it was nearing the end.
the battle. the war. the war against women. this thing which should have been solved ages ago, litigated in the courts, not by lances on a field. which grandmothers should have knit over, pinochled not punched over, switched partners over over hard coffee, not hard punch. yet somehow, as the new tech emerged, these battles were waged once again, as if nothing mattered, as if they would always be new, as humans in a digital iron age find it a hard time redefining themselves, wondering if they ever existed at all, if all the past blood was a river in the sky, all the past treasure after all bitcoin.
somehow, these heady weighty matters were handed over to the well-manicured and soapy hands of one Madame Pons: skinny frame, oversize Robe. she didn't want this, but she loved too much, too greatly, too passionately, that she could never let one of her girls go without her first giving up her life, that was her lifeblood. it wasn't sacrifice, it wasn't sanctimonious, it was sanctioned in her soul, it was Pons's instinct.
she was doing the best she could.
she, as she always does, answers the phone at LUSH. her body is racked with pain but not guilt. she is a bloody corpse but she's alive, cornered but pliable, she has survived the war unscathed in her ideals. her side of ideas won. as it should in a just world. she is too hurt to triumph, to raise her fist, she can barely hold the receiver:
Pons: hello. yes, sis. i love you, too, got me. we did it. we won the war. the other side was decimated, their stupid ideas blown to the wind like an atom bomb. the pitch battle was fierce---the Woodstock tents were all blown away when their spikes were thrown---the college campus is meant to be a place where philosophies clash, not cannon and copper armor, it's not exactly a place for war, not many trees to hide catapults, but we got it done. the enemy is defrocked and defeated, all of them killed, murdered doesn't matter which label you use, all those stupid alt-right Purple Boys never saw it coming, they thought they had an army, but WE had the army. where did they go? dunno. they disappeared, out of sight, out of kind, out of mind, i don't care, it's over. turns out they were scared to actually drop blood, they talked a big game tho. see we women are glad to give our blood to the cause, we birth all the children after all. the last one looked at me with his surly puppy-wolf-eyes and begged for his life, told me he actually liked Elton John, but it was too late for him, his cause and his bright star. time to dim the din. you should have seen my sisters out there, they're resting comfortably now here, but they were fucking giants. bruised but unbowed, tho all of their bows were broken. we're having a light snack to recover. oh who am i kidding, WE ARE FUCKING EATING!!! we are eating EVERYTHING, there's nothing left to do, no man to dress for, no boss to impress/promote, we have slain the patriarchy and are the goldcap at the stone of the temple. Prince, who was Jimi Hendrix Reincarnated, came back but even HE didn't help the Purple Boys, he was on our side and played that funky guitar---funky-shaped guitar---to keep our troops' spirits up. and other things up. yeah we're eating some nice cheeses to whet our diaphragms, waiting for The Meal, dialing that dot all the way to decibel. no more dimestore abortions, we are free to control Goddess's Fate.
Gladyce: Fuerza would be so proud of all you! dears, brava! Fuerza has ALWAYS wanted the decision to fall on Her creations, not for God to have it.
Pons hugs the crones wth decorous abandon.
Pons: mi lady-sisters, i am honored! i shall bend the knee only to bow to you! how are you? safe travels i hope?
Doryce: i don't know if this gets you in the witch club, but you sure have become one badass childless mama since we left you, Pons. you're a babe now, cos you're a leader. boss babe. you're fucking Olivia Benson!
Pons: please, have some cheese. we're all waiting for the main course. Uncle Tetsu cheesecake and Beard Papa cream puffs, these are my men, i never had father figures growing up.
Gladyce: no you did, dear, but you rejected the strongmen as everyone should.
Pons: AND HERE IT COMES NOW!!!
Doryce: i always say that. in bed, when i first wake up.
The Mooch, dressed in a red anklelength robe and white bonnet, wheels in a huge tray of burgers wheels greased with all the grease from said burgers. the women army, and some men, and some forest woodland animals, dive in and devour the pile of hamburgers as if they had been invited to one of President Bump's rallies/sports-event congrats. they munch it all down their dirty gullets with glee and gratitude and grace. Pons raises her finger joint in the air with steel:
Pons: TO THE VICTOR GO THE MEAT WHICH SPOILS US!
Doryce: better than spoiled meat.
Gladyce: why do you keep freezing the bacon? why preserve that death food?
all the burgers are swallowed in .3 seconds…
Doryce: that's even faster than i swallow cum.
...and the glorious army of valkyries and amazons and heroines have had their full, they rub their bellies---food this time---and sit around the tavern table all their body parts on the table cajoling and telling each other their tales of valorous battle which they all just went through together so it's kind of redundant cos they've seen everything but they're drunk off mugs of frosty brew. coffee.
