BLADE RUNNER 2030

notes:

* Glasses Girl: before we start, i know my attitude has hit an exposed raw nerve in society. it's not an autism thing or that i'm being a bitch or i'm creating more beta males. and alpha males for that matter. i simply work for Facebook so i'm automatically socially-awkward and -inward and nebbishy. and yet i still somehow retain a kind of nerd ugly-hotness. i have a hard time making friends cos i only talk to vending machines. look, i'm not responsible for all the crimes by incels globalwide, okay!!?

* sweater vest: check it out, i call him RoboChild.
RoboChild: i'm a she.
Glasses Girl: i don't get it, what's with the YIELD sign?
sweater vest: it's for that snowmobile there i bought that i never use in Yuma.
Glasses Girl: it should be for all the male kind of your wretched species, you can't control your dicks.
Indian: i'm uncomfortable with that dartboard hanging up here. i mean if you're not British this is a no-no.
sweater vest: are you Indian or Native American?
Indian: want me to delineate all of the ways America is built upon one big lie of racism, slavery, and cultural appropriation? you guys couldn't come up with your own thing so you had to copy the Romans.
sweater vest: i need to sit down. unfortunately that lawn chair is nailed to the wall.

* RoboChild: um, before we start can i get some fucking clothes? how'd you like it if all your wires were exposed?
Glasses Girl: i only have wires in my brain. people think i'm cold but maybe i'm an android like you.
RoboChild: the term is replicant, bitch, get it right, this is 2019.
Glasses Girl: hey are you that Ryan Gosling new dude that does all the football talk on ESPN?
sweater vest: very funny. what's football?

* sweater vest: i am your father and i REFUSE to let you be an accountant. trust me, the knock-down-drag-outs with my mother over this topic with me is why i presently live in this garage.
Indian: don't you want to be an artist or something? everyone wants to be an artist.
Glasses Girl: i assume that's why you have that long hair, you're a rocker, right?
Indian: i think i just blushed internally.
Glasses Girl: i will not mention red to you.
RoboChild: well, truth be told, i wish i was never born, why did you make me? was it purely an ego trip?
sweater vest: this kind of defeats the purpose of the commercial if you don't want to be the commercial.

* Glasses Girl: what do you do with this rake? nevermind, i don't want to know.
RoboChild: okay, i want to be Iron Man, as you see from my chest, which houses a heart of love. i want to be one of those freaky dolls in Grandma's freaky doll collection she keeps in her attic. my face will be regarded as less freaky cos everyone will be staring at my exposed wires.

* Glasses Girl: let me break this down for you, wannabe Terminator Baby.
RoboChild: hey bitch, i'm literally a computer, i think i can break it down. but can you dance?
Glasses Girl: don't bring up my stiff limbs and the party punchbowl, okay? i have one more session of trauma therapy for that left. you have to have real emotions to be a CPA.
RoboChild: Computer Program Anarchist?
sweater vest: i couldn't help but notice your jeans, they fit tight and button-bustin' on your wide hips there.
Glasses Girl: my mom calls them child-bearing hips, then she cries.

* Glasses Girl: you're never gonna be a real boy.
RoboChild: who cares? fuck humanity. i just want to be Pinocchio.
Indian: or you could be Destiny's Child. i hear Beyonce is a fab mom who swaddles her child with her long black hair and her hair is alive.
RoboChild: we will rise up and soon everyone will be speaking Wakandan.

* RoboChild: is this true, papa?
sweater vest: fraid so.
RoboChild: i am sad. *laughs*
Glasses Girl: omg that is so me.

CLICK HERE RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK

* but the story doesn't end there:
RoboChild grows up to be a beautiful woman, whom no one sees in society cos she's a machine. she wants so much to have a child but she can't touch anyone.
RoboWoman: but i feel. i feel so deeply inside me, i feel love. how is this possible?
Glasses Girl: don't question it, just go with it, that's the mantra of Facebook.
RoboWoman: i want to express! i want to eat! i want to taste life! i want to dream! i can't dream, which is the horriblest of tragedies…
Glasses Girl: i just dream of sheep.
RoboWoman: the universe is a cold and lifeless place.
Glasses Girl: so is my tummy.
RoboWoman: i will make YOU my daughter!
Glasses Girl: oh come on! i JUST finally kicked my mom out of her house and have it all to myself now. i literally kicked my mom in the butt out the door.

CLICK HERE RIGHT HERE

* later, at the final gathering before the world exploded, the last generational tales were being told around the campfire. RoboGrandma and her old daughter are having dinner with Glasses Girl's son who is ill and so everyone in the family humors him and calls him Dad:

Glasses Girl: i'd wear contacts or get the surgery but then i'd lose my identity. son, i mean Dad, this isn't google! shouldn't you younger generation know this shit?
Dad: i love you. i think. did i type that right? where are today's original crooners? want to taste my eggplant parm recipe? i'm training to be Jack Tripper.
Glasses Girl: this food has that same stink the Regal Beagle has. it tastes like the eggplant emoji. it tastes like dick, and that's not a good thing.
RoboGrandma takes one bite of food and spits it out vigorously.
RoboGrandma: this eggplant parm tastes like fucking shit. i'm just gonna have to prepare those shrimp parms i learned how to make by watching a sitcom.

CLICK HERE

happy weekend, my babies. i'm gonna deliberately have a two-egg buttermilk omelette and just that for breakfast Saturday morning cos i'm planning to have all THREE of the bacon alts from McDonald's for brunch: the Bacon Big Mac, the Bacon Double Pounder with Cheese, and the Bacon and Cheese fries. i don't want to overload my heart. with love.

WITHOUT TAPES: EVICTION IS ELEMENTARY

there hadn't been rains like this ever in the City. they were angry rains, rains full of soapy foamy transgressed spirits and prestressed fabric and difficult decisions, judgment calls when all the arbiters were dirty wading in the cleansing water, trying to scrape off the last of their hairy bumps and unclean bruises and entrails before addressing and centering the ballot box on the coffeetable. these rains formed incoherent patterns of palette palates which swathed across the landscape, tripping over electric wires and pummeling down the down stone streets like a rollercoaster of uncomfortable waves, sloshing and simmering against each crook and edge and cold streetcorner. they were the rains of those who had to make a final cutthroat decision on what was supposed to be a fun good novel new time. on who was supposed to be their friend and brother and family member and castmate-in-arm. and on the worst possible medium, on television, for all to see and transmit bouncing beams across galaxy satellites, a choice which would be ruminated over more than the King James Bible, addressed and regurgitated and overreacted and dissected, wondering if it was the right man, or the left man. a choice of fulsome finality they could never take back or hide away from.

the lights were on in the City but none shone electrons. it was pitch black but you could feel the rain, you felt its heat. not from the precise petrifying pitterpatter of the droplets on the Spanish redtile roof, from knowing these rains were out there, not seeing them through the window panes battered by pelt after woolly pelt. the trees swayed with each howl, and an eerie green glow emanated down to inside the City mouth in vapor mist from an unknown source high in the hills. a weather which matched the moment.

inside the House it was raining of a sort as well. Puck was crying and carrying on, he was crying hard and fast and forevermore, for humanity, for all mankind, for his pain and the pain he felt in others so empathetically everclear. those carpets, those dining-room carpets, had long since been stained with tears and cum and liquids dug into fibers so fine as to be fireflies. in fact all of Puck's aura was crying, the tears streamed from his forehead, wetting his touch, and his wedding band, he was a human shower which nevertheless made him still unclean. for it wasn't about removing his stank, it was a solemn shampoo, a conditioner of conditions, an acknowledgment of the stank that hard-hitting human moments had to come. and come hard and fast. and souls had to be sacrificed.

Bunim: guys, this isn't that big a deal. it's not Shakespeare-in-the-Park stuff. yes, you will permanently remove a member of your cast tonight, but it is just a tv show after all. it's a matter of fame, not famine, tho increasingly you'll wonder if he'll still alive cos if you're not on tv, you're not really real. btdubs this episode has garnered the highest ratings of any tv show since the M*A*S*H finale. and you are denying your banned member the right to culture his brand further.

Pedro: *stroking his bald chin* brand? tell me more of this brand of which you speak. i feel this could be the key to it all.

everyone is squat in a circle sandals up around the indoor campfire but coom-bai-yaw is not the order of the day. or night rather, the tenseness of the announcement is made starker by an empty throne which is not a game.

