knows your ailments. this is very important. remember, you are not alone, there will always be spam specific to your illness flooding your inbox daily.
c) bodily functions completely natural. fart at church, make Pope Francis smile.
d) icky food that's just food you haven't tried yet. i love you, Anthony Bourdain.
e) finances lend your money to friends. that's what friends are for.
f) political opinions go to any internet political board. you will be convinced to change parties, the clear-eyed arguments and confessionals on there will leave you cry-eyed.
g) other i'll never forgive other. it's always the other, isn't it? i keep explaining to other that there is no other, we are all the same.

4. do you ever entice people into TMI, goading them into sharing something that should be private? no, cos you know where that leads: Minority Report.

5. do you enjoy swapping TMI tales? i'll tell you mine if you tell me yours? that doesn't work. i'll show you mine if you show me yours. i mean mine was the Pretzel where i coat my penis with mustard and salt and twist it around the bedpost and we go from there. hers was the pretzel, an actual pretzel, her big secret was that she was cheating on her diet and eating pretzels on the side.

bonus: how do you feel about Pope Francis embracing "climate change" climate science? Pope Francis was a nightclub bouncer before he became Pope, he gets it, he knows what's up, he's been around the block, he knows what life's really about, he knows the paper chase and building your stable. he has Half-Off-Drinks Night for atheists at his club, he's cool like that. he embraces all of his people. his last Encyclical ended with the inspiring coda: catholic means universal. i welcome you all into my house. it's now closing time. i'm missing my telenovelas. you don't gotta go home but you sure as hell gotta get up the fuck outta here.


Friday, July 17, 2015



* Johnny's all, "should i really do this? should i come out like this? i guess i might as well now."

* like the Tarzan skit, everyone should have been naked. for realism.

* i'm not reliving my childhood here, i never got to see this the first time around. i didn't have a strict bedtime but i always seemed to fall asleep around 8. something about school.

* the world's oldest profession: barkeep

* Are You Being Served in the Garden of Eden?

* Adam: my penis can't be small, it's the first penis.
Eve: okay, so i have the first headache.

* Eve: Adam, stop smoking the trees! we need them for our shelter!
Adam: it's legal now.

* Eve: what about the time you made whoopee with Lilith?
Adam: i thought she was you, Eve! the snake tricked me!
Lilith: *headphones on, jamming to some good indie music*

* God: YOU HAVE DISOBEYED ME!!! YOU ARE BANISHED FOREVER!!! nah just playing, i mean i did create the snake, too.

* God: the Garden of Eden was actually an elaborate illusion created by the snake. sorry about all that, i got bored.

* Eve: that proves it. how else do you account for the fact that we steadily made whoopee less and less the more we were together?
Adam: Lilith.

* devil appears.
Adam: who's that?
Eve: the first cosplayer.


happy weekend

Wednesday, July 15, 2015


it's time. Alex neatly folds his newspaper, has a chunk of bacon which looks like ham, wipes the sweat off his newly-minted mustache, kisses his family and rides into town. he can do this in his sleep of course but it's been awhile this way.

at the studio, he's greeted with his first confirmation, Kenyatta.

Kenyatta: what is sexy 'stache for 200, Alex?

Alex: thanks, babe. i wasn't sure. the wife said it made me look younger but i feel silly.

Kenyatta: that's what youth is: silliness. have you met my prospect? he's got it in the bag, i trust him. i know this because i know him because i know he's my friend.

Alex: let me check my cards, i'm nothing without my cards. Atalan, heard about him in the newspaper, came back the inglorious hero after missing a few crucial free throws.