Laertus storms in---as much as he can---to LUSH to interrupt the party flow---as he always does, he's a disruptor. he wears a sorry look on his face as if to say sorry beforehand.
Pons: what up, my child.
Laertus: i'm afraid my lover, who's a goatman, has some bad news for y'all.
Llywarch trots in behind Laertus and takes down his pants.
Llywarch: that was to break the ice. women, valiant female warriors, my sisters-in-arms, i'm afraid you have fallen victim to the changing reality as we all have. but you are no victims, no matter what. all those burgers you just ate? that meat was the alt-right Purple Boys. alright? you're cannibals now.
the girls are shocked for .3 seconds, but they don't scream. and are resigned to it after awhile. that meat just tasted so good! it was full of so much sauce and tawny tang and blue rage and red peeper pepper and computer tears and gigantic generational grief, a gigabyte of grief. that meat was made in a millennium, had to season for centuries.
Pons: fuck me. is it deepfake?
Llywarch: yes, it has infected everything.
Pons: wait, that gives me an idea...sis, you still on the line? i was getting a strange message throughout this whole thing in my ear from an unknown source, but i clarified it. it sounded like a boy, but not one of our boys. then i was sure. it was Takahashi! he's been trying to reach you, his mother! this whole time! ouija, séance, salad, whatever works. i'll connect you two.
Pons connects the two lines...with her mind.
Takahashi: mom? i peed my pants! not cos of you!
Taki: oh son...
Pons: it turns out Takahashi WAS willing to help but could never get through. but it wasn't a Bermuda Triangle situation, the barrier which supposedly everyone thought was separating you and Melbourne from the outside world was simply deepfake. once you realized that, you could pierce through.
Taki: i figured that out once you did. we really are connected. but i didn't have a name for it so i decided not to run with it for the 6 o'clock deadline.
Melbourne: i am sorry for all the mess and confusion, i just want to be your good husband, your goo husband, your husband which provides you goo, i don't want to own you like a bloody body double, i want you to be free, i want to give you away. and a stepdad to Takahashi. i just want to ride my airplanes---the way men just want to ride their motorcycles---my Auster, cos Australian. and my Vampire Jet cos i have some goth clients who like a little bloodletting with their lovemaking.
Pons: cool. i was gonna deepfake as Taki if all else failed---and especially if push came to shove---and entered your bed, Melbourne, to keep the marriage fresh. and together. but now that everything is out in the open, are we still on for the real threeway? that always spices up a marriage after it's been awhile standing still stale dormant and worried.
Melbourne: it's true, you lose all sense of time when you're in here.
crones: well, now that that's been settled as gold dust, we shall take our leave. good luck and good lovin'. (Gladyce actually says lovinG.)
the crones entrance out and into the Clearing, where they soon approach All Gardens Great and Small. a mother-and-daughter actress team are there diligently planting the posies. one is heavyset and has a huge tattoo on her arm bigger than her whole body but not her head.
Doryce: she's obviously the comedienne, the other seems the sober one.
mother: nope. i birthed an actress, she has all sorts of weird ideas about marriage, she's keeping all her boyfriends secret, i tell her she needs a strong tall fellow to uproot the weeds but...well...her imdb and wiki has no Personal section so i'm worried she's a dyke.
actress: well this is a show about dikes.
Doryce: nonce. come here, dearie, and have a Tank Boy! suck on that lemon popsicle. right? it's a frozen plastic soda bottle! it's impossible to get the lemon ice out without a knife! you have to wait for it to melt! but it's oh so worth the wait! it tastes like Liquid Heaven!
actress: Haitai? me like.
mother: *shakes Doryce's bony hand* thank you. from the whole family. we thought she was just weird.
Gladyce: you can't grow those, you know, dear, send the rest in a box with airhole slats to the LUSH afterparty and keep it lemon squeezy Japaneesy.
Doryce: all's well that ends well. at a well dressing. and alchemy. where to next?, my eternal love.
Gladyce: i hear Theresa May's in a right pickle.
Doryce: she needs a pickle up her shaft to relax her. Jo's my trainee there, she's doing a bangup bangers-and-mash job. whaddaya say we double-team May in May so she switches sides before it's too late?
they both laugh and chuckle and red and hold each other's hands as they bounce into the sky.
Maria LaRosa: slight chance...
Goody Paul: of me getting some tonight?
