Friday, July 29, 2016



* sweater guy: you're a nice guy. kind. hard worker. so why are you cursed? what did you ever do in a former life to deserve this? they're just fucking games!

* Dr. Mario can't help you, this is real life.

* customer: why are you wearing a green sweater? it ain't Christmas.

* customer: i thought you'd be Japanese.
customer service representative: nobody in business suits plays Nintendo. what did you spill all over your console?
customer: root beer.
customer service representative: why?
customer: i hate root beer.

* customer service representative: it was just the contrast you dumb nerd.
nerd: triggered.
customer service representative: i don't understand. this is the '80s. you want an NES Zapper?

* mother: i put it in port 2.
customer service representative: it won't work if you put it in port 2.
this training video brought to you by the Catholic Church

* i've had her pie. not that good.

* customer service representative: hello. my name is Jim. i'm just selling tapes till i get cast in a soap opera.

* customer: the cartridge doesn't work.
Jim: have you tried blowing it?
customer: how dare you, sir. how dare you.

* Jim: you're gonna need a Cleaning Kit.
customer: how much are they?
Jim: um.........uh.........a million dollars.
customer: okay i'll get one.
Jim: great, thanks.

* sweater guy: Nintendo has all the answers to your problems.
Phoenix: what of the problem of evil?
sweater guy: do you like my sweater?

* sweater guy: see this NES Zapper? i can't sell these anymore. this is what happens when you don't vote.

* sweater guy: we're in the entertainment business..............not gambling..........not associated in any way with DraftKings or FanDuel.......


happy weekend

Wednesday, July 27, 2016


Hartwin raises his arms for Harfi to carry him.

Hartwin: cry while you work.

Harfi transfers the injured soldier to his bed and casts him up on the Discobolus that was under it.

Hartwin: whatever you do don't tell my mom! don't want her worrying.

Harfi turns her frown upside down and wipes away the sugary sweat.

Harfi: you sound like an eighth-grader who got caught in the orchestra pit.

Hartwin: i am really bugging out. the bullet charged with an atomic ton of the Stones has maneuvered and is perfectly lodged in my heart. i see things. i hear things. i see the holes in the whole, i hear what makes the sound. forgive me if i blather. my thoughts are stringy and unfinished cos there's always new information streaming in. too many flashing lights.


give me a minute, my sorter's at full speed.


that's a little better but there's still the problem of imagination. i see all the volcanos in the world crumbling into each other, melting all the cities away, forming a new mountain atop a solo continent. the only discernible plates are the cracks where the identityless graves indent. it looks like a strangely delicious lava cake. i see the kinetic strands of blue energy coalescing around Rio. Brazil is the place to be, everyone feels it, monks and marauders alike. the world is on fire and only i can heal it.

Harfi: but are you seeing any useful intelligence?

Hartwin: always on time, i like it. always jobbing. yes. quick, get me Lieu, i'll direct him...

before Harfi can hand him the phone the ceiling drone has one last shot in it and takes it. Harfi shows it her back as she smothers Hartwin. the bullet pierces her heart and shatters the phone glass.

Harfi turns around and weakly gestures to the drone, mouthing, "thank you."

Harfi: (softly) god dammit, i was too concerned with your bandages i didn't obliterate that thing for good!

Hartwin: DON'T DIE ON ME! no, really. just your luck, the bullet was a blank. i used up their load. i'm special. so you are dead. but you've always had me, dear. my energy will keep you alive. long enough to.........say.......that you're healed. i'm sure i can. well as long as i last.

in the swamps Lieu is in distress bollixing the fuck out of his stupid phone getting it to work.

Lieu: with my bare hands. come on..........yes! i got a signal. where are they?.........all i'm getting is their last known location.........the fucking zoo?


the Rio Opening Ceremonies go off without a hitch, save for that press conference. Michael Phelps takes the podium and proudly declares that he's a fraud:

Phelps: i am not the greatest Olympian ever. i mean each swimming event is counted individually so it's kinda cheap, yaknow? i mean you figure the soccer team plays seven matches but doesn't get seven gold medals.

Matthew Chris: swimming! who knew? i just figured if you are unlucky enough to find yourself in a body of water there's nothing to do but drown.

Anderson: Michael, thank you for coming out in ancient Olympic garb. but what about the pot?

Phelps: yeah i smoke it. of course i do. everyone does. that's the one thing they don't test for. should. it'd bring people together. warring nations, forever factions, sadistic sides, everyone just needs to chill and get themselves a buzz on. we need to discuss ourselves openly and honestly. no more secrets and lies, that's what's killing us.

Anderson: and the Five palm you gave out of the pool after your final heat?

Phelps beams a grin so wide it cuts his teeth.

Phelps: hamsa. i was greeting all the terrific energy in this place. can't you feel it?


Lysander: well Carmen, does this mean i finally get a check from you?

Carmen: (on the phone) yes, thank you, you gave me a reality check. turns out i'm not crazy. my cats are crazy when they paw at the sheets on my big bed thinking the bed itself is an extension of my body. the bed is not my body no matter how much they want to believe. that's a relief, thought i was getting swallowed up by my bed there.

Lysander: you will pardon me as i sigh externally.

another ring beeps. Lysander can tell that this is no ordinary anonymous beep, it's very deliberately a mother's worried reachout upon heeding her intuition.

Lydander: excuse me, dear, it's urgent.

Carmen: i feel it, too.

Lysander: Madchen my dearest...

Madchen: pardon my hysteria, BUT MY BABY IS DEAD! i'm too harried to cry!!!

Lysander: WHAT?!! please calm up and tell me the details. fully embrace your sex and let it all out. don't clam up and be a woman in all her matriarchal glory.

Madchen: i know it, Lys. i can feel it. i must run to him. i don't need a phone, i'll track him down with my umbilical link.

Lysander: please, it's too dangerous here. and out there. i'm afraid for the general public in your state, you're liable to kill all those in your way. of course you wouldn't be liable. i'm calling Pinguis right now and arranging for her to drive you over to Carmen's cottage away in the boonies. take her large hand. just until i can figure out what the hell is going on. i'm with her. i'm with all you women. i'll call back liberally and check in. i'm with you. i'll find him myself if i have to. that boy isn't your son, he's not our national treasure, he's our hope. i'll send him over.............not in a bodybag or anything, i'm just sayin'...


there's a stench in the air, a foul red that discolors the cardinals and blues the chickens. a drift of dementia that depresses the landscape and dolors morals. attitudes which were always at the bottom seep upward to the surface, poisoning baby oaks. everything is one grade lower.

the funeral for Whoopi and Billy is an exemplary example of this. they get two lookalike impersonators to do a bit on stage next to the caskets but that doesn't lighten the mood. it's not the same comic relief without the Robin impersonator who of course is late after a coke bender and pleading with the police that he was from another planet. the serving of whoopie pie to the guests gag does not go over well either.

earlier, this was Miss Cleo's final premonition. Whoopi and Billy were on a spiritual retreat together to course-correct their sagging comic timing. they meet Miss Cleo who is now stationed on Anholt which suits her tax needs the best:

Miss Cleo: i sense you two don't know how to move on without him. he was a vital vein that can't be electrocauterized shut. that energy is gone. forever. you are left with a hyfrecator that's just a dumb piece of junk. but you knew that. you didn't need me to tell you that, ay?