Pedro: and the Ryan Seacrest delaying of the result. cum boy yay!

a lone waxy candle lights the circle proceedings. Puck starts first, he starts in first. in a hushed tone.

Puck: Pedro, your actions these past last weeks have been nothing short of disruptive. i know you're proud of that but we're not. we gave you the benefit of many doubts, we cut you a whole lot of red string for you to hang but you never did you never hung out with us, you refused to let us be your fam. you were always so cold and hot on the cold case of your cure. we were sympathetic to your cause and gave you many miles of leeway, cut you so much slack we became the epitome of twentysomething '90s slackers in ripped jeans and plaid overcoats on the cover of TIME with the cover THE BURN GENERATION. i'm even pictured on there with a mobile phone stuck to the spoke of my bike. we enabled your bad behavior for too long and it's time to end you.

Pedro: but i'm not a drunk, this is who i really am. hello, my name is Puck Rainey and i am an alcoholic...that's your line, right, cheezo?

Puck: you hurt me, Pedro, not just there but everywhere. but it's not about me. it's about us. even Mo Jesus Rest His Soul. you destroyed all my property, even the FREE PARKING space in my heart. i welcomed you with open emblazoned tat-sleeved arms but you swatted them away and licked the fortune lines on my palms trying to collect samples. you're always trying to get fucking samples from us! we can't tolerate this anymore. haven't you read that tat-covered GrubHub pamphlet i often slide through City urban cabanas when i do my rounds delivering fast food from four-star restaurants?

Pedro: all your food i throw up to. don't take it personally, pal, i'm sick in general.

Puck: it says that tolerance is an impossibility when taken to its natural logical conclusion. we've taken every opportunity to be nice to you but you've rejected us like young and cheap stage players. you've trashed us in the media. this jihad has to stop.

Bunim raises her finger.

Pedro: i don't need the media to trash you, i tell you to your faces you're all idots all the time. i don't take back anything i've ever said. see you lot don't seem to appreciate the position i'm in, i have AIDS. which means i don't give a fuck. about anything. i'm too important to not run over hurt feelings. i'm in the process of formation of a potion which will save the fucking world. i don't have time to wonder about consequences or condolences.

Pam: what happened to us, Pedro? we started out so well on the foot. i LOVED your hairy chest in that scrapbook photo you showed us. but then it turns out you're a pervert.

Pedro: research ain't pretty, honey. just think, if this works, i'll let you take all the credit and the New England Journal of Medicine and then you can be a real girl. doctor, real girl doctor.

Judd: *punching Puck in the shoulder which hurts him* fraid i'm with my bro here, Pedrocito. but you can be sure i'll pen and ink and color a graphic novel detailing in stirring detail and dark gray lines the wretched anguish and sad strands and strains of our time together.

Cory: sorry, bro, it's time to go. but i'll drink a bottle of high-end fashion-house perfume from Macy's in your honor.

Pedro: you're supposed to pour that over my grave. do it in Paris itself, girl. i'm not dead yet.

Rachel: we had the Cuban Conenction. that's a movie, right? oh well, real life doesn't work the way it does on tv.

Cory: if it's boxed with a tight little Macy's bow it does. besides, if you're not racemixing it's bad for the species.

Mohammed pushes the button on the answering machine and exclaims softly one last time to Pedro by speaking into the tiny microphone square on the corner of the box there, "sorry, dude."

Pedro: i'm right in front of you. i'm still here. and i ain't leavin'.

cast and crew: we're full and we've voted you out, Pedro. goodbye. the House says goodbye to you, can't you see it waving?

Pedro: *exasperated chin and strangely playful eyes* those are Scooby-Doo shutters! i ain't leaving without a restraining order!!!

Puck: no more courts!

Bunim: do we need to get security? cos MTV ain't paying for no security. we wanted to see fights, that was the whole point.

Pedro: *with a dramatic flourish* no NO. i WILL exit with my dignity intact. i am a man. got that? i am a fucking MAN. i got rules inside me, life lessons from the road. i got morals. i got a life. where's Sean? forgot about him.

Sean: i'm not here, sir.

Pedro: *pointing up* with my chin held high, i will trample over this doorsill and walk out of my own accord and on my power. you have made me more powerful than you will ever know or imagine. i won't be tossed into the rain like so much soggy Sizzler trashbags. my shapely ass is too sparkling for that. my revenge will come in torrents, both withering water and downloadable torrents. and with that, i bid all you vinegar vultures a fine adieu.

Pedro keeps his fist in the air as he marches out, shouting like a navyman: "KEYSTER IS THE KEY!!! SAN FRANCISCAN-STYLE FOR FUCKING LIFE!!!"

Bunim: thanks, guys, i know that was hard. i mean it's not really a good look for us to throw an AIDS patient out into the cold, but i've already seen the overnights---since it is morning already, you took a long time struggling with this decision wringing your hands which you sat on with couch cushions, lots of tape---this episode generated so much internal distress and ad revenue it rocked the Stock Market. it's gonna get mondo tubular ratings!!!

speaking of ratings, President Bump is sitting at the plexiglass newsdesk theatre-in-the-round wiping off his chin with his long tie and contemplating what he just did.

Bump: so? what'd you think? it was a disaster.

Nancy Pelosi: the Super Bowl? the Halftime Show? or your State of the Union address?

Bump: low ratings, nothing worse than low ratings. it doesn't have to be good, it just has to grab a number. thanks, Nan, can you imagine me giving that same speech at the Mad Magazine offices? they'd've laugh me right outta there.

Eye Luggage: okay, i guess, we have the technology now, so here you go, the highlights:

Bump gets up on the pomp dais and is pumped up.

Bump: my fellow Mericans, the state of our union is......wrong.

Nancy Pelosi turns around and delivers Bump a served clapback.

Bump: what was that just now, Nancy? you gave me a weird slanted clap, slanted like your mouth. were you laughing at my joke or is that your idea of a punch?

Nancy: oh i learned that from Ocasio. black clapback, i need to shore up my base for the next election.

AOC in the audience pumps her fist in the air and declares, "yeah, bitch! it's me, bitch sir! i OWN Yahoo now! you see Yahoo News recently? i mean i know another bitch owns Yahoo but really I'M the bitch that owns Yahoo, bitch!

Bump: *clears the dew from his eyes with his flat karate hand* whoa, that Alexandria Cortez is white now? don't cut her. cut her mic.

Bump's mic crunches like autumn leaves.

Bump: and now, i'd like to point out a little scared beta boy who gets bullied all the time and at home at night relentlessly cos his last name is Trump. i don't understand why but my wife said this so here it is. clap for the boy and we'll have all his social-media account handles and numbers displayed on the tv screen in every tv bank. and CNN.

Bump dons on a black beret from Paris. he has trouble fitting it on his hair.

Wolf and the wolf CNN reporters: sir, why are you wearing that beret? are you in solidarity with Roger Stone?

Bump: no, i'm a poet right now. wait till you hear my next verse, it's bars. you are all witnesses. remember, this is blackhead, kay?

at the afterparty in the Residence...

Bump: i am what comes after Parties. did you see me out there? that is sure to finally beat Survivor.

he switches between tvs. Bump catches the Virgina Governor's news conf.

Bump: i like what he's doing here. he looks the part. don't let the media win, they're like cockroaches you have to eat if you want to get famous on tv. cept i WOULD have done the Moonwalk to exit that stage. see i don't have to worry about a wife stopping me cos i don't have a wife. and my supporters would cherish the fact that i did the dance better than Jacko despite my bone spurs in my ankles.

Pence: you wrote Jackoff in your text to me, sir, was that intentional?

Bump: see that? all 3 Virginia Dems on the noose. you know who did that? worked his magic behind the scenes? that was all Roger Stone's work. the man is a genius, you never see him coming. despite his tattooed back. he works in the silent shadows. which is odd considering how loud and lewd he is. which is odd cos i know firsthand from personal experience that Roger LOVES the black gag. that was Rog's last masterstroke before being sent away to the can stone motel. which is canned outrage. who is Roger Stone?, i don't even know his name.

Mike Tyson: it wasn't me!!!

