Friday, August 31, 2018



* i still remember my first ViewMaster. everyone else's on the block was red, mine was faded-orange and unique, i was the special child. i never let anyone else play with it, i was stingy and hid it under my pirate chest in my fishtank. mostly cos i didn't know how to use it. remember those ViewMaster reels? those things were magical and my first exposure to the Wiccan Wheel. i mean that was the first spell, wasn't it? the first Brie circle cheese of desire? a magic circle of miniaturized people and places trapped in thin flimsy centimeters of olive-green film which literally transported you from your dreary highway-overpass life to any gaudy glorious place on earth you wished. cities, real cities. making like in Paris. those poor people and places were obviously miniaturized against their will by a jealous witch. but it was still fun, i didn't let my soft young mind stew upon such dark thoughts like that for too long. i mean that red block of technology was like some alien telescope had landed to the '80s from the year 3000 on my lowly doorstep. the ONLY ViewMaster Reel i ever got, ended up getting as it turned out, was the E.T. one in celebration of this blockbuster movie coming soon to theaters. the only slide i remembered was the sliding dance of Elliott and that girl in the chem lab. it's still hazy, and i can never make out the girl's face, but that girl was EVERYONE's girl somehow, she was all of our first, our first felt glances of young love. our first dance. with a girl taller than us. i remember she wore a fuzzy sweater or something, that's it. and like the doors blew open to a large puff of smoke and white blinding overhead lights? more magic. but i learned that dance in my head in case i would ever need it. i didn't.


* that condom was defective. see you at Maury.

* what it says on this guy's OKCupid profile: reject Monty Python cartoon. the world isn't crazy, I am

* made from the same pink stuff Buu is

* i like it when the pretzels get green and really oily. i know this looks disgusting but if i don't pee over the side here there are no rainbows.

* i'm French as you can see. my nipples are purposefully green. i'm a fan of obscure cinema, like my youtube channel.

* that duckie couldn't handle me. not many can. especially in the tub.

* so that's what happened to Darcy from the Smashing Pumpkins

* kid: am i in Heaven?
fortuneteller: why would you say that, young sprite?
kid: there's God's Hand pointing to an arcade.
fortuneteller: you are such a kid. come closer and ask, don't knock over those candles this is a wood box.

* kid: is it okay if there's a string coming out of the coin?
fortuneteller: i need to crack my knuckles first, that's how i know i'm still alive.
kid: who is my soul mate?
fortuneteller: no kid thinks of such things.
kid: um, my age? my revolutions around the sun? but the Earth is flat. my second dog's name? you'll have to ask my dog, he's my master.

* kid: the answer to all your questions is two snails fucking. now will you answer mine?
fortuneteller: you've got holes in your souls. it was going good till the letters were introduced. i saw a few 0s and 1s in there...

* kittykay96: i like kitty kats. the candy. that's how i escaped Scientology.

* kitty: um, i probably shouldn't be doing web videos...this is my dad's camera.
anonymouse96: i lost my job and my family but it was all worth get to spend more time with my daughter...

* kitty: that devil icon is a new webcomic i'm working on. on atheism and stuff.

* kitty: i get it, i'm my best teacher.
shadow kitty: there can only be one.
kitty: Highlander is for boys.
shadow kitty: is this what you wanted?
kitty: i'm too young for Nine Inch Nails.
shadow kitty: delete your account.
kitty: why couldn't you have done that before the election?
kitty: are you ready to live in the real world?
shadow kitty: oh shit, i switched places with your body didn't i. i don't like the real world much...

* Breakfast For Supper: It's Better Than A Burger

* Junior Senior's second song was only popular in Danish bakeries...

* sorry, you're a pretty girl but i'm late for the bus. i can throw away this book of poetry cos i wrote it.

* isn't this a little early for Christmas?
partridges: no such thing. we are all inside David's wake forever right now. we don't sing cos we can't.
lion: hey buddy, want to experience love?
lion: it's only possible in the void where you can't feel a thing.

* i won't comment on this next section cos it's awkward and makes me feel uncomfortable. it actually had me questioning the order of my donuts. like why do they display the donuts on that slanted diagonal like that under glass?

* night manager: we got Caller ID on you, buddy. we got a contract, a contact from the Department of Defense.
Unabomber Catman: exactly. i'm maneuvering the donuts in strategic places throughout the market. this is a matter of national security. terrorists hate to be outmaneuvered. so when the terrorists come, we all have our little spaces to hide and can eat there the placed donut and stay alive for weeks and survive, wait it out for the terrorists to get bored.

* everything had gone expiration-date, even Pickle Rick thought he wasn't existentially awesome anymore. it had all worn off as it always does. went from mindblowing to meandering.

* normal things. and a rainfall showerhead.

* wait, if i cut the string...paddleball becomes racquetball!

* you'll call her, and she'll say, there are no more landlines. you'll say, fancy a drink? and she'll say, i don't huff milk like you do. and you'll say, if i can only do the thing with the bottle where you flip it and it lands again...

* shoulda waited to broadcast this on Valentine's wait, what am i saying? i've gotten fat and happy with all this Venture Bros. in my life. got a gut.

* can you sign my petition to have Valentine's Day renamed Lonely Day? hello? where'd you go?

* okay this Frenchie is an Existential threat to our country. so grab your beret and your strawberry flower and unbuttoned sweater-vest and meet me in the underground café, we have to discuss this. with him. he's a great storyteller. he'll be the one in the boulanger disguise. no but seriously check out all of this guy's videos on youtube, he's got better stuff than a Major League pitcher. he's innocent and deep. this is how we should all view life when we're NOT on drugs. he's like if Balki from Perfect Strangers and Carl Sagan had a baby.

* our trees DO come from Mars...

* and THIS is why E.T. never came home.


happy weekend, my babies, enjoy the tennis. stay in the shade as you watch Kyrgios throw shade.

Wednesday, August 29, 2018


Taki wakes up in a perfumed pastiche of dry man-sweat, streaked white covers, dead flowers, and fish droppings. she is aghast, licks the crust on her eyes, and immediately closes her mouth. she wrenches the sheet into her own fist, spinning a naked Melbourne flying skinnily into the bare ceiling.

Melbourne: ow! that smarts! that didn't wake me up but you do everytime i'm around you. in your presence scents.

Taki: *pointing at Melbourne mercilessly* nobody says smarts!

Melbourne: i know. i'm dumb. most of the time. when it comes to love. but i nailed the jackpot with you, okay poor choice of words. look up at the ceiling. see? plain vanilla plane. too embarrassing to videotape behind mirrors.

Taki: oh my god......oh my OG god.....i can't believe i let this happen to me.....i was too desperate for this story i let my guard usual instincts didn't kick in i knew that water tasted fishy..............i can't remember what happened last night, that's the sure sign!..............oh my god, my defiled body will never look at my loomed educated mind the same way again!

Melbourne: wait wait, i'd never do that to you, i know how that feels. i know we joke around a lot, but i really am a decent fellow. i'm a man learning. ask anyone. NOT my redditors or clients! it was beautiful. we shared Beauty together in this cover. that is now soaked in my blood. poor choice of action.

Taki: *cackling* doused your duvet. i'm laughing out of release. all women cackle like witched hens when they realize it's impossible to be a woman in this society..........sorry. shit, i've never said sorry to a man before.

Melbourne: we held Beauty in our hand. you make me messy.

Taki: what's that mean?

Melbourne: i cummed all over your face.

Taki: you know you really make this hard...

Melbourne: i know. i should emulate more Bob Mueller, he softens steadily with his. what i mean is that your big tits are my treasure chest, i can rub my nose in them and sneeze, peppering them with dandruff paste. lick off their peppermint phosphate and drown in the downward spiral of their born brown nipples, cursing the day i was ever born not like you. break my collared neck as i lay down on them, expunge all my insecurities into them like gleamed natural oils on pillows, my detritus falling like snow on an ashen apocalyptic field. covered from the craving of your cobwebbed cunt colds. i can shoot my scurrilous male shit into your tits, fold them around my sewer spunk like layers of jelly, wait five minutes like everyone's first Easy-Bake Oven microwave, and out pop a batch of muffins! without their stem, smelling of sweet and floral. fuck i love your tits. i'm too excited to sleep on them.

Taki: can a serial killer be poetic? is there anything inside to draw from?

Melbourne: but that's the thing. why can't we behave like raunchy teenagers in the back of a bike? just cos we're old? we're over the hill which means we've conquered the hill. it's all swallowing gravy from here.

Taki: how does it feel to be a gigolo?

Melbourne: but i'm not a gigolo. i'm a male escort. paid gigolo maybe, but one with morals and kindness. you're not just another, you are my other. i like you................notice i didn't go straight to love after one meeting. like my clients always do. i know the business i'm in and i'm here to stay not play.

Taki: you've eased me for now, made me feel secure if not altogether safe. after all, we're still in the altogether.

Melbourne: i have that Goya in my marble-mannequin room. look, i see the writing on the wall, and it's a mounted wallclock showing the hands at evening shade.