Whoopi and Billy: yeah, you're right.

Miss Cleo laughs with her fake Jamaican accent that slowly becomes her own hearty laugh.

Miss Cleo: (in her normal voice) sometimes you just gotta laugh.

Yo-Yo Ma, a good reader of tensions in rooms, is tasked with being the closer. he does the only thing his musical instinct will allow, he stands up from the empty chair on center stage, and as the spotlight fades in and out on him, he picks up his huge heavy cello, holds it over his head, and throws it down onto the planks with a force he hasn't had to exert since eighth-grade P.E. the cello smashes wholly and splinters into a billion pieces.


Wolf: Mister Bump are you ready to join us now? the candidate is talking via satellite from an undisclosed underground bunker taking care of some "business." hopefully the notoriously sketchy CNN satellites work this time, sir.

Bump: yeah they're my drones they work just fine. yeah doing two things at once here so yous knows. but hey that's what a president is tasked to do, right? so i will do it. i guess.

Wolf: first question. i like this one. is this mine, Anderson? Anderson? was he at the meeting this morning? first question, pulled randomly from my red Cardinals cap i'm forbidden by CNN to wear on air, first question: what the fuck is going on?

Bump: my army, my loyal soldiers, PILLAGE! PILLAGE! you better, you were paid! PILLAGE! notice how i didn't use the other word. sorry. well, what was the question? well, Hilary, ignorance of the law is no excuse.

Hilary: that was a revitalizing nap. really needed that. it's not enough time. 100 days is not enough time to decide. how i'm gonna go about attacking you. whose law, yours? oh come on, boy, it's just damn emails! even if you saw them you couldn't interpret them, they're all in subtext.

Bump: can't talk.

Hilary: i know you can't.

Bump: i'm a doer. i have hordes on me from all sides. i'm fighting off foreign fighters from my left, my right, my center-right, and my sizable middle i keep covered with my belt and coat. but i love the foreign fighters. we love the foreign fighters, even got some working for me right now.

Hilary: please for the benefit of the Murican people, Mickey, elaborate. this oughta be rich.

Bump: it's the......uh......chapulling? yeah, chapulling.

Codrus gives the man nod from above.

Bump: heehee, sometimes a light bulb goes off against my will. yeah those guys over there in Chicken, i mean are chicken. they couldn't pull it off. nothing's certain. everything's uncertain. dark times. you look over your shoulder but all you see is the night. if you got the balls to plan it you better do it right. IT'S A COUP-SPIRACY!


the President has joined the Congress inside with the other protesters, the elected protesters. he wears a backpack over his shoulder as he steps up sluggishly to the podium to speak:

the President: i understand. i really do.

the President pauses for a moment and curls his ears. he steps off the dais ripping the microphone from its coil and begins pacing each row, talking stream-of-conscious in a low mumble with his fists behind his back.

the President: no i don't. i've been privileged. i've gotten breaks. but i worked hard for those breaks. i may not be fully black but i am human. and i feel hate like you do. it ferments silently behind the seal as i wipe each slight from my thin shoulders. but see you can never get swallowed up by your hate. and it will swallow you up. it doesn't care about your cause only your cost. it doesn't actually help but it tastes so good. it's like sugar. it offers debt but guarantees only death. your hate is justified. but as you can all tell by now, there is no justice for you.


Lieu joins the zoo. well he tries to. there are haphazard fights all around the grounds. it's hard to see who's who. there are no uniforms. they slink around like copperheads, fighting side by side as they run. Bump's Fight Nighters and the animals are running out of esprit and are filled with broken places.

Lieu: this is where the beep came from. but there are more beeps.

Lieu nudges himself into a particularly lonely fight of a man with a broken Russian accent punching in the air to his side as he runs in a circle.


man: punch me first.

Lieu: okay. y'know the running is the hardest part.

man: too much exercise. i can't think anymore. i can't keep up. i just want to return to my ailing babushka. Vladmitry.

Lieu: blackhat computer company you work for?

Vladmitry: that's my name.

Lieu: seriously?

Vladmitry gives the man nod.

Lieu: alrightythen.

Vladmitry punches.

Lieu: ow, that hurt. look man, what is going on? why do you work for Bump? i'll take your family in. i need all the grandmamas i can get. paying it forward for when my fam was Katrina desperate. can i ask you my first question: how do you do it?

Vladmitry: it's addicting. like a drug. this sense of fight. when a fight's setting up, when the first words are exchanged, when the line becomes a circle, our man hackles spring up, and the anticipation kills us. who will throw the first punch? what is the breaking point? every man has one. how hard will that first punch be? and when that punch lands, the humanity is gone. we don't think, we react. we are animals with red in our eyes. red is not a natural eye color. it's everywhere around us that uncomfortable atmosphere, always brimming beneath the surface. here, take a look at this, on my smartwatch provided to us at the morning meeting by Mister Bump.

on the wrist tv: Gordon Ramsay: (with spit on the sweaty face of a French chef) FRENCH PIG!!!

Vladmitry: see?

Lieu: YA BURNT! heehee, yeah i get it. i suppose. but there's gotta be a better way. grown folk shit. i'm so tired but i'm too worried to sleep. need to eat to stay woke.

Vladimitry: we got the family reserves in the shed. the good shit. what's your fancy? deep-fried pizza or the white pudding?

Lieu: you think cos i'm black i'll eat up the fried food?

Vladmitry: okay the white pudding.

Lieu: cos i'm black? you take the white pudding.

Vladmitry: cos you think i'm faking it and really English?

the two continue in a circle, punching each other between bites.

that is until Lieu receives another beep. from the President. the President's location.


Madchen on adrenaline ascends the covered hill spitting with flame and blade off adrenaline. Pinguis can't keep up.

Pinguis, huffing, hands her over with a hand and a nod in the air.

Madchen: i am too worried to cry.

Carmen bobs out of her screendoor and takes Madchen's hand.

Carmen: you poor dear.

Madchen: i am rich.

Carmen: come. i've drawn your bath. no usable water here. bloody-mary bath.

Monday, July 25, 2016


1. what's the hardest thing you've done? grow a spine. i refer you to that Next Generation episode where Worf has Klingon spinal surgery. note: don't watch that episode while you're eating dinner.

2. what did you do growing up that got you into trouble? extreme pogo. that just made my room messier.

3. when was the last time you had an amazing meal? what? why? why amazing? CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK

it's McDonald's, but it's McDonald's for us adults, ya know?

4. what's the best/worst gift you ever received/gave? i gave myself a McDonald's. i'm the supervisor.

5. what do you miss most about being a kid? pogo-ing. now it's all Dude Perfect and corporatized.

bonus: what is something you learned in the last week? marrying the ketchups was not what i thought...


Friday, July 22, 2016



* Picard: make it so.
Kirk punches Picard in the face.
Kirk: get outta here, Frenchie.
Ramsay: i like this guy.

* Sulu: OH MY
Kirk: what?
Sulu: nothing.

* Kirk: so whaddaya say, Uhura? we made history with that kiss.
Uhura: that was for television, Bill, the entire cast hates you.

* Riker: hello my friends!
Original crew: who the fuck are you?
Riker: damn. i worked hard on this beard. i really thought it would disguise me.

* always loved it when Spock would laugh like a crazy person

* bring back MCI calling circles! the internet sucks.