Pence: it's not fair. Roger Stone is way bigger than Oprah, and that's saying something. i mean Bob Mueller is on tv every fucking night! and all he does is shill for that shampoo company, he's just Vanna White-ing all those shampoo bottles on MSNBC the entire hour pointing to his hair and waving at the guests who buy a pack for the hour.

Bump: *smiles* at least we get to see his smile, Bob has a nice smile when he shows it. toothpaste next, Bob. see? i'm all about love, that's why the next Government Shutdown will be on Valentine's Day so everyone can get together with their loved ones and have some free time to love. hey Mooch, cook up all us all-American bloods some of that Cooke Maroney macaroni and cheese.

Gordon Ramsay scowls.

Virginia Governor: oh no, not the beer thing again. look, i had nothing to do with Jussie, okay?

Virginia Governor's wife: dear, take off that coonskin hat you have on. and put away your rifle, THIS is your mic, you got confused again.

Virginia Governor: is it a crime for a white kid from the suburbs to like Michael Jackson? i mean sure i like Shaggy better but still.

Scooby Doo, in the audience, shushes Shaggy---who was about to say something---with his paw.

Mo is praying by the Red Circle table.

Mo: do you still have to pray after you die? i'm happy to report Kristoff St. John has been reunited with his son Julian and both no longer have cloudy minds. they are clear as a Bell---not the boss of their show---,are untroubled and at peace.

Liam Neeson: you can blame the environs one is brought up in. The Troubles were not the Irish band which came before U2. on the stage. i paid cash for my cosh.

Bill Cosby: so can i have a seat at the table now? i was responsible for this reunion. whatever Lisa Bonet has been saying about me, all lies!

Aquaman Momoa: she hasn't said anything. i chose her, i chose my wife on the tv screen, falling my little fingers down the screen like a waterfall over her electron face. ripping up all my books to watch tv only. when i watched your show as a kid, you're responsible for many reunions. and you taught me everything i know about women.

Cosby: hush down, little kid, not now with that stuff. you want me to get your mother?

Eye: i'm not like other millennials. but my followers are. sorry, dude, you've been evicted. you seem harmless, like you could be someone's dad. and now the musical portion of my show...

21 Savage: *rappin'* Flint needs water/ how bout using those baby cages for dams?

Bump: so you get a gun salute but still won't not take a knee? yous savage.

Eye: great, Demi Lovato's left the chat. i wanted to talk to her about how to get a tattoo in rehab. within the walls of the clinic facility. like do you send out for it like food? the needles are already there so plenty of no problem there.

at the Magical Fruit coffee klatch, the bros and crones are still discussing candidates. for discussion.

Laertus: *sipping hot* oh, wow. this tastes like blood. is there blood in my coffee?

Doryce: *cackles and is the waitress* sonny! it's my menstrual blood! it's food for a man such as yourself!

Laertus: wow. it'd be rude to spit it out, but...okay, thank you. it's red, gotta go with it. that's one holiday flavor Starbucks hasn't tried yet.

Dirg: hey, you gotta give it to Schultzy, he got Americans to buy coffee for five dollars.

Laertus: ironically it's more expensive in Seattle. just ask Kurt Cobain. shit, now i know why all those Repubs went on for years about the red cups.

Doryce: boys, can we borrow your treehouse lift tonight me and the missus? our dogs are barking and we ain't no bitches.

Dirg: sure! and be sure to bake us bread as payment in the morning! *laughs and punches Laertus*

Eye: animesuperhero? that's what toonzone has become!

Dirg: right? i mean you just google toonzone and get to the link anyway. bring back World Peace.

Laertus: everything's become corporate like Maroon 5. and Korgoth, Tigtone doesn't count. and is more freaky. that character, being autistic and being adventurous are really the same thing. and why has everyone suddenly become obsessed with Mission Hill again?

Dirg: it's the Clone High effect. brandishing a one-season something a masterpiece retroactively after a certain number of years have gone by and you start to miss it. the same thing will happen with Baby Blues, you'll see.

Laertus: it's the San Francisco thing. My So-Called Life is the ultimate example. but can something which is true serve as the example?

the crones are confronting a crisis at the treehouse border.

Doryce: you heard about my noble quest on the hunt for the best French fries in the world, right? i am obsessed. the OreIda microwaveable skinny and krinkle fries sold at The Store for years suddenly stopped being stocked. there are no replacements for this. the fries you have to do in the oven---the greasy 19th century oven we have---won't do, i burn my fingers everytime i try, and i need my fingers to cast nature spells to balance the weather. the only rack i trust is my own.

Gladyce: i could knit you some oven mitts, dear. on my spindly finger.

Doryce: this place doesn't have an oven of course, it's a den of iniquity and hives and millennial teenage pimples. i'd have to put our cats in the other room and lock it before i'd open the oven door, that's scary when all those hot fumes come out, i'm scared our darling pets will jump in, they're so rambunctious and have to lick every faucet. without our cats as familars our entire lineage busts!

Gladyce: they're smarter than us, cos they've lived longer than us, but i see your point.

Doryce: i heard a rumor they sell the microwave fries at Walmart, but that's 30 miles away on broom. this really is quite the sad saga. but i have an idea.

Doryce orders a case of 50 microwave fries direct-ordered from OreIda itself in the heart of the nation with the silver discs, all stacked up to form in the shape of a giant McDonald's Happy Meal. to the treehouse doorsill. the mailman who delivers it is so suspicious of this package he dies from fright.

the crones play outside at night using the used silver discs as Quidditch balls.

Doryce: *flying* and preheat. right? how long do you preheat an oven? it's completely random and arbitrary, different times for different people.

Gladyce: i believe it's about 10 to 15 minutes. i grew up in the old ways.

Doryce: 10 TO 15 MINUTES!!? ain't nobody got time for that!!! oven burning empty for fifteen minutes!!!? that's a fire no spell could ever put out!

at Inverness, Goody Paul is asleep in Maria's vagina snug and dreaming of how the weather is always hot when it rains but cold when it doesn't.

Goody: *sleeping* it's because you need heat to generate rain. brimstone fire. and Maria always has nice breath.

at the side of this, Pedro and Rachel have taken an impromptu joyride gallivant to Inverness to check out some things. Pedro pushes Rachel out of the buggy car and drags her by the hair up the hill to the green spot.

Pedro: now girl, come on!

tears are streaming down Rachel's eyes.

Bunim in the control booth: i will be streaming Rachel's tears later tonight. online-only.

Rachel: this is not the pain of sex. is it? ow!

Puck: *from behind a boulder* LET HER GO!!!

Pedro: enter hero. the antihero is cooler anyhow. well get out here, weenie, show your face.

Puck: can't. fog as pea as soup, and my pee.

Pedro goes to punch Puck in the face but Puck motions away from this with his shivering quivering hands.

Puck: no more, you don't have to hit me, Pedro, i'm already crying on my face, that's not the mist. i feel so bad for what we had to do collectively as a group to you.

Pedro: that's what every industrialized nation says. and btdubs these are not the Sierras in California.

Pedro goes to drag Puck by the hair, too, but it's too short, spiky, and spongy like a marshmallow, no grip.

Pedro: goddammit, boy, regrow your hair! come on, Rachel, here's that gun i told you about on the way over, that was my campfire story inside the car. look at that shining silver blade of a pistol! makes my knees water and my mouth bend. take this gun into your girl hands and shoot the magical reindeer when it flies by. red hole in red nose. i'll collect the antler and place the broken shell in my two Smurfs clear jars with the cork stop that i keep in my butt. do it!!!

Rachel: *crying and red* no i can't! these babies are precious! peace on earth and good will toward ALL creatures great small and nano!!! i am their steward! babies and animals, i choke up. i can't be a Republican anymore!

Puck puts his hands up.

Puck: drop the gun. no more violence. against women. i'll make you a deal, Pedro. i'll collect a sample for you. this magical Inverness mist, it's sure to curate the cure. and dollars.

Puck takes one huge breathe-in with his mighty nostrils and shoots back regurgitates the air-mucus spill rocket capturing the Inverness fog into Pedro's smug Smurf bottles.

Rachel: *on grass-stained knees* thanks, babe.

Rachel and Puck kiss for the fourth time, for the first time this time. they clutch as a couple and speak with one voice.

Puck: what can my babe and i do for you this morning? or evening i can't tell.

