Monday, October 30, 2017


1000 posts! wait, is that a good thing or a bad thing?

1. what do you think about when you're alone in your car? i don't drive. too scared to. i always think there's a crash ahead of me around the next bend. involving me. if i were alone it'd just make the situation worse and me untethered. i suppose i'd be thinking about how the Dodgers blew the World but seriously, it's almost embarrassing to lose it on your home field...

2. what advice do you have for your previous lover? TAKE ME BACK!!! PLEASE!!! I CAN'T LIVE LIKE THIS ANYMORE!!! i want to go back to how it was before. when i was actively auditioning for badly-blocked plays on treated-board stages of indie theatres located in small towns. where the lighting setup has a spotlight still graffitied with an authentic FLOWER POWER from the '60s back when the place was a hazy commune in a barn putting on really weird productions.

3. what inspires you? good writing, which is hard to come by these days............................i know, i'm sorry, i've been depressed lately...

4. if you were to get rid of one person in your life, who would it be and why? me. that way i could truly be me. free and myself.

5. how do you cope when your level of sexual desire doesn't match your partner's? we make a porn together. that tends to be something we can bond over.

bonus: are you single? why? are you married? why? i'm single. because i'm always so busy. like i always have to go to the grocery store and stuff. every two weeks. like tomorrow. it's gonna be bonkers tomorrow grocery-shopping on Halloween. the shelves will be completely cleared of toilet paper. but it's a blessing to have food. i'm married. married to myself. no, not sologamy, i'm just lazy.

i'm going this year as Pennywise. i know, i just came up with that right now. i just blew my own mind like how the Dodgers are gonna blow it. i'm sure to win the costume contest this year. easy, i already have my goth makeup on...


Friday, October 27, 2017



* Bonnie Swank is a maze babe. that's what i meant. she's a local celebrity down here. she's the green gilf. always organic, always natural. man my thing for older women is really starting to show...

* every season when the air starts to chill and the leaves die orange deaths, and the oranges die, though we had a 90 day recently, Ms. Swank shucks all the corn and bales all the hay and rides all the tractor and cuts her fields to 2000-whatever and adds cotton to all her crevices for cobwebs and slants all her outhouses and spookifies the chandelier lights and charges a fair fare. it's dubbed The Experience and it's wonderful. i hope to go someday. i assume there are candy apples to bob and a fog machine in their closet.

* no skeleton jokes.

* she has a husband, too.

* but she's clearly the star. she's not related to Hilary Swank but she looks like her. hey you know maybe she is. Hilary's baba or something. Hollywood is technically part of Hollister.

* bless. she is doing the devils work cos October is where Halloween goes to die. i don't know if you've noticed but nobody celebrates the Souls Day anymore. maybe it's recent events or that Wicca is year-round now or that there are no more full bars just funsize or that that last Simpsons segment made everyone lose their appetite or that costumes aren't a novelty anymore since the dawn of cosplay. nobody trick-or-treats anymore. not on my block or anywhere in my neighborhood. of course it doesn't help that there's one streetlamp in the whole town. on the mayor's porch.

* i now use the uncarved pumpkins for pumpkin pie. i used to like pumpkin pie.

* wait, there's an All Hallows High School in the Bronx? come on!

* this is what first got me hooked. she's a veritable Hitchcock blonde here: CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK

CLICK HERE you can tell she's had acting lessons. or she has a really bad cough.

* French noir phase: CLICK HERE

* this is what happens when you play with Pokémon cards: CLICK HERE

* really bad hair day: CLICK HERE

* relationship goals at the end of this video: CLICK HERE

Happy Halloween Long Weekend, my babies! federal indictment? now that's scary. you know, in this current climate, when i see people walking down the street wearing Guy Fawkes masks, i have no idea what they're revolutioning about anymore.

Wednesday, October 25, 2017


Maldark: i hope you got your worth in eyeful. you guys caused a vent fire in the bathroom your stares were intensing. my body aches all over and that shower didn't help. next time i charge every time one of your men masturbates to me. put it on my account.

Intendo: standard procedure, sir. gotta make sure you're not packing.


at the outside of the driving school lies ten miles of bad road. three feet of winding road. the road course is designed to be challenging but fair. the turns are a bit exaggerated but then again you don't see many large oak trees in the middle of intersections. the lines are painted with yellow paint from the '70s that is fading but still visible cos it's still yellow. there is one streetlight which is broken, very realistic conditions. there is one big white arrow on the course which points directly to the tree. a flurry of knocked-over orange cones litter the only path home.

Kelechi flexes her formidable bicep muscle, redirecting the sun's rays into the eyes of the class.

Kelechi: WELCOME TO P.E.! oooooh, i sound like Mr. Maldark! come on, students, let's do this for Teach. Mr. Maldark has been overexerting himself for what seems like weeks. he'll be back but it may be too late. let's continue the tradition without him. let's bring the project he started to fruition. how hard can it be to build a competition-ready F1 car that will win a race and not blow up in our faces? all the boys and girls must be the buoy. let's win one for the Sicker! but first...

Halwa: ...let me take a selfie?

Kelechi: no put your phone down, Halwa. *tsking* woke.

Kelechi wheels in a workable DeLorean and parks it in the middle of the course.

Kelechi: before you trot out movie references, don't cos i didn't see that movie. there is no extra credit in life. this is not a driving school, it is a drive school. all i care about is how these open gullwing doors reflect on my shiny calves. what drives this badboy puppy you cerebrate? it's not the flux capacitor...

the tires rotate harshly on the concrete and spark into flames.

Kelechi: horsepower isn't everything. after all, all the streets in this neighborhood are hampered by those infernal STOP signs planted on every corner which always work. but this car does have planted in its heart a nanowire battery.

Deen: *smiling while bowing* sweet. chassis character. we're not worthy.

Kelechi: no you are not. and that is why only one of you will be behind the wheel for a test spin. everybody line up at the starting line. Halwa, head's up, put your phone up, pay attention, get to the front of the line. heads up, class, everyone participates. run the course without a car. fastest time wins. first person to break the tape gets a seat at the table. to drive the dream. the car is what we strive. the car is what we thrive. may the best man win. and lordy may that best man be a dark woman.


Kelechi pulls up to a station with a screech.

Kelechi: i've got a surprise for you. Portillo's! Chicago's own! a little piece of home right here in the valley.

Maldark: i don't have a home.

Kelechi: hello, tiny window? yes. one dog hot with all the brimmings. make that chili thick and those onions grilled to a deep dark brown and make sure that ribeye is purple.

Maldark vomits all over the passenger's seat.

Maldark: me and my stomach are settling.

Kelechi: and for me? water. to clean this mess up. see? you'll feel hungry again. i tell you, Mr. Maldark, that bitch just cut me off! did you see that? he was a man, too. i tell ya, Mr. Maldark, society is getting crazy. it's impossible to live anymore, especially for girls. three stacks against them from birth jump. girls are sexualized at an early age and they're strippers before you know it if they don't get out of their small towns. it's worse where i'm from.

Maldark: *wiping his mouth with a floormat napkin* South Side?

Kelechi: i am Rohingya. those poor dears are child brides at age 8 and spitting out babies at 10. stunts their potential permanently. Nobel laureates and acid reducers and film directors and Lyft drivers they will never be. we need uplifting shorts of space exploration. girls are the ones who put out the fires and feed the whales. we need more poets at the very least.

Maldark: it's hard to help when we are so far away. in the land of plenty.

Kelechi: that's why i'm really shouder-sparking on your idea, Dark. this grand concept of a project. yeah. i need to be building something. toward what i haven't figured out. i need to get my hands dirty. i'd fly over there but my American Airlines tickets got lost in the computer. i went down there in person and they confirmed it after taking one look at me. American, huh? talk about terminal. all our Presidents are a little too touchy-feely for my tastes. i can taste my own tit thank you. we need to lead ourselves, nobody's gonna do it for us. why just this morning i get an evelope from the airline.

Maldark: apology letter?

Kelechi: nope, two tickets to something called Black Lives Fitness. i guess i was on their registry.

Maldark: sounds Russian.

Kelechi: turn at the freeway or the highway?

Maldark: the ultimate high is freedom.