Taki: i was about to reach for my phone and go straight to Emergency Kittens on Twitter to calm me down. i usually call my absentminded son for a laugh but...he's absent...this could all be a parlor trick not a passion of yours.

Melbourne: COMpassion, CON, with you. you've changed my life, for the butter, i can now trip over my grave.

Taki: alright Raunchy Romeo, where to? next bat?

Melbourne: i'm almost comfortable with the Sunday sportscar drive in the park. you just need to nudge me.

Taki: so like, you're into and do rich-people sports? like golf and tennis?

Melbourne: pashaw, boring golf and even-boringer tennis are poseurs, better suited to a community center once the equipment is donated. tis country-club sports, i'm talkin' bout REAL Wealthy Wanderings, Warriors of Waste, taking up endeavors which have no other purpose than to flaunt and fixate and fashion a new way to destroy toys. come. i'm all tapped out. i've never cummed so hard in my life just now! never had to work so hard to let it all out so easily and naturally and swimmingly. like a faucet. that's what happens when you introduce love into sex.

at the hospice, Doryce is punch-drunk, coughing up pufts and tufts of Yuban smoke and spitting beans like a Tommy gun into Gladyce's face like a handball court. Doryce needs to sniff up and clear the catch in her throat and dig up the coffee lining around her teeth with her good finger and spit a full wad every minute.

Doryce: *dazed but not fazed*...why doesn't anyone ever talk about the size of a woman's vagina?'s not fair to the men...

Gladyce: doctor doctor, she's delirious! is there any hope? is she gonna make it? give it to me straight, doc, i can't take news from online, i'm not good with computers.

two doctors in white lab coats appear from behind the silhouetted changing curtain. they are both shady. of compelxion. The Mooch and Dr. Sanjay Gupta.

Gupta: *gulps* have you had your coffee and spliff for the day at tea?

The Mooch: i'm still studying to be a chef...

Doryce: *with Harley Quinn's voice* i choose...............YOU, pokemon. the man with the honest face. brokered not broken. no, the other one, Moochie Baby.

Sanjay: i'm not allowed on Nickelodeon anymore so i guess i'll just hang out here. you don't mind if i smoke do you?

The Mooch: i'm not certified or anything but somehow i got this job. certified but not qualified. i will be serving you tonight a full-course meal of Sweet Sam's, Country Archer, Tukwila turnip soup, cauliflower alfredo, Santa Fe vegetable soup, and a crisp fresh copy of VIA magazine. thank my balls The Store is open 24/7. it's scary to shop at night, not cool. i keep seeing my dead mob mother in the melons. you don't get this kinda service at the Obec Hilton.

Doryce: is there seasoning in each?

The Mooch: they were out of seasoning.

Doryce: well there better be, young man, you are not in a position to get off on good looks, you gotta work for it! you're no dreamy Dr. McDougall. now that's the stuff, that's the soup, that's what's right about food.

Gladyce: he's kinda an upper-middle-crust Paul Newman wannabe.


Gladyce: mostly cos it's a Hilton MOtel. not from Detroit.

Doryce: just save all the sipping soup for me. my teeth hurt like the motherfucking dickens.

Gladyce: we're expecting two of our own to come visit...........soon enough, they're our in-laws from Mexico.

The Mooch: i'll treat those Mexicans like family alright. *fist*

at the Mexican border, in a Jose Cuervo bar, there's a sign of the owner's mother's picture over a caption which reads

we were the brave ones. we fought against Prohibition. we made it so you could get drunk during those times. we made your great-grandfather an alky when he was gonna be a priest. you would have never been born

Laertus: hey buddy! look at this neon sign. see the detail in it? the individual coils around each filament of letter? how each square of that filament is its own grid? when the light flashes, each letter flashes on its own time schedule to form the blink? that's NOTHInG compared to the detail that's in Honneamise.

Dirg: still not as detailed-graphicked as the new Spider-Man video-game coming out this week on PS10. *puts his fingers in his ears* lalalalalala not hearing your weak-tea argument. you drunk again? i mean ever? is this your first time? being drunk i mean. what's the matter, buddy?

Laertus: i've been nursing this here marble glass o' vino in memory of the finest woman i know. on tv. Samantha Vinograd. she's a quality woman. strong and steady, sewn from stern stuff, willing to stand up to dictators and thugs. knowledgeable and kinky. i'm assuming. she makes me feel safe. i'm discovering these feelings in me for the first time. i think i have a thing for redheads, foxy ex-Fox blondes. i'd like to make a toast to myself. here's to strong independent woman that don't need no man, i want to be in her life. *he clinks the glass on his teeth*

Dirg: wow. i didn't think you had that in you. like physically. she of the two small eggplants and you the eggplant emoji. small eggplants look like grapes. so you gonna lay down the Lae Law to her, on twitter or wherever?

Laertus: *spilling his drink on the grass plant leaves everywhere* too shy to express myself without an alias.

Dirg: but we all wear masks that's already been established. it's a societal necessity.

Laertus: i mean take Flashdance for example.

Dirg: okay. *looks at his blank flashcards out of his pocket*

Laertus: Flashdance is what happens when you're given an assignment in film class---much like the film classes we take---that goes something like this: write a screenplay where the story is simply life in a big city downtown in the '80s. Flashdance fulfilled that fervent wish to a danced T, symmetrically contrasting each cunt and curse word and choreography with the joy of art for art's sake and grace and nobility, all against the backdrop beat of the sparking hardheaded human heart. i could live in the space of those characters forever, and there's enough space in Beals's warehouse apartment with too much space for one person that i want.

Dirg: excuse you! and your language! never thought that word would dribble out of your chaste chapped lips. this is you hardcore. well, drunk. yeah i liked that movie. it was back when humans weren't so thinskinned, they could take a Polack joke, in fact Polack jokes were your only way out of the kitchen. and a dancing cop could pretend to shoot an unarmed black woman on the street crossing the road and it was no big deal. we humans were too busy back then being in the working class to give a fuck about a made-up concept like racism.

Laertus: yeah, but it seems male scumbags were male scumbags back then, too, only they sipped Diet Rite and went to confession right after the Live Nude Girls Revue. male scumbags anonymous. male scumbags immemorial.

Dirg: don't forget the scumNAGs.

Laertus: *stumbling in hedges* come over here, buddy, follow me for once. let me lead you to the promised land. what's over here?...........what's this? Wine Garden? well that's different and interesting. i wonder what's over this garden bush?

they arrive unceremoniously and surreptitiously into the night of the party that never ends, the endless squeezing-out of supply of celebs with drinks in hand which inhabit the table of Melbourne's all-night neverending garden party on his collection of two back-to-back edge-to-edge Southern lawns. front lawn and back lawn combined. like a working-class assembly line.

Raphael Nadal: did you see that golfer named Raphael at the PGA Fourth One Major? the commentators were calling him Rafa. it's like if you're from Spain and you're Raphael you're automatically Rafa. golf and tennis are not the same thing!

Laertus takes the silky hand of Patty Schnyder slowly and softly, and kisses her ring finger.

Laertus: *weary* my lady, not to be snide, but might i say you are a volley vision this moonless night. you are pretty enough to be a dirty dancer.

Patty: thank you. but i got second place in the Beauty-contest Bistro Brexit d'Switzerland. all the judges were neutral on me. my parting gift was a fondue sauna, which admittedly does come in handy when i can't get in a quick ice-bath for my elbows at the unisex bathroom in the lobby of the Danish bakery. i should have been Federer's wife. doncha think? isn't it ironic? i mean it was just too perfect. i mean we were the only two Swiss tennis players!

Laertus: i came in tenth in the beauty pageant. i technically count that as a cosplay event for me. i wore the swimsuit happily.

Dirg: hey Patty, want me to freshen your drink up for ya? orange juice, right?

Patty: uh, no. no thanks.

Laertus: no, come on man, not cool. sorry. sober sorry, sober sorries, it's wearing off.

Dirg: thanks for tonight, knight. your OOC showed up much more than your SJW.

Laertus: and i am white. and what are you imbibing, fair Woz? you are quite gorgeous without your beard.

Dirg: and you have a nice ass. i saw it. not a Beals Booty but you can never be black like me.

Laertus: or she. Beals.

Caroline Wozniacki: red margarita. gives me dreams.

Dirg: named after Jose Cuervo's sidepiece. her blood i'm assuming.

Madame Pons: *drinking white wine and gulping* i almost had a heart attack. the headline in my sister's paper i read on the taxicab drive over here read

The Pope Death was about the Pope's death-penalty change. we can never lose the Pope! i look up to her sexiness. i want to learn from her. she's alluring like a magazine, she draws people into her like a witch's invisible web.

Patty: what about Bob? like where is he? i'm saying.

Laertus: can you sensei me how to achieve your frizzy hair? just please write it down on the back of my business card advertising my fanfic site.

at the MSNBC studios, Steve Schmidt is at the newsdesk.

Schmidty: hello, friends, i'm Skinny Chris Matthews. you won't get me to blow a gasket at every little Republican unorthodoxy perpetrated on this country anymore, i've learned to pace myself and remain calm and not have a heart attack and look at twitter cats. i've lost weight so i can continue sounding the alarm for you good folks for years to come to act. i won't be around for much longer.