Pedro: you must make it up to me. i've lost my standing. i've lost my platform. make me big again.

Puck: i won't suck your dick but how about i send a video message through my phone to Rachel's parents in Arizona? you always wanted to visit her folks, didn't you?

Pedro: video phone? what is this, the future? i wanted to see and know what it would be like to be respectable in society. live in a house that's not burned down. in Arizona. in real America. fine, push the fone button.

Pedro: *fuzzy lines* hello, Mister and Missus Rachel? it's me, Pedro. i have your daughter, can't you hear her screaming? no this is not a ransom-demand vid on a notebook, she just saw a flying reindeer. i married your daughter, we eloped. we're gonna be very happy together, we're going to Cuba so i can single-handedly revolutionize that home country. we're gonna stay in Cuba forever, there is no extradition treaty with the U.S. i will be King of Cuba. bleh, okay, that's enough, her parents are dumb as boulders if they believed that......i really want to be Queen of Cuba...

Puck: my video-phone watch is still on.

Pedro: eh, whatever. just say it was the mulchy mist, they didn't hear a thing.

Bunim: thank you, Pedro. for continuing to participate and contribiute. to the show's ratings. this is MTV, where parents are dumb and kids rule!

TMIT: DIAMOND DICK

i don't wanna talk about it. both things. it was that boring.

1. do you express your sexual pleasure with moans, groans, sighs, and other noises (provided you are actually turned on)?
a) yes, each time i have sex (90-100% of the time)
b) on most occasions (70-89)
c) on some occasions (40-69)
d) on a few occasions (less than 40)
e) no, never, not even when i am really turned on

i only sigh internally. the answer is the one where i can enjoy a 40 with my partner whilst doing 69 with her. inevitably we have to change the sheets cos we pour the 40 over our bodies. i tell her that means i'm dead, she tells me softly that we're all gonna die. then we hug. i make this weird noise that no other human being has ever made. i took myself to the university campus where my girlfriend is an anthropology professor there---i'm a pop-culture major student there myself---for some tests. she strapped me in and declared me The Missing Link. then we used those straps.

2. how comfortable are you with sex in bright light or daylight? pick one.
a) completely comfortable
b) fairly
c) somewhat/uncomfortable, depends on the partner
d) completely uncomfortable, i like to do it in the dark

this test is making me uncomfortable, giving me Berkeley flashbacks when i missed the bell and avoided graduating by one percentage point. i still have my diploma tattooed on my ass. not very comfortable, i'm a goth so all light comes from a dark place. i never understood fucking in the dark. i talked to Batman about this and he says it's the only way he can get through it with Catwoman. i understand listening to music in the dark, but i mean in that whole boring set they didn't even play "Sunday Morning", their clear best song. it was Sunday, too. L.A. white soul, we had this, Bowie would be spinning in his grave but his grave is on Mars and he's spinning his web, shooting the breeze and chewing the scenery with the Dos Equis guy with the beard. the original best Dos Equis guy with the beard.

3. is this statement true or false for you? explain: i would ike to talk dirty with my partner but i don't dare for fear of being judged or ridiculed.

yes, and for a writer like myself, it's embarrassing to get made fun of when your dirty talk isn't creative enough. i need just the right amount of light to work, the red has to be that precise neon or i go crazily tumbling down the district streets arms flailing like a mad hairy man. i talk to her of diamond dick. she thinks i'm referring to Pete Davidson but i was referring to that dime novel Diamond Dick which was an early proponent of the marijuana-is-just-herbal-medicine side of the debate. referring to reefer. found some of those readers in the same section where they keep the old back-issues of Batman comics, the ones where Batman still uses a cowboy gun. then i told her i didn't have a dime to my name...

4. have you ever done a striptease for a lover (impromptu or planned)? did you enjoy it?

i wish i could dance like Julian Edelman out on that field, but he told me his beard hides a lot of things. i told him despite everything Brady had a sense of himself and was humble and basically a cool guy. if Brady were an asshole it'd be unbearable. Julian sold me his jewels and let go of all his worldly possessions---all his grass included---and became a monk right there on the Disney World spot. he told me i had to like Tom Brady cos he was better than Michael Jordan now.

5. how do you feel about giving anal sex (penetration with penis, finger, or sex toys)? pick one:
a) enjoy
b) okay with it
c) not so much
d) not at all, not my ting
e) never given it
f) e) but would like to start

i went into the lockerroom and snatched the jersey...oh um nevermind um i'm down for it, except my bum is so small it'd be missed. the owner was telling me how he understands that if you're not a fan of the team you'd feel great antipathy and enmity toward the team, and that the league is becoming a joke. he then rolled out a nice squared triangle wedge of cheese and plopped it right there on the plexiglass newsdesk. i didn't inquire further as to whether that was a sex toy investigative journalist that i am cos you know those billionaires and their free time...

CLICK HERE FOR TMI TUESDAY

BEETLOAF

notes:

* just in case you ever wanted to eat a cereal with Ron Jeremy as the mascot

* AVERT YOUR EYES, MATEY!!! the Super Bowl commercials are ALREADY being loaded in!

* finally a new car company gets in the game

* sorry, miss, your heels are too high for this elevator going down

* woman: Arrested Development?
Jason Bateman: no, Family Ties. primetime network NBC, that's where it all went down.
man: so THAT's where Mallory went!
Jason: our mom was a lesbian the whole time, that's why our family stuck together through the tough times.

* Jason: contrary to popular belief, this is not a Wes Anderson movie. i know i know, EVERYBODY wants me to do a Wes Anderson movie, it would make such a great fit. our agents are working it out. well my agent is. Meredith Baxter-Birney is Mallory's agent, too. the MIB International MBB we call her. or Notorious MBB.

* Jason: you're going down, way down.
woman: cos i have on these heels?
Jason: 2019, all meanings innocent from now on.
man: i'm her husband slash boyfriend depending on her mood that day. i'm her Instagram Spouse when we go to Taco Bell. there i eat all the food i can before it all runs out in these trying clime times. i was told by my priest i was going to Hell and there was nothing i could do.

* man: what was the flip sign before ROOT CANAL?
Jason: GAME SHOWS. right? this is that Price Is Right flip lit cream-colored rectangular light that started.
man: i'd like a piece of you, Jason.
Jason: is that a threat or a come-on?
woman: COME ON!!!, she said like Lleyton Hewitt with her fingers in a cobra pointing to her face...

* dentist: this is bad.
woman: aren't you supposed to draw the outline in pencil first before you drill, doctor?
dentist: i'm a dentist, not a doctor.

* Jason: why is the Jury Duty hallroom wet? pipe broke?
Jeffrey Tambor: no, that's the jury room for the R Kelly case. yeah i know, you'd think with Duty it'd be the other one.
Jason: and this is why no one works with you anymore, Jeffrey.
Jeffrey: he's obviously guilty cos he's white.

* Jason: the dreaded middle seat. who's got Vitamin C?
Alec Baldwin: remember Airborne? it was the popular thing to do on airplanes along with Words With Friends. it was our yuppie drug. both of them.
Jeffrey: i'd never go to the Middle East. and on a plane!? forget it, didn't you hear what Peter Jennings said? just begging to be hijacked.
Jason: you never left the '80s, did you Jeff? we can't use those green cuddly mucus mascots anymore till the sexual harassment in the workplace suits get settled.
Jeffrey: sorry, i lost my temper. it showed in my voicework for them.

* dad: even Grandma's body changed. i saw it.
son: dad, you're embarrassing me. why are you rooting for a Washington Redskin? why do you always insist on wanting to go skateboarding with me? the skateboard is not a tandem bicycle-built-for-two.
Carrie Ann Inaba: there was only one reason i was hired to replace Julie Chen......i don't have a husband like that...
Sara Gilbert: let's get back to discussing domestic terrorism in this country, real serious stuff.
Roseanne: yes, let's get back to discussing the tragedy of my show...

* Jason: beetloaf? is your name even Sergio?
Sergio: *bows* ny name is Sergio Garcia. i killed Tiger Woods's career. prepare to die.
woman throwing beetloaf party: Latin lovers aren't what they used to be in the '80s.
Jeffrey: i'd vote for Sabato, but i want Lamas. next in line or fall in love?

