WITHOUT TAPES: THIS IS YOUR DEATH

Bunim: don't Bump me.

Judd: so the main reason i decided to do this particular season of Real World was cos i missed the Los Angeles season. lots of production companies down there in the L.A. swamp bayou.

Pedro: woo woo, remember David the rapper? he loved his mother. i loved that muscular rapper freak of nature, all natural. he had muscular beats, too. i love my black men to look like the Hulk.

Judd: i will never succumb and let any liberal rags here denigrate my comics. will not submit. truth is, without this exposure, i'd be just another hackneyed cartoonist on the street foced to do "street art" looking for a handout.

Pam: it's not too bad.

Puck: i loved last season. i loved the synergy, the symbioticness. i loved how they aligned the Hollywood premiere opening of Magnolia with the Los Angeles season.

Pedro: yeah but you missed the best part, that film Magnolia reignited all of our love for the greatest city in the world, Los Angeles. i'd give you a flower emoji cos they take less time to water. see people overlook the actual filmic cinematic nature of Los Angeles itself, they just see that ALL films are made there and don't appreciate the city for what it glisteningly is. how the foggy forest suburbs sway with the palm trees. the downtown streets bathed in rainwater, how the pool at The Beverly Hilton looks poked to death with raindrops framing classic unsolved murder deaths, falling from beige top stories and unpublished beige stories in the papers, wretched ink stains on thumbs, under a unique grey sky, the continuation of one cloud. so here's something you will appreciate, Puck, the raining frogs scene. you bike messengers who wear nike are into all that weird crazy shit you do behind Irish baseball backstops, right? not raining men alleluia, but it's something.

Puck: Storm of Frogs, i was gonna copyright that for my bike label but that needed me to go to court. and then it got rejected for some reason. you read the papers i mean have papers?

Pedro pulls out a frog from his backpocket. the frog ribbits.

Pedro: take a long lick off this sucker's bumpy forehead and you'll experience an ecstasy few save for a few Haight Hippies have.

Puck does and his eyes turn into two black x's.

Puck: OMG! i've never felt this way before! i'm scared! i'm savory! don't know if i like it or i fear it!

Pedro: yeah but what secretions are you having? you have to go to the bathroom? collect the sample in this bud pipe.

Puck is so disoriented he proves useless. his nose stocks back up with mucus tho.

Pedro: useless! i've licked this frog myself but there's no change in me, i'm immune! i still don't have the completed potion parts! the recipe for my rejuvenation! blast!

Puck: i'm feelin' it now. get Mohammed in here! i want to have a strongly-worded chat with him!

Mohammed: bro, i'm recording the deep cuts of my album in the basement, whilst watching the KC Chiefs, i gots no time for all that you noise.

Puck: it's just, i don't get you, Mo. i'm supportive of your work but i wish it were a little edgier. a little more rap that spoke street stories scared suburban whites don't get a chance to live. the truth, you know? it's not all love and roses, it's hard out there for a messenger. hip hop of hate from those that are systematically oppressed silently, not from another gun war. heartache. you are not the black men i love that i read about in the rapper papers.

Mo begins to cry hard, his tears are heavy and laden and come out as two blue speedboats which stain the carpet with blue seed and skiff off.

Mohammed: *crying and beating his chest* what you want from me, Pimp Puck!!? i've given you my heart yo, my music is my soul! i'm trying to be the best a man can get!

Puck: *eyes reddening* shit, don't cry, i'll cry. my head hair is messed up from all the crying i mean rain, so i decided to shave it all off bald and start again anew and afresh. there's no point in going brown once you've already gone blond. not to mention flat from spiky. i bought this Gillette razor today with the last of my savings. not the electric one, the brutal primitive plastic one, old-skool. your shave is my example, teach me your ways, your ancient custom. it was perfect before, you were growing. i trust you, Mo, i trust you as a man, you looka like a man, i see you, i want you to shave my head with this original stick razor. it's a dick razor. for your balls.

the two weeping men are up close and personal, touching sobbing cheeks, as Mo lightly dances over Puck's head with a smooth stroke, caressing the crude inside of the razor to fit the slippery glacial curve. Puck grabs Mo's muscular wrists to stop.

Puck: thank you, my friend, we did it, together. this is what it means to be a man. to feel. to express through poerty which makes sense. to cry. with spoken word, not nods and whistles. leave the whistles for bikes and bags on bikes. please return to your hip-hop roots, my friend Mo, we're all counting on you to be the best gardener you can be.

Mo: just you watch, just you tune in next week, i'll grant you backstage passes, come to my show next week, i'm gonna do something revolutionary on that stage, you'll see. something talked about for millennia by millennials, debated discoursely and discursively. no one will ever understand me and what i did.

Judd: okay, enough of this, clear the area, and the one dining room carpet, we've got Christopher coming over, Pam's long long-lost boyfriend she's been long-distancing for eight years now. do you even know what Christopher Hitchens looks like anymore?

Pam: i hear he's developed a rather distinguished sprout of gray hair on his head and chin and the poof of his tail since last i sought, i've been watching him on the news at the streetcorner tv bank. he never once mentions me in interviews and he always takes his glasses off. i love my boyfriend.

Judd: i'm not jealous but i'm getting the flava itch down my spine.

Pam: he's always been so gentle with me, despite his stature and satire. he always wears white coats with me. i have been struggling for some time now, and Christopher would ladle all the soup i could eat at all the soup kitchens in the city, i visited every single one. my heart and tummy is so ever full when i'm with him. when he was off in Boston pursuing a master's degree in constructing soup kitchens, he made sure to redirect all the construction runoff into his backyard, his backyard was a mess he messaged me a photo of it. he'd make sure every Mardi Gras to purchase a full chicken from Boston Market and send it to me priority-mail on the midnight horse express route. the horses had a hard time navigating the crooked street.

Christopher: *ding a ling* hello, all. anybody home? i do not speak with my words but by my actions.

Judd: Christopher and play in da House! hey buddy, can i borrow your white coat? it's so stylish. Pedro is forcing me to wear a black suit for this, i hate being formal in my speech. i had to spraypaint black on my naked body using my best friend Puck's leftover spray cans in the garage which is illegally built on our House cantilever cos of all the slants.

Christopher: do not speak of my future wife like that manner! let's get on with the game.

at the Cream House, only the dimmer lights are on. President Bump is serving the Nat Champ Clemson Tigers one tray of forty McDonald's hamburgers with no cheese, with seriousness.

President Bump: right, men. right, men? this is what you play for! your diet is over with the die is cast. you won more than the game, you won your freedom back! this is why you struggle and toil and lift those silly weights and jump rope which is silly and deny yoself greasy foods during the summer! for this meat! dig in! you can relax now, you're a cheater like a Hollywood actress right after the Oscars Fix when she pigs out at In N Out Burger all night long with the statuette lost the next morning from the burger booth. when was the last time you boys had a good ol' fashioned Southern warm-cooked home meal from mama?

Dabo: prolly recruitment in players' homes, the moms do all the cooking. everybody has a base.

Bump: go ahead and take the birther burgers with the romaine lettuce on it.

Pence: *whispers bitterly* still banned sir, the Shutdown has halted food inspection.

the team pigs out all night and feel so terrible in the morning their heads ache, their tummies are on fire, and they are forced to sleep it off in the smelly Lincoln Bedroom. they never return to their championship form again, the next year they collapse from heat exhaustion in the snow at Michigan and never can keep down a healthy meal again their stomach linings are forever melted. they lose every football game they play from there after and never regain their invincible lustre.

Bump high-fives Nick Saban in the Oval Office.

Bump: always thinking bout dat base, my Alabama base. those South Carolinians are suspicious ever since that hot dark broad took down the flag. Nikki Cage something?, some porn name.

Saban: the only way they'd let me through to see you was if in the car i was wedged in between by two twee women on either side of me, sorry. sir, presenting without further delay Ms. Nikki Haley and Nancy.

Nancy: sir, i've been everything but impatient, but i will not allow you to proceed until you improve your penmanship! peremptory penmanship! you're gonna have to give me a nickname eventually.

Bump: Nikki, you're a Dem now. makes male sense. i can't reopen, i can't allow you Dems to actually get to work, that would be disastrous for me.

at the Biltmore Estates, the crones are enjoying lush green valleys which stretch for miles from beige high towers. they can still see past them with their old eyes. Doryce is eyeing up and down every last Baltimore Raven on a Super Bowl field trip, the Ravens have the time for a field trip cos they crashed out of the Super Bowl Chance.

Gladyce: up for another round of croquet?

Doryce: knitting is old woman's work. i thought that sport involved horses, but it's like polo without the horses, no fun. i'll just sit here on my duff on this green iconic grass and think about my favorite kind of union onion salt.

Gladyce: yes i know, don't remind me, i had to broom all the aisles of The Store finding it for you, you only eat the onion salt with the "parsley" in it!

Eye Luggage turns to camera to look right at her pendulous breasts. then she adjusts the camera, her knockers covered neatly with an NYU purple-wool robe. she unzips the slider slightly and bounces when she gets excited commenting on the latest cartoon episode and her tits hits go up and down accordingly in sequence to the rhythm of her bosoms.

Eye: i'm trying to be studious here folks, i'm wearing my glasses, i'm a married woman now, i'm honest, i'm a kept bitch, i don't do that cheap stuff anymore. don't you see all the overdue library books behind me? i'm in a kitchenette space but the bed is too small for me and my breasts and my hammer. what of the Transformer Acid Storm? this is the ultimate design, she is a he and he is a she. the first truly trans Trans. i love them! one scene he's a he and the other she's a she, same body, different face, that is truly transforming! society.

Dirg: Brian Windhorst, Winny, uh Windy, love this guy, he makes white fat pasty short men cool again. you notice nobody makes fun of his weight? cos he knows his ball. and he can't find his balls.

Laertus: i mean what of Michael Weatherly? that must have been one awkward return to work day back. like Pete Davidson's first day of work back. you still alive, buddy? does he just say let's ignore everything and jump right into the new script?

Dirg: Weatherly was hot a few years back. he was chewing on a mistletoe for the TV Guide Calendar. they've since had to disinfect that mistletoe with toxic spray. and pick at it for samples sent to the disgraced FBI Crime Lab. well they would if they were open like his mouth.

Laertus: Ariana Grande has finally discovered Pokémon Go after getting enough time to be bored post-Pete.

Chibnall: i wanted it to be on New Year's Day, cos this would be the only show for 2019...

Piers Morgan: i won't be cleanshaven anymore! the ladies will love my beard. PC guff! look, i know all you out there want to rid the world of us crotchety old white men, but we were once crochety old white boys! who were raised. i can only talk to strong muscular black men through twitter. look, i'm not doing this for me. i have two black friends, i'm trying to get my friend Tavis Smiley's job back, the world misses his vital voice. and my other black best friend is R Kelly.

R Kelly turns the Red Circle table back up. there is nobody else to talk to at the roundtable.

R Kelly: i'm looking for a job. i don't do interviews, my past life as R Jelly is over, i'm more of a weatherman. i make it rain on people...

at Inverness, Goody Paul has reached a zenith, a giant pink cave. he goes spelunking into its wide crack. with ropes and pulleys and a hardhat. little does he know that this is the giant butt of a giant buck naked Maria LaRosa sleeping peacefully like a Titan on the soft foggy grass of the mystery magic hills. her beautiful eyes closed.

Alexandra Ocasio-Cortez puts on her brown headband and dances the first hip-hop dance on the roof of a Boston Market. she takes ahold of the metal rod sticking out of the roof, lightning crashes onto the rod, and she feels no pain, she is filled with yellow power, her body blossoms. a black penguin-looking bird named Bobble perches falls from the rod and starts mimicking the dance AOC started, the two shadow-dance in front of each other.

AOC: you got the moves! you're a natural! i love how your head bobs.

Bobble: nah it's all you.

AOC: i feel your pain/ we're alike you and me/ we're the same/ we've come a long way from home/ to a strange and brutal land/ where joking is seen as arrogance/ arro-can can?/ can you understand?

Bobble: yeah. and the thing is, i'm not so much black as Puerto Rican. i'm a Puerto penguin, fleeing my familiars.

AOC dances over to the local doughnut shop. then the skate shop next door to the Beto Bodega where he hangs a skateboard over his shoulder and slings his toothpaste tube up. he spreads the worm of toothpaste all over his face and blends it in till shiny.

Beto: i really wish i hadn't razored my long skater hair. you're only cool on a skateboard if you wear long hair instead of a helmet.

at the local bar one block over Elizabeth Warren is having a beer. she is talking over a bar stool to Carol Channing, who has recently been looking slightly blue. the gabbers are drinking each other's raspberry-coconut shandy.

Carol: honey, you did it wrong. always check with your mother, not the village elders. i mean don't you live in a library? i'm not sad, i'm not choking, i'm black. i'm actually black. how do you think i danced so well in my career? unlike you pols, i wouldn't be scared of having a surprise black baby.

Warren: yeah no wonder i could never get into the Red Circle and have a seat at the table despite my great desire to meet my voters. Carol, i speak like my head is on a string but YOU, you my dear are one wonderful weirdo.

Andy Murray is crying at his press conference, tipping his ballcap among other things.

Andy: *crying* it's just...i never knew my father...all i've ever known is Carlos Moya taking my bed away! it was horrible hearing those sounds in the middle of the night, like the house among other people settling. but settling with cats on the roof. my mom orgasmed with a Spanish Scottish accent, si aye si aye si aye. the two saw eye to eye.

Judy Murray: actually, aye si aye si aye si, IcyHot on our private parts. i'm a pushy mum. apparently. i push it real good. there is no British word for daddy. but there's a Scottish one!

Andy plays doubles at Wimbledon with his brother for his final encore. there isn't a dry eye in the house, mostly cos everyone has had Chipotle and is getting the runs but are not allowed to leave their seats. the brothers celebrated with Chipotle after as always.

Andy: i'm not retired yet! one more match! me versus YOU, mother!

Judy: don't be silly, boy, you can't beat me! i taught you everything you know.

Andy: right here on Centre Court, eat the beer-fed grass, mom! best first to four points, Aussie rules. if the serve hits the net, you have to play it, no lets. and no letups.

Judy: *taunting from the other side of the net, showing her taint through her skirt* why didn't you marry that Wozniacki woman while she was still young and dirty? you were due to be a lucky lad. now she's gone Christian, you'll never get her back in bed. that's why you did the whole feminist farce, right? to get chicks? why'd you go secure the services of Amelie Mauresmo? it was cos she baked you fine French cuisine for breakfast and i could only offer you British barley oatmeal, is that it? you did it to shame me. it's all an act.

Andy: damn you mom! don't you see my interviews? i can't be an actor! first point, you shave off Moya's luxurious locks. second point, Carlos shaves YOUR head! third he moves out, fourth YOU move out!

Andy gives it his all in his final pro serve, it hoists up all his power and hits hard the tape and lips over, causing Judy to make a sudden jerk move.

Judy: ah my back! you screwed up my back, son! by being born! security! i need secureation. IcyHot! there's no more IcyHot?! this is my fucking back! my back used for fucking!

Andy: retiring, mum? i like roller coasters, not emotional roller coasters!

Judy: you're so lucky i can't play you right now! and that i'm your mum! just cramps, folks, i'll recover. doesn't count, it's traction, not loss of conditioning, i'm fit. i will go home and condition my hair and soon once again gain traction in my bed...

Andy later that night lies down on a bed, his new betrothed Caroline Wozniacki heals his stem with her icy cold hands. Wozniacki is a Christian Healer. later later that night Andy and Caroline wed in a secret destination wedding ceremony. the lovebirds slow-dance cheek to cheek the rest of the night. Andy's hip is healed and he can dance the salsa at his own wedding with his new bride. the Chipotle salsa.

Judd hooks his collar with his finger and cold comes out.

Judd: i feel like a monkey in this suit! it's so uncomfortable to be in public like this! okay okay, Christopher, THIS IS YOUR LIFE!!!

a gaggle of Rachel's white school chums from college have come to visit her at the House at the same time this show is going on. sorority sisters all wearing the same pink short shorts. they inadvertently end up acting in this play as the couple's future Chinese children. they try to remain seen and not heard---they're good-looking enough to do this---but they just can't help themselves and giggle and laugh and gossip a fest away into their short shorts and tell dirty nasty hateful hurtful slurrilous jokes about Christians under their breaths.

Pedro: do you remember your kids, Christopher? do you remember how they were made?

Christopher: *sweating* uh, yeah, sure, i remember these are just more mouths i'll have to feed, with soup ladles.

Pedro: maybe this will jog your memory, don't run away. come gather round, guys, dolls, and you Pam, everyone on the spectrum, all welcome. i'm gonna tell you a ghost story. this active fireplace in the middle of the darkened dark dining room sets the mood, there are no sprinklers inside domestic homes in the '90s. the fire alarm is on silent so everyone can hear me. long ago, in a mystical place known as the '80s, the place where i come from, there lived a man who wore a kangol and drove a taxicab through the City. each night he'd traverse the Crooked Street and get stuck. helping the homeless on the Crooked. he'd take the giant soup ladle from out his locked taxi trunk and fill all hungry muddy mouths with broken barley broth, fast-food roast chicken was too expensive at the time, still recovering from that '70s inflation. noodles were an Asian thing not yet invented. the homeless would thank his charity by writing on his cab with paint and promising to rent from him in the future. and on moonless nights when the moon is full, some say you can still see that cab driving, edging those corners of the Crooked, familiarly, slowly, like a wispy wagon. and in bright red letters, not blue or black or white or yellow letters, but in red letters, on the cab is a word scholars through the ages have tried and failed to decipher and translate and tome out but to no avail. the word, the magic word, the incantation, the spell, the curse, remains a mystery:

INDABUT

the sorority sisters all scream.

Christopher: uh yeah, that man was my father.

Pedro: and he's here with us tonight!

Christopher: but he's dead!

Pedro moves Pam and palm by the shoulders right up to Christopher's face.

Pedro: exactly. he is here with you in spirit, Christopher, through Pam here. are you ready to marry here and now on this show? this is not a drill, it's real. i'm the first ordained online minister, i can do this in five minutes. don't you remember how you made your kids?

Judd starts fucking Pam in her butt right there on the carpet.

Pam: *getting thrusted and dusted* let's get married, Christopher, let's get hitched. i know you're chicken but i will be your noodle.

Pedro waves his two hands in the air bravadoly like a showman without a tophat but with a glitter cape.

Pedro: THIS IS YOUR LIFE!!! remember now what happened? Christopher is it coming to you now? hey Judd and Pam, remember to collect the samples from the both of you. and take them to my office in the basement. and scrape off any white or clear from Christopher's coat.

Christopher: okay but i want a church wedding. and i'm thinking of going back for my doctorate.

Pedro: Christopher and Pam, you're married, you're gonna be married forever, this is all legal.