Chris Matthews: *at the wake* Steve is co cool. his real name is Stephen---not Chris Matthews---and though he smiles on his OKCupid profile he's not an actor. i wish i were he. i love his booming baritone, mine is too Irishy and scrappy and scratchy. but how can i have presence without always looking like i'm at any second gonna streetbrawl you? what's his aftershave? his stridency is like a song.

Schmidty: my first guest tonight is Chuck, that lawyer with the ASMR voice. hello? Chuck i can barely make you out, are you talking? are you saying anything? i made it a point to q-tip my ears out for tonight but i can't hear Chuck! Chuck, can you sensei me inbetwen breaks? i want to have presence like you without having to raise my voice, that's true power. that's Mueller power.

Mueller: i'm at the CNN Studios cos i want to remain impartial. neutral. before i get going here, i want every nationally-recognized correspondent and reporter and newsperson and magic person and magic people and dream person and dream people and Alex Jones's hot girlfriend to all get dressed in robes i will pass out precariously close to live showtime this first week of November. everyone put on these robes, get ready for this big day together.

President Bump: weird charges. on my credit card bill. what's going on?

Mueller: i'm gonna indict ye.

Bump: no. you can't, right? i wasn't named in the indictment! it said Individual 1! i did not confuse my 1 with my L! i mean what am i gonna do if i don't do the Presidency? what is my post-Presidency gonna look like? so what, i'm gonna need those bungling Secret Service guys' protection to follow me forever like the stench of the oil from the undercarriage of a dead Porsche when i never leave my house? i'm never gonna be invited to those pizza parties where, like, 5 Presidents all share the same stage and hang out with the pizza for the photo op. are they just gonna stand me up at malls and hope the whole "respect the office" thing will stay in place for me? am i gonna go back to being a reality-show host and all the contestants are just gonna ignore the fact that the boardroom table is the prison messhall table and the camera-lens has bars and the viewers are just gonna pretend my decade in office never happened? go back to the way things were, back to normal? order?

Bump: if you have to wear robes, make them black robes. this is a funeral.

the two semi-lovebirds are rounding the corners in Melbourne's black 1937 Alfa Romeo 8C Touring Berlinetta. Melbourne has his head laid right on top of Taki's tits while she forces her fingers through the steering wheel to do the driving. the cars are all ready on the grass.

Taki: i can't decide if this from you is sweet or sick. Romeo Raunch. Romeo Rotten.

the car drives like a dream. each hill rises up to curve around lush slicked empty streets which wind through country cottages in the city one on top of the other built upon pile and stack of country archer arrow and the smell of baked bread on the sill, waved on by men wearing white scarves on their heads and the womenfolk fixing all the diagonal street lights to blink. safety is not the standard, sights are. this race brings the community together, like no other race can. the nearby villages and hobbit bridges overhead and half-cities and hill stations hidden in the alcoves are one by the strings and strands of this road race's reach. it's time to traffic in temperance, tickets, and tans. the roads aren't painted so the cars can ride as fast as they can. everywhere you speedily brace, you see a chain of people hugging, forming the line, the highway and lowway boundaries to drive. in the country part of the path, the apple-color street-cars and Formula 1 tipster cars and Formula 1 tipsters follow the formula but are anything but formulaic. you see their white stickers as a ghostly blur topping their trajectory past each other, all the colors of the apple, the red, the brown, the green, swirling like ice cream and matching with their corresponding leaf color in the fallen trees and arches and acreages. big pumpkins hang from the rooftops of the canopy like large bells, ringing their insides---lining the streets in but never littering them out---smashed on the road, dashed by the drift. a trailing odor of petrol mixed with pumpkinseeds fills the hot streets crisped by autumnal airs. the concrete is cooling and the asphalt is autumn, too, autumn and green. not a hint of blue to be seen.

it doesn't matter who wins. the two of them are together.

Taki: i wonder if i can spot my most fervent wish when i'm with him. at least in this position he can't get to my ass.

the plane makes the first turn past the green. Melbourne is shaked and about to crash into the car on the far road! but it's not him in the vehicle, it's Michael Avenatti of course, he enters every race. cheeky natty bastard. Avenatti wears just the monk hood, unhooded---not the robe---and waves handsomely.

Taki sees her son driving the car, wondering how to diagonally position himself to put the stops on and brake that thing.

Taki: steady, steady. easy easy. like you're driving the car. how many more extreme sports are there?

Melbourne raises his hand of three fingers keeping his eyes closed.

Taki: that's digusting! you do NOT come anywhere near my slice with that thing!

Melbourne's lips look puckered like he's sucking on an orange with his mouth closed.

Taki: i wonder...what happens to Melbourne when he falls asleep in his own dream?

in Heaven, John McCain proudly raises his arms up and carries the full load of the angelic choir and the stage and Aretha on his fingertips easily. he has a twinkle in his eye and a grin in his butter-stained teeth. tears do not fall from his eyes, flowers form under his bags, blooms bloom there.

McCain: so i'm at my wake and all i see are long faces. i thought I was the ugly one! where's the laughs, the yucking around, the merriment, the bad jokes?! what's going on? it's a celebration, people!

Omarosa: sorry, i don't smoke.

McCain: but you must. we must all carry on living like nothing happened. otherwise what's the point? the alternative is too dark to think about, we must will our memories back to life. dress them up in costumes with pins and Tetris slats and scrambled eggs if it makes you feel better, if it keeps you dancing. where's the notetaker with the Joycean mandolin humming Father's mistress at school? do you know what the meaning of life is?: handwritten love notes. where's the pizza! where's Pasqually and his accordion? accordion according to the Bible. was the Devil's instrument. something about squeezing out that sound. put that in your pipe and smoke it.

Omarosa: guess you're shit out of luck. i don't have bags under my eyes so i can't provide you with bagpipes. i don't read good books. i write them. i don't smoke. look at my classical Greek profile, not a blemish nor spot. spotless. this is easy. easy. look what happened to O's soldier down in Florida. he won cos he was black. that's all i have to do.

McCain: that's tortured logic. and as we all know, torture is illogical. do you own a gun?

Omarosa: of course.

McCain plucks a bloom from his eyelash and plugs it into the rifle of Omarosa's gun.

McCain: who's gonna eulogize you at your funeral? who are your eulogists? you must think of these things as you live. don't you see what i did? i had my two defeators do mine. to show. cos eulogy is effigy is erudition is eucharist. cos in Heaven none of that stuff matters anymore. there are no more flag flaps, only the flag draped over my coffin.

McCain: it's okay. it's alright. i'm happy. i was humbled a long time ago.

Monday, August 27, 2018


1. what type of clothes make you feel sexy?
a) a specially selected casual outfit
b) lingerie or silky pajamas
c) elegant dressy evening clothes
d) anything that leaves me almost naked

the Serena Williams Catsuit. that thing is pure Panther power

2. which do you prefer?
a) pillow talk
b) sexy texting
c) love notes

i prefer to write long drawn-out longwinded love notes in calligraphy. scented with just the right balance of unwashed body odor, silky rainfall showerhead, and an Old Spice luxury product like a rubbed pomade or something. that is my perfume. i use the product of a plant in the seed of the reeds not seen in this world since Ancient Egypt. a substance supreme. it is a wonderful thing that was called paper...

3. which do you do best?
a) pillow talk
b) sexting
c) writing love notes

everything's changed since the Tennis 15-second clock was implemented. it's all about speed now, not longing. pillow talk consists of one emoji of a cat giving the "you fuckin' kiddin' me?!" face. sexting is just choosing a song lyric from the progrock band Asia. look what happened to Simona Halep. she's the number-one player in the world and she's out. just like that. she didn't even give enough time for us all to sit down in the stands from getting our silver trays of breakfast popcorn. later, in the lobby, i handed the luggage man a note to give to Simona i had crafted late into the night, never sleeping, making sure each word was pitch-perfect. a pink unscented card which folded over and simply read

I don't care about the point penalty. I'm taking my time and doing this right

and as a gift i gave her a small lacey pillow. y'know now that i think of it, i've never had pillow talk with somebody while in the presence of pillows.

i looked up to her balcony and saw Darren Killer Cahill with a moot look on his lips, wearing those heavy black sunglasses as hard as he could around his ears. they obviously broke up after that performance.

4. you have been granted just ONE of the following in your favorite city/place in the world. which would you choose and why?
a) 24 hours of romance
b) 24 hours of lust (intense overwhelming sexual desire but not acted upon mixed with enthusiasm for life)
c) 24 hours of sex

that second one is interesting, that's the kind of mixed feeling ripe to explore in a novel. my favorite place in the world is Stars Hollow. the third one, well, let me be the bearer of bad news: any of your dismal dorm-frat escapades while wearing a toga will never amount up to the Greek and Roman orgies you were supposed to be reading about in your college books.

i want 24 hours of apres-ski. i want 24 hours of a train-ride through snow-covered tunnels and buttressed buttholes. i want romance! what happened to romance? John McCain wanted a better world for us. we must get back to the way things were. we must suck the marrow out of all our nostalgia and return to the time when we exchanged pillows with our lovers and friends as birthday presents. when we never had to fret over remembering anniversaries cos erryday was the anniversary of our fucks!