* MCI vs. AT&T, that was the dominant duel of the '80s. bigger than Coke vs. Pepsi. only later did we learn that everything is one big corporation.

* remember when Crusher mysteriously disappeared and was replaced by Dr. Pulaski? she didn't want to be there, the crew didn't want her there, Picard was more irritable than usual from all that blockage, CLICK HERE, it was an uncomfortable year.

* OTP, CLICK HERE ..........yes, a lot of things can happen in 25 years...........except for a new Star Trek tv series.....



happy weekend

Wednesday, July 20, 2016


Hartwin: i'm tiring of all this. when does it end?

the flamingos are snoozing. that was some heavy black chai.

Hartwin notices a line he can cross. the Fight Night goons and the gators are going at it. the toucans and toughs are tussling. the dinosaurs and dinosaurs are determining destiny. he calls up Harfi.

Hartwin: meet me at the shed. the moment i noticed that shed it ceased to be secret. i'm packing and want to go over protocol with you. how are you at handling weapons?

Harfi: i can handle a stick. if you knew me, you'd see how ridiculous that statement was.

Hartwin: these are the new ones. the jump guns. they startle the user as well as the used. what a time to be alive. i mean that in a negative way. when bullets brag over brains.

Harfi: lasers. it's all lasers now. always meant to cut into flesh, surgically.

Hartwin kicks and punches and lunges and sweeps and limbos and jumps and jumps higher and roundhouses and houses it and flips and mid-flips to take in the view of Bump perching on a tree and uppercuts which affords him his final view of the purple sky. he wonders.

Hartwin: this is getting me nowhere. i toprock and they bottomrock. when did we stop dancing? more men come out of the woodwork, sure of their cause. let's save trees. my knuckles hurt. but not my toes. one punch would be so easier. whatcha doin'?

Bump: better reception up here. i'm a sitting duck. just end it.

Hartwin: nah, i see your crazy hair frizzling in the wind. you make the sky gold. crazier than your eyes of which you have none. careful with that stuff. i know about drugs, they don't work.

Hart enters the cabin behind the bush and into the root cellar. there he barely makes out Harfi practicing in the dark, spitshining the long barrel of her laser guns like a pro.

Hartwin: careful. the newer models have two triggers which look the same. one fires. one self-cleans.

Harfi: now you tell me. triggered.

also in the underground cellar, Bump talking to Codrus on the...whatever:

Codrus: do you understand, my son? we are entering the second phase. it's always different from the first faze. your first time is easy, rarely are things duplicated in a row. i want you to act more presidential. this is coming from me not one of your yes-lackeys. this is serious now not a game show. i want you to be what i always wanted you to be. see you can still be republican but be dignified when you wear that smoking jacket with the too-long sleeves. comb your hair, you still can with the brush i gave you. take off that silly golf cap and wear a beret in solidarity. show that you stand for something not against. be for firm conservative values but also listen to Nine Inch Nails like John McCain, who is a real hero. be somebody your children would look up to if you had spent your life loving and not leading a wild goose chase for a stupid ball. democrats would be proud for you must govern all. even if it means losing. be humble, humile, human. folk can spot a robot, a facsimile, a copy. get up on stage and speak from your gold heart, never use a teleprompter, that's just trouble. above all no more bad words. just positive words. you must look forward to go forward.

Bump: yes, boss, i follow yous to the end of the earth.

Bump bumps his back on Hartwin's back, Hartwin busy surveying the area.

Bump: excuse me. hey kid, can i ask you a wuestion?

Hartwin gives Bump the man nod but it's too dark to see.

Bump: Wednesday question: how do you do it?

Hartwin: it's hard. but i'm not crazy. and i actually live in the real world. we must all live in the real world before it's too late.


Lysander is on the phone with a nice but frazzled lady who wants to be called Carmen from now on. she does not identify as lady but as cottage witch. she lives in a faraway bog that barely touches the edge of the Fell. telephone reception is droppy.

Lysander: no, you're not dodgy. anyway why are you so angry?

Carmen: i was hoping you'd tell me. that's why i called. and stop making fun of my bogan. you're obliged to help all of us. you took an oath, i didn't. i don't know who i am anymore. oh you mean mad right now? well i'm trying to remove the plastic off my liquid butter and even with my long curling nails i can't. damn thing is preventing me from enjoying my harvest corn.

Lysander: run it under the faucet. yes turn the water on first. recount your cat dream.

Carmen: oh yes, a splendid affair! they say recurring dreams are bad luck but every night i pray on my cinnamon Rice Krispies to return me to the point where my dream always ends, to see how the story finishes. there's not much to tell really. i'm on stage where i shouldn't be. it's not like i earned that ticket or a backstage pass, i'm in the way. the theatre is dark save for the calming moon glow of the overhead blue light. it's trained on the professionals not the passersby. i see my two cats on stage! the male and female one as the two leads. of course, my cats are talented. they're singing gloriously! and dancing perfectly! so graceful they dodge their tails and leap from rooftop set to rooftop set. this is a standard production of Cats on Broadway. but there are no humans around, just me. no dumb two-legs's in costumes, this is the real deal. real cats performing their aching lives. the audience roars in a fit of mews. and then it always ends with that golf ball bouncing onto the stage ruining the mood. what do you think it means, doc? like my cats are growing up, they don't need me anymore, i'm just their nuisant mother getting in the way?

Lysander: what do you think it means? you're a better judge of yourself than i am. i can't get in your head.

Carmen: seriously? i could have spent this money on cat litter you know.

Lysander: no wait, it just came to me. your boyfriend, right? it always has to do with a man. how is he?

Carmen: a boy broke my heart. and i ran away. and now i live in a shack. where it's hard to cook. i don't want to talk about it.

Lysander: you need to get out more. you deserve more. you deserve better.

Carmen: i mustn't. there's a special seed of wood that only grows on my patch of land. underwater tree. i've never told anybody this but this is why i settled there. what can i say? i'm a sappy protector, it's what i do. in the bogan blood. i'm hoping to craft the most powerful wand out of it to exact maximum magical revenge. the drones aren't on are they?

Lysander: i wouldn't know. above my pay grade. i haven't gotten paid in a while. i'm starving. i'm gonna get you in touch with two other brassy dames i know. girls need the girls at times like these. to commiserate. obfuscate. and eliminate. over tea. girl power, don't know much about it, must have slept through that class, but it seems to be effective. The Three Amigas type of thing.

Carmen: sure, doc, sure, whatever your lead is. and go ahead and scribble your number on that slip of paper.

Lysander: here's to reception. my writing is so bad i once killed a man cos my prescription was so illegible. but i can't screw up numbers, right?


Wolf: the terrorists are holding the Halls of Congress hostage. eleventh hour. they're sitting in and calmly assessing their next move, refusing to sit down until their demands are met. besides what flavor of pizza. the President is planning to join them after dinner. it's unclear whether or not they're wearing packs.

Wolf: in other related news, nobody is paying attention to the conventions. Cartoon Network just scored their highest ratings ever with inclusive Steven Universe counterprogramming.

Wolf: and now, sports. Anderson is, uh, still on vacation so filling in is Matthew Chris. traitor! just kidding. working for the enemy, huh? how does it feel? do you feel? is there such a thing as blood money anymore? hey take off that ridiculous golf cap! you're a grown man, bitch! what's the scoop, poop?