Kelechi: have you seen that Project M C Squared commercial? see this is what i talk bout. it purports to be a lab kit for girls to work with chemicals and devise formulas and move blocks to invent equations which will get the sexier sex interested in dull boring science. but all this is is a way for girls to make perfume. that's the end gas. dot it on your wrists, bottle it, and now science is fun! they ain't foolin' nobody. you can't fool me.

Maldark: my poor Stan Smiths. the FBI men found them rooting through my garbage. leftovers from college which have now become the only fabric separating my holey socks from the ground.

Kelechi: i love that singer. soulful voice. cool kicks, doc! huh, those Feds wouldn't know classic feet if it bit them on their backdoor virus. did you know he played tennis? speaking of hi-tops, did you know Grace Jones invented the hi-top fade?

Maldark: i need a haircut. it's getting smelly down there. right here. thanks, thanks for the lift.

Kelechi: your wrists still hurt?

Maldark: and my ankles. must be the new forced diet.

Kelechi: here. check the glovebox. take 'em. they're bracelets, made of a special elastic substance. they protect me when i sleep alone. give me hope.

Maldark: thanks, Wonder Woman.

Kelechi: *look* please. Storm.


in the Tank at the Pentagon, President Bump is twirling in a rolling chair alone at the styrofoam table in the sealed room.

Bump: alone at last. a moment of peace all to myself.

Bump checks the scores on his watch.

Bump: Zulu time? since when do we allow these African terrorists to tell us what time it is? oh, now wait, that's just not fair. Weather Channel got a new fox. Kelly Love? with those tits? no, i'm sorry. they can't tell me otherwise, Kelly Love is a porn name, Kelly Love is the ultimate porn name, she's a porn star, you can't fool me.


at the National Anthem, Keith Williams Jr. almost makes it through the entire song. the crowd is restless anticipating Vin Scully. Keith starts to go into mondo falsetto mode with the high notes towards the end and disappears into thin air, dropping the mic.


at Ashley Parker's apartment

Ashley tosses her keys in the blender.

Comey: drunk?

Ashley: tipsy.

Comey: had a healthy skate?

Ashley: no. but it was a good skate. worked up a sweat from my bottom to my falling top. my sheets are gonna get ruined tonight.

Comey: yeah they are. whaddaya say. just one tug? for the memory bank?

Ashley: and sperm bank. i dunno. i'm already in bed. with my glo-in-the-dark pajamas on. oh, you're not here? i always assume Mueller will be in my apartment silently not stirring with the lights off when i get back from skate dates.

Comey: at a secret location in Northern Africa. no one knows we carry out secret missions with our volunteer troops here. that's why i set up a secret twitter account. just for you and me. locked out for the rest of the world. only 2 people know the password. and the Wingcode. so we can get as filthy as we want. to dig up dirty on our opponents.

Ashley: get me in the mood, Honey Comey.

Comey: check your feed.

Ashley: no mentions.

Comey: good. scroll. there's April Ryan.

Ashley: with her permafrost face that always looks like it's on the verge of crying. she's my idol.

Comey: here's a clip of the next ET with Kelly Ripa.

Ashley: *chuckling hard* ET is right. Kelly is definitely on something. look at those wide eyes to indicate she's suddenly very interested in this conversation about show business. hey what's this attachment?

Comey: dunno. secret file. it's a video clip from Admiral La David.

Admiral La David: the call signal is 00356. in Niger. backing up our frontline rooks ahead of schedule. it's snowing ash over here. it's not my skin. under control.

Comey: that gets me in the mood. gotta go. providing cover, cos i'm so tall. until next time, my darling, when i'll get to skate on you. a tug for old times' sake?

Ashley pulls on the zipper and opens the zip file. to reveal all of Comey's nudes taken in camouflage speedos at dusty air bases.

Ashley: oh my. sweet dreams, me.


Maldark: i see you've almost got the fence completed. it's amazing how you guys rushed to get that thing done. couldn't wait to get it erect. to solidify more separation amongst neighbors. i don't know my new neighbor's face much less his name. now there's virtually no reason to contact him.

Intendo: except your half of the bill for the fence. the check's in the mail. your neighbor's mail. we took it out of your account.

Maldark: my place looks like a reconstructed barn. i used to have patio furniture that was subtle. you cut it up into triangles of modern art. you turned my garden ornaments into garden furniture. how am i supposed to be festive when i can't see my lawn elf staring at me through my window any mornings?

Intendo: that guy's on my office window shelf.

Maldark: did you enjoy the show this morning? your men peeped my whole session with my shower.


Kelechi: you really don't look good at all.

Mr. Maldark stumbles to an upright position then slides back down the coffee room with no coffee.

Maldark: i was hoping that was a banana peel i'm hungry.

Kelechi: oh hell no i'm putting a stop to this right now, mister. you look green.

Maldark: the mystery of environmentalism is greater than the mystery of death---Oscar the Grouch.

Kelechi: it's okay. i'll take your kids this afternoon.

Maldark: not without a warrant.

Kelechi: oh hell we folk don't deal with such uppercrust inanities. it'll feel good to stretch my muscles a bit. with your permission of course, dude.

Maldark: i'm so tired i can't sleep.

Kelechi: that's legally-binding-document enough. you're weak from lack of nourishment. come on, climb on my back. literally. i'll take you home.

Less: hey are you okay, Mr. Maldark? i thought you were more of a hippie.

Deen: he'll be fine. he's Teddy Brosevelt. he just needs some rays of the sun.


on the waterlogged stage, President Bump takes to the podium, cuts down the podium with a Lincoln ax, then proceeds to deliver a wild speech.

he takes off his pressed suit and puts on a set of Jacob Marley rags delivered to him by a pair of hands backstage. only the hands show through the black hole.

Bump: do i scat in reggae or what?

disembodied voice: just do the lines like we practiced. as written. no adlibbing.

Bump throws his hands up in the air, making sure to shake those hands nervously, like he can't control them, but showing them off in the spotlight. the spotlight is blue and the backstage sound effects clang like a pound of spoons being dropped from the roped rafters.

Bump tries to make a fist but his nerves take over. he scowls and shrieks before settling on a cry.

Bump: *loudly* I'M WEAK!!! I'M WEAK! i've always been weak. only the weak profess that they're strong. it's been my shame since i was a little boy who lost his handball. i project ever since i failed my first science project. the volcano one. i have a deathly fear of baking soda. i always think it's drugs. now that you know my secret, what will you do about it?

Bump: am i doing this right?

disembodied voice: yes. don't look at me. look at the spotlight. imagine the spotlight is a hot blonde. finish my script before i have to disembowel. it's very important that you utter these words.

Bump: I'm WEAK! O I'm Weak. so so WEAK. I lost a knifefight once. the knifefight of love. and the knife was a rose. and I got the thorns. and the other dude got the STEM.

the audience pity-claps. one in particular in the back.

Humphrey Bogart: now THAT's a wild finish.

Tom Steyer emerges from the back and takes a bow.

Steyer: thank you, ladies and gentlemen, come again. it's imperative that you do.

Bump: good script, man. they say you're the best. you came highly recommended. who are you again?

Steyer: the man who will make you a star. every drone camera in the world was on you just then. a vital delegation was in attendance. hopefully they don't shut up about it. twitter amirite? i'm your manager but more importantly i'm your mook. you can count on me. who loves ya, baby?

Bump: you do?

Steyer rolls his eyes.

Bump: the voice on the phone said you make it easier to rubberstamp everything.

Steyer: that's right. i'm the Smith. i write the words they use. i massage their message, tailor it so it affects the most number of people. i can make them say what i want. we are all so glad you banned the teleprompter. i did the speeches of Flake, Corker, and McCain God rest his soul. while you're busy disinfecting your hands i'm in the smoke room busily scribbling away with my feather quill and tub of ink. i pour the hot stretchy liquid into my stamp and that's my seal of approval. like they did in olden times. surely you at least know of Shakespeare?

Bump: yeah i wrote all his plays. i'm the most intelligent person who has ever lived. that guy is a snowflake. that other guy popped the cork on the champagne a little too early. you look hot with the long blonde hair. why is there a yellow ring around your wrist?

Steyer: polio. when i was a child. i should be dead. but medical marvels. what a time to be alive. intelligence is more of a philosophical canard.