5. how do you tap into your sexiness? Jesus didn't tap. always remember that. thanks, Tommy Oliver.

bonus: which is better---your digital sex life or your in-the-flesh sex life? my digital sex life is much less messy cos alls i'm doing all day is pushing a lot of buttons and keystrokes on my pad. my ipad-mini one inch thicker cos of the warranty i purchased. a lot of intensive typing. hacking isn't glamorous, folks.


Friday, August 24, 2018



* there's a mythic quality to '80s stars isn't there

* you know it's serious when the subtitles automatically come on.

* Rule Number One!!!: never say hello.

* InStep: the yoga dojo Elvis studied under right before his untimely passing

* uncarrier: when you can't pay for the jet no more

* full disclosure: the only Raine i know is Maida. and Madonna. and what's on my face.

* Raine Maida: social security number? we don't have those in Canada.

* Chantal Kreviazuk: i am the voice of the robot. i am the voice of all robots.
Raine: i know, that's why i don't mind the five minutes. don't say that, dear, you have a lovely voice. angelic in fact.
Chantal: the papers say we're getting divorced.
Raine: rule number one: never form a band with just your wife.

* Raine: okay, my phone number is 555-5555. well this is tv.

* Raine: my second pet? the name of that dog from Peach-Hime that was strangely never in any of the Mario games...

* Chantal the robot: i'm sorry, i cannot accept "gerbil" from a man.
Raine: what? Meg Ryan's career was ruined? luckily she's got that Top Gun 2 cameo with the ghost of Anthony Edwards who couldn't save himself despite being a doctor...

* robot: if your service is working, press 1. if your service is not working, press 1.

* Raine: Representative!
robot: i cannot accept "Representative". Congress has been rendered powerless.

* Raine: good, now we're getting somewhere. but i broke my screen in anger. maybe this morning tea by the woods will calm me down.

* Uncle Sigh: hello, i am your new Representative...

* Raine: didn't work. the tea is Earl Grey. just reminds me i auditioned for the wrong Star Trek series.

* Daniel: i am your new Representative. i am currently being tied behind my back and held hostage by Cobra Kai so i am unable to help you. for a knife, press 1. to cut the ropes i mean. for a gun, press 2.

* Raine: 17 minutes? by then the Earl Grey will be cold.

* Raine: i mean i could watch an Oscar-winning short in 17 minutes...

* Raine: there's a hair in my cereal......that's not my hair...

* Raine: wait, Daniel! i spilled my lunch of cereal.
Daniel: that's very sad. how can you be sad and an actor?
Raine: have you seen Ben Affleck lately? i had an accident.
Daniel: my A Scanner Darkly scramble-suit said you were a young man tho.

* and with that, Raine got the Oscar that would have belonged to James Franco

* Raine: oh no i'm battery is dying...which in this world is the same as your life dying...

* Raine: Gary Coleman. you were my childhood. you are more than a man, you are a myth. life is so unfair. i love you.
Gary: i'm not Gary C...
Raine: *eyes closed and weird singing mouth* yes you are. yes you are.

* Gary: your plants are about to die? who cares?
Raine: no i've got some weird charges on my bill.
Gary: like what?
Raine: well it says here i bought this stroke painting of just the lower portion of a monk's robe and the monk's bare sandalless feet.
Gary: i heard about you Catholic fetishists. i hope the Pope addresses this in Ireland.

* Raine: JUST made it plugged it in in time.
Gary: um, it's a video phone, right?
Raine: yeah?
Gary: i can see your statue the phone's in front of. weird tribal naked statue.

* Gary: you don't have a real job.
Raine: it's the SYSTEM!, Gary, the system is broken.
Gary: i am not broken, sir.
Raine: yes you were! you were dealt an unfair hand in life, Gary Coleman, but you lived it beautifully. you found love in the end, that's all that matters.

* Raine: the weapons and starships were sold to the bad guys...and to the good's all a machine, man, best not to choose a side...
Gary: wait, you're that Heineken guy?
Raine: safe space...
Gary: safe space? so on top of everything else you voted for Hillary! take a hike. *hangs up* go take a hike and join your precious Hillary on one of her famous walks in the woods.

* Raine: that's not a watch on my wrist. that's a tribal tattoo of a wheel.

Gary: regain your shit, man, i just dipped out for a quick bite at the new McDonald's opening in Doha.
Raine: OH THANK GOD!!! WE ARE FRIENDS!!! wanna play cards?
Gary: sure.
Raine: i crashed my card table through my window.


what? Power Rangers on a Tuesday? no, i can't think about that right now. i'm becoming increasingly embroiled in the watching of blue U.S. Open qualifying matches. the drama here is much more cutthroat than in the tournament proper. they don't even use tennis balls, they use fuzzy rubber balls. happy weekend, my babies.

Wednesday, August 22, 2018


Taki: can a lowly reporter ask but one thing?: is everyone in the world just a secret sleazeball? do we only know the façade of everything that exists? I KNEW IT!

Taki: ...and i know what your next sentence is gonna be: this is not what it looks like. gotcha!

Melbourne: this is not what it looks like. dammit! look, just hear me out, this isn't serial-killer selfish, this is about another soul. look at this dirty boy here. i mean literally dirty. look at his shoulder.

Melbourne removes his hand off the shoulder to reveal a ring of garden soot.

Taki takes her notebook to the boy's face and smiles compassionately.

Taki: name. rank. origin. just kidding, we're the good guys. please tell me this sweet young thing wasn't abused.

Melbourne: i saved him from abuse. he would have been. i'm squirrelling him in my grand cubby, holing him from the immigration authorities. and wholing him back again to his original childlike cheerful self. i no longer put ice in my drinks as protest. i don't want to talk about death or the other side or the death of irony in a mining community or the consequences. i haven't time for games in the shallow end. my head is bald enough. i will not besmirch one soul for another. all are precious under Eyes and Evil has no color. for what good is it to gain all the political points in the world but get a Zero on the Soul take-home test? he doesn't speak, except for his soulful eyes. he's the son of one of my gardeners who's no longer with us. his name is Tres Leches.

Taki: why do i have the itchy reporter's nose that it was you who gave him that name? i knew something smelled fishy. not the river. no gardener comes to work at 8PM!

Tres Leches leaves the chamber without saying a word from his ever-worried slink-cupped mouth.

Melbourne: this is my small part in helping ease the global atrocity. i will reunite everyone someday, otherwise what is my money good for? i take in all the strays, never in stride, for i was once a kitten in a dog-eat-dog world. i REALLY love the Wolf's Rain on my face. now i shelter any child i can. the world will reset...someday.

Taki: you better hurry up, you see how the river level is continually rising and no one seems to notice? quick to distract themselves with their palm-tree hammocks? until their hammock bottoms get wet? and then they distract themselves with plucking two coconuts from the treeroof and placing them on their breasts and laughing? but you wouldn't know about that you have a bed. this fulfills a need for you: your desperate lack of a family.

Melbourne: yes it's true. you're good. too good. are you copying off my playlist? i'm sorry, that was chauvinist. i'll only be a sexist pig if you pay me enough. if you need me to be to achieve orgasm with or without a bed. can we change the subject? the adults are in the room. wouldn't you like to inspect my lifesize models more?

Taki: you are the master of the reverse, don't know about your bed skills but i know about your bedroom skills.

Melbourne: Master of the Reverse Universe. i'm also working on the board of the RoundUp lawsuit so it's good to have a witness. i called in a favor from some of my lawyer friends. Bob Mueller as you see out there swimming on my night lawn.

Taki: is that the commercial where the weedkiller-spray hose turns into a scorpion tail and spears the fat exterminator in the mustache?

Melbourne: are you still willing to help me or not?

Taki: sure. kelp. what time's and location's the air race? Brussels or something?

Melbourne: oh no, we're miles of nautical miles away from the actual thing. first i need shitloads of help, i'm losing my shit. where we're going, you need to enter my head.

downstairs. just the lip of outside. everyone's sitting around the circle drinking tequilas. night:

Mueller: so we all square, my nigga?

Roger Stone: yes. you do look like me, like you could be my brother. and you are my biological brother. i've been playing the game thus far, but things have started to heat up for me. i haven't been this hot since the one night i made love to Kristin Davis. that produced a son. an illegal. Kristin is my nice best friend but she, uh, gets around the world. don't worry, i'm stashing away this nondescript boy under my auspices, my rich palatial Woody Allen Manhattan estate. now owned by Ronan Farrow's lips. telling you all this now so i don't get woke up by a raid. keeping it on the up and up and up. do with the boy what you will, but don't send him to Julian tho do give him an Orange Julius and a straw and keep me in this country please.

Mueller: i appreciate that. the law's the law.

