Friday, December 29, 2017



* Maisie Williams was hotter when she was younger...

* i like Snow Dance better than Sway. sorry, Apple, Apple Japan wins.

* sheesh, why so negative? is it cos you can't leave comments? or that anything Apple is automatically hated? or that the snow is hardtack rather than fluffy?

* woman walks on snowy road.
woman: shit. i forgot to take my final.........................sorry, guys, gotta turn back...................i know you only have the equipment for one day....................why did it have to blizzard on the day of my final?!!.....................why the fuck did i choose to go to college in New York?!!...

* i've never been able to swipe and hold my tablet with the same hand...

* Sam Smith went on the Ricky Gervais Diet.

* yeah, that's the universal symbol of clutching a snowflake in your pincer fingers and letting it go. nobody actually does that with real snow.

* dancing woman: i always wanted to be a ball---
man: ballerina?
woman: baller.
man: you don't have to have balls to be a baller.

* woman: oh yeah, you're the dude from that Samsung commercial. i love that song.
man: Chyvonne Scott "I'm Moving On". i downloaded it on iTunes...

* two people dancing together, can't it just be that?

* man: excuse the mess, i was baking something on this table earlier.
woman: me, too *Beavis laugh*

* woman: is this your car?
man: no.
woman dances on car.

* woman: please stop spinning me, i get vertigo.
man: i'm sorry. but you didn't have to toss cocaine in my face. how are you going to be a ballerina if you can't spin? you're gonna need that cocaine.

* man: you can fly?
woman: i'm auditioning for Peter Pan.
man: but can you sing?

woman: want to come back to my place? i'm throwing a Kwanzaa party.
man: you don't have to try that hard, i already like you.

* man: please, before we part never to see each other ever again, i need to know: does William & Harry die in the new Star Wars?

* Capaldi: i was on set and i think i took a wrong turn somewhere...


happy weekend, my babies. is it 2018 yet?.........................oh yeah i forgot...............

Wednesday, December 27, 2017


President Bump is on the phone. he is sweating profusely and his greased palms are sliding off the receiver and the bannister of the Christmas scene propped up by an assistant who recently got her card back.

Bump: oh.....oh Gina......Gina De are too much for me......of all the weather girls, you had to moisture-storm into mine..............i can't take you.............your body comes through in technicolor and it's too fat to fit the screen. your butt is an endless explosion of ball, it expands out into the unknown jiggle universe and i can only gaze at its lines. thank merry christmas the unknown does not necessarily equate to the unseen. your wobbly woobly woozy Southern tits are bigger than all of our faces put together, come on in, everybody, there's room for everyone's noses! here, keep doing the weather while i simulcast on my tv, let me just slide on my watch, wave in the studio if you can hear my voice. Gina..................oh Gina....................GINA!!!  

Martin Lawrence: not cool, man.

Melania, who is still a robot: sir, no Gina. these are the kids you call to tell them Santa's route.

Bump: aw shit. bye kiddies, got to keep the line open for real emergencies for fat men.

Mooch: sir, you have a call from Binomo. not sure if it's important.

Bump: saved by the Polish bell, which rings for eternity. hello?

Binomo: you know Binomo?

Bump: sure. it's binary.

Binomo: ...........oh...............was not expecting that. thought you would go for bitcoin first. bite on give you present for being so great.

Bump: you Polish Jews are lagging. the Jewish Jews already gave me a train. i've always wanted to be named after a train, that seems perfect for me, huh. my name will resound in the halls of all the brown buildings.


i drift. i daze. i doze. at this moment i am thinking of fucking Auverin. a daydream slightly hardened by sex, making the love less airy. and it is at this moment that Auverin in her infinite wisdom sees fit to burst my bubble.

Auverin: i know we go to the peace-and-love university, but i was reading in that paper under your boot that campus crime is on the rise. rapes are increasing like a motherfucker. our boys are smart so they feel entitled. our girls aren't safe. tons and tons of men. this is movement time. this is the time for you to move. me, too, i've had a few close calls.

i open one eye. i'm tempted to say it's cos she's hot but thankfully my mouth is still full of drool.

Auverin: i know, it's hard to think such atrocities are committed on our beloved grounds. but they are, in secret, in late-night bedrooms and smoothie stalls and study sessions. no sexual assault should ever be ignored, sex is a sacred act, not a play.

i don't know what to say. i am not versed in these matters. i lie back and stare at the dancing flames of the fireplace. you know i don't remember if the lounge actually had a fireplace. but it would be perfect it there was one, wouldn't it? a brick fireplace with a running fire framing the rest of the stacks of bright-red hardcover books like concrete slabs in this watery Alice in Wonderland setting.

Auverin: my former roommate, let's call him Vivian, was a transgender. quite vulnerable to the entitlement of her peers. she would harass me constantly about tips i had on how to be a girl. i had none, never thought about it. she thought being a girl meant being a slut. she had short hair and didn't look like a girl at all. on Diversity Night at the frat, she went upstairs, never go upstairs, and before she knew it she was in the middle of their gigantic Arab rug which was bigger than the four corners of the room, having a frat train run through her. or over her in her case. that's not the sickest part. a few days later she got the surgery. she was now Vivian the man. he was spreadeagle on the gurney, i missed the first gurney, and i held his hand as they loaded him in the ambulance. he was desperate to know if i had any tips on being a guy. i had none, never thought about it. he was intimating that he might find himself in that very same dorm situation on the other side if he ever wanted to fit in. he equated. he thought all boys were gang-rapists.

me: twisted! not him. i mean her. society in general. what happened to culture? what breeds such thinking? we need to get back to books. books are funner than sex. we need to get back to science-based. and evidence-based. no more feelings. nerds, virgins, that's what college is for.

Auverin: i feel bad to this day. sometimes it's just not worth being single.

me: sucks for your ex.


Anderson Cooper raps his knuckles and bites his toenails. he knows he has to make the call but he's delaying his tactic. his socks are full of holes.

Anderson: okay, Andy, let's go. Ande and Andy, the New Year's Twins.

at the Ball Drop, Andy Cohen is there chipper as ever in his powder-blue suit and bowtie and there's Anderson in the matching suit but Amderson is dour and just not feeling it.

Anderson: America will not be able to take us. two gay men all at once, it's too much. New Year's is already gay enough with the horns and streamers and hats and stupid glasses and shit. and the pound of confetti.

Andy: well thank you very much Debbie "Hugh-Downs" Downer.

Anderson: sorry, not in a celebratory mood.

Andy: y'know i usually spend New Year's with my wives. our trivia is naked.

Anderson: i KNEW you were tv-gay only!

Mooch: Mr. Anderson, you have a call.

Anderson starts to cry and fans his face with his fingers.

Kathy Griffin: Coop? is that you?

Andy Cohen scowls. but the three of them are friends.

Anderson: omg yes, baby! you're live on the air so watch the language. there much i want to say to you. so much was left unsaid after your scalp.

Kathy: it's just a phone call. you can't see me. are you crying? i can't tell over the phone if you're crying or that's just your normal voice.


at some point we exchanged numbers. but it was probably just our stupid dorm numbers. not the phone to our real houses, where one of us would call home. that all but assured i'd never use that slip of paper, never push those buttons. i mean what would i say? our classes were over.

me: is there any reason to call up a fast-food joint? what would i say? i mean the menu, the FDA allowances ingredient percentages, the hours, the location, are all online.

Auverin: maybe to see how that lonely kid with the pimples getting your fries is doing. check up. everyone has a day. here's your protein.

Auverin hands me a half-baked microwaved half of a hardboiled egg she was keeping hidden under her brown sandwich wrap. that yellow center looks good enough to eat, i am drawn to it. as i'm about to suck out that yolk hard as hardtack snow, the yolk half-circle explodes in my face, sending bits of food particles everywhere, dotting the landscape of the book stacks with yellow dots. to this day i have a dull ache lining the roof of my mouth. it hurts to speak.


and so we made a habit of it. at first it was punctual like a freshman and his caf card, but the race to sophomorehood demanded we lax our standards and meet up "accidentally" in that same library lounge room whenever. whenever we each had time, whenever we were not strung out on anxiety and tv revivals. soon it became apparent to both of us that we were not rendezvousing by chance but out of necessity. well it became apparent early for the girl of course. boys are too busy always trying to trick and evade. in fact as the summer session went on it really was never about school or getting ahead at all. on the contrary it was quite the opposite. it was about staying still, living in the moment, and all the clichés hence, trying to have an experience apart from the rigid learning structure, actually trying to be able to breathe a freedom which lived in the street above campus. i walked that street many times, smelt its gutter, got my foot stuck on its grate, but i was never really a part of the city, i was hamstrung and invisible-lined by the student card in my wallet. i wasn't yet a worker, still a grinder. yes sure i was in college, but i was a mouse going from room to room, lifting my nose to see if this was the mythical cheese. but it was always only the daily special, melted cheese on fries. a mouse turning corners before seeing them, opening and closing doors, constantly opening and closing all the doors in all the buildings. those beautiful old buildings crafted in Romanov grey and partitioned in whiteboard. doors laborious like from a coffee-stained New York City public city school or the old New York Times building. the library was my sanctuary, but not a student's sanctuary. it was because here i could close my eyes and pretend i didn't have to read a book by dawn, i could peruse a magazine breezily instead. the library was a bigger version of my room back home.

