Wednesday, May 31, 2017


the insides of all rooms are blue. President Comey is directing the world's finest military with his feet in the oval white office. there are three joysticks but he only has two feet. his assistants are chiding him, telling him to use both feet but he feels like hot-dogging it and uses one.

Comey: send all the tanks, planes, and boats. empty the load, there's gonna be a fresh batch after i testify next week. my bro Mueller told me it was okay. y'know Bob and i go way back, we're congenital twins but i got all the tall genes.

in swerving the joysticks all the way to the right Comey breaks his large leg and has large pain.

Comey: (muted) fuck i ain't goin out like this. is he on the line?

assistant: Putin? always. you mean Bump?

Comey: hey buddy, gonna watch my show next week? what the heck are you drinking i can smell your breath over the phone in your response to me? i thought i'd call you to get some pointers, you're the reality king. what makeup do you use?

Bump: sparkle shimmer.

Comey: nice. okay. just wanted to touch marine bases. say hi to Joan for me.

and Comey hangs up on his shattered knee.

Comey: Joan was my ex-wife.............well, that's all i can do.


the insides of all rooms are blue. inside the residence of Ari, her family is sitting down for one last meal.

Ari: i've set the plates and i feel the bump.

her husband: let me get that for you.

Ari: too late. is spaghetti okay, gang?

the children are silent.

husband: always was.

Ari: it's missing something. cheese?

husband: pistum. purchased a shipment from that hip new barcade that opened up.

Mike Manley enters the house. although it seems in slow motion it's in real time. Mike lunges for the husband's head. the husband gets in between Mike and his wife. Mike punches the husband upside the head and he goes flying into the supper table.

husband: please, she's pregnant! i was protecting the baby.

Mike: i see.

the children are silent cos they've each eaten a scoop of spaghetti and it was so spicy it permanently sealed their mouths.

Ari: i have to go to the bathroom. a lot lately.

Ari shuts the bathroom door but the cats start scratching it.

Ari: i get it now. the cats don't recognize the act of going to the bathroom as private. they are baffled why you'd shield yourself from your loved ones doing this. they just see a family member in trouble and want to come in to help. or at least to see.

the cats nod to each other in agreement.

the cats: and while we're on the subject, contrary to popular belief, the smell of the cat litter is actually worse than the smell of the shit.

the husband puts a piece of Canadian bacon on his bruised eye and eats it.

husband: come to my garden with me.

Mike: no hard feelings, eh? what's your name, bro?

husband: i am but a simple farmer. and these are my peppers. my beautiful red peppers. this is what food needs. what life needs. these are my babies, my life's work, what i am most proud of.

the husband gets down and removes his farmer's mittens and sticks his nose in the blacktop soil. he inhales deeply and his eyes glaze over in ejaculative pleasure.


at the Vatican Bump is meeting for a third time with the Pope. Pope Joan.

Joan: so i was trying to forget you and i had it all set up. so this girl at Lush i knew was a witch in her off-hours. she was plump and tatted and had a fierce pride to her, i dug her. she goes for the sell-sell. she offers me a plain white bath ball but gussies it up by calling it Unicorn Bone.

Joan: that's horrible!

girl: sorry i mean Unicorn Horn.

Joan: that's worse!

girl: right, no animal testing. no fighting between any animals. um, it's called Snowcake.

Joan: i see, repurposing the insult so we can reclaim it again. brilliant. i'll take one. is the cute brown bag extra?

Joan: then my girl goes for the under-sell.

girl: these peach balls represent our anti-death penalty stance. 31 states still have the death penalty.

Joan: i mean i had to get one of those. you can't really refuse such a thing when it's offered to you in that way. and i thought about the death penalty all the while taking my bath. it was a stark washing. thinking about all those poor souls who are no longer with us and would never bath-bomb themselves. the prisons really can't allow any perfume. fellow humans who never had a chance at redemption or to prove their innocence. i thought about you as all that orange bathwater swirled down my drain.

Bump: heehee, cool. like a Tootsie Roll pop. the orange ones are always the best. or a creamsicle.

Joan: that has to be the stance of the Pope. i can't allow any death. from the born baby to the boogeyman, i have to save everyone everywhere, it's the only way to remain square. it's not political. or maybe everything is political. which is insufferable. everything should be religious.

Joan: and then my girl finishes with the over-sell.

girl: yeah, these big-ass balls are blue with purple and coruscating stripes and feel elegantly erotic, like your skin is being molested by mohair. and you'll smell afterbath of dank desire.

Joan: so yeah i got that one cos it was the biggest show.

Bump: feeling better?

Joan: i dunk my head and can feel the vibrations of the whole earth. it's a very vulnerable position to be in. the damn phone can ring while you're in there, with the latest robo-call telling you you owe millions to the IRS and they'll garnish your wages if they ever find any and you can't curse back at the lady cos she's an automated message. a Cardinal can come in at any time. usually telling me i'm late for Mass.

Bump: why is your nose red? you've been sneezing hard throughout this whole telling of this story. concussive, earth-shattering sneezes. have a covfefe.

Joan: what the fuck is a covfefe?

Bump: coffee and tea mixed together.

Joan: i wanted to turn my bathroom into my own private Lush store. i wanted to live the life of a pope! you know, rich and famous! i had altar tables set up all around my gaudy tub stacked upon stacked with soaps of every color and shape. it was a washing wonderland, bathing bonanza, clean Christmas!

Bump: why are you starting to cry?

Joan: i have a little black-and-white tv facing my tub, we removed a brick and slid it in. i see one morning that you signed a billion-dollar deal with the Saudis. for some reason that was the scariest thing you've ever done. the way it was presented in the early news, the tone, it wasn't like the other red-banners, there was something quite sinister about that act, like you were driving off in your limo after signing away a billion souls.

Bump: it'll be okay. weapons are just toys in the end.

Joan: (starts to cry openly) I'M CRYING COS I'M ALLERGIC TO THE BATH BALLS! i can't have beautiful things! i can't be beautiful! i can't embrace beauty!

Bump: aw, get the Gentlemen out here to ferry you away.

Joan: (crying and wiping) i don't know where they are! i haven't seen them. the worse part is i have to now take a regular shower to wash away this sickness.

Bump: oh yeah, it's Saturday. their day off. they need a day off to get off.


at the house Ari makes sure to set the right number of placemats for her spaghetti surprise.

the husband: this spaghetti is too fucking hot! don't placemats represent bourgeois society?

Ari: does it matter? is something missing?

husband: pholourie, got a shipment of this trendy tasty food from the new barcade down the street.

Mike storms into the house. everything, from the antiquated paintings to the Mickey Mouse phone to the table and furniture and rugs and sofas and rugs under sofas and rugs on top of sofas and food and drink and lamps and hatrack and coatrack and swirling stair-railing, is blue with no stars. Mike flies out of his blue-jacket cape looking like Superman as he delivers the punch to the husband's soft chin.

before you can see those ripplings, Ari stops the men dead in their tracks. she punches Mike under the chin with her one wrist and blocks the back of her husband's head with her other wrist.

Ari: not the head, i need my husband's mind.

Ari: i'm pregnant, you idiots! it's further along than you think.


Goody Paul: okay we're here with a naked man in a pink hat, pink bowtie, and pink boots. you, let's see the card, you paint with your penis, balls, and butt. why?

Pricasso: i guess i wasn't potty-trained properly or something. my arse is like a dried apricot i have too many commissions.

Goody: okay and i'm out. you are a pleasant fellow but i can't do this anymore.

Pricasso: but i am a true artist, the definition of a soul who branches out from the pack of billions and blazes an own path. i am an original.

Goody: i know, and that's why i quit. i can never be like you. i can never be like me.

Goody hugs Pricasso between the legs and something special is born.

Goody: okay, next. oh hello Andre Agassi. so you've been out of the spotlight for awhile. why return now?

Agassi: have you seen my wife? i did it so Djoker could complete the Slam. not the Grand Slam, the Slam of having all the former known players as coaches just for show. not being serious.

Goody: want to comment on the news of the day?

Agassi: um, that was sick. she was a good player but the Australian Open is dead. we better end this interview before...

Goody: Tiger Woods? *low-five* ma brother, how are you? turn around let me get a good look atcha.

Tiger: the ABCs should always be sung. if i were winning my 19th Major that mugshot would have been sought out and shot. people would have protected me.

Federer: hey buddy, how are you?

Tiger: security get Roger out of here i don't want to speak to him anymore!

Goody: security? i guess that's me now.


at the stage Dr. Greg Ghostell speaks for the first time in a long time his last time.

Greg: i discovered a way to predict the weather a year out. a year ago...


at the mountain Chris Cornell shares his peek with Jared Kushner.

Chris: money won't help you up here.

Kurt Cobain: nor luck. beauty is in the eye.

Chris shouts. Jared opens his mouth and his voice is heard for the first time:

Jared: BLACK BOLT....................

and his voice sends a devastating shockwave all over the world, crushing all of Canada, where everyone was swimming to.

Kurt: y'know i still think your line, Chris, is she lived like a mother...


the first fighter jet at the head of the oncoming joined army of all the platoons and pontoons in the world crosses its nose into the city limit and blows its nose. it fires. but it was merely inhaling. the silence is strong. the last ripples touch lightly the surfaces of all the resigned rain drops.

at the center of the town square the whirlpools converge to form a massive watery screen where is projected the NBA Finals thanks to a bored Zard. LeBron blocks the last lay-up attempt by KD which the Warriors were supposed to win. LeBron declares himself the greatest and Michael agrees, joining him on center court for a special trophyless ceremony. LeBron decides to run for President of the World with Jordan as his Vice President of the Universe. Michael doesn't run for anything. together they work to stamp out racism throughout the galaxy, so all browns, reds, and blues can live in harmony as long as there is breath in the blue.

the Earth is one big globe, one giant globule of whirling water, eternally eddying. most say it looks like a small quiet ball. from a further distance, however, it is said to take the shape of a teardrop.


the Zard is almost done, almost complete. he turns his magic staff off like a garden-hose wheel and sheaths the Sword of Saad for another time.

the Zard: you know why i am here? why every word i say is hung by everyone? it's because i can be seen. i think i'll take a jaunter over to the Sun and hop on that NASA probe. i want a Sun Sword! it's time for my vacation.


at Ari's house, the woman places a large bowl of pasta out in the center of her doilied desk. and calls her family over to eat.

the red Ferrari parked outside on the curb turns blue. as does the red dress Mike Manley is wearing.

from the studio Mike lays out his last report. in a blue dress and blue heels.

Mike: let's see if we can turn around that tape. remember, when you hear the roar, get indoors! Jackie Kennedy, signing off.

he races out the studio down the hill but you can only go so fast without a car. walking on heels.

Goody: hey, that was Jackie's favorite miniskirt! you sound just like her, man.

Ari: hot pasta. save the rest for me. i'm eating for two.

the little girl and two brothers and cats and Mike and the husband are all sitting equidistant to each other on the small square table. in the center the spaghetti bowl turns into a flame. they all stare at it and ignore each other. they roll a bag of rancid bleu cheese from hand to hand. the husband eats a stale piece of Jewish Rye bread. the red flame burns brightly against the blue backdrop of the world.


there's a ding at the door.

Ari opens up, Mike answers.

a man stands staring in a plumber's shirt too short to hide his asscrack with NO SUB FOR SUBBAN on the back. his asscrack is one big straight black line. he wears a Kevin Durant headband with a P that could be Pirates or Phillies or...

Phil: i'm Phil. are you the lady of the house? here for the breaker. how bout them Predators, huh? P.K. will surely bring Nashville together. N'Ville is alive again!

Phil gets low to the sub-ground to hear but to really show his asscrack. he tramples over some beets in the garden to get to the outside power-switch display.

Phil: yeah see there's a trick to this. you have to pinch with your fingers at the same time the 4th and the 13th breaker.

Phil: so getting ready for some posh nosh i see. Breizh. is that a cola or a beer? looks stolen. sweet-potato chips, love those on salad. huh. yeah. yep yep good stuff.

no one in the room speaks.

Ari's stomach glows. inside her stomach a little lady in a red dress begins to dance the flamenco.

baby: babies can never name themselves. well i will. i want to be called Martina, like the tennis player.

the power outage is over. all the lights come back on. the city dances in the dew of dawn.

the morning is unusually sunny. there is no Zard.


Jules said...

Blue moon, blue lagoon, blue suede shoes, blue bells, blue bonnets: blue is the colour, football is the game…

March, march march across red square…oh no, that’s not right. Sacre bleu! Take a trip down the blue Danube instead.

Spaghetti is not OK. The plates should be filled with blue cheese and blueberries.

I hope that blue detergent was put down the toilet and that blue stripes run through the toothpaste which lays in a crumpled angle on the counter next to the blue mouthwash.

Covfefe is the new Hell Dust. It’s blue.

There’s a ding at the door - It should have been a Smurf. Think about it. *)

the late phoenix said...

i rooted for Leicester City this year...

Blue Bonnet is good margarine.

that Danube song puts me to a good way

there are blueberries in dog food now, called accents

blue Hell Dust is called Smurf Dust. or Gargamel's famous Daredevil Dust.

or the Blue Man Group. can the Blue Man be alone or must he be in the Group?

or Dahh-Ren. or Yondu. or Mary Poppins.

thank you so much for all your support, mah dahlin, love ya. i enjoyed this one. writing it is always a pain but i still like having to come up with ideas. now i sleep like a blue whale once in a blue moon on Blue Peter.

"Blew" by Nirvana, the start of it all...