Roger: must you? you are musty. that is my son, right? that my boy. yous didn't go down under and fuck Kristin in a tequila bar one moonless Mexican night, right? brushed the scorpions off the counter and onto the stools to make room? bore a son, nine months of pain, simply to have leverage over me?

Mueller: i'm in the Top Ten, Roger. Mexico is so nice this time of election. no of course not, you know i'm a straight arrow, you know i'm with Ashley!

Kristin Davis: i for one have no idea what you're talking about. i have never prostituted myself, except on the set of Sex and the City. for the show. for the script. cos it was written in the script.

Cynthia Nixon: i am surprised. i'm not seeming to be getting any traction. i called O up and asked her advice about how to be a Socialist in New York. it must be the name. the last name.

Roger: you don't understand the way Bill O'Reilly and i get the folks. you can't connect with them. and to them like we do. we know how they think. if the President commits a crime, it doesn't matter, cos EVERYONE has committed a crime. see? *points to his temple* think about it. think about it.

late at night, Taki is calling her sister up from home, crying.

Madame Pons: oh deary, i wish i was there to comfort you. give you a nice big sweater hug!

Taki: then come. you have to stay with me! they don't know where Takahashi went. he's still a missing kettlefly.

Madame Pons: he'll turn up, where you least suspect it, you reporter. are you sure you can't keep the house? you have such a woodsy Shangri-La over there, sure you couldn't just cut down on expenses? don't cut down the trees but maybe it's time to let those parakeets go. let them fly away to their own Shangri-La.

Taki: you need to come and split the mortagage. or maybe just pay for the whole house. the rest of the house. if this big story falls through i'm through. i know it's a lifetime favor, i know i'm uprooting your dreams and leaving you to rot. be my permanent roommate for the rest of your life. now. you will have all my love. i have no one else to love. my gratitude died, flowed out my body, and went to eternity long ago. sorry.

Madame Pons: love you, babe. you know i'll do anything for you. if you really want me to stay awhile, i'll be there at the drop of a witch's pointy hat, at the beck of your silent whistle. i wish i could cast a magic spell through the phone on you to calm you, assuage your fears, subdue you, but i haven't studied long enough the hard stuff yet. i wish i could be there sooner, had a broom, would be much easier than commercial flight. hang on don't hang up, i'll be seeing you.

Taki: bless you, sister. you work hard. work harder than most. harder than the next girl. you work hard on your witch shit. sorry for calling it and you a bratess. i just don't want to lose you before you lose yourself. i will cast a spell on you right now and i'm not a witch. call it a prayer if you like: may you *Taki's voice cracks* never have to tell a client that you can't work at the usual time because you had a family emergency. may your times be ever normal. thank you and goodnight. may you never leave a haunting voicemail on a loved one's machine.

the four have quietly exited the Old Spaghetti Factory without much fanfare from fanboys. they decide to take a nice evening stroll along the bluelit pier.

Dirg: i mean come on! that is so lamey! Silent Sam wasn't bothering anybody, he said nothing! this is why i hate college campuses and stay away from them as best i can, avoid their Unicorn Frap corners at all costs, that stuff is toxic! what happened to frat beer on campus?

Laertus: banned to curtail rape.

speaking of, President Bump rides on his trusty stead Sassy over to his Hollywood Walk-of-Fame ceremony. again. he tried to put a unicorn horn on Sassy but she wouldn't budge.

it is lightly-attended. as in no one is there. except for Giuliani who is presently building a brick wall around himself to keep in his quacks. he lays one brick on top of the other with no cement. Bump uses this brick podium to place his mic.

Bump: hello, everyone, thank you for coming, again, to my Star Ceremony. *shaking his large head side to side* a horse is a horse of course of course. sorry. is this thing on? cos i'm not. there is such a thing as bad magic yous know let me tell ya. bad juju. i'll be honest with yous as i always am, i'm not feeling it this time. i'm presently clutching my chest. feeling the lodged bullet in my broken heart there. see? you can see that squirmily squiggly scorpion thing under my skin struggling to get out. what do you think Paul will tell Bob? i forgot, it's been so much stuff hard to keep track of it all. i think Manafort is the last of the nice guys, last of the tough-guy prophets, he's truly a nice guy, a good fella. i will help Man in any way i can. i'll set him up in Denmark, where the smells are sweet, where everyone goes to college free so they can open up their own bakeries. that's what Paul told me in confidence he did all this for, he wants to open up his own Danish bakery. he'll never be hurt again, cos it's socialized medicine over there. he's a regular joe-schmo who won't get off his lazy ass to work. he's the dough guy.

Dirg: i mean what would MSNBC talk about all day if Hilary had won?

Laertus: just a lineup of all-day lifestyle shows.

Gladyce: we're at the Mexican border, dears. the border line. the Border Wall.

Laertus: may i need to use the restroom please?

Laertus walks slowly across in an evening-stroll pace, leisurely whistling as he paces over to the bathroom in the tequila bar in Mexico. he orders a pizza but a scorpion lands on his pizza and lays eggs on it that look like mini white mozzarella cheeseballs. his first instinct is to stomp it with his boot but he becomes himself in the moment, not his friend. he takes the squiggly scorpion thing by the tail, makes a disgusting face with his tongue, and quickly shoos the creature into a crack in the bathroom tile.

Laertus: there you go, you harrowing beautiful beast. you're free! can't escape the heat nights here, so at least you'll be cool underground if not filthy.

Laertus: ho! i'm back. no pizza this time guys, sorry.

Dirg: so you got the tools? the pieces? you know how it all fits together and is constructed? when the cops come, stop working.

Gladyce: what now?

the crones leave the gents to their wiles.

Dirg: speaking of, Elizabeth Pena.

Laertus: she's Cuban not Mexican.

Dirg: illegal Spanish is illegal Spanish.

Laertus: you're only hearing about her now? i know, sad. she had that classic Hollywood drinking problem kept under wraps. it wasn't vogue in the '80s to admit you were an alky, in fact it was just kinda assumed if you were working in the '80s you had some form of substance disease, an addiction to something illicit, but that made you a better actor, lodged a ball of secret pain inside you which you could pull from, which came out without artifice in your vulnerable moments in front of the camera. if only this sweet innocent linda beauty had lived in another age. *batteries not included, what a claustrophobic movie! i mean the setting for that, this weird dilapidated housing tenement with the Twilight Zone ghost-infested dank '50s café as the bottom floor, which coffee-boy page dreamt THAT up? the whole time i'm watching this film with the characters inside that hellhole i'm feeling trapped and alone, looking for the fire exits. i've never spent two hours in a livable space moving around with characters that was so unsettling. macabre-memoried forgetful grannies, "slow" athletes, and stage curtains.

Dirg: tinny is the word. gaudy and not right. a house that settled. a liver is a precious thing. and Royal Space Force Wings of Honneamise?

Laertus: finally saw to the end of it! there is nothing on God's green earth that is more beautiful than '80s anime. this here is the luxurious licentious wonder of hand-drawn '80s anime animation! all the great anime series started out as one origin '80s-anime film. the level of detail in this film goes deeper than the human circulatory system. as i sombered over that last space soliloquy, i looked at my hand. i asked my hand, what do you say to yourself when you hold Beauty in your hand? when you've just witnessed a perfect film?

Dirg: what about the rape scene? what about that little detail?

Laertus: i'm in the minority, but i actually thought that scene wasn't gratuitous, necessary in fact, all the gory details, needing to be there in stark pull-less punches to expound the harsh message about all humanity. i'm writing a final-exam essay on it right now. it's titled The Impossibility of Censorship. when you think about it.

Dirg: i'm rubbing off on ya. ew. your finals are take-home tests?

back at the OSF, the girls are vacuuming the voluminous carpets. Doryce has fashioned a vacuum out of the parts Dirg handed her in their mutual hand-off trenchcoats. it's noisy in here.

Doryce: few more paychecks and we've paid off the package holiday. check for the cops.

Gladyce: what did you say?

Doryce: yeah, i just got this now in my head: Christopher Cross was the Lost Beach Boy! it all makes sense now, like what do you do when a genius just wants to sit around in a circle, drool all day, and play with his toys?

Gladyce: sexiest man in the world?

Doryce: *over the vacuum noise* i know, i mean Blake Shelton? musical genius? how can the Sexiest Man Alive be a Never-Nude?

Doryce collapses in coughs. not from the smoke in the vacuum bag. from Yuban grounds lodged in her throat.

Doryce: Yuban can?

Gladyce: *hands on cheeks* oh dear! i told you not to eat the grounds straight from the tin! everyone uses water! it says right on there: 1 tspn.

Doryce: i read that as tlspn, i thought the 1 was an L. i ate a tablespoon's-worth. i'm toxiced. goodbye forever.

Gladyce calls on Laertus for help. by watches. Laertus rushes back. he's pushing numbers on his watch as he talks.

Laertus: i'm taking my test as i do this, but i'm here. Dirg, help me pick her up from the ground.

the two boys lug Doryce across the pier on their two shoulders. Dirg does most of the lugging.

Laertus: got any late-night entertainment to kill time? did you see Marvel's Uprising? it was fab! punk-rock-chick ethic, hear me roar!

Dirg: please cancel this show.

Laertus: well since you asked so nicely.

Dirg: why does the Muslim girl have to have such big hands? why did they screw with Squirrel Girl's design? she's squirrelly now.

Laertus: nuts. when will you learn women have different body types? with some shapes suitable only for women. being fat is a lifestyle. normal. regular.

Dirg: she's not fat, she's thicc. spell thicc.

Laertus: t-h-i-c-k.

Dirg: this proves you're not black like me.

Laertus: you're not black.

they easily float Doryce's body on the rising water to the hospice. Laertus takes care to brush the scorpion bites away from her. Dirg covers them up.

Melbourne: your eyes are red again. and i know that's not cos they're evil. i wish i could comfort you when you cry.

Taki: oh shut up. so do you want to change the subject? let's do your first session.

The Line: i can't let you go out there! i have express orders from O.

Omarosa: you called me? no one calls me, i have it on video. you can't hold me, i do what i want. i got all of it all the time no matter what.

The Line: okay, it looks like the coast is clear. those Q guys were a one-week story. hopefully our resistance group won't be as well.

Omarosa leaves the compound and makes one final jump in her heels with her remaining strength so high she flies into the cloud-covered sky.

Melbourne is in the cockpit of his air-race plane. cobalt-blue plane. the first stanchion to turn is dark lime green.

Melbourne: i see the Concours d'Elegance down below, waiting for the construction to end, the yearly road roace everyone gets excited for. i see all the cars all strawberry-red and decked out to curve: the Honda S500, the '80s GTR, the '90s 944 Porsche.

Taki: that's it, nice and easy. those cars aren't a shitload of red scorpions swimming stealthily, rising with the tidewater, cresting over the wave, toxifying all the oceans with their space and stings. only i see that. water water everywhere and only tequila to drink. when you're flying, it's as if you're driving one of your famous sports cars. they handle so effortlessly, the steering wheel's a feather, you do no work, you merely ride. hugging each curve with the grace of a ballerina's curve, never a thought of driving over a cliff. flying is driving, only easier. do not keep your eyes on the air road, distract yourself with anything else. you said you liked having Robert Mueller over? so you do like men.

Melbourne: more so. at least men like Bob. his integrity is sexy. he's my hero. i call him my penis hero. but we do more in our sessions than compare penis sizes, which we do lovingly using a rubber ruler. and then we have a serious talk about curved erections and curved elections. his tenacity is so tender. an evening with him is extraordinary. he pays for it but i can't lead him. i can't stay up late studying for him. while comparing our dick bombs we discuss the philosophy of evidence for objective reality, art, and legal terms of art. he was like a kid with me, hollering out the balcony at the grass, shout-singing in an airport-lounge-singer kind-of-way all the style hits from the '80s, he'd sing till you were sick of his voice. he had so much nervous energy and tension and bits and spikes and butterflies in him he let it all out. on my face in the form of cum. he is ready for the big day tomorrow. ready to be stern and steady and severe. ready to show. his big day.

the plane is straight and carries the first turn with ease. Melbourne looks to his side calmly and sees Aretha Franklin flying with Omarosa biting Aretha's heels trying to hold on.

Omarosa: you're fat.

Aretha: girl how can you say that? i mean i'm the one carrying you! DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM!!? call me fat again so i can sundeck ya!

Omarosa: DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM!!? really i'd like to know.

Melbourne: fly high, my queen. you never have to fly a plane again to get anywhere. you're there. over water. you're not like me still, you're lucky. you never have to be caught dead in a strange gothic non-deluxe highrise apartment.

Aretha flies to a circular stage of clouds in the center of the sky and drops O in the hole. amazingly Omarosa had one more jump in her. Aretha grabs the mic and the bottle coming out of the sun and belts out forever without a choir. and without needing a belt for her gown no more. so forever the angels weep.

Aretha: and now, right now, ladies and gentlemen, i want to invite another singer to the stage, burgeoning young singer with a song to tell, she will do it ably, she will carry the rest of the show for you. carry on. ably. i'm tired. please make her feel at home. a welcoming circle of applause please.

Omarosa gets up on stage and starts to sing but she can't sing so she kinda just mulls along in a speechifying lilting cadence:

Omarosa: is this thing on? i want to thank everyone and dedicate this to my will! this is why i did it! did everything! this is all i've ever wanted since a young shunned girl: to be fully accepted into the black community. embraced with open arms!

the audience is dead Belgian hipsters with wings who smoke on candles and snap their wing fingers at her.

Aretha has to sit down on a stool to rub her winged feet. she wipes her brow of prismatic rainbow sweat and her eyes start pawing at the audience.

Aretha: oooh weee! so many European dates to make. and make up. i'm in love with each and every person in here!

Monday, August 20, 2018


1. what is sexy time to you? whenever Borat tricks me in an interview

2. who's sexier---men or women? clearly women. even straight women would agree. we men are just kinda here on this planet hanging out underneath the hoods of our pickup trucks trying not to get our dicks caught in the axle. the female form is the final proof that God is a woman.

3. how did you learn to masturbate and how old were you when you first succeeded? map teachers always did it for me. no, not math teachers, map teachers. they'd write in chalk on the board and smile:

up up down down left right left right B A Start

no, that wasn't the Konami Code............................that was how to masturbate...

i've almost succeeded, just a couple more online dollars till the crowdfund is complete...

4. do you like taking naked photos of yourself? i've been reading on Buzzfeed Tech or wherever that there's a whole etiquette to giving and receiving wanted nudes. it's all very complicated and step-by-step. wouldn't it just be easier to send noodles? or doodles? doodles of eggplants and stuff?

5. what is your biggest sexual fear? that i'll never do it in a clocktower

bonus:  to you what does the ideal penis look like? (feel free to include artwork or photos): the eggplant emoji, only red


Friday, August 17, 2018



* boneless breasts, the best kind

* stereo not available in your country

* overhead bird's-eye view of 1985 from drones made way back in 1985

* i know all those cars look like toy cars, but that's really how cars were in 1985.

* this is forever known as the Too Many Cooks house. i'm sure it was the Who's The Boss? house or something before but that's gone now. Tony Danza drives a taxi and needs some more medallions. he uses them for work, Scott Baio uses them for play, Baio trades them like baseball cards when the two get together under a beach blanket on this last summer night...

* i now know the appeal of the white picket fence: it matches the Colonel's suit. the Colonel's famous black bowtie with the tails was given to him by Gerald Gardner. Gerald claimed he was related to the Colonel, they had the same witch for a mother. Gerald was one of the first people ever to try the Colonel's chicken. Gerald went on to form Wicca right after eating the chicken.

* SPOILER, blocker's note: front door needs to be an automatic sliding door cos the Colonel's hands are...well you'll see at the end, it's only a minute-long's in the other commercial...

* see the boy was having just popcorn, not popcorn chicken

* i was having a lucid conversation with my professor the other day. the phone call went something like this:
prof: have you ever seen a nude napkin-holder?
me: a holder of nude-colored napkins?
prof: the first napkin-holders came out on 1930. they looked like bridges. do you ever draw nudes on the back of envelopes or napkins when you're bored?
me: when people ask me to send them things i either send them doodles or noodles.

and my professor isn't a professor of art, he's a professor of theoretical astrophysics, the kind of math professor HL Mencken despised.

* remember Win, Lose, or Draw?? that white-sofa set was based on the same set from Burt Reynolds's living room.

* the Colonel: you can actually run a thunderbird car with all the grease in my chicken. one bucket of my chicken. for a whole year.

* the Colonel: it's okay for me to be in her room, she's calling me and i'm calling her back on dueling phones. remember when you could place your phone on your bed? i helped her rip apart all of her teen magazines looking for that one oil painting of Charlotte Rae.

* mom: do you know what an iron is?
the Colonel: how do you think we achieve grill marks?

* the Colonel: kid, that volcano with the Alka-Seltzer is SO played. get a cardboard, divide it into a triptych, and write in black marker all the ingredients in my chicken. hint: you're gonna need a bigger board.

* the Colonel: the only reason i didn't break junior's nose with the ball is cos the ball is boneless breast.
dad: yeah but i fear junior's gonna get the wrong idea.

* the Colonel: i love families. mine mysteriously disappeared after i became successful.

* the Colonel: i'm your nosey neighbor, Mr. Monroe. James Monroe, the President you still have no idea about. my fence is brown.

* the Colonel: family, i have a confession to make. i'm not a talking couch. i'm just a regular couch.
mom: i knew it! this family doesn't get mail!
dad: what sort of chemicals do you put in this stuff?
the Colonel: the chicken? you really don't want to know. you could tell tho right? it was a gauzy dreamy quality. i was talking but i never actually said anything...
boy: does this mean i don't have to go to school?
the Colonel: yes, son, you and the girl will go to raves from now on, there's enough chemicals for a war.
daughter: do girls have wingmen?
the Colonel: only if they're boneless wings.

