Wednesday, January 9, 2019


Mohammed: 42nd Street Moon, this is my home. i don't feel at home anywhere else in society, even in San Fran.

Cory: even on Lombard Street?

Mohammed: what are you implying? don't you see my girl Stephanie in the back row all to herself in a small red circle table in the corner of the club chugging the water from the flower vase?

Cory: that's yo girl? son, i am disappoint. so no, Mo. she's black like you. racemixing is the way to go, any good perfume scientist knows that, the strongest potion comes from the most different strains coming together. the more they don't blend, the more you force it, the more vicious the scent cos it's made out of pain and struggle. haven't you ever fancied me as a sack mate?

Mohammed: i mean you're cute'n'all...with the green freckles i see you...but just cute, not sexy. i dunno, it's not that she's black, it's that i love her.

Cory: after three weeks? there? fetuses die in three weeks! i want to learn how to fuck San Franciscan style. come with me, i'm lonely, i'm still new to the city and i get lost easily. i want to go to Macy's and eat there.

Mohammed: um, if you haven't noticed, i'm about to perform. but you're welcome to stay, girlie, you'll be a welcome distraction, i'm nervous.

Cory: nah, i'd just be a welcome subtraction.

Mohammed gets up on stage and crawls on all fours, pounding his huge He-Man Hulk Pre-Black Panther Wakandan fists into the plankboards and cursing at the spotlight, howling like a hirsute hound despite his newly-shaved bald head. he doesn't so much sing as shout, spitting into his microphone, glacing the mic line, hurling hateful loud invective at the audience, with indecipherable tones and unpronounceable words in short bursts of power that a poetic stanza they do not make, no rhythm to be had here, felt freely and maddeningly like a shiver down a crowd whose backbones were all tattooed with a black backbone. Mo cursing himself and his state by looking down and at the audience. the performance leaves the audience shook, some clap, some's hands are too shaken to clap but they clap involuntarily out of being in a shaken state.

Cory: what was that, man?! i couldn't understand it. i don't know about art life in San Fran, i'm completely overwhelmed and swallowed by it.

but Cory did understand it, at least subconsciously, and that scared her, she was getting nervous in her head and knew she needed to act soon or it'd all blow.

Mohammed: that was my poetry. my high-level poetry, it got levels. it's all about loving yourself. the modern black man loves himself and people are scared of that. but we need more self-love in this world. i'm screaming my lungs out of agony that i want the world to love! i'm desperate for this! to happen, to occur. of course you didn't understand my sung poetry, girlie, i use vocab words in my lyrics. it's the exact same thing as a breezy reggae song with a light touch and barely-decipherable beat, same sentiment, same lyrics, only not soft-spoken word, done in the style of death metal. perhaps you'd understand it more if you weren't high on ganja gangsta life all the time.

Cory: you're kinda scary, Mo. like it seems you're liable to go off at any minute, do something drastic right on stage there.

Mohammed wraps his big bear arms around Cory, swallowing her.

Mohammed: come outside with me, girlie, i want to show you something. cash me outside.

Cory: i don't know what that means but i'm intrigued. like three-drink minimum or something? standing-room only? i still don't know what that means, that seating chart, it's very complicated.

Mohammed: look at the moon tonight, bathed in blue, crying out to us for help, crying for us to save it, dripping its silent light onto the roof of my joint.

Cory: your marijuana cigarette or you mean your club?

Mohammed: but see it's not blue. if you turn at this angle, you see that the moon is actually black.

Cory: it's half and half, half white and half black. like the Black and White Cookie, that new Seinfeld everyone's talking about and letting sink into society.

Mohammed: yes, this is our new normal. this is our last chance to save the world before it's too late and it all dissolves into race riots forever. there's a deterioratingness to this decade. look up, always look up for your guide/ it won't chide. and always remember, the moon is actually black, not white. understand?

