Wednesday, September 23, 2015


the Pope is walking alone down the street to her canonization mass. the masses flock to her distressing their last bit of courage, strength, and identity in order to touch her. she doesn't need security, the strut in her step and her cold stare brings man to its knees.

the Pope: and i'm not even wearing my usual princess crown made of the Stones. this is all real, folks.

a girl in a Space Pope costume wrangles her way over to the Holy Mother and manages to get a selfie of the two of them. the girl gives the hang-loose sign and says "chille tid" instead of "cheese" as she smiles. the girl later threatens online not to release the picture until Futurama gets another season.

Anderson: Madam Pope, Madam Pope, please describe today. how does it feel to have


the Pope: you see it, what a scene! everyone should experience this sort of power once in their lives, it's intoxicating! all the nations. all the grapes. i'd just like to thank my agent Morty for NOT getting me all those bits parts in that dragon epic show, i'd still be an L.A. kook night-waitressing at the crack of crack and my crack hoping for my next tooth gargle commercial, they never wanted me to spit it out. being a failed actress was the best thing to happen to my spiritual life.

the Pope sashays her nice round butt to and fro down the street. the altar boys all line up with their saliva-stained tongues hangin and waggin. the priests put their fingers in their mouths and wolfwhistle. she removes her nine-inch heels, which are really two small swords, and raises them up in triumph.


everyone cheers.

the Pope: two granny smith apples.

Anderson: your butt?

the Pope: no, lunch. come with? hey silver fox cutie would you hold this knife for me while i slip into my vestments? come on, i don't bite unless you want me to. join me, we got the best smokes in there.


Bump: OMFG folks i am SO happy it's finally Fall. my Fall, this is my weather. i've been waiting forever for the freaking season to change. i can't stand the heat. see it's tricky because summer doesn't actually end until the end of September with that equinox thing but school and works start up at the beginning of the month. you've been jipped of your summer vacation this whole time, didn't even know it till now, huh. not when i'm elected. i'm more electable than pumpkin spice. i love that autumnal chill in the air: the seasons change, finally, you walk your dog past huge piles of orange leaves, you play a little pick-up football with the neighborhood watch and their kids in the yard---they have the time cos none of them are in school or have a job anymore---enjoy some cold cider mixed with illegal backyard moonshine that will never be regulated again, this is the way America used to be. and can be again. and yes, i did hire new writers, i don't have time for this flowery shit, i gotta get back to twitter. so i humbly ask you to join me and the very vocal silent majority, join us. i wanna build a snowman with you. you know what life is like? i'll share a little story to humanize me, happened to me just this morning: i was carrying so much summer sweat on my hefty person i gained ten pounds, mostly water weight. my underpants had grafted onto the skin of my legs. i kept checking the calendar on my wall, my real wall not my facebook wall, and today was the day, time for a nice cool breeze. i crack my window and it's TOO FUCKING COLD!!! i can't stand it, i immediately put on my Snoopy mittens and start dancing to conserve body heat. i mean you just can't win. it's fucking hard to be a saint in this world, people are just too complicated.


in the kitchen, Bridge is stirring the pot.

Bridge: i am getting you back on the sauce, darlin. *licks wooden spoon* mmm mmm mmm! that's the good shit! oh baby the oregano hints are strong in this one! look at that rich red color, the color of life pumping, of vitality.

Kenyatta: where are we going today? the hits on the Minority Board are going off the chain. all for this one fascinating hooded woman, she's suddenly become the most popular underground operative in the world, it's like she's got an entire kingdom at her foot. i wanted to let Cotard know but he's been off the grid for awhile. that always worries me, hope everything's okay.

Bridge: yeah we're gonna take a little side-rendezvous over to Brazil to turn her. how's your Portuguese?

Kenyatta: as broken as my soul. but i'm better with you. i don't know where we're going or how we'll get there, but just being with you makes the adventure exciting. you make the mundane magic. going to the store or to church is exciting when we're together. i love helping you with the heavy laundry basket down the two steps of our illegal den, i love being the strong one for once.

Bridge: thanks, babe, back atcha. i'd teach you about saudade but you have me. that reminds me, got the tamed jalapenos?