* the Colonel: this family, this family i love dearly, is not real. you are all really chickens. chickens about to become dinner. this was your last-ditch collective fever dream to fulfill your lifelong wish to become human. you made it, fam, you climbed the mountaintop of your imagination. don't think that it's over, don't dream it's over, think a new chapter is about to begin for all of you. an afterlife where the mashed potatoes are never lumpy. i mean it is kinda cool that you're gonna be Rod Serling's chicken dinner tonight, right?

* i right now have an overwhelming desire to watch all seasons of Gimme a Break on laserdisc.

* either way, Mr. Kruger will no longer be showing us the way. R.I.P. my friend. everybody wishes they had a boss like this: CLICK HERE


happy weekend, my babies. AND checking the scores......i won't give it away but spoilers: two words: Swiss Cheese

Wednesday, August 15, 2018


Taki swims back home. the river is unusually warm this evening. she is feeling maudlin but thoughts of her son perk her up. she crosses the wet threshold of vines and gobbles up her three bites of soggy sandwich in her pocket for dinner cos she wants to race to see if Takahashi is home. she attaches her whispering-pink scarf to her neck.

Taki: he'll be where he usually is, on top of his flower bed. trying to escape but a head heavy with homework that he can't help but sleep and expose his dreams for all to see. hey, a girl can dream.

but he is not there, in his usual spot he likes to hide. instead, the fairy garden that the two planted together when he was young sits idle, save for one large hash mark in the soil.

Taki: the Hashi hash. and one E-Skate filled with soil as a makeshift pot i see. his traditional trademark and new trademark. this was his favorite field as a kid. he doesn't visit this part of the house no more, knows he wouldn't be caught dead or sleeping in the Hotbox, this is where i'd make him work.

Taki calls her son. she begins crying, trying to keep it to a low sob under her breath to disguise it as best she can during the phone call. phone calls are always fuzzy things anyways.

Taki: hi, Kettle Petal, just want to pray you i hope you are safe wherever you are.

Takahashi: *breaking up* uh, hi? mom? what's up, in the middle of a heist here.

Taki: keep being successful, son. remember, when you are busy, when you are filled with work, get yourself even more filled with work. work till your night bones come off. always be alwaysing. dream of work. sleep is for the dreamers, dreams are for the workers. i knew you'd turn out a zombie. sweet dreams, sweet, i'm dead-tired, good night.

she lets it all out. the exotic parakeets in the room wake up blearyeyed---you can't tell cos their eyes are tiny tiny circles---look around the room in a bored fashion, put their heads back down and go back to sleep.

she calls her sister out-of-town. out-of-state:

Taki: hi, babe. so have you given any more thought to my proposal?

Madame Pons: of course i have, lovely, and the answer is definitely maybe. i dunno, i'd like to help. i'm kinda inbetween dreams here, sis. at the moment i'm in the moment. i'm saving my savings for a trip to the Old Country. Initiation starts soon. did you see Jill on tv last night? on the Mueller Channel? Mueller Show NBC? so sparkly and grand! the last of the brassy dames. have you noticed she's started wearing different pins on her lady suits now for each television appearance? there was one that was an apple of course, and a Bump one with a sickle for the U.

Taki: oh come off it, man! how long is your witch obsession gonna last?!! is 40 years long enough?......*low hush* oh, what am i saying? of course you'll do it more the more i tell you not to. even a nice sweet person like you.

Madame Pons: i like 50. 50 is a nice round number. this is all i've ever wanted to do. it's this or death! i gotta be free. i gotta be me.

Taki: well ever since you had your midlife crisis in your twenties. think about it some more. i'd love to have you over for a visit. but things will go down smoother if you agree to my demands. easy access pass. you can enjoy the Hotbox at night with the lights off and the windows open letting in the breeze.

Taki: i've got one more call to make before the night is through.

at Exodus College Laertus gets up nervy and can't smooth out his back straight. he is terrified of public speaking but knows this is a special occasion, the only chance he'll ever have to do this, so he gives it his best cos this is important.

he scans the room of languid faces in the dark with the projector screen filling the room with rude glares looking at all the departing characters in their happy faces, even the Lich. he begins to cry. the tears can be seen trickling down his gray cheeks. he begins to sing as best he can.

Laertus: *singing broken up by coughs*...Come away with me...*choke up* the butterflies and bees...*stop and stutter*...*back to voice, speaking voice* i'm sorry, i can't go on...*back to singing voice* to the trees...

Professor James Gunn: thank you, young man, you are what this university is all about. a serious student of pop culture. how can we know how art affects you if you don't show it on your face? take off your makeup and your cosplay cloths, class! be naked in your feelings! this is my life's work! i need to know how you really feel! not how you reddit feel! and with that, i bid you a not-so-fond farewell and acidic adieu.

Gunn manufactures a plastic gun from the projector and holds himself up. in this auto-stickup, he carries himself away by the nape of his Freddy Krueger sweater and escorts himself out of the auditorium.

Laertus: i'm good. i can pick you out of a busy crowd already.

Dirg: did you say busty crowd? have you finally finished The Last Jedi? can we have a spoilers-heavy discussion anon?

Laertus: i've decided to recruit to a different Space Force. i'm joining the Royal Space Force Wings of Honneamise! i'll have a window once mid-finals are over. i did catch another 15-minute chunk of it, and it's taking a dangerous turn. i'm getting depressed. are you seeing this? are you seeing the blossoming romance between Rey and Ren? Kylo Ren? like, brother and sister stuff? what is this, Bruce Timm's Star Wars? i mean the whole biracial thing with Rey and Finn was a ship to root for in these times, this was a rebel love! i'd much rather see biracial than incest on screen, you know? that's more positive.

Dirg: way to SJW up true artistic freedom! hey man, you love who you love, you know?

at the Old Spaghetti Factory, the crones are getting ready to leave.

Gladyce: i was excited about the Cowbell Burger. but it was an actual steel cowbell between two buns.

Doryce: when they say rustic they mean it. steel is a dying industry, they gotta sell it somehow. can't put this type of iron in the meat. let's vamoose, the carpets here are freaking me out. restaurants shouldn't have carpeting, too '70s. lemme just put this whole bilberry pie up my skirt and we're outie. besides, i'm meeting my drug dealer out back. on the flip-noon.

Gladyce: oh dear.

the two ballsy ladies are looking for a bawl, not a brawl. Gladyce wants no part of this and is concerned for her partner, Doryce is looking for a happy cry. Doryce pushes the button for the elevator, despite having established that the establishment has stairs. she enters and closes the door. the elevator only goes up one storey. she encounters Dirg. they both keep their hands in their pockets.

Doryce: got the stuff?

Dirg: no.

Doryce: got the Yuban?

Dirg: you are on specify tonight, grandma. no.

Doryce: *flustered* YOU BAN YUBAN!!? i can't sit through Gladyce's stories no more. by the end of this particular cyclical addiction of mine, i'm gonna have a hard dark-black steel-beam slab of petrified and crystalized coffee grounds lining all inches of me stomach like a snake. like a Brassed Off miner conductor.

Dirg: this place is shady.

Doryce: hurry, we haven't much time! yeah, never trust an eatery with no pictures of stars eating there.


the two are greeted by an angry mob of grease-lined employee faces in caps with the feathers backward with a spherical pile of dirty dishes in their scrubby arms ready to push in the elevator.

Doryce: nothing......see here? shaggy carpeting in the elevator, just weird.

back downstairs

Laertus: excuse my partner. in friendship! i know nothing! my ailed partner. nice to finally meet in person quietly. i go to Exodus College.

Dirg: *joining dramatically* and i attend Marvel University.

Gladyce: what brings you to the piers, dears?

Laertus: i'm afraid we have nowhere to lay our reading heads. this one got us kicked out of our dorm. it was bad enough when just the pizza was banned from us. Dirg and some dude named Takahashi went to our local nearby pizzeria and handed the owner an envelope of white powder.

Dirg: hilarious. what? it was just baking dough.

Laertus: NOT in these dangerous times where there's a shooting streetfight every night! if you haven't noticed, the war is leaving bullet holes in neighborhood fences.

Dirg: i know that's the point, a little gag brings levity. where's the humor now? what form does it take? is there still room in this world for Punk'd? i remember when i looked up to that tall ashen guy. what we've learned from this glorious Administration is that nothing matters, life doesn't matter.

Laertus: so you get into trouble deliberately to speed your point? what were you doing there?

Dirg: Tak and i were doing research for our graphic novels.

Laertus: uh-huh. you're a bad influence on people, i'm your one and only friend. you need the power of Juju. you were looking at porn, in broad nightlight at the pizza parlor, and worse, you used my screen! you unplugged my screen in the dorm and plopped it down on one of the tables and just started watching porn in public with the volume up.

Dirg: hey those were European anything-goes outdoor-cafe-style pizza tables. here comes the best part.

Laertus: then you "botted" the owner. you called over a swat team who delivered 100 boxes of pizza. to the pizzeria. all filled with anchovies. there are no more fish in the sea cos of you. what was your beef?

Dirg: that's just it, they messed up my clams-casino order. the clams weren't stinky enough to be pizza toppings, they had to smell like a woman freshly satisfied. that's the only way i'm gonna learn, i need real examples.