Cory: *nodding forcefully forcedly* i think i get it.

while Mohammed leaves to set up for his second set, including covers of Whodini's "Freaks Come Out At Night" and Sam Cooke's "That's All I Need To Know" done in doom metal, Cory takes Stephanie aside outside to talk with her.

Cory: i want you to steal perfume from Macy's. for me. no, just so i can learn from you, it's a compliment. you're gonna be my San Francisco sensei like you see in those old '70s kung-fu flicks. why do you have a beaded curtain on your head? is that the style here? are you emulating all the beaded curtains in those San Fran swinging shacks of the '60s?

Stephanie: did you only ask me to do this cos i'm black?

Cory: Steph Steph it's just...i don't get you guys' relationship. i mean all black men want a white woman, right? i mean is there actually such a thing as a black skinhead?

Dabo Swinney is at the mic:

Dabo: yee-haw! i mean what'd you expect? my last name is the utterance of a pig, i'm as South as they come! and proud of it! football will be relegated to the South soon after all the regulations. i'm just a typical country boy, typical Georgian dog, my wife was the Bassett hound as i followed and swallowed her tail's scent down every shrimp sidewalk. thank god jesus she took me in, i wouldn't be where i am now without her faith, i'd be in a gutter. who'd play me in the movie? well i kinda sorta look like Bruce Jenner. well you gotta start with Matthew McConaughey and those abs, right?

Dirg: MM, or M Squared as i call him only to him, makes playing pool and pushing the button of a car seem life-or-death. this guy's onto something.

Dabo: i invented the dab you know. my wife? this is tricky and tough, i have to be careful and delicate with what comes out of my mouth at this very moment, don't want to get in trouble with her. dog in the doghouse. well she sorta kinda looks like Bruce Jenner. the Princess. no the old one. yes, Kate Middleton, the one with the shoe line, i love those shoes! and of course our quarterback's gotta be played by Sunshine from Titans. you wouldn't believe little ol' Clemson's story, no Hollywood producer could ever write it. only God can write books, ultimately.

Laertus: you know i'm really liking this guy now, taken a shine, spitting from a fox, he's cute, he's infectious, like The Shining. he saved college football, well not really, but at least this is actually a rivalry now, not a Roddick Federer situation. still needs an 8-team playoff. i mean those are some convincing casting choices, he'd make a great casting director. this fits into my theory that all folk from the South really deep down want to run away to Hollywood to experience the good life. i would have chosen Ridgemont Sean Penn. or even Kurt Cobain if you want to get hot for this particular time period we're focusing on now.

Dirg: Kurt was the greatest actor of all time.

President Bump is at his own private yardsale where he's selling nothing. he sits down on a rainbow-slatted lawn chair in front of the Cream House and pets his pet plastic flamingo. he tries to interlock his hands and put them to the back of his head but they get swallowed by his hair.

Bump: ahhhh, this is the good life. relaxing, not working. why can't the President go buck naked? is that Nanchuck on the phone again? i'm hearing things, thought i heard a ring or invasion alert. got '70s kung-fu flicks on the brain. i work too hard. this Shutdown will last forever! i'll even make it my last Executive Order to keep the US Govt shut down for life! that'll show the elites, fiat the elites! permanent vacation! isn't that how the song goes? they want a Wall, it's very Medieval, the good old days, and my party is protecting me, keeping me surrounded by a moat. the people will pay for it, i hate being in that stuffy stilted room, it's like the old Mad Magazine office room in New York City, the one with the vault in the back of the family photos on stilts in the back desk, too musty, you gotta get out and smell the fresh toxic air. i broke the tiny red Emergency glass box with that ball-penis hammer and got the hell outta there! the Wall will be made from see-through concrete, how is this possible you ask? well the concrete is clear. clear-colored, it looks grey, and it'll have a big beautiful door which will be so see-through it'll be like there's no door at all, just air. the concrete mixed by my own toy collection of those mint-green Transformers robots that transform into those circular mixer trucks. i see all this green around me, the grass not money, and it inspires me, i want to drink a green drink...…*looking straight into the camera* folks, i just had a Bang Sour Heads Creatine Cola...creative but it gave me diarrhea...turned my pee green...i'm watering the South least it's not those college football games where they water the field with beer...