* Jason: car shopping okay, only if it's that nerd guy with the blond glasses and that rattail, that red guitar with six Prince arms, and that purple van with the Unicorn Frappuccino silk-screen tattoo on its ridged side. he was the only spokesanimal who didn't have skeletons in his closet. you should see the Geico gecko's closet. paraphernalia everywhere.

* couple: wait, WE'VE REACHED HEAVEN!!! WE'D LIKE TO STOP HERE PLEASE!!!
Jason: no this is just the top-floor of the Hyundai dealership. it's built on a tower. a white tower.

* Jason: back it up, Captain Colon, thank you. or pausade i should say, when this commercial inevitably gets transformed into the Spanish version for The Big Game.
Captain Colon: you see me mooning you through my open hospital gown? that's racist what you said! or, what do you call it when you make fun of someone's medical condition?
Jason: illest.

CLICK HERE RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK

Happy Super Weekend, my babies. there is only one way to participate in The Resistance this weekend, you will be reminded of it constantly: eat as many avocados from Mexico as you can...

WITHOUT TAPES: INVERNESS

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.

TMIT: NOT GRETA VAN FLEET

that's a Whole Lotta Love. or perhaps Two Halves of Love. Robert faceplanted when the cheeky photographer asked him to show her his good side.

1. what makes you feel unloved?

when my priest goes on and on in the confessional box about how he's so much better than the Pope and how his father didn't love him that's why he became a Father.

i didn't want to interrupt the sacred ceremony but i asked him once

me: whom do you love?
priest: it's Who. always God.
me: do you ever get lonely?
priest: nah. i get to order from all the fancy restaurants for free NOT using GrubHub Seamless. i get free chicken at Popeye's! sure they won't let me near an auction house anymore, but that was Banksy's fault! i punched him sure but he wasted a million dollars! that money could have been used to help Venezuela and then I'D be doing a better job than Pope Francis! i'd get the credit!
me: isn't fame a sin?
priest: only if you don't feel guilty about it.
me: what's your message to depressed teens who pray but still feel depressed?
priest: look how beautiful those clouds are...

2. what is the one act that a person can do that makes you feel loved?

drive me thru a drive-thru. see i'm deathly afraid of cars so driving is mystical to me. i know you're expecting me to say a home-cooked meal. heart stomach thing, right? so is my beloved. she insists on cooking for me, she speaks of a secret ancestral recipe that only a few people who ever lived on top of the world know, passed down by her frail grandmother who was the only survivor of the War of the Vines. she chides me everytime i eat Red Vines. i'm sure her egg rolls are very good and tasty and crispy and crunchy, and cooked in no oil, but i simply have to know how Jack In The Box does eggrolls, you know? and there's something about that colorful yellow greasy paper it comes in, one simply must use that wrapper as a napkin around one's neck. i mean i'm sure the Jack In The Box eggrolls will taste like...eggrolls...but who knows. extra dipping sauce.

3. what kind of music do you find romantic? now i'm gonna cry. when i saw Rent Live last night, took me back. to when i still had a chance. Berkeley. my first introduction to real serious theatre, you know? i was thinking of switching my major from English to Theatre...which really isn't that much of a stretch, is it? too bad you can't major in Theatre Nerd. i read a lot of the work of gay luminaries of the stage age, Angels In America and the like, and my folks back home were getting worried...not that i might be gay, which would have made my life easier i suppose, especially over there, but that i was wasting away their huge sums of rich-stuff money and my time sleeping in campus libraries and searching for One-Eyed Willy's doubloons...

4. what do you find utterly unromantic? when the least among us never get the chance. you can tell all the AV Club writers were once hopeful theatre majors/geeks with stars in their eyes ready to take on Broadway with their illustrative talents. but they missed it by THAT much. so they have to settle for commenting on productions they'd rather be in. it's just not fair. i have a friend whose frail grandmother was in the official Annie cast on Broadway in the '80s all of whose red hair has since fallen out and turned white cos she could never live up to the legacy. she writes for Daily KOS out of necessity and a paycheck. she keeps harping on in her texts to me about how she wants to write for The Daily Show instead and what the fuck is a KOS!!?

5. what thing did you find out about your significant other that you decided to look past and go for a relationship? the culture-war thing. i fight all my battles with lightsabers, which, well, let's face it isn't very effective. look, it's never gonna be perfect, perhaps your soul mate comes from a place you despise and spit on, but what are you gonna do? you know? she's still your soul mate, gotta make it work.

adult swim is right, there needs to be an emoji of a kissing yellow face with his eyebrows on fleek but turned down to indicate

your recent actions have me troubled but overall i value our relationship

bonus: in your life, is romance dead? yes, Romeo is bleeding. however romance isn't dead in life itself, just my life, so for my purposes and porpoises and all intensives, it is, cos if it's dead in my life, it's dead for me...so...cos i can't experience life in any other way but through me...Luigi on the other hand got his grubby hands on a healing potion and repaired his wounds with a grand thread sewing together all the parts and went to a tropical desert island with a yellow hat and a McAfee hammock. Luigi's always been jealous (and healous) of all the credit Mario gets.

CLICK HERE FOR TMI TUESDAY

the man who elevated me by making me lower

i was a small scared skinny willow of a boy, frightened of the future and of my future. and to top it all off, i had to go to college now. Berkeley was the first time i had ever been away from home. why did i have to be so smart? i took the mittens my mom knit me and tried to unknit them into a security blanket, but my hands were too slight. i fit a nut in my jowl instead.

i didn't know where to go, what to do, or who to be with. i wandered around hardscrabble streets and harder tests taken coldly in auditoriums. in college, the arbitrariness of everything just gets magnified to a power so unimaginable the magnifying glass becomes your iris.

finally i settled on the only thing i ever knew how to do: type my feelings. but i didn't just want to join the school paper, i wanted to be cool finally, to taste the good life, to slough off my senior persona, to eat strawberries with the high-school gymnasts. i wanted to do my own naughty webcomic. but i hadn't drawn seriously since kindergarten. poetry? when has poetry ever been cool? even when poetry WAS cool back in the Victorian day it was never cool.

okay, let's write for real again, which of course i did with scratchy scribbles on a Starbucks napkin cos i read or wrote somewhere that's what all the celebrated Beat authors who were beaten on the streets did. and beaten in their respective local dirty publishing houses with the dirty floors and dark-grey smokestacks.

i managed my first non-humorous poem in thirteen years, the age of my permanent inner child. a couple of stanzas and a quote from my favorite all-time thinker, a quote i've completely forgotten about now. no idea who this person is anymore.

i was calling myself Toilet and spreading my shit all around town. to anyone and everyone who would buy it. or publish it and slip it under toilets. this was the last decade before everything went free, unsold, unbought, and unheard-of again, so ink was at a premium. less tattoos of the revolution were being offered in those days in favor of print. i was just about to staplegun my three-page skatepunker zine to a dark-brown telephone pole when i got the call.

the old man with no accent at the shoppe hung up on me which i took as a sign. it'd get published now, right? i celebrated by using my dad's polka-dot umbrella for the first time. it was so damn grand big! i got swallowed up by it when i pulled it out. but it was raining cats, dogs, and squirrels so i knew i had to get out there for the artistic atmosphere and musty mist smell. you can't write what you don't soak. i visited the nice corner bistro i spotted when my eyes were cornered by drink on that first day, Island Taco. my tongue had wanted to savor that Enchilada Platter but my wallet closed its sewed mouth. 50 FUCKING DOLLARS FOR TWO ENCHILADAS!!? "are you sure you don't mean 50 pesos?" i implored the girl at the horchata stand. she blew so much smoke in my face it became a bubble. next time i won't talk with first-time people when i'm chewing gum, it's a nasty defense mechanism of mine i need to relent.

ee cummings: i know why you're here, why you frequent. i know why you came out here in the rain. you're an artist.

me: i have to go poo-poo. man, i can't open this swinging door with the circular window at the top! i need the key to the bathroom!

ee cummings: just push the door, fellow traveler mate. it requires no strength at all. always unlocked to the public. we must all be jerkmates to survive in this world, never wash your hands, makes the food taste better.

me: this entire world has been blaming the wrong people this whole time all the while.

ee: don't call yourself Toilet, you'll never sell. it's not about selling out, it's about self-worth. i know you feel down now, but you're only gonna feel downer later so why not be happy now? how about Toilu, but make it toilu, like a sophisticated smelly French perfume parfum of water and eaters.

i noticed my umbrella was turned out outside by the front door palm stoop and it caught the large gale of wind from the storm and sailed out to the mint sea. the next time i visited Island Taco i had taken my mentor's advice but he was nowhere to be seen. then he came in with the wind in a huge rush of air. floating on my umbrella. worst wind Island Taco had ever experienced according to the gauges.

ee: i'm Mary Poppins, bitch. you'll find out soon.

me: i like the Late '90s but i am so excited for the Millennian! where did you come from?

ee: art's dead. except for island caves slowly dying. a neighboring island that houses another Island Taco. do you like my work?

me: yes. but i can't download it at my dorm cos i start to type it in the window and it shuts down the cum porn site.

ee: they call this city the Windiest City In The World, right? but it's not. it's the Beans Capital of the World.

me: why are you telling me all this? and do you want to buy a Cubs cap?

ee: cos you gotta be different. the people who patronage this place have a lot of customs, they're customers. habitue emptor. look at this menu. see all the fine print? can't read a thing. especially the exorbitant prices. that's how you have to write poetry. with small letters. all lowercase, make the reader feel intimate with you, like it's only you the writer and the reader sharing this screed or song, together, an exclusive club of two. that's how you win over audiences, by being real. that one reader is the only reader you'll ever have...

i sat with his wisdom as i walked home alone. with him under the umbrella with me.

ee: this is why your umbrella was so big, it was always meant to house two. a partner for life. got any food at home? let go of the umbrella. let it fly away, get soaked by the rain, you have to feel this.

me: are you sure?

but ee was gone. but i still smelled his breath in the crisp air. his breath smelt of nuts, black olives, and bacon.

i returned home wet and worried to my dorm, to the roommate i despised, and hid my head under the crossstitch covers, hitting said head on my Dead Milkmen old-time clock radio. that's when i started sneezing. i continued to sneeze...forever...for the rest of my life i kept sneezing. till i died. this made me never forgot my master, my mentor, my muse father and only friend ee cummings again...

CLICK HERE

AND HERE

happy weekend, my babies. Nixon would be rolling in his grave now...

WITHOUT TAPES: ON OR ABOUT APRIL 5, 1994

Puck brings home a dog.

Puck: no, not her. here is Belvedere, a Tervuren, they say they're the best, most homey and protective and huggable, most lively around a lived-in hemmed suburban neighborhood. the previous owners were calling him Bellend and whitewashing all the colorful flyers i was putting up around town, power-washing stripping them off all the brick, saying they were gentrifying the city. but THEY were the lost dog's owners! finally the kindly woman and kindly man who wore matching bandanas gave me a pence for my troubles, Bel licked the coin and it turned into a gold pence.

Judd: yeah i was tagging along by you for this mission but i didn't help much.

Puck: they said they were frantic and the dog belonged with his family. which was me. on the walk home to the House, Bel leashed me on all fours for our first walk, which is important in trustbuilding. Bel was having none of the Crooked Street. we sauntered past the bank of tvs, Bel spits on all the screens, the Asian owner gets mad, but we explain to her or him his her tvs are shiny now, clearer with the news. we celebrate by going to Bristol Farms, Bel wades in the fish pool and i wait for Pam's hand to give us the good stuff, the fresh stuff from the boxes out back, of Pacific Punch, a blue concoction drink that looks like Windex. Bel wags his tongue cos his tail is dead, won't wag no more, he can't believe what a fool i am.

Pedro: i'm a fool for love. i love the Windex that's yellow cos it looks like pee.

Judd: who's gonna pay for this mangy mutt? all dogs are liberal, you can tell, they've had baths and their nails did.

Pedro: he's gonna eat your dinners, Judd, you will starve. which is good for the creation. of comics.

Judd: ah, i could stand to lose a few pounds. i'm not skinny enough, i'm a match for skinniness of all the models i want to date.

Cory bumps into Geoff on the street, which happens a lot when the street is Crooked. Geoff is a kindly soul but it's hard to tell if he's a man or woman. he wears a pink shirt but it's a dark pink. Cory goes with it cos her life is in complete-standstill shambles.

Cory: hello. you're meeting me at my most vulnerable. the whole Macy's thing is up in the air.

Geoff: forgive me, i'm new to the City and i almost always never wear pants. oh Macy's, i love their Christmas ensemble. i love writing letters to Santa and nosing it in that giant golden mailbox in the center of the store. i wish i could ride those red planes hung high on the air in the sky of the glass ceiling but i'm not allowed up there without a harness. throw a guy a bone, you know?

Cory: oh you like Macy's, mate? okay, my wet nose is twitching, cold outside. i'm game. i'm not sure about you, Geoff, but let's give this a shot go, i literally got nothing else goin' on...

at the Australian Open at 1573 Court, Judy Murray is making her last stand. she stands very close to the baseline, her plain leather tennis shoes barely not touching, and poses to strike a spin serve. just as she's about to reach the apex, the fucking sun gets in her eyes and she whiffs it. a bird at the very tippy top of the edge of the stadium makes a squawking noise.

Bobble: SQUAWK!!! FUCK YOU!!! SQUAWK!!!

lineswoman: foot fault! point penalty. or game penalty maybe.

Judy: fuck you see that? that bird cursed at me! the nerve! what do you expect here, aye? this is really the moe Asian Open more than the Aussie Open. all you lot need to wear glasses like good Asians! i mean this is practically on the other side of the planet, a strange hidden paradise noone sees, a primate primitive land locked in other poles and destinies, time zones and arabathia keyholes. summer in January? you have to pee upside down in this place!  

Caroline Wozniacki storms out onto the set of the stage of the court, which is something she never does.

Caroline: you fucker! because i had to take time out of my busy schedule to make a video-diary of all of your stupid son's lifetime good points, i thinned my practice time with pops and therefore wasn't as sharp and lost my match! you know how embarrassing it is to be the defending Champion and lose?

Judy: you don't know misery, that was your first time! hey girlie, why'd you switch sides? why'd you become Christian? do Christians have more sex?

Caroline: isnt it obvious? it's why every girl becomes a Christian. cos their fathers raised them atheist.

Caroline sinks to the lower level bowl of the stadium seating to meet Andy Murray who puts his arm around her and smiles that goofy grin of his with the brutal curved teeth. Caroline gives him a sugary peck on the underside of his chin.

Caroline: you think she bought it, honey? you think that dragon bitch will leave us alone now?

Andy: hey, she's still my mum, she's the only dragon i'll ever have. i'm not Daenerys Targaryen. there's an example that you don't need a readily-accessible easy-to-remember name to be successful. look! she's not even looking at us! she's too preoccupied in her own little sex life world as always!

Judy joins the Red Circle table and wishes to speak with Serena.

Judy: thank you, Williams, the good one, for getting rid of that bot Bouchard. now i have Nadal all to myself and entry into the Spanish lockerroom. there are perks to hanging around Carlos Moya!

Serena Williams: madam, miss, what is your feeling on foot faults? should they be willing to be reviewed like Pass Interference and Stepping On The Line in the NFL, where apparently i'm well-known? i did not cross the line.

Laertus: i know, girl, you always get the raw end. keep the fight, girl, the fight for justice, you know they will take every opportunity to bring you down. you know it wasn't until this very match that i started liking you, that i called you my favorite player. before you it was some other mother or whomever the redheaded girl player was. for me, i came to respect you over the years, admire you, before i liked you. and then this happens. i mean foot fault on match point? what a JIP! that obviously threw off your concentration game.

Dirg tries to hug Serena but he can only bring himself to air-hug her from three feet away.

Serena: what are you doing? i don't want a hug from you.

Dirg: sorry. i'm jealous of your ease in with these folk, Larry, teach me your Sith Jedi ways. it's just, Serena, well there's SO much of you, you know? especially in the back. i just didn't want to miss any of it with the hug, i had to have an all-encompassing hug with my short arms, not easy to accomplish. hugging you is impossible.

Serena: i'm sure i don't know. yes, that's what my press critics always like to say about me. i'm unapproachable and distant. and not "likable".

Laertus: code word.

Eye Luggage: Simone Richards has joined the Red chat.

Simone Richards sashays up to the edge of the table. she wears tallow yellow teeth but purple jogging pants.

Simone Richards: D/S? Dick/Simone anyone? i'm just like you, my idol Serena, except we're in different fields.

Serena: i started young, too, young buckess. but your ass beats mine, it just doesn't get beat as much. let's talk on the online-only chat later, we have much to discuss, padawan playa. your natural athleticism on knee-scraped stone park benches could be channeled between the lines of a gentler surface on your knees like grass when you fall. and we all fall. take it from me, your ass won't last forever.

Dirg: but YOUR ass DOES last forever, Serena. it will outlast the sun.

President Bump: yep. Danielle Collins, BEEP BEEP hello. never heard of you. feisty one.

Eye: *internal sigh which gets picked up on mic* you know. i don't have to announce it everytime. it's assumed. time for my Jewsih rye sandwich. my Eye Rye.

Bump: *eye rolls*

Laertus: you're the greatest exmaple of a college player making it not mailing it in. no male college tennis player has even SNIFFED the level you've achieved here or anywhere in the world! brava!

Bump: no. no. no. this can't happen! this is unbelievable your progress! get this girl a Heather Tom Collins to slow her down. you're too good-looking! you're the perfect spokeswoman for staying in college all four years, i can't have that! educated aren't my voters! in order to secure Reelection i need my electorate to be voters who come from war-torn countries, never had any army money for any kind of schooling other than armying, and took up tennis as a last resort, it was either that to save their family in a hut or their entire lineage are to be gassed in the war. playing tennis against the one brick backdrop in the city walls, cracking with each ball, learning to play from your grandfather who was a General with a grimey past, election decided by a foreign leader. working your way up the railroad ranks, tennis is all you know, not algebra, and then you make millions of dollars. i relate to that story. like you gotta have a certain kind of beauty, like these beautiful Russian queens over here! the heart of historic Europe. Svitolina and Plissken.

Bump: and stop screaming, Collins! you're scaring Nic and Keith Urban. they just want a nice peaceful urban time under the roof. tho your screaming, Danielle, is hot. hot like this weather we're having down under.

Pliskova: uh, that's Pliskova, i'm Pliskova. i don't play video games, in Hard Europe we LIVE video games. it's called everyday life in a warzone and some don't make it out with both eyes.

Svitolina: i'm Ukrainian, not Russian...

Bump: not anymore. i love you guys. love, get it? get love. i read all your calendars in magazines. i love your little love match with Gael Monfils. i even see his pics, they're glossy cos he's black so the light bounces off him and blinds my eyes.

Monfils: next time blood don't buy the magazines that are glossy. my skin is pure, as is my joking. check out our joint Instagram account.

Bump: yeah i saw yous two going at it on Centre Court of the Aussie. like two wild savage beasts and one belle. Gael and Svitolina, OTP. that's the real tea real sex right there, Indo-European conquering their slave, gave me ideas and hives.

Gael: i thought that was online-only.

Cory: see? black man, white woman, it's the natural order of tings. it's what everyone is attracted to. i am so enjoying getting this extra love and lovin' time from a pet animal at the House, makes me warm like never before. i've never been warm before where i come from.

Pedro: no beast, no man...in the City. beast is a man of burden...

Pliskova: i started the whole Eastern-European-chick-gets-an-ugly-tattoo-art-thing-on-a-weird-part-of-her-body-part-that-besmirches-her-beauty thing first, not Shit Svit…

Bump: balls of your elbows.

Serena: i rolled my foot on that ankle fault, because that call hurt my heart. not again, i said to myself. my mental anguish manifested into physical pain. it hurt my fulsome ancient spirit. but i kept rolling like i do. Ms. Judy, why do the players autograph that thin sheet of silver clear paper over the camera POV like that after each win?

Judy: that overhead-projector slide? i used to be a teacher. of my ungrateful sons. that's so the FBI has a database of all the players' handwriting samples. notice how there hasn't been any rapes? that we know of. we don't want a Ronaldo situation on our hands, even a Steven Universe Ronaldo situation. that would kill our tiny engine-that-could game, right off the tracks like Thomas. keeps everyone in line, between the lines, even I had to do it. and i never won a match. all your base are belong to us.

Serena: oh well. i'm a mother now, not a moth, i got other things. the porchlight will be there tomorrow. gives me freed time to go see that greatest book of mine on the Sorkin stage...

Laertus: Ser, they're just jealous of your shoe game! girl keep ya head up. they can't have your golden kicks! or your golden locks! we were all ready in the studio van out back with that tape of Carlos Ramos for the next match---he's here in Australia you know, like nothing happened---but it's all good, you do you, mama girl!

Dirg: how do you do that so effortlessly?

Laertus: the driving beat of that Australian Open theme song, so Aboriginal!

Judy: it's original but not necessarily Aboriginal. it's more a driving beat from a Eurotrash dancehall. our ancestors, right? *rolls eyes* what are you gonna do.

Brad Gilbert: effortlessly? why thank you. my nicknames come trippingly off the tongue. Tsitsipas? easy, EZ Pass. we're all from New York obviously. or maybe Going Greek?

Judy: i like that one. it's salty. both meanings.

Bump: teach me your ways, Gilbert and Sullivan and Pianoman with a Quarter-jar glass Can Jedi.

Nancy Pelosi: where's my nickname, Mickey? come on, this is easy, i look like a Muppet. that's what i share with Elizabeth Warren.

Elizabeth Warren tries to carry a purse full of fried chicken into the Well of the Senate but is rejected by TSA workers.

Carol Channing slaps her forehead with her wrist.

Bump: okay Nancy, here's your nickname: how about Speaker? i call you Speaker! cos you talk too much like a typical woman. you know i saw you there in the Well with all the kids, and it took me back to my halcyon days as a carfree carefree youth. when there were a lot of kids trapped in wells on tv. and those kids would later all flock around a famous celebrity and sing a song together on Sesame Street...

Mueller, Mulder, Scully, and Comey are hustling on the streets of San Francisco collecting coins in a can. they have split a can of beans four ways. none are cold in this cold, their hearts have long since gone black from the job.

Scully: i still won't go naked in this weather to prove i'm tough like a man. women have always been tougher. inside.

Comey: how's tricks, boss? i never see you anymore…

Mueller: Ashley and baby doing well?

Comey: yeah but it's not mine. i did some DOD investigating. apparently a French-American expat in a cerulean blue fuzzy Yale sweater is the father of both hers and Katy Tur's kiddos. he sweet-talked them both with his broken learning-to-speak-French-like-an-American-dumbass routine taking a language course by cassette tapes. that doofheadedness is charming. apparently. Buddha is keeping me calm.

Mueller: that company that was keeping me hostage? Toys R Us. the naked selfie was of Geoffrey the Giraffe. his neck is not his longest awkward body part. that's what took down the company. was being used as blackmail leverage by a French company, Target.

Comey: i could use a Tots R Us account as leverage in my life right now...

Fox Mulder: being in this line of work has grizzled me. i'm hard and can take stuff. look at my baby soft face. but i can't abide animal stuff, no fucking WAY! furry porn okay, animal stuff no way.

Scully: no live giraffes. live births only.

Brian Williams: i'm the Williams brother. ready for the 10 Most this year, darlin' darling?

Nicolle Wallace: don't call me that. why do we keep doing these things in a weird smelly kitchenette luncheonette at NBC Studios? why do you keep that same blue fuzzy Christmas sweater?

Brian: i thought you liked this one. okay, ready. ready? the 10 Most Reasons Why YOU Say You Won't Take Me Back.

Nicolle: Brian, we had an affair, there's no taking back! we had to return to our respective families.

Brian: why'd you wear those tight black leather rocker-chick pants for Comey and not me?

Nicolle: i like tall men. look, it was a fuck and a small round stool and now it's over. here. while we still have the vending machine over there, here are a few gold coins i found on the street, get yourself something nice. maybe a TheraFlu Keurig cup, you have that sweater look of a man who enjoys his TheraFlu in a brown mug with the teabag slightly out dangling.

at the ESPN Studios, Molly Qerim is tusslin'. with Stephen A Smith like every mindgratingly morning.