Atalan: talking behind my back. good. it's when they stop talking about you that you have to worry. actually it's when they stop talking altogether that you're done. it became untenable after the whole Manny-the-god-we-put-our-eternal-trust-in-gets-incinerated thing. i tried to move on to the second stage, which is always the desert stage, but by then every country had picked a side and were digging in the sand, not drawing a line in the sand to show where the free throws were to be shot. everybody's problems had been subsumed into this new conflict of god vs. truth. i wanted to help with food and supplies and homes but when i saw leaders' eyes gleam with renewed brightness and life, i knew it was all over for the poor. there is no force subtler and more brutal than when a government gets its grubby hands on a moral crusade. the gunboats line up for a black-and-white war and subtler things like the complicated layers of the tax code and the exact contours of what it means to be middle class are thrown out the gunboat window.

Kenyatta: chin up, man, there is still one force that's greater: me scorned. no i'm serious. always remember that. when your chin hangs low, always remember that.

Atalan: i came back an hero to a confusing welcome. some were ironically happy to see me, happy to see that i hadn't defeated Codrus, they were already buried in the Stones. others were mad at me cos they hated my face. i remember sitting at that open window at IHOP tucking into my Summer Stack of banana-nut pancakes and just thinking that all i was good for was nutting. the nuts were rancid and the bananas were not quite ripe, one shade of green bad. it's never like the commericals. maybe i needed to get that armsleeve tattoo that guy has in those commercials. no, that wasn't it, he chowed down his rubbery pancakes cos he was with his family.

Alex: there are plenty of fish out there.

Atalan: nah, that dating app sucks. but i'm here, my mind is clear, i'm used to the jeers, i could use a beer.

Yayray: you stealin' my act, foo'! HOLLA!!!!!

Kenyatta: boy, you never fail to amaze me. you live up to expectations. i haven't seen you in so long and you the same stupid kid.

Yayray: now what stories you herd, ma?

Kenyatta: you ain't about that life, son. i heard you got into drugs and were GONE.

the red light above the door lights.

Yayray: that's my signal. INSANE IN THE MEMBRANE!!! i got one at least, ha.

Kenyatta: huh, what a waste. you'll have no problem defeating this gang member, Ata. you can find meaning alone, you are a cog in a big machine, we all are, but you know deep inside your imagination that this is the good machine, the one that threshes out the weeds so all can partake of our ancient heritage, our ancient grains. we are about equality for all, not collecting all the seeds into one locked silo.

out in the epansive grandeur of the studio, the lights are bright. too hot.

Yayray (clicking his signal): how does this work? it seems so easy on tv.

Alex: it is, my son, that determines how smart you are. it's really the guts of this game, for if you don't time it just right, you'll get locked out and another will steal your glory.

Yayray: ain't noone a bigger trigger-finger than me. i survived the Wild Wild West Coast, talkin' bout hogging my glory, i honed my skillz on my police runs, i'm Speedy Fucking Gonzalez, i know what time it is, time to step up or shut up, step UP, don't hate participate, ain't that right, patna?

Atalan: i never knew you, did i? you were just there. i never took the time to talk to you. this is my fate. i thought i was a lone wolf but i'm a teacup chihuahua. i don't know who i am anymore without my structures in place. i have no one but myself right here right now in this moment tryin' to do something. i must thank my stars for the blessing of this moment to scar. most people don't have something to do. deep breath, Ata, you can do this, use Shia, i've never encouraged myself like this before. remember: there is no knowledge, only memorization. there is no wisdom, only memories. do not give in to the easy dark side, do not become a junkie, though i have every right to.

Alex: i'm nervous, too, guys, this isn't any old game, this is for the fate of humanity going forward. okay, in the category of Potent Potables, i mean Serve On: "he was was the surprise semifinalist at this year's Wimbledon. for the men."

Yayraj: what is..........what the what? WHAT?! he got it? i came in first, i always come first, ask any of my bitches. this is bullshit. FUCK THIS SYSTEM. you can't keep rigging the truth, folk will find out. the truth always outs eventually. now how imma be a balla back in the hood if they see me not lit up first?

Alex: sorry, my son, but Atalan fired first. he beat you by a fraction. don't be too fractious, it's just a game. it's just the practice round.

Atalan: who is McEnroe? he is literally the only tennis player i know. i don't watch tennis.

Yayraj: Gasquet, man, even my coz knew dat.

Alex: next category, The Real Star Wars...

Kenyatta (in the stands): ...there's something about that boy's eyes. he's giving a tell but i can't tell. worry not, Ata, you have depression, which is normal. what Yayray has is something


Alex: i mean correct. let's go to the video for proof.

in the blue box a video plays of Gasquet's semifinal match. it quickly cuts to his press conference:

Gasquet: i am so happy happy to be on top, i never thought i'd reach this pinnacle again, my whole life was ruined by one cocaine kiss, otherwise known as Le Kiss, i shall never kiss again. you realize the fate of us tennis players is determined solely by a challenge to a line call? if the ball hits the line, play continues, the match continues, the money continues, and the more beautiful woman you get to kiss. if the ball is out by a millimeter of an inch, you lose the match and your sponsors and your shoes and you become the poor.

Wolf: BREAKING NEWS. la la la la, heh, singing the theme song. Anderson, are you out there in the field? Anderson is our field general, the rest of us just follow orders. he's our field master, he's a master of fields. Anderson, what the fuck is going on?

Anderson: field.

Wolf: deal? the deal's done?

Anderson: field.

Wolf: stop frolicking in the fields, Anderson! looks like we're having some technical difficulties. and some just difficulties. i'm too old for this shit. sorry, folks, i haven't been the same since i shaved my beard. men need to have a good head of hair on their head to be taken seriously, it's not just a woman thing. time for my unannounced vacation. bye. dock my pay, i don't care anymore, play more Anthony travel repeats, he's always on vacation, too.

Wolf drives back to his house where his daughter is per usual buried in her phone. she's a big Hillary fan.

Wolf: honey i wish you'd get off that phone and engage more. there are people to help, i report on them everyday. i want to make news not comment on it. i want to digest it not dissect it. there's a whole big bright blue-and-green-and-smog world outside ready to be explored. if you don't believe me watch Anthony travel. there's got to be more to life than this.

daughter: Bjork?

Wolf: we're all borked. any news on Hillary?

daughter: she's made it to the second round of auditions but i still cannot believe he cheated on her. how could he do this to her? how can anyone cheat on Hillary? all these dumb hockey jocks think they're entitled or something. she's trying to care for their kid alone on an actress's salary and he's out galavanting chugging various strange liquids with the Stanley Cup...

she starts to sway and hit all the paper lanterns taped to her ceiling she and her dad worked so diligently on in kindergarten as a father/daughter project.

Wolf takes the phone from her daughter who doesn't seem to mind, she is off in her own world of words as he is in his. there are too many worlds now, not enough words.

he slides to unlock and scrolls through some instagram motivational quotes and hunky buff guys in shorts. he lands on a big black-and-white one:


Monday, July 13, 2015


1. what places have you visited in the last year you'll never visit again? my bathroom, my kitchen, and my room. no, i'm not renovating, these three places do i put this?...constantly sticky.

2. we often hear, "you can do anything you put your mind to." if that's the case, name 5 things you'd do:

a) cyberbrain (Ghost in the Shell)
b) lightsaber (for scientific/spiritual research only, not to take over the galaxy)
c) flying car (here they are, finally, here are the flying cars!)
d) DeLorean (i know i'm in the minority here but i always thought the car was cool enough on its own without having to be a time machine also.)
e) Tinder for dogs (it's not all doggystyle all the time, they're choosier than you'd think.)

3. what physical acts would you attempt if you knew you would not fail?

a) run the 100-meter dash in -1 seconds (solar wind-aided) (jumped the laser gun).
b) pitch 3 consecutive no-hitters to break the unbreakable record. i like Johnny but enough's enough.
c) be the only athlete to complete the Golden Slam (all four majors in the same calendar year plus the Olympic gold medal) in both tennis AND golf in the same calendar year. we don't have to wait for Rio in 2016 for Olympic golf, i accomplished this back in '04, 1904.
d) CEO of Fail Blog
e) sex

4. what are you doing this month you've never done before? crying real tears after a tennis match.



in my defense, Wimbledon is the oldest tennis tournament in the world, so it's always emotional.

5. what is the weirdest/strangest substance you've bathed in? cumin

bonus: finish this sentence: right now i'm___________considering communicating in only emoji from now on.


Friday, July 10, 2015



* that's the real cheetah.

* thank god the skipper doesn't shoot the hippos anymore on the Disneyland Jungle Cruise. now, that one hippo with its mouth open shoots water back at the skipper as decades of revenge.

* and "going postal" was thus born.

* does anyone out there still dial POPCORN on their push-button phone for information?

* i got Jungle Karma Pizza on speed-dial, on my push-button phone. i just push Star 69 and a Power Ranger is right there taking my order. prank pizzas don't work on me.

* no, seriously, that never happened with me before.

* quicksand chest: that sounds like fun.

* the hyenas are laughing WITH you, they're pointing WITH you.

* i miss nature shows. remember nature shows? remember nature? whatever happened to nature?

* the dark socks are clashing with that outfit. best to just be naked. no, leave the socks on.

* Tarzan is in the bush.


happy weekend

Wednesday, July 8, 2015


Yayray looks around and sees the clownfish scurrying to a hidey hole in the coral. he wrists his hand and the fish slowly matches the slowness of the surrounding water and reverses direction into his palm.

Finding Nemo (wipes sweat off brow): oh, phew, it's just you.

Yayray: soon, but too soon would be conspicuous. how's your family?

Finding Nemo: still reunited and it still feels good.

Yayray: never stop counting your blessings.


the yesterdays of Yayray have become a blur ever since he started drugging with the Stones. time stands still, it can stand still now under his control. he was always an upstart brat, the Stones have calmed him, he sees things far, he doesn't worry as much with presents, he sees the final gift. it's unbelievable to him how quickly he's taken to his new powers, and how much they have transformed him, he's Optimus Prime now, he doesn't speak with a forced urban cool anymore, he doesn't treat people as stepping stones to more beautiful women, he still wants things but he sees the clear path to them. no more anxious guesses, just bright rungs.

but he's still a noob.

Yayray: why me? why a stupid kid like me?

Esid (at The Store): the fact that you are asking that shows growth.

Cucumber: i don't have to worry about you anymore.

Natalie: we'll see about that.

Pear: i am still an x factor in all of this.

Yayray: man i remember when all of us were here together at this place, i was so messed up i don't remember a thing.

Cucumber: we miss seeing your cute little head at register row.

Yayray: i kinda have a new job.

Natalie: any word?

Yayray: i can if you want.

Natalie: i don't know if my mother would have wanted this. but i miss her.

Yayray: skype me when you get to your empty home, you might have a change of heart.

Cucumber: i miss my dad, too, but i'd never do that. but i'm old school i guess. when you lose a staunch primary parent figure like that, you'd be surprised how much of a tailspin you go through. i searched the rest of my life for that kind of force but it was never there. it left me always vulnerable. i couldn't quite go out there on my own. everyone needs support. no man is an island and i should know, i work out in the open water for a living.

Esid: i'm better since you put hands on me.

Yayray: anytime you want another scrap, just skype me. tho i'm thinking that my skype might have to be put on private soon.

Esid: no, it wasn't like that. you healed me with some pebbles, i still don't believe what i just saw. coinkydink or not, we were in the cereal aisle and had some Pebbles afterwards. i don't believe in coincidences, everything means something, you might have to tryhard to squeeze it into your narrow view, but it gets forced through with enough pressure.

the friends finish their last scraps of cold cuts off the just-mopped shiny white floors by the deli. people stare at the group and contort their faces, they are happy to see a celebrity in their midst finally. local boy finally makes good and this rinkydink grocery store isn't such an eyesore anymore.

Yayray: y'know what, i haven't felt this good in a longass time. for old times' sake, i'm gonna man a station here again. it's my day off, why not work?

Yayray's old apron doesn't fit his midesction anymore. he leaves it on cos it's the only one with a Cotard parody sticker on it, if he has to show a little belly to the customers it's worth it if they also see the sticker.

no cute girls or milf bored housewives comment on the sticker. a couple of old hairy bald guys comment on his belly cos they have paunches, too. Yayaray is no-expression-faced at this but he's learning to let out his disappointment with distraction before it bubbles over into rage. he blows some bubbles on his dinner break.

as he's red-gunning a crate of cantaloupes, Natalie from one register down nudges his ribs.

Natalie: did you get my instagram DM?

Yayray: i'm not seeing what's right in front of me. it's against the rules to even look at a phone at work, but what the hell, i'm gonna be god soon.

the screen says RAISED.

Yayray: so you want me to raise your mother from the dead?

Natalie dips down below the counter, tugs on Yayray's apron and nods with one part embarrassment, one part determination, and a third indefinable almost ghostlike part.

Natalie: i'll die if you don't. my moms is everything to me.

the old man that came with the crate has a stomach and smiles slyly at the duo, he points to Yayray and to Natalie below the counter and the glint never leaves his eye even after his gaze rapidly turns to that new pina colada flavor of gum. "i'm next," he cackles. he points at his heart and laughs irritably.

Yayray: why didn't you tell me privately in the breakroom?

Natalie: two people aren't allowed to be alone together in the breakroom anymore. door's always open now. besides, there's no privacy anymore.

Cucumber one register up pops his head over the partition and glances at the screen.

Cucumber: you got raised up a level. that's good, right? i dunno, i'm old skool, you kids and your gadget lingo, your convoluted language. back in my day we didn't have subtweets, we were straight shooters, talked from the hip. whatever you have to say to someone, say it before it's too late.

Esid: oh i don't know, surreptitious code is a sign of creativity. where would language be if everyone said the same things in the same ways? there would be one expression, and one expression, one figure of speech, and not a million synonyms for the word good.


Kenyatta (at Wiki): well shit, you two work here again?

Binny and Quinny: uh uh uh, please address us with respect. we are in the higher echelons of power, we have powerful positions now, we're not your scrubs.

Kenyatta: YOU'RE NOT MY SUPERVISOR!!! hey i didn't want to fire ya gals, you were cool, we could've had a little clique thing going, relive what we didn't have in high school, even though you two are old enough to be my grandmothers, but hey, more power to you, i'd do the same thing, i'd lord it over folk.

Binny: we've learned so much large in such a small span.

Quinny: i still haven't been fired yet. i'm in uncharted territory. i would always use my current job's computers to help land me my next job.

Kenyatta: ever the actress. anyway, this cylinder went off the rails and never reached its intended destination: you guys.

Binny: got you sidetracked.

Kenyatta: nah, i love telling others what to do. so you're to read this.


Binny and Quinny: oh fuck no!

Quinny: so now not only do we have to read every single page of wikipedia and its corresponding talk backpage of grudges, gripes, and corrections, we have to look up each strange word we come across and run it through the Google Translate computer. what does he mean by that?

a rigger is working on a deep-dive submarine outside the window. he's


Kenyatta: well that was convenient. like take that rigger over there. so now you must examine closely the word "rigger". do you know what "rigger" actually means? you have to go through each word like this on Google Translate, take apart each letter of the word. don't use a word unless you really know what it stands for, its origin, its history, don't think you know until you really know. so you'd input on Translate first the r, then ri, then rig, then rigg, then rigge, then rigger. and then you musn't miss what would happen if the word had no second g, so r, ri, rig, rige, riger. the last two gives you Danish for "rich kingdoms", that is what we are all striving for. fun fact: that extra e is everything, take any word in the English language and add an e to it, guaranteed to be a word in another language. we must know more than our enemy, knowledge is the ultimate power. we must read our dreams. language is precious, it's vital for our survival, it must be used right, it must never be used for evil, how we harness language, what combinations we can make out of letters, how well we can twist and turn words will determine if we inspire people or have to quell an uprising. the truth finds its light, no matter if it takes decades, it emerges from the darkness with the right words, with just the right thing to say.

Binny (slumped shoulders): being thorough.

Quinny (slumped shoulders): *sigh*

Kenyatta: hey just be glad he hasn't moved you biddies onto Spanish. yet. well i'm off for dress rehearsal. it's coming sooner than ever. rumor is Alex Trebek is gonna debut his mustache again!

Binny and Quinny: say hello to Sean Connery for us! what a silver fox.

*waits for Kenyatta to leave*

Binny: psst, hey Quinny, did that tube derail cos of...

Quinny: probably. i ever so subtly searched for it while making sure no one could search for our search. i made it seem like it was part of my work.

Binny: the entire Exchange was on standstill for hours, though.

Quinny: don't worry, they'll never know it was us. it affected everyone, they'll think it was some weird worldwide glitch, no connection to anything else. i know where the photo is stored.

the two surreptitiously slip out of the mainway into a dusty corridor and down the up stairs. this area is still under construction. Quinny runs her fingers up and down the dewey decimal system cabinet until she reaches the right box, she pulls it out and disattaches the manila card. in the back of the card is an old photo of their mother.

Quinny: yes! it's actually still here after all these years! technology hasn't drowned out everything. good ol' Mom, right where she said. Mom was always the voracious reader.

Binny (smiling, crouching down with Quinny): that's where we get it from.

Monday, July 6, 2015


don't double-dip the chip with your whip.

1. do you believe in ESP? do you have those abilities? of course, reality isn't reality, perception is reality. if i did you better believe i'd be first in line to have my reality show patented.

2. do you laugh when someone tickles you? the only part of my body that is ticklish is my appendix...that's apparently what it was used for, not to digest the stones and rocks our early ancestors ate but to store laughs in the body. times back then were freer and more chuckleworthy. nowadays no one uses their appendix cos everyone is sad and depressed.

3. do you like teamwork? only if i'm in charge. i have to be the leader of the group. i have control issues. or to put it politely, i subscribe to the auteur model of artistry.

4. what one thing can you do today to make you feel productive? will you do it? get through lunch. i dunno, that salsa i had that didn't smell right is starting to swirl around my stomach and appendix. i was trying to turn a positive into a negative by using the tomatoes that were thrown at me on stage for good.

5. finish this phrase: hell hath no fury like...a writer unadorned (with awards for his work. the Nobel Committee still hasn't phoned me. i'm gonna check my instagram DMs later so there's still a glimmer of hope. y'know i'd take a National Book Award at this point.)

bonus: pick one: sex:
a) wild or mild: i like my sex like i like my salsa: unpredictable.
b) day or night: might
c) top or bottom: Nick Bottom
d) weekly or monthly: biweekly (now do i mean twice a week or every two weeks? *Muttley laugh* i'm such a scoundrel.)
e) noisy or silent: silent sex is impossible.

is the upset complete? did Anderson do it or did Djokovic come back? i don't know, i'm in the bathroom...


Friday, July 3, 2015



* man: i'll have this.
woman: i'm married.
man: no, the flowers. why are you banging on your keyboard there?
woman: piece of junk won't work for shit.
man: PCMatic.

* woman: PCMatic?
man: PCMatic.
woman: ..............
man: PCMatic solves all your problems.
woman: um sir, you can't touch my register.
man: with just one click PCMatic makes it all run like mucus.

* woman: wow, amazing.
man: it's all stored in the cloud. do you have anything stored in the cloud?
woman: just all my nude pics.
man: checking............yep, there they are. PCMatic just made them go out all over the internet faster.

* woman: thanks. the flowers are on the house.
man: they're fake flowers, i'm allergic, i get hay fever something serious.
woman: what's for lunch? an actress's gotta eat.
man: craft services had some meatloaf but i sneezed all over it earlier. wanna go out?
woman: sure, let me get my husband in the other room.
man: oh, menage. okay, my wife won't mind.
woman: yes one day i hope to manage this dump.
man: using your register now outfitted with the new, i just hacked into your company's overseas systems and bought this dump. i'm your new boss now. impressive, huh? by the way, you can't give away flowers for free, that's no way to run a business.

* man: by the way, who's your husband?
woman: Donald Trump.
man: oh. i'm also running for President.


happy weekend

Wednesday, July 1, 2015


Quinny: i don't like it here.

Binny: you keep saying that. you've got to be led by affirmations in the morning. i can send you that calendar of pics of that cat that looks like Kiss hanging on the tree.

Quinny: we're working for the Man. we're aiding and abetting the enemy. we're using our precious gifts for evil.

Binny: darlin this is simply the winning team. it's like joining the Yankees. everybody who's not a Yankee thinks we're the devil but inside the Yankee clubhouse it's not that hot.

Binny peruses a sheet of newspaper writing with her glasses and then promptly rolls it up and inserts it in a hollow metal-cage tube and inserts the tube into a hole which promptly air-pressurizes suctions it away to the maze of tubes on the ceiling way way way above.

Quinny: that ain't right.

Binny: i know, i keep telling him that nobody reads newspapers anymore, but he wants to be thorough. doesn't this remind you of when we worked at Costco?

Quinny: i am actually longing to return to our days toiling away inside a cavernous emporium that was for all intents and purposes a giant roasting furnace in the middle of the desert where there was no help and we had to lug around all those damn tvs. i purposely packed the tv in with the cantaloupes in one plastic bag, i wanted to see them smashed.

Binny: i always had hot dog duty. there was never anyone else manning the hot dog station. there was never any help. i red-light-gunned the tv and then the cantaloupe and then i had to leave to make some skeevy guy his hot dog with everything but relish. and then i was also on that duty where you had to check people's carts on the way out, check their long-ass receipts to make sure it all matched up and they weren't stealing anything. i honestly couldn't care less if they did.

Quinny: yep, i always perused those receipts while keeping one eye on Todd to see if that skank would try again. honey we are not meant for work, we are meant to work at home, bossless and free. we are thinkers not doers.

Binny: putting things in holes is easy, you're already a pro at it. it's good exercise, think of these tubes as those two-pound weights you used to lift when you first met Todd, well noticed Todd. it's better here, we're part of a real brotherhood this time, working toward something that matters, something bigger than ourselves. everyone must not just think their part.

Quinny: bigger isn't always better.

Binny: quick, get back to your station, we can't be seen to be fraternizing with fellow comrades.

a couple of comrade girls in comrade uniforms pass by, big girls.

girls: strengthening the union?

Binny: always. this decision isn't just good for this group or that group, this will strengthen the entire country. and soon the world.

the girls notice Quinny and put their hands up.

girls: we don't want no trouble, maam, please don't punch us in the mouf.

Quinny: psst, what decision?

Binny: wait......................................okay they're gone. Codrus the Clever has just announced that this section will be in charge of retyping all wikipedia articles. it's just like last time we worked at wikipedia...

Quinny: except it's not, it's completely different, right? what do we have to do now?

Binny: i'll show you on my screen. well come on over, i won't bite, you have to learn this. don't worry, it's not like they're cameras everywhere. see? we are in charge of memorizing the words of every page on wikipedia until we have a grasp of all knowledge. along the way we are to make changes to any sentence that doesn't quite tell the truth, subtle things like tone and footnoting credit up to where credit is really due. we are the updaters. exciting!

Quinny: i did most of this stuff the first time. i've read these pages, they all seem familiar. yes, yes, i know that one, i know more about Cookie Monster than i have ever cared to.

Binny: he can eat anything, that's why he's so appealing. ah, but i'm thinking you missed something on the first pass. see up at the top of the page, one block to the right where it says TALK in blue?

Quinny: no, i never noticed that before, never on any wiki page i ever read, it's so small and insignificant.

Binny: oh my friend, welcome to the brave new world. if you click on TALK, you'll get to the back page of the wiki article where all the notes are, all the concerns our fellow comrades have ever had about the article---sources, point-of-view, lies, deciding which picture to use---all the way back to 1984 or something, yeah i believe i read a paragraph on there once dated 1984. well our leader wants us to read all of that stuff, too, only then are you finished with the article.


although the area is cavernous, no one can actually hear you scream in this place, special bouncy rubber or glue walls or something.

Binny: keep it down, the girls will be back.

Quinny: nah, nobody actually cares. the patrol has to eat, too. hear that?


Quinny: what happened? lunch is over already?! it is, it's 1! did i even eat? i don't remember eating anything. it's just like fucking Costco. what did you have, dear?

Binny: dunno but i seem to be stuffed. that music put me in a trance. oh yes, i'm tasting my aftertaste now, it seems it was hot dogs, roasted to perfection.

Quinny: i'm tasting hot dogs too, they taste like room temperature. hey what is this on top of the TALK page?

Binny: oh those are the wikiportals.

Quinny: i'm afraid to ask but i'm more afraid not to know.

Binny: yeah see the Cookie Monster page has a couple of yellow boxes for categories that it fits in, the children's television category and the specialized Sesame Street category. if you click on Sesame Street here you get sent to the Sesame Street Portal of wiki............................................he wants you to memorize that, too, not complete until it's all done.

Quinny: NNNNNNooooooooononononononononon.................. *sigh* i get it, though, a tyrant must be thorough or he or she doesn't get past day one, his or her butler who of course is a double agent kills him or her in his or her sleep. as if it hasn't been drilled into me enough from all the spam i read, i'm never clicking on an unnecessary link on the side of a page again, no matter how shiny it seems or hidden it is.


the tyrant's current mood: not so tyranty

the air spills voraciously out of Codrus's first tank and he is in a bad way underwater with only a just-met apprentice at hand. Codrus is spinning out of control, literally. he still clutches his whiteboard for dear life, though, it's his only means of communication, it might record his last words, it's his samsung at the moment.

Codrus (writing): these are my dying words: Yayray, i'm hiring you sight unseen like what Picard did with Riker. you are my first second-in-command. you must take over the cause once i'm gone, if not i'm really gonna have a sucky death. death isn't the end unless you take my life's work and eat it like so much pure applesauce. eat it instead like the Beige Stones they are! please! grant an old-soul man his final wish!

Yayray: Omar Little killed by a little kid, Palpatine bested by teddy bears, but no, sir, not today, the great Codrus will not be felled by Finding Nemo.

Yayray has been chewing on the remnants of a rock he ate a while ago, small crunchy bits still line his gums like tobacco. he sees clearly now, it's a stone in his mouth now, he is stoned. he can spot a bacteria on a piece of flaky swishy orange and black coral oculina, he can see the nostrils of that bacteria, inside the body, he sees the bacteria's aura and chakra lines flowing. he raises his hand and it's as if there is no intrusive water in the way slowing everything down, that heavy blanket is lifted. before his new master is sucked down a huge black hole's tornadic whirlpool vortex to the bottom of the ocean, the real rock bottom, Yayray inserts Codrus into a yellow air bubble like it ain't no thang but a chicken wang being enjoyed at a ballpark on a sunny day, a twinight doubleheader rescheduled after a deluge of unusual rains.

Codrus gasps (and the audience gasps). is this it? no, he makes it just in time, Codrus's life is saved and life of Codrus continues.

Codrus looks at his hand. the lines on it are getting shorter. no, his hand is getting smaller.