Bump: i am so sorry that Canadian singer died. he was my favorite. i hope i get a half-mast, too.

Steyer: say aren't you forgetting something? don't answer that. the play's not over. last page after the credits.

Bump: oh, right. join us again next week for another brimming installment of Masterpiece Theatre.


in Kelechi's Pontiac Sunbird

Kelechi: i got this puppy in blue. it purrs like a dog. they were pushing the pink one on me. now that i've got you alone with me i'd just like to take the opportunity to thank you personally for mentoring my niece Halwa. she's really taken a shining to you.

Maldark: i love all my kids. not in that way. my shins hurt. i hate missing class.

Kelechi: it's just traffic school. believe me they won't notice. let's call this an extended lunch.

Maldark: i couldn't eat if my life depended on it. it's the two-week lost war. the first week it's alright and normal, you eat regularly and drink a little too much and win the battle. it's that second week that's killer. the food runs out and not a drop to drink. that sudden shift to sandwiches again severs your stomach.

Kelechi: *her hands off the wheel to make a point* why don't the next time you go shopping buy two weeks' worth of food?

Maldark: i think that kinda defeats the purpose.

Monday, October 23, 2017


1. how much time do you spend taking care of your significant other?: a) more than taking care of myself, more than 60% of the time b) about 50% of my time c) 10% to 49%...i have kids! d) not really any time at all, definitely less than 10% of my time.

i don't really have time. it's not mine. not mine to give away. i tried to buy time once, but i couldn't find the seller. my dealer disappeared. who owns time? 10% to 49%...and i DON'T have kids. want some tho. i hope i don't end up like Al Bundy. i'll never forget that first episode, with Al and Peg on the couches. a neighbor asks "where are your kids?' and Al answers bluntly with a scowl "i don't know" and the ribald early-FOX audience cheer robustly with hearty growls. Bundy, Bundy, that name, THAT was why i was always scared of that show as a kid.

2. how do you sleep at night? a) with the whole bed to myself---yaay! b) i stay on my own side, someone else on their side c) we snuggle---start that way or end up that way d) we do not sleep together

not well. i was never an insomniac until Instagram. now i'm a hypersomniac. both are bad but at least with the latter i feel rested. i recently got a harder bed. will probably be my last bed till death. never knew they were so expensive. next time i'll get a cot. i don't have an SO but if i did, i'd start off in separate beds cos i always wanted to see what it would be like to be on the set of I Love Lucy. only in my twenties did i finally recognize what spooning was. for years people would come up to me and talk of "spooning" and i had no idea what the hell they were on about. not the foggiest. i thought of two spoons. clanging together. like the Soundgarden "Spoonman" video. we did not sleep together...but the child is mine.

3. what happens when you or your significant other get home from work? a) stop what you are doing to greet and hug each other b) engage in conversation about the day c) no specific acknowledgment of each other, no specific welcoming gesture but go about a household routine d) ignore each other

work? oh no, i'm hungry again. i have the feeling i'm going to be a stay-at-home dad. that's what cabana boys do, right? i am so bad with my sister. we really need to talk to each other more. she goes to her computer and i go to my computer...thank you for my computer.

4. how many things about yourself would you change? share 3 things and tell us why. i'd be more social, but then i wouldn't have this blog. i would disappear but for different reasons. i'd consume less sugar. but then i'd be more depressed. i would have tried harder to be an actor. not let the first turn-down kill my auditions. as strange as this sounds, i almost wished i had been a child actor. i mean i was living right there in Van Nuys in the '80s, a hop skip and traffic jam to Hollywood. i had an audition once when i was a little kid. for frozen orange juice in a can. but the line was too long and my mom took me out cos she had to go to Sears. the lady in the front had such kind eyes and gave me an acting packet anyway cos she knew i tried. what could have been. i could have been Scott Baio.

bonus: how many things would you change about a current significant other? that's impossible. you can't change people. you can only love them. the most powerful force in the universe is the love of a good girl to change a bad boy.


oh yeah, that ghoulish slime that would pour over the Married... with Children logo...

time to make the soup. Lipton Chicken Noodle with a basket of full-size brown russet potatoes. hopefully i don't get nicked. peeler cuts are the worst.

Friday, October 20, 2017



* in this day and age, getting to age 30 is a miracle.

* not those beautifully-crafted 30 for 30 documentaries so rich in faded film file and ingrained insight which unfortunately are too long for me to fit in my meaningless schedule

* i know. i thought sports were useless, too. but then ESPN came along and added the entertainment aspect.

* granddaughter: 30 stadiums or bust?
Gramps: bust.

* granddaughter: so this is where you're hiding.
Gramps: apparently not well enough.
granddaughter: happy birthday.
Gramps: i don't understand, this envelope has no stamp.

* granddaughter: i was told you love the old Dodgers/Giants rivalry.
Gramps: not after that violence. it's dead to me. like i will be soon. who told you?
granddaughter: Grandma.
Gramps: i hate my ex-wife. why'd you write Gramps on the envelope? i have a name you know.
granddaughter: what is it?
Gramps: i don't know.

* granddaughter: free Wednesday?
Gramps: yes. but shouldn't you be in school?
grandddaughter: i work.
Gramps: as what?
granddaughter: cat burglar.

* granddaughter: i hope you don't mind i stole this blue Volvo from Jimmy Carter.
Gramps: i'm sure he deserved it. watch it girlie, the speed limit's 25.
granddaughter: i paid off all my speeding tickets with diamonds.

* granddaughter: how old are you, Gramps?
Gramps: too old for sex. my life now consists of oatmeal and baseball. not necessarily in that order.

* granddaughter: make sure to put on your seatbelt, Gramps.
Gramps: why? i'd rather die eating this here box of super-glazed bearclaw donuts.

* at Rolling Pin Donuts
Gramps: where are the rolling pins? you sell rolling pins, right?
Rolling Pin Donuts manager: that's just a metaphor, sir.
Gramps: i need backup when the granddaughter starts using again.

* Gramps: awwww you're so cute when you're sleeping.

* granddaughter: whom are you rooting for?
Gramps: some nondescript Red A team.
granddaughter: looks like a W.
Gramps: ashamed Nationals fan.

* granddaughter: look at me wearing my baseball cap backwards. i'm so gangsta.
Gramps: that went out with the '90s. which was the last decade anything mattered.

* Gramps: where are we?
granddaughter: the stadium. remember, Gramps?
Gramps: this isn't Van Halen? FUCK
granddaughter: ...
Gramps: For Unlawful Carnage Knowledge

* Gramps: did you pay for this popcorn with another diamond?
granddaughter: no, the diamond is in the popcorn. i'm hiding it.
Gramps: ate the whole bag in one handful scoop. haven't eaten this good in months.

* granddaughter: what does your posterboard sign say?
Gramps: 45
granddaughter: looks like a swastika.

* granddaughter: scoring at home? that box score looks like ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs.
Gramps: how'd you know about my Egyptian sidepiece?
granddaughter: she's Grandma's sister.
Gramps: this will be my last love letter.

* granddaughter: why are you crossing my name off this list? and crumpling the piece of paper up into a ball?
Gramps: *in stentorian voice* The Blacklist. on NBC.

* granddaughter: don't hug me when the stadium's empty. feels weird.

* granddaughter: Grandpa, i have a confesson to make.
Gramps: is this about when i saw you on Tinder that one time?
granddaughter: no. I am Catwoman.
Gramps: *in stentorian voice* I AM BATMAN
granddaughter laughs.
Gramps: what's so funny?
granddaughter: good joke. i knew you had it in you. Batman and Catwoman.
Gramps: oh. i was thinking like a baseball bat.

* okay, some alone time. the 1988 Dodgers were everything to my 10-year-old boy self. this was my team for life. i felt about them the way i feel about tennis now. baseball was my blood back then. i was in the middle of my Little League tenure. on '80s grass and pizza parties at newly-formed arcades. i played catch with my dad out on the front lawn of our tiny precious home. we alternated between pitcher and catcher. i played catcher cos i really played catcher in Little League, that was my position. the moms in the stands marveled at how my skinny frame was able to keep all that heavy equipment on my back without tipping me over. i always loved that catcher's mitt being different-looking from all the others. oiled it daily. the smell of tar and pine and hide. it was pure Norman Rockwell. i miss my dad. Mike Scioscia was of course my favorite. to this day i still can't spell his name correctly. or pronounce it correctly. Orel Hershiser was the man. i knew that even back then. didn't know he was The Bulldog tho. i called him Hershey's Chocolate despite the Dodgers' gleaming white uniforms. and Orel is just a cool name. he had that lean-into pitching delivery that all the kids on the block emulated. i mean this was smack dab in the maelstrom that was Fernandomania. there will never be a bespectacled, praying pitcher like Fernando ever again. anywhere! i can still see him from the stands looking up to the heavens before his pitch knowing he wouldn't trip on the mound doing this cos he had faith. and the long lines on the highway after the game. bumper-to-bumper. my half-open eyes would flash back from swirly red-and-white lights to inside loud reverberating freeway tunnels to my mini blue Dodgers flag and my inverted blue mini Dodgers helmet filled with three scoops of neapolitan ice cream i wanted to save to ruin my supper of Dodger Dogs that had long since melted into soup. we'd make it back to that sacred house in Van Nuys after midnight. the palm trees were neon green. a tired kid wearily followed his blanket to his bed and tuckered his thumb out. this was back when I still did things. collect baseball tickets and baseball cards. and the manager Lasorda. everyone's favorite Santa Claus Grandpa. he made it okay to be fat. you know, eat all the pizza and the burgers and fries and chips and pretzels and drink all the beer, it's baseball! these were my heroes. my titans who defeated the gods. the Giants would come later to me as a defacto adult. but those innocent times spoke as much about the Eighties Era as to baseball itself, the lore of the pure American pastime intact. as i grew my hard ball softened to a fuzzy yellow one, but i'll never forget those times. nostalgia is painful when the times were good. funnily enough, you know that whole Kirk Gibson thing where he rounds the bases and does that thing with his arm like he's pulling on the chain of a buzzsaw? yeah, that's the one thing i don't remember.


happy weekend, my babies. go Yankees! Madison Avenue desperately needs this Series again! i work for Madison Avenue. advertising for them. that's one step below advertising for cigarettes. edit: well at least there's something to do Saturday night.

Wednesday, October 18, 2017


Ashley Parker is seated on a soft sofa with clear plastic covering all of it. flanking her on either side are Mueller and Junior. it's an FBI office and it's midnight. a tall loopy fern casts a shadow on the tv crackling with the only energy in town. a warm blue glow emanates from the screen centering everyone's attention as the only sun around.

Ashley: the crickets are asleep. man this place is dead after closing hours.

Mueller: everyone's always on assignment overseas at the same time. go ahead, crack a window, no one's here. no one's watching. but be warned, the drones are invisible now. fuck tech and its rapid growth.

Junior: MOMMY! give me the remote! i want to watch TGIF! i want to watch Disney Afternoon! i want to watch Must See TV on NBC Thursday with the original lineup with Seinfeld and Wings! i want to watch Golden Girls while stuffing my kisser with cheesecake with one strawberry on top!

Ashley: shut up i can't hear myself muse. oh...sorry...yeah...this...shhhh....shhhh, honey, hush, shush, mommy's here, mommy's sorry, mommy's rubbing your armpit, mommy had a bad day. do you want mommy to make you some chicken fingers and tater tots and nachos and apple juice?

Junior: yes mommy. and you have to feed me.

Ashley: these chicken nuggets better be microwaveable or we're shitted. hey champ, little man, get to work on the drinks while mommy makes the soup. stick a straw in this apple.

Junior blinks his eyes and can't stop blinking them.

Ashley: come on, Bob, you promised.

Mueller: okay. i think you've earned a conjugal visit for good behavior. are you excited to see daddy, Junior?

Junior: *clapping hands* DADDY!!!

Comey walks through that door. bumping his head.

Comey and Ashley share a passionate kiss. their respective teeths hook together.

Ashley dusts off his shoulder.

Ashley: where have you been, honey? none of us have heard a peep out of you for months!

Comey: spying overseas. i'm just back from rigging the Catalonian election. that was pretty basic. what's the point of having a choice? of course you're going to vote for independence. still got shot at tho.

Ashley: and we're flipping. and we're flipping.

Comey: and we're flicking. WHO     IS     THAT    TOMATO   BISQUE   CAN?

Ashley: Molly Qerim.

Comey: and seated next to her is Eminem and his lyrics, that's how she got the job.

Ashley: oh, now i get it. i see you working. you rub off on me good. but that's Max Kellerman.

Comey: my eyes are still adjusting. long flight. on a missile. fastest way to get here.

Ashley: Molly has the hots for Max. it's obvious. women notice these things. she loves it when Max gets hot and bothered over some social issue that doesn't really have anything to do with sports. tangential tangerine at best. every man must confront this in his lifetime. there will be a babe at work who likes you after you get married and you're damning the gods that you got married too soon. what do you do? a lifetime of commitment down the toilet for one monster fuck in the office toilet?

Comey is half-asleep.

Ashley: oh look, the World Series. that Todd Frazier is a babe. he has the perfect baseball look. his chin is stone square and he has that trailing red mark over his right eye. his crew cut is straight out of '50s central casting. you know he learned to play baseball on a Kansas farm.

Comey: is that Jeopardy bartender still on? he was world famous. we were watching him over there. restoring the good name of New York from the annals of anonymity.

Ashley: yeah, that guy. with the puppet marionette hand actions during his commercial breaks. the charades would have been unbearable if he weren't such a cute glass pixie with a fro. i'd like to think he's still innocent riding on a chilly afternoon into the big city on his bicycle wearing nothing but his karma.

Comey: can't believe that officer won with one dollar. that's gotta be a record. can't believe we didn't handle that in time. when will i see you working?

Ashley: *smiling* i'm working on it i'm working on it. it'll be sourced before your next bullet. be careful out there, Catacomb, living is fun. here. take this paper. just came down the wire. Admiral La David will keep you safe.

Comey: your smile melts my heart. hurry up, i gotta go back to my regular job soon.


at the National Anthem played before Jeopardy, Jason Aldean sings a medley before disappearing into thin air. Tom Petty comes out on stage and stands on the very spot of the vanishing.

Tom Petty: i would not have approved of this. i am no second act.


Less is trembling before school. he is assigned by his beloved mother to recover his bus pass. he shivers on a sunny day at the bus stop for an hour before realizing he has no bus pass. he sits himself down at the curb of a scooter shoppe. he doesn't shudder, afraid to move an inch. he walks sidestep like a crab to justify the fact he is lost and has no idea where to go. he stops at an ice cream place to kill some time before realizing that wasn't the problem. he finally makes it to the DMV, which is next to the school, hoping to have a long line for a built-in excuse. ghost town. he reads the sign above the clerk and pretends to put on glasses he doesn't need and gets nervous when he realizes he'll have to speak and sits on the waiting-room bench alone for ten minutes before taking the long way home.

Mr. Maldark pulls up in his Pinto.

Maldark: don't ride in cars with boys. or strange men. get in, dude, we're late for class.

Less: this is my first official hitchhike.

Maldark: cozy, huh? we're all just human. look in my pockets for some leftover bus tickets.

Less: they're used gum wrappers.

Maldark: the nerve of that flatfoot. he asks me to stare at his cock and the 100 is conveniently sticking out of his pocket square visible. he says that's the department's budget for the month and that bill is worth many hotdogs and he's just like me. he ain't foolin' nobody. your boy is an angel. this is the only time i get to use my whip. after the morning the car is in the parking lot at school worked on diligently by Deen. i'd give that boy an A on his permanent record if Effort was a subject.


Maldark: welcome to traffic school! what are we all baking today? oh i see your desks are dusted and done. now we're cooking with gasoline. my favorite subject now: food. I am hungry.

Independent student: preserved lemon
Republican student: raw bird drumstick
Democrat student: fruit lunch
Less: Jittery John's espresso in a flask
Deen: Dave's Killer Bread. White Bread Done Right.

Kelechi: *laughing* haha, you funny, Deen. you white but you got some flavor.

Maldark: and me with my radiator soup! stewed right in my Pinto's radiator! go on while it's hot. the carrots are a little dry...

Mr. Maldark vomits all over the students' food.

Kelechi: and the broth's thick. oh Mr. Maldark, you're sick...

Maldark: i'll be alright. join me in the bathroom. it's not their fault. i haven't had food in a while. and then i had some. we need to get moving.

Kelechi: i know. he showed me his brochure, too. do you know anything about Formula One racecars? cos i got squadoosh.

Maldark: don't you know? you need a Master's at my driving school.


Mr. Maldark is back in his office. at home.

he tries on his ratty ecru robe from college and removes his baggy underwear. he sways with his clothes on as they become less and less. he grabs the hock of sweaty ham from his rattan hamper from college.

Intendo: so that's what's there.

Maldark: i gave your men quite the show this morning, Intendo.

Intendo: Nintendo. i mean, no, you had it right.

Maldark: do you know what it feels like, G Man?

Intendo: i'm as poor as you.

Maldark: i don't think so. it's all different now. i have to eat but one slice of bacon per day. instead of my usual two sticks of gum it's down to one. i fisted five Pringle chips without a second thought, now i carefully slice up one chip from the Pringles pile and place the rest in the tube. no more full bars this year.

Intendo: Halloween is cancelled this year. the kids will be so disappointed.

Maldark: no more full bars of Hershey's chocolate. have to get the almond ones for protein. can't fuck around with those empty-calorie Reese's cups which add no nutrition. half a bar of chocolate from now on. one envelope of sugar for my coffee. when there's coffee. i mean i would unconsciously crack two eggs no problem for breakfasts. one egg forevermore. like the number zero. the omelette is a dream. do you know what it's like, Super?

Intendo: don't call me that.

Maldark: today i'm lucky. i got bacon. the one with maple brown sugar. it sticks in my hand like a greased ball of gravity. i lick my fingers hoping to feel solid again. like it will coat my aching esophagus with a palliative petroleum. slime the skids. make it easier to go down.

Intendo: i've got some bad news for you, champ.

Maldark: please, i'm eating. and when i cook, i art, and when i art, i have to wear the right attire. this shirt of mine. oh my Brother got it for me. way too big for my wasting frame. it's more like a full dress and skirt it's so long. i'm almost tripping on it when i walk. so i have to each time twirl it into a snake and wrap it around my waist. i tie it in a bow and make sure to show my midriff. then i do a little dance. a nice long faggy dance. like this. see it? you like what you see? your boys did. do you think this becoming of a teacher? a leader of women and men? is this funny to you?

Intendo: i think this is very serious. but it's true you are fagged. you hit the skids. come on, get to it. put the bacon bits on your nipples and feed your hellion cats and let's scram.

in the car

Intendo: your house is being auctioned off. to the Feds. it's our property now. it's one huge crime scene.

Maldark: but my home is small. it's more like an apartment.

Intendo: the only way you'll ever get it back is if you refinance it or something. or rob a bank and get the money. you better come up with something fast. a scheme or a scam.

Maldark: you guys love to kick a guy when he's down.

Intendo: makes it easier. i've got a brochure. look over at my pants pocket.

Maldark: oh no. i'm not joining the dark side.

Intendo: i swear, Maldark, just one time. right in the kisser.

Maldark: you wish, i don't like you like that.

Intendo: coulda fooled me.


President Bump: look at this landscape! cool countryside unspoilt by man.

Michael Fish: mostly by man they mean you.

Bump: i know. i'm awesome. i am the man. this is where my race will take place. and it will be amazing.

Michael Fish: then why don't you get out of that light van and walk a few meters, tubby.

a man stumbles his Ford F150 truck to the side of the curb and gets out next to the men. his face is ashen and he looks as if he's seen a ghost.

man: God Bless America.

Bump: yes?

man: i just came back from my house. what was my house. back from Hell. with its mouth held wide, letting all the bad feelings out. a hellspont of hellspawn. burned to the ground, not a crisp left. we can rebuild. even though i have no money. we can rebuild doesn't mean we can. it approaches you without your notice nor consent. like a spiteful spirit looking for revenge for what your grandfather did. before the warning goes out a pair of flames lick your feet fingers. you're disoriented cos you wanted one last snooze in your own bed before you have to scavenge for safety. the trees encumber under pounds of ash and cinder which fall like snow. i found my family photos but not my family. this area isn't known for fires. i hate wine. why did this happen to me? i try to be a good person. is the universe random?

Bump: next time you gotta get small. that's how everyone has to live their life now.

man: you can't get small once the flames have enveloped you, sir. what do you mean next time?!

Bump: why are you here? there are men on the weather channel?

Michael Fish: didn't you see me in the '80s?

Bump: distracted. i was trying to strike it rich at a casino.

Michael Fish: well i am here to say that Ophelia will be a ripper. she will envelop both islands with her stern gaze and squeeze the wind out of us! she is a fierce feisty spirit returning to her Gaelic granary atop the true spot of her Celtic church so rudely rubbled by the local nonbeliever villagers an aeon ago. they will rue the day they desecrated her with deism. she comes back to her coven along with the other mothers. i call all mothers now cos all mothers are witches. they wield their magic with their words on the telephone. they are the ones who control the weather make no mistake. we merely meteor their magic.

Bump: what about my precious golf courses? will they be okay? will they survive the storm? without much uprooting? those tufts are tough.

Michael Fish: i see it all now. on my map. a red sun has crept over your golf courses. purveying with its radiative rays. bands of birds fly crazy patterns along the seashore, pooping in all the holes.

Bump: NOOOOOOOOOOO. wait, England doesn't get hurricanes! there you go again, Europe, trying to be us.


Friday, October 13, 2017



* i can't really write on this.

* i am contractually obligated to write on all the phoenix things.

* great grandmother: hello, great granddaughter. are you listening to me? do you know how much i sacrificed for you? say something.
baby: goo goo gah gah
great grandmother: men don't like when girls do the baby voice anymore.
baby: can you change my diaper?
great grandmother: you have to learn to be independent.

* you may never know me. for i am going to Heaven.

* little girl: i hate hospitals.
little girl: i didn't mean it!

* young lady: mom, what's going on out there? why do we have to hole up in a bomb shelter?
mom: it's just the adults playing hide-and-go-seek, dear.

* immigration officer: papers.
girl hands him her teddy bear.
girl: you have to let me in the country.
immigration officer: and why is that?
girl: cos you're my grandpa. i can stay, you can't.

* reel-to-reel is still the best tech. cleanest sound.

* young woman: mom wanted me to put my nose to the grindstone and hit the books. but i put my nose in other things and took hits of other substances. ain't that right, teddy?
teddy bear: i saw the whole thing.
young woman: NOW I WANT TO DANCE!!!

* young woman: when they were out of a book at the library, i wrote my own. i was always self-sufficient.

* woman: i don't understand. being a cleaners is a noble profession in my country. only the nobles have cleaners.
coworker gal pal: we're like Laverne & Shirley on the assembly line.
woman: i get that reference. here is my dirty glove on your bottle. you shouldn't be drinking at work.
coworker gal pal: that's a cute powder-blue outfit.
woman: i'm studying to work at Mel's Diner. i learned English watching Alice.

* 30s woman: what's this called?
boss: a cubicle.
30s woman: in my country these are called troll farms. we have a lot of fun in my country.

* 30s woman: what's this called?
boss: a computer.
30s woman: do i need to learn how to use it?
boss: no. in the future we'll just have ipads.

* boss: join me for drinks?
30s woman: no thanks. i drink water. i'll drink the rain outside.

* office worker: WHOA! who's the milf?
 older woman: i'm your new boss. dammit, i thought my skirt was long enough.

* older woman: where do i put this box?
office workers: we can't use that term in the workplace.

* baby: so apparently you're actually my mother.
great grandmother: i spent so much time laser-focused on getting ahead i forgot how i had fun.

* great grandmother: so, my great granddaughter, what have you decided to become?
great granddaughter: i want to play video games for a living.


happy weekend, my babies. don't go out tonight. it's pretty perfect that there's a Friday the 13th in Halloween Month.

Wednesday, October 11, 2017


later, when the offices are closed for the night, Mueller and company break back into the office.

Mueller: it's a 24/7 job we have.

Ashley: i miss him. this was Comey's old office, too, right?

Mueller: yes. i know. here, use this phone. it's untraceable.

Junior begins singing a little Italian ariata in front of the crescent moon.

Comey: that's amore!

Ashley: *smiling* you were listening in to our private conversation?

Comey: of course.

Ashley: *smiling* that is so cute! honey i miss you. i'll be over soon.

she heartily kisses the bottom circle of the phone receiver.

Junior spits on that bottom circle and wipes it with his pocket kerchief.

Junior: saliva is the best disinfectant. for coicles.

Mueller: untraceable.


at the weather center, Dr. Erika Navarro is interviewing a stubborn barkeep in the wake of Hurricane Nate. who has his arms around her.

barkeep: Nate? another one? now little lady, let me tell you you don't live to be as old as i am without learning to tune out. there can't be more and more of these storms, it's impossible. my shop was serving the slop and the juice through all kinds of disturbances and we ain't stoppin' now for some hype. some nother Nate. it's gonna come destroy us? record flooding for a Category One Half? come on! that's more of that fake news that's meant to divide us. i mean pick your poison, right? isn't it time for all of us in this world to be happy? come dance with me.

Erika: no.

Goody Paul: was he bothering you, dear? it's Goody in the studio.

Erika: yes. his staggering ignorance.

Goody: THE RAIN SHALL BE NAMED. this rain's got a name. unfortunately there's no rain relief in sight for those Cali fires. we name all storms around here at the weather channel, i wonder if we should name this firestorm.

Erika: probably in bad taste.

Goody: i was thinking........Fire Man!


Mr. Maldark is called into Intendo's office. at school.

Intendo: Mr. Maldark have a seat. well, you'd be shocked to witness the stuff i see everyday driving around on the job. why just this morning i see a whole car crashed into the garage of this house. these are our neighborhoods. that thing looks like it's been there for awhile. hasn't been moved or touched at all. i mean jesus.

Maldark: i have class.

Intendo: i won't keep you. my men searched your place. ransacked the shit out of it. every nook and cranny as they say in Englandia. we checked your victory garden, nice government-issued plums by the way. seedless, right?

Maldark: i cringe at what pesticides you sprayed them with to achieve that. came with the house.

Intendo: i'll be honest. your place is a mess. papers everywhere. sheaves of scribble and plans for something and long trails of numbers. formulas written in blood. sumerian symbols. stacks of dust. books pinned to a large hairy bulletin board which is really just your bedroom wall. red yarn hanging everywhere.

Maldark: that's for my cats.

Intendo: yeah, and your purple cats scratched my eyes out! it's a bit nutty. a conspirator's cave. all that was missing was the tinfoil. what are you cooking up over there? it was like a sniper's nest.

Maldark: but i hate guns. oh no, i don't cook extravagantly with tinfoil anymore, too pricey. i'll never eat a roast chicken again.

Intendo: and what was that flag? like a good citizen you had your American flag up 24/7 but it had orange stripes and green stars. what's that supposed to symbol? the only time we didn't have eyes on you was when you did that tinkerbell thing in your morning robe where you twirled around and put the pieces of bacon to your nipples before feeding your cats. watch yourself.

Maldark: art. and, uh, the art community.

Intendo: you're dismissed.

Maldark: class. hey class! listen up! this is not a traffic school. this is an institute. thanks for fixing my stickshift, Deen, it was sticking something awful.

Deen: no problemo, Mr. Dude.

Less: brodacious.

Less and Deen high-five under the stressed tile.

Deen: hey are you feeling okay?

Less: no, not really.

Maldark: okay the movie should work now. if the power doesn't go out in the middle. hopefully you complete this and the teachers' starvation pay the bills around here. follow intently,


the students look on, mum.

Maldark: hopefully we all achieve. to dream like this. the first person to ever dream of space travel was a man by the name of Lucian of Samosata.

Less: and the aliens. and the women.

Deen: true story?

Maldark: yes, that was the name of his book...


Superintendent Intendo is pacing back and forth in his office at the FBI. he drinks his papers and rifles through his cup of coffee. of course this spills his coffee all over his desk, in a beautiful waterfall down the center. he lifts up his dripping papers as he ponders what his next move should be.

Intendo: there's something about a piece of white paper stained with coffee. the brown forms elusive complicated vein patterns, like crushed waterpaint routes. it is quite magnificently poetic. it's like the coffee belongs on the paper, it is a work of art meant to be. whatever this was for before it is no more.

he rolls the paper into a makeshift hollow pipe and begins sniffing the cocaine off his desk.

Intendo: civil servant. no rolled 100-dollar bills for me. but it works the same. the great equalizer.

*phone rings*

Intendo: yeah. did you comb the whole house? even the bushes? do it the way i showed you, bottom to top so you don't harm the rosepetals? miss the stem? right. i'll be right over.

he tramples over his coat, hits his head on the coatrack, and shatters the glass of his door screwing with the knob.


President Bump is on a bike. he struggles to sit down and ride but the pedals are too big for him. he is like a clown without makeup. he blows the novelty coiled airhorn on the basket.

Bump: rolling? always rolling. the French countryside is landscaped with the color wheat as the pumpkins dot the roads. flowers bloom in time for the riders to be seduced as the scent paints the way to their stage finish. the lines are paved with jealous onlookers who have to work for a living. look at this clean path! no one in sight. i could win the Tour de France by myself if this damn contraption thing went faster than 3mph. alas, it is French and nonunderstandable. we need an American Tour de France. i had one once, don't listen to Tesh, Sellecca was saucy, she was looking for the greatest American hero. it was called the Tour de Bump, then sponsors came in and ruined it as sponsors do and renamed it DuPont or something. it did huge numbers but the public was confused. their sons wanted to grow up to be firemen and cops and baseball players, not riders of bike. i mean who ever heard of anything so absurd as a bicycle for a Christmas present? where would you put the bow? anyway the whole thing was a flop but don't blame me, blame the froggies. they invented Frogger.

Greg LeMond: i rode that. i always seem to be everywhere the bikeracing community doesn't want me to be.

Bump: we'll be right back after these messages.

but i never gave up on sports. i should have been a producer. sports are the lifeblood of this country, you know? they matter more than finances and nuclear obliteration. people don't care about tribalism, they care about their Yankess. i know that full well. i was gonna start my own network, TSPN. but the NFL sued to block me from carrying any of my broadcasts.

stay tuned, folks, the break is coming up, but we'll be right back. this is usually the time the Anthem is played and no one cares so it's not shown. but i'm here now. will i make a fuss again? you'll see. it's the calm before the hurricane.

at the National Anthem, Rex Tillerson is singing it.

Pence: my you are quite the heldentenor, Rex! you are so rich. with the voice. i didn't know you could sang.

Rex: singing is my real passion. i want to open on Broadway. are the Muppets still there? i want to do an SNL monologue. you know i know it's incorrect, but i still want to pronounce her name Gal Gadough. it just sounds right. and cooler.

Bump: doh! i thought she was a porn star. her name is a porn star. i challenge you to an IQ test. i'm the smartest person who ever lived. the Bible tells me so.

Rex: fine. what's the capital of Maine?

Bump: Bangor. that's how i met Sarah Palin.

Rex: wrong. Augusta.

Bump: what? it seems it should be Bangor. that would be cooler. and right. i mean Augusta, really?

Rex: the public changed on me. i was thought to be the mean grandpa. but i turned into the kindly old grandpa. YOU'RE the bad grandpa! i challenge you to a duel. meet me on the set of Qi on the week-END.

Bump: what is that?

Pence: British.

Bump: then it doesn't matter.

Rex Tillerson disappears into thin air.

Pence: oh. i was just about to take a picture of you, Rex.


Ashley Parker is being dragged down a dimly-lit hallway by Mueller.

Ashley: are you sure this will work?

Mueller: if we're quiet about it. it's gotta. for the sake of the country. and the world. do you really have to still be wearing your roller skates?

Ashley: hey you called me.

Mueller: quickly come inside my office.

Ashley: are you fucking me?! do you live under a rock?! do you not watch the news?!

Mueller: no. that's why i need you. i told you. i no longer have my FBI office where i left behind vital files i need to close the deal. i'm afraid you're stuck with me till this crisis is over. it won't be averted. one Intendo is the current occupant.

the door has a hole where the knob should be. Junior jumps into the hole. Mueller gingerly taps his foot to the hole and opens the creaking door slowly.