Kenyatta: yep. packed the almond milk in that leftover wine box i fished out of the ocean?

Bridge signals from outside and the girls race each other and eventually reach the edge of the shore of their private island and stop.

Kenyatta: where's the sub?

Bridge: i packed it.

Kenyatta: no, the boat. surely you can grind up some Stones to make the bottom detection-proof invisible glass or something.

Bridge: that's just silly. there aren't any Stones on this island. we can't risk it, we're swimming.


Cub: dad, shouldn't you be covering all of the Pope's firsts?

Wolf: nah i don't care about that stuff anymore. i'm crafting carefully in my head exactly a very special comment for Baleen's latest insta pic, have you seen it?

Cub: nah, actually i'm kinda losing interest in insta...

Wolf: there's Baleen there in his hospital bed. his neck cast is battered and bruised but he still manages to give the thumbs up. this is very inspiring. i'm writing now:

thank god it wasn't successful. take this as a sign from above, or maybe just here in America. there are higher forces looking out for you, and some on the same level as you. i'm praying for you and i'm not religious. you have no excuse now, you must live live live, always live. never give up. never never never give up. live for your kids, your kids will bring a smile to your face when you cannot muster one. you don't need to be a rock god, just a god to your children.

Wolf: and SEND. did not hesitate to send that one, usually i'm nervous about sending, i read it back ten times and make little changes and wait to see if i should or not, but i'm proud to post this comment. i didn't add emojis to this one cos this is serious. hey daughter, why is your feed filled with spam of some woman in a strawberry hoodie selling all of her various pink wares? i mean everything she's got is strawberry!: strawberry keychains, strawberry diapers, strawberry shortcake, both meanings, strawberry chicken, strawberry bugatti. it smells atrocious! i'm sorry, i'm trying not to judge anymore, i'm trying not to be media dad, maybe i'm not the best person to judge, i have an allergy to cute fruit with achenes. your achene dream is my nightmare. when i see those achene, i achoo.


meanwhile back at the rancho:

Erneste: how did you sleep, my mondo monk?

Cotard: too well. such that you want to remain in dreams. i dreamt of her again. at the end she always used to leave lights on when she left rooms. i was so depressed whenever i saw the kitchen or the living room or our illegal den in our garage with the lights on. sometimes they'd be on all night. her senility cost us pennies. i wouldn't say anything cos she was a proud, dignified woman, i'd just quietly turn off the lights myself and sigh to myself. she continues to leave the lights on in our dreams together, but she chuckles cos she knows all about it now. in death, all secrets die.

Erneste: well she will always be a part of you, more so now that she's actually inside of you.

*wavy dream lines*

Cotard: mama, we have to stop meeting like this.

Fuerza: one day, my stunted son. so have you met any women at the monastery? don't, not the porn stuff, let us never speak of that again. i always wanted you to get married. y'know it's not just for the sex, it's for the life.

Cotard: sex is life......literally. there were a coupla hot nuns who visited on retreat. one with blue hair was very powerful. but they weren't interested. i wish i had the secret to talk to women. i'm all about secrets, secret societies, circle jerks, i'm into all that stuff.

Fuerza: no, that Secret stuff doesn't work with women, either. there was early evidence that the Stones had been created by a pick-up artist as a way to get a date with a model. but it turned out to be bigger than that.

Cotard: i wonder what's bigger than that.

Erneste: what?

JUST THEN there's a clamoring knock at the gate.

Erneste unspools a telescope and takes a peek.

Erneste: oh no, not again, another strange woman at our door...


Jules said...

Falling into Autumn nicely there, my sweet.

Yes people are so very complicated, I find. Cute fruit, however, not so much.

Cotard has the secret, he just doesn’t believe it.

I love the meandering of your stories. *)

the late phoenix said...

mah dahlin the only complicated fruit is the mater. is the tomato a fruit, vegetable, or both? and while we're on the subject of Mater, how can a truck talk? *)

Jules said...

It is a complex little thing, the mater. A fruity little number that resides with the savoury. A split personality issue. And as for Tow Mater, can hear anything talk if you just listen. *)