Matthew: golf. even older than tennis. even older than my wife. will wonders ever cease? yes they will if we don't choose wisely. here he comes now! the man of the hour! Tiger Woods at 70 years old pulls off a modern miracle, which is the only miracle we get these days, and wins the PGA Major! Tiger, Tiger, watch your step, those divots are deadly, don't want you breaking a hip.

Tiger: it's alright, i take something for that.

Matthew: so you finally get your next major when everyone said you couldn't. was that fuel for you?

Tiger: i don't heed the naysayers. mostly cos i've been in a coma for decades. but when i came out of it that rest really helped. i felt like a new man. they did something to me.

Matthew: just don't feel TOO energized, tiger! *HA* don't hit the jackpot with a Vegas waitress, if you catch my wind, HA!

Tiger: i don't catch balls.

Matthew: what's next for you?

Tiger: i cold.

Matthew: you're only as cold as you feel. what is your reaction to the untimely passing of Angelina Jolie and Ronda Rousey?

Tiger: i wish i could have. so strange.

Matthew: yeah they did a Thelma & Louise thing. who knew they were even friends? did you see that movie? i didn't, i only go for political thrillers. when's the next season of 48?

Tiger: it's not the same. it's Jack, Jr. the world has gone mad. it's swallowed up my madness, leaving me empty. i don't know what to do so i do what i've always done, what i've trained for. the only thing i know how to do: swing for the fences.


back at the base after a semi-successful mission, Hartwin crashes on the floor of his room using his phone as a pillow. Harfi slides her piece by him.

Harfi: did we win? hey you'll crush your screen!

Hartwin: that is the more pertinent concern. after all this phone is what we're fighting for. the light is burning my retinas.

Harfi: it's Lieu.

Hartwin: hello? swamp thing! how's the posting? well you sound rested.

Lieu: yep. no street slang, just proper Pope's English. lonely. i'm a little funderstaffed around here. i hate my phone.

Hartwin: i can barely hear you.

Lieu: after 8 seconds it inevitably drops the signal and goes black. story of my life. what important information am i missing? are you giving me the man nod right now in agreement?

Hartwin: yep. damn that's twice today it didn't work. in a row.


the ceiling fan is a drone all along. it spreads its long menacing robotic arms like a cold spider, beeps baneful, and points its gun at Hartwin with a sterile swivel. before thought, there's reaction. Harfi reaches for her gun and shoots at the ceiling drone. but the barrel was upside down. the golden bullet enters Hartwin's chest with a speedy slice. his right arm spasms but he is still able to direct with his left.

Harfi screams with blood.

Hartwin has just lost half of his breath but he's able to remain calm.

Hartwin: don't worry. it's not over. fuck the training really does kick in when you don't.


Harfi is beside herself with griefful shock. luckily the drone malfunctions and doesn't disintegrate the two of them right then and there.

Hartwin (with pierced breath): wait.....this........was......supposed to be the lasers......what happened.......

Harfi (tearfully): that's what i thought.

Hartwin: last of a dying last shot.........upgrades are always patchy.......need patches........modern problems.......problems with modernity..........not an ordinary's coated with the Stones.......Bump's family reserve?........i'm not least not yet...........i'm living for the first time.........i can see clearly now the pain is gone.......dawnest before the stole this from the enemy's cache, huh?......raided their drop joint....good girl....

Harfi: two stones.

Hartwin: the Stones are directing me to look to the past.......must always look to the past for answers..........when i was fighting.......endlessly fighting.........i looked up........and saw the angel on top of the all white and spaghetti straps.....hammering her staff down with authority....she was talking on divine direct to me from afar..........but you know it's not human talking..........angel speak is so powerful it sings in its speech.....


Hartwin's entire left side of his body has gone limp, his right side is shaking.

Monday, July 18, 2016


1. hi there. tell us about your job and what you do. i could tell you but then i'd have to marry you.
2. what piece of advice would you give to a co-worker? please be my friend. i'll pay you.
3. what 2 pieces of advice would you give to a new blogger? don't start. but if you must, start off using your own independent website, don't rely on any of the popular platforms, they don't have your back.......................except blogspot, blogspot is the best!!!
4. what 1 piece of advice would you give to a veteran blogger, someone blogging for more than 3 years? stop
5. what do you hope visitors to your blog see, take away, feel, or learn? take life so seriously you laugh.
6. have you ever had something happen to you you thought was bad but later it turned out for the best? i got really depressed. my therapist asked me if there was anything in the world, anything, that would make me feel happy. like winning the lottery. no, i thought. but then i got my cats. and from that day on i became a cat-lover for eternity. though i'm still in massive debt from all those lottery tickets i bought.

bonus: what was the last experience that made you a stronger person? IT'S ALL SUMMED UP IN THIS VIDEO, CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK.


Friday, July 15, 2016



* Ernie: you still asleep, Bert? you haven't moved in, like, a really long time...............i'll let him sleep. Bert's had a hard life.

* if more people wore nightcaps to bed it'd be a gentler world.

* you can see the strings. but those strings are string theory.

* the Earth. our world. one day we will have to migrate off it...

* catch: one afternoon in space is 100 years.

* ERNIE, MY BROTHA, GET YOURSELF A DIVING HELMET STAT!!! what do you mean the workshop is closed?!!

* you need a bathysphere. yes your rubber duckie can hold your hand when you get scared of the dark.

* ...more fish in the ocean than stars in the sea... (alternative lyric)

* leave the oysters alone! get your own pearl necklace.

* lions and dinos and bears, denied

* on a moonbeam and then, i shall visit the ICU...

* can't. that was your last wish.

* the key to peace is sleep.

* i would want to live on the moon. but only if i could bring my tv along with me there. and a sensible cable package. like i just want the channels i actually watch. Sen. John McCain, i implore you, make a la carte happen!


happy weekend

Wednesday, July 13, 2016


Lieu, dead to this world, wakes up, rubbing the sediment from his eyes.

Madchen: patched in?

Lieu fumbles with his phone but not really. he's amazed at how adept he is, the tiny apple machine is an extension of his hand, the words he types longer fingers.

Lieu: threeway?

Madchen: i prefer Comcast business-ready. on the call, honey? hey you aren't having sex with that poor girl are ya?

Hartwin: course not, why would you ask such a thing! i'm not embarrassed cos it's impossible. take a look at that violet sky.

Madchen: beautiful. so glad i came out of the cave i was in.

Lieu: i can't quite fit it all into my viewfinder.

Hartwin: keep looking up. beyond. see where it becomes cerulean. then beyond still. it doesn't turn black, it just loses color. keep imagining beyond. and beyond that. there's nobody up there. never was. nobody up there who can help us. but it's okay. there's nothing to fear. for as you can see, it is the sky.


at their first official joint press conference, Hilary finds herself overshadowed by the sexy-as-fuck Pope and is thinking this may be a problem down the road. it's one thing to not be trusted but charisma doesn't grow on trees. at least not yet. she takes one last crack of the bat before everyone really starts to pivot.

Hilary: so, as i was this thing on? *loud scream* ho, it's too on! anyway, Murica, rest assured, i know how responsibility is spelled. i take the decision to send in our terrorists to combat their terrorists with a serious heart. always know that i have my eye on the ball.

the Pope bends over to pick up her pointing stick and proceeds to give the national traffic report.