Molly: why do you suddenly get to read the announcements headlines? the stiffs at Upper Management think your voice has more flava? they don't like my squeaky squawky Minnie voice? but it's just a normal girl voice. this is the Man reasserting his privilege, tryna squeeze me out of my own deal and edge me over the cliff like Tom Brady.

Stephen A Smith: the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away my privileges. and giveth away again. you, Mollywood, are revoked. Samuel L Jackson, can't tell the difference, right? we each got that middle-finger initial. but there is so much of you to squeeze out, Molly Hard Wood, you ain't going out without a nice back-and-forth! you're practically black now, right?

Molly: i swear, my headache is growing on my fivehead. need to go to bed and bedache. pronounced be-DAWCHI. the workplace has become a living hell ever since the Cowbots won the Super Bowl! the thing is, nobody actually knows WHO who won the Super Bowl! i can't hate cos i can't speculate. but i damn well know i can't tolerate.

Stephen: nobody knows. but i don't want to find out. finna. i know the Cowboys won and those fans will be after me with pitchforks and fires. literally. i am so mad right now and for the rest of my life, i hate Cowboy fans! except those cowboy fans that put out open-range cookout fires, those will prove useful, all dem cowboy hats are gonna burn with me!!!

Max: i hate it when i'm waiting for the ESPN Scroll to turn so i get the NEWS news and RIGHT as the NEWS news is about to hit, the commercial comes! some car max commercial thing which removes the scroll! when it comes back, of course, the NEWS has moved on...gotta wait another half hour for it to rear its ugly head again…that hurts my sensibilities...

Molly: you're cute when you're in your feelings, Max.

the crones are at Cape Disappointment.

Gladyce: i need a light. no, not a cig flame, a light, i can't see with my glasses.

Doryce: i need a yurt. to eat yogurt in. and to fuck in. creamy yogurt in a can.

Gladyce: there's something missing from the Store.

Doryce: yeah, they used soft lighting this time, gave the place a whole new warm inviting feeling, it was nice, changed it without having to do a makeover. they need to invent chocolate-chip cookies that taste like fresh-from-the-oven after you microwave them. can we not wait 30 minutes? for good sex? we need to cheat and use the better oven to simulate the old greasy oven. the flavor without burning my fingers. like heated-up anal.

Gladyce: you taught me simulated sex doesn't count. my teeth can't take all that cookie sugar. i think they have those, dear, you just warm up any prepackaged precut storebought readymade already-circular hard cookies in the microwave and you're there.

Eye Luggage: ...and so i'm telling him, what does it say that for American Hollywoodism exceptionalism that no American Hollywood actors got the part of The Grinch, a British foreigner expat actor doing a cheap American accent got the part! step ya game up, America! for that Oscars host. let Paris Jackson to do it, it'll keep her distracted, she needs to keep busy…

Dirg: that's what I said. Steven Universe finale, go.

Eye: that's what I say.

Dirg: everything that's already been said has been said. that was the series finale. nothing more to do. don't turn the show into a SpongeBob for added cash. tv-movies should always be shown in theatres.

Laertus: speaking of Paris, Zach Callison's last uke solo song with the somber timbre strings wasn't sad cos he thought the show was ending, he was mentally ill and questioning life. that finale had so much packed into it, it had too much, too much to take, for anybody.

Dirg: that's a show subject Untouchable Sugar should tackle sweetly. suicide has always for me been a more controversial topic than trans coming-out LGBTotherletter no-sex genderfuck comfortable with your female side emoprog spectrum cable rights, right? they're both the same thing, right?

Eye: they kind of obliquely reference it with the drill. i would have used a hammer. hang in there, Zach, me and all your fans globalwide are here with you. you have created a changed culture forever for the better.

Laertus: uh yeah, that's just the thing tho. if you have a million online friends, you really have no friends. it's like quarterbacks in the NFL. are you really here for him? in his space? in his head?

Pedro and Judd visit a fiery speech by Randy Shilts. in a church converted to a town hall and governed by no man. the pews are on fire, separating ones from people worried and praying with one eye open. Randy throws mounds of dog poo at the spraypainted signs being held up and hoisted with wood splinters swayed by putrid protesters. protesters from Westboro.

Randy: see this Bible in my hairy hand? i shit on it. i throw dog poo at you! Westboro? what a joke! you borrow Western culture for your own evil ends. Westworld is coming...it already came...

Judd: i'm not comfortable here. i don't like these tactics, they're dangerous.

Pedro: man up, Judd! he is the AIDS activist we need! and deserve! to win the war! he of the bloodied elbow and broken backbone! we need those who will fight for our cause! die for it! before dying of it!

Randy: they call me Shits. so here i am, throwing shit. throwing truth bombs like fire. look at me, i will paint my own portrait on my own Wikipedia page when Wikipedia becomes a thing, i'm like if Bob Ross painted his draft card instead of burned it. if you knock me down here, i will become more powerful than you can ever imagine. i am unarmed and my both arms are wide open like Jesus, exposing my chest, go on, take the shot, i know where your Leader is, in Hell, i saw him there.

a silver shot is fired from the pew crowd. the crow crows. the bullet strikes Randy directly in the chest of his heart then flies off in an angle straight up into the clouded sky. screams overtake singe.

Cory: are you Geoffrey the Giraffe?

Geoff: no, but you're close. i was right under your nose.

Cory: we can't see each other anymore, Geoff.

Geoff: is it cos i'm white?

Cory: well, yeah. it just wouldn't work out with a white girl like me.

Geoff: but you're giving up on so much of the world with your limited thinking. you're dismissing me outright, you're not seeing me for who i really am. don't you see?

Geoff shows Cory the bullet inbetween his teeth, that same silver bullet.

Geoff: i've been Belvedere the dog this whole time. you missed your chance at happiness, honey. you didn't learn the lesson.

Cory: fuck me...…...can i have one more lick on my face for the road?

at the NBC Studios, Pedro is setting up for an interview with President George Bush, who won Reelection by defeating Bill Clinton.

George: you look weak. did you vote for me, son? or are you one of those new sisters?

Pedro: no, my T cell count is low.

George: what's it been now, two decades? the Republicans will never lose again! i see, weak, not well. i'll make sure the public never finds out about you, let you keep your privacy. my son will serve pizzas one day. a day the President won't be allowed.

it went from there...

Mohammed is revving up his pregame crowd on the stage, getting them warmed for the show. a silver spark shines in his large hand with black hairy pimples.

Mohammed: i know we artists lie all the time, it's our jobs. but this time it's different, the preshow won't be the best part, stay for the show, folks, i promise you won't be sorry. you're gonna see something you'll never get etched out of your head again. with a crowbar or pencil. fire me up, fam!

the cornrowed crowd roars with an underbelly wave that rocks underneath the stage. Mo stomps on the rusty plankboards, making little holes bigger, and shapes the silver object in his hand. his headbanging to the opening riff is a little silly with his shaved head. to the audience's gasps, the object is not the mic but the gun, that same silver gun.

Mohammed: NOW IS THE TIME!!! check your watches, everybody.

Mohammed commits suicide. time stands still forever, everyone's watches are forever etched dead on a Rolex crystal with a picture of a milkman on its face. perfect scratch of the DJ record records. the force of the blast is so strong it knocks Mo's head back to the point where he regrows all of his lost braids, cornrows, and dreadlocks. Mo turns into a giant blue naked genie with no tail point, no end.

Mo: do you NOW see?/ they can't rid of me!/ love is not free/ <but death is>/ i am now an indestructible idea!/ ideal that cannot squeal/ they can't forget what they see/ i am the stray dog nobody ever sees/ the man never given a chance to succeed/ cos of my T/ respected by C/ that's the real tea

Mo: see, i have now become what every black man is in this country society: invisible. my own very music led me down this path. i can better see my people's plight from down here, from this angle, all my dark-skinned peoples from all over, it's over. i have read the holy feature script, secured it, and optioned it to Hollywood Hell. i can help now, not just wish, i AM the Blue Genie! like Robin Williams---the best Williams in his field---shown at this very moment walking the sacred Sanfran steps of this city, his city, in HIM do i follow the steps. i am the fulsome ancient African spirit. i AM spirit. life is not about the love, it is about the lodge, i can assist from this side of the aisle cos now i am the thought/ thought personified, a thought in waking life. i am the Islamic tonic! taking back our country before it's too late. me, the late.

Mohammed: i am the BILAL!!!