Laertus: the two bolted out of there, it was harder for Takahashi. did you take the hidden bridge through the brook?

cop in doughnut-colored mustache, calling it in: we got one bozo. and one traveling on one E-Skate......go to the stream...there's only one stream!!!...

Dirg: yep. Tak stubbed his toe when he got tangled in it and fell into the river. he deftly swam away to escapist safety. it's more a footbridge than a bridge.

Laertus: imagine. we take infrastructure for granted. horrible thing that happened in Italy. i'm glad those lesbians survived to tell the BBC. the owner claimed on the report you called him a fatty.

Dirg: no, we were debating outloud what to call it. "botting" or "fatting".

Laertus: so the investigators traced the screen back to my dorm room. i knew i shouldn't have signed up to have my computer screen officially certified and registered at the Apple Store for one more nominal extra charge. the gig was up, now the whole school knows we're roommates! we are two campus cats in need of a cradle. nowhere to rest my weary green head. without staining the pillow. and worse yet, no one will serve us pizza on college grounds anymore! our pictures are taped in each and every parlor in town. that's why we're here. in search of pizza.

Gladyce: you can travel with us, dears. we're always on the move.

Laertus: thank you kindly. make mine the Renee Powell Suite, i hear Carnoustie is nice this time of year after the tournament traffic and construction and icky bestball rules are all done. i will have to disappear on occasion. for class. i want to try to limit the time needed for this pop-culture degree to no more than four years, you know?

the other three chuckle and close their eyes when they smile.

Dirg: what was the big deal? we all watch porn. why hide it? porn can bring humanity together. the disinfectant of carnival stained-glass pizza-light and all that. you do. you watch animal porn! i've seen it!

Laertus: furry porn tyvm. drawings. i love animals. in the comfort of my home. in my apartment there is literally only the screen there. sitting on hardwood floors. there's a metaphor in there somewhere. i can't do like you, it's hard for me to have fun, i can't roll around like you do.

Dirg: *singing* do you trip like i do?......trip like i do......

LeBron: dude what is your deal? what is wrong with you? is this about the pizza party? you still mad i didn't invite you?

President Bump on the phone: hey you guys should be praising me for showing restraint. i wanted to call her a b. b for bashful, she's bashful. coil my tongue around a bumblebee mouth. and die. but she's a real rottweiler for sure. this is why there is no White House dog. dogs can sense the primal fear in me and pounce. yous all gon be sorry when i throw myself a party JUST FOR ME and NONE of y'all are invited! to the ceremony. when i get my Star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame...again.

Melbourne: she bashed you good. hey, you got your legal defense fund sorted? all filled up?

white Thai cavediver: funding secured.

Bump: why is only my glass black and the rest are white? what you tryna say bout me?

Melbourne: Diet Coke causes dementia. apparently. water is safer, even in Flint. where there's flint in the water. i know, it's a tv-causes-cancer sort of thing, but why risk it? let us all put our hands together and pray for Aretha. God love you, is a bit morbid how they're approaching it.

Bump: yeah, you gotta wait. wait to exhale. like with Jotaro and DIO. i was rooting for DIO so hard and bad, but Jotaro faked his heart stopping. DIO's Stand is called The World, that's why i like it. you just never know. stop. in the name of love. Jo had his own Stand hold his heart from beating. it's gonna hurt like hell.

Melbourne: please, for once in your life, don't take the lead on this one, let me take over. a god amongst women, a natural woman. mmmmm. nuff said. leaving us at the worst possible time. the Civil Rights singer. never copied anyone else. she wasn't tryna be Sinatra or nuthin'. everyone ELSE was HER clout-chaser, they all clout demons! she came out of the womb a fully-formed original, the Celestial Zygote. back when we still had a Soul to sing about.

Mueller: i'm the most-beloved Republican by the Democrats ever. even more than Reagan. don't they know i'm not one of them? hey Avenatti, what are you doing? saw you at the Wing Ding. you have to approach it more like me.

Avenatti flashes his handsome-star smile.

Avenatti: what can i say? i like chicken.

Melbourne: so disappointed. so close. like old times, Smokey and the Bear. to come to the edge and never let it out. that would be horrible in my job. the storybook was ripped a page. now we gotta wait till freakin' April! it's gonna be a long lonely lugubrious winter. Christmas won't be the same this year. who was the first person you called, Tiger?

Tiger Woods: my best and one and only friend Federer. we both have back problems. school's out for summer.

at a nearby secret compound:

April D Ryan: why are you here? why are you helping me?

The Line: sis, you gotta believe in something. atheism is the luxury of the rich. you always look like you're worried, like something is about to happen to you. hey i fill the holes, ma'am. anywhere i can help i help. i'm the glue guy to this operation. if O wants me to bodyguard you pretty ladies i do. think of me as your protector at the state fair. but a cog in the revolution, here to do my part, a flag planted in the streets of this war. you look like my dead auntie.

April: oh now i get it. death humbles the falling giant. guilt stopped up your gun with grease? gilds the gallant and the talented into a guild? or are you Sasuke lying in wait?

The Line: death of a certain sort. down with the patriarchy. i realized i was part of the problem.

April: you sure you're not hiding out here like the rest of us?

The Line: what'd you finally do anyway?

April: said the immigration-policy-writer looked like a child molester.

Bump: me?

April: no, Stephen Miller on twitter.

The Line: don't worry, we'll kick his big butt and this will all be over. in good time. i can play in the shadows like those piffle Qs. and wait for those Qs to give me my cues. heck, my whole skin is a shadow. you're like Frankenstein's monster.

Omarosa: come on, man!

The Line: no, i didn't say you looked like Frankenstein's monster. that Katrina Pierson tho, boy siree! i want what she smokes. to appear on tv. one look into those cat-eyes after one interview and you know this fine woman would make a great turned soldier. uh, like you. you talk to Mueller's team?

Omarosa: you have no idea just how truly strong i am, do you? you're not supposed to call the monster Frankenstein, but everyone does, the world does, it's too far gone to ever go back throughout history with a black markie pen and correct it now. i AM Mueller. in many respects.

Melbourne: Taki? well hello! what are you doing here at this ungodly hour? shouldn't you be waking up from a good night's sleep right about now? the night is young, much younger than you or i.

Taki: in the area. my son called. my son the artist. he's working on a comic book, you know. The Whispering Eye. kids these days.

Melbourne: your eyes are red. like they're whispering pink-eye. you've got fantastic tits.

Taki: hey! how can you tell!? i'm all covered up! i'm wearing a buttoned coat!

Melbourne: hopefully they'll be festival tits soon. well, feel free to stay. the liquor cabinet's always open so here's the key. time for me to retire, i'll be in my upstairs chambers.

Taki: you are so cynicalistic.

Taki snoops the stairwell till gone and makes her way to the bedroom door. ajar. sick. she hears noises coming from the bed. Melbourne is sounding out the nnnnnnnnnnnnnrrrrrrrrrr of a jetplane streaking through the sky. Bosanquet giggles after each turn. Taki slams open the door.

Taki: A-HA!!! late-night study session, good doc? i saved your life from all that junk science and Peace Corps motivation in your brain!!!

Bosanquet slips out of bed and slips her coat over her pizza-stained negligee.

Bosanquet: exactly. purely professional. this man has a serious problem and i'm trying to fix it. but i can see now that he is beyond my help. it's up to you now. he is seriously troubled and disturbed. nightie.

Taki: *pulls out her liquids-proof pad and electric pencil* oh? and what seems to be the issue? i'm something of an armchair psychologist, all reporters must be. no offense. didn't mean to imply you were amateur hour, but you do charge by the hour, space-age toots. hello? hey, are you crying? why you crying? THAT was the sound you were making?

Melbourne: oh it's all been an act! i wanted to make you jealous with her so you wouldn't come. but it didn't work. you obviously didn't fall for it. you're obviously too smart for me. and you're obviously not interested in me.

Taki: wow. you didn't even flinch when i mentioned i'd come. this dismays me. but it is in keeping with your serial-killer persona.

Melbourne: i have to be stoic for my clients.

Taki: so you keep saying.

Melbourne: but the thing of it is, i'm terrified to death of air-racing. never done one before. i've had this recurring nightmare every time i've slept for the past year. it's always the same: i'm traveling in my air-racing plane and it goes wobbly after that first green bulkhead turn on the course, i can't control the nose, and the wings veer into a spinout. not a cloud in the sky. not a cloud in the sky. my small plane and me in it pilots erratically into the crash of a blue Formula 1 racecar with one line of white racestripe driving on the coastal road of a road race. the driver in this car? me. my last sight is nothing but blue ocean everywhere i look all around me.

Melbourne clutches his wrist.

Taki: um, can i use your bathroom?

Melbourne: where's my restroom? down the hall to your left.

Taki checks. the bathroom door is locked. figured. she returns to the bedroom. there, she sees a Mexican boy wearing a plaid shirt being pulled out by Melbourne's arms from under the bed.

Taki gasps in horror.