Pope: racism? not genetic. learned. and we better unlearn it quick or we will destroy ourselves. only room for extinction when debate has been extinguished. not a political issue. or a religious one. a space one. the folly of separate but equal. neighborhoods. dividing lines. men create maps, land is land. no races if we don't want them to be. all color is one color. we thought for centuries this would work out but it turns out humans are just stupid. like, we actually are pretty dumb. we think we know things we don't know. we harden our positions cos we can't read. we can't soften our fire cos we're thirsty. we oppose cos it's fun. we secretly want everyone to fail, not just the big banks. sure, anarchy is cool on a punk flag but i don't think you'd like it if we really were in anarchy. it's not all cowboy boots, dusty-green 10/6-gallon hats, noon duels for show, cheating at poker cos the only game you know is go-fish, and fucking Mae Western, uh, Mae West.

Hartwin: wish i would have thought of that. (Hartwin is still at the base.)

the Pope disrobes and stands in front of the flashing cameras completely elegantly nude, like a female Michelangelo. what Michelangelo really wanted to sculpt.

Hilary: not good. she already has more power than me. church is global, countries are losing borders. is it too late to unlock Bernie out of the bathroom?

the crowd all look at Hilary, which is impossible given the naked circumstances.

Hilary: this thing is still on?


Bump settles on his tweet for the night:

Bump: um, yeah, just use that George Carlin quote about golf courses. we off.


Lysander on the phone: ma'am, i'm afraid i can't help you right now, i have a backlog......of your previous calls i have to get to. you're a dude? i am so sorry. you have no gender? okay but remember you are still a person. never lose sight of that. you're worried about your cats. you see them on your midnight drink run at the kitchen walking upright staring at the open refrigerator door. no, rest assured they see the milk behind the pickles, they're just cooling off. too much sun is a bad thing. they reach with their arms and legs upstretched at you. that's beautiful. especially in these times. they want you to give them the Superman hug. go for it, animal affection is pure. oh i see, they have sharp nails so the hug hurts. love hurts. you can't stand hearing the nails on the linoleum as they stomp around the floor? it's pitiful to see them helpless with long nails, needing human help? well cut them. kden. no, the nails, never cut the cats out of your life, you'd be doomed. it's alright, if you're busy, which everyone seems to be, for what reason the stars know, the cats can cut them themselves.


the zoo, part of the larger wild wilderness park reserve, is the staging ground for a turning point. Bump assembles his men, pitifully many from the Fight Night folks, all gathering on the monkey bars. the monkeys, especially the lifelike apes, are not amused.

Bump: i am oft-criticized but never equaled. look up into the sky, men. you see that? we are under the auspices of a great leader. i follow him. he has our best interest at heart. finally we gaze upon the one person who we knew deep down was the only cure we need. we don't have to pretend anymore. we don't have to be disparate. and desperate. we can come together as one body, the body we know, the body we inhabit, and attack the virus that has been cluttering our brain.

Hartwin emerges like a seal from the water.

Hartwin: equaled? you, sir, are as old as the messy dirt in this koi pond.

the koi say nothing but their smug expressions, arms crossed, acting coy.

Bump gives his famous exasperated i-can't-believe-i-have-to-deal-with-this-douche rolling-of-the-eyes frogmouth look.

Bump: dirty water everywhere, messing with our minds. get 'em, men!

Hartwin: wait, wait, it's a good thing my phone is waterproof cos i want to show the animals and maybe some of your men hanging on a shred of conscience this video. you're gonna have to pick off some from the other side to win generally. from the Fight Night insta, does everyone know how you pay the bills? this conglomeration you recently purchased, ol' Mick? look at this filth. not only do you revel in shredding the fabric of society altogether, that's not polite, but you look to the horrors of nature as inspiration. you broadcast fights in nature, lions vs bulls, hyenas not laughing when they go against yakkity yaks who do talk back, eagles poking at snakes, shark vs shark. ARE YOU RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS!!!??? are you the same guys who set this up, pitting beast vs beast and pitching your tripod salivating at sating your bloodlust? deplorable!!! THIS is what broke the camel's back. you will pay for THIS. animals are one thing, but not animals.

the images are spread throughout the entire zoo from a specially-maneuvered Harfi drone. the alligators, incensed, use their trapjaw teeth to chew through their cages, even the cages with rubber bars that are just for show as an entertainment area. elephants rampage out of the palm trees and step on unsuspecting but foolish humans. a kinkajou slaps one of the enemy soldiers in the face with her tail. then she slaps him in the butt. and high-fives Hartwin.

kinkajou: i'm kinky.

the flamingos sweep Hartwin away to a safe area behind the abandoned ransacked owner's castle. where they don't miss tea time no matter what and amidst the battle provide the napkins for a leisurely afternoon of kake gohan and French 75.

Hartwin: delicious. compliments to the chef. what are male flamingos called?

flamingos (dabbing their beak edges with their napkin): how do you know the chef was a man? flamingos are flamingos, gender-neutral. when you first heard of food, it was your mother who served you, right? when did it become vogue for men to cook?

Hartwin: does this mean i'll grow up big and strong like Gohan? i always liked Gohan, he was filled with even more innocent wonder than Goku.

flamingos: afraid we haven't the slightest what the hell you mean.

Hartwin: thanks for the grub, yeah whomever. gotta go. kinda busy.........then again, maybe i'm not always so busy.

flamingos: right. fancy Harry Potter?

Hartwin: uh, sure.

flamingos: we're more Ron men. Ron gets shafted in the end and that's terribly unfair. that weaselly Harry.

so Hartwin and the pink birds take slow long-legged leaps haughtily, upper-crustingly


hands and feet are being trampled. on both sides. rivers are being pounded into waves. leaves are shaking like a leaf. even some errant bombs go off. or at least some wet firecrackers.

Codrus: i'm in your ear.

Bump: it's finally happened. i've gone crazy. i'm hearing voices. don't let the electorate know. smile when you don't know a question and defer to your VP pick.

Codrus: no you idiot, it's me. in your ear. if you took more Stones we could communicate telepathically, but it's dangerous for mere mortals blah blah blah. tolerance is the key.

Bump: yous. boss, it's million-minion mayhem overs here. melee, but it's not safely on my screen. it's scary up close. the other side came into some new men.

Codrus: just hold them off a little longer. hold the line like usual. my plan is in motion. soon that Hartwin kid will be felled by the sharpest sting: betrayal.


Fall In: and welcome back. wow, nice rowdy bunch here for a late-night show taped in the afternoon. is that real applause i hear? huh, same writers. did you guys get into the Match Game stash? it's the back half of the show no one watches so let's try to push through here. joining me on my couch is none other than 18-time Grand Slam champion Roger Federer!

*polite applause* *following the flashing APPLAUSE sign*

Federer: i've been sitting here the whole time. for 30 minutes. they wouldn't let me into the greenroom, said i was a bad influence. you could have at least offered me some of that Girl-Scout cookie pie Ramsay whipped up in the cooking segment.

Fall In: how did it feel to win Wimby once again? we all saw you winning it, we all saw that.

Federer: i'm announcing right here and now for the first time ever, you, Jimmy, are the first to know...........i am retiring.