Auverin: do i tell you about my day? do you want to know everything? every single detail and how each detail made me feel?

me: please, pull up a couch. i need an excuse. i'll always need an excuse.

Auverin is munching a sandwich in her brillo snowcoat pocket, she's even starting to bite like me. bite her food that is.

me: i've decided i don't like restaurants anymore. they're too stuffy and full of life. there's always that cramped laugh from faraways that you never know what was so funny, you almost wished you knew the joke. almost. the tvs are always tuned to golf, never to Jeopardy except that slim timeframe you're not there...

Auverin: let's go back to when bars were bars, '80s bars with neon signs inside and dirty glasses. where you had to smoke to get in. the bathroom is the kitchen sink. the sliding counter is a little too long and the chairs are a little too high and the pool tables have no felt. back when people still bumped into their soulmates at bars. i don't like the changes to Jeopardy. the contestants don't get out from behind their booths at the end of the game anymore. i miss seeing their legs.

me: ...and the burgers are always too heavy at night. you can never eat them all. leaves me languished and lethargic. too many damn caramelized onions, enough is enough. and the wait. the endless fucking wait for EVERYTHING. the appetizers, the drinks, the preplates, the postplates, the second water, the second waiter, the check to see if everything is fine, of course the food is tasty it's a restaurant, the fourth course and the final course of dry-ice ice cream. and the cheque. and the credit card. and the 15%. and the parking validation. and the watering of the mini Christmas trees which are just stumps of brown branches by this point.

Auverin: sounds like you have a people problem more than a food problem. strangers sitting too close to you on the edge. if anything there's food if there's not much conversation. i like the café now, which is weird for a junior. i feel out of place and it's always crowded but the fare is light. me and a sandwich, i'm set for the day, it's enough.

me: that does smell good.

Auverin: pumpernickel, hamhock that tastes like ham, almond meal, deli dressing, okra pickles.

me: no protein?

Auverin: is that a sex joke?

me: everything is. this college-math final is doing a hurt-job on me.

Auverin: why the hell are you taking math? nevermind, no need to explain, i have parents, too. i think i forgot to take notes today. oh well. it must be the shoes.

me: i need something to do.

Auverin: you need a distraction.

me: i'm too boring to blog. i should start a closet band. i suppose talking to you will suffice.

Auverin: no worries. what's the difference between a D+ and a D-, really.

me: you know what would be extraordinary? if Christopher Plummer gets the Oscar for that ten-day performance instead of Kevin Spacey.

Auverin: i was just thinking the same thing.

Monday, December 25, 2017


Harry Connick Jr. is like a more attractive Morton Downey Jr.

1. do you celebrate Christmas? does the Pope poo in the woods?
2. tell us about your Christmas celebration. when i was a kid i would put on elaborate Disneyesque animatronic ride attractions for my parents. now i barely drink wine. and it's not even mulled wine.
3. what season is it where you live? permasummer. i need to stop wintering in Florida and start wintering in winter.
4. it's the end of the year. what are you still trying to accomplish before the end of the year? i faltered there for a moment. i read that as the end of the world. those spaceships that are supposed to fly us all out of here still haven't been constructed yet have they. what are we waiting for!!?
5. do you have any plans for New Year's Eve? it's that strange week of eerie quiet after Christmas but before New Year's. there's nothing to do, nothing to celebrate, all the stores are still closed. this year i'm gonna try to kiss myself. they say it's possible if you French-kiss yourself.

happy Christmas, my babies. didn't get what you wanted this year? how do you really know if someone loves you? only if they die for you. if they didn't die for you they didn't really love you. that's from Tender Touches.


Friday, December 22, 2017



* they say this one lacked their usual magical spark.

* remember when was the ONLY place to find a job? ah, the '90s. for the record, i never found a job on

* don't drop that book! you'll need it later!

* imagine if the kid had a soccer blanket. Wayne Rooney would be under the bed.

* kid: Jim Henson, is that you?
Jim Henson: you know my name?

* y'know all kids don't write their Ns backwards, that's a stereotype.

* pink earmuffs, right on, the movement is growing.

* wear a crown. no wait, copyright.

* kid: so are you like Morrissey?
Moz: well we both have one yellow ball.

* kid: yo man do a jheri curl.
barber: ...

* so the world is like that poster on the wall?...

* Wayne Rooney's dad: mad goalie.
father: my kid's a narcoleptic, okay?
Wayne Rooney's dad: he's a drugs cheat?
father: his sports hero is that goalie who slept through the World Cup.

* father: were you tied to the goalie-post again?
kid: *nods*
father: my boy! making friends wherever he goes!

* kid: *writing* i want an orange...
Santa: your handwriting sucks.

* Electronic Battleship is for wimps. real men made the sinking explosion sounds with their mouths.

* Moz: you missing a sock?

* yep yep, high-five to the father, we see you

* Moz: Happy Christmas, kid. i left you my brown ball of trash.

* kid: it's a black hardboiled egg? not cool, man.
Moz: this is like Her but more creepy.

* kid: it would have been more emotional if you died in outer space. or never existed. or existed only in my heart.
Moz: i'm here to sell toys.


merry christmas, my babies

Wednesday, December 20, 2017


not like me. nothing like me. why was i there in the summer? let me count the ways. my aborted college career was one of fits, starts, and giving ups. i changed my major so many times on multiple occasions i came back around to English because i realized i was just gonna be a fucked liberal-arts person the rest of my unnatural life anyway. there is no either, only ether. i would have gained more life experience apprenticing at an AutoZone on the weekends of a small town which had two strip clubs for every church. at one point i even considered changing midstream to Rhetoric cos i was visiting a job fair on campus with my parental units on a mental-health check and some old bucktoothed chick handling a boomerang like an asset dazzled me on Rhetoric, the wave of the future, the tool for all life professions. she didn't have buckteeth, she wore buckteeth around her neck. Rhetoric is just English, it's all just English. i quit uni all together the first time cos i had a panic attack at a Lucky's. the second time was right before 9/11 and i figured the universe was giving me a sign to slow down and relax and take stock of my life which of course can all be goned in a taken-away flash of puff. so i answered the call and did nothing. meditated and mostly vegetated on my fragile existence. plus the demonstrations here alone would have been so congested there was no higher learning to be had. my schedule was so jumbled now i was either getting ahead or catching up. whatever the case i certainly wasn't getting head. i think i was doing the right things, the smart things, moving forward, but it's tricky. 3 is the dangerous semester, a dark section of wishywashy uncertainty and trained trepidation. 8 is so far away...


at FBI Headquarters, Comey is making headwinds.

Comey: my girlfriend is nagging me about this. i mean my wife. i want to talk about Buddha and wading in streams and grey rivers and shit but all anybody wants from me are those scratchy fighter-pilot tapes i held onto under my jet bed which verifiably and undeniably finally prove the existence of ET life. it's NBFD. everyone knows this for years. ET is real. ET saved me from committing a serious case of upset stomach by ingesting too many Pepto-Bismol pills. that's why the tabs are dotted. and no this isn't a clandestine promotion for the new season of X-Files, Fox is out there without a preserver on his own. but yes this does happen to be falling on the Winter Solstice.

at the Virginia Delegate Chase, the final voting tally after the third aborted recount is the exact same number for both the D and the R. dame and the rigor mortis. so, according to the constitution, they draw lots like a medieval charity case and that's democracy. Chris Matthews was right all along.

the madam candidate takes the coin upon her pretty little finger and flips it in the air. her male counterpart gets to call it in the air, it's only fair. she has less strength so at first everyone is thinking the flip didn't go all the way around and is invalid and she doesn't have thumbs. but it did. it's just that the coin is now floating in midair and will never land for all eternity. science.

the coin was stopped in its tracks by the spatial interference of the trail of time-dust left by the faster-than-a-sweating-bullet UFO which just whizzed by. no one will ever win.

Comey smiles knowingly. cos he's getting a twosome tonight.

at Anderson Cooper's sprawling palatial apartment on the Upper East Side, he's still tapping on the glass of his half-full stained goblet of Old-Fashioned.

Anderson: i feel half-empty. whom do i invite to New Year's? upfront just letting you know, it's not Wolf. this is turning my hair white. i have to start slashing this list and letting the losers down hard. time to thin the one who's thinning.

Anderson on his old-fashioned black phone with the long stem and streetlight speaker and dial-up plastic circle and receiver that hangs on a gold carriage and looks like a mini Bono plastic bullhorn: Billy? thought i lost your number. sorry, buddy.
Corgan: y'know even great bands have a shelf life. it's good for me and it's good for U2. the Foo Fighters have nothing left to foo i mean prove. i thought they said they had R.E.M.'d themselves long ago and faded into the sunset. be honest, you hate Ryan Seacrest more than me. you are sick of what the news has become now and wanted to Kelly Ripa yourself into oblivion.


me: fernweh.

Auverin: doesn't count. that's just German saudade. or German sonder or something. btw nobody ever pronounces saudade the right Portuguese way with the je at the end.

me: thank god for Wikipedia. it's sad when you can't read your own writing.

Auverin: good luck. all i get are articles about donating $3.

me: can you belive THAT is Gary Oldman?

Auverin: i know, right? he is sure to win the Oscar. no seriously, useless to watch the broadcast this year, he is guaranteed 100% no-drama, he WILL win the Oscar. listen, Oscar LOVES when a seasoned veteran puts on hellish makeup and bad shoes and looks literally like a completely different person.

me: Hold Me.

Auverin: i thought you'd never ask.

me: no, the Fleetwood Mac video. with the desert mirrors, which are a bad idea when you think about it. that set was a fucking nightmare to work on. without their intra-relationship piranhic infighting that band would have broken up years ago. never has there been a band in the history of music that so wrote all of their songs strictly looking inward to their internal chaos and not once looking out externally to the larger world. theirs is the beautiful strains of one big lifelong strained orgy.

Auverin: what a sound! but that Mick Fleetwood was a British horndog. isn't it enough that the band was unceremoniously named after him when it should have been called Sex With Stevie? a toady toddy. no way a bloke that Bigfoot hairy would get bush without drumsticks in his oily palms.  

me: doesn't matter had sex. the ugly lanky man fucked Stevie Nicks, that's all that matters.

Auverin *laughing*: in her prime.

the fuck didn't go over too well in the library, we were asked to shut off the lights. or maybe the library was closing just then. we huddled together the two of us and i was told over the loudspeaker to take out those cute little lanterns from under our desks, the ones with shields made of stained-glass carnival glass, suction-cup them onto the tabletop, and flip the switch.

Auverin: do you believe human hibernation is possible?

me: you've asked exactly the wrong person. i would never tell you.

we just stared at my little lamp and its small shade. our limbs crossed on the puffy out-of-place couch. there is no night in a college student's experience, it's all just one big flowing stream of consciousness. after about an hour i realize how awkward it is for me to be holding two pillows while Auverin holds none.


"i tried the muffalata. wasn't half bad." it was Auverin's turn to start. the days all melted together that summer, in the long beanpole of the few weeks before the fall semester would begin up again proper. not gonna lie, i was sweating it. i had been through change of seasons, even those here in my strange land, but there was something heralding and collapsing about the fall semester that not even the spring semester could branch: it was the big one. the one where all the high-school seniors tasted their first tongue and breathed fire into their learning. the one where i became old hat and could no longer buy a hat at the student store. where no matter how confident you were it was just one year, anybody can do one year, try four years, or rather eight wobbly blocks. for each section spelled disaster, a brand new crew of disgruntled professor-rejects teaching, all new cast of characters as your soulmates with the same books. at least in high school you had four years to make your bully your best friend. here, there was too much climbing the ladder to look down at the human detritus you were stepping over. upscale progression still has a marble roof. the tower comes to a point. no time to make real lifechanging mates promised in the brochure, too busy keeping your family as friends. i dunno, the fall semester is different. uneasy. it forces a freshness on you right as you have settled into the warm rain of your sidestall. the worst part is, you never have a chance to say goodbye. everyone rushes to burn through that final with just enough wit for the C or the P and they forget what college really is for. they have a train to catch. to where? your parents? come on! i'm your family now, remember? it makes me skittish.

but i dare not show that to Auverin, who supers in confidence. she wouldn't understand. or she would understand too achingly well that our conversations would never end and eventually bend toward justice. is there such a thing as giving too many fucks? y'know there was something about that girl. maybe it was because she was the last girl. yeah, that must be it.

i lost my mind when i was with her. in a good way. distraction would turn to delicacy. time would interchange with light. i would find myself on the new smelly sofa they installed next to her butt and not give it a second thought, it felt natural and right. mostly comfortable, but there was that slanted upcurled beltbuckle of hers which always screwed up the perfect symmetry we could have had. i would never know what time it was or how i got there. what time it was outside most importantly. it was always after a test or half-baked job or whatever, it was Auverin time at the Stacks. i nicknamed her Stacks in my mind, she never knew about it, i never told her, too embarrassed, but it was funny to me cos she was skinny as a book of poems but still hot. and of course the rules about eating were thrown out long ago, we might as well have been library mavens by this point.

she with her caffeine gum and me with my latest dish of exotic stew i gleaned off a menu from visiting an Indian restaurant alone for the first time without my folks, proudly. forget how i paid for it, probably with their cash. gejidabo. and i always pulled it out of my backpack the bottom of which was garnered with a bed of pink sea flowers. for some reason. i picked them. plucked them. from the subby streets or college garden, to mark my along the way.

Auverin: are you sure you were actually physically at a restaurant or you were watching anime catpeople eat on a screen? as time goes on it gets harder to tell the difference. careful. you're becoming more hipster everyday. i'm forgetting the cool Californian i weirdly met a year ago.

me: has it been a year? weird. that was all a show of course. and not because i'm a drama minor. fake it till you bake it. i'm pretty sure i don't know how to surf. what is it with these blocks? i hate semesters, they're too short. they cram everything into a wet ball and jam it down our throats like desperate sophomore sex. all the fuzz is gone, no nuance. years, man, years, give us a year to breathe it in.

Auverin: i'm sure this all boils down to money.

me: yeah i know what you mean. video games today have TOO good graphics. their faces are so realistic and lifelike and made with microscopic nanopixels i pee my pants when they speak. so you never explained why you're taking off-color summer classes.

she responded but i don't know anymore. i'm sure it was something about her trying to get a leg up on her competition and race to her credits count faster. to graduate with honors to please her crusty father upturned and gobsmacked who had a graduate degree in graduation from the easygoing '60s and was quite terrified of his daughter's budding attractiveness and silky legs that he didn't know what to do with himself when she came to visit so she always stayed in school.

Monday, December 18, 2017


1. what was the name of the first person you ever had a crush on? why did you like them? her name was Laurel. she got me...nevermind. she was in the sixth grade. she had on a tattered verdant and orange plaid skirt and a pink-flower patch over her heart. my memory of her is hazy as i was in kindergarten at the time. i remember her on the way other side of the concrete playground. there under the rotting wood canopy of our collective lunchtable communist grouping. she looked at me i swore it. i was shy and hid behind the tetherball pole i was that skinny. Laurel looked at me squarely and stole the gleam from my eye. she positioned herself, she launched into a jumping serve and hit the volleyball as hard as her mallow fists could strike a ball. 100mph into my tiny face. i've always liked older women.

2. which parent do you identify with the most? Sophie.

3. which food will you not, under any circumstances, eat? shrimp. cocktail shrimp just makes it worse. also, ever since i found out my cousin works on the new DuckTales, i will forego my usual balut.

4. would you ever adopt a child? absolutely. i love my sister. if it wasn't for my sister, you wouldn't be reading me right now, you'd be reading AV CLUB and hating yourself in the morning. i'd be a distant memory in your motel eye as you'd bike-rack to work at the coffee store, grinding the morning-blend grounds as you realize you haven't read anything good in a while. my sister on a whim gave me this very computer i'm typing on as you read and I speak...silently.

5. when was the last time you played a board game? what game? Shadowrun. 1989. the perfect blend of medieval and sci-fi. that's what's missing in the world today: pen-and-paper RPGs. back when every nerd lived in the valley and had a circular table lit overhead by a stained-glass lantern stolen from the local Shakey's Pizza by his older brother. the older brother naturally flung it into the bed of his pickup truck. this despite the Shakey's Pledge of Allegiance posted clearly outside out front. related, i'm really into that trailer for the new film Bright.

bonus: what makes you laugh more---dry humour or weird goofy humour? CLICK HERE


Friday, December 15, 2017



* oh, i can still log onto blogspot? cool.

* warning: this is slow as molasses at the start but it heats up towards the end like burnt molasses. (burnt molasses is a gas substitute.) much like an infomercial. adding Innovation Makers was a mistake, it adds nothing.

* not furry

* Cremkin of the ice-cream inheritance

* those little bridges are purely decorative, they serve no utility. meant for prayer.

* dad is getting back out there. he's not letting his baldness slow him down. he's still a catch. what? he's still married to his wife after the accident?

* why in every soccer picture does the player squat with the ball in that uncomfortable stance?

* i've only been to one candlelight vigil. they ran out of candles so i just stood there all night like an idiot.

* David: it's not fair what happened to my brother. he was the one in the family with the good hair.

* Dad: does it look like a lifesize voodoo doll? well yes. coyotes are into that magic shit.

* Dad: you're never gonna go pro with a frisbee catch like that.
David: i ain't goin' pro, i'm goin' ultimate.

* Mom: he stopped eating. he lost his job.
Dad: i lost my hair. but then it came to me. i'll work for adult swim. oh and i got that MyPillow guy to design the prototype.

* Dad: these metal spikes allow David to fit in with the goths at school.
David: there are no more goths at school, dad. that's not a thing anymore.

* Dad: all of these multi-colored straws will allow David to fit in with the cafeteria lady.
David: she really does want me to fit in her.
Dad: the two natural enemies of the coyote: Johnny Depp and gas-station T-shirts.
David: the only natural enemy of man: anime.

* Dad: it's pronounced KAI-YOAT, that really messes them up.

* David: dad, what was P.J. like?
Dad: he was a good boy.
David: what does P.J. stand for?
Dad: pajamas.

* David shouldn't be eating those fruit cups, they're loaded with sugar.

* all that bright yellow tracks better than the coyotes.

* something about jobs no one wants and growing the economy...

* safety knows no language

* David: dad i got my hands up, don't shoot! this is horrible!
Dad: i can't see your hands, all i see are straws. sorry for the coyote-urine pellets, son.
David: they're butterscotch. i hate butterscotch.

* the testimonials written in blood were not shown on tv. testimonials: the last gasp of letter-writing.

* i remember my mom using those white cotton circles on her face. i never had any idea what she was doing.

* still to come---no commercial breaks

* Mom: remember when people used to blow up photos just for fun? for the record, these wrinkles on my face aren't my fault, they're the incident's fault.

* why did you create bullies, God? why hath you forsaken me?

* life comes down to whether or not you played sports.

* Mom: P.J. loved foods that looked like other foods...except the boodog that looked like a soft-boiled fetal duck egg.

* girl: Mr. Gout is an asshole.
David: our teacher has the gout.

* Mom: if you really want to fuck my boy, you must solve the puzzle cubes on his Tetris chastity belt. i won't stand in the way of teenage love, look what happened to Romeo and Juliet.

* David: shut up talking about crabs and kiss me, girl.

* the director's in the shot

* David: your love brought me out of my shell.
girl: what's the combination to your chastity belt i just want to fuck you.

* there is nothing spookier than a soccer net at night.

* Dad: P.J. was the light and love of our life. but he'll always be with us. as long as David wears this P.J. mask.
David: please tell me this is actually a mask.
Dad: don't panic, ladies and gentlemen in the funeral audience, they're just CGI coyotes.
David: worse! they're anime wolves!

* Dad: stay back foul beast! you're the coyote who ate our son!
P.J.: dad, it's me. don't you recognize your own son? i don't look like a coyote. i don't have any fur on me, that's my chest hair and afro. i didn't turn into a coyote werewolf. i simply have no shirt on and shorts. it was the Rio Olympics. the team partied a little too hardy the night we were bounced in the round robin. being soccer players we naturally had no shoes or socks. we were detained at a local gas station for a few months that's all.

* the only country music i like are ballads with bouncing balls and train whistles that i can eat beans to.

* the armored vest can only be defeated by one thing---a chicken.

* we all know coyotes rule the earth. you didn't have to kill the children.


happy weekend, my babies. no spoilers! i plan to stream it sometime next year...

Thursday, December 14, 2017



President Bump at the Cream House Hanukkah Party:

Schumer: hello, sir, you still like me?

Bump: where's Jared?

Schumer *eyeglasses on his nose and holding a drink*: remember, sir? you sent him to the Wailing Wall on a mission.

Bump: shoulda went.

Schumer: he kissed the wall and the wall collapsed. he still has that strong voice whenever he opens his mouth.

Schumer morphs into Jared.

Bump: AAAAH! i think i'm going crazy.

Jared: it's okay, pops. i ate a Golem while i was over there and gained shapeshifting powers as well.


at the North/South Korean Border, a spy is making his escape into the crowd of the upcoming Winter Olympics.

South Korea: halt! *whistle* we see you! what is your purpose here?

Kim: please, i'm not that hot. i haven't decided. i have no plans. i was scouting locations. going on a college tour. seeing which university was the right fit for my specific needs. namely, i want to go to a real university and learn actual facts. you know, like real history which can be verified by another country. they say the premier Olympic athletes all train on campuses. otherwise i'm doomed to repeat second grade.


Anderson Cooper sits in his robe in his mansion by his phone next to the deep ruby-green potted plant by the scooped-out Hefner cigarette black ceramic ashtray. not only is Anderson the last major anchor to have a landline, he is the last one who still smokes.

he is in a frightful state. he has hit a roadblock in his pristine mind and the quandary is making him stroke his chin internally.

Anderson: whom do i invite to host New Year's Eve with me this year?

he plays with three white business cards on the backs of which sit three phone numbers. he taps his polished oak desk with the card corners and resolutely picks up the receiver. that warm dial tone pipes in.

Anderson: i've made up my pristine mind.


Auverin touches my jeaned knee which juts out like a sore thumb oak-tree branch that is sickly and knotty and needs to be buzzsawed off to save it. that is the first time to my recollection that she has ever touched me.

she waves her hand over the too-low coffee table in the periodical room. her butt in those jeans matches my twin excitement.

Auverin: when's your shift start? i saw you the other day trip over a book on the floor cos your head was in the clouds. that was funny. nobody does that anymore. is it strange to you to see Sports Illustrated in fawn-colored cardboard-paper jacket dustcovers looking like cheap Catholic textbooks?

me: i got fired. or i quit. doesn't matter. i think it looks classy.

Auverin: i mean the point is mag covers are in existence to be seen. your boss was my roommate until that early suicide rearranged the dormroom seating chart. got me a single.

me: the coveted single. privacy. but loneliness. you talkin' bout Tori? the fat D'arcy from Smashing Pumpkins?.......whoops, sorry

Auverin chuckles under her bred feminist breath.

this is a miracle! i never saw this girl smile once. she was always so stern in Faulkner Class. she wore lipstick but no one ever noticed a color cos all they saw were her lips tight.

Auverin: what's in the bag? i'm hungry.

you know, i can't seem to recall what was in that brown bag. sorry.

me: you know we're not supposed to bring food in. even though that's rarely enforced. muffuletta. can you believe it? the deli was out of sourdough but had muffuletta for everything. and only one topping: celery.

Auverin: i could go for some cranberry-nut bread. that is so this college scene.

me: who is this fat guy that's on every ad i read and tv show about radio headphones i see? with the beard. he speaks so confidently like he's the king of some quadrant queen city but i've never heard of him.

Auverin: DJ Khaled. he is the everyman. he's on apple music. he's done something, collaborated with some song you've heard. he's a father now. he speaks with the hip-hop tenor of the streets. he's been around forever tho you've never heard of him. been behind the scenes. just coming out now. he talks with the authority of a man who's seen it all, done it all, lived it all in his one year onscreen. he's making the most of this year. he's got a butler.

me: did you hear about Mr. Maldark? that was a wild scene.

Auverin: bubble fenders. scholars are still trying to piece together his final words. i heard he took his last piece of bacon out his backpocket, dabbed the grease of it to his both eyes and two nipples and bellybutton for good measure. scholars love to tell symbolic stories. it appeared he was crying and Codrus asks him if he's crying and trying to hide his crying cos he's dying and Maldark exclaims that he's crying happy tears cos he now won't have to see his cats die in front of him. then Maldark makes the dab pose to his class and waits to disappear.

me: apparently it really went down like this: Maldark is wearing his famous long shirt. Halwa asks him if that shirt is a shirt or a skirt. Maldark answers with his famous response. he says, "this is neither a housedress nor a shirt. it is a smock." that's it. that was his last word and action.

Auverin: when does your semester end then?

me: i'd rather not think about that. i can't say. i'm focused on today, right now. still have one more final to go. that's why i'm here. not really. i just like the chairs here.

Auverin: just came. from there. it was easy. i breezed through it half-asleep. easy breezy. you'll do fine. is that a coffee in your pocket? why yes it is. can i have some of yours?

well how bout that. y'know i can't remember ever being in a position where i'm sitting in a chair and i'm looking directly across the room into the eyes of a girl sitting in a chair the same type as me directly opposite me in a straight line. just kind of a quirk of mine. did i say girl? i meant person.

o Auverin. o girl not yet a woman. i need to describe just how beautiful this person is. how beautiful she is to me. but i'm too distracted pretending to be deeply interested in what's going on in the newspaper. the newspaper is the perfect fence for me to rest my nose and peep over to take a look. and hope she isn't looking back. academic and all that.

Wednesday, December 13, 2017


it was simply and without reservation the defining day of my life.

the library was my sanctuary. from myself, my school, and my stupid dorm room. i hated people and university life just reinforced that notion. the only good part was i could eat top ramen seven days a week which was my dream finally fulfilled. i was not meant to be with people. to hang around them, engage them, exchange handshakes and fluids with them. i was a social butterfly net. but i love intimacy. i love cramped quarters. i love an enclosed room. makes me feel safe, snug, protected. i imagine what it's like outside, the cruel world outside full of newspapers of the latest empty scandals and power grabs, and me inside blissfully unawares of the evil machinations which keep the dirty coin rotating, reaching for an arizona weave blanket as i pore over a gluey tome of forgotten lore.

the Gardner Main Stacks were a bitch, i used to work here. shelving and reshelving and deshelving and rotating those stupid silver behemoth stacks, large rectangles on train wheels one by one, with that stupid silver spoked captain's wheel, rolling and rolling to find the correct letter-and-number combination. those stupid rolling carts with the one squeaky wheel, always the one wheel. the masking-taped-up collection bins like beige trash cans so massive they had to be elevatored. looking back, it was all so silly. and made me mingle with people. why did i do it? money? i had my parents for that. credits? i was an English major, none of that shit mattered. i mean this was all towards an English degree which was a useless piece of paper in and of itself, what's the big deal? just cos everyone got a job when they entered college? to pay for weed? i suppose. maybe i lost my mind for a split second and actually harbored the crazy notion that i didn't want to die alone.

the only good which came from holding down a job for a month before i feigned a life-threatening illness over the phone and quit on the spot on a whim one Monday, these things always occur on a Monday, was it familiarized myself with the terrain. this was a huge cavernous byzantine library as befitted the second most illustrious institutuion of higher learning on the planet, so it had to play the part of the academic tower of ivory. well, marble. you know you're big time when your book shop is held up by fluted marble colonnades. honestly there were books stacked up and stickied together with dust three rows deep the likes of which i had no idea of. i mean there were elevator shafts going to places inside here that were filled to the brim with unmarked books and heavy map books (not my problem anymore) in bins full of information that could have been alien invasion plans and porn for all i knew. i was only a small part of this, i worked in the student section away from the main commotion of the important students, the scholars with the free rides and frat captains making a name for themselves. it was always harder when you didn't have a past relative as a sponsor with an apostrophe-two-number-year by their side to guide you with money and prestige, you felt like a stranger in a strange land, which is exactly how i have always felt everywhere.

but the one area i memorized was this passage-away right by the main entrance. though it was right at the front no tourists notice it the first time, the entrance is blocked by a huge planted plant, an indoor palm tree. i love intimate spaces. small spaces lit by fake electrical light. beats an outdoor space anyday, too country, everyone can see me, the world can see me, too open, lit by a dying star. when i'm in a room that indicates that a building was built, four walls with definite set dimensions, a place, i can let my guard down and run around in a circle like a freed buck-toothed chipmunk. i loved my little corner nook in this grand edifice of learning. my little piece of the lighthouse. it was like the first stop of a hotel tour, the clerk with all the keys to the land hung around him. you know i know there was always someone manning the counter here but for the life of me i can't remember what any of those people looked like, men or women, which is a real shame. and for that i am sorry, they were probably grad students looking for credits like me and everyone else, too. i guess my focus was lazered on other things.

it's weird coming back to the place you used to work. as a free man. not under the stress of punchcards or whether your boss with the pink blonde hair is too cute to work for that it's a conflict of interest. like eating at McDonald's after working there, the hamburger tastes extra long. this morning as in each morning i would stroll onto campus, i probably had classes of some sort but that is of no concern at the moment, i'd hide my coffee cup, they were small enough to secret in pockets, remember that lid!, and crawl into the first chair i found empty. the chairs were weird, they were like lounge chairs on the beach but of '70s pleather and long oval uncomfortable silver poles straight out of a Y community pool. they were hard to sit in but easy to sleep in. by the used Reader's Digests sat the bank of newspapers, so college-bound. each newspaper was bound, coiled into the beaded spine of a long hollowed-out bamboo pole. you didn't flip through a series of ink pages, you rotated the pole and circularized the circular as you read it. this was my favorite thing to do, pick up one of these bamboo poles and rest it back on its hinges.

Auverin: it's just rain, dude. not snow. spare me your English-major dramatics.

me: i'm always creating an atmosphere.

Monday, December 11, 2017


1. with whom would you like to take a bath? my cats. and Noops my dogfather.
2. you are in a motorcycle riding hard down a country road, wind in your hair. who is the hottie on the bike with you? are you riding or driving? that Flo Progressive commercial huh. it's not a true country road unless there is no road. i'm bald but i still break wind. a sunglassed Flo is in front of me driving and that AT&T girl with the big...names is in the back of me for protection. Milana Vayntrub, too much woman for me, too many exotic names, i can only peep her from her vain tub as she swims up to heaven. i am scared of driving cars, so...that's like asking Garfield to suddenly start eating eggplant lasagna. do i ride bitch? yes, yes i do.
3. baking naked---who is kneading your dough? Mary Berry. i waited that entire two hours watching the Christmas special but i never saw her soggy bottom. very disappointing. i thought PBS was more progressive than that.
4. come sail away, come sail away, come and sail away with me! who is joining you for a sexy sea adventure? Christopher Cross. i heard he only takes off his stetson when he makes the sign of the cross. he never makes the sign of the cross shortly before getting out on stage with his double-barreled guitar (which does look kinda silly), he only prays when he sails cos he admitted in a magazine once he doesn't know how to sail and only wrote that song cos SpongeBob blew his mind the first time he watched it.
5. "i got your back." hands down who do you fully support? stick by no matter what, who are you willing to help at all costs? my chiropractor. to keep my costs low. he said my insurance premiums would rise if i didn't do everything in his rider. when he puts his hands on my back they're always sticky. i need this. microfracture surgery is too expensive. Tommy John is dead. all i know how to do in this world is play tennis. i boxed myself into a corner when i beat that Russian boxer. i forgot the match was fixed and went all out and won. I was supposed to lose. it was fishy how my opponent just stood there on court like a dead fish and never went after anything. now i have to play in the Olympics even if i think tennis is starting to get boring. this isn't like the old days when Chris Evert walked onto some muni court in Pomona with a literal tree branch for a racquet and the crowd was just happy to be there cos they were listening to Band of Gold for the first time.

bonus: belly button---inny or outty? are you going to show us? inny. really inny. my bellybutton is an electrical socket. wanna see? there. see it?


Friday, December 8, 2017



* i broke my fingernail. excruciating pain. i may not be able to type some words

* ooooh, PG S. waiting for the Sex. PG-rated sex is always an odd duck, it's always something you don't expect (in the dialogue or something)

* it was island nudity.

* Adventure Time meets Sergio Aragones large and colorized. Adventure Time is an odd duck, you want it to go on forever cos the world and time zones allow for that but at the same time you're kinda looking for it to end to take its place alongside that fanciful Regular Show sonder which hit your mind whilst walking down the street.

* btw i'm eating Lucky Charms in a bowl without milk. found out this morning my gallon of Trader Joe's milk soured two days ago...

* books now only exist as graphics. hey, remember maps?

* is it a UFO or a baby's toy?...

* projector basketball net

*...or that sour candy shaped like a UFO, filled with harmless powder

* is this it? it can't just be computer shapes and shit, you gotta try

* the brain is yucky-looking but important. it still freaks me out to see the human body without skin. the red membrane with the muscles and sinews and blood vessels and eyes popping out. disconcerting. skeletons are charming by comparison, at least they offer you a flower before they dance.

* don't think out of your ass

* the Sword of Saad

* wanna get away? the coconut milk will be yellow.

* emojis are birthed from worms. they dry out much like the honeycomb of bees...

* have you ever wondered why Hot Tamales look like pills?

* inside the DNA of emojis? birdseed.

* i need one of those trash cans that open up by pushing a step with your foot at the bottom in my bedroom.

* censoring eyes

* Roger Federer will play for the Chinese Table Tennis team at the next Olympics. Roger is not giving up his dream of winning that individual Gold.

* Demi Moore: doing some exotic training with my Chocolate Man here gearing up for that G.I. Jane sequel. as you can see, this time Jane will have hair i made that clear to Ridley. where have i been? don't tell Madonna but i'm now a fat soccer mom.

* is working out at a gym really somebody's idea of paradise?

* the Tachikomas want to stand. they want to dab. they want to tap-dance like the late great Gregory Hines.

* when the fat-suit sticks to you on a hot day

* Garden of Eden. you knew this was coming.

* huh, never thought of that. use the apple to spit-roast the snake. good job, Eve!

* what do you do when The Sims starts glitching? and how can you tell?

* see? the googly eyes. eyes really need a face for them to look normal.

* don't smoke, kids. leave those cigarettes to sway in nature like plants.

* be heart-healthy. don't date a smoker. he'll just break your heart.

* dating is hell

* there is only one Nebula that matters. the Crab Nebula.

* Business Dracula. works at Hot Topic. i entered a Hot Topic last Black Friday for the first time in decades. it's so weird going there as an adult vs. a desperate teenager trying to impress. when you go there as a kid it's just a place that sells Morty shirts. whatever you think of the show, it's impressive. it achieved worldwide acclaim being on adult swim, not FOX or any of the other big-brand channels.

* devil with horns: satanic. devil without horns: Marilyn Manson

* Tool videos look strange in preproduction. this one will be a musing on Harley Quinn.

* perv bees

* Star Wars preproduction looks like manga...

* when manga comes to life. but is not anime.

* all a woman really wants is a good facial. a good mud facial.

* Leslie from Gumball is definitely a lesbian...

* valiant effort, but this one just didn't take. Dave, if you're listening, it's time to start doing these yourself again. i'm all for guest animators, growing the brand, but be honest, you only did this cos you were sick of doing all the work.

* that being said, i will say that "Paradise" is just about the most obtuse and opaque subject of all time. i mean it's simply an impossible topic to illustrate. let's get back to basics. "Water" still hasn't technically been done. "Power" is doable...maybe. "Cookies". not "Cookies".


happy weekend, my babies

Monday, December 4, 2017


1. what do you find sexiest in a woman? her mystery. you're never gonna know what she really is thinking. it's probably better you don't know. everyone is in a rush to learn how to read minds but i'm not sure that's such a hot idea. it would make first dates even awkwarder. first, in order for humanity to evolve, we must move to another planet. that's the only way we can really start over. the most beautiful thing ever created is women. all things were created by God. thus it would figure that God is a woman. it's all falling into place...

2. what do you find sexiest in a man? the most beautiful thing in this world is watching a grown man cry.

3. have you ever been the other woman or man? would you do it again? yes. it was fun. for a while. i ran around town like a secret snake spending every damn last penny i had. on booze, women, and movies. then i started thinking about whom i was hurting and i started to cry. it was the most beautiful thing in the world. everyone in the world stopped what they were doing in their tracks and stared at me.

4. who puts more into a romantic relationship you or your significant other? i can't offer much. i'm always tired. i always need a hat. i have no money. but i can write you tons and tons of poems, that's romantic, right?

5. do you have a work wife or office husband? this is my only incentive to have a real office job. he or she will probably end up being the best relationship you ever have on earth. you spend the most time with them, moreso than your spouse. and it's real love, pure, no messiness. nowadays there REALLY is no messiness going on.

bonus: are you in a healthy relationship? what makes you think so? we do yoga together. we pretzel ourselves into positions that are only possible to achieve with two people.

bonus bonus: is the "work spouse" strictly a U.S. American anomaly (they do spend an insane amount of hours at work)? one study found 32% of Americans admitted to having a work spouse. we cannot keep dividing ourselves like this. we must not continue to see things in terms of Americans, Brits, and other. we must work in concert. it's the only way the species will survive. when we are offered a job offer in kindness, we must not slam the door in the person's face and literally kick them out to the curb like in Outlaw Star. come together, right now, over me. we can't dance in the stars till we learn how to dance. we REALLY need to locate that new planet, time is running out on Earth...


Friday, December 1, 2017



* i seriously need to get to a spa. don't necessarily need my nails did tho i wouldn't refuse. i want to be pampered with pillows. i want a pillow for my feet. i want a pillow just to lay my wrist on. i want to rest my head in one of those spa chairs with the circle cut out so i can place my face in there and look at the floor tiling. get me to a Swedish hot spring. i need a spa day.

* not porn

* can i be stuck in the middle with you?

* woman: my neck hurts.
me: that's the thing with yoga. good for your mind, bad for your body.

* woman: why are all these pervs filming my ass?
crew: we're doing an Off the Air.
woman: oh.

* crew: hey man, you didn't see that drone flying straight toward you?!
man: no, i had these Google Goggles on my face. blind as a bat.

* ever since Steve Jobs's passing, life just isn't exciting anymore.

* never meet your heroes. never meet the team who designed your favorite video game.

* Zordon is taking his first night off in 3000 years.

* THE TALKING HEADS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! y'know the full unedited music video to "Once in a Lifetime" is harder to secure than you may think. i had to use Croatian youtube.

* programmer: i need to hump the floor to test the low sensors.

* AB. does AB come after A but before B or after B?

* oh look! it's the fortran blueprint of that '80s Russian-American Embassy that was rigged with listening devices. bring back the Cold War! lines were clearer back then. movie villains were cheesier. video games were more innocent. everything was more mutual and zero-sum. everything's too muddled nowadays.

* ipads are cool and everything but the computer reached its apex with the Macintosh.

* i think it's high time we finally complete the 1980 Moscow Olympics. let's see how it would have been if every country participated. all drugs allowed.

* Harley's original three hyenas

* i keep telling people. Sims becomes really boring after a while.

* our pets have it right. the most interesting thing about unboxing videos is the box.

* Edward Scissorhands 2: Winona's daughter steals some clothes and only she can discipline her cos Ed still has his scissorhands.....................y'know nevermind, let's let that film remain a solitary classic.

* stop littering our natural world with invoices! stop buying stuff!

* Tom Peterson watch...

* stop with the animal abuse! all you existentialist filmmakers can still make your point without harming animals!

* this would have worked better as a silent film. the black cotton shirt, the checkerboard kitchen tablecloth, Charlie Chaplin stuff

* Sasha Grey is not returning to porn. she is auditioning for the Legend of the Seeker reboot.

* if you feel you've gone crazy, if you're in a nightmare world with no escape, you still have an out. a set of Star Trek: The Next Generation hologram doors will suddenly open up where that tree used to be. that hologram-door sound is the most beautiful sound in the world.

* don't enter a door unless it's lying flat on the ground

* even with all this technology there's nothing to wear

* Sasha: the only thing real in this world is my ass.

* cat: you see your universe, i smell my universe. you people stink.

* Scratch N Sniff is a scam

* sadly, in today's world, you must be wary of shirtless dudes wielding hammers and knives and shit wearing backpacks and sandals in the snow and Google Goggles.

* if The Wild Thornberrys were on adult swim

* the whole Five Nights at Freddy's thing passed me by...

* the UR looks like an ass

* you're the only one. you're not real. you're a robot. but you're at a Mel's Diner. i hope you like tofuburgers.

* this'll just hurt for a moment...

* if you're ever confronted with a button that says END SIMULATION, don't push it. it's tempting but don't.

* at least there's air conditioning.

* in the future, all the pizza cutters will be sex toys...

* whenever i see those neti pots i just want to make tea.

* nothing, and I mean NOTHING, beats '70s Doctor Who.


happy weekend, my babies. do your Christmas shopping tonight. your 2018 Christmas shopping.

Wednesday, November 29, 2017


Kelechi is mesmerized. she picks up the Sword of Saad. her arms are burning with yellow fire but her cells are already dead so she doesn't feel anything anymore. she takes the point of the sword and fits it into the keyhole of the locked trunk of Mr. Maldark's car. perfect match. inside is his manifesto and a large collection of driver's permits and tests taken by him and scored 100 and land deal deeds and replacement licenses and stamped algebra homework and FBI files on FBI members and a hobbit stick and everything that could ever help his students, all signed by Maldark who forged the signatures of each of his class.

Kelechi: that man was class. gather round, young and old and god alike.

the students form a circle and sit down outside. Kelechi reads Maldark's final note the best she can, many scribbles fitted into two sides of one sheet of paper.

Kelechi: basically what Mr. Maldark was getting at was he thought all of the world's problems stemmed from everyone driving. cars are tools of destruction. he thought the only way to bring all the people together verily once and for all was for us to ditch our cars and start walking again, everywhere, hand in hand. it would create long conversations again. we would have to rely on strangers again to see us through our journeys. stop in a weird house and rest your head on a sawdust pillow. soothe your aching feet in a swamp. be in favor of furloughs. close all the grocery stores and bring back the barter system. he does not address the problem of milk. social media has destroyed society, we've forgotten how to talk in favor of typeface. we swim in scandal, not speech. that is what will bring the environment back. even Ron. he proposes the construction of a permanent pedestrian mall, despite recent events. repave over all the streets and replant all the roads. then the middle section gets a bit rambly and dicey and crazy i won't bore you with the details. he finishes strong with this final note:

my people, I hope where you're going, there are never roads...


Kelechi puts down the note and climbs into the backseat of the Pinto crackling with yellow electricity. it flies in a split second to Myanmar, flapping its gullwing doors. Codrus is still laughing and doesn't notice the Saad.

at Myanmar, the Pope is visiting for the first time.

the Pope: Rohingya. there, i said it.

the Pope plants a filthily wet passionate kiss on Kelechi's lips.

the Pope: was that inappropriate?

Kelechi: *stunned* yes. but you are the Pope.

Lawrence O'Donnell is there, too, working on desks for young girl students.


Pope: need a few more bent nails. we all fall short of the glory. and a saw that sings. why are you here?

Kelechi: to take us all back to Burma...


at the studio, Brian Williams is on-air with shades on and is air-drumming to his own show's theme.

Brian: is there anyone left to do the news? can i do the drums for real one time? producer? forget it, you have to be drunk to play drums. dammit where's Matt? he said he'd join me for a drink after work. that's not cool to ditch me like that. where's Lawrence? our first guest is, wow, President Bump. well sorta.

President Bump is a hologram now.

Bump: yeah give it a rest, Tom! whoa, what happened to me? i'm transitioning. where are the bubbly British babes from the BBC? don't tell them i'm blue.

Black Widow stains a towel with red brine and tips it onto a long spear. she then sops Bump's mouth with the substance.

Bump: what is this, wine?

Black Widow: cranberry sauce. as you can see, you're on a cross lying flat on the ground. you cannot rise.

Brian: here they are! we share a desk. no buttons. well i'm quitting. no one fun is here anymore. i always wanted to be a drummer in a band. my college had one band. Project Veritas will allow me to be anything i want to be, that's what they told me.

Rajini: Murder on the Mere! film at 11. or on your whatever anytime. would you like some cream tea, Mr. Bump?

Bump: that is one kinky drink. better not in this climate. you are so beautiful.

Rajini: that is a fact. we all know this. let's move on.

Bump: what are you wearing on your lapel there? that pin? it is so beautiful. it's an apple. Apple has taken over the world. my favorite apple is the crabapple. i love sowing Malus. i first grabbed her from behind a tree. the blonde girl.

Rajini: it is the Poppy. from the War.

Bump: you can call me that.

Rajini: anything else i can do for you this final evening?

Bump: now that you mention it: a blue squall parka, one of those Tempur Cloud pillows, Dametra, Pretzelmaker, Pretzel Time will do, some Nueske's Pork, and a red-wine smile on your face.

Rajini: Joker smile?

Bump: hey the French call you guys rosbif as a joke.

Rajini: never discuss roast beef with a woman.

Bump: my cook went AWOL.


the words of Maldark's final will and testament were lost to time. nobody remembered what was his important final document on this earth. just the general sentiment of it. the students went their separate ways, not merrily. everyone took a moment out of their busy schedules to think back on what Mr. Maldark meant to their moving forward. they each took a step back.

Less works for Autoglym valeting cars. he's starting to get into the program Top Gear.

Less: i'm not into cars, but i can see that if i were into cars this show would be my orgasm. i'd watch repeats when the new ones weren't on. the grand tour will be the last tour. i would watch this, nothing else, no game shows or nothing, any hour i wasn't sleeping. they picked the three best hosts for the job. perfect fit. self-effacing Brits are the best.

Deen grew tired of surfing and instead drained all the water in all the oceans to use for water gas. he took over as the de facto owner of the Papa John franchise and bulldozered every last Papa chain store on the planet. retired early off the water gas. he now makes pizza in his kitchen and just recently became a father.

Intendo became President of SEGA cos he realized that it wasn't the distractions from his job, his job was distractions. most of his sales come from Less.

Eli Manning plays for the New York Giants.

Maldark's home location is now a patch of California wildflowers cropped up which grew to such a powerful Super Bloom that it could be seen from outer space.

Halwa calculated the safest distance a pedestrian could walk without getting hit by a car, especially one which sped up suddenly, from the grocery store to the mall. turns out it was the same all around the world.

Mr. Maldark hugs Halwa.


Comey: Ashley cracked the case! you two bumbling idiots could have never accomplished what only Ashley could.

Mueller: hey! i resemble that remark. it's not about achievement, it's about getting the job done. i tried to be spicier but you can only work with what you've got.

the tiny guy raises his arms, which no one can see. the spotlight trains on him and almost burns the poor mini-man to death.

Steele: i am Christopher Steele.

no one in the circus knows who that is.

Ashley: my son! sorry, it's become a reflex at this pont.

Steele: the famed spy?

Comey: that would be me.

Mueller: we had a backup plan y'know. if all else failed we would have disguised Chris here as a bowling pin and joined the circus bowling team.

Comey: they discontinued that act last Wednesday. turns out none of the clowns were good athletes. that's why they were clowns and not acrobats.

Mueller: we got Pitino, so.................i'm ready for a drink.

Ashley: not so fast, buddy, you're driving. you promsied me a ride.

Mueller slunks in his grey blazer.

he takes the couple and his faux son up the woods to the midland meadows of a quaint little aqua-walled lean-to overlooking the onlook overlap of crimson trees and buried apples by the millpond. there, the water is black and the wheels are turning.

Ashley: we're not so green anymore. but we stll try to harmonize our living space with nature. borrowed scenery.

Comey: i know. i live here.

Comey rings the bells. on the floor of the porch.

a woman slides her eyes in the mail slot.

woman: password.

Comey touches his penis.

they enter.

Comey: no, i only did that cos my dick is still sore. meant no offense. reflex. the password is 720.

Comey's wife outstretches her hand.

wife: Jim was always a failed skateboarder.

Comey: still pouring water at the lodge?

Mueller: let's all have a seat on the sofa. Chris can serve as the seatcushion.

Ashley kisses her wife on the mouth.

Ashley: i conducted an undercover sting on you, Jim. for that i am not sorry. within this current climate it was my only recourse. no affair is current. we women won't take it anymore. you were cheating on this poor woman with me so i went covert to see who she was and in the process of interviewing her and gathering dirt on you in case you ever triplecrossed me i fell in love with this noble sweet lady of a past age. and for that i am sorry. between Virginia wheat and afternoon tea i fell in love with her love for you.

Comey: did you wear a wire in your blouse everytime we made love? cos i'd like to buy those tapes off you for posterity. and your posterior.

Comey: wait a minute, you long-conned me? me? the ultimate spy? America's first spy?

Ashley: journalism needs to be painstakingly thorough these days. purposeful journalism. painful journalism. i got tripped up on her downhome charm and farm witticisms i could never understand. but you know me, i researched it and i have a solution.

Comey: i can't believe i didn't see it before. you wore all those ties to the roller derby. what color are your eyes, Ashley? brown or blue?

Ashley: it doesn't matter, just kiss me, you fool. my face is not as fresh anymore.

Ashley kisses Comey and sits inbetween him and his wife on the couch.

Ashley: i'll marry you and your wife! it could work. throughout the course of this caper i stopped hating you, Comeycakes. i really am in love with you. and your wife what's your name again? it doesn't matter. i just can't decide between the two of you, it's a tie.

Comey: who gets the ring?

Ashley: me. all three of 'em. we shall live in wedded bliss. the three of us under one rustic roof. my prairie-home companions. it's just i don't want any secrets among us anymore, you know? let's do all our cheating out in the open.

Comey: is this legal in our state?

Ashley: Washington's not a state.


Lourdes Figueroa comes in to work the next morning in a red wig and doesn't show her butt once while reciting the temps. the climate has changed.


back at the house, Maldark does not pick up one thing. he sees the garbagemen milling about the hole that is his domicile.

Maldark: you were once garbage men. now you are trashmen. i proudly missed you on Black Friday for Friday pickup.

the men: yeah we figured the Black Friday insanity would clog the roads and our big trucks could never get through. so we came on Saturday. except we didn't. we're officially on strike. we don't pick up trash anymore.

Maldark: so you're quitting your jobs at the FBI?

the men: yeah we want to become surfers. nice tennis shoes.

Maldark: just pick up my trash, aye?

Maldark waits for them to circle out of it and slides up the flagpole at the front of his home. except it is not a flagpole. it is a stick of truth. it is the Sword of Saad, blended perfectly with its surroundings. it glows fiercely upon contact with Maldark's skin. a yellow as starry as the sunniest star. he affixes the Sword under the axel of the DeLorean and flames it to the starting line. the Bentley Azure has joined the proceedings. Maldark finished the race the moment he touched the Sword. the speed of light is now new and incalculable and infinitesimal.

the class race to hug their teacher.

Kelechi: what did you do?

Maldark: oh added some cherries. when everycar else was turning their horns into klaxons which only spouted that song about the racist cockroach who ate ice cream, my horn played Mozart's Turkish March. and other stuff. music is my fuel.

the driver of the Bentley Azure brungles out and removes his motorcycle mask. his footsteps are doom. it is the mind-trembling facade of Codrus.

Codrus: got you. i knew you'd crawl out of your hole eventually. i have a sixth sensor about these things. you couldn't bear to let your class or the facility faculty bear witness to the awesome power of the Stones. that Sword is mine!!!

Mr. Maldark runs. he runs and runs and runs. past the Los Angeles Gate and around the entire globe to the Peking Bridge and the orange-heart buoy which divides us all. he runs so fast and out of frame the picture has a hard time catching up. he uncorks cloverleaf highways and turns dirt roads gold. he takes a moment for a special step from the top of the chainlinked edge of the school proper to the outside street property, a culvert now dry with vegetation that is a tricky jump to land. after all his running in the opposite direction he takes one last leap to the finish line and runs right into Codrus's arms back at the school.

Codrus laughs one short ugly laugh and smiles with a sniggering slimeation. he is a normal-sized person but appears to have a humongous head that is the image of a vision. he takes the flag which flew courageously and hesitatingly atop Maldark's roof and burns it openly on the school grounds with a snap.

Codrus: how does it feel, Maldark? to see the flag burning.

Maldark: it is my flag. i completed it. i sang the entire Anthem on the way over here. in my head.

the Sword drops from Maldark's hands onto the pavement.

Mr. Maldark disappears.


Kelechi: Mr. Maldark, what are you doing?

Mr. Maldark is sitting in a pool of his own soda. lines upon lines of crushed cans of Mojave Rattler encircle his head on the floor.

Maldark: i am drunk but clear-eyed. i know what i must do. i have been preparing for this all my life. it feels good to have purpose. we all end, it's good to end on your own terms. if i cannot eat i will drink.

Kelechi: oh Mr. Maldark, i hate to see you like this. what would the kids say?

Maldark: it's fine it's just my bladder is a little full. this is all false energy, i know from whence the real power flows. i'll be sure to use my two toilets before we leave.

Kelechi: do you have any advice for me? my time is up.

Mr. Maldark yanks the Power Balance watch from his wrist and hands it to Kelechi.

Kelechi: how will you check the scores?

Mr. Maldark points to his head.

Maldark: with this bracelet i thee wed. please crush this Power Bracelet under your mighty hand Link-style. you don't need tech, no one does. you'll be fine. believe in me if you don't believe me.

a horrible hiss comes from behind the finished fence.

Maldark's two purple lynx cats each stretch as far as their slender bodies will take them, forming into two Cs of fur.

Maldark opens the latch on the gate. the crying cat is wary at first but notices the C-stretch surrendering cats on the ground and sniffs their whiskers using his whiskers. he leaps over them to any apparent food. Maldark has laid out a bowl of cat pellets and a bowl of wood litter, each glinting from the two silvery moons.

Maldark: don't confuse the two now. i better show him, teachers are examples, not explainers.

Maldark gets on all fours and begins eating the food with his mouth.

Maldark: this is yummy. i've decided. i can live off cat food. i'll shop every MONTH now! o the money i shall save!

Kelechi gives him the Kelechi look.


at the track the second race is heating up. it's Kelechi in the modified DeLorean vs. a zamboni. there was a third contestant, a litter, the vehicle that's called a litter. but the sign said NO LITTERING.

Kelechi starts off quick as she always does but quickly slides back to the pack, which is only the one other. the zamboni catches a wave and inches ahead, then begins shooting out orange cones from its rear bumper so any smoothness of the road it causes does not benefit Kelechi from behind. and to top it all off the rain continues just to spritz, never form outright, so ice forms instead of snow. it's a slick raceway instead of the thing being postponed for a snow day. Kelechi loses it by a nose.

Kelechi: *huffing* i'm so sorry, Mr. Maldark, i let you all down.

Maldark: cry not, child. your water will just evaporate. why are you huffing? is the car okay?

Kelechi: the cam engine's shot.

Intendo: and so are your hopes and dreams. i draw no pleasure from this, cos i can't draw. shame. i was looking forward, really wanted to see you in inaction, Maldark. fight for your love.

Maldark calls out across the way to the rich university on Elm with his indoor classroom voice.

Maldark: what do you say? two out of three?

Intendo: we already have two. you didn't major in math.

Maldark: are you scared? are you chicken?

Intendo: no but i could go for some fried chicken right about now. from now on i'll only eat food on sticks.

Maldark: if i can break the time record, the school keeps the money. i don't care about my house.

Less: you can live with me.

the universities, which are all now simply arms of the Government, are interested in Maldark's offer. information is power. especially when he convinces them that by "time record" he meant setting a new record for the speed of light.


Ashley Parker uses her catlike reflexes to slide against the tent sides of the circus until she spots her prey, the keys which dropped out of the backpocket of Intendo when he rose his head to glare at the spotlit fucking taking place on the tightrope wire.

Ashley: got 'em! now for the combination.

she slinks to the back office, strangely located at the front, and jimmies the key in. with a little jiggle from her fingertip and her boob, it locks into place. she types in the code on the databank with her newly-varnished nails like she was an '80s heroine using a payphone.

Ashley: 7-2-0. yes!!!

Comey is still balancing letting his penis rest and relocate.

Comey: or it might have been 730. i crunched it before.

Ashley looks confused.

inside this office is a whole lot of nothing. it is so antiseptic not a drop of dust collects on the stark sterile steel folder encased in manila sleeping in the center of the room.

Ashley: oh i get it. the room itself was the vault.

the dossier is just as the world had suspected. it contains embarrassing revelations about the Bump family that he was mortified would ever get out. apparently Bump's ancestors come from a long line of clowns. performers who wore white paint and made fools of themselves in front of Roman god-emperors.

Mueller and Chris Steele arrive just in time. late.