at the Super Bowl, right before the Chargers win against the Cowboys (the last year not played with cowbots) with that ballet move, all the networks turn away from the live broadcast for a special breaking report. no, not Heidi. at that exact moment, before the bettors have a chance to calculate and cheat and FanDuel cos no one at Vegas knows who won the game, THIS SECOND is when Bob Mueller decides to drop his report...

no one in the world knows who won the Super Bowl. the coaches, players, and audience in the stadium are sworn to secrecy by the FBI, who storm into the stadium, crashing the stadium steel slat up-down sliding doors like a Brooklyn bodega, shutting everybody up. it's a National Emergency phoned in by FanDuel. "Dammit Jim" Comey and "Stream On" Fox Mulder place their fingers to their mouths. those are their new top-secret FBI codenames.

Bump: as in he's dropping this whole witchhunt thing, right? dropping the case? no evidence. i will soon have Bob's work Barred.

Pence: sir, we should immediately close the Northern Border. did you know pornhub is a Canadian company!!? i watch it all day, nothing but bootyholes! bootyholes everywhere! wall-to-wall bootyholes!

the crones are at the quite quaint quiet village of Helen.

Doryce: this place amazingly is in the heart of Georgia! what is an alpine village full of alpacas doing in a place like this? as if dropped from ancient Europe! i think i misjudged the South...

Gladyce: think about this irony: CNN: Georgia, Fox News: New York. don't get discouraged, babe, Helen of Troy's got nuttin' on you! ready for finally some skiing, babe?

Doryce: before we ski we have to learn how to skate. how to skate on unfrozen water. do you know the precise amount to heat water? time i mean.

Gladyce: if you're asking if you heat my insides, you already do, babe, don't feel self-conscious.

Doryce: like in the microwave, how many minutes. you know the microwave was invented expressly to heat up water. like food wasn't even in the consideration, it was a box designed for making tea instantly materialize. garcon! who do i have to fuck to get some service in this gingerbread house!?

Geoffrey Owens shaved beard as The Mooch: me?

Doryce: hard-right pass swipe. anybody else in the kitchen back there? Gordon maybe? the goth guy? for an unpopular second-season go-round?

Kevin Spacey walks out in a watermelon apron. the watermelon apron is immediately savaged online by subredditors who are saying---well, typing---it was an insult to fans.

Kevin Spacey: TWO MINUTES. two minutes for water is the correct timed answer, and my final answer.

Dirg: *bowing* you are my hero, sir.

Gladyce: are you acting or acting creepy?

Kevin Spacey: *looking directly at the camera* look at my eyes! they are anything but spacey! they are serious! they are intense! you know that long monologue i gave in my kitchen? that was all done in one take, from memory the first time, no script, not even one cold reading of a script, in fact there was no script, that was all off-the-cuff improvised from whole cloth, straight from my head, no video manipulation splices breaking in to cut, that's how good of an actor i am.

Laertus: let's not encourage him, fam.

Kevin Spacey: the audience of crowded people are always fascinated by stars and their cars. flying cars uh private planes over cut island clouds. Nantucket wouldn't exist without me, they'd be like Netflix. Nantucket Netflix, like BETflix, Netflix only for blacks. you name me the last thing in the world which generated interest. for the first time, the sleepy island village of Nantucket had to hire paparazzi for its Chamber of Commerce brochure.

Spacey recites: there once was an old woman from Nantucket/
who woke up one day and said fuck it/
she loved who she loved/
the way few had done/
and told the whole wide world to suck it.

Spacey: that old woman......she was portrayed by yours truly. with no makeup.

Dirg: *applauding with irregular clapped hands* he just wanted to love the way everyone wants to love.

Eye Luggage: great, the breaking news dug into all i wanted to talk about today. i'm back, folks, send me DMs and food. questions only, no pics. man marriage is going great! i feel like i've won all the Olympic Gold Medals like Meg Griffin! before we go, well before my mic gets cut, your predictions for Masked Singer?

Dirg: are you kidding me with that mask!? the masked singer was revealed, dude took off his furry helmet head, and it's Antonio Brown! from the Steelers! he was THERE instead of helping the Steelers win that playoff game they never got to play! he was there the whole time! that's why he was missing from practice. another one goes Hollywood and loses his soul! the coach should not be fired, he's a cool dude, he reminds me of my father if my father had been a black man.

Antonio Brown tries to talk about it at the red-circle table at 42nd Club but it's too small. and upturned.

the cast go to Washington, DC. for various activities, there's not much to do since it's shut down, so Pedro enjoys a few drinks at a local gathering club. Pedro scans the place up-and-down suspiciously and sinisterly. but not left-to-right.

Pedro: scams, everywhere i look. wall-to-wall scams. this club is full of holes. wet holes. watering holes. wall-to-wall watering holes. would you mind if i peed in your butt?

Sasser: *napkin stuck to his forehad with gin* exsqueeze me?

Pedro: i noticed your napkin doesn't say KICK ME. so i just assumed. hello, young buck. how are you surviving the shitdown?

Sasser: hello, i'm Sean. i own Stussy, the first startup company ever, skateboards and skatebirds and shirt shit. our shirts are good, they're the best, i mean shit as in stuff. and shorts. Stussy stuff. we got the best caps, they're non-sports-related, designed to be rally caps turned around on the head. the shirt and short tags in the back are always inverted upside-down and scratchy, too. i drew the first Cool S, that's where the Cool S comes from.

Judd: THAT WAS ME!!! I drew the first Cool S! Superman, you know. i was shut out here! i hate this fucking DC place! Mo was telling me about AC DC. i was all set to present my presentation, i had my portfolio of my comics all ready on posterboard stands. and they said the stage was set for another band, another group of animators working on an early pilot for Regular Show for adult swim, what the hell even is that!!? the main guy had hippie long hair. we don't need regular we need revolution!

Rachel: *tigress sounds and cat-swipe with her dainty hand* rawr! your incipient anger is getting me all bot and bothered uh hot and bothered. i think i need a milk bath. Puck should bathe, too. i was bored. and boring, i signed up for the Peace Corps as you might've imagined and decided not to actually do the Peace Corps as everyone does, everyone chickens out at the last minute, they just want their resume to look cool to jobs. to go through with all that travel??! only if MTV pays for it, thank you, ma'am! don't make fun of me, i'm the pretty one, not the funny one.

Pedro: i love your sass. so you're intimating you're rich? your Stussy is giving me a stiffy.

Sasser: i skate. i'm a marcher.

Pedro: well march your black butt up the stairs to my room, then, mister. i'm an activist and i'm bout to activate you.

Sasser: where's your room?

Pedro: San Francisco. the backwash of San Francisco. from Wash it's gonna be a looooooong strange trip.

the two finally get to the House.

Sasser: sir i'm kinda tired form the trip. i mean we took ten planes.

Pedro: *slanted eyes, furrowed eyebrows* come on baby. everyone! everyone in the house! i want you to meet my future husband!

Sasser: wait, what? i don't even know your name is Pedro.

Pedro: i have a keen sense about these things, honed from being acutely aware of how precious life is because i can die at any second. i'm a positive person, not just an HIV-positive person. come on, everyone, join us in my bed. it's my birthday, you said i could have anything i wanted! all 8 of us, let's fuck. it'll go quicker if we do it in orgy form. 8 is enough, 8 is great. nothing forced here, it's all fun. and in fun, cos science is fun. you know, Sean, i haven't even asked if you're gay cos it doesn't matter here. here we do it San Franciscan style, in the butt. everyone, in the butt. gay, straight, or other along this nascent rainbow known as the spectrum. cos there are no virgins in life, everyone gets fucked in the butt. please, sweet Sasser, turn your head to the headboard. no, face the headboard...

but two are missing from the orgy. Rachel spies from the second storie Puck in the drenching rain right outside the House by the front chandelier door, he is looking up but not looking up. the torrents have long since turned his blond porcupine-spikes dyejob back brown and straight lines. Rachel climbs down the chandelier stairs to greet him.

Rachel: Puck, where have you been?

Puck: i love the rain. it cleanses my dirtiness. and calms me with cold. i want to drive in the rain, thrive in the rain. and succeed in the rain. and win in the rain. and beat the rain, like i beat myself.

Rachel: you look like an apparition, like the ghost who's haunting the House. lightning flashes illuminate your essence just for the moment of the trident. and the thunder comes from your wheels.

Puck: you know where i've been all day uh week? the time you were away at DC Comics? i was in court, traffic court. they gave me a traffic ticket, hit my cheeks with it hard, ignobly issued. i couldn't just pay it in the mail, the internet hasn't been invented yet, i had to travel all the way to court, but my bike got stolen. by the Government, the Govt *air quotes with his fingers* commandeered it and stuffed it in some government icebox facility for storage, never to be seen again. that was the bike of my childhood, i have no idea where it is, it's gone forever. they spotted Pedro's car in the bike zone, he is the illegal one, but they don't tow Pedro's car, instead they get me for my bike, chained legally and properly in that spot! a vicious violation. no justice, no peace. my spotless record is forever spotted!

Rachel: oh yeah, i think i saw Pedro riding your bike. he was doing wheelies with it in the rain down Lombard Street. he was in a rush, he said he had to hurry to do his taxes on time.

Puck: he could have just mailed his taxes in from home, sent them snail. he's early like a pregnancy. this day won't be a total waste of time if you agree to help me construct my soapbox derby. watch me ride it down Lombard Street, it's meant for wet.

Rachel: but is it meant for curves? see i don't myself know, cars and weird machinations with bolts and rods scare me, they ick me out, they're creepy. they're like robots or something, not human, therefore i can't care for them. you smell weird, clean, i can't spot you. please don't come any closer! don't approach me with your screwdriver! or hammer! or anything that wrenches! and that weird triangular oilcan you see in cartoons that you open-carry in your pocket!

Puck: i thought it cute, it's Illuminati-shaped i would have thought you'd be into it. no, not the club here, the other club. it's okay, i have a license. please, Rachel, let me drive you to Inverness. Inverness is the magic place, my magic place, i want to show you the world, my world, the magic world. we'll drive just the two of us along the Redwood Coast, see actual Sacramento mountain lions, go to Patrick's Point, explore Granite Island, flip the Channel Islands National Park, till we reach our secret sacred destination not found on any map. okay, we'll walk all these things.

right now at Inverness there's a tiny brown speck in large swaths of foggy sparkly emerald-isle green of rolling hills. it's Goody Paul, traveling, with purpose but aimlessly...

Rachel: Pedro says we need a granite island, in the kitchen of the House. a hard flat space for better orgies.

Laertus: i feel for Pedro. he just wants to love like everyone else. like Grandpa Simpson denied himself and only realized very late in life.

on the granite island table in the kitchen in the dead of night after everyone has gone down to sleep in their rooms, Pedro's shifty eyes scan back and forth with his two beads like an evil calculator, determined to decipher the orgy's results. crunching the numbers on his tiny box computer with tiny white curved paper slithering out of it like a snake's tongue. truly crib notes. like a medieval tax collector traveling on a dirt highway, it's tax season soon.

Pedro: drat. i don't think it's here. needs more testing. i'm hungry. i'm always hungry this time of night. i wonder if ice cream made with caged eggs tastes better? i've now fucked everyone associated with the show: cast, crew, and management. already. deductibles? well i broke that dude's bike, shattered it in a nanomillion pieces and bolts. that thing is destroyed. so that cost is gone. saved. defray, don't delay. do you know where a man such as i can get a roll of ticker-tape in the city at this hour?

Bunim: i'm not here.

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