Wednesday, January 30, 2019


Pedro: you bring home another dog, Puck?

Puck: very funny, Ped. everyone, this is my new fiancée, Toni Cook. i met her the other day.

Pedro: bitch you don't know how to SPELL fiancée! how many e's? i'm talking to your man, lovely miss, whom i hope isn't your bro.

Toni is a brightfully beauteous woman with one tit like a melon and the other like a watermelon. she wears a fuzzy almond blouse as always which helps with the intemperate San Fran weather, lipstick stained red from past trauma, a ringlet around her everything, and boho shoes on the house carpet. her pretreated loops presage the Rachel Cut but curly.

Rachel breathes a sigh of relief under her breath. Puck eats a shiny wet apple of conquest and conviction right in Rachel's face, the bite crisp as an autumn call.

Puck: b-y-t-c-h. no, not you. sorry, babe, you missed out, you and your cans had your shot with the Puck-man. you were on the right path, but paths up there are rocky. literally. you took your sweet time. that's the thing wirh relationships, they're mostly about timing more than attraction.

Rachel: i know i know, it's my fault alone, and it will haunt me till a green flower van curbs into my house. i gave you a chance but not really. i'm just gonna have to live with the life-altering life-shattering non-decision i made. the rest of my life, which undoubtedly won't last very long. won't be for much longer. without street love.

Puck moves Toni from off the ground her toes wiggling and places her to the corner of the dining room.

Puck: you stay there Toni, with some frosted cereal, my betrothed beloved, silently, and let me sort this out. Pedro, i want to say something to you! why do you continually destroy my stuff!? do you have a vendetta out for me or something?

Pedro: spell that. cos it makes me stiff. what this time?

Puck: my small-large-business startup i was starting up? around the City? you know the Lime Bikes? there are only six prototypes i built by scratch which i placed at all six corners of the City. for business folk to get around letting their tie fly around without deepening their carbon footprint. instant multimaker. and you had to go and crush all their bells. why. WHY. why ME.

Pedro: oh, those stupid eyesore things? first off they don't smell like lime at all, i thought you were the one with the nose. and do you know what that company does online with its computer? you'd shiver and turn whiter than you already are. same with that skateboard and all ESPN 2 skateboard culture, get rid of all that toxicity.

Puck: dammit Pedro, this is what i mean! I'VE HAD IT!!! i'm done with you, Pedro! you don't respect me or the Earth! my boundaries or the ozone layer! i'm in the middle of the dining-room carpet and telling you outright, in front of the entire cast and crew, I DISLIKE YOU, PEDRO. i hope the cameras got that for posterity and the court case.

Bunim: uh, remember, no tapes, this is all real-world real-world. nothing is recorded, life lived the way life should be lived and was intended to be lived. for prosperity not posterity. who needs money for life?

Pedro: don't you dare try to kick me out! i know where each and every one of you live!

Puck: i'm done with your casual and planned harassment and your threats. we're gonna have a serious House meeting sometime soon, like at a birthday party or something, that's always the best place for an eviction. Pam will organize it i'm sure. folk i have an announcement to make: i'm getting married. to Toni Cook. on Mother's Day, book it. Mother's Day cos Toni is my new mommy. i never knew my mother.

Pedro: no one cares about your sob story, you snot-nosed chingaso. that's not how you do credible reality tv, it's how you do creditable reality tv. for fuck sake i have the greatest sob story of all time, i have motherfucking AIDS!!! and not the cartoon stop-motion anime kind. you don't know what it's like to really live this life, do you son? you're so normal for a bike messenger. marrying a woman? i spit and laugh at you and your nuclear family. my marriage to Sean will be the social event of the calendar in SF! and Global Media Season Channel. i'm doing it right, San-Franciscan-style! we're the first gay civil union ever shown on tv, we're groundbraking epic television, spittin it right back in George Bush's face. glasses? now THAT is a long drawn-out courtship, longest in history! you're a joke, we're serious. i go after what i want. i make history, you make home-cooked meals with flour and coke! no offense, pretty lady.

Judd: Puck you're my best bud but stop being a cuck. a cuck Puck.

Puck: now, after all this ado, can i PLEASE get around to telling my story? we're here in the dining-room where this carpet's seen many a story, so here goes: get the lit campfire going, Pedro, thank you. i'm gonna tell you all about the magic place i found love and my love...

at the Australian Open, Osaka has Judy Murray down on the hard court with her butterfly rackethead pinned on Judy's throat.

Osaka: bitch, say it! it's the Asian Open NOW! you forgot i was half-black, huh didja. yeah people forget that about me.

Judy: please i'm sorry, i reject my entire thesis ever since i was born. Stephen Fry me. at the roast. and the spit-roast. i just want to see my son, my son is suffering, he needs his mother, and his mother is after him.

Andy Murray enters the court jerkily and has a more robotic voice than usual. the court stagelights turn off for no reason. smoke comes from his eyes. he points at the metallic limb in his leg and gives the o-Kay symbol with his grey fingers. a huge bolt is where his bellybutton used to be.

Andy: gotta nut in my belly. mum, i'm an android now, maybe now you'll love me. where's Bouchard? i want to fuck her now. just to see.

Judy: *from the green ground* that's my boy! atta andy boy! i'll put on my Anne Murray Double CD, she's my sista ya know. NOW i love you, son.

at King Kong on Broadway, the crones are settling in to their matinee seats in the rafters. Doryce is chowing down and getting her mouth all buttery.

Doryce: do people bring popcorn to Broadway shows?

Gladyce: why this one, dear? it's cos you love those big 'n'tall bulky black men, huh.

Doryce: *reading her ticket* oh, i can't see with my glasses on! in the dark. i thought it said KINK Kong. and me without my boots. well at least i brought snacks. reach into my pocket, dear, and grab my banana.

Gladyce reaches in and gets her hand involved in a pile of mush. she slips those digits into her mouth.

Gladyce: oh, i love Thai fried bananas! still hot, too!

Doryce: perfect food for this, huh. i broomed over to see the Japanese version of this, it's Godzilla on stilts. lasted one performance, Opening Night, Godzilla burned down his own wooden stilts with his fire breath. isn't about time they call it Goddesszilla? they used up all the water in the Japan Canal that only one Studio Canal feature was made only available in anime shoppes. like, one tape. ah well, this gives me that Asian flavor i lost and still crave and had been missing, ever since the ballet, allows me to follow my own personal balletiquette.

after the show the two join the cast and crew backstage and onstage for a spaghetti dinner.

Doryce: except it's linguine.

cast and crew: who are you? what are you doing here?

Gladyce: dearies we saw free food and went for it. you wouldn't harbor any ill will for two frail old ladies off the burning trash streets would ya?

Doryce: i'm rubbing off on you, dear. and i'd like to rub on you. yeah but the thing is never use linguine! it's a bitch to clean off the pot. those stuck-on strands at the bottom of the oiled pot are IMPOSSIBLE to scrape off! i ruined the inside sensitive pink of my nailbeds for one lifetime doing it. could never wear my glitter nails to social galas for one whole menstrual cycle!

Gladyce: is this garlic bread? i can whip you up and bake you some quick menstrual blood bread if you'd like.

Dorcye: i like to be treated as a princess. is that Princess Sauce in the ladle crock?

cast: why yes,.

Doryce: what's in it? nevermind, it's orange in color. that used to mean good hearty curry nanwich Indian cuisine but not anymore...

the cast of Empire joins Eye Luggage and her cast and crew at the Red Table for a serious discussion that's real serious this time.

Smollett: no small men here, just heroes. not for a small wallet. I AM Uncle Jesse to today's millennials and youth and young kids. two more years? can't make it, the climate is rife with right. we've become enslaved to the breakfast cereal of one man. can we create art during this time that will transcend the cage of our inner fears and speak to dark audiences the way it did in the '90s? who was President then? no one knows.

Kevin Hart: look alls i'm sayin' is let's wait for the video evidence to come, i mean that's why they installed those cop cams, right?

President Bump: let's wait for the Mueller Report to come...*snicker*. yeah i mean who do i choose? you know? Guaido? is Guaido a Guido? then i'll go with him. is Maduro merde? i learned that word from my French friend when we frenched. what do you think, you're an expert on these things. hey have you done the Guaido Challenge?

The Mooch: he's a Guido no doubt, look at that slicked-back hair. please, sir, don't blindfold me and send me into the Lincoln Bedroom again, that was terrifying. those did not sound like birds...

Bump: *pursed lips* is President Bump an intellectual?...…*looks around the room*…

he sees Roger Stone in the front row with Melania shaking his head so Bump shakes his head. Jim Carrey is also in attendance.

Jim Carrey: i was the first to call you a Batman villain, Roger.

Federer: who, me?

Jim Carrey: i should know, i was the Riddler. riddle me this, Stone: how can you disgrace the Ben Stone name?

Bump: what's the deal? the Deep-fried State is afraid to let me govern! they're afraid the people will like me! i mean isn't this what they do in third-world countries? arrest the people who win the election?!

Roger Stone: right? they wouldn't let me keep my Nixon bomb that i kept stashed away under my bed! that's how much the feds hate Nixon! i told them i was willing to compromise: the Nixon sticker on the WMD was a silk-screen sticker easily removable under the steam of a tea kettle, just would have to wait a few. all i really wanted was the sticker, gave me tattoo chills. you know they're supposed to trace the outline before in drawn pencil, right? these gestapo stormed into my secure gated home in the middle of the night, hung a noose on my tree, scared my dog...

Scooby Doo: no that dog whimpering was me, i was hungry. i was part of a team investigating your place for the FBI, looking for clues.

Roger Stone: wimpering. i come out to you tonight, media, in my French beret cos i'm playing a role. i am filming a film. no not the cassettes. can't you tell? who do i look like? the Pink man! Pink Panther Man! all these stupid Ivy Leaguers tryna lock me up for life cos i believe the conspiracy. i hate smart people! white liberals? there are white liberals? why?

Bump: say I would like to buy a hamberder. you need to go back to school.

Roger Stone: can you believe Pink Panther and Scooby Doo never hooked up before now? it's gonna be a great children's film i'm starring in. my mouth is weird cos i want to match Mueller's weird mouth. no i'm not chewing stones, it's just really hard gum. and contrary to the druge dungeon-sexroom rumors, that Russian sex coach is NOT my wife.

Bump: your loss is my gainful employment, bud. should be, at least before the plastic surgery, which she only did cos she's a spy hiding her face. *folds arms* yeah turns out that woman was Daphne, another teammember of Scooby's investigative team. wait, Tulsi is running for President!!? PLEASE, blue folk, give me some eye candy, it's gonna be a long process! that's what they do in cartoons, right? make the black people blue to avoid controversy, then they can make them do anything they want. why is Tulsi getting no gabbing pub and the other boring brown woman is?

The Mooch: *gathering the scrappies and putting them in a pot* let's not go back to Hawaii again, that trip was painful. Moochy Moochy Doo!

Laertus: interesting convo so far. oh please, waitress, no coffee for me. ever again.

Dirg: come on, Schultzy's the man! see his smile? see how he melts into a 12-year-old boy in front of his wife? that is so cute! see his story? i can relate, the getting pummeled by your own father in the tile shower of the Projects, the water red from iron oxide. i think my father was a plumber which made it worse.

Eye: The Piano. go.

Dirg: so it's just Bluebeard, right? that man knew how to treat women. no movie before or since has ever made Harvey Keitel an object of sexual desire...

Laertus: that was my first year watching the Oscars as a kid. i sat Indian-style with scraped knees neath my mom's long orange-beige skirt and popped my head out to see the small black-and-white tv-radio-screen in the blue kitchen tiletop. i still remember all the jokes cresting over the studio audience of Hollywood Illuminati Old Guard like a wave, everyone was laughing over that same Harvey Keitel Ass joke.

Dirg: don't you mean Hollywood luminaries? old guard, well middle guard. that was my first taste of body horror. didn't expect the violence to be so graphic. addicted me.

Laertus: sigh, at least be addicted to the massive amounts of lurid overkill sex in this, at least that's love. i mean this thing was a Cinemax with a Zealand accent done on a typograph. this film predicted The Rock with Maori makeup as our future feral President. Jane Campion was Champion of that year, but since it seems she peaked too soon. same with her scriptwriting for that poor little girl Anna in a packed tin. the little girl's thinking to herself, no more cleverness and instances where i can be more knowing than a little girl, i don't want to peak at this age, don't want to be peak Anna, i'm still a little girl. one thing about this film is the iconic nature of it, you know? these two are like bloodless ageless witches, forever memorialized on tape, not just film icons, but consciousness icons. the costumes, the fashion, embeds in the social consciousness. these two leads, the mother and the daughter, dressed in this particular period garb, hoop-ring and all, this turns into a Campbellian symbol, like you see this mother and daughter in this dress as part of a subconscious timeline, you'll always see these two in your mind's eye dressed as such as these characters forever, they have become world archetypes. oh yeah, that mute mother and her translator daughter, with the old-timey bonnets, yeah everyome knows these characters! they're protoypes, exemplars, blueprints in blue, ideal original forms in those outfits. did the costume designer get the only Oscar which mattered? the greatest part of the script for me is when the little girl Anna travels on that branched path, which way will she go? which path shall she take? will she tell or not? so on the nose and brilliant, for of course her decision is the pivotal choice, the very essence of everything.

Dirg: there was so much in there in the ending for a sequel. i wanted to learn and know more about that bionic hand the milf had. she was the prototype. of a Terminator. tho it would have been cool if they had gone with the original ending and just let the mother drown at the bottom of the sea.

Putin *Putin's chef behind Putin preparing the birthday dinner* shakes hands with the Chinese President at a newly-renovated-and-refurbished Hilton hotel. that just happens to be in Hanoi, Vietnam.

Chinese President: why are we doing this? now? strategic realignment? we could have been soul mates from the start.

Putin: cos i finally discovered anime. i watched Ghost In The Shell. i want your phone.

the Kurds: never again………………..NEVER FUCKING AGAIN!!!...…………...we out the game

Rachel: where are we going? why do you have to blindfold me?

Puck: this isn't a meme. i don't want to reveal the location to keep it secret and special between us, this is Inverness, off the beaten path in San Francisco's Unknown District. the long drawn-out evergreen emerald-green hills twinkle in the wetless moonlight and roll farther than the eye can see, unlike a certain Scottish who can now see his own balls. and always a constant presence getting into every pine crack and cone forest valley, in the craggy mountains which form jumping-off points for skaters and are greener than Tony Hawk's business-launch confidence: the fog, the mystical mist, the assuming grey blanket which makes the landscape unreadable and full of wondrous mystery. magic surely lives here.

Rachel is asleep in the back of the bug during this soliloquy.

Puck: i hate driving but they said they would asphalt over the bike path. here we are, i won't open the back-door trunk cos i don't want to stifle the sacred silence. don't be disturbing here, Rachel, be free, open your wings of hands and feet, get naked, breathe in the murky mist, solve your own mystery of yourself, be a party of Green in the unspoiled country. this is a place of meadow magic, this is where i first formulated my long drawn-out dream of being the greatest soapbox-derby driver of all time. where i first learned to believe. simply and utterly. and i can only accomplish this dream with you by my side, Rachel. my mushy serve and forehand. this place, see the reindeer!

a swell of muscley sweating breathing-heavy rumbling reindeer whizz by the reluctant couple, their horns piercing the squall of grey clouds, their calls honking the natural foghorn, their bones rustling together against each other. they fly up out of bloody reach and whiteout-conditioned sight.

Rachel: *back of the palm of her hand against her face cheek* oh my god, that was so awesome.

Puck: i want my derbies to fly like those deers! ,dear.

Rachel strips down naked and frolics in the mushy meadows and free fields, placing small yellow flowerbuds in her earbuds. when they come around again she rides the reindeer into the sky before the snow makes her tummy hurt and her fingers become so dangerously-cold they almost fall off but luckily only her grip falls off. the reindeer only use natural shea butter on their antlers for slippage.

Puck: *smiles with puckered lips* told ya.

Rachel: okay, maybe marriage to you won't be so flat. it's just i don't like wimps like you, i'm thinking of becoming a Republican like George Bush. i want a long drawn-out church wedding, i'm Cuban, my parents want none of that elopement stuff.

a mist comes over and across

Rachel and Puck are in the House. alone. Puck offers on salary to buy the House, they are scrubbing the tub in the bathroom. Rachel is doing all the work scrubbing the tub.

Rachel: come on, boy! talking bubbleheads, the first emojis. use a little elbow grease. use all that snot in your nose, rub your elbows with it and help me scrub!

Puck: shut up. a dub dub?

Rachel: see, it would never work out. you have to have a coherent messenge if you run as a bike messenger.

Puck: but that lasted one day! that was a green marriage, a Tom Green marriage! that was just our first day! our first argument! don't we get a trial marriage run, like checking out tapes at a rental store?

Bunim climbs a crag to deliver the notary public note into Rachel's soft perfumed hands.

Bunim: you two can only ever have a Hollywood marriage from now on. you've been on tv.

at the base of the Inverness Gorge lies the Maria LaRosa Titan slumbering up transforming her sleep into restful woke. she lies on the grass as if it were a green dining-room carpet by the fire. but it's cold. every one of her tremors from her vagina create a mini earthquake in this timeless peaceful place, threatening to crumble down small OD boulders from the cliffs.

Maria: my very breath is the mist in this place. forms the fog. every time i breathe heavy...

Goody Paul in knit cap and spelunk line bending back her nose: please continue with the heavy breathing and petting, Miss Maria. you don't know how much i love you. i miss you so much, the station is not the same without your witchy ways. the NWS National Weather Service computer is broken still after the Shutdown, i can't predict the weather. and i can't predict when the computer will be back up. i wanted to name it NWA but the stiffs at Upper Management said neigh. The Weather Channel ain't sexy no mo, they got two boring black dudes on there now to replace you and me. i was never a savant like you, you could actually control the weather with your sweet thoughts.

Maria: yes my dear Goody but you can, too. you just gotta believe. and have faith in your abilities. it's not from a computer, that's too easy, use the computer within. meteorologists were never meant to study or predict the weather, we are put on this earth to create the weather, to BE the weather. and there is such a dearth of earth now. i see it now in my own life whenever i went on those plane rides over clouds. i belong here, where the real action is, as Chris Matthews would say. i am one with the vibration of Mother Earth, i am her Daughter of Demi. are you taking care of my kids?

Goody: your sex will save the world. i just want to be near your aura, this is my most fervent wish. that's why i traveled all these miles to this place to be here. Atlanta's a hellhole especially this week. concerning itself with the Polar Vortex. the Polar Vortex allowed two assaulters to get off. i could never control a Polar Vortex, or even guide it, or gain guidance from it. i just want to live inside you, maybe then your magic will rub me off. i want knowledge, of woman and weather.

Maria: sleep tonight in the vortex of my butthole, i'll see you in the morning. know that i am always blowing you kisses even though you can't see my face. that's another tornado.

Goody cheats, he's been a narcoleptic/insomniac since he got the job, and spelunks, exploring every nookie nook, every cranny, every cave, every Maria hole. he settles down in her vagina and lets the yellow vaginal cheese and queef winds fill his nostrils with a sweet peace unknown to man. he climbs in her ass crack and sleeps like a baby, he takes off his mittens and slides up and down the slippery crevice elevator shaft between her massive boulder breasts. he ascends to the highest throne, the soft mound of her mission mouth, moist with the clinging mucusy air, and he takes out his pickax to open one tooth of it.

Goody: please, Titaness Queen Maria, let you eat me. i want to be in the presence of your hot breath, bathing in it forever.

but Paul stops in his tracks and trances on Maria's big big big beautiful blue eyes in accordance with the sky. he stays in that spot for all eternity gazing at her orbs. the light of her orbital bones and her irises dart back and forth like wet fish on high heavenly lashes of liquid, an eternal beauty which reduces poor Good to anything but a god but rather a heap of ash and his own bones which are fish bones.

a small cute curly brown pug puppy comes rambling over the green grey hill to lick all the grime off Puck's perfumed hand.

Puck: good boy.

dog: i'm a girl. i'm Toni Cook. don't ask me to cook, that gets annoying fast.

however Toni does prepare the birthday dinner with The Mooch, sliding in some sliced carrots from the splintery wooden cutting board into the bored pot.

Puck: no it can't be, i was trying to be so PC here. so you're a ruse, a sham, a phantom, a pretty pretend?

Toni: i'm real, but imma dog. i'm preparing all this high-end froufrou French cuisine food but in dog form. i'm not real, i was a figment for you to use to distract yourself from the fact that you're not good enough for Rachel. my mom is a bitch.

Mohammed's birthday party at Sizzler is a strange one. Pedro is not invited, but neither is Mohammed. Mo is not there, does not attend, no one knows where he is, but no one notices. no one inquires. the cast are scheming and preparing, counting lots and straws with breadsticks to see if they have the requisite amount of enough votes.

Puck: so Rachel and i walked a bitch at the park…she got cold feet and took a leak...on my dogleg...

Rachel: okay since we're all confessing here: Puck and i kissed on three separate occasions. once in my queefmaker...

Puck: that's what stopped up my nose full of snot.

Rachel: *tips head* once on my mouth, and once in my mouth. in the tub. i thought being the dom would be more exciting. i wanted to be the bad girl but only if i had the bad boy, not the wussy shellac. i like my men to fight. back. i think i've gotten Puck out of my system. like blue Drain-O. or even yellow Drain-O. to think i was jealous of a dog with horns.

a blue ghost with a gelatin tip comes wooshing in through the door airily and scares the cast and crew off. but Cory ramins steadfast in her loyalty, as she was in just the right position at the corner of the table which could see the ghost's face with the spaghetti mirror.

Mo: sorry for being late, fam, first time i attended a concert since my own. the Half Time Show, amirite? Colin Kaep gets on stage there---instead of Adam---wearing a Niners jersey and tries to lead-sing but the mic mysteriously goes out. this is our leader! they know what they're doing, they're moving the goalposts so they don't have to deal with the movement. later SOMEBODY, a nice warm body, issues a statement through the crude media, said Kaep had a frog in his throat and cut out and would be calling it an early evening and enjoying himself taking a knee and touching his body parts behind closed doors. we all know Kaep is not the best most-polished public speaker. the internet was anxiously waiting a long time in great anticipation to see how Kaep would sound like sanging. there was a protest reggae song to be had here. just don't start rapping, Kaep. they left Kaep out there alone marooned like they always do.

Cory: Mohammed! i knew it was you! see? i'm not afraid of you. we were meant to be together. for this heist. and now you're in a position to do it scot-free. to actually help, you don't have to worry bout your rep anymore. i love how you've become! such power! this thing might actually get accomplished now!

Mo: wait, i have the tie-breaking vote here, where did everyone run off to? after much deliberation---there's lots of time in the afterlife---i want to...

Cory: *covers his ghost mouth* up. too late, bud. the decision has been made. all tabulated. the die is cast.

Mo: dead jokes, nice.

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