*unawkward silence*

*the crickets are at the zoo*

Federer: there's one more thing to do before i go. i want to play Serena Williams. doesn't everyone want to see that? just to see, you know. what would happen. and this ain't no exhibition. both of us will be gunning for each other, full strength. 100 mph serves. like it were the Wimbledon finals.

Fall In: what's next for you, champ? oh sorry, got my cards mixed up. joining us to discuss the passing of Snoop Dogg is the greatest athlete of the world now, Mike Tyson!

Mike Tyson takes down the entire blue curtain as he lumbers into the studio and sits on Federer.

Mike: a distinguished gentleman gangster. he taught us all about cards and orange juice. he was the nicest rapper of all time. he was going to appear on my animated adult-swim comedy a second time as a springboard to his own spinoff. but alas, adult swim did not listen to the fans before it was too late. may he rest in power of pussy and pot.

Fall In: what happened to your lisp?

Mike: oh, shit.


at the carwash Madchen spies a seated heavyset woman following a green sedan on the conveyor belt.

Madchen: hello there.

Pinguis: you talkin' to me?

Madchen: why yes. Lysander's patient. i never forget a, well. reference. amazing to find you here.

Pinguis: it's okay, you don't have to feign friendship. but it's good to know politeness is still faked. yeah the doc ran me an errand so i decided to take the opportunity to finally get clean. as in he ran me out to do his errand. can't fit in my shower. you must think me pitiable.

Madchen: oh no. i notice, so i'm nice. i'm so tired because i keep struggling on. i'm so sick of society i don't care anymore so i'm in my natural human form. i'm the last of a dying breed, much like that car the good doctor still lugs around which must be older than even he is. and he tells me i'm the afraid one. now who's scared of change?

Pinguis: this time the change is bad. you can smell it, sense it in the air. i feel it in all my folds so i really feel it. it's different this time, it's that car barely runs on the hoverroads, it could use new tires.

Madchen: an obsolete machine on a new track. the air is above the tires instead of in them. why just this morning a used-car salesman tried to sell me four tires. for my hovercar. you have to wonder sometimes what comes first, the stereotype or the behavior. oh well, all that waiting-around time i was able to watch the Pope's address. did you see it? magnificent.

Pinguis: i wrote that speech. those words. i have a lot of ideas but no one takes me seriously. i've written a lot of things and come up with new words and quotes and sayings that i don't get credit for. net neutrality. by the time the wikibot drones come for what's on my private phone, it's already lost on some wikipedia link farm and the references are forever jumbled and attributed to someone else. more famous. prettier. i am the only soul who has ever existed in which if you type my name you will get no image results at all.

Madchen: that could come in handy actually. machines are fickle. unfortunately. i'm glad to have you on the team. i need all the help i can get. support for my exhausted butt. no such thing as too many friends. a friend is an enemy blah blah blah. welcome aboard!

Madchen extends her hand to Pinguis, a gesture the obese woman has never seen.

Pinguis: thought you were gonna throw something at me for a second.

it's hard for her to breathe but Pinguis manages an unsure toothy grin.

Monday, July 11, 2016


lawn tennis: bringing ex-girlfriends together since the 12th century

that moth ate the Bernie bird...

1. have you ever orgasmed just hearing sexy dirty talk? no, i'm usually just in the mood for pizza after sexy dirty talk.

2. have you ever tried scissoring? sure, i love being crafty! btw i really do go to the Huffington Post first for all my sex advice.

3. have you ever BDSM'd yourself? that's against my religion.

4. ever licked/sucked someone's toes/feet? turn-on or just doing it to please them? i especially love it when the toes are dipped in a nice vinaigrette.

5. got a sexual fetish? what is it? eggplant fetishini

6. what is the best way for you to orgasm? in private by myself

bonus: do you have a crush on a fellow blogger? who? rule no. 1 protip: never get a fellow blogger mad at you, you'll be the subject of their future posts for the next 15 years.


Friday, July 8, 2016



* well that sucks. and Fed would have gotten away with it, too, if it weren't for that meddling McEnroe.

* he's hot.

* the movement passed me by. there go my sit-ups.

* instead of mutts, let's call them multicultural.

* the main reason Dumper is depressed is cos his name is Dumper.

* these 1930s European scientists didn't want to be scientists, they wanted to be painters.

* and your Great Dane into a Greater Dane! and your toy poodle into a Transformers poodle!

* it was photoshopped. for this adult swim show.

* tapering off, that's the secret.

* not a kid in a dog costume, Yoda wanting to know how it feels to be an Ewok

* "i'll take the guy in the cage being my dog!"

* originally, the penis was in back. butt front. evolution.

* you forgot to walk your dog that one time, remember? you were too busy. dogs have longer memories than elephants.

* there is more bacteria in your daily glass of orange juice than there are swirling around on your toilet seat.

* when the Wolf's Rain transformation doesn't quite take

* don't be scared, it's just a guy in a wolf costume, in a wolf costume.

* i know everyone's mad but is this really all Brian's fault?

* please furry responsibly.


happy weekend, such as it is. i'm gonna drown my sorrows in Croissants on Sunday.

Wednesday, July 6, 2016


Lieu stakes out his position very quickly, running away to the swamps before nightfall. he plops down on an acreage that no doubt hasn't seen human feet in years, for nobody goes out anymore.

Lieu: can you hear that, buddy?

Hartwin: wish i couldn't, (on the phone) silence is always preferable.

Lieu: the bog is calm and full of itself. not a peep. the trees have fallen asleep, their willowy arms folding faster than Superman on laundry day. just the slight murmur of a wayward glowbug. assignment? sure, as long as i can sleep on the job.

Hartwin: give em hell, boy. i got my hands full over here. the princess has returned.

Lieu: Harfi?

Hartwin: Bump. he's brung reinforcements. the cheap kind.

Harfi returns to the base amid a shouting match of racial, ethnic, religious, and even some personality-based slurs directed at her from the mob squeezing through the cordon as they always seem to do. hate is superhuman. Harfi dusts off her dusty helmet and enters like a stoned celebrity.

Harfi: hey you think i'd blow up my own home? that was a new kitchen, just recently renovated by Ramsay himself. we finally went digital. refurbished oven. i was gonna have my first ramen.

Hartwin: good news, you'll enjoy ramen in your later years. strange, my skin is darker than yours.

Harfi: i have a vagina.

Lieu (eavesdropping): need me? i can come back after my nap. but only an emergency, this scenery is instaworthy.

Hartwin: we good. we clear. inside. yeah i love to set my insta to foreign chants. i deliberately follow all the feeds labeled Enemy Music and blast them all night from my barracks. have to pay an extra fee but it's worth it. Aunt Sam foots the bill anyway. just to rile the outside world. it's quite good music actually, i've picked up a stray word here or there. they were never the real enemy. obviously. the world is magic. as in, full of distractions.

Lieu: hey man, how do you handle all the followers and the immense amount of pics and quotes? there are only so many hours.

Hartwin: scroll like a motherfucker and scan. unfortunately there's no time to read captions. i'm sure i'm missing some inspiring quotes and heartwrenching confessions but i get the gist from the quick look. they added the translate so now i'm missing some inspiring quotes in their exact native tongue. i'm fluent in fluid. eh, also means i skip the native advertising. only have time for a peek so if the babe ain't showing her jugs at that precise moment i can only imagine..............i'm a sucker for moonshine recipes.

