Wednesday, November 8, 2017


Kelechi: are you sure you don't need assistance, Mr. Maldark?

Mr. Maldark: i'll be okay. just be sure to do that thing we discussed earlier. i'm hanging up the phone. thanks for letting me use your phone.

Intendo: sure. and what plan is that?

Maldark: never you mind. what have you got over the boy's head?

Intendo: my hand. oh you mean the charges? secret of course. this is the new administration.

Maldark: i'll cut you a deal. send him to my house and you can kill two birds.

Intendo: you are still illegally under house arrest. come on the both of yous.

Maldark: can i sit on the mini-moke wheel?

Intendo: *scowl* no!


Kelechi travels by bus on cover of night to the Store. luckily it's 24 Hours. she prances around the place like nobody's watching cos nobody is. just a poor schlub paying off her student loans and a glass lighting group that breaks with every bulb.

Kelechi: oooo weee! i'm gonna need one of these and one of these and one of these. it's fun shopping on someone else's dime. on a spooky night. i feel like a robber. yes, this marula oil for my hair. and this sea buckthorn for my hair, i want it to look glossy for when i go forest bathing. and this Southern Comfort Egg Nog for my hair, works better than cracking an egg over your scalp.

cashier: the Greenwich Village Halloween Parade is over, ma'am. went off without a hitch.

Kelechi: oh hush, Halwa. i look good in these!

Halwa: you're embarrassing me! and you're not even my mother! that's real embarrassment!

Kelechi tries on in front of the store her maxipads. she takes off her pants and leaves them off. she swings her butt around and does a handstand in them. she goes under a broken air-mail pipe Marilyn Monroe style.

Kelechi: i am woman. now don't you talk bout how bad i am. i look good. these are my Always Discreet Boutique maxipads. you betta learn, young woman, you got next.

Halwa: ringing up now. is that discreet or boutique?

Kelechi: look. there's an Oriental golden dragon running down my leg! these are fashionable leggings! prints of prestige and puffery! no miniskirt i own can compare to the style of this bottom tunic. they're like a slip-on butt!

Halwa: and your total is please leave and i'll see you at school.

Kelechi: oh please, child, we're both off-duty. before i go let me just snatch these pumpkin peppers and these pepper pumpkins and these leftover Harvest Hobgoblin grapes that are probably still good though old raisins, and that's it. okay the madras lentils that's it. okay the green beans.

Halwa: what variety?

Kelechi: Blue Lake.

Halwa: so blue beans.

Kelechi: fancy grade. and throw in fancy mustard. not fancy ketchup. oh come on, condiments don't count!

Halwa: your total is...

Kelechi: put it on Mr. Maldark's tab, he's good for it.

Halwa: i love how you've memorized Mr. Maldark's credit-card number...


at MSNBC, Brian Williams is pouting and putting his feet up again. cos he's been working hard long into the night uncovering the JFK Files.

Brian: so what do you think about my theories? Lee Harvey Oswald was stalking Jack Ruby. it was self-defense. liberals can have conspiracies, too.

intern: it's just can you stop hogging all the pizza? i'm the one doing all the work.

Brian: *stringy cheese connecting his cheek to his eye* i paid for these.

intern: with all due respect, sir, you're inhaling the clearcoat of this studio again. the company paid for the pizzas.

Brian: no wonder they're mini. hey you're not that lawyer from the big city who wears those colorful red bowties and looks like Robert Redford. i want him to lay hands on me to see if this past year really happened or i'm dead.

intern: i'm a girl

Brian upchucks the ten pizzas he ate all over his desk.


the artistic community is not taking too kindly to Kevin Spacey's timed revelations. especially Wanda Sykes.

Wanda: it's okay, Kevin, we support you.

Kevin: you do?

Wanda: sike! how could you conflate those two things you space case?

Kevin: what? i came out as an alcoholic. i'm a mean sober. i have a confession to make. i hated Rent. i know back then everyone loved Rent but i always found it preachy.


Gordon Ramsay: it's the Great British Baking Show! and i'm your host, i'm every host of every show, you can call me GR.

President Bump: Guns n Roses. i miss those days. men could wear white tight leather pants and it was macho. let's get back to the days of putting up dukes and showing our muscles to everyone.

Gordon: contestants, slide your marijuana into the oven when you feel you're done pruning it into cute shapes.

Bump: i rolled mine up with some sour rice.

Gordon: perfect. now place in the oven, close the door, your front door, and wait for the smoke to rise. are you getting baked?

Bump sniffs like the motherfucking dickens.

Gordon: good. that's it. nice. now get scribbling! here's your green notebook, write that screenplay! go!

Bump: mine is about a god who sends his only son to Earth. pretty incredible imagination i have huh. that's sure to win Best Original Screenplay.

Gordon: *calmly* i'm sorry, but that has already been written. please try again.

Bump: but it's a true story. it happened to me. okay get this. a monkey who learns how to write on a typewriter.

Gordon: how do you think we all got here? join us next time for the Great British Baking Show! welcome.


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