Maria LaRosa shakes her head, which causes an E5 tornado in the alley. which creates Heathcliff.
the Red Circle Table is a free-for-all fracas ruckus smorgasbord where all voices are heard thus none are heard. it has combined with the podcast to form all tech. it has a season-finale feel to it.
Jada Pinkett Smith: i was addicted to porn. Will is nowhere to be found.
Bump: now see? if it's a woman it's okay.
Jada: hey man, this is my original show, this is a real show with feeling, not one of your crude game shows, get outta here! you're banned here for life!
Bump: but yous see, i'm not the President. i'm a god. i'm everywhere, and nowhere. that's how gods govern.
Snoop Dogg: i hated being the bad guy on SVU, i don't do well playing the bad guy, i've always been the happy-go-lucky gangster. i have an image to maintain, i have to always be calm, have a soothing jovial joking demeanor, like i'm high, cos i am, cos i'm always on the weed, cos i get paid to smoke weed on tv, i'm the only American who has this contract, President Bump is jealous of me.
Martha Stewart, with butter in her mouth: you know why i invested and started to become interested in marijuana, right? to be closer to you, Snoop, we are OTP, we are soul mates you and i. we fucked in prison without the guards or the cameras catching it, that's how magic we are. and it's the old VPN concept, you know? you get the VPN to block any snoopers from accessing your internet, but what if one of those snoopers had been your soul mate and you blocked him. what if i had blocked my snooper who was Snoop? heartbroken and crying thinking of the possibility i'd be.
the two hug, Snoop is tall so his face reaches right at Martha's tits.
Snoop: i still watch UPN.
Jokic: where's my Award, Chuck? we learn basketball the right way, in Europe. were you a fan of my buttery passes in the playoffs?
Bald Bull: eat some more bread, whitebread!
Tiger Woods, with a bigger grin than normal on his face, growls:
Dirg: was that for Chewbacca?
Tiger: no, Buffalo Wild Wings. i'm their sponsor now, i signed, this was back when when i truly thought i'd never win another Major, never play golf again. i like this bar, it's a bumpin' bar, it's jointing, i like the waitresses.
Stephen A Smith: sorry, my man Scott Van Pelt, but i'm kickin' you out of your own chair. go kick rocks and pound sand! get yo ass outta my chair! I am the new Sportcenter Host at the 8 o'clock hour, it's a long time DAMN coming! i had the personality to pull this off WAY before four-eyes here. now let's get started with...what does that say?...Justin Bieber won Game of Thrones!!? sorry for spoilers, black folk aren't into this show, it's all over the internet anyway. i mean Grey Worm? come on, seriously?, that's a disrespectful name...
Scott Van Pelt, wearing one contact: that's Bieber the MLB pitcher.
Stephen: HEY! SAS beats SVP. sass beats Second Valuable Player. why isn't Jalen Rose here to talk about Juwan Howard's going to coach Michigan? where is Mr. Q? Mr. Molly Q?...oh, Molly's not here either? ...gotcha...
Eye Luggage: okay, the two big ones the same week. let's tackle Big Bang Theory first. now, here's the thing...
Dirg: that show was terrible. sorry. that's not how we are at all.
Eye: exactly! thank you for convincing me i'm not the one crazy one out on the island. right? yeah, i mean, like i'm watching the series finale and this show is as basic as it comes. it's completely and utterly boilerplate, it's as standard three-camera sitcom as it gets! i don't get the appeal. is it the subject matter? am i crazy?
Laertus: understood. Jim Parsons is a good actor, has good instincts, really made the character, and we all know why he's allowed to hang out with Genie Bouchard. Sheldon wasn't just about bazinga. yeah, there was a disconnect with the show cos it was the most popular show on tv for quite a while during its long run, had the most viewers for a very long time. people conflated its ratings with it being a GOOD show. but if i give it credit, it's this: the show came around at the exact time when the whole millennial adulting thing was concepting, you know? so this show speaks to that generation, it's as if EVERY one of our fellow millennials---except us three apparently---watched this show around the world globe, EVERY SINGLE ONE, contributing to the astronomical numbers. these characters speak to them, they were nerdy, bright about the world and tech and the speed of science and the gigabytes of knowledge we all must intake instantly if we are to have an intelligent conversation online. it spoke to the fragmented nature of nobody touching each other anymore, communicating solely through keystroke, a generation brought up and weaned on awkwardness, socially inept, unable to talk to each other face-to-face. how do these social cocoons find love in such a world as ours?, this world of interaction. not everyone can be a floor flower. for most, the struggle WAS real.
Eye: Game of Thrones, okay, here we go, the big one. the first episode i ever watched was this last episode, that was an experience! okay, i'm sorry, but this whole thing is ridiculous. i mean WHO THE FUCK CARES who wins the Iron Throne. you know? i mean this entire thing is wholly inconsequential, it doesn't mean a damn thing. i get it, the visuals are filmic, the dragons are real...
Dirg: this entire last episode was 100% deepfake, i hope you know this...
Eye: ...the babes are hot, the men are real, it's an excuse for hardcore pornography and real killing in the guise of "keeping things historically accurate", i get the appeal of all that. the there-is-no-age-limit-everyone's-related-to-each-other-we-fudged-the-numbers ethos. back in the good ol' days when anything went. but it's sex and violence, pure and simple. what of this Iron Throne? even i could see that was a slap to the fans who after all this decade, they BURN the fucking damn Throne thing to the ground!? are you kidding me?! so if Daenerys can't have it, nobody can!? take your ball and go home?! no spinning wheel of fortune? i thought i was watching Terminator there with the liquid metal.
Laertus: i thought it romantic and sweet, Drogon was protecting her mother on Mother's Day.
Eye: i mean all the fan theories through the years, the nitpicking and pasting and second-guessing each movement, each motion, each line each actor made, each way they said the line, each sway of the dress or the mace, all for the choice to be made randomly? i get it, the Iron Throne was really the wheelchair we all must sit in in life, that constricts us from achieving our dreams.
Eye: don't be a fucking ableist, Dirg!!! you enable enough!
Laertus: i like Bran. if you don't have a storyteller, you got nothing. get it, GOT?
Dirg: you would like Bran the beta male. Daenerys had to go, she would have become an irreplaceable tyrant.
Eye: oh you think really? talk to me next time the Impeachment Hearing starts. yeah, misogynistic much? i mean they kill the woman in power. it was Hilary all over again. to break the wheel society must break the spinning wheel of hay. prick their thumb on its point.
Eye: i get it, the breathtaking vistas, the windy landscapes, the tall rocky pillars of Wales crag, and Spain, and inside the studio, postcard-picture-perfect. but all those comments, all 1800 of those AV Club comments, that tells you something, about society.
Eye: in the end, i just don't get it. what did it all mean? i get it, the Brexit shade, the comment on democracy and American democracy, subtle points in the writing, the Scottish angle of independence, all laid on in that final council meeting with the waterbottle. and what's with the Dothraki language? what's the POINT of the Dothraki language? at least Klingon has a purpose. Dani's speech would have made more of an impact had it been in English. as it stands, it's just a lot of gibberish.
Dirg: now you're sounding like me! Dani's Hitler speech, Hitlery. standing the whole time. with dragon wings for wings.
Laertus: of course the guy with the best idea was shamed cos he was the fat guy nobody took seriously.
Dirg tries to reach for Eye's hand but she snaps it back out of him.
Dirg: now tell the folk listening patiently without causing a ruckus on radio the real reason you hate this show so much. it's not the number of followers.
Eye: okay, fine, my Harley Hammer ran off with Arya Stark's sword Needle. her thin sword. thinner than me. happy now? i need to go on a long sea voyage and empty myself and find myself. maybe a second honeymoon. alone.
Laertus: it was weird watching something with no commercial breaks, i always felt something was missing. i would recommend it to those who like puzzles. and pop-up books, the intro opening. is this really the last collective mythos we humans will experience together on tv? well it sucks i missed all of it. o the sin of streaming. but wasn't that supposed to be Lost? see i was a Lost boy.
Eye: one thing it did get right was as we women finally assert our power, REALLY own ourselves and our magic, the need for men will be nullified and there will be a bunch of eunuchs running around this dusty planet. a wounded world. major pent-up penis prevalence. hey, did Tyrion ever get naked on the show, anytime during the series? that would be the only sex i would be interested in.
Cecily Strong enters her Manhattan brick apartment with her key-chain fob which is just a card. she ascends the stoop stairs inside and enters her room. there, foaming from his mouth, eyes glazed and rolled back, stands a monkey-looking and monkey-like Chris Kattan. he is lain across her kitchen table motionless, legs and arms dead and not swinging no more. he is a plant with no more brain, his head is completely bandaged-up tight with white ties. he is a house plant, he might as well be another of Cecily's hanging ferns.
Cecily, carrying three brown bags full of The Store groceries: what's for dinner you say? no, not beef. vegetables. haha...
Cecily: i can't leave my family. my SNL family. i can never abandon my family, even tho you are a man. you're a man so you're the most vulnerable. and valuable to tame. i pledge to take care of you till the end. but no sponge baths. here i'm gonna place this banana in your mouth now...i know...i know you would think this is funny, too...sorry for laughing...
Cecily tosses her keys around Chris Kattan's neck. she tousles her tits, ass, and voice on her HRC Red coffee table hard. she reads the vice news in her newspaper with a straight voice. in a temperate tone.
Cecily: my mom wanted me to be a nurse like her. this is what i had been preparing for, i was gonna be a serious dramatic actress, i had the chops. and the insane body, i was bred for this, i had the talent, i could sing and actually impersonate celebrities unlike that bleach-blonde who gets all the attention and steals my thunder cos she and thunder are both blondes but she can't seem to make it in movies. i could make it in movies...i can act...really act...
at the sitting-room hallway corridor which connects Congress with the Cream House, purple-velvet hollow-point stools rule the day, oversat on, and oil paintings of squares. Nancy Pelosi in a purple plaid dress and a rose in one of her eyes takes off her kerchief from her dress pocket, spits into it to wet it, and wipes away some schmutz from Bump's lippy cheek jowls. Bump slaps her hand away.
Bump: stop that, Nancy! i'm not a baby! i'm not a baby-man!
Nancy: come here, Mickey, give me a hug. give me a kiss. you need a vacation, want me to hook you up with a Perillo Tours?
Bump: okay. it's like kissing your grandma with big tits but that mouth-kiss was nice.
Nancy: you know i love you, right, Mickey? but you can't get away with all that shit. you thought you could actually get away with all your shit you're doing? do you need a coat? you need to cover up, it's cold in here, let granmama help you put it through the holes.
at the Clearing:
Llywarch: you ready? which side will you choose? which side will you live for?
Laertus: i was born ready, ready to die. i'm scared. i don't understand. you know it's like Instagram, lifetimes in one day.
Llywarch: how do you mean?
Laertus: on Instagram. you see a stranger's Instagram page for the first time. you will never see this person again. today is your ONE DAY to talk to this person, so that comment you leave on her pic post better be the best, most-insightful, least-inciting comment you've ever typed, a written poem which in a few lines represents your character, humor, and personality. that DM you slide into a hot-babe celebrity's Instagram better be a damn good joke. this is THEIR and YOUR ONE CHANCE, one chance to make a first impression, the ONLY impression throughout all of space, time, and bandwidth, you'll never see them again, leave them with a message which they will remember…
Llywarch: am I your hot-babe celebrity?
Laertus: you're better. what do i need to do now?
Llywarch: turn your head to face the horizon. see it? you can't see all of it. the reality you've been living all your life---what you thought was real your whole entire existence---is what is the deepfake, The Clearing is reality. do you choose to live a life of love and truth with me? or finish your finals over there at your fake college?
Laertus has his hand to his face in a karate-chop like he's at the starting line of some Olympics track event in the 1910s.
Laertus: over there at Obec. no wonder Obec University never got accredited! i don't know. i dunno. i don't know if this is real. Dirg is as real to me as you are. it can't be, and yet i can sorta feel it is, there are strange untraceable irreplaceable tingles down the spine of my elbows. damn tech! i don't know what to do, where to go. i just don't want to think about this anymore. i want my head free from flies. i just want to wake up.
Llywarch: this is something you must do, something you have to do, there's no turning back: you must GO NOW!!! TAKE that leap into the unknown...
It’s always nearing the end. And the beginning. The two are intertwined.
I love a bit of a cream puff. This is what us war mongering woman like. Cream puffs are the future; the new man.
Deepfake - name of my new band.
What if shove came to push?
Theresa May IS a pickle.
My sweet - guess what? When I was dining al-fresco in Copenhagen, Euron Greyjoy walked past me. I thought Jamie had killed him but obviously not. There could be a spin-off.
Storytellers make the world. As Tyrian rightly said, stories can not be defeated. *)
I love your red nose, mah dahlin, you should do that Red Nose Comedy Special with Doctor Who and the quarterback who's a Quarter Pounder, NBC and BBC are owned by the same company...I really need to get BritBox here in the States...
Beard Papa keeps a secret in his beard...and it's not cream...
deepfake is scary, my love, it's the future and that's not a good thing, soon we really won't be able to tell what is real and fake, flip and coin and jump into the hole of our own mind
that's good, we must declinate, deconflict, deescalate, and ratchet down or war will break loose at any moment, whether the enemy looks ratchet or not
a pickle can be sweet, but I never understood that. Brexit Is Impossible
see? all Grey Worm wanted was a little Grey Joy in his life. and a rapper contract and a gold tooth which back in those days would have been a fortune
the fans want Tyrion to rewrite the entire last season...
love you, my sweet, 10 more years left until the planet is doomed...*)
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