Lieu: feel ya, bro. mead for me. love that abandoned architecture page but then the guy started DMing me selling watches with John the Baptist for hands. John the Baptist was salty and i don't blame him, he was supposed to be the Chosen One, he was Jesus before Jesus. not a fan of the bible quotes, i mean that book is ancient! peaks peek. classic. how?

Hartwin: there are many bibles. which is the problem. the eternal eight. eight flicks of my pointer finger swiping on the side of the screen, middle finger if i really need to save time, but then the damn thing can't go lower anymore and you get the dreaded dharma wheel that flickers as much as my mind. this gives excruciatingly ample time for the fucking thing to crash, go to black, and you have to start all over. never mind about videos, it can't play videos, i cringe when there's a video to play, it will freeze and lose all your progress. instead, i imagine what the video would look and sound like. i haven't had the experience of a crushed screen cos i've never had a phone long enough, they all get chucked out to river.

Lieu: it's so beautiful out here. with a serenity that comes only before a storm. i want to take a quick snap and post it...

Hartwin: please don't, that'll ruin it. place your phone on the malted surface and let it sink. then swim to the deepest point of the marsh, feeling each uncomfortable wave on your blackened skin. good night, bro.

Lieu:....................i'm still on the line...........

an interesting vid lands in the middle of Hartwin's feed and plays unto itself. a woman with a withered Australian accent takes out her red-raincoated arm to feel the start of spitting droplets: it's a video:

oh the rain. wash away the pain. smell that? better than vinegar. my cats love the rain. can you hear them mewing? no that's me mewing, my arthritis always acts up when the sky is soup. where are they? nowhere to be found. i am so lonely up here on my little hill. it's so peaceful. i won't give away my address even if you're handsome. been there, done that, bought it. DM me, whatever that is. i'll give you a reading. for free. i'm so damn bored. should have never given away my tv. thought it would be spiritually cleansing. but it only made me crazier. goodbye, dearies. that's one minute, right?...

Madchen: hello?

Lieu: hello?

Madchen: oh hi dear. signals crossed. technology. no, let's you and i talk, i'm sick of my son. hey the GPS says i'm right near you! thats why. yeah i'm just off your swamp in a sidebog. the purple cave amongst the pink. see me waving? oh yeah it's night. i've been down here all day recording. my client better like this. the customer's always right? that can't be right. my blouse is soaked but don't worry, i remembered to wear an extra undershirt. as i emerged from the river into the underground tiding pool my goggles were stuck with all sort of undiscovered sea life. fascinating. makes you want to continue. we have a map of Cleveland but not one of the ocean floor.

Lieu: is this gonna be a monologue? i'm pushing RECORD and taking a nap, ma'am.

Madchen: i was scanning in a circle when i uponed a poor spider struggling to breathe under the painted rock. i immediately shut my camera off, felt good to do that, and i helped the little guy. he was so disoriented he went into the water rather than up the cave to light but that's neither here nor there. i'm proud that there's no footage of this. don't show 'em the good, leave them guessing, the public doesn't need to know about your private life. the air down here is so musk and particle it's hard to breathe. the water is so viscous i nearly broke my leg coming up. i must have been down there swimming around for hours. you lose your sense of direction. and i thought we descended from fish. i feel a permanent glaze of sweet oil becoming my second skin and defying any shampoo. count your stars you're up and outside, i envy you. they don't know about that perimeter yet, do they? you sneaky devil. no stars down here.

Lieu: hello? ma'am? how are you? fine evening we're having. let me transfer you to your son.

Madchen: no, don't bother, a man can't have his mom circling around him like a vulture. always.


Matthew Chris: folks, i was treated this weekend to the strangest event i have ever seen. you know grass? you mow it, you smoke it, i smoke it to take a stand, but apparently you play a kind of volleyball on it, too. with a net so low it's worse than limbo. how low can they go? and a green ball that blends into the green playing area, camouflaging itself, disappearing into the court. and metal sticks. but like for only two weeks. cos lawns are hard to maintain. i tried to machete my lawn once and instead cut my neighbor's fence in two. the top half. elevenis it's called. it's a tradition that dates back to China. first time i heard of it. strawberries were a bit rancid, gonna yelp that later. anyway this guy Roger won his 18th crown of england and they gave him a large golden pint of ale. which he dropped. cos he's old. and to the surprise of everyone, the crowd standing in the cathedral and those standing at home, everyone except his box, Roger proceeds to do a Crip walk on centre court...................everybody's choosing sides.........


Bump stands feet from the forum gleefully putting out his cigar on a reporter's mic. the mic's fuzzy ball catches fire. Bump has amassed a large army in a short of time, which is worrying. mostly recruits from his favorite site, Fight Night. these soldiers are all too happy to throw down. not for money, not for glory, not for hits, but for the hits. hey have lost their soul in this crazy world and just don't care anymore. they strap on their vests and hit all the soft targets they can, in the quickest and deadliest way they can, like an internet machine which must constantly be fed updates. havoc disrupts the streets nightly and no one knows where these foreign fighters are coming from, which broadens the coalition and leaves the public to fill in the blanks with their own guesses. each blast loosens a nut from the brain.

Bump: see this, folks? it's crazy. all crazy. utter chaos. we must fight crazy with crazy. it's the only way. these people are just that, these people. they don't listen to us. until we make them. we must take a globalization time-out to look into this to find out what the hell is going on. but not too deeply cos you don't want to get infected by them. this is why i don't play online games, you could run into one of their ads. disguised as sponsored content. besides i want to go outside and play. it's more fun to feel a plastic ball than a plastic stick. tennis? never heard of it. is it like golf? golf i know about, i swindled my first million from golf. online gambling is the best. great sport. golf i mean. don't play myself, seems like a waste of time and resources. i mean why destroy whole forests lengthening courses to compete with the increasing technology of longer clubs when you can build virtual courses in my office? same experience, right? leave nature alone. tech is the future.

the terrorists create a pathway for Bump to get to the arena where the next debate is taking place, a quiet library out of the way that will be forever changed and Google-mapped. Bump walks casually getting blasted with bomb debris from both sides.

Penyelamat: Google Maps is creepy. they have a 360-degree view of my hobbit hole. who exactly is filming this? and now...

Wolf: welcome to the first debate, Murica. we're gonna get our first dictator. Bump is late. Hilary, what the fuck is going on with you?

Hilary: i emailed my running mate all night last night. *crowd whoos* she prepared me. it's quite simple. do you want this idiot to have the button? you want this mental midget in charge of your son's death? and your daughter's pageant? you want this moron to funnel your tax money into his casinos? he is too stupid to lead and stupider to get follows. Putin will become his golf buddy. they'll play on a North Korean course during the snowy season. The Mickey will have so much blood on his hands he'll have to join a reservation. imagine that conversation. his orange hair will turn ginger! and we all know about gingers. FUCK YOU!!!

and the Secretary, wearing her letterman jacket from high school, varsity volleyball with the huge hawk emblazoned on the back, gives a patriotic double-barreled salute to the man just entering the arena to a track of mistimed WWE music that's caught in a loop. the crowd laughs but cringey.

Bump: (wearily) no, FUCK YOU!!!

and he does his best Johnny Cash impression but he is clearly tired.

Wolf: *speaking directly into the mic* THANK YOU!!! ratings gold. i'm getting paid this month.

but then Bump falls silent. which is very unusual. the crowd doesn't know how to react so they sit on their hands to feel something. Bump spends the rest of the hour typing on his phone, brainstorming his twitter responses for later that night.

Bump: an involved process. each tweet has to be to the boss's liking. takes hours to craft a tweet that looks like it's off-the-cuff. each word must be placed just right. that's why i'm always late.


Lysander: (on the phone) (as always): okay sir, let's make a deal. that's what all doctors do. PK? KP. you get the anchovies and the dough and we'll cook it in my office microwave. yeah get those Boboli crusts, remember those? those beautiful bread blank canvases. they were all the rage back in the day. discontinued? from Mexico? no, it's clearly italian. you're thinking Taco Bell, they discontinued their tacos to only sell mexican pizzas. you're worried when your cat suntans in the morning? just be glad there's still a sun. you know i hadn't thought of that. no, not ruining the dark leather of your couch. shame on you for owning a leather couch. i hope it does get lightened. i see the happy smiles on my cats' faces when they stretch themselves into a snake and take in all that natural Vitamin D, not thinking twice about the cancer stuff. you see it in their golden cateyes, which are closed. sunburn on a cat, perish the thought! don't want to imagine it so it doesn't be. cancer, what a cancer. as always it's a matter of enjoyment now versus payment later. yes i suppose, slather your pets with loads of suntan lotion like you would humans. SPF? they all work the same. for cats are smarter than humans so deserve to survive more. first in the frontal lobe. species pecking order. do i have some with me? sure, there're loads of unopened boxes of discontinued medicine in my backroom. you know medicine, it gets recalled before it can ever work. i'd charge you but the banks have failed. everything's for sale now. huh? samples, yeah, take as many samples as you want. see you in five. watch your head for flying bullets.


eventually the phone goes dead and Lieu forgets when exactly his eyes closed. a figure approaches from the night, gliding on the tips of liquid, her flippers not making a sound. she looks rather silly bumbling around in her heavy gear trying to walk straight. she doesn't need a diving helmet her hair is so thick. she gently moves Lieu to the outlying brush and wraps him in a blanket, only his face showing. she then takes some of the surrounding black and white muck and reapplies his face paint camouflage.

Madchen: there, dear. no one can spot you. safe and sound. woman used to live in the bush. got a clean sheet. no deaths on my watch.

Lieu must have really needed to sleep cos none of this stirs him one bit. he is lost in an expansive slumber, but before drifting to the point of no return, thinking of the day and the racial divide, he is



Harfi: everything okay?

Hartwin: (over deafening clicking of tapped keys) yeah. Lieu's got our 6. get those whey-butter-and-Jelly-Belly sandwiches ready, i've almost cracked the code.

Harfi: i ain't your bitch.

Hartwin: such a difference working on my home computer. well, room computer. room-temperature computer............i got it! i know where they are. and they are that stupid. or arrogant. same thing. they're at the zoo. you thought there were no more zoos. but there are. Google Maps notwithstanding. and that is also the hidden location of a cemetery, for that is also their grave. the animals will win. for once. payday's come early.

Harfi: please, not now. what a day. i need a snuggle.

Hartwin: sure. fuck their struggle.

*ring ring*

the phone is way on the other side in the bathroom. for security reasons. Hartwin fumbles to don his undershorts and glides otherwise naked to try to pick it up. the rings die out before he can answer.

Hartwin: well there's a lesson. if i wasn't so conscious and ran out there nude i would have answered in time. could have been mom. probably was mom. but she could have won the lottery. or used her next wacky faith to bring dad back from the dead.

Harfi: (smiling from the side) next time. get naked. let it all hang out. don't blush on my account, i'm just one of the guys. equality bathrooms i say!

the two crouch down and crash on the corner.

Hartwin: enter the bog of my body.

Harfi: what? you are spent.

Hartwin: cuddle in my arms. and i in yours. yours are bigger than mine. we'll always be safe here. together. forever. cos we are one. in purpose. in life. we have direction. that is so important. that is everything. we can rest easy though we have no pillows. but the other side feels the same. we fight the good fight not cos it's good nor right but cos it's ours. because it's the cause. no war will prevent us from going gently. no war will ever change us. we *side smile* snuddle. aimless no more.

the two exhausted fighters blend into the dark.

Monday, July 4, 2016


tasty. own homemade recipe. and i do mean homemade. who knew Burger King would make hot dogs great again? Wienerschnitzel will just sell pretzels from now on. okay, let's shoot the breeze. *after the funeral* we really shouldn't have done that, now there's no need to ever grow long hair again. happy about Durant? i got a win-win last year cos i like my Warriors, the chant and the glass bottles, but they went Patriots on us so i got to keep my beloved Jordan Bulls as Greatest Team Ever. no matter what Durant does he will never get LeBron-level shine, Stephen A. said so, so why bother? go to Washington and become a hometown hero. again. rings are overrated. that's why nobody marries anymore. now everybody wants to move to Iceland. everyone wants to live in Iceland. suddenly it's not as cold. but i hear you have to be a professional to live in Iceland. so i can't. shame. unless i become a pimp or something. not an actual pimp, like a professional cool dude who plays pool for a living so has lots of free time to roam the icy Reykjavik streets at all hours of the night. the save-the-ravers stumbling out of the clubs will mistake me for a lightpost. then i enter that corrupt parliament. why must everyone eventually enter politics? being a senator is hard. remember when everybody wanted to move to Seattle? my news? you don't want to hear my news. that's not what blogs are for. juicy, salacious, embarrassing, naughty? i am eating something juicy and salacious right now. barbecue............................................i just did a naughty in my pants.................*flush*...................well that was embarrassing. rough barbecue. yeah i'll probably end up on my scandinavian travels as the towel boy for that Burger King that has a sauna and be perfectly adequate at it.


Friday, July 1, 2016



* L. Ron Hubbard admitted on his deathbed that he was just trolling everyone. and what he really wanted was a dentist. you know how these things start, you get really bored one day...

* camels are no joke. do not mess with camels, they'll fuck you up.

* Jesus and Johnny Manziel would've been bros.

* wine is a hell of a drug.

* Jesus, the original Cobain. long hair and everything.

* Sbarro was everybody's first adult pizza, the pizza you used somehow to impress that girl at the mall.

* these were also the Greek men who fucked up the monetary system AND then also asked for Grexit.

* argon = Our God

* the Bible wasn't meant to be an ironclad set of beliefs and behaviors, it was meant to be an interesting read. it is the greatest story ever told.

* amen to that! too much fucking barbecue sauce! America, we are drowning in barbecue sauce! we don't know what food tastes like anymore! we just know what barbecue sauce tastes like!

* so, lemonade?

* nobody's perfect.

* God is dead---Nietzsche     Nietzsche is dead---God    when you're dead you're dead---Jesus

* huh, always thought Yu-Gi-Oh! was Satanic. (that exclamation point is!)

* if the Pickup Artist stuff can't work for Christ, it definitely won't work for you.

* a man of the times

* the tooth and nothing but the tooth

* no no, that's Jesus's pet whale's cough

* faith is not about what you see but about what you hear.

* i like Wales. i always root for the little guy.


happy weekend. this will not be discussed at Sunday's Homily.