Mueller: *ushering* come on, come on!

and he slams the door shut.

Mueller: let's pretend we're making out. i hear guys down the hall approaching. hurry.

Ashley: no. never. done. remove my wire.

Mueller: oh damn! the window pane on the door is cracked! Junior, do your thing. Junior? where'd he go?

Junior like a pistol bullet retrieves a new pane of glass. but in the best traditions of The Three Stooges, he is carrying the pane over him and nobody sees him and they all tumble down and crash the glass. three times.

Junior: *gluing the edges of the glass with white paint* there, boss. it's all set in affixed to the door.

Mueller: see i want it to be all noir. they'll see the shadows of you and i through the glass, just the silhouettes, and know a man and woman are busy in here.

Ashley: getting raped.

Mueller: and leave us alone.

the three men walk by.

Mueller: some things never change. that bought me enough time. i got the crucial file. let's scram.

Monday, October 9, 2017


1. i am me because______________nobody else wanted it.

2. ______________will never ever do________________ The Hulk, PCP (or we're in trouble)

3. he was grabbing ice cubes and _______________pretending he was all hard like Cube and Ice-T but he had no primetime shows. he was just slinging lemonade that tasted like iced tea in a commercial on the curb and getting stomped there.

Majin Buu was stuffing ice cubes down his pants. he danced in the air like Hammer and giggled.

4. ok ok i'm really__________ok. i was just kidding the whole time. but i'm seriously depressed.

5. the charming______________got in my________________


it's all in there. the lyrics, the sexy dancing, and the burning sage.

bonus: tell us about places where you've been happiest. loud '80s arcades at the mall next to Sbarro. beige skeeball lanes easy to cheat, you wait till Chuck E Cheese turns his head and plunge the ball into the top circle for 1000 tickets. the 7-Eleven on Wilshire on top of the gas station. the defunct Lazer Tag which now serves as the Halloween Hay Maze one month out of the year seasonally. miniature golf: for years i thought that was real golf. batting cages: that one time i got beaned in the head, luckily i was wearing my oversize helmet, in the softball moonball cage, too, the slowest one, those things are dangerous for children. finding 60-dollar Nintendo railroad cartridges at some makeshift rectangular kiosk deep in the heart of some warehouse next to the mattresses and specialty-flavor Strawberry Icees you could only get there in the entire tri-state area, i swear it was like a bazaar but inside a cheaply-lit Target. Chipotle which back then was called Taco Bell. huffing under the bleachers which back then was called graffiti but now is called art. huffing under the bleachers which back then was called smoking but now is called incense. skating on the half-pipe which was really just a converted jungle gym.

i did a lot of loitering as a kid...


Friday, October 6, 2017



* just in time for Halloween. sorry, i thought you were wearing a costume.

* Virginia Christine, a name straight out of the pages of a paperback Harlequin romance.

* director: do you prefer Mrs. Olson or the Folgers Coffee Woman?
Mrs. Olson: i prefer you feed me all the pastries on that craft-service table.

* groovy man: this paint party is a great idea. and that's not my roller.

* groovy woman: you like my psychedelic shirt?
groovy man: that's how it came? i thought you painted that atrocity.

* groovy woman: how hard could it be? it's just coffee. it's just brown water.
grrovy man: your coffee killed a man.
groovy woman: your manner is creepy. you're either a soap-opera hunk or a serial killer. YOU killed a man.

* groovy woman: what are you doing here?
Mrs. Olson: exactly. i was hot once. i don't need this shit!
groovy woman: did you bring the sandwiches?
Mrs. Olson: what am i, your mother?!
groovy woman: yes. otherwise you're some vagrant cat-lady who unnervingly popped in unannounced.
groovy man: just in time for Halloween.

* Mrs. Olson: darling what are those blue pants called?
woman: bellbottoms. you like my butt?
Mrs. Olson: can't tell. next time wear jeans so i have somewhere to focus my eyes.
groovy woman: almost finished. just need to apply the yellow paint.
Mrs. Olson: i ate some of it. i thought those were cans of cold fondue.

* Mrs. Olson: you're not superstitious, are you, dear? follow me under this ladder.
groovy woman: i'm more unsettled by your Hansel and Gretel picnic basket.

* Mrs. Olson: there are no shortcuts in life or coffee *pulls out instant coffee crystals*

* groovy woman: will i have a good life?
Mrs. Olson: look at my face.

* Mrs. Olson: i think Folgers tastes best. they're the only ones who didn't drop me as a sponsor after my incident.

* groovy woman: Mountain Grown? what does that mean? which mountain?
Mrs. Olson: that's where the children are, dear.

* i have that same percolator with the flowered white cylinder pot decanter and silver head and black handle and UFO spaceship bubble. my mom keeps her lemonade in it.

* groovy woman: how's it taste?
groovy man: like air.

* Mrs. Olson: why is your shirt covered in white stuff?
groovy man: well i was...
Mrs. Olson: no need to explain, honey. you experimented with a billygoat. back in my day that was called the studio system.


happy weekend, my babies. R.I.P. Ralphie

Wednesday, October 4, 2017


Mueller:...we can make this work. you said this was the only place that allows you to keep your skates on after derbying and order cos the booth benches are black.

Ashley: who'd want to take them off? aren't they pretty? the wheels are actual stars. what's up?

Mueller: not my cock. i'm sweating bullets, doll. everybody's putting this tremendous pressure on me to deliver something dramatic. i don't know if it's all there. may stop before the juice. before the seller. or the buyer. i feel very deflated. we need your help.

Ashley: *sigh* did you bring the boy?

Mueller: of course! he and i are joined at the wire.

Ashley: and what are we calling the boy?

Mueller: Junior's fine. what's the scoop, Junior?

Junior: i like ice cream, all flavors. i mean so uh mommy, hi mommy. OJ Simpson was the Vegas shooter.

Ashley: uh, i have to check my notes but i'm pretty sure i can not confirm that.

Mueller: see? we make a great team! you're so pretty in the dark. i love it when you smile for real.

Ashley: i got chipped teeth. that's why i drink a lot. to cover my mouth. buy me a drink, that's what restaurants are for.

Mueller: another one? okay but the taxpayer isn't gonna like this.


at the weather channel Hurricane Jose joins with Hurricane Maria. instead of forming a Super Hurricane they blend and peter out.

Bump: what's the situation?

Goody Paul: Mr. President you're on with us live on live tv.

Bump: doesn't matter. just talk as if this were a private call. there's no privacy anymore.

Goody: they cancelled each other out, sir. all clear. it's just me in the studio. my wife is in the throes of her Wicaan hibernation and my usual partner is in the midst of a sabbatical.

Bump: what happened to her? she was hot. Martina the Rose...

Goody: Maria. a hurricane of unprecented devastation was her namesake. she's experiencing massive survivor's guilt. this really messed her up. she's challenging all her precepts. she can't even squeeze Starbucks anymore her hand shakes too much.

Bump: hey can you move the chyron on your broadcast? i can't see the babes' tits. they accuse me of not knowing where Puerto Rico is, well how can i pay attention to what's on the map when i'm looking at the weathergirl's high heels when she turns around?


at the National Anthem, the baseballs are flying over.

Aaron Tveit: i'm gonna sing the National Anthem now. i want everyone in the stands to join me in singing the National Anthem. you don't have to link anything just sing it, too. you don't have to put your hand on your heart, just don't put your hand on your mouth. i want to hear the whole crowd. i'm gonna sing the National Anthem now.

Tveit starts but he doesn't finish. midway through his spirited Broadway rendition of the Anthem he disappears into thin air.


in the breakroom Maldark is huddled in a corner and nervously takes a sip of his white styrofoam cup.

Maldark: oh that's good. the coffee hitting my throat like a hot snake. my vocal chords are bathed in this elixir of excess. for but a brief breathy moment i can forget...

Kelechi: hello.

this spooks Maldark.

Maldark: *frazzled* what are you doing here?

Kelechi: i work here. i'm the lucky one i guess. i teach the course. get to go outside and drive around. not that my dark skin needs any more color. but the classrooms have mildew from last semester. styrofoam was banned years ago.

Maldark: i was just...

Kelechi: my name is Kelechi. you don't have to drink coffee in this room you know. there are plenty of cups of coffee scattered throughout campus. they're on the chalk ledges, under the students' desks, and when you pull down the projector screen. those plants all around? that's not potting soil they're sitting in. that's coffee grounds.

Maldark: i see. thank you.

and he leaves. but gets blocked by Superintendent Intendo.

Intendo: how you liking it, Mr.? we're gonna do a surprise inspection of your house later this afternoon. i got a friend at the FBI. nothing to worry about, just normal operating procedure. legal formality. safety check. best if you don't show, it's gonna get messy in there.

Maldark: oh. i see. it's a bungalow.

and Maldark leaves.

Maldark: class, hello, my name is i'm hungry. i'm not good with tech. in order to pass this course you're gonna have to get intimate with a car. let's take a look at my beat-up Pinto. as you can see, i haven't driven in ages.

Deen: that's what i said! my old man's Mustang is basically a Pinto.

Less: under the hood, baldie?

Maldark: under the car. what do you see, student?

Less: a system of slithery pipes. skewering rods. serrated metal circles.

Maldark: i see the Sistine Chapel.

Deen: wow. perfect. but why aren't you on your back on a rolling gurney like a proper oily mechanic?

Maldark: because that's a common myth. Michelangelo painted his masterpiece standing up, not on his broken back. take a look at the art on your phone. sorry, i wasn't able to roll down the projector screen.

Less: i see God and his band of angels around him.

Deen: and that famous shaka sign of pointed fingers.

Maldark: look at God again. and the angels surrounding him in a shape. what's that look like to you? it's a brain!

Less: just in time for Halloween. what was gonna be your original opening line for us, Mr. Maldark?

Maldark: society has outcasted us. we are cast in a particularly dim light. we are the failures and the felons and the losers and the crashers. we are not famous and never will be. we are simply the mounting masses. we who live our lives without a name. the rule-breakers and the left-behind. the unspecified, the unknown, the unqualified. well, folks, i will find something that will bind this family together against the world. a project will turn into an idea. an idea will turn into a concept. a concept will turn into a creed. and if we're lucky, a creed will turn into a catharsis. class, there is no place i would rather be than right here right now with you.


Less is a thoroughly unremarkable young man. his best friend Deen is his sidekick, at least he has that going for him, though Deen would beg to differ and offer that it's a matter of view. Less is typically seen around town lost and missing the bus by minutes. he wears a white T-shirt cos it's the most unremarkable piece of finery there is. Deen sports his ever-present burgundy felt hoodie and that moptop of Kurt Cobain dirty blond that never seems to go out of style. the two are joined in best-friendship not at the hip but at the foot. it is on this day, this day which has vexed youths since time immemorial, the Monday of all Mondays which wrecks full seasons of Summer saturdays and sundays: the start of school. driving school.

Deen: you walked here?

Less: i don't want to talk about it. i mistook my lottery ticket for my bus pass. it appears when the dueling seasons merge and the colors clash and change i get to stepping. i recall clearly stepping on orange leaves but never green leaves. i don't meet with trees in summer. where were you this weekend?! it was the last gasp of summer i wanted to hang. i was bored to my skull.

Deen: i'm assuming you didn't win. sorry, Lester the Pester, i was severely grounded. i crashed my old man's Mustang into his garage. i tried to plead with him to lighten my sentence but he wasn't having it. mostly cos he wasn't hearing it.

Less: you got off lenient. i can't imagine what my mom would do. she'd kill me. not really, though, she loves me. that's why i don't drive. too much of a bother. it'd be easier to claim i was busy playing video games if you had bothered to show up. as it is, this is the only compromise my mom will accept.

Deen: i wish i could still shut up my mom. yeah it seems these rollerblades are my method of transport for the foreseeable future. they're still cool, right?

Less: for maybe one more year. have fun while you can. enjoy riding coolly without having to pull up your hoodie.

Mr. Maldark arrives in the cramped dingy room with the dusty sheetlights. he immediately spots the ridiculously oversized red/yellow/green black streetlight prop straight out of Mister Rogers' Neighborhood. he does not introduce himself. well other than by his garish Hawaiian shirt. instead he busies himself clearing all the empty tins of Folgers Crystals from his desk and plopping down his chickenscratch notes.

Maldark: put away your skateboard.

Less: that's my book bag, sir.

the class laughs.

Maldark: in the daylight my plans make no sense. okay, ditching the notes. what are you boys in for?

Deen: being kids.

Maldark: uh, attention. um hello. i was gonna have a prepared opening line for you practiced in front of the rear-view window. but i'm ditching that by the side of the road. my name is Maldark. and i'll be your favorite house-elf.

the class breaks the ice on the road with small snickers.

Deen: *shaking the surf's up sign* sir, please say that we can call you Dobby. you look just like him if he were an adult.

Less: i think he already is an adult. *shaking the shaka* i'd settle for calling you dude.

Maldark pushes all the buttons on the screen by him but nothing happens.

Maldark: does anyone know how to work this square?

Deen: it's a tv, sir.

Maldark: you know what, let's take a break, we can see the movie another time.

this rouses the dead-eyed class into a small cheer.


President Bump is dressing up Christopher Kimball. or rather dressing him down.

Kimball: why do i have to look like a street urchin? why did you dip my apron in chocolate? this particularly offends me cos we pride ourselves on being disinfectant clean. i won't say spic and span in front of you. is the tar on my face really necessary?

Bump moves him into position squatting on the curb.

Bump: it's just for the cameras, Chris, you know i have a great deal of respect for you. and action!

Bump points disparagingly at Christopher Kimball.

Bump: you bum! you real-life Pig-Pen!

Kimball: i hate you, i can't wait till you get impeached.

Bump: where are the peaches? can you direct me in their general direction?

Kimball: you moron.

Bump: where did you learn that word?

Kimball: i like Tillerson. aways back i wanted to get my favorite actor Jerry Orbach on Milk Street. but he dead so i got the next best thing, a man who has an oil portrait of Jerry Orbach hanging in his press room.

Bump: speaking of dead your bowtie's gotta go. Doctor Who is dead as a character now and Bill Nye spreads fake news about science and sex.

Kimball: don't speak of flat. boobs or anything else.

Bump: and so...walk the camera with me...and so when i visit the Scottish countryside, which is where we are, before i visit my many golf courses i like to take stock and breathe in the air of the amber fields. this is where i pick out pumpkins. the biggest juiciest ones there are. Big Max. i like the ones with the accent. it's that time of year again, folks. sure i'm but an amateur farmer, but i dabble in a lot of things. i'd put on my farmer's hat but it'd mess up my hair. be vewy vewy quiet when you approach a pumpkin that you don't startle it. i believe this is a Young's Beauty like my wives. and there's the Connecticut Fields from Connecticut. and the Dickinson Fields from my dick. the Howden Fields are from Connecticut, too, bet you didn't know that. see i can expand my attention when it's a subject i'm comfortable with. i have a kinship with these oranges. the Happy Jacks are my favorite. oooh, but we have a winner! see that one straggling over there to survive beneath a choking vine? that's the heirloom pumpkin and that one's all mine! did you know the pumpkin is just a giant squash?

all the pumpkins lined up in rows belch in unison and all their beige pumpkinseeds are upchucked in a blaze of glory. even the ones not jack-o-lantered with a face. it is quite the spill on the path.

the scarecrow awakens.

scarecrow: mate, you're making everyone around here sick. you have a ghastly golden glow to your persona that is unceasing.

Bump: never fear. i got this. you know what is the quicker picker-upper?

scarecrow: of women?

Bump: Bounty paper towels. i happen to have some in my wallet.


at the midnight club, Ashley Parker is exhausted from reveling. there is sweat and grease both on her brow and at the bottom of her skates. she pulls up to the nearest table feet first and coughs out a quick lie-down. on the other side of the booth is a row of tall plants with a black hole in the middle. a pair of gleaming white eyes, just eyes, stare at her.

Ashley: well aren't you a sight for sore eyes. aren't you the Friday comer.

Mueller: would you like fries in a napkin cone with that? they're like a bouquet-holder of fat.

Ashley: oh it's you. how did you spy me here?!

Mueller: we agreed to meet here, exactly here, exactly now, remember? come on, baby, don't be like that...