Podcasts about big hollywood

Trey almost landed a role in a Christmas movie, but his comedy tour got in the way—was this his big Hollywood break?! Plus, we debate the correct way to say "pajamas," talk about the chaos of too many birthday parties, and uncover some sketchy rental property trap doors. Visit http://www.BasicCellars.com Use code "RECTIE" for 33% off Get 2 high quality, Carbon Fiber paddles for only $99 http://www.fridaypickle.com Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

In this episode, Caitlin O’Connor: Small-Town Roots, Big Hollywood Success, we sit down with Caitlin O'Connor, a multi-talented actress, TV... The post Caitlin O’Connor: Small-Town Roots, Big Hollywood Success appeared first on WebTalkRadio.net.

Robach and Holmes cover the latest news headlines and entertainment updates and give perspective on current events in their daily “Morning Run.”See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Phoenix Wright takes on BIG HOLLYWOOD! Or...big Japaniforniawood? Become a patron at https://www.patreon.com/ultrahopegirlspod to get access to extra content for as little as $2/month! Learn more about the Ultra Hope Girls: http://ultrahopegirls.com Twitter: https://twitter.com/ultra_podcast Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ultrahopegirls/ TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@ultrahopegirls?lang=en

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Here are today's BIG Hollywood stories.

This week we interview our friend from afar Liam Crowley as we talk about the WWE, Liam and Derek's predictions around the biggest drama going on, interviewing people like Channing Tatum and Scarlett Johansen, and much more!

Blacklisted actor Kevin Spacey is fighting to revive his career after being cleared of sexual assault. Spacey's been acquitted on nine charges - and won a civil lawsuit, where he was accused of an unwanted sexual advance. Now big industry names, including Sharon Stone and Liam Neeson, are speaking up for the 64-year-old's Hollywood return.US reporter Anthony Davis says victims' stories seem to be missing. "In all the coverage that I've seen, including the right of reply opportunities that Kevin Spacey has had, there's no mention of these 10 people who have placed the latest allegations." LISTEN ABOVESee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

In this episode of the Ruthless Variety Program, the fellas dive into a bizarre yet fascinating tale. RFK has brain worms—yes, brain worms! This strange phenomenon allegedly caused severe memory loss and mental fogginess, sparking a series of surprising medical investigations. We dissect this wild story with the signature mix of deep analysis and humorous commentary, offering insights that are as informative as they are entertaining. Plus, don't miss an in-depth conversation with Larry O'Connor from WMAL and Town Hall. Ashbrook sits down with Larry to discuss his transition from Andrew Breitbart's Big Hollywood to becoming a well-known voice in conservative media. Larry shares valuable insights into the challenges and transformations within the media industry, reflecting on his experiences and the evolving dynamics of media and politics.  With thoughtful analysis, engaging stories, and witty dialogue, this episode provides essential insights for anyone interested in media, politics, or the strange intersections of health and public figures. Don't miss out on this compelling blend of entertainment and enlightenment. Tune in now and join the conversation!  Take the next step to improving your health, go to Lumen.me and use code "ruthless" to get $100 off your Lumen.  Check out this great new site from our sponsor Americans for Prosperity: Bidenomics.com

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Jerah Milligan is a Washington D.C.-born actor, comedian, director and writer. His short film MAHOGANY DRIVE recently screened at the Slamdance Film Festival. Previously, Jerah co-created and starred in Netflix's ASTRONOMY CLUB, produced by Kenya Baris and Dan Powell. Recently, Jerah directed the sketch segments of Yvonne Orji's latest HBO Special: A WHOLE ME. Other directing credits include Showtime's DESUS & MERO. In front of the camera, Jerah can next be seen in the short JAMAAL, directed by Yvonne Orji for Powderkeg. His acting credits also include Netflix's “Black Mirror,” “Broad City,” “Blue Bloods,” “Chicago P.D.,” “The Detour,” and Apple TV+'s “Helpsters”. He's also been featured in sketches for Above Average, Funny or Die, College Humor and Girl Code. Jerah is a co-host of the podcast, Black Men Can't Jump, in Hollywood.Mentioned in the episode:The Death of the Artist: How Creators Are Struggling to Survive in the Age of Billionaires and Big TechTakeawaysNavigating predominantly white comedy spaces can be challenging for black comedians.The entertainment industry is filled with struggles and personal failures, but it's important to keep pushing forward.Supporting and celebrating others' success is crucial, even when facing personal challenges.Nepotism is a prevalent issue in Hollywood that can hinder opportunities for aspiring artists. The entertainment industry can be challenging, and success often requires perseverance and resilience.Backdoor maneuvering and taking unconventional paths can sometimes be necessary to achieve success.Diversity and representation in the industry are important, and there is a need for more opportunities for underrepresented voices.The relationship between artists and their representatives can be complex, and it is important to find a balance between advocating for oneself and trusting the expertise of the rep.Celebrating wins, no matter how small, is important for maintaining motivation and perspective in a competitive industry. Code-switching is a necessary skill in the entertainment industry, especially when pitching to predominantly white audiences.Speaking up about mistreatment and holding people accountable is essential for creating positive change in the industry.Career challenges and setbacks are common, but they can provide valuable learning experiences.Perfecting the pitch and being thoroughly prepared can greatly increase the chances of success.Trusting in your own voice and embracing your unique quirks can set you apart and lead to success.   Episode Credits:Produced and hosted by Charla LauristonTheme song and Segment Jingles composed and produced by Brendan ByrnesCanva Artwork by Daiana Cordo Join hundreds of ambitious writers and creatives learning how to take their career to the next level with The Werking Writer newsletter. WHERE TO FIND THE WERKING WRITER thewerkingwriter.comInstagramLinkedInYoutube

Part 2: Paul Hutchinson: The Sound of Freedom, Liberating Humanity . Join me for the next two deeply engrossing episodes of The Dov Baron Show podcast as we delve into the $48 billion asset management world, the shocking contemporary slave trade, the American connection, and how Hollywood snubbed one of the biggest independent movies in history.  . Our guest, Paul Hutchinson, was the primary investor and Executive Producer of one of the most successful independent movies in history, and he held a pivotal role in the largest child rescue operation in history.  . "Sound of Freedom" is a 2023 film you may never have heard of, but it's a true story of a former government agent turned vigilante who rescues children from human traffickers and it's a must-see.  . Paul's work with the Child Liberation Foundation has led to over 70 undercover rescue missions in 15 countries, contributing to rescuing over 5,000 children. He has been recognized and honored many times including:  . Recipient of the Ellis Island Medal of Honor The 2022 International Medal of Freedom Recipient of the Race Award from Harvard Business School Board Member of the Federal Enforcement Homeland Security Foundation Board Member of the FBI Citizens Academy . Don't miss out on this powerful story of how Paul Hutchinson and his team are actively changing the lives of invisible children worldwide.   . Website https://liberating-humanity.com www.liberatechildren.org www.PaulHutchinsonOfficial.com  . Social Media https://www.linkedin.com/in/paulhutch https://www.instagram.com/liberating.humanity . Part 2: From Horror To a Spiritual Journey of Healing Fox, Disney, and Legal Battles to Bring the Most Successful Indi Movie To Screens When Everyone from Big Hollywood to Amazon to Netflix Says No Circumventing The Hollywood Machine The Challenging of Family Values The Epstein Operation, Controlling Votes and Policy  How Much Money Does It Take to Be Invited Behind the Curtain Negotiating a Multi-Million Dollar Real Estate Deal with Traffickers The Moment When You, an 11-Year-Old Girl, is Made a Gift  The Beauty Queen Trafficker From Terrified Crying Children to Hearing the Sound of Freedom Healing The Ego  Getting The Kids Out of Hell Getting Hell out of The Kids Earthquakes and Natural Disasters the Traffickers Playground Border Control to Protect Trafficked Children The Political Lies That Stop Both Sides from Ending Child S3X Slav.ery The #1 Thing You Can Do to Protect Your Children! .  . Dov Baron's brand new course has just been released on coursifyx.com/belonging ------------- Titled: "CREATING A CULTURE OF BELONGING." The course is separated into eight sections that will take you by the hand and walk you through exactly how to create a culture of belonging. Because: CREATING A CULTURE OF BELONGING MAXIMIZES PERSONAL AND CORPORATE SUCCESS. Get Ready to strap on the tanks and Dive Deep into, What it Takes to Create a Culture of Belonging in your organization! Curious to know more? coursifyx.com/belonging    "Those Who Control Meaning for The Tribe, Also Control The Movement of That Tribe" #videopodcast #leadership #leadershipdevelopment #emotionsourcecode #neuroscience #emotional #meaning #emotional #logic #culture #curiosity #humanbehavior #purpose

Lewis has a theory about Big Hollywood. Hing is caught in a media storm of gold(en showers).

HAPPY FRIDAY CREEK TALKERS!!

Today's top stories with NewsRadio WFLA's Chris Trenkmann featured the latest in Washington as the GOP continues to search for a new Speaker Of The House. Also the latest on Israel at war with Hamas, plus how some of the biggest blockbusters are continuing to be delayed due to the writers strike in Hollywood.

 Pags and Author Christopher Rufo Expose the Left's Takeover: Analyzing the Domination of Big Tech, Big Media, Big Govt, Big Sports, Big Hollywood, and Big Academia. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

 Pags and Author Christopher Rufo Expose the Left's Takeover: Analyzing the Domination of Big Tech, Big Media, Big Govt, Big Sports, Big Hollywood, and Big Academia. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Holmberg's Morning Sickness - Wednesday July 19, 2023 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Holmberg's Morning Sickness - Wednesday July 19, 2023 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

After the ancient alien mystic chak Chel merges with supacree, she leads her on a wild adventure though space and time as the worlds newest superhero, helping supacree to master her powers and abilities, and helping her to escape the clutches of the evil and largely unknown evils of the multiverse— Meeting worlds and Banding together witb characters from infinite multidimensional worlds and realms… THE LEGEND OF SUPACREE LEGENDS GERALD'S WORLD OWSLA CONFIDENTIAL: THE INFINITE SKRILLIFILES ENTER THE MULTIVERSE DEATHWISH ASCENSION THE SECRET LIFE OF SUNNÏ BLŪ SCARY MONSTERS & SUPACREE THE INSOMNIAC &MORE FROM [The Festival Project.™] SEASON 6 ACT III Part I MONTAGE: Clique, Cruel Summer Kanye West, JAY-Z & Big Sean EXT. DOWNTOWN LOS ANGELES. BROAD ASS DAYLIGHT SUPACREE has unlocked 100% Of her ABILITIES GOD MODE UNLOCKED SUPACREE EXITS EQUINOX FITNESS CLUB AT LIGHTSPEED, Hitting the pavement with swift force, splitting into three dimensional selves; SUNNI BLŪ to her left and A MYSTERIOUS, unknown ALTER EGO to her right, she shifts quickly to the beat of the music, morphing into and out of parallels of the outer world, opening and closing portals, and encapsulating anything and everything within her force field—which happens to be the whole of GREATER LOS ANGELES. Damn. If I put my heart inside a box; Maybe I'd forget how cold it was Or how far you are Or how much it hurts There's no harm in God, If there ever was one Then, reality sets in: God was my only friend No armor on, I'm at the end Of a long, long walk I'm off again And on again Nothing's impossible— stop at the alter and scoff a bit I left my coat on, I left my heart on the rooftop, A sacrifice, love At the alter, I wonder a song, Or a sonnet A song, No, what's wrong? Something's off a bit God, I woke up in a coffin once Isn't that awful? The rest or the song wrote itself, At the alter No, I can't stop and talk Got to get off, Cause I've never been on I've never belonged in the world What have we done? This is bad, brother. That's a construct. Everything's a construct! Get ahold of yourself. Get ahold of—you know what? I do know. You think you're fuckin' clever. I am clever. You're a sick man. That's my business. Yeah, well—you made it my business. I am you. What a concept. *construct. God, help you! [sideways evil smirk] Hehe. SPAM! ON TACOS! BUTTERS Oh—Jesus! WHO PUTS SPAM ON TACOS?! A smart man. C'mon, Butters. We gotta get lost in the sauce before we try this out. I'MMA TRY IT OUT. OK. GOD, OH, GOD, PLEASE— MERCIFUL GOD IN HEAVEN— (WhT.) JUST— DON'T LET IT BE SKRILL AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. Fuxk. What. She took the train. Which fucking train. I don't know. The train. THE A TRAIN, or the B TRAIN?! HEY. WHAT, you motherfucking idiot? I THINK I LOVE YOU. Well, stop thinking. Ok. JIMMY FALLON THE COSMIC AVENGER has been kidnapped— He's like 50 years old. He's been dad-napped. —by the MOB. The MOB?! He's into some dark shit. Wait, he is?! In this series. He has been tied to a chair, which sits under a single spotlight in a shabby, dark room in NEW JERSEY. Ew, New Jersey. JIMMY THE MOBSTER Hi, Jimmy— JIMMY FALLON —uh—hello. JIMMY THE MOBSTER I'm Jimmy. JIMMY FALLON Oh, that's ironic. [beat] JIMMY THE MOBSTER I'm gonna kill you, Jimmy. GOD If I give you a serious role, how are you gonna handle it? JIMMY FALLON like a pro. GOD don't lie to me, Jimmy. JIMMY FALLON What?! I'm not! My body, heart, mind, and soul was being attacked— I had 15 minutes to vacate the property and couldn't even focus—I had to use the bathroom so badly it hurt my soul. I was pacing back and forth, choking back ugly tears—the rude man in the room across the way still occupying the bathroom which I needed, both to clean and relieve myself—but it had been hell, after all, and needs like these had been proven to be in short supply. Fuck. This is a gun to your head. Just do it. [he moves the pistol into her mouth] Now it's in your mouth. [she unhinges her jaw to open it wider, never breaking eye contact and relaxes; he studies his hand on the grip of the tripper, ready to lill] You'll die today. [A comfort; as she relaxes, he as well changes—this seems to take the fun of killing away from him, he exacts the gun from her mouth] CONT'D You like that? I love it— You're dead, bitch! Yes, I am! A penniless whore. Whores get paid— Then, even less— What's less than this? A dead bitch. Think again. I don't think, I just shoot; Sounds like a man. Oh, I am. Then kill me with your hands. Jesus Christ, man. He can't help. No one can help you. So just shoot. [he can't] SUNNI. )&2&;@2@2$ YOU ARE OUT OF CONTROL. SUCK MY DICK. AGHHJJJ. Well. TMZ is here. This is a disaster. NEXT, WE LEARN: THE Oh my God. WhT. This is probably the worst thing I've ever written. Not the worst. Nope: it is the worst. Maybe it's just bad on paper. It's bad no matter how you — CONTROL, JANET PRIVACY. Here. Wtf is this. LEGENDS: FAME SCHOOL Christopher Walken was one of my professors in fame school For acting? For music. For music? That doesn't make any sense. Please, don't make me explain this. A FACE BATTLE CHRISTOPHER WALKEN vs. SUPACREE -_- —__^ *_- ^__ __/ *_* >< … —-__—- Ok. Alright. Show me what you got. SUPACREE plays a beat. You know where this is going. We all know where this is going. CHRISTOPHER WALKEN that was OK. “OK”?! Yeah. *shrugs* OK. You know what— You know what it needs? …what's it need? —-more cowbell. I beg your pardon. Please, don't beg. It was perfect. It was OK. You're not OK. —maybe I'm not. You're definitely not. —know what helps? Don't tell me: More fucking cowbell. Lol. ⅔ ain't bad. Wait, two out or three?! Which one didn't I— —FUCK. What, what happened? They're onto me. THE BAMPHERAMPS, MOTHERFUCKING BAMPHERAMPHS, and THE ASCENDED MASTERY has assembled in NEW YORK CITY to stage a coup. It's a coup d'état. There sure is a lot of French shit over here. Well yeah, it's Paris. Wait. What, what now? If SUPACREE is in Paris. NIGGAZ. Right—then— Who the fuck are they chasing in New York. [just waking up] Why am I in New York? WHOOPI GOLDBERG you got anyplace else to be? …no. MEANWHILE, IN ROME. Fanculo! Really, dude. Apparently. A tear in my head; A rip in my soul, And the fabric of— Coming undone at the whole; I make sense of it all at the alter, The fall; To have fought in the war, And then lost, or to suffer at all Love was lost, I was never a martyr— Blood on the cross, And the crossroads, The frost and the stardust, “There's no God” For the honorable, Stuck in New York, But defrosting my toes, At the forefront I haven't once wondered or thought Of the love that I was, Since I stopped throwing rocks at the church Or got off on the wrong stop; What a puzzle, To jump off, Or rot in the heart of The hub— World of wonders, A mother of suns, Never wanted a daughter so much Unpunishment, Loved was the Duchess; To carry a crutch or a cross— So unbothered, untouched, So heartless and dark, For the marksman—a spark Or the dog does not bark At the horses You're in the clear, hero. Heartless, she was! Now, now—settle down. This is an absolute outrage. Is it, now? I say so! Maybe you shouldn't. Faro, a word, I've got three. I'll go first. [a smug look] What's happened here? A ressurection, sir. Care to explain? I said ‘three.' Where's the King? My palms grew numb as my throbbing heartache welled up into the back of my throat and sat perched up against my growling stomach, stuffed with beans and rice, perhaps to fill the sadness or satiate my need for protein, either one. ASCENSION If you're going to vomit, step away from me. —I'm not sick. Actually, step out of my house. This is your house? —I live here. —no one lives here. What did you think it was? an elaborate cave. It is—an elaborwte cave— —excuse my ignorance. You're excused entirely. —I appreciate that. I meant, from here. You should go. Faro, wait. No more waiting; you were uninvited. Trust me—this visitation is more necessary than voluntary. That's—a lot of words. I don't speak caveman. Just—get out. Listen: No more listening— It's about C'esme't. It always is. This is important. It always is. It concerns you. It always does. —? Wait. [a heavy sigh] [a long silence] Come with me. FARO leads GÍAN towards the back of his quarters. Close the door. I— what? Nevermind. You're useless. Ehrm—excuse me. Excused, your majesty. FARO opens a SECRET PASSAGEWAY into a FUTURISTIC CORIDOR, leading GÍAN into a vast FORTRESS. balls. Uh. My stomach in knots And my life is in ruins Constellations all gone, And my heart, on the border of hurt— And mistrust So unlovable, loveless— Promises, scars and the art was devoured Ah— she was awful; Ah—she must have lost her mind God, she was homeless, And loveless, And wild eyed All that I wanted, Was to get lost in the lobby, Before the whole ball dropped —and watch the false phropet Collide wirh the comet Stop: I lost God at the crosswalk, The punishment was Homeless Now watch this: This is what I wanted: Doesn't really matter now, Does it? Oh, doesn't it. God, this is Lucifer. Son, it's an honor. No God for a mother, who walks on her own. Now it's over or under. It's over. It never got started. I locked up my heart with the piñata. How irrelevant. How awkward. How curse words turn to mantras. How I have half a heart Or, like ⅓ We're being honest, now. I thought Illuminati wanted hotties and Caucasians. Well, I guess that'll explain, Why you've been stuck inside a cage, then. NICK CAGE is an extremely skilled time traveler. Ok. WHOOPI GOLDBERG has freed herself from the cage in which SUPACREE had skillfully trapped the OWL OF THE GOLDEN EYE. WhT a prophecy. MEANWHILE, AT HOGWARTS. HOGWARTS, 2023. ANANDAR is HEADMASTER. Ah, fuck. I'm gonna puke. All I wanted was to shamelessly watch the man's balls swing like a pendulum... Well, here's this instead. Oh no, it's Skrillex. Now you have to— —now I have to watch this. Why. Cause I've already seen that. I hate you. I hate you. SOLD, to the lady in red. Damn. Slavery is cool. Yeah, I guess. FUCK. What. Idk. BITCH. GET OUT THE BASEMENT; I'm in the attick What you think this is? Lights, camera, action: Now that attractions been well established I should get back to it, I'm in the attic Lighting up matches, Fixin my holes up with patches Callin it classic Call me an asshole, I can't be mad man, I am a mad man, I bring the mask back To Handle a trash can Get out the basement. I told you he could dance. A GIANT DRAGON Oh shit, here it comes. FIRE. DILLON FRANCIS I Well. We're gonna die. DILLON FRANCIS II If she throws up, I get a pickle. DILLON FRANCIS III That's a deal. DILLON FRANCIS II And if she cries, I get a French poodle named Angelina Jolie. DILLON FRANCIS III Righteous. DILLON FRANCIS II Yur damn right. A GIANT DRAGON FLIES OVERHEAD, SWEEPING THE SKIES WITH FIRE AND LIGHTNING. DILLON FRANCIS I (CONT'D) Yeah, we're definitely fucked. Why are you dressed like Froto. FROTO (in background, dressed exactly alike) That is offensive! SHUTTHEFUCKUP. It's the end of the world! (At least as we know it) IS THAT SKRILLEX? FIRE BREATHING DRAGON. Well, it was. What the fuck HAPPENED?! Is that its final form? Yes it is. I'll give you one million dollars. That's not enough. This card is priceless. What is this. Like a Pokémon game?! This whoops Pokémon's ass. This is LEGENDS. LIL' BIIIITZ Yo! New York is CRAZY First of all, how is it all of a sudden CLEANER THAN LA?! New York's like: here —we sent all the nasty people to LA. All better. Polarity shift! LA is gross now! New York cleaned up! The trains are nice —shit— All the trash is in BAGS. I was like “Whaaaaaaat” this is nice. What the fuck. This shit different! Unh. they exported all the nasty, crazy motherfuxkers to LA. On GOD. Cause every other psychologically twisted individual I talk to in LA is like: “I'M FROM NEW YORK” *hawks loogie, spits* Uhhhhh… I was going on a little European adventure; New York's like: “You know, you never stay long…” I'm like “There's a reason for that…welp, gotta go.” The whole universe fucked around and was like— “You know what? We like you here. Stay. “ What. “STAY.” Fuck. New York is different. Won't say I love it — But goddamn, I like it! People are rude. People are rude as fuck. I'm used to LA where people are fake nice For fuckin tips and shit, you know? Everybody's trying to get famous for something, Or something. Idk. Fake as fuck. Fake nice. Fake happy. Fake titties. Fake lips. Just fucking fake. fake everything. Everything is plastic. —and it's not tied up in garbage bags, either. It's just plastic, and trash, and piss everywhere. It's so gross. You see Venice Beach on the movies: It's all clean and beautiful, and picturesque. You get there, it's like Skid Row + Skid Row Coastal. LA has millions of homeless people everywhere. In cars, in tents. Under bridges. Everywhere. And I love LA! I really do. But it's fake. Everything is fake. New York is real as fuck. Yeaaah. Almost too real. But I like it. You don't have to fuckin fake shit. People don't say “excuse me—“ No. You're never forced to say “good morning “ before you had your coffee! Yuh! New York is doing it right. People sleep on the train— But nobody lives on that motherfucker! I was in New York like a week before the shock wore off that there were not hundreds of individuals on every train wreaking of piss and smoking crack openly—YES—illicit drug use on trains in LA is extremely casual. Everything in LA is casual. People wear pajamas to work. Yeah—that. Everyone in New York looks like they're going to eat at a five-star restaurant. Like all the time. No socks-with-slides. EW. I swore to God socks with slides was a sign of the apocalypse; I get to New York, none of that—but the cringy thing in New York is Crocs With Socs. Now mmmm we're bi-coastal. Socks-with-slides; Crocs-with-socks. Knock that shit off. TACKY. other than that, though… NY is cool. It's chic. It's fun. You gotta be careful though. You gotta watch out. I thought LA drivers were crazy. New York drivers are fucking psychotic. Pedestrians don't have the right of way. At all. If you're in a crosswalk in LA even if the light is red, people will stop and let you go. In New York you better wait for the fuckin walk sign. They will kill you. It's okay. 6 millions ways to die: choose one! Just kidding. That's some west coast shit. But I did see a whole ass mural of Snoop Dogg in Brooklyn and get slightly confused— Till I realized everything on it was the color blue, and I was deadass in the middle of Brooklyn going “What? Ohhhhh! Wait! The Crips!” “Those guys are everywhere!” Lol. Its a nation wide disorganization. Lol. Whatever. I like New York. Doing my best not to love it, So the universe doesn't balance me out by showing me what to hate about it So far, so good New York drivers don't play. I never seen a school bus drift before! DAMN. Almost got hit by a short bus. Oh, the irony. I saw a dude do a whole ass wheelie on an electric scooter. Not a moped, by the way. An electric scooter. Yup. New Yoooooork. BEDFORD AVENUE, BROOKLYN, NY. THE BAMPHERAMPHS have initiated SEQUENCE C I like New York. I gotta say. It IS like LA In the way that I know I can't live in New York if I'm not just filthy fucking rich. Cause, you know—there's still homelessness; But unlike in LA, where you just wander around, smelling like piss, begging for change— You freeze to death. A quick solution! Haha! (It's not funny.) but whatever. America. I thought I was leaving; I got trapped in the matrix. I was like “Fuck this place.” They're like: “stay! We need slaves!” I'm like FUCK. So I got stuck in New York. Ugh. At least it's a “free state” I made it north, ma! Not exactly the safest place to get stuck with no money, either, is it? Really nowhere is safe with no money. I mean, I know of some places south of the border you can live, basically free and just, you know—sleep in a hammock, sing for change and shit. Roam the beach. I know people that do that— it's just- I like showers. I don't love showers. Cause then, I'm sure God would find a way to take that away, too. I don't love anything anymore. Once you love something—it either goes away, or it burns you. Or both. Can't love things. Can't love people. No more love. Just—appreciate—things. Just—like—things, you know? Don't love anything. Speaking of suicidal tendencies. Hahah. You know what else is cool about New York? The trains actually come into the station fast enough to kill you. Like—you've had enough? Okay: here it is. Just to save you a trip to the Empire State Building. This train is coming in at 304 miles an hour and is somehow gonna stop in 3 seconds. —maybe 2 seconds, if you do jump— Better think fast! They almost come too fast, for suicide. Ready, set— Dammit. Missed it again. They're so fast. The trains in LA stopped going suicide-fast like, a couple years ago—maybe, just before the pandemic—I think. They're like “You know what! This is happening too often. I am ALWAYS late to my other two jobs ‘cause someone killed themselves on my train! Fuck!” LA's like: “Well fuck this, all the slaves are killing themselves on the trains.” “Damn, that sucks” LA's like “Yeah, okay so: here's what we do; we'll put up signs for a suicide hotline at the popular jumping points” “LA's like: okay” “And—we'll tell the train operators they gotta slow down coming into the station—“ “That'll do it!” “—that way, If they still do decide to jump, they'll just get paralyzed, and contribute to the opioid crisis: more funding for big pharma!” “Yes, it's genius!” “—unless they're black, or on Medicaid, then: we'll send em home with some ibuprofen and make sure they collect disability, so that they can become addicted to crack, or something like that —you know.” “Yes. That's perfect.” Good Job LA. I get lost in New York. I'll be on New York like “YO, WHERE THE FUCK AM I AT?” “In New York” GODDAMMIT. You know what else is weird about New York? Personal space is not a thing. I mean, “space” is not a thing at all, anyway. But “Personal space”? No. People will not only sit by you; The'll siT ON you. Yo. I had just got to New York— I had all my luggage with me— And this lady gets on the train; She's got a broom. Idk what for, but okay; She gets onto the train, She looks around, and I guess she decides she wants the seat next to me. So like I said, I have all my stuff l so I'm a little spread out, but there's room— But you know what she does? She looks me straight in the eye And then just hits me with her broom. I was like —-?!? I'm thinking, “Okay is she racist or is that just a New York thing?” Like, “you can just hit people with shit!? damn!” What's funny is, I kinda respected her for that. She was old. Didn't say a word, just “bam” Like—- ‘move!' I'm like “okay!” New York is so classy. Girls wear panty hose, and stockings. I'm like “wow, that's actually nice. That's so wholesome! Tights?! Yeah!” It's so classy. I don't think girls in LA even wear regular panties. Let alone panty hose. Get it—panty—Hoes. I see correlation. You know what else is cool about New York. It's less racist. I mean- There's so much diversity, there's almost no room to be racist. It's crazy. So many people. So many colors. So much culture. So many languages! I hear languages I can't even place. I thought I was good. I'm in LA, I'm like, “Okay, that's Chinese—“ “That's Japanese” “That's Korean” “Farsi” I get to New York— I'm in the Delicstessen. Thats another thing. Nothing like a real, New York delicatessen. That's what “deli” is short for, by the way, everyone not from New York. It's “delicatessen” Lol. Anyway. I'm standing in the Deli and I hear some shit that—I'm not gonna lie— was actually quite alarming, as a native English speaker. I'm standing there, and this guy behind me literally over my shoulder says, “Blooppnsmabhoan ammaoakb amansbaiL aannaoka snkaoakmnlblblblnlnl!!!!” I'm like what the FUCK. This isn't REAL. “Blblblana. Akakma alak Akakamaamna!” I'm shoooook. What IS that!!? I like New York. The girls aren't all evil soulless heart eating demons. They're just “regular” I have to run back to LA and tell all my guy friends, they're like “Women are evil” I'm like— “Nooo, that's just out here.” Maybe. I don't know. I like New York. I bet it's wonderful when it's warm. I don't know! Maybe that's when shit hits the fan! Maybe it's like Chicago. EVERYBODY DIES IN THE SUMMER— Who said that. Chance the Rapper, I think. I don't know. LEGENDS: FAMESCHOOL This move is called: The “Slap-Dicksuck.” [carefully taking notes] “slap-dick-suck”…okay… hmm.. Now, class. [raises hand curiously] Yes? Um. SUPACREE— —PROFESSOR SUPACREE. Um. Professor SUPACREE— Yes! Why is it called the “Slap-Dicksuck” I was about to explain that. //SLAP-DICKSUCK// NEXT: we learn THE “SLAP-DICKSUCK-SLAP” Let me guess. No, no guessing. This class is gross. I like it. Yeah, you're gross. The world is gross. Get over it. GET OVER IT, DILLON FRANCIS. *sniffes* Please, stop crying. She— *sniffles* It's okay, Dillon. She took my piñata! Your piñata set your house on fire. He sets—everything on fire— Have you ever stopped to think— —no— thinking is bad. Go get dressed. No, not today. You look like a bloated chicken nugget. —I used to like chicken nuggets. hey, Tofu daddy. This is sick. This is a sick bitch we're dealing with. I'm not dealing with anything, I quit. Quit, you can't quit. I just did. DEADMAU5 Okay, no more bodies. Ū Okay. No more bodies. DEADMAU5 Really? Ū —No. DEADMAU5 Goddammit, this is not a GAME. Ū It is a game, though—and I'm a damn good marksman. DEADMAU5 Dammit, you're right. Ū I'm always right. Come, take my hand— (I took off my ring) Do you want to do a half, or a whole thing Come, take my hand Let's sit on this swing Do you want to do a half, or a whole thing? I powered on my phone to find the digital clock exactly at 1:15, which had seemed to be creeping up again as a recurring theme, along with some other unsettling figurines—if it was a race against time, I was losing—and If, perhaps, a Holy War, I must have been some sort of Holy, as it had seemed the world's good graces had turned her back on me, and that faith dwindled more quickly in the cold than any other condition. Lay your head on my shoulder, Your cheek on my cheek, Wrap your arm round my waist, You can think what I think You can skate on thin ice You can sing what I sing And when the ice breaks; You can sink when I sink Come, take my hand— (I took off my ring) Do you want to do a half, or a whole thing Come, take my hand Let's sit on this swing Do you want to do a half, or a whole thing? It had been strange waves of everything—more than I was ready for and much more than intentionally took on, all things considered. I burned my tongue on piping hot oatmeal, trying to eat rather than write, as it seemed the time had come that I could no longer skip meals and properly function. Nearing thirty like a bullet—and at least metaphorically bleeding as if I had actually been shot, my heart and soul throbbing and gushing into a paralyzing twist or fears and woes, trapped in a foreign city with almost nothing to my name, lugging around my music equipment and very few belongings, which—when put away neatly even in the smallest room— seemed like almost nothing, but was certainly too much to carry around, especially alone. And I was, so very alone. Drake Bell and the Hollywood Spell My newest and strangest muse yet had again insisted on appearing into my dream world, for the third time, anyway—which seemed a cruel and almost disturbing subconscious attempt to conjur up what might have been the entirety of my energy to complete the 6th Season of Enter The Multiverse, at this point which had even interested me, reinvigorating my senses and at least partially restoring my faith in something, even if it was just Hollywood being Hollywood. But now, even miles away from Hollywoodland, and stranded far, far away with no conceivable way to find my way back, even if I did have a home there waiting for me—and there wasn't—there didn't seem to be a home anywhere for me at all, and with my money running well towards dry I had spent most the week dry heaving into panic attacks about where I would go, or what I would do/—especially dragging around all of my luggage and equipment, and while it was true my equipment could have easily found it's way into a pawn shop, to at least offset the impending homelessness by maybe a couple days, and a couple hundred dollars—it didn't seem quite worth it to sell my dream again, especially for the miserable existence of sharing a hostel room with whoever decided to snore or cough their way into my hellish realm of corporate slavery, lovelessness, and lack of privacy. Yes, my conciousness had summoned up this man into my dreamworld now three times, and for whatever reason, if there was one — I could consider it a charm. Had I not been working at the smokeshop what now seemed like ages ago, I might have forgotten entirely that such a person had ever existed—which I had, since the experience, for the record, at least tried to—but for some reason, disasterously couldnt; it had all awakened something serious and spiritual within my outer world, piquing my ultra conscious into a rare and bewildering curiosity that had done well to slay and murder the cat in all of its nine lives, and then some. It wasn't entirely on purpose, or without guilt that my mind seemed to inquisitively structure an entire hidden world and to form a strange and illicit bond with this fragile man creature, not that my social status or overwhelmingly average, unattractive, stranded and abandoned wastebasket of a demon, or diety whatever I was in whatever kind of light, would have much at all to do but suffer the result of having missed the bar by far, stumbling into the lower realms of the world by mere circumstance, on occasion, without notice. I was certainly thinking about it too much, and hating myself for it, a certain spark or inspiration for the Timmy Turner timelines met with the sudden flash of what may have even been a lost memory of not for all this Hollywood trauma, or dogma, whichever made sense—because none of it did, at all, besides to reverse what time had done by allowing me to forget my turbulent childhood, which couldn't matter anymore in this moment as it ever had; and though I was producing a fruitful workout at Equinox, squatting deeply into the Smith Machine and breathing deeply into my lower back, where the tension from the weight of my leftover skin met the pain in the whole of my torso, an apparent rush sent a splash of slobber out of the side of my mouth, my third eye a gaping and burning hole streaking heat across the middle of my forehead—all of a sudden the high of Nitrous Oxide filled my mind, if only for a moment—flung back into a memory nearly two decades old. “That's it.” I remembered thinking. “No more of this.” I sat down the can of keyboard cleaner on the bathroom floor. I had scared myself straight, long before I even knew what I was doing—and I didn't know at all, having been nine, or maybe 10–long before I would ever *want* to get high, not understanding that or why I needed to, anyway—or that getting “high” was what I was doing at all. No, at the time, it simply ‘felt really good', until it didn't—the particular memory which struck me in the dead center of the Equinox floor—and snapping back into my body, shaking myself out of it and leaning into the bar to stretch, taking in a deep breath and choking back an ocean of tears. “Idiot.” I'm still lost in your eyes I'll be in love with you forever Dreams Wil Be Dreams. Since departing LA, all my dreams had been strange, and I found myself growing more distant from myself, or from anything real at all, my dreams skewing into a horrid soundscape of rampant memories and false hopes of love. Finally able to seek refuge in meditation, I had been bombarded with images of Dillon Francis balancing some pretty little white girl in his lap—and though I couldn't quite unhinge the Amethyst from my possession, I had been giving it the distance I needed for something like peace of mind, without the actual peace itself at play. There had been quite the spell to break, and though it hadn't even been moderately broken—I at least knew now what magic I was dealing with. Dillon Hart Francis was a powerful magician—perhaps too powerful, and with that I took my strides into gatekeeping at the very least, since no peace could be made. I could love with a wholesome heart, but a tarnished mind and a gated soul would simply not outlast the infinite journey. Though I had been illicitly carfeful not to look him in the eye last we did meet, there was a remarkable force in place far beyond control—or at least my control— which kept such power from being apprehended; I had done my best to let go, knowing it was indeed a spell at play, and rather than a curse no need to worry or fear it's users intentions. Magic was a give-and-take, and so much had been at this point taken from me that the bruises of jealousy for whatever it was being waved about my psyche as ‘better than' could do no more than to rip the rest of my heart from its crevice as I pondered on what I might have done right, or might have done wrong—if there were such things. ‘White girls get all the love.' It was only true in my heart and my mind, and so it must have sat in my soul a certain way. I had never intended really to fall into what I had fallen into with Dillon Francis—not that it couldn't or wouldn't be undone, eventually, as I was inraveling myself into an unremarkable, unastonishing whisp — a fracture in time to do much less than even be though of, or forgotten. I'm still lost in your eyes I'll be in love with you forever A piece of my rock had shattered on the floor of the shower at Equinox—the only stone I kept for myself, and often forgotten about, as I did myself, not that i mattered much. It shattered unevenly into three pieces, one of which I left in the sauna, quickly before departing—and the other which I had dropped in Times Square, begrudgingly under the LCD American flag by which I felt betrayed: How could our nation not only allow, but create homelessness as a scare tactic to keep the working poor working as slaves, to saciate the wealthy's wants and needs? “Whatever.” I'm not going to hurt you, You can't hurt me anymore than I can hurt myself. I'm glad you know that. I don't know anything. Suicide fucking sucks. I know that. It might be time for me to go But I just want to let you know I still got love for you; And there's still hope; I left the door open I gotta go, you know, It's hopeless for some At the end of my rope —and it's a long way home, But it's home at the end It's home at the end of a long, lond road I took the wrong one, But at least now I know you I'll go on It seems that I still have a soul, somewhere I walked in on thin air, And now I'm here; I don't know where I'm still lost in your eyes I'll be in love with you forever LEGENDS EDDIE MURPHY opens the heavy Victorian style door, after three solid knocks from under the GLOVED HAND which lifts the golden-brass door knocker. To what do I owe the pleasure? WHOOPI GOLDBERG Business, not pleasure. -_- Well, which business. All of ‘em. [She gestures to pass through the doorway.] Please, come in. Coffee, or Tea? Coffee this late? [beat] Coffee. This is serious. You look serious. I've been—confined. Drake Bell, you son of a bitch. Oh, so you do know my name. I know all your names. So it is. So I am. — How'd you get in this? I've always been in this. What is “always”? How did you get in this? I am this. What a philosophy. Call it what you want. What if I don't. Then don't. See you on the other side. Someone once told me, the grass is much greener— on the other side. —and when I paid a visit, (It's possible I missed it) Seemed different, yet exactly the same. DILLON FRANCIS I didn't want it to end this way. I didn't want it to end. Well, it did. You let it. I had to. Just let go. No, I can't. Hah! What's so funny? You're fucking impossible. Nothing is “impossible” you said that. But you “can't” Let this go? Ah-hah. No. This here will keep slowly unwinding until there's no more. —and then what? There's no more. Damn. This is foul. Hm. Take a time out, Timmy. I'm a take a t-t-taxi I pay my t-t-taxes The actor and the actress. Oh, He's Big Hollywood; Doesn't Have a Job, But the work's real good – His lines are smooth and his days are long, Gotta make it right, For a whole lot of wrongs He's Big-Big Hollywood Doesn't have a job; But the work's real good Coming in hot, Like he's fresh out the box That's a real big nugget, With a whole lot of sauce. Stop. What. What is this. It's a song. This is awful. FUCK IT. I DON'T CARE. Damn, Oreos AND Ben & Jerry's?! IT'S DAIRY-FREE. Tf kind o f Oreos is that. They're GLuten FrEe. FUCK IT. Sunni, get a hold of yourself. YOU GET A HOLD OF YOUR SELF. Stop yelling from across the room. I'LL YELL WHERE I WANT. Fuck this job. FUCK YOU MARIANNE. AGGHH. AGGHHHHHHHHH. Fuck What. What's up. I need a smoke break. I'M GONNA RIP YOUR HEART OUT. YOU DOn'T HAVE A HEART. SHUT UP, DILLON FRANCIS. GOd. WHO INVITED HIM, ANYWAY. I didn't. NOBODY INVITED HIM. The inspiration to music hit at just the right and the wrong time—I had finally found my way to the butt machine, only after visiting every other floor and guessing incorrectly—only to make it to the machine in just enough time to realize that I was for some reason exhausted—perhaps having just blown my last fuse, realizing I was literally down to my last, few pennies— and, unknowing of how to escape the hole I had dug myself into, falling into a carful and unsecured ‘lust' with New York, surely never to fall in love with another city as I had LA, learning my lessons well, and knowing all too well that nowhere and no one like me was safe from homelessness in the US—now having proven itself to be a hostile entity, in a full police state. It didn't seem to matter, though, as I had narrowly missed my escape nearly on purpose, but not— it seemed something entirely outward was keeping me at bay and in the US, not that I had wanted to leave out of fear for my life as much as I wanted adventure and exploration—but either way was going nowhere at all fast, and running out or money even faster. “Fuck, I hate my life” I had probably over caffeinated, at least half the reason I couldn't budge to top speed, even blasting bangarang into my eardrums at nearly top volume—this day, it only emotionally weakened me, having demoted myself entirely from any sort of elite status, back into the realm of obsessive fandom, and perhaps even schizophrenia, per Dane Cook's shenanigans. Yeah, I'm tired and I need to take like ten shits. Just finish then. If I leave early I have to come back early. Well, go, then. Muscle fatigue, check Dehydration, check Psyche completely shattered Check. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

After the ancient alien mystic chak Chel merges with supacree, she leads her on a wild adventure though space and time as the worlds newest superhero, helping supacree to master her powers and abilities, and helping her to escape the clutches of the evil and largely unknown evils of the multiverse— Meeting worlds and Banding together witb characters from infinite multidimensional worlds and realms… THE LEGEND OF SUPACREE LEGENDS GERALD'S WORLD OWSLA CONFIDENTIAL: THE INFINITE SKRILLIFILES ENTER THE MULTIVERSE DEATHWISH ASCENSION THE SECRET LIFE OF SUNNÏ BLŪ SCARY MONSTERS & SUPACREE THE INSOMNIAC &MORE FROM [The Festival Project.™] SEASON 6 ACT III Part I MONTAGE: Clique, Cruel Summer Kanye West, JAY-Z & Big Sean EXT. DOWNTOWN LOS ANGELES. BROAD ASS DAYLIGHT SUPACREE has unlocked 100% Of her ABILITIES GOD MODE UNLOCKED SUPACREE EXITS EQUINOX FITNESS CLUB AT LIGHTSPEED, Hitting the pavement with swift force, splitting into three dimensional selves; SUNNI BLŪ to her left and A MYSTERIOUS, unknown ALTER EGO to her right, she shifts quickly to the beat of the music, morphing into and out of parallels of the outer world, opening and closing portals, and encapsulating anything and everything within her force field—which happens to be the whole of GREATER LOS ANGELES. Damn. If I put my heart inside a box; Maybe I'd forget how cold it was Or how far you are Or how much it hurts There's no harm in God, If there ever was one Then, reality sets in: God was my only friend No armor on, I'm at the end Of a long, long walk I'm off again And on again Nothing's impossible— stop at the alter and scoff a bit I left my coat on, I left my heart on the rooftop, A sacrifice, love At the alter, I wonder a song, Or a sonnet A song, No, what's wrong? Something's off a bit God, I woke up in a coffin once Isn't that awful? The rest or the song wrote itself, At the alter No, I can't stop and talk Got to get off, Cause I've never been on I've never belonged in the world What have we done? This is bad, brother. That's a construct. Everything's a construct! Get ahold of yourself. Get ahold of—you know what? I do know. You think you're fuckin' clever. I am clever. You're a sick man. That's my business. Yeah, well—you made it my business. I am you. What a concept. *construct. God, help you! [sideways evil smirk] Hehe. SPAM! ON TACOS! BUTTERS Oh—Jesus! WHO PUTS SPAM ON TACOS?! A smart man. C'mon, Butters. We gotta get lost in the sauce before we try this out. I'MMA TRY IT OUT. OK. GOD, OH, GOD, PLEASE— MERCIFUL GOD IN HEAVEN— (WhT.) JUST— DON'T LET IT BE SKRILL AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. Fuxk. What. She took the train. Which fucking train. I don't know. The train. THE A TRAIN, or the B TRAIN?! HEY. WHAT, you motherfucking idiot? I THINK I LOVE YOU. Well, stop thinking. Ok. JIMMY FALLON THE COSMIC AVENGER has been kidnapped— He's like 50 years old. He's been dad-napped. —by the MOB. The MOB?! He's into some dark shit. Wait, he is?! In this series. He has been tied to a chair, which sits under a single spotlight in a shabby, dark room in NEW JERSEY. Ew, New Jersey. JIMMY THE MOBSTER Hi, Jimmy— JIMMY FALLON —uh—hello. JIMMY THE MOBSTER I'm Jimmy. JIMMY FALLON Oh, that's ironic. [beat] JIMMY THE MOBSTER I'm gonna kill you, Jimmy. GOD If I give you a serious role, how are you gonna handle it? JIMMY FALLON like a pro. GOD don't lie to me, Jimmy. JIMMY FALLON What?! I'm not! My body, heart, mind, and soul was being attacked— I had 15 minutes to vacate the property and couldn't even focus—I had to use the bathroom so badly it hurt my soul. I was pacing back and forth, choking back ugly tears—the rude man in the room across the way still occupying the bathroom which I needed, both to clean and relieve myself—but it had been hell, after all, and needs like these had been proven to be in short supply. Fuck. This is a gun to your head. Just do it. [he moves the pistol into her mouth] Now it's in your mouth. [she unhinges her jaw to open it wider, never breaking eye contact and relaxes; he studies his hand on the grip of the tripper, ready to lill] You'll die today. [A comfort; as she relaxes, he as well changes—this seems to take the fun of killing away from him, he exacts the gun from her mouth] CONT'D You like that? I love it— You're dead, bitch! Yes, I am! A penniless whore. Whores get paid— Then, even less— What's less than this? A dead bitch. Think again. I don't think, I just shoot; Sounds like a man. Oh, I am. Then kill me with your hands. Jesus Christ, man. He can't help. No one can help you. So just shoot. [he can't] SUNNI. )&2&;@2@2$ YOU ARE OUT OF CONTROL. SUCK MY DICK. AGHHJJJ. Well. TMZ is here. This is a disaster. NEXT, WE LEARN: THE Oh my God. WhT. This is probably the worst thing I've ever written. Not the worst. Nope: it is the worst. Maybe it's just bad on paper. It's bad no matter how you — CONTROL, JANET PRIVACY. Here. Wtf is this. LEGENDS: FAME SCHOOL Christopher Walken was one of my professors in fame school For acting? For music. For music? That doesn't make any sense. Please, don't make me explain this. A FACE BATTLE CHRISTOPHER WALKEN vs. SUPACREE -_- —__^ *_- ^__ __/ *_* >< … —-__—- Ok. Alright. Show me what you got. SUPACREE plays a beat. You know where this is going. We all know where this is going. CHRISTOPHER WALKEN that was OK. “OK”?! Yeah. *shrugs* OK. You know what— You know what it needs? …what's it need? —-more cowbell. I beg your pardon. Please, don't beg. It was perfect. It was OK. You're not OK. —maybe I'm not. You're definitely not. —know what helps? Don't tell me: More fucking cowbell. Lol. ⅔ ain't bad. Wait, two out or three?! Which one didn't I— —FUCK. What, what happened? They're onto me. THE BAMPHERAMPS, MOTHERFUCKING BAMPHERAMPHS, and THE ASCENDED MASTERY has assembled in NEW YORK CITY to stage a coup. It's a coup d'état. There sure is a lot of French shit over here. Well yeah, it's Paris. Wait. What, what now? If SUPACREE is in Paris. NIGGAZ. Right—then— Who the fuck are they chasing in New York. [just waking up] Why am I in New York? WHOOPI GOLDBERG you got anyplace else to be? …no. MEANWHILE, IN ROME. Fanculo! Really, dude. Apparently. A tear in my head; A rip in my soul, And the fabric of— Coming undone at the whole; I make sense of it all at the alter, The fall; To have fought in the war, And then lost, or to suffer at all Love was lost, I was never a martyr— Blood on the cross, And the crossroads, The frost and the stardust, “There's no God” For the honorable, Stuck in New York, But defrosting my toes, At the forefront I haven't once wondered or thought Of the love that I was, Since I stopped throwing rocks at the church Or got off on the wrong stop; What a puzzle, To jump off, Or rot in the heart of The hub— World of wonders, A mother of suns, Never wanted a daughter so much Unpunishment, Loved was the Duchess; To carry a crutch or a cross— So unbothered, untouched, So heartless and dark, For the marksman—a spark Or the dog does not bark At the horses You're in the clear, hero. Heartless, she was! Now, now—settle down. This is an absolute outrage. Is it, now? I say so! Maybe you shouldn't. Faro, a word, I've got three. I'll go first. [a smug look] What's happened here? A ressurection, sir. Care to explain? I said ‘three.' Where's the King? My palms grew numb as my throbbing heartache welled up into the back of my throat and sat perched up against my growling stomach, stuffed with beans and rice, perhaps to fill the sadness or satiate my need for protein, either one. ASCENSION If you're going to vomit, step away from me. —I'm not sick. Actually, step out of my house. This is your house? —I live here. —no one lives here. What did you think it was? an elaborate cave. It is—an elaborwte cave— —excuse my ignorance. You're excused entirely. —I appreciate that. I meant, from here. You should go. Faro, wait. No more waiting; you were uninvited. Trust me—this visitation is more necessary than voluntary. That's—a lot of words. I don't speak caveman. Just—get out. Listen: No more listening— It's about C'esme't. It always is. This is important. It always is. It concerns you. It always does. —? Wait. [a heavy sigh] [a long silence] Come with me. FARO leads GÍAN towards the back of his quarters. Close the door. I— what? Nevermind. You're useless. Ehrm—excuse me. Excused, your majesty. FARO opens a SECRET PASSAGEWAY into a FUTURISTIC CORIDOR, leading GÍAN into a vast FORTRESS. balls. Uh. My stomach in knots And my life is in ruins Constellations all gone, And my heart, on the border of hurt— And mistrust So unlovable, loveless— Promises, scars and the art was devoured Ah— she was awful; Ah—she must have lost her mind God, she was homeless, And loveless, And wild eyed All that I wanted, Was to get lost in the lobby, Before the whole ball dropped —and watch the false phropet Collide wirh the comet Stop: I lost God at the crosswalk, The punishment was Homeless Now watch this: This is what I wanted: Doesn't really matter now, Does it? Oh, doesn't it. God, this is Lucifer. Son, it's an honor. No God for a mother, who walks on her own. Now it's over or under. It's over. It never got started. I locked up my heart with the piñata. How irrelevant. How awkward. How curse words turn to mantras. How I have half a heart Or, like ⅓ We're being honest, now. I thought Illuminati wanted hotties and Caucasians. Well, I guess that'll explain, Why you've been stuck inside a cage, then. NICK CAGE is an extremely skilled time traveler. Ok. WHOOPI GOLDBERG has freed herself from the cage in which SUPACREE had skillfully trapped the OWL OF THE GOLDEN EYE. WhT a prophecy. MEANWHILE, AT HOGWARTS. HOGWARTS, 2023. ANANDAR is HEADMASTER. Ah, fuck. I'm gonna puke. All I wanted was to shamelessly watch the man's balls swing like a pendulum... Well, here's this instead. Oh no, it's Skrillex. Now you have to— —now I have to watch this. Why. Cause I've already seen that. I hate you. I hate you. SOLD, to the lady in red. Damn. Slavery is cool. Yeah, I guess. FUCK. What. Idk. BITCH. GET OUT THE BASEMENT; I'm in the attick What you think this is? Lights, camera, action: Now that attractions been well established I should get back to it, I'm in the attic Lighting up matches, Fixin my holes up with patches Callin it classic Call me an asshole, I can't be mad man, I am a mad man, I bring the mask back To Handle a trash can Get out the basement. I told you he could dance. A GIANT DRAGON Oh shit, here it comes. FIRE. DILLON FRANCIS I Well. We're gonna die. DILLON FRANCIS II If she throws up, I get a pickle. DILLON FRANCIS III That's a deal. DILLON FRANCIS II And if she cries, I get a French poodle named Angelina Jolie. DILLON FRANCIS III Righteous. DILLON FRANCIS II Yur damn right. A GIANT DRAGON FLIES OVERHEAD, SWEEPING THE SKIES WITH FIRE AND LIGHTNING. DILLON FRANCIS I (CONT'D) Yeah, we're definitely fucked. Why are you dressed like Froto. FROTO (in background, dressed exactly alike) That is offensive! SHUTTHEFUCKUP. It's the end of the world! (At least as we know it) IS THAT SKRILLEX? FIRE BREATHING DRAGON. Well, it was. What the fuck HAPPENED?! Is that its final form? Yes it is. I'll give you one million dollars. That's not enough. This card is priceless. What is this. Like a Pokémon game?! This whoops Pokémon's ass. This is LEGENDS. LIL' BIIIITZ Yo! New York is CRAZY First of all, how is it all of a sudden CLEANER THAN LA?! New York's like: here —we sent all the nasty people to LA. All better. Polarity shift! LA is gross now! New York cleaned up! The trains are nice —shit— All the trash is in BAGS. I was like “Whaaaaaaat” this is nice. What the fuck. This shit different! Unh. they exported all the nasty, crazy motherfuxkers to LA. On GOD. Cause every other psychologically twisted individual I talk to in LA is like: “I'M FROM NEW YORK” *hawks loogie, spits* Uhhhhh… I was going on a little European adventure; New York's like: “You know, you never stay long…” I'm like “There's a reason for that…welp, gotta go.” The whole universe fucked around and was like— “You know what? We like you here. Stay. “ What. “STAY.” Fuck. New York is different. Won't say I love it — But goddamn, I like it! People are rude. People are rude as fuck. I'm used to LA where people are fake nice For fuckin tips and shit, you know? Everybody's trying to get famous for something, Or something. Idk. Fake as fuck. Fake nice. Fake happy. Fake titties. Fake lips. Just fucking fake. fake everything. Everything is plastic. —and it's not tied up in garbage bags, either. It's just plastic, and trash, and piss everywhere. It's so gross. You see Venice Beach on the movies: It's all clean and beautiful, and picturesque. You get there, it's like Skid Row + Skid Row Coastal. LA has millions of homeless people everywhere. In cars, in tents. Under bridges. Everywhere. And I love LA! I really do. But it's fake. Everything is fake. New York is real as fuck. Yeaaah. Almost too real. But I like it. You don't have to fuckin fake shit. People don't say “excuse me—“ No. You're never forced to say “good morning “ before you had your coffee! Yuh! New York is doing it right. People sleep on the train— But nobody lives on that motherfucker! I was in New York like a week before the shock wore off that there were not hundreds of individuals on every train wreaking of piss and smoking crack openly—YES—illicit drug use on trains in LA is extremely casual. Everything in LA is casual. People wear pajamas to work. Yeah—that. Everyone in New York looks like they're going to eat at a five-star restaurant. Like all the time. No socks-with-slides. EW. I swore to God socks with slides was a sign of the apocalypse; I get to New York, none of that—but the cringy thing in New York is Crocs With Socs. Now mmmm we're bi-coastal. Socks-with-slides; Crocs-with-socks. Knock that shit off. TACKY. other than that, though… NY is cool. It's chic. It's fun. You gotta be careful though. You gotta watch out. I thought LA drivers were crazy. New York drivers are fucking psychotic. Pedestrians don't have the right of way. At all. If you're in a crosswalk in LA even if the light is red, people will stop and let you go. In New York you better wait for the fuckin walk sign. They will kill you. It's okay. 6 millions ways to die: choose one! Just kidding. That's some west coast shit. But I did see a whole ass mural of Snoop Dogg in Brooklyn and get slightly confused— Till I realized everything on it was the color blue, and I was deadass in the middle of Brooklyn going “What? Ohhhhh! Wait! The Crips!” “Those guys are everywhere!” Lol. Its a nation wide disorganization. Lol. Whatever. I like New York. Doing my best not to love it, So the universe doesn't balance me out by showing me what to hate about it So far, so good New York drivers don't play. I never seen a school bus drift before! DAMN. Almost got hit by a short bus. Oh, the irony. I saw a dude do a whole ass wheelie on an electric scooter. Not a moped, by the way. An electric scooter. Yup. New Yoooooork. BEDFORD AVENUE, BROOKLYN, NY. THE BAMPHERAMPHS have initiated SEQUENCE C I like New York. I gotta say. It IS like LA In the way that I know I can't live in New York if I'm not just filthy fucking rich. Cause, you know—there's still homelessness; But unlike in LA, where you just wander around, smelling like piss, begging for change— You freeze to death. A quick solution! Haha! (It's not funny.) but whatever. America. I thought I was leaving; I got trapped in the matrix. I was like “Fuck this place.” They're like: “stay! We need slaves!” I'm like FUCK. So I got stuck in New York. Ugh. At least it's a “free state” I made it north, ma! Not exactly the safest place to get stuck with no money, either, is it? Really nowhere is safe with no money. I mean, I know of some places south of the border you can live, basically free and just, you know—sleep in a hammock, sing for change and shit. Roam the beach. I know people that do that— it's just- I like showers. I don't love showers. Cause then, I'm sure God would find a way to take that away, too. I don't love anything anymore. Once you love something—it either goes away, or it burns you. Or both. Can't love things. Can't love people. No more love. Just—appreciate—things. Just—like—things, you know? Don't love anything. Speaking of suicidal tendencies. Hahah. You know what else is cool about New York? The trains actually come into the station fast enough to kill you. Like—you've had enough? Okay: here it is. Just to save you a trip to the Empire State Building. This train is coming in at 304 miles an hour and is somehow gonna stop in 3 seconds. —maybe 2 seconds, if you do jump— Better think fast! They almost come too fast, for suicide. Ready, set— Dammit. Missed it again. They're so fast. The trains in LA stopped going suicide-fast like, a couple years ago—maybe, just before the pandemic—I think. They're like “You know what! This is happening too often. I am ALWAYS late to my other two jobs ‘cause someone killed themselves on my train! Fuck!” LA's like: “Well fuck this, all the slaves are killing themselves on the trains.” “Damn, that sucks” LA's like “Yeah, okay so: here's what we do; we'll put up signs for a suicide hotline at the popular jumping points” “LA's like: okay” “And—we'll tell the train operators they gotta slow down coming into the station—“ “That'll do it!” “—that way, If they still do decide to jump, they'll just get paralyzed, and contribute to the opioid crisis: more funding for big pharma!” “Yes, it's genius!” “—unless they're black, or on Medicaid, then: we'll send em home with some ibuprofen and make sure they collect disability, so that they can become addicted to crack, or something like that —you know.” “Yes. That's perfect.” Good Job LA. I get lost in New York. I'll be on New York like “YO, WHERE THE FUCK AM I AT?” “In New York” GODDAMMIT. You know what else is weird about New York? Personal space is not a thing. I mean, “space” is not a thing at all, anyway. But “Personal space”? No. People will not only sit by you; The'll siT ON you. Yo. I had just got to New York— I had all my luggage with me— And this lady gets on the train; She's got a broom. Idk what for, but okay; She gets onto the train, She looks around, and I guess she decides she wants the seat next to me. So like I said, I have all my stuff l so I'm a little spread out, but there's room— But you know what she does? She looks me straight in the eye And then just hits me with her broom. I was like —-?!? I'm thinking, “Okay is she racist or is that just a New York thing?” Like, “you can just hit people with shit!? damn!” What's funny is, I kinda respected her for that. She was old. Didn't say a word, just “bam” Like—- ‘move!' I'm like “okay!” New York is so classy. Girls wear panty hose, and stockings. I'm like “wow, that's actually nice. That's so wholesome! Tights?! Yeah!” It's so classy. I don't think girls in LA even wear regular panties. Let alone panty hose. Get it—panty—Hoes. I see correlation. You know what else is cool about New York. It's less racist. I mean- There's so much diversity, there's almost no room to be racist. It's crazy. So many people. So many colors. So much culture. So many languages! I hear languages I can't even place. I thought I was good. I'm in LA, I'm like, “Okay, that's Chinese—“ “That's Japanese” “That's Korean” “Farsi” I get to New York— I'm in the Delicstessen. Thats another thing. Nothing like a real, New York delicatessen. That's what “deli” is short for, by the way, everyone not from New York. It's “delicatessen” Lol. Anyway. I'm standing in the Deli and I hear some shit that—I'm not gonna lie— was actually quite alarming, as a native English speaker. I'm standing there, and this guy behind me literally over my shoulder says, “Blooppnsmabhoan ammaoakb amansbaiL aannaoka snkaoakmnlblblblnlnl!!!!” I'm like what the FUCK. This isn't REAL. “Blblblana. Akakma alak Akakamaamna!” I'm shoooook. What IS that!!? I like New York. The girls aren't all evil soulless heart eating demons. They're just “regular” I have to run back to LA and tell all my guy friends, they're like “Women are evil” I'm like— “Nooo, that's just out here.” Maybe. I don't know. I like New York. I bet it's wonderful when it's warm. I don't know! Maybe that's when shit hits the fan! Maybe it's like Chicago. EVERYBODY DIES IN THE SUMMER— Who said that. Chance the Rapper, I think. I don't know. LEGENDS: FAMESCHOOL This move is called: The “Slap-Dicksuck.” [carefully taking notes] “slap-dick-suck”…okay… hmm.. Now, class. [raises hand curiously] Yes? Um. SUPACREE— —PROFESSOR SUPACREE. Um. Professor SUPACREE— Yes! Why is it called the “Slap-Dicksuck” I was about to explain that. //SLAP-DICKSUCK// NEXT: we learn THE “SLAP-DICKSUCK-SLAP” Let me guess. No, no guessing. This class is gross. I like it. Yeah, you're gross. The world is gross. Get over it. GET OVER IT, DILLON FRANCIS. *sniffes* Please, stop crying. She— *sniffles* It's okay, Dillon. She took my piñata! Your piñata set your house on fire. He sets—everything on fire— Have you ever stopped to think— —no— thinking is bad. Go get dressed. No, not today. You look like a bloated chicken nugget. —I used to like chicken nuggets. hey, Tofu daddy. This is sick. This is a sick bitch we're dealing with. I'm not dealing with anything, I quit. Quit, you can't quit. I just did. DEADMAU5 Okay, no more bodies. Ū Okay. No more bodies. DEADMAU5 Really? Ū —No. DEADMAU5 Goddammit, this is not a GAME. Ū It is a game, though—and I'm a damn good marksman. DEADMAU5 Dammit, you're right. Ū I'm always right. Come, take my hand— (I took off my ring) Do you want to do a half, or a whole thing Come, take my hand Let's sit on this swing Do you want to do a half, or a whole thing? I powered on my phone to find the digital clock exactly at 1:15, which had seemed to be creeping up again as a recurring theme, along with some other unsettling figurines—if it was a race against time, I was losing—and If, perhaps, a Holy War, I must have been some sort of Holy, as it had seemed the world's good graces had turned her back on me, and that faith dwindled more quickly in the cold than any other condition. Lay your head on my shoulder, Your cheek on my cheek, Wrap your arm round my waist, You can think what I think You can skate on thin ice You can sing what I sing And when the ice breaks; You can sink when I sink Come, take my hand— (I took off my ring) Do you want to do a half, or a whole thing Come, take my hand Let's sit on this swing Do you want to do a half, or a whole thing? It had been strange waves of everything—more than I was ready for and much more than intentionally took on, all things considered. I burned my tongue on piping hot oatmeal, trying to eat rather than write, as it seemed the time had come that I could no longer skip meals and properly function. Nearing thirty like a bullet—and at least metaphorically bleeding as if I had actually been shot, my heart and soul throbbing and gushing into a paralyzing twist or fears and woes, trapped in a foreign city with almost nothing to my name, lugging around my music equipment and very few belongings, which—when put away neatly even in the smallest room— seemed like almost nothing, but was certainly too much to carry around, especially alone. And I was, so very alone. Drake Bell and the Hollywood Spell My newest and strangest muse yet had again insisted on appearing into my dream world, for the third time, anyway—which seemed a cruel and almost disturbing subconscious attempt to conjur up what might have been the entirety of my energy to complete the 6th Season of Enter The Multiverse, at this point which had even interested me, reinvigorating my senses and at least partially restoring my faith in something, even if it was just Hollywood being Hollywood. But now, even miles away from Hollywoodland, and stranded far, far away with no conceivable way to find my way back, even if I did have a home there waiting for me—and there wasn't—there didn't seem to be a home anywhere for me at all, and with my money running well towards dry I had spent most the week dry heaving into panic attacks about where I would go, or what I would do/—especially dragging around all of my luggage and equipment, and while it was true my equipment could have easily found it's way into a pawn shop, to at least offset the impending homelessness by maybe a couple days, and a couple hundred dollars—it didn't seem quite worth it to sell my dream again, especially for the miserable existence of sharing a hostel room with whoever decided to snore or cough their way into my hellish realm of corporate slavery, lovelessness, and lack of privacy. Yes, my conciousness had summoned up this man into my dreamworld now three times, and for whatever reason, if there was one — I could consider it a charm. Had I not been working at the smokeshop what now seemed like ages ago, I might have forgotten entirely that such a person had ever existed—which I had, since the experience, for the record, at least tried to—but for some reason, disasterously couldnt; it had all awakened something serious and spiritual within my outer world, piquing my ultra conscious into a rare and bewildering curiosity that had done well to slay and murder the cat in all of its nine lives, and then some. It wasn't entirely on purpose, or without guilt that my mind seemed to inquisitively structure an entire hidden world and to form a strange and illicit bond with this fragile man creature, not that my social status or overwhelmingly average, unattractive, stranded and abandoned wastebasket of a demon, or diety whatever I was in whatever kind of light, would have much at all to do but suffer the result of having missed the bar by far, stumbling into the lower realms of the world by mere circumstance, on occasion, without notice. I was certainly thinking about it too much, and hating myself for it, a certain spark or inspiration for the Timmy Turner timelines met with the sudden flash of what may have even been a lost memory of not for all this Hollywood trauma, or dogma, whichever made sense—because none of it did, at all, besides to reverse what time had done by allowing me to forget my turbulent childhood, which couldn't matter anymore in this moment as it ever had; and though I was producing a fruitful workout at Equinox, squatting deeply into the Smith Machine and breathing deeply into my lower back, where the tension from the weight of my leftover skin met the pain in the whole of my torso, an apparent rush sent a splash of slobber out of the side of my mouth, my third eye a gaping and burning hole streaking heat across the middle of my forehead—all of a sudden the high of Nitrous Oxide filled my mind, if only for a moment—flung back into a memory nearly two decades old. “That's it.” I remembered thinking. “No more of this.” I sat down the can of keyboard cleaner on the bathroom floor. I had scared myself straight, long before I even knew what I was doing—and I didn't know at all, having been nine, or maybe 10–long before I would ever *want* to get high, not understanding that or why I needed to, anyway—or that getting “high” was what I was doing at all. No, at the time, it simply ‘felt really good', until it didn't—the particular memory which struck me in the dead center of the Equinox floor—and snapping back into my body, shaking myself out of it and leaning into the bar to stretch, taking in a deep breath and choking back an ocean of tears. “Idiot.” I'm still lost in your eyes I'll be in love with you forever Dreams Wil Be Dreams. Since departing LA, all my dreams had been strange, and I found myself growing more distant from myself, or from anything real at all, my dreams skewing into a horrid soundscape of rampant memories and false hopes of love. Finally able to seek refuge in meditation, I had been bombarded with images of Dillon Francis balancing some pretty little white girl in his lap—and though I couldn't quite unhinge the Amethyst from my possession, I had been giving it the distance I needed for something like peace of mind, without the actual peace itself at play. There had been quite the spell to break, and though it hadn't even been moderately broken—I at least knew now what magic I was dealing with. Dillon Hart Francis was a powerful magician—perhaps too powerful, and with that I took my strides into gatekeeping at the very least, since no peace could be made. I could love with a wholesome heart, but a tarnished mind and a gated soul would simply not outlast the infinite journey. Though I had been illicitly carfeful not to look him in the eye last we did meet, there was a remarkable force in place far beyond control—or at least my control— which kept such power from being apprehended; I had done my best to let go, knowing it was indeed a spell at play, and rather than a curse no need to worry or fear it's users intentions. Magic was a give-and-take, and so much had been at this point taken from me that the bruises of jealousy for whatever it was being waved about my psyche as ‘better than' could do no more than to rip the rest of my heart from its crevice as I pondered on what I might have done right, or might have done wrong—if there were such things. ‘White girls get all the love.' It was only true in my heart and my mind, and so it must have sat in my soul a certain way. I had never intended really to fall into what I had fallen into with Dillon Francis—not that it couldn't or wouldn't be undone, eventually, as I was inraveling myself into an unremarkable, unastonishing whisp — a fracture in time to do much less than even be though of, or forgotten. I'm still lost in your eyes I'll be in love with you forever A piece of my rock had shattered on the floor of the shower at Equinox—the only stone I kept for myself, and often forgotten about, as I did myself, not that i mattered much. It shattered unevenly into three pieces, one of which I left in the sauna, quickly before departing—and the other which I had dropped in Times Square, begrudgingly under the LCD American flag by which I felt betrayed: How could our nation not only allow, but create homelessness as a scare tactic to keep the working poor working as slaves, to saciate the wealthy's wants and needs? “Whatever.” I'm not going to hurt you, You can't hurt me anymore than I can hurt myself. I'm glad you know that. I don't know anything. Suicide fucking sucks. I know that. It might be time for me to go But I just want to let you know I still got love for you; And there's still hope; I left the door open I gotta go, you know, It's hopeless for some At the end of my rope —and it's a long way home, But it's home at the end It's home at the end of a long, lond road I took the wrong one, But at least now I know you I'll go on It seems that I still have a soul, somewhere I walked in on thin air, And now I'm here; I don't know where I'm still lost in your eyes I'll be in love with you forever LEGENDS EDDIE MURPHY opens the heavy Victorian style door, after three solid knocks from under the GLOVED HAND which lifts the golden-brass door knocker. To what do I owe the pleasure? WHOOPI GOLDBERG Business, not pleasure. -_- Well, which business. All of ‘em. [She gestures to pass through the doorway.] Please, come in. Coffee, or Tea? Coffee this late? [beat] Coffee. This is serious. You look serious. I've been—confined. Drake Bell, you son of a bitch. Oh, so you do know my name. I know all your names. So it is. So I am. — How'd you get in this? I've always been in this. What is “always”? How did you get in this? I am this. What a philosophy. Call it what you want. What if I don't. Then don't. See you on the other side. Someone once told me, the grass is much greener— on the other side. —and when I paid a visit, (It's possible I missed it) Seemed different, yet exactly the same. DILLON FRANCIS I didn't want it to end this way. I didn't want it to end. Well, it did. You let it. I had to. Just let go. No, I can't. Hah! What's so funny? You're fucking impossible. Nothing is “impossible” you said that. But you “can't” Let this go? Ah-hah. No. This here will keep slowly unwinding until there's no more. —and then what? There's no more. Damn. This is foul. Hm. Take a time out, Timmy. I'm a take a t-t-taxi I pay my t-t-taxes The actor and the actress. Oh, He's Big Hollywood; Doesn't Have a Job, But the work's real good – His lines are smooth and his days are long, Gotta make it right, For a whole lot of wrongs He's Big-Big Hollywood Doesn't have a job; But the work's real good Coming in hot, Like he's fresh out the box That's a real big nugget, With a whole lot of sauce. Stop. What. What is this. It's a song. This is awful. FUCK IT. I DON'T CARE. Damn, Oreos AND Ben & Jerry's?! IT'S DAIRY-FREE. Tf kind o f Oreos is that. They're GLuten FrEe. FUCK IT. Sunni, get a hold of yourself. YOU GET A HOLD OF YOUR SELF. Stop yelling from across the room. I'LL YELL WHERE I WANT. Fuck this job. FUCK YOU MARIANNE. AGGHH. AGGHHHHHHHHH. Fuck What. What's up. I need a smoke break. I'M GONNA RIP YOUR HEART OUT. YOU DOn'T HAVE A HEART. SHUT UP, DILLON FRANCIS. GOd. WHO INVITED HIM, ANYWAY. I didn't. NOBODY INVITED HIM. The inspiration to music hit at just the right and the wrong time—I had finally found my way to the butt machine, only after visiting every other floor and guessing incorrectly—only to make it to the machine in just enough time to realize that I was for some reason exhausted—perhaps having just blown my last fuse, realizing I was literally down to my last, few pennies— and, unknowing of how to escape the hole I had dug myself into, falling into a carful and unsecured ‘lust' with New York, surely never to fall in love with another city as I had LA, learning my lessons well, and knowing all too well that nowhere and no one like me was safe from homelessness in the US—now having proven itself to be a hostile entity, in a full police state. It didn't seem to matter, though, as I had narrowly missed my escape nearly on purpose, but not— it seemed something entirely outward was keeping me at bay and in the US, not that I had wanted to leave out of fear for my life as much as I wanted adventure and exploration—but either way was going nowhere at all fast, and running out or money even faster. “Fuck, I hate my life” I had probably over caffeinated, at least half the reason I couldn't budge to top speed, even blasting bangarang into my eardrums at nearly top volume—this day, it only emotionally weakened me, having demoted myself entirely from any sort of elite status, back into the realm of obsessive fandom, and perhaps even schizophrenia, per Dane Cook's shenanigans. Yeah, I'm tired and I need to take like ten shits. Just finish then. If I leave early I have to come back early. Well, go, then. Muscle fatigue, check Dehydration, check Psyche completely shattered Check. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

After the ancient alien mystic chak Chel merges with supacree, she leads her on a wild adventure though space and time as the worlds newest superhero, helping supacree to master her powers and abilities, and helping her to escape the clutches of the evil and largely unknown evils of the multiverse— Meeting worlds and Banding together witb characters from infinite multidimensional worlds and realms… THE LEGEND OF SUPACREE LEGENDS GERALD'S WORLD OWSLA CONFIDENTIAL: THE INFINITE SKRILLIFILES ENTER THE MULTIVERSE DEATHWISH ASCENSION THE SECRET LIFE OF SUNNÏ BLŪ SCARY MONSTERS & SUPACREE THE INSOMNIAC &MORE FROM [The Festival Project.™] SEASON 6 ACT III Part I MONTAGE: Clique, Cruel Summer Kanye West, JAY-Z & Big Sean EXT. DOWNTOWN LOS ANGELES. BROAD ASS DAYLIGHT SUPACREE has unlocked 100% Of her ABILITIES GOD MODE UNLOCKED SUPACREE EXITS EQUINOX FITNESS CLUB AT LIGHTSPEED, Hitting the pavement with swift force, splitting into three dimensional selves; SUNNI BLŪ to her left and A MYSTERIOUS, unknown ALTER EGO to her right, she shifts quickly to the beat of the music, morphing into and out of parallels of the outer world, opening and closing portals, and encapsulating anything and everything within her force field—which happens to be the whole of GREATER LOS ANGELES. Damn. If I put my heart inside a box; Maybe I'd forget how cold it was Or how far you are Or how much it hurts There's no harm in God, If there ever was one Then, reality sets in: God was my only friend No armor on, I'm at the end Of a long, long walk I'm off again And on again Nothing's impossible— stop at the alter and scoff a bit I left my coat on, I left my heart on the rooftop, A sacrifice, love At the alter, I wonder a song, Or a sonnet A song, No, what's wrong? Something's off a bit God, I woke up in a coffin once Isn't that awful? The rest or the song wrote itself, At the alter No, I can't stop and talk Got to get off, Cause I've never been on I've never belonged in the world What have we done? This is bad, brother. That's a construct. Everything's a construct! Get ahold of yourself. Get ahold of—you know what? I do know. You think you're fuckin' clever. I am clever. You're a sick man. That's my business. Yeah, well—you made it my business. I am you. What a concept. *construct. God, help you! [sideways evil smirk] Hehe. SPAM! ON TACOS! BUTTERS Oh—Jesus! WHO PUTS SPAM ON TACOS?! A smart man. C'mon, Butters. We gotta get lost in the sauce before we try this out. I'MMA TRY IT OUT. OK. GOD, OH, GOD, PLEASE— MERCIFUL GOD IN HEAVEN— (WhT.) JUST— DON'T LET IT BE SKRILL AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. Fuxk. What. She took the train. Which fucking train. I don't know. The train. THE A TRAIN, or the B TRAIN?! HEY. WHAT, you motherfucking idiot? I THINK I LOVE YOU. Well, stop thinking. Ok. JIMMY FALLON THE COSMIC AVENGER has been kidnapped— He's like 50 years old. He's been dad-napped. —by the MOB. The MOB?! He's into some dark shit. Wait, he is?! In this series. He has been tied to a chair, which sits under a single spotlight in a shabby, dark room in NEW JERSEY. Ew, New Jersey. JIMMY THE MOBSTER Hi, Jimmy— JIMMY FALLON —uh—hello. JIMMY THE MOBSTER I'm Jimmy. JIMMY FALLON Oh, that's ironic. [beat] JIMMY THE MOBSTER I'm gonna kill you, Jimmy. GOD If I give you a serious role, how are you gonna handle it? JIMMY FALLON like a pro. GOD don't lie to me, Jimmy. JIMMY FALLON What?! I'm not! My body, heart, mind, and soul was being attacked— I had 15 minutes to vacate the property and couldn't even focus—I had to use the bathroom so badly it hurt my soul. I was pacing back and forth, choking back ugly tears—the rude man in the room across the way still occupying the bathroom which I needed, both to clean and relieve myself—but it had been hell, after all, and needs like these had been proven to be in short supply. Fuck. This is a gun to your head. Just do it. [he moves the pistol into her mouth] Now it's in your mouth. [she unhinges her jaw to open it wider, never breaking eye contact and relaxes; he studies his hand on the grip of the tripper, ready to lill] You'll die today. [A comfort; as she relaxes, he as well changes—this seems to take the fun of killing away from him, he exacts the gun from her mouth] CONT'D You like that? I love it— You're dead, bitch! Yes, I am! A penniless whore. Whores get paid— Then, even less— What's less than this? A dead bitch. Think again. I don't think, I just shoot; Sounds like a man. Oh, I am. Then kill me with your hands. Jesus Christ, man. He can't help. No one can help you. So just shoot. [he can't] SUNNI. )&2&;@2@2$ YOU ARE OUT OF CONTROL. SUCK MY DICK. AGHHJJJ. Well. TMZ is here. This is a disaster. NEXT, WE LEARN: THE Oh my God. WhT. This is probably the worst thing I've ever written. Not the worst. Nope: it is the worst. Maybe it's just bad on paper. It's bad no matter how you — CONTROL, JANET PRIVACY. Here. Wtf is this. LEGENDS: FAME SCHOOL Christopher Walken was one of my professors in fame school For acting? For music. For music? That doesn't make any sense. Please, don't make me explain this. A FACE BATTLE CHRISTOPHER WALKEN vs. SUPACREE -_- —__^ *_- ^__ __/ *_* >< … —-__—- Ok. Alright. Show me what you got. SUPACREE plays a beat. You know where this is going. We all know where this is going. CHRISTOPHER WALKEN that was OK. “OK”?! Yeah. *shrugs* OK. You know what— You know what it needs? …what's it need? —-more cowbell. I beg your pardon. Please, don't beg. It was perfect. It was OK. You're not OK. —maybe I'm not. You're definitely not. —know what helps? Don't tell me: More fucking cowbell. Lol. ⅔ ain't bad. Wait, two out or three?! Which one didn't I— —FUCK. What, what happened? They're onto me. THE BAMPHERAMPS, MOTHERFUCKING BAMPHERAMPHS, and THE ASCENDED MASTERY has assembled in NEW YORK CITY to stage a coup. It's a coup d'état. There sure is a lot of French shit over here. Well yeah, it's Paris. Wait. What, what now? If SUPACREE is in Paris. NIGGAZ. Right—then— Who the fuck are they chasing in New York. [just waking up] Why am I in New York? WHOOPI GOLDBERG you got anyplace else to be? …no. MEANWHILE, IN ROME. Fanculo! Really, dude. Apparently. A tear in my head; A rip in my soul, And the fabric of— Coming undone at the whole; I make sense of it all at the alter, The fall; To have fought in the war, And then lost, or to suffer at all Love was lost, I was never a martyr— Blood on the cross, And the crossroads, The frost and the stardust, “There's no God” For the honorable, Stuck in New York, But defrosting my toes, At the forefront I haven't once wondered or thought Of the love that I was, Since I stopped throwing rocks at the church Or got off on the wrong stop; What a puzzle, To jump off, Or rot in the heart of The hub— World of wonders, A mother of suns, Never wanted a daughter so much Unpunishment, Loved was the Duchess; To carry a crutch or a cross— So unbothered, untouched, So heartless and dark, For the marksman—a spark Or the dog does not bark At the horses You're in the clear, hero. Heartless, she was! Now, now—settle down. This is an absolute outrage. Is it, now? I say so! Maybe you shouldn't. Faro, a word, I've got three. I'll go first. [a smug look] What's happened here? A ressurection, sir. Care to explain? I said ‘three.' Where's the King? My palms grew numb as my throbbing heartache welled up into the back of my throat and sat perched up against my growling stomach, stuffed with beans and rice, perhaps to fill the sadness or satiate my need for protein, either one. ASCENSION If you're going to vomit, step away from me. —I'm not sick. Actually, step out of my house. This is your house? —I live here. —no one lives here. What did you think it was? an elaborate cave. It is—an elaborwte cave— —excuse my ignorance. You're excused entirely. —I appreciate that. I meant, from here. You should go. Faro, wait. No more waiting; you were uninvited. Trust me—this visitation is more necessary than voluntary. That's—a lot of words. I don't speak caveman. Just—get out. Listen: No more listening— It's about C'esme't. It always is. This is important. It always is. It concerns you. It always does. —? Wait. [a heavy sigh] [a long silence] Come with me. FARO leads GÍAN towards the back of his quarters. Close the door. I— what? Nevermind. You're useless. Ehrm—excuse me. Excused, your majesty. FARO opens a SECRET PASSAGEWAY into a FUTURISTIC CORIDOR, leading GÍAN into a vast FORTRESS. balls. Uh. My stomach in knots And my life is in ruins Constellations all gone, And my heart, on the border of hurt— And mistrust So unlovable, loveless— Promises, scars and the art was devoured Ah— she was awful; Ah—she must have lost her mind God, she was homeless, And loveless, And wild eyed All that I wanted, Was to get lost in the lobby, Before the whole ball dropped —and watch the false phropet Collide wirh the comet Stop: I lost God at the crosswalk, The punishment was Homeless Now watch this: This is what I wanted: Doesn't really matter now, Does it? Oh, doesn't it. God, this is Lucifer. Son, it's an honor. No God for a mother, who walks on her own. Now it's over or under. It's over. It never got started. I locked up my heart with the piñata. How irrelevant. How awkward. How curse words turn to mantras. How I have half a heart Or, like ⅓ We're being honest, now. I thought Illuminati wanted hotties and Caucasians. Well, I guess that'll explain, Why you've been stuck inside a cage, then. NICK CAGE is an extremely skilled time traveler. Ok. WHOOPI GOLDBERG has freed herself from the cage in which SUPACREE had skillfully trapped the OWL OF THE GOLDEN EYE. WhT a prophecy. MEANWHILE, AT HOGWARTS. HOGWARTS, 2023. ANANDAR is HEADMASTER. Ah, fuck. I'm gonna puke. All I wanted was to shamelessly watch the man's balls swing like a pendulum... Well, here's this instead. Oh no, it's Skrillex. Now you have to— —now I have to watch this. Why. Cause I've already seen that. I hate you. I hate you. SOLD, to the lady in red. Damn. Slavery is cool. Yeah, I guess. FUCK. What. Idk. BITCH. GET OUT THE BASEMENT; I'm in the attick What you think this is? Lights, camera, action: Now that attractions been well established I should get back to it, I'm in the attic Lighting up matches, Fixin my holes up with patches Callin it classic Call me an asshole, I can't be mad man, I am a mad man, I bring the mask back To Handle a trash can Get out the basement. I told you he could dance. A GIANT DRAGON Oh shit, here it comes. FIRE. DILLON FRANCIS I Well. We're gonna die. DILLON FRANCIS II If she throws up, I get a pickle. DILLON FRANCIS III That's a deal. DILLON FRANCIS II And if she cries, I get a French poodle named Angelina Jolie. DILLON FRANCIS III Righteous. DILLON FRANCIS II Yur damn right. A GIANT DRAGON FLIES OVERHEAD, SWEEPING THE SKIES WITH FIRE AND LIGHTNING. DILLON FRANCIS I (CONT'D) Yeah, we're definitely fucked. Why are you dressed like Froto. FROTO (in background, dressed exactly alike) That is offensive! SHUTTHEFUCKUP. It's the end of the world! (At least as we know it) IS THAT SKRILLEX? FIRE BREATHING DRAGON. Well, it was. What the fuck HAPPENED?! Is that its final form? Yes it is. I'll give you one million dollars. That's not enough. This card is priceless. What is this. Like a Pokémon game?! This whoops Pokémon's ass. This is LEGENDS. LIL' BIIIITZ Yo! New York is CRAZY First of all, how is it all of a sudden CLEANER THAN LA?! New York's like: here —we sent all the nasty people to LA. All better. Polarity shift! LA is gross now! New York cleaned up! The trains are nice —shit— All the trash is in BAGS. I was like “Whaaaaaaat” this is nice. What the fuck. This shit different! Unh. they exported all the nasty, crazy motherfuxkers to LA. On GOD. Cause every other psychologically twisted individual I talk to in LA is like: “I'M FROM NEW YORK” *hawks loogie, spits* Uhhhhh… I was going on a little European adventure; New York's like: “You know, you never stay long…” I'm like “There's a reason for that…welp, gotta go.” The whole universe fucked around and was like— “You know what? We like you here. Stay. “ What. “STAY.” Fuck. New York is different. Won't say I love it — But goddamn, I like it! People are rude. People are rude as fuck. I'm used to LA where people are fake nice For fuckin tips and shit, you know? Everybody's trying to get famous for something, Or something. Idk. Fake as fuck. Fake nice. Fake happy. Fake titties. Fake lips. Just fucking fake. fake everything. Everything is plastic. —and it's not tied up in garbage bags, either. It's just plastic, and trash, and piss everywhere. It's so gross. You see Venice Beach on the movies: It's all clean and beautiful, and picturesque. You get there, it's like Skid Row + Skid Row Coastal. LA has millions of homeless people everywhere. In cars, in tents. Under bridges. Everywhere. And I love LA! I really do. But it's fake. Everything is fake. New York is real as fuck. Yeaaah. Almost too real. But I like it. You don't have to fuckin fake shit. People don't say “excuse me—“ No. You're never forced to say “good morning “ before you had your coffee! Yuh! New York is doing it right. People sleep on the train— But nobody lives on that motherfucker! I was in New York like a week before the shock wore off that there were not hundreds of individuals on every train wreaking of piss and smoking crack openly—YES—illicit drug use on trains in LA is extremely casual. Everything in LA is casual. People wear pajamas to work. Yeah—that. Everyone in New York looks like they're going to eat at a five-star restaurant. Like all the time. No socks-with-slides. EW. I swore to God socks with slides was a sign of the apocalypse; I get to New York, none of that—but the cringy thing in New York is Crocs With Socs. Now mmmm we're bi-coastal. Socks-with-slides; Crocs-with-socks. Knock that shit off. TACKY. other than that, though… NY is cool. It's chic. It's fun. You gotta be careful though. You gotta watch out. I thought LA drivers were crazy. New York drivers are fucking psychotic. Pedestrians don't have the right of way. At all. If you're in a crosswalk in LA even if the light is red, people will stop and let you go. In New York you better wait for the fuckin walk sign. They will kill you. It's okay. 6 millions ways to die: choose one! Just kidding. That's some west coast shit. But I did see a whole ass mural of Snoop Dogg in Brooklyn and get slightly confused— Till I realized everything on it was the color blue, and I was deadass in the middle of Brooklyn going “What? Ohhhhh! Wait! The Crips!” “Those guys are everywhere!” Lol. Its a nation wide disorganization. Lol. Whatever. I like New York. Doing my best not to love it, So the universe doesn't balance me out by showing me what to hate about it So far, so good New York drivers don't play. I never seen a school bus drift before! DAMN. Almost got hit by a short bus. Oh, the irony. I saw a dude do a whole ass wheelie on an electric scooter. Not a moped, by the way. An electric scooter. Yup. New Yoooooork. BEDFORD AVENUE, BROOKLYN, NY. THE BAMPHERAMPHS have initiated SEQUENCE C I like New York. I gotta say. It IS like LA In the way that I know I can't live in New York if I'm not just filthy fucking rich. Cause, you know—there's still homelessness; But unlike in LA, where you just wander around, smelling like piss, begging for change— You freeze to death. A quick solution! Haha! (It's not funny.) but whatever. America. I thought I was leaving; I got trapped in the matrix. I was like “Fuck this place.” They're like: “stay! We need slaves!” I'm like FUCK. So I got stuck in New York. Ugh. At least it's a “free state” I made it north, ma! Not exactly the safest place to get stuck with no money, either, is it? Really nowhere is safe with no money. I mean, I know of some places south of the border you can live, basically free and just, you know—sleep in a hammock, sing for change and shit. Roam the beach. I know people that do that— it's just- I like showers. I don't love showers. Cause then, I'm sure God would find a way to take that away, too. I don't love anything anymore. Once you love something—it either goes away, or it burns you. Or both. Can't love things. Can't love people. No more love. Just—appreciate—things. Just—like—things, you know? Don't love anything. Speaking of suicidal tendencies. Hahah. You know what else is cool about New York? The trains actually come into the station fast enough to kill you. Like—you've had enough? Okay: here it is. Just to save you a trip to the Empire State Building. This train is coming in at 304 miles an hour and is somehow gonna stop in 3 seconds. —maybe 2 seconds, if you do jump— Better think fast! They almost come too fast, for suicide. Ready, set— Dammit. Missed it again. They're so fast. The trains in LA stopped going suicide-fast like, a couple years ago—maybe, just before the pandemic—I think. They're like “You know what! This is happening too often. I am ALWAYS late to my other two jobs ‘cause someone killed themselves on my train! Fuck!” LA's like: “Well fuck this, all the slaves are killing themselves on the trains.” “Damn, that sucks” LA's like “Yeah, okay so: here's what we do; we'll put up signs for a suicide hotline at the popular jumping points” “LA's like: okay” “And—we'll tell the train operators they gotta slow down coming into the station—“ “That'll do it!” “—that way, If they still do decide to jump, they'll just get paralyzed, and contribute to the opioid crisis: more funding for big pharma!” “Yes, it's genius!” “—unless they're black, or on Medicaid, then: we'll send em home with some ibuprofen and make sure they collect disability, so that they can become addicted to crack, or something like that —you know.” “Yes. That's perfect.” Good Job LA. I get lost in New York. I'll be on New York like “YO, WHERE THE FUCK AM I AT?” “In New York” GODDAMMIT. You know what else is weird about New York? Personal space is not a thing. I mean, “space” is not a thing at all, anyway. But “Personal space”? No. People will not only sit by you; The'll siT ON you. Yo. I had just got to New York— I had all my luggage with me— And this lady gets on the train; She's got a broom. Idk what for, but okay; She gets onto the train, She looks around, and I guess she decides she wants the seat next to me. So like I said, I have all my stuff l so I'm a little spread out, but there's room— But you know what she does? She looks me straight in the eye And then just hits me with her broom. I was like —-?!? I'm thinking, “Okay is she racist or is that just a New York thing?” Like, “you can just hit people with shit!? damn!” What's funny is, I kinda respected her for that. She was old. Didn't say a word, just “bam” Like—- ‘move!' I'm like “okay!” New York is so classy. Girls wear panty hose, and stockings. I'm like “wow, that's actually nice. That's so wholesome! Tights?! Yeah!” It's so classy. I don't think girls in LA even wear regular panties. Let alone panty hose. Get it—panty—Hoes. I see correlation. You know what else is cool about New York. It's less racist. I mean- There's so much diversity, there's almost no room to be racist. It's crazy. So many people. So many colors. So much culture. So many languages! I hear languages I can't even place. I thought I was good. I'm in LA, I'm like, “Okay, that's Chinese—“ “That's Japanese” “That's Korean” “Farsi” I get to New York— I'm in the Delicstessen. Thats another thing. Nothing like a real, New York delicatessen. That's what “deli” is short for, by the way, everyone not from New York. It's “delicatessen” Lol. Anyway. I'm standing in the Deli and I hear some shit that—I'm not gonna lie— was actually quite alarming, as a native English speaker. I'm standing there, and this guy behind me literally over my shoulder says, “Blooppnsmabhoan ammaoakb amansbaiL aannaoka snkaoakmnlblblblnlnl!!!!” I'm like what the FUCK. This isn't REAL. “Blblblana. Akakma alak Akakamaamna!” I'm shoooook. What IS that!!? I like New York. The girls aren't all evil soulless heart eating demons. They're just “regular” I have to run back to LA and tell all my guy friends, they're like “Women are evil” I'm like— “Nooo, that's just out here.” Maybe. I don't know. I like New York. I bet it's wonderful when it's warm. I don't know! Maybe that's when shit hits the fan! Maybe it's like Chicago. EVERYBODY DIES IN THE SUMMER— Who said that. Chance the Rapper, I think. I don't know. LEGENDS: FAMESCHOOL This move is called: The “Slap-Dicksuck.” [carefully taking notes] “slap-dick-suck”…okay… hmm.. Now, class. [raises hand curiously] Yes? Um. SUPACREE— —PROFESSOR SUPACREE. Um. Professor SUPACREE— Yes! Why is it called the “Slap-Dicksuck” I was about to explain that. //SLAP-DICKSUCK// NEXT: we learn THE “SLAP-DICKSUCK-SLAP” Let me guess. No, no guessing. This class is gross. I like it. Yeah, you're gross. The world is gross. Get over it. GET OVER IT, DILLON FRANCIS. *sniffes* Please, stop crying. She— *sniffles* It's okay, Dillon. She took my piñata! Your piñata set your house on fire. He sets—everything on fire— Have you ever stopped to think— —no— thinking is bad. Go get dressed. No, not today. You look like a bloated chicken nugget. —I used to like chicken nuggets. hey, Tofu daddy. This is sick. This is a sick bitch we're dealing with. I'm not dealing with anything, I quit. Quit, you can't quit. I just did. DEADMAU5 Okay, no more bodies. Ū Okay. No more bodies. DEADMAU5 Really? Ū —No. DEADMAU5 Goddammit, this is not a GAME. Ū It is a game, though—and I'm a damn good marksman. DEADMAU5 Dammit, you're right. Ū I'm always right. Come, take my hand— (I took off my ring) Do you want to do a half, or a whole thing Come, take my hand Let's sit on this swing Do you want to do a half, or a whole thing? I powered on my phone to find the digital clock exactly at 1:15, which had seemed to be creeping up again as a recurring theme, along with some other unsettling figurines—if it was a race against time, I was losing—and If, perhaps, a Holy War, I must have been some sort of Holy, as it had seemed the world's good graces had turned her back on me, and that faith dwindled more quickly in the cold than any other condition. Lay your head on my shoulder, Your cheek on my cheek, Wrap your arm round my waist, You can think what I think You can skate on thin ice You can sing what I sing And when the ice breaks; You can sink when I sink Come, take my hand— (I took off my ring) Do you want to do a half, or a whole thing Come, take my hand Let's sit on this swing Do you want to do a half, or a whole thing? It had been strange waves of everything—more than I was ready for and much more than intentionally took on, all things considered. I burned my tongue on piping hot oatmeal, trying to eat rather than write, as it seemed the time had come that I could no longer skip meals and properly function. Nearing thirty like a bullet—and at least metaphorically bleeding as if I had actually been shot, my heart and soul throbbing and gushing into a paralyzing twist or fears and woes, trapped in a foreign city with almost nothing to my name, lugging around my music equipment and very few belongings, which—when put away neatly even in the smallest room— seemed like almost nothing, but was certainly too much to carry around, especially alone. And I was, so very alone. Drake Bell and the Hollywood Spell My newest and strangest muse yet had again insisted on appearing into my dream world, for the third time, anyway—which seemed a cruel and almost disturbing subconscious attempt to conjur up what might have been the entirety of my energy to complete the 6th Season of Enter The Multiverse, at this point which had even interested me, reinvigorating my senses and at least partially restoring my faith in something, even if it was just Hollywood being Hollywood. But now, even miles away from Hollywoodland, and stranded far, far away with no conceivable way to find my way back, even if I did have a home there waiting for me—and there wasn't—there didn't seem to be a home anywhere for me at all, and with my money running well towards dry I had spent most the week dry heaving into panic attacks about where I would go, or what I would do/—especially dragging around all of my luggage and equipment, and while it was true my equipment could have easily found it's way into a pawn shop, to at least offset the impending homelessness by maybe a couple days, and a couple hundred dollars—it didn't seem quite worth it to sell my dream again, especially for the miserable existence of sharing a hostel room with whoever decided to snore or cough their way into my hellish realm of corporate slavery, lovelessness, and lack of privacy. Yes, my conciousness had summoned up this man into my dreamworld now three times, and for whatever reason, if there was one — I could consider it a charm. Had I not been working at the smokeshop what now seemed like ages ago, I might have forgotten entirely that such a person had ever existed—which I had, since the experience, for the record, at least tried to—but for some reason, disasterously couldnt; it had all awakened something serious and spiritual within my outer world, piquing my ultra conscious into a rare and bewildering curiosity that had done well to slay and murder the cat in all of its nine lives, and then some. It wasn't entirely on purpose, or without guilt that my mind seemed to inquisitively structure an entire hidden world and to form a strange and illicit bond with this fragile man creature, not that my social status or overwhelmingly average, unattractive, stranded and abandoned wastebasket of a demon, or diety whatever I was in whatever kind of light, would have much at all to do but suffer the result of having missed the bar by far, stumbling into the lower realms of the world by mere circumstance, on occasion, without notice. I was certainly thinking about it too much, and hating myself for it, a certain spark or inspiration for the Timmy Turner timelines met with the sudden flash of what may have even been a lost memory of not for all this Hollywood trauma, or dogma, whichever made sense—because none of it did, at all, besides to reverse what time had done by allowing me to forget my turbulent childhood, which couldn't matter anymore in this moment as it ever had; and though I was producing a fruitful workout at Equinox, squatting deeply into the Smith Machine and breathing deeply into my lower back, where the tension from the weight of my leftover skin met the pain in the whole of my torso, an apparent rush sent a splash of slobber out of the side of my mouth, my third eye a gaping and burning hole streaking heat across the middle of my forehead—all of a sudden the high of Nitrous Oxide filled my mind, if only for a moment—flung back into a memory nearly two decades old. “That's it.” I remembered thinking. “No more of this.” I sat down the can of keyboard cleaner on the bathroom floor. I had scared myself straight, long before I even knew what I was doing—and I didn't know at all, having been nine, or maybe 10–long before I would ever *want* to get high, not understanding that or why I needed to, anyway—or that getting “high” was what I was doing at all. No, at the time, it simply ‘felt really good', until it didn't—the particular memory which struck me in the dead center of the Equinox floor—and snapping back into my body, shaking myself out of it and leaning into the bar to stretch, taking in a deep breath and choking back an ocean of tears. “Idiot.” I'm still lost in your eyes I'll be in love with you forever Dreams Wil Be Dreams. Since departing LA, all my dreams had been strange, and I found myself growing more distant from myself, or from anything real at all, my dreams skewing into a horrid soundscape of rampant memories and false hopes of love. Finally able to seek refuge in meditation, I had been bombarded with images of Dillon Francis balancing some pretty little white girl in his lap—and though I couldn't quite unhinge the Amethyst from my possession, I had been giving it the distance I needed for something like peace of mind, without the actual peace itself at play. There had been quite the spell to break, and though it hadn't even been moderately broken—I at least knew now what magic I was dealing with. Dillon Hart Francis was a powerful magician—perhaps too powerful, and with that I took my strides into gatekeeping at the very least, since no peace could be made. I could love with a wholesome heart, but a tarnished mind and a gated soul would simply not outlast the infinite journey. Though I had been illicitly carfeful not to look him in the eye last we did meet, there was a remarkable force in place far beyond control—or at least my control— which kept such power from being apprehended; I had done my best to let go, knowing it was indeed a spell at play, and rather than a curse no need to worry or fear it's users intentions. Magic was a give-and-take, and so much had been at this point taken from me that the bruises of jealousy for whatever it was being waved about my psyche as ‘better than' could do no more than to rip the rest of my heart from its crevice as I pondered on what I might have done right, or might have done wrong—if there were such things. ‘White girls get all the love.' It was only true in my heart and my mind, and so it must have sat in my soul a certain way. I had never intended really to fall into what I had fallen into with Dillon Francis—not that it couldn't or wouldn't be undone, eventually, as I was inraveling myself into an unremarkable, unastonishing whisp — a fracture in time to do much less than even be though of, or forgotten. I'm still lost in your eyes I'll be in love with you forever A piece of my rock had shattered on the floor of the shower at Equinox—the only stone I kept for myself, and often forgotten about, as I did myself, not that i mattered much. It shattered unevenly into three pieces, one of which I left in the sauna, quickly before departing—and the other which I had dropped in Times Square, begrudgingly under the LCD American flag by which I felt betrayed: How could our nation not only allow, but create homelessness as a scare tactic to keep the working poor working as slaves, to saciate the wealthy's wants and needs? “Whatever.” I'm not going to hurt you, You can't hurt me anymore than I can hurt myself. I'm glad you know that. I don't know anything. Suicide fucking sucks. I know that. It might be time for me to go But I just want to let you know I still got love for you; And there's still hope; I left the door open I gotta go, you know, It's hopeless for some At the end of my rope —and it's a long way home, But it's home at the end It's home at the end of a long, lond road I took the wrong one, But at least now I know you I'll go on It seems that I still have a soul, somewhere I walked in on thin air, And now I'm here; I don't know where I'm still lost in your eyes I'll be in love with you forever LEGENDS EDDIE MURPHY opens the heavy Victorian style door, after three solid knocks from under the GLOVED HAND which lifts the golden-brass door knocker. To what do I owe the pleasure? WHOOPI GOLDBERG Business, not pleasure. -_- Well, which business. All of ‘em. [She gestures to pass through the doorway.] Please, come in. Coffee, or Tea? Coffee this late? [beat] Coffee. This is serious. You look serious. I've been—confined. Drake Bell, you son of a bitch. Oh, so you do know my name. I know all your names. So it is. So I am. — How'd you get in this? I've always been in this. What is “always”? How did you get in this? I am this. What a philosophy. Call it what you want. What if I don't. Then don't. See you on the other side. Someone once told me, the grass is much greener— on the other side. —and when I paid a visit, (It's possible I missed it) Seemed different, yet exactly the same. DILLON FRANCIS I didn't want it to end this way. I didn't want it to end. Well, it did. You let it. I had to. Just let go. No, I can't. Hah! What's so funny? You're fucking impossible. Nothing is “impossible” you said that. But you “can't” Let this go? Ah-hah. No. This here will keep slowly unwinding until there's no more. —and then what? There's no more. Damn. This is foul. Hm. Take a time out, Timmy. I'm a take a t-t-taxi I pay my t-t-taxes The actor and the actress. Oh, He's Big Hollywood; Doesn't Have a Job, But the work's real good – His lines are smooth and his days are long, Gotta make it right, For a whole lot of wrongs He's Big-Big Hollywood Doesn't have a job; But the work's real good Coming in hot, Like he's fresh out the box That's a real big nugget, With a whole lot of sauce. Stop. What. What is this. It's a song. This is awful. FUCK IT. I DON'T CARE. Damn, Oreos AND Ben & Jerry's?! IT'S DAIRY-FREE. Tf kind o f Oreos is that. They're GLuten FrEe. FUCK IT. Sunni, get a hold of yourself. YOU GET A HOLD OF YOUR SELF. Stop yelling from across the room. I'LL YELL WHERE I WANT. Fuck this job. FUCK YOU MARIANNE. AGGHH. AGGHHHHHHHHH. Fuck What. What's up. I need a smoke break. I'M GONNA RIP YOUR HEART OUT. YOU DOn'T HAVE A HEART. SHUT UP, DILLON FRANCIS. GOd. WHO INVITED HIM, ANYWAY. I didn't. NOBODY INVITED HIM. The inspiration to music hit at just the right and the wrong time—I had finally found my way to the butt machine, only after visiting every other floor and guessing incorrectly—only to make it to the machine in just enough time to realize that I was for some reason exhausted—perhaps having just blown my last fuse, realizing I was literally down to my last, few pennies— and, unknowing of how to escape the hole I had dug myself into, falling into a carful and unsecured ‘lust' with New York, surely never to fall in love with another city as I had LA, learning my lessons well, and knowing all too well that nowhere and no one like me was safe from homelessness in the US—now having proven itself to be a hostile entity, in a full police state. It didn't seem to matter, though, as I had narrowly missed my escape nearly on purpose, but not— it seemed something entirely outward was keeping me at bay and in the US, not that I had wanted to leave out of fear for my life as much as I wanted adventure and exploration—but either way was going nowhere at all fast, and running out or money even faster. “Fuck, I hate my life” I had probably over caffeinated, at least half the reason I couldn't budge to top speed, even blasting bangarang into my eardrums at nearly top volume—this day, it only emotionally weakened me, having demoted myself entirely from any sort of elite status, back into the realm of obsessive fandom, and perhaps even schizophrenia, per Dane Cook's shenanigans. Yeah, I'm tired and I need to take like ten shits. Just finish then. If I leave early I have to come back early. Well, go, then. Muscle fatigue, check Dehydration, check Psyche completely shattered Check. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

After the ancient alien mystic chak Chel merges with supacree, she leads her on a wild adventure though space and time as the worlds newest superhero, helping supacree to master her powers and abilities, and helping her to escape the clutches of the evil and largely unknown evils of the multiverse— Meeting worlds and Banding together witb characters from infinite multidimensional worlds and realms… THE LEGEND OF SUPACREE LEGENDS GERALD'S WORLD OWSLA CONFIDENTIAL: THE INFINITE SKRILLIFILES ENTER THE MULTIVERSE DEATHWISH ASCENSION THE SECRET LIFE OF SUNNÏ BLŪ SCARY MONSTERS & SUPACREE THE INSOMNIAC &MORE FROM [The Festival Project.™] SEASON 6 ACT III Part I MONTAGE: Clique, Cruel Summer Kanye West, JAY-Z & Big Sean EXT. DOWNTOWN LOS ANGELES. BROAD ASS DAYLIGHT SUPACREE has unlocked 100% Of her ABILITIES GOD MODE UNLOCKED SUPACREE EXITS EQUINOX FITNESS CLUB AT LIGHTSPEED, Hitting the pavement with swift force, splitting into three dimensional selves; SUNNI BLŪ to her left and A MYSTERIOUS, unknown ALTER EGO to her right, she shifts quickly to the beat of the music, morphing into and out of parallels of the outer world, opening and closing portals, and encapsulating anything and everything within her force field—which happens to be the whole of GREATER LOS ANGELES. Damn. If I put my heart inside a box; Maybe I'd forget how cold it was Or how far you are Or how much it hurts There's no harm in God, If there ever was one Then, reality sets in: God was my only friend No armor on, I'm at the end Of a long, long walk I'm off again And on again Nothing's impossible— stop at the alter and scoff a bit I left my coat on, I left my heart on the rooftop, A sacrifice, love At the alter, I wonder a song, Or a sonnet A song, No, what's wrong? Something's off a bit God, I woke up in a coffin once Isn't that awful? The rest or the song wrote itself, At the alter No, I can't stop and talk Got to get off, Cause I've never been on I've never belonged in the world What have we done? This is bad, brother. That's a construct. Everything's a construct! Get ahold of yourself. Get ahold of—you know what? I do know. You think you're fuckin' clever. I am clever. You're a sick man. That's my business. Yeah, well—you made it my business. I am you. What a concept. *construct. God, help you! [sideways evil smirk] Hehe. SPAM! ON TACOS! BUTTERS Oh—Jesus! WHO PUTS SPAM ON TACOS?! A smart man. C'mon, Butters. We gotta get lost in the sauce before we try this out. I'MMA TRY IT OUT. OK. GOD, OH, GOD, PLEASE— MERCIFUL GOD IN HEAVEN— (WhT.) JUST— DON'T LET IT BE SKRILL AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. Fuxk. What. She took the train. Which fucking train. I don't know. The train. THE A TRAIN, or the B TRAIN?! HEY. WHAT, you motherfucking idiot? I THINK I LOVE YOU. Well, stop thinking. Ok. JIMMY FALLON THE COSMIC AVENGER has been kidnapped— He's like 50 years old. He's been dad-napped. —by the MOB. The MOB?! He's into some dark shit. Wait, he is?! In this series. He has been tied to a chair, which sits under a single spotlight in a shabby, dark room in NEW JERSEY. Ew, New Jersey. JIMMY THE MOBSTER Hi, Jimmy— JIMMY FALLON —uh—hello. JIMMY THE MOBSTER I'm Jimmy. JIMMY FALLON Oh, that's ironic. [beat] JIMMY THE MOBSTER I'm gonna kill you, Jimmy. GOD If I give you a serious role, how are you gonna handle it? JIMMY FALLON like a pro. GOD don't lie to me, Jimmy. JIMMY FALLON What?! I'm not! My body, heart, mind, and soul was being attacked— I had 15 minutes to vacate the property and couldn't even focus—I had to use the bathroom so badly it hurt my soul. I was pacing back and forth, choking back ugly tears—the rude man in the room across the way still occupying the bathroom which I needed, both to clean and relieve myself—but it had been hell, after all, and needs like these had been proven to be in short supply. Fuck. This is a gun to your head. Just do it. [he moves the pistol into her mouth] Now it's in your mouth. [she unhinges her jaw to open it wider, never breaking eye contact and relaxes; he studies his hand on the grip of the tripper, ready to lill] You'll die today. [A comfort; as she relaxes, he as well changes—this seems to take the fun of killing away from him, he exacts the gun from her mouth] CONT'D You like that? I love it— You're dead, bitch! Yes, I am! A penniless whore. Whores get paid— Then, even less— What's less than this? A dead bitch. Think again. I don't think, I just shoot; Sounds like a man. Oh, I am. Then kill me with your hands. Jesus Christ, man. He can't help. No one can help you. So just shoot. [he can't] SUNNI. )&2&;@2@2$ YOU ARE OUT OF CONTROL. SUCK MY DICK. AGHHJJJ. Well. TMZ is here. This is a disaster. NEXT, WE LEARN: THE Oh my God. WhT. This is probably the worst thing I've ever written. Not the worst. Nope: it is the worst. Maybe it's just bad on paper. It's bad no matter how you — CONTROL, JANET PRIVACY. Here. Wtf is this. LEGENDS: FAME SCHOOL Christopher Walken was one of my professors in fame school For acting? For music. For music? That doesn't make any sense. Please, don't make me explain this. A FACE BATTLE CHRISTOPHER WALKEN vs. SUPACREE -_- —__^ *_- ^__ __/ *_* >< … —-__—- Ok. Alright. Show me what you got. SUPACREE plays a beat. You know where this is going. We all know where this is going. CHRISTOPHER WALKEN that was OK. “OK”?! Yeah. *shrugs* OK. You know what— You know what it needs? …what's it need? —-more cowbell. I beg your pardon. Please, don't beg. It was perfect. It was OK. You're not OK. —maybe I'm not. You're definitely not. —know what helps? Don't tell me: More fucking cowbell. Lol. ⅔ ain't bad. Wait, two out or three?! Which one didn't I— —FUCK. What, what happened? They're onto me. THE BAMPHERAMPS, MOTHERFUCKING BAMPHERAMPHS, and THE ASCENDED MASTERY has assembled in NEW YORK CITY to stage a coup. It's a coup d'état. There sure is a lot of French shit over here. Well yeah, it's Paris. Wait. What, what now? If SUPACREE is in Paris. NIGGAZ. Right—then— Who the fuck are they chasing in New York. [just waking up] Why am I in New York? WHOOPI GOLDBERG you got anyplace else to be? …no. MEANWHILE, IN ROME. Fanculo! Really, dude. Apparently. A tear in my head; A rip in my soul, And the fabric of— Coming undone at the whole; I make sense of it all at the alter, The fall; To have fought in the war, And then lost, or to suffer at all Love was lost, I was never a martyr— Blood on the cross, And the crossroads, The frost and the stardust, “There's no God” For the honorable, Stuck in New York, But defrosting my toes, At the forefront I haven't once wondered or thought Of the love that I was, Since I stopped throwing rocks at the church Or got off on the wrong stop; What a puzzle, To jump off, Or rot in the heart of The hub— World of wonders, A mother of suns, Never wanted a daughter so much Unpunishment, Loved was the Duchess; To carry a crutch or a cross— So unbothered, untouched, So heartless and dark, For the marksman—a spark Or the dog does not bark At the horses You're in the clear, hero. Heartless, she was! Now, now—settle down. This is an absolute outrage. Is it, now? I say so! Maybe you shouldn't. Faro, a word, I've got three. I'll go first. [a smug look] What's happened here? A ressurection, sir. Care to explain? I said ‘three.' Where's the King? My palms grew numb as my throbbing heartache welled up into the back of my throat and sat perched up against my growling stomach, stuffed with beans and rice, perhaps to fill the sadness or satiate my need for protein, either one. ASCENSION If you're going to vomit, step away from me. —I'm not sick. Actually, step out of my house. This is your house? —I live here. —no one lives here. What did you think it was? an elaborate cave. It is—an elaborwte cave— —excuse my ignorance. You're excused entirely. —I appreciate that. I meant, from here. You should go. Faro, wait. No more waiting; you were uninvited. Trust me—this visitation is more necessary than voluntary. That's—a lot of words. I don't speak caveman. Just—get out. Listen: No more listening— It's about C'esme't. It always is. This is important. It always is. It concerns you. It always does. —? Wait. [a heavy sigh] [a long silence] Come with me. FARO leads GÍAN towards the back of his quarters. Close the door. I— what? Nevermind. You're useless. Ehrm—excuse me. Excused, your majesty. FARO opens a SECRET PASSAGEWAY into a FUTURISTIC CORIDOR, leading GÍAN into a vast FORTRESS. balls. Uh. My stomach in knots And my life is in ruins Constellations all gone, And my heart, on the border of hurt— And mistrust So unlovable, loveless— Promises, scars and the art was devoured Ah— she was awful; Ah—she must have lost her mind God, she was homeless, And loveless, And wild eyed All that I wanted, Was to get lost in the lobby, Before the whole ball dropped —and watch the false phropet Collide wirh the comet Stop: I lost God at the crosswalk, The punishment was Homeless Now watch this: This is what I wanted: Doesn't really matter now, Does it? Oh, doesn't it. God, this is Lucifer. Son, it's an honor. No God for a mother, who walks on her own. Now it's over or under. It's over. It never got started. I locked up my heart with the piñata. How irrelevant. How awkward. How curse words turn to mantras. How I have half a heart Or, like ⅓ We're being honest, now. I thought Illuminati wanted hotties and Caucasians. Well, I guess that'll explain, Why you've been stuck inside a cage, then. NICK CAGE is an extremely skilled time traveler. Ok. WHOOPI GOLDBERG has freed herself from the cage in which SUPACREE had skillfully trapped the OWL OF THE GOLDEN EYE. WhT a prophecy. MEANWHILE, AT HOGWARTS. HOGWARTS, 2023. ANANDAR is HEADMASTER. Ah, fuck. I'm gonna puke. All I wanted was to shamelessly watch the man's balls swing like a pendulum... Well, here's this instead. Oh no, it's Skrillex. Now you have to— —now I have to watch this. Why. Cause I've already seen that. I hate you. I hate you. SOLD, to the lady in red. Damn. Slavery is cool. Yeah, I guess. FUCK. What. Idk. BITCH. GET OUT THE BASEMENT; I'm in the attick What you think this is? Lights, camera, action: Now that attractions been well established I should get back to it, I'm in the attic Lighting up matches, Fixin my holes up with patches Callin it classic Call me an asshole, I can't be mad man, I am a mad man, I bring the mask back To Handle a trash can Get out the basement. I told you he could dance. A GIANT DRAGON Oh shit, here it comes. FIRE. DILLON FRANCIS I Well. We're gonna die. DILLON FRANCIS II If she throws up, I get a pickle. DILLON FRANCIS III That's a deal. DILLON FRANCIS II And if she cries, I get a French poodle named Angelina Jolie. DILLON FRANCIS III Righteous. DILLON FRANCIS II Yur damn right. A GIANT DRAGON FLIES OVERHEAD, SWEEPING THE SKIES WITH FIRE AND LIGHTNING. DILLON FRANCIS I (CONT'D) Yeah, we're definitely fucked. Why are you dressed like Froto. FROTO (in background, dressed exactly alike) That is offensive! SHUTTHEFUCKUP. It's the end of the world! (At least as we know it) IS THAT SKRILLEX? FIRE BREATHING DRAGON. Well, it was. What the fuck HAPPENED?! Is that its final form? Yes it is. I'll give you one million dollars. That's not enough. This card is priceless. What is this. Like a Pokémon game?! This whoops Pokémon's ass. This is LEGENDS. LIL' BIIIITZ Yo! New York is CRAZY First of all, how is it all of a sudden CLEANER THAN LA?! New York's like: here —we sent all the nasty people to LA. All better. Polarity shift! LA is gross now! New York cleaned up! The trains are nice —shit— All the trash is in BAGS. I was like “Whaaaaaaat” this is nice. What the fuck. This shit different! Unh. they exported all the nasty, crazy motherfuxkers to LA. On GOD. Cause every other psychologically twisted individual I talk to in LA is like: “I'M FROM NEW YORK” *hawks loogie, spits* Uhhhhh… I was going on a little European adventure; New York's like: “You know, you never stay long…” I'm like “There's a reason for that…welp, gotta go.” The whole universe fucked around and was like— “You know what? We like you here. Stay. “ What. “STAY.” Fuck. New York is different. Won't say I love it — But goddamn, I like it! People are rude. People are rude as fuck. I'm used to LA where people are fake nice For fuckin tips and shit, you know? Everybody's trying to get famous for something, Or something. Idk. Fake as fuck. Fake nice. Fake happy. Fake titties. Fake lips. Just fucking fake. fake everything. Everything is plastic. —and it's not tied up in garbage bags, either. It's just plastic, and trash, and piss everywhere. It's so gross. You see Venice Beach on the movies: It's all clean and beautiful, and picturesque. You get there, it's like Skid Row + Skid Row Coastal. LA has millions of homeless people everywhere. In cars, in tents. Under bridges. Everywhere. And I love LA! I really do. But it's fake. Everything is fake. New York is real as fuck. Yeaaah. Almost too real. But I like it. You don't have to fuckin fake shit. People don't say “excuse me—“ No. You're never forced to say “good morning “ before you had your coffee! Yuh! New York is doing it right. People sleep on the train— But nobody lives on that motherfucker! I was in New York like a week before the shock wore off that there were not hundreds of individuals on every train wreaking of piss and smoking crack openly—YES—illicit drug use on trains in LA is extremely casual. Everything in LA is casual. People wear pajamas to work. Yeah—that. Everyone in New York looks like they're going to eat at a five-star restaurant. Like all the time. No socks-with-slides. EW. I swore to God socks with slides was a sign of the apocalypse; I get to New York, none of that—but the cringy thing in New York is Crocs With Socs. Now mmmm we're bi-coastal. Socks-with-slides; Crocs-with-socks. Knock that shit off. TACKY. other than that, though… NY is cool. It's chic. It's fun. You gotta be careful though. You gotta watch out. I thought LA drivers were crazy. New York drivers are fucking psychotic. Pedestrians don't have the right of way. At all. If you're in a crosswalk in LA even if the light is red, people will stop and let you go. In New York you better wait for the fuckin walk sign. They will kill you. It's okay. 6 millions ways to die: choose one! Just kidding. That's some west coast shit. But I did see a whole ass mural of Snoop Dogg in Brooklyn and get slightly confused— Till I realized everything on it was the color blue, and I was deadass in the middle of Brooklyn going “What? Ohhhhh! Wait! The Crips!” “Those guys are everywhere!” Lol. Its a nation wide disorganization. Lol. Whatever. I like New York. Doing my best not to love it, So the universe doesn't balance me out by showing me what to hate about it So far, so good New York drivers don't play. I never seen a school bus drift before! DAMN. Almost got hit by a short bus. Oh, the irony. I saw a dude do a whole ass wheelie on an electric scooter. Not a moped, by the way. An electric scooter. Yup. New Yoooooork. BEDFORD AVENUE, BROOKLYN, NY. THE BAMPHERAMPHS have initiated SEQUENCE C I like New York. I gotta say. It IS like LA In the way that I know I can't live in New York if I'm not just filthy fucking rich. Cause, you know—there's still homelessness; But unlike in LA, where you just wander around, smelling like piss, begging for change— You freeze to death. A quick solution! Haha! (It's not funny.) but whatever. America. I thought I was leaving; I got trapped in the matrix. I was like “Fuck this place.” They're like: “stay! We need slaves!” I'm like FUCK. So I got stuck in New York. Ugh. At least it's a “free state” I made it north, ma! Not exactly the safest place to get stuck with no money, either, is it? Really nowhere is safe with no money. I mean, I know of some places south of the border you can live, basically free and just, you know—sleep in a hammock, sing for change and shit. Roam the beach. I know people that do that— it's just- I like showers. I don't love showers. Cause then, I'm sure God would find a way to take that away, too. I don't love anything anymore. Once you love something—it either goes away, or it burns you. Or both. Can't love things. Can't love people. No more love. Just—appreciate—things. Just—like—things, you know? Don't love anything. Speaking of suicidal tendencies. Hahah. You know what else is cool about New York? The trains actually come into the station fast enough to kill you. Like—you've had enough? Okay: here it is. Just to save you a trip to the Empire State Building. This train is coming in at 304 miles an hour and is somehow gonna stop in 3 seconds. —maybe 2 seconds, if you do jump— Better think fast! They almost come too fast, for suicide. Ready, set— Dammit. Missed it again. They're so fast. The trains in LA stopped going suicide-fast like, a couple years ago—maybe, just before the pandemic—I think. They're like “You know what! This is happening too often. I am ALWAYS late to my other two jobs ‘cause someone killed themselves on my train! Fuck!” LA's like: “Well fuck this, all the slaves are killing themselves on the trains.” “Damn, that sucks” LA's like “Yeah, okay so: here's what we do; we'll put up signs for a suicide hotline at the popular jumping points” “LA's like: okay” “And—we'll tell the train operators they gotta slow down coming into the station—“ “That'll do it!” “—that way, If they still do decide to jump, they'll just get paralyzed, and contribute to the opioid crisis: more funding for big pharma!” “Yes, it's genius!” “—unless they're black, or on Medicaid, then: we'll send em home with some ibuprofen and make sure they collect disability, so that they can become addicted to crack, or something like that —you know.” “Yes. That's perfect.” Good Job LA. I get lost in New York. I'll be on New York like “YO, WHERE THE FUCK AM I AT?” “In New York” GODDAMMIT. You know what else is weird about New York? Personal space is not a thing. I mean, “space” is not a thing at all, anyway. But “Personal space”? No. People will not only sit by you; The'll siT ON you. Yo. I had just got to New York— I had all my luggage with me— And this lady gets on the train; She's got a broom. Idk what for, but okay; She gets onto the train, She looks around, and I guess she decides she wants the seat next to me. So like I said, I have all my stuff l so I'm a little spread out, but there's room— But you know what she does? She looks me straight in the eye And then just hits me with her broom. I was like —-?!? I'm thinking, “Okay is she racist or is that just a New York thing?” Like, “you can just hit people with shit!? damn!” What's funny is, I kinda respected her for that. She was old. Didn't say a word, just “bam” Like—- ‘move!' I'm like “okay!” New York is so classy. Girls wear panty hose, and stockings. I'm like “wow, that's actually nice. That's so wholesome! Tights?! Yeah!” It's so classy. I don't think girls in LA even wear regular panties. Let alone panty hose. Get it—panty—Hoes. I see correlation. You know what else is cool about New York. It's less racist. I mean- There's so much diversity, there's almost no room to be racist. It's crazy. So many people. So many colors. So much culture. So many languages! I hear languages I can't even place. I thought I was good. I'm in LA, I'm like, “Okay, that's Chinese—“ “That's Japanese” “That's Korean” “Farsi” I get to New York— I'm in the Delicstessen. Thats another thing. Nothing like a real, New York delicatessen. That's what “deli” is short for, by the way, everyone not from New York. It's “delicatessen” Lol. Anyway. I'm standing in the Deli and I hear some shit that—I'm not gonna lie— was actually quite alarming, as a native English speaker. I'm standing there, and this guy behind me literally over my shoulder says, “Blooppnsmabhoan ammaoakb amansbaiL aannaoka snkaoakmnlblblblnlnl!!!!” I'm like what the FUCK. This isn't REAL. “Blblblana. Akakma alak Akakamaamna!” I'm shoooook. What IS that!!? I like New York. The girls aren't all evil soulless heart eating demons. They're just “regular” I have to run back to LA and tell all my guy friends, they're like “Women are evil” I'm like— “Nooo, that's just out here.” Maybe. I don't know. I like New York. I bet it's wonderful when it's warm. I don't know! Maybe that's when shit hits the fan! Maybe it's like Chicago. EVERYBODY DIES IN THE SUMMER— Who said that. Chance the Rapper, I think. I don't know. LEGENDS: FAMESCHOOL This move is called: The “Slap-Dicksuck.” [carefully taking notes] “slap-dick-suck”…okay… hmm.. Now, class. [raises hand curiously] Yes? Um. SUPACREE— —PROFESSOR SUPACREE. Um. Professor SUPACREE— Yes! Why is it called the “Slap-Dicksuck” I was about to explain that. //SLAP-DICKSUCK// NEXT: we learn THE “SLAP-DICKSUCK-SLAP” Let me guess. No, no guessing. This class is gross. I like it. Yeah, you're gross. The world is gross. Get over it. GET OVER IT, DILLON FRANCIS. *sniffes* Please, stop crying. She— *sniffles* It's okay, Dillon. She took my piñata! Your piñata set your house on fire. He sets—everything on fire— Have you ever stopped to think— —no— thinking is bad. Go get dressed. No, not today. You look like a bloated chicken nugget. —I used to like chicken nuggets. hey, Tofu daddy. This is sick. This is a sick bitch we're dealing with. I'm not dealing with anything, I quit. Quit, you can't quit. I just did. DEADMAU5 Okay, no more bodies. Ū Okay. No more bodies. DEADMAU5 Really? Ū —No. DEADMAU5 Goddammit, this is not a GAME. Ū It is a game, though—and I'm a damn good marksman. DEADMAU5 Dammit, you're right. Ū I'm always right. Come, take my hand— (I took off my ring) Do you want to do a half, or a whole thing Come, take my hand Let's sit on this swing Do you want to do a half, or a whole thing? I powered on my phone to find the digital clock exactly at 1:15, which had seemed to be creeping up again as a recurring theme, along with some other unsettling figurines—if it was a race against time, I was losing—and If, perhaps, a Holy War, I must have been some sort of Holy, as it had seemed the world's good graces had turned her back on me, and that faith dwindled more quickly in the cold than any other condition. Lay your head on my shoulder, Your cheek on my cheek, Wrap your arm round my waist, You can think what I think You can skate on thin ice You can sing what I sing And when the ice breaks; You can sink when I sink Come, take my hand— (I took off my ring) Do you want to do a half, or a whole thing Come, take my hand Let's sit on this swing Do you want to do a half, or a whole thing? It had been strange waves of everything—more than I was ready for and much more than intentionally took on, all things considered. I burned my tongue on piping hot oatmeal, trying to eat rather than write, as it seemed the time had come that I could no longer skip meals and properly function. Nearing thirty like a bullet—and at least metaphorically bleeding as if I had actually been shot, my heart and soul throbbing and gushing into a paralyzing twist or fears and woes, trapped in a foreign city with almost nothing to my name, lugging around my music equipment and very few belongings, which—when put away neatly even in the smallest room— seemed like almost nothing, but was certainly too much to carry around, especially alone. And I was, so very alone. Drake Bell and the Hollywood Spell My newest and strangest muse yet had again insisted on appearing into my dream world, for the third time, anyway—which seemed a cruel and almost disturbing subconscious attempt to conjur up what might have been the entirety of my energy to complete the 6th Season of Enter The Multiverse, at this point which had even interested me, reinvigorating my senses and at least partially restoring my faith in something, even if it was just Hollywood being Hollywood. But now, even miles away from Hollywoodland, and stranded far, far away with no conceivable way to find my way back, even if I did have a home there waiting for me—and there wasn't—there didn't seem to be a home anywhere for me at all, and with my money running well towards dry I had spent most the week dry heaving into panic attacks about where I would go, or what I would do/—especially dragging around all of my luggage and equipment, and while it was true my equipment could have easily found it's way into a pawn shop, to at least offset the impending homelessness by maybe a couple days, and a couple hundred dollars—it didn't seem quite worth it to sell my dream again, especially for the miserable existence of sharing a hostel room with whoever decided to snore or cough their way into my hellish realm of corporate slavery, lovelessness, and lack of privacy. Yes, my conciousness had summoned up this man into my dreamworld now three times, and for whatever reason, if there was one — I could consider it a charm. Had I not been working at the smokeshop what now seemed like ages ago, I might have forgotten entirely that such a person had ever existed—which I had, since the experience, for the record, at least tried to—but for some reason, disasterously couldnt; it had all awakened something serious and spiritual within my outer world, piquing my ultra conscious into a rare and bewildering curiosity that had done well to slay and murder the cat in all of its nine lives, and then some. It wasn't entirely on purpose, or without guilt that my mind seemed to inquisitively structure an entire hidden world and to form a strange and illicit bond with this fragile man creature, not that my social status or overwhelmingly average, unattractive, stranded and abandoned wastebasket of a demon, or diety whatever I was in whatever kind of light, would have much at all to do but suffer the result of having missed the bar by far, stumbling into the lower realms of the world by mere circumstance, on occasion, without notice. I was certainly thinking about it too much, and hating myself for it, a certain spark or inspiration for the Timmy Turner timelines met with the sudden flash of what may have even been a lost memory of not for all this Hollywood trauma, or dogma, whichever made sense—because none of it did, at all, besides to reverse what time had done by allowing me to forget my turbulent childhood, which couldn't matter anymore in this moment as it ever had; and though I was producing a fruitful workout at Equinox, squatting deeply into the Smith Machine and breathing deeply into my lower back, where the tension from the weight of my leftover skin met the pain in the whole of my torso, an apparent rush sent a splash of slobber out of the side of my mouth, my third eye a gaping and burning hole streaking heat across the middle of my forehead—all of a sudden the high of Nitrous Oxide filled my mind, if only for a moment—flung back into a memory nearly two decades old. “That's it.” I remembered thinking. “No more of this.” I sat down the can of keyboard cleaner on the bathroom floor. I had scared myself straight, long before I even knew what I was doing—and I didn't know at all, having been nine, or maybe 10–long before I would ever *want* to get high, not understanding that or why I needed to, anyway—or that getting “high” was what I was doing at all. No, at the time, it simply ‘felt really good', until it didn't—the particular memory which struck me in the dead center of the Equinox floor—and snapping back into my body, shaking myself out of it and leaning into the bar to stretch, taking in a deep breath and choking back an ocean of tears. “Idiot.” I'm still lost in your eyes I'll be in love with you forever Dreams Wil Be Dreams. Since departing LA, all my dreams had been strange, and I found myself growing more distant from myself, or from anything real at all, my dreams skewing into a horrid soundscape of rampant memories and false hopes of love. Finally able to seek refuge in meditation, I had been bombarded with images of Dillon Francis balancing some pretty little white girl in his lap—and though I couldn't quite unhinge the Amethyst from my possession, I had been giving it the distance I needed for something like peace of mind, without the actual peace itself at play. There had been quite the spell to break, and though it hadn't even been moderately broken—I at least knew now what magic I was dealing with. Dillon Hart Francis was a powerful magician—perhaps too powerful, and with that I took my strides into gatekeeping at the very least, since no peace could be made. I could love with a wholesome heart, but a tarnished mind and a gated soul would simply not outlast the infinite journey. Though I had been illicitly carfeful not to look him in the eye last we did meet, there was a remarkable force in place far beyond control—or at least my control— which kept such power from being apprehended; I had done my best to let go, knowing it was indeed a spell at play, and rather than a curse no need to worry or fear it's users intentions. Magic was a give-and-take, and so much had been at this point taken from me that the bruises of jealousy for whatever it was being waved about my psyche as ‘better than' could do no more than to rip the rest of my heart from its crevice as I pondered on what I might have done right, or might have done wrong—if there were such things. ‘White girls get all the love.' It was only true in my heart and my mind, and so it must have sat in my soul a certain way. I had never intended really to fall into what I had fallen into with Dillon Francis—not that it couldn't or wouldn't be undone, eventually, as I was inraveling myself into an unremarkable, unastonishing whisp — a fracture in time to do much less than even be though of, or forgotten. I'm still lost in your eyes I'll be in love with you forever A piece of my rock had shattered on the floor of the shower at Equinox—the only stone I kept for myself, and often forgotten about, as I did myself, not that i mattered much. It shattered unevenly into three pieces, one of which I left in the sauna, quickly before departing—and the other which I had dropped in Times Square, begrudgingly under the LCD American flag by which I felt betrayed: How could our nation not only allow, but create homelessness as a scare tactic to keep the working poor working as slaves, to saciate the wealthy's wants and needs? “Whatever.” I'm not going to hurt you, You can't hurt me anymore than I can hurt myself. I'm glad you know that. I don't know anything. Suicide fucking sucks. I know that. It might be time for me to go But I just want to let you know I still got love for you; And there's still hope; I left the door open I gotta go, you know, It's hopeless for some At the end of my rope —and it's a long way home, But it's home at the end It's home at the end of a long, lond road I took the wrong one, But at least now I know you I'll go on It seems that I still have a soul, somewhere I walked in on thin air, And now I'm here; I don't know where I'm still lost in your eyes I'll be in love with you forever LEGENDS EDDIE MURPHY opens the heavy Victorian style door, after three solid knocks from under the GLOVED HAND which lifts the golden-brass door knocker. To what do I owe the pleasure? WHOOPI GOLDBERG Business, not pleasure. -_- Well, which business. All of ‘em. [She gestures to pass through the doorway.] Please, come in. Coffee, or Tea? Coffee this late? [beat] Coffee. This is serious. You look serious. I've been—confined. Drake Bell, you son of a bitch. Oh, so you do know my name. I know all your names. So it is. So I am. — How'd you get in this? I've always been in this. What is “always”? How did you get in this? I am this. What a philosophy. Call it what you want. What if I don't. Then don't. See you on the other side. Someone once told me, the grass is much greener— on the other side. —and when I paid a visit, (It's possible I missed it) Seemed different, yet exactly the same. DILLON FRANCIS I didn't want it to end this way. I didn't want it to end. Well, it did. You let it. I had to. Just let go. No, I can't. Hah! What's so funny? You're fucking impossible. Nothing is “impossible” you said that. But you “can't” Let this go? Ah-hah. No. This here will keep slowly unwinding until there's no more. —and then what? There's no more. Damn. This is foul. Hm. Take a time out, Timmy. I'm a take a t-t-taxi I pay my t-t-taxes The actor and the actress. Oh, He's Big Hollywood; Doesn't Have a Job, But the work's real good – His lines are smooth and his days are long, Gotta make it right, For a whole lot of wrongs He's Big-Big Hollywood Doesn't have a job; But the work's real good Coming in hot, Like he's fresh out the box That's a real big nugget, With a whole lot of sauce. Stop. What. What is this. It's a song. This is awful. FUCK IT. I DON'T CARE. Damn, Oreos AND Ben & Jerry's?! IT'S DAIRY-FREE. Tf kind o f Oreos is that. They're GLuten FrEe. FUCK IT. Sunni, get a hold of yourself. YOU GET A HOLD OF YOUR SELF. Stop yelling from across the room. I'LL YELL WHERE I WANT. Fuck this job. FUCK YOU MARIANNE. AGGHH. AGGHHHHHHHHH. Fuck What. What's up. I need a smoke break. I'M GONNA RIP YOUR HEART OUT. YOU DOn'T HAVE A HEART. SHUT UP, DILLON FRANCIS. GOd. WHO INVITED HIM, ANYWAY. I didn't. NOBODY INVITED HIM. The inspiration to music hit at just the right and the wrong time—I had finally found my way to the butt machine, only after visiting every other floor and guessing incorrectly—only to make it to the machine in just enough time to realize that I was for some reason exhausted—perhaps having just blown my last fuse, realizing I was literally down to my last, few pennies— and, unknowing of how to escape the hole I had dug myself into, falling into a carful and unsecured ‘lust' with New York, surely never to fall in love with another city as I had LA, learning my lessons well, and knowing all too well that nowhere and no one like me was safe from homelessness in the US—now having proven itself to be a hostile entity, in a full police state. It didn't seem to matter, though, as I had narrowly missed my escape nearly on purpose, but not— it seemed something entirely outward was keeping me at bay and in the US, not that I had wanted to leave out of fear for my life as much as I wanted adventure and exploration—but either way was going nowhere at all fast, and running out or money even faster. “Fuck, I hate my life” I had probably over caffeinated, at least half the reason I couldn't budge to top speed, even blasting bangarang into my eardrums at nearly top volume—this day, it only emotionally weakened me, having demoted myself entirely from any sort of elite status, back into the realm of obsessive fandom, and perhaps even schizophrenia, per Dane Cook's shenanigans. Yeah, I'm tired and I need to take like ten shits. Just finish then. If I leave early I have to come back early. Well, go, then. Muscle fatigue, check Dehydration, check Psyche completely shattered Check. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

Not very many people get into international arms dealing, get busted by the Government, have a BIG Hollywood movie made about their life, and THEN start a successful effects pedal company. But that is exactly what happened to David Packouz of Singular Sound. You may have heard about David from the Todd Phillips directed film 'War Dogs' (starring Jonah Hill and Miles Teller) or possibly his company's most famous product The Beat Buddy. But how did all of this happen? Thats exactly what we get into on this episode. You are going to love it! You can also help out with your gear buying habits by purchasing stuff from Tonemob.com/reverb Tonemob.com/sweetwater or grabbing your guitar/bass strings from Tonemob.com/stringjoy Release your music via DistroKid and save 30% by going to Tonemob.com/distrokid Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Sigh...Here we are at last. Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Dookie Fart. We all knew it was coming. Big Hollywood knows nothing but sequels and remakes and...Oh boy...Aliens. Tune in to hear what these conspiracy nutso's think of Indy 4!

Jordan and Joe talk Wrestling! AEW and WWE News and the upcoming Night of Champions Premium Live Event! They go over their 7 Wrestlers Theory and completely roast all of their podcasting friends! Rude!

Daniel und Laurent lassen die erste Woche Los Angeles Revue passieren und sprechen über ihre Erlebnisse in Big Hollywood. Trigger-Warnung: Die Qualität ist aufgrund der fehlenden technischen Möglichkeiten etwas suboptimal.

I dreamt of being a pilot as a child and grew up watching The A-Team and my favourite character was 'Howling Mad Murdock' played by Dwight Schultz. I was obsessed with aircraft so he was the one I wanted to be as his character could fly any plane or helicopter that he had to. Years later I saw him with Jamie Glazov and Anni Cyrus on 'The Glazov Gang' and was intrigued at his strong Conservative Christian stance while delivering common sense commentary. This is the first interview he has done for many years so it truly is an honour to have Dwight join Hearts of Oak on this audio only discussion. (he is the voice king) We talk about those early days treading the boards in the theatre and as a star in Hollywood, working on the biggest TV programme in the world and Dwight shares some stories of how his strong conservative stance got him into much hot water. He truly is a breath of fresh air in an increasingly demonic industry that opposes truth at every turn and mocks all who have a Christian Faith or Conservative Values. (*Peter takes to the skies regularly and has held a pilots licence for many years) A respected performer on Broadway, Dwight Schultz found everlasting fame by playing the certifiable "Howling Mad" Murdock on the action series "The A-Team" (1983-86). A living, breathing cartoon with a seemingly endless selection of voices and accents at his command, Murdock provided the air power for the A-Team's clandestine adventures, provided that his compatriots could break him out of the mental hospital where he resided. One of the show's most popular and memorable figures, Murdock ensured Schultz steady work on television and on the big screen playing Reginald Barclay in "Star Trek: The Next Generation" An accomplished voice actor, Dwight can be heard in numerous hit computer games and in countless animated shows. Interview recorded 21.3.23 *Special thanks to Bosch Fawstin for recording our intro/outro on this podcast. Check out his art https://theboschfawstinstore.blogspot.com/ and follow him on GETTR https://gettr.com/user/BoschFawstin and Twitter https://twitter.com/TheBoschFawstin?s=20  To sign up for our weekly email, find our social media, podcasts, video, livestreaming platforms and more... https://heartsofoak.org/connect/ Please subscribe, like and share! TRANSCRIPT [0:22] Hello Hearts of Oak, and welcome to another interview coming up with Dwight Schultz, Howling Mad Murdock from the A-Team. He came in on a audio. Dwight hasn't done interviews for years. I was absolutely delighted to have him on when you talk to one of your childhood heroes who you grew up watching him in A-Team. And he was my favourite simply because he was a pilot. And I always wanted to grow up and that's what I wanted to grow up to be. But I'm talking to him about being a conservative, being a Christian in the industry, in Hollywood, in the movie industry. And actually we delve more deeply into his Christian faith, Roman Catholic background, and what it means for him to be a Christian in that industry where you're pulled every way and where your faith is ridiculed, mocked, and everything stands against that. So great conversation about some of his experiences and what it is to be a Christian and to be a conservative in the industry. We talk about his voiceovers, I mean his voice is legendary. Talk about that and why he stepped away from doing kind of in front of a camera in 2001, why that was, and all the voiceover and then I think 100 video games, his voice is in a whole other world, a whole other industry. So, I know you will enjoy listening to Dwight as much as I enjoyed speaking with him. [1:48] It is wonderful to have Dwight Schultz with us today. Dwight, thank you so much for joining us. [1:54] Oh, it's my pleasure, Peter, for my reintroduction to the world of podcasting, radio, television.   Well, this is something I've only been doing three years, So I know you have much more experience back in the day, but we'll get into some of that. And obviously I... Remember you fondly growing up. I think I was six when The A Team first came out, which is now 40 years ago. I'm sure I didn't want it when I was six. But your role obviously is as Howling Mad Murdock. So we can take just a little bit memory lane before we go into and talk about actually being a conservative in the industry and what that is like. But I mean, it ran for five seasons, 83 to think 87. Do you just want to let us know how you actually ended up in that role? Well, actually, it actually only went four seasons, real seasons, so it's not technically considered a success. That's true. I ended up in that role because I made a comedy tape at the Williamstown Theatre Festival around 1979, 1980. [3:18] Somewhere in there. And the comedy tape, and for two years, I didn't hear anything. And then suddenly I started getting calls from my agent to audition and to go to Los Angeles to audition. and it was because of this comedy tape. And I found out it had been making the rounds for two years and eventually Steve Cannell and Frank Lupo, his co-writer saw it and requested me to come. Joel Thurm, who was the vice president of NBC at the time, however, he had different ideas about this character. And anyway, I went in and they flew me out to Los Angeles. [4:03] And my wife was out here. She wasn't my wife at the time, but I had been dating her since 79. And she was out here living in Los Angeles, which was difficult. I mean, I was glad to come out here for any reason. And I had never. It was a joy, but I came in and I auditioned and it was a total flop. It was a bomb. I mean, you walk into a small room with 25 people, 30 people, and there was not a single laugh. There was nothing. There was no... And then they sent me out and they sent the director, Rod Holcomb, out with me to talk to me. I came back in, I did the same audition, And everybody was laughing and I had no idea why they were laughing now. And they weren't laughing before, unless someone said laugh when he comes back. You know, that's the way it was. It was just an astonishing thing. And they said, you got the part. [5:02] And then, uh, and this is the, really, this is the nub, right? So, uh, I, they shoot in Mexico and I went down to Mexico. And when we were down there, I was fired. I was fired. I was fired. Rod Holcomb came into my little room and he said, I'm afraid it's not going to work out. And I said, oh, what? He said, it's not Steven. It's not Frank. It's the would-be's at NBC. They just don't think you're quite right for it. And so they took me out of my little room and they put me in with a stuntman who I loved. I just loved him. I mean, it was incredible to work with these guys. And so there I was with the stuntmen for the rest of the shoot down in Mexico. And when we came back to the States, they were editing it and putting it together as we were shooting it, right? [5:58] I got a call from my agent said your dials were great. I said, what are you talking about? I had no idea what they were talking about. This is 82, right? This is 1980. I don't know what you're talking about. He said the dials, the dials, the testing. The audience loved you. You're the best dials that anybody had. So I was written back in. I was rehired before I was fired. And so you can't make this stuff up in life. You can't. So it just turns out that they had a different view of what this character should be like. And I had another view. And Stephen Cannell and Frank Lupo were in my camp. And so they had to write me back into the first five episodes, which they had kind of written me out of. And that's the way it started. And I was, [7:04] as anybody would be, you know, I got to work with some of the finest old actors [7:12] that I had grown up with in the 50s and 60s. And it was a thrill. The four years were a thrill. I mean, it was an absolute thrill. And I got along beautifully with everybody. And Stephen J. Cannell [7:24] was a conservative. I mean, I'm lucky. I'm fortunate there. I was fortunate because some of my other experiences were not so fortunate, working with people who knew I was a conservative and weren't going to have a conservative on their show. That was the way it started back then. But anyway, so it was four years of, we didn't really have a studio. We were working on locations and I got along famously with everybody. And it was a joy. It was four, believe me, it changed my life completely and totally. I never thought I would end up in Los Angeles and never leave. Well, what was I mean, it's intense, I guess, that you're living and breathing it. And most people, I have no idea what that's like. Most people go to a job and they go home, but you're there nonstop. What's that kind of intensity, especially for years with it's the same people? It's the same people. But listen, as an actor, I mean, I've been working I've been working professionally since nineteen sixty nine. This gig, it's over 50 years. Right. So I had, I have before the 18, I never knew what my next job was ever. I never knew what I was doing next. And after the 18, I never have known [8:50] what I'm going to do next. I've never had a consistent job other than those four years. And I thank God for them every night. I hoped it would go longer, but this was not the intention, nor the background of Stephen J Cannell. His shows were two years, three years. And then they name of every single writer that we had in the first year moved on to their own series. They all became producers. And this is not the way you have a successful series for an, actor, which is selfish, right? You want to go at least five years, seven years. But they all, you have to have somebody there who is consistently behind it, pushing it, making sure everything is the way it's supposed to be. But that was not the way it was. But I did everything that you can possibly imagine, I think, on that show. And as the 14-hour days, 15-hour day, I loved it because I knew that there was going to be an ending. I knew the day I started that there was going to be a last day. And so and I think that's the way life is, actually. [10:02] And so take advantage of what you have and enjoy it and hope for the best. But I savour it every minute and I look back very fondly. When you say it wasn't a success, I remember thinking this is the biggest thing ever. This is phenomenal. I watched it as a kid growing up. So it did seem to be the kind of TV show that you would watch. I mean, the only other one I remember at the same time was I think Knight Rider at the same time, but they were the shows to watch.   Yes, they were. But you see, we were on NBC, Grant Tinker and Brandon Tartikoff, and their moniker was quality programming. And Grant Tinker, and well, Tartikoff gave an interview for the New York Times, right? This is not an example of our quality program, right? Really, this is it. That's what he said. You know, their ideas was Hill Street Blues, which they had on. This was their idea of quality programming, not this schlock that's number one. [11:12] This is not it. And I sent Grant Tinker a telegram and George Peppard said, don't do it, pal. Don't do it. Don't do it, Peppard said to me. I sent it to him and I said, this is third rate executive ship. I said, we do the best work we can and we're number one, why are you doing this to us? And then he sent me a telegram back, which I have kept, saying, well, you're assuming that that was true, what you read. And I said, well, I checked with the writer, the journalist, quote unquote, who he said, he talked to you and this is what you said. And indeed he did. And this is a tag to all of this. He, after the show was over, it was cancelled, several years afterwards, I have received a phone call from his assistant saying [12:13] Brandon wants to talk to you. And I said, sure, I'll talk to him. And I met with him in this basement office, 20th Century Fox. And I walked in and there was nobody there but Brandon Tartikoff sitting at a table and he apologized to me. [12:31] His daughter had been in a very serious accident and it changed his life. It was one of these things. And he apologized to me. I'll never forget it. And this does not happen in show business. It does not happen. And I said, thank you. Thank you so much for that. I said, and then I went into my spiel about being an actor. And that I, you know, you do the best job you can, whether you're doing Shakespeare, whether you're doing a show, or whether you're doing The A-Team. You do the best job you can. It is the same job if you're good and you love your work. It doesn't matter. You do the best thing, the best you put. You're not walking through it. I said, that's what we were doing. And we happened to be number one. And why did you rain on the parade? You know, I asked him and he gave me some explanations as to the the exigencies at the top of a TV network. And I, so at any rate, that that that's the experience. That's the beginning and end of that experience, really.[13:43] And I carry with me.   How did you cope with that fame? And you were what, 30, 32, so you weren't young, young. But still, when you're thrust into that level of publicity, how did that affect you personally and how did you cope with that? Well, you know, I was fortunate that I was working since I had been working since 69. I spent 13 years in regional theatre. I spent years in New York, three Broadway plays. I had a lot of experience. [14:17] Really, they walk in the boards, doing all the grunt work, getting there. And I, fame was not a, I was known and all my interests in theatre were to be, this is a joke actually, but never the same actor twice. I mean, that's it. You didn't want to do the same thing. And here I was, and I forced the idea that this actor, this character would be different in each episode, which the vice president of NBC said, that's the way you comb your hair differently. You should be the same. We want you to be polite on this. And I said, no, no, no, no, no, I don't wanna do that. I wanna be different in every show. And so I maintained, I think, because of the work that I had had. When you do the classics, when you're in, and I don't mean this, when you have the great opportunity to play a Shakespearean role. [15:22] You understand something about talent, about what goes into writing, brilliant writing, and then schlock writing. I mean, you see it all. And when you've been given that opportunity, There's a humility that hits you. So fame was never something that I wanted. I wanted to be able to – and I've had this ability. I've been able to go to a department store or take my daughter to a mall and not be recognized, which is – I'm telling you, I have worked with – I mean, I worked with Paul Newman and Paul Newman was, it was not a, he, he told me he couldn't go anywhere. He was a prisoner of his fame. [16:12] George Peppard was a prisoner of his fame. I mean, the closest I think I've ever gotten was somebody said, your voice sounds familiar, do you know my brother? I'll say, no, I don't know your brother. Then every once in a while, somebody recognizes you, but it's a curse. [16:33] It is a curse, really. If you have a family, if you want a family life, if you want privacy, which I think is necessary for survival in this business. I mean, I've seen a lot of actors drop to their knees and open cardboard tubes and pull drugs out. You know, and that's fame. And you ask them, that's it, it's driven. You know, you gotta have that fame, you gotta have that fame, you gotta. And it's not what I wanted. I really am a repertory actor, that's it. I'm a repertory actor. I spent one year in Houston, at the Alley Theatre in Houston, and it was one of the greatest years I've ever had. And I never wanted to leave. And someone told me, that's why you have to leave. I would have stayed there. I could have stayed there. But my agents all told me, you have to leave. You can't stay here, or your career will be over. And I said, but I love this. And they said, you won't love it when it dries up there. You know, you have to go to a bigger, a bigger yard in essence. But I'm really a repertory actor. That's it. [17:47] Your last I think your last TV role was 2001. I will get into the voice side later, but your last 2001. Why did, why did it end there? Was a personal experience? Was it just choice? Oh, yeah. No, it was a really a personal experience. It was CIA. 2001 was... [18:17] I went in for wardrobe fitting, and we were at the Memorial Cemetery, Veterans Cemetery down in Wilshire Boulevard, and that's where it was being shot. And I walked in, and this is nothing, I won't mention the name, I shouldn't have even said what the show was. Just someone in the wardrobe room. We were talking about 9-11. We were talking about what had happened in New York. I had a lot of friends in New York, of course, obviously. And she said, I don't have any connection to that. I don't know why everybody – I just don't have any connection to it, you know? She still connects? And she rubbed it off, you know? And I said, I mean, life was – rules were at that point not easy to come by, actually. And I said I can't do this, you know, I can't work. This to me was a sign, a sign from God. I'm not joking. You look for these things. This was a sign that this was the wave of the future. There was going to be a lot of denial and there was going to be, and it's complicated. I mean, I'm not judging anybody. [19:43] But for me, I had an opportunity to move into another direction, and I decided to do the other direction because I could be anybody, anything in voiceover work. Video games were just becoming big at the time, and the whole business was very big. And voice work was something that, as an actor in the theatre, I always did. If I couldn't find the voice of the character, I couldn't find the character. And so that was it. I mean, the fates came together at that time. And I was doing radio at the time on a fairly regular basis with a friend named Don Ecker. And I just moved in that direction. [20:36] I mean, there were opportunities there, but I knew things had changed at that point. Yeah, well, we'll get into that. I want to pick on being a conservative in the, the movie and TV industry, and that seems to be opposites. We've seen more and more, and I think it probably gets worse. And you're Roman Catholic, you're conservative. And what has been your experiences having a faith and also having a conservative belief? How does that fit into the showbiz industry? What has it been like for you? Well, going back, if you look at, [21:23] if you look at the world that we're in today, the Judeo-Christian world, which is, and I have to say if I have one criticism of modern Christianity prior to today, and I mean going back, because there's a lot of things I could say about today, which we will, I'm sure. But one of the things which always struck me me was about Christians, was their antipathy for the Old Testament, the Torah. It is Judeo-Christianity, and if a Christian doesn't understand that the Old Testament is their testament, there's, a problem. And they don't, indeed. In Bible study, the number of times that I heard Christians say oh, that's not my God. I want to get out of this. I want to get to my God. Well, that's two gods. [22:24] I mean, there is the Trinity, which is three gods in one, right? I mean, we do have that mystery, but we are monotheistic. And Christ's Old Testament was his Old Testament. He was here to fulfil the Old Testament. This is what he said, that it is the Father. You're speaking of your father. This is Christ's father and the Torah, the law as it was laid down is your law. It went on to the New Testament. [22:58] You know, and Catholics, I mean, I was raised a Catholic, and when I found out that it wasn't, thou shalt not kill, but thou shalt not murder, you know, the wheels begin to turn, and you try to think as best you can about these things. But there was a disconnect between the Old Testament in the New Testament. But that has to do with my criticism of my own faith. In motion pictures in the film industry, it was under attack, as it is today. Christianity is—and Judeo-Christian ethic, the West, everything that has been built through the Judeo-Christian ethic is under attack and they want to destroy it. [23:55] And basically at the very front of that is the communist wagon, and it always has been. And you can go back to 1918 or whatever and read about it, and they tried every which way from Sunday to do it, and they always failed, and now they've found another way of doing it. And they have succeeded by going after our children when we didn't know they were going after our children. But as Christians, we're pretending that it wasn't important to be mothers and fathers and the nuclear family really wasn't that important. Well, then why were they trying to destroy it? And why has it been number one? [24:35] Because and I'm going to say something else here in a second, which I'm pointing to, there's a quote. This is the technique that they have used, and you didn't know it, but you felt it all along. You felt this, but you didn't know it. [24:57] A quote by, it's attributed to Oscar Wilde. And I think it is his, I don't think, I don't think, I think it is his quote. And it is pithy and accurate and brilliant and beyond belief descriptive of everything. Everything in the world is about sex, except sex. Sex is about power. And boy, when I read that, I said, is this, did he really say this? Is it? And it hit me from every direction. The entertainment business in every which way is about sex. Novels, books, television, commercials, life itself, clothes, it's all about sex. And it goes back to God's edict to humanity. [25:56] Go forth and multiply. This is the power of procreation, is sharing in the power of creation. That power was given to all of us. We don't know, I mean, people have talked about it, but you don't, we don't know where that came from, except from God. And it is something to, what do we do with these gifts? Do we throw them away? Or do we say these are precious? [26:30] And you see by the people that you meet, those who recognize the gift and those who don't recognize the gift. And you are asked not to recognize it on a daily basis. And as a child, if you think back to your childhood when sexual urges, whether you're—and of course, I can't tell you what a woman goes through, but I can only tell you what a kid goes through—boy, when you're going through puberty, the whistles and gongs are going off, and you're you're having dreams at night and you can't stop it. [27:03] Everything is at the wrong moment and you're not purposefully thinking about it, but it's a force to be reckoned with. And you understand it as you grow older that this force is to bring you to someone else, to love, to have a family and to create the next generation and then everything changes after that. If you can contemplate that greatness, that extraordinary thing, and realize that the world seems to want to distort it, well, you realize the powers that are set up against Judeo-Christianity. And who say, we don't want the Ten Commandments, we don't want that Old Testament rag, we want freedom, free, and of course I went through that in the 60s and 70s in school, and I saw it. I mean, I was part of it in that it bounced off of me at every moment. And being a Christian, you stay in it. [28:10] I stayed in my Christianity. This is another tale. When I got to school, to college, I mean, I had 12 years of Christian education, right? I wanted to be an actor and I went to Towson University, which had a great theatre program. And it was the first time that I was in a purely secular environment. The thing that killed me was that everybody hated their parents. Everybody hated their parents. I mean, nobody wanted to, nobody had a good thing, I loved my parents. And I used to say, I used to have a long bus ride home and I used to sit in the bus looking out the window saying, why do I love my parents and I can't find somebody who loves their parents? What is that? Well, I can't say that I answered the question, but the answer was in the destruction of the family. [29:10] It was in the destruction, and it had started then. Not my mother and father. And then here's the next aspect, and I think that this plays a very big part in all the trouble we're having today. I never wanted to do something that shamed my parents, that they would be ashamed of. I felt shame. I still do. I feel shame. It was given to me by my mother and my father. Now, none of us are perfect. I know my mother wasn't perfect, my father wasn't perfect. I'm not perfect, but I feel shame and shame is rare. Now, look, I was listening to your podcast [29:58] with Father Calvin Robinson. Right.   Goodness, you make me blush. No, no. And no, but he said something. He said he said something about drag queens in the sanctuary. [30:19] I mean, we're talking about there's no shame if you do that. Before, shortly after, I guess we communicated, I went to here in Los Angeles, I went to the Church of the Nazarene in Pasadena, and I saw two, I don't know if you know these individuals, Dennis Prager, do you know Dennis Prager? Dennis is a Jewish scholar. I've been following him since since 1982, when I came to Los Angeles. He had a program called Religion on the Line, one of the great minds and thinkers of all time. In fact, many times after listening to him, I would say to myself, I'm a Jew. That's what I am, I'm a Jew. [31:05] And then there's Eric Metaxas, who is a Christian writer, thinker, and these two were in a program, an evening called ask a Gentile, Ask a Jew. And it was a great evening, two hours of just two brilliant people talking about the state of religion. What was the final outcome, sad outcome of the evening? Metaxas and Prager both came to the conclusion that we, organized religion, has failed us. It has failed us. The churches and the synagogues have failed us. They have not stepped up to defend their own dogma, their own beliefs. And we are left flailing, individuals almost. And we are struggling to connect, which is what you and I are doing right now. [32:08] I was dumbfounded by that, but at the same time, that's what I'm thinking. That's what I've been thinking for quite some time. And all of these things, you know, we are under attack from every direction. And in your own mind, what do you do? Do you throw it away? Do you say, well maybe I'm thinking the wrong thing. No, no, no, that is not the case. Because when you think about why our children, [32:47] and if you've seen this now, why our children are being told that they don't know what their sex is, Metaxas brought this up in the evening that this is one of those key cardinal points. You can see. This is a perversion of reality, because you know what the truth is. If you have a Supreme Court justice, as we do in the United States, who says, I can't define a woman, and that children, 10 year old children, 11 and 12 year old children, secretly, don't tell your parents the hallmark of a lie. Keep it secret. Don't tell anybody. Don't even tell yourself. [33:26] You know the hallmark of concealment, consciousness of guilt, everything that you know is, they are trying to tell you you know nothing and everything you know is not to be believed, but they are to be believed. That children, there are not boys and girls, that men can give birth, that there are, you know, these things that we, it's incomprehensible what's going on and it's all to destroy right from wrong. Well, that's because it's kind of, I look at it a different way. One is the difficulty of living in a society where evil is slightly different, where it's a slippery slope and it may be difficult to distinguish what you believe with something that's slightly different. But we see such a chasm now between what is true, what is right, and the collapse and degradation of society. So in theory, that means it is easier to be a Christian because it's easy to be distinct, because what you face is the opposite of what you believe. And and that's why it's curious and interesting to see churches going down this line whenever there's, [34:38] there's no question of what we see is the opposite of what is written in scripture. Oh, there's no question. You know what you're saying? You can be crushed. You know, you can be crushed at the same time. You have to deny so many things to accept what's going on. And yet you say to yourself, how do I stop it? The war that's going on in Europe at this moment. And this is why I love Bannon. I mean, I just, I adore him. I never got to, I would not, and I'll say this, Andrew Breitbart brought me out of the closet politically, really politically. I was doing a lot of things, but saying a lot of things that were in the basket, but he truly brought me out.   When was this? When was this? . This is a through also through Gary Sinise and friends of Abe. [35:48] Boy, this is this is in the, I have to say nine. I'd say 2000 to 2005, 2006. By 2008, yeah, I have to say around 2005, 2006. [36:09] I was like a Jew wandering in the desert alone and wondering where God was. And a friend of mine who I worked with on Fat Man and Little Boy, a film about making the atomic bomb, called me up, his wife was a casting director, and he said, you know there are conservatives just like yourself who get together on a regular basis. I said, no, I did not know that. He said, would you like to go to a meeting? I said, I would love to go to a meeting of other people. I went and it was Gary Sinise and Andrew Breitbart, and a lot of other extraordinary people who were all, and this is it, seeking, trying to make connections. And so Andrew said, you have to become public. He had big Hollywood and big, you know, all of, he had all of these big websites. And he asked me to write an article. [37:09] He heard me in private describe a situation that I was in, in which I was at the Williamstown Theatre Festival. I had just come back from working with Charlton Heston and I had a long discussion, which was just a wonderful discussion in the hallway at the Amundsen Theatre about Ronald Reagan becoming president, right? And this individual who was a big producer in Hollywood overheard me talking about Ronald Reagan, and he said, Oh, so you're a Reagan a-hole, you know? [37:58] And yeah, that's right. That's right. And I was, I got to tell you, I mean, this was a big guy at the theatre too, that I was working, and I went cold. I went cold. I said, yes. I said, you know, not as a, you know, and I pulled back. I was, you know, he was attacking me, obviously, with his language. And I was shocked. I was totally numbed. And I didn't want to continue with this discussion, because otherwise there would have been a blowout. But that was how in 78, 80, I understood that there was this chasm there. And [38:51] it only got worse as time went on. As I said, fortunate, it is not a zero-sum game. Fortunate there was for me, and I did have an audition for this producer. There was a writer there and a brilliant writer. We had a fallout, but he's just an extraordinary writer. His name is Tom Fontana. He wrote some very, it was St. Elsewhere, producer, writer for St. Elsewhere, The Wire, many wonderful programs. And he did not know about this problem that I had and invited me to read for a part called Fiscus in St. Elsewhere. And I walked in and there was this producer [39:37] who has passed away since now. And Breitbart wanted me to write about him. And I did, and I regretted it, but I don't regret it. But anyway, so I walked in and he was there and he said, oh, what are you doing here? And to this audition, and I said, I'm here to read for the part of Fiskars. He said, it's not gonna be a Reagan blank hole on my show. So you know what that audition was like, right? You know, I mean, and I walked out and I just, I said, God, is this going to be it? You know, is this the way it's gonna be? And at any rate, so, but I finally did write this article about him and I lost a lot of friends for writing it. And then at the same time, and I was one of the first actors for Breitbart to use my name. This was what he wanted because a lot of pseudonyms, writing for Big Hollywood, And which I understand, please, I did not do this, I did this [40:40] for personal reasons, but not because I'm brave or anything of that nature. I just was at the point where I was going to tell the truth. This is the way it's done. And you are excluded on a cocktail napkin. And that cocktail napkin is sent around to other producers and you're excluded. It is not a zero sum game because there was Stephen J Cannell and he hired me. [41:03] But the majority of people will not, unless, of course, you bring in 30 or 40 million dollars over a weekend. And then they'll hire you. But the attack on Judeo-Christianity, the attack on conservatism, which is a hallmark of Judeo-Christianity, is now at its height. It's never been greater than it is today. Well can I, you're obviously being a Christian, being a conservative within an industry within the workplace, but then you had your podcast, then you're doing, you mentioned Breitbart on the Glazov Gang, that's something different. You're stepping outside and actually you're much more public. I mean was that a conscious decision to actually begin to use radio, use the internet, use TV and speak of these issues as a Christian and conservative. Yes, absolutely. And the reason for that was I, you know, if you're, [42:13] make a point, like I would not, as Murdock from The A-Team, go out and evangelize. I wouldn't go out as Murdock from The A-Team, vote for. Right? [42:34] You're taking something that is not related and you're trying to use it to get somewhere. Where it's not as, to me, as honest as separating yourself out, creating a podcast, creating another world. This is where I talk politics. This is where I talk my personal life, my personal beliefs. This is where I do it. And so you come to me and then we go out from there. And I associate with people who talk about religion, and I associate with people who talk about politics, and I talk it there in that realm. [43:19] There's obviously a mixture. You can't divorce yourself from who you are and what you've done, and I don't. But I've never hidden my religion. I've never hidden my Christianity, as some people do. That's not the way to do it either. Yes, I am a Christian. I'm a Judeo-Christian. I believe in the Old Testament and the New Testament. And it's, for me, not a contradiction in terms. And so I express it that way. I express it here on my own podcast when I had it. And if ever anybody wanted to talk about it, I was willing to do it. And I attended every event, and with Jamie and [44:10] the lovely Anni Cyrus, that was just wonderful. That was absolutely wonderful. I went to a David Horowitz retreat, where I met Jamie. I had the great fortune, an opportunity to speak at a Freedom Concert event. Many of my public heroes were there from various political websites. And I got to meet them. And that's where I met Jamie. And he invited me on to engage with him on his program, the Glazov Gang. It's so funny. But, you know, and I met just so many fabulous people. And there are so many things right now, which I see things now and can talk about things that I couldn't prior to coming out with Andrew. And that, of course, is Bannon's big thing, Andrew. Andrew, I mean, he's – and Andrew changed – just brought the world together. I mean, his vision, his understanding of what was really going on was unique. And he was right into – he was dead on about everything. And I still don't agree with most of his friends. [45:38] I have very dark feelings about what happened to Andrew, even though I know he had a heart problem. But when the, I mean, you know what I'm talking about. I don't want to get into that aside, but I know the darkness that's out there and a voice like his had to be stopped. And they don't stop at anything. They don't. And we have now been witness to it in the United States for five or six years. Nothing stops them. Nothing. And they will lie to your face. They do not care because they are the voice of something that is dark. [46:20] That's not a knife you feel in your back. That's me scratching it. Oh, but I feel blood. No, that's not blood. You know, that's it. That's it. Can I finish off with your voice? Now, it is always wonderful to have a guest coming on and the sound is absolutely beautiful, crystal clear. You're coming through. Obviously, your voice is your how you make your your living now. And you've you've moved away from being kind of front of the camera to doing voice. Tell us what that is like, because it means you talked about fame and that means you're not recognized. It is your voice. And I remember watching, you were the one who, again, using your voice in all different ways, even back as in The A Team. But tell us about, how that works in the industry.   Well, in the industry, it doesn't. You have to be very fortunate. One of the first casting directors I ever met was Sylvia Gold, was her name. And she met with me, my first agent introduced me to her, and she said. [47:36] Oh, darling, she said, you don't understand. No one wants to hear that stuff. That's in the theatre. They want to hear you. They want to hear your voice. It's your voice that's important. And I said, no, it's not. I said, that's not what it's not. You know, I'm a vampire. I'm a thief. I listen to other people. I'm a mathematical idiot. And God gave me this ability to hear people's voices. And I said, I remember being seven years old. I was about seven years old, and I remember the first impression I ever did, which was, James Mason in 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, he had a line, it was, I am dying now, and the Nautilus is dying with me, present as him. And I said this out loud to myself, I am dying now, and the Nautilus is dying with me. And the more I did it, the closer I got. And I would spend time, and I became an Anglophile, and I started listening to Richard Burton and Peter O'Toole, and I found that if I put headphones on, their voice came from the middle of my head, and I could steal from them. I could do impressions of their voice, and even if it wasn't perfect. [48:52] It became another voice, another character. And I began to identify with my relatives that way. I started doing impressions of my relatives and they did not like it. And I started doing impressions of my teachers at school and the kids liked it, but the teachers didn't like it if they heard it. And that's how it started. And I just had an ear for people's voices and dialects in the United States. And that's it. And in terms of, well, if I'm coming across crystal clear, That's because somebody recommended this microphone, the Heil PR-40, which is a dynamic microphone. Most people are wedded to very expensive condenser mics. But this is a rejection, it's a cardioid. People can open the door and come into the room and you won't hear it, you'll just hear me. Art Bell used this mic and he was always extolling the virtues of this mic, and I listened to him. And so, you know, and it's inexpensive, comparatively speaking, so it's available. [50:04] And so I, but I have spent years studying and recording people's voices and listening to them and trying to reproduce them. And one of the great thrills in my life was, I was, I knew somebody who was intimately involved with Laurence Olivier. [50:29] Peter Shaffer, and he wrote Amadeus, right? And he was just an absolutely spectacular man. And he gave me the play Amadeus to read before it was on Broadway and in Great Britain. And he was just a sweetheart of all sweethearts anyway. So I went into a bathroom and I did my impression of Olivier doing the Othello chamber scene. And I gave it to someone who was with Peter and asked them to listen to it to see if I caught any of it. And he said, this friend said, Shaffer listened to it and said, well, he said if Larry was very, very sick. But it was, you know, it was one of those, I, God, to have, you know, I, I, I think I listened, I don't know, I can't, I can't repeat anything that I've ever done myself, but I, I think I listened to the chamber scene from Othello, Olivier's Othello a thousand times. And that's how you learn when you're a young kid. That's how you learn. And you say, oh, my God, every comma. I followed it along, and he followed the text. [51:49] Amazingly, he followed the text and was dead on. And those are the kinds of things that I became very attuned to people's voices, and recorded them. And I have a lot of recordings and sometimes I still listen to Burton's Hamlet. And Gielgud, of course, directed it. [52:21] And it was considered a disaster on Broadway, but there's some great, there's just to capture, it is a miracle that I can sit here and listen to people who have passed away as if they're in my room. It is, it is a miracle, a technical miracle, but a miracle, or listening to the great choruses, motion picture choruses from 1958 and 60, and I listen to these grand voices, and I say, most of these people are not here now, But I'm listening to them and I get emotional about it. So anyway...   You've also embraced just finally about. I think I looked through and you've done the voice for like 100 video games. Well, yeah, I guess that's just if you're you're good at something, then that can be used across different, different industries. Oh, exactly. and video games are bigger than motion pictures now. And the hardest thing I was ever asked to do, and we were asked to do this periodically, you know, these great actors, right? [53:31] Sir Ian McKellen, Patrick Stewart, right? Those two individuals. Do impressions of both of them, to do them in the same thing. They were in X-Men, right? So I can't do them because they're so close. And you just do. You're asked to do it. They can't make it to do a pickup, right? So they ask an actor to come in and do a line, half a line. That's it. I can't do Ian McKellen and Patrick Stewart at the same time. But I can't. I can't do it because they're too close. And yet they're different. But I have not been able to. I mean, you know, you in Ian McKellen with Bilbo Baggins, you know, he's called the essence. [54:19] Patrick is done it. Patrick is down there, too. But I can't do them together. I cannot do them together. I have to do them separately. And Patrick is he was a delight, by the way. Very liberal, very liberal. But one of the great things about Star Trek is my greatest experience that I've had in Hollywood, because there was little to no politics on that set, and everybody was a delight to work with. Everyone, absolutely everyone. And walking around on the great Paramount lot was a thrill. Anyway, sorry, I'm getting side-lined. I loved all those people. I did. I really did. Dwight, I so appreciate you coming on. It's absolutely wonderful to speak with you and hear about your experiences in the industry. So we really do appreciate your time today.   Well, it's my pleasure and I am very grateful. It's been a long time since I've done anything like this.   Oh, maybe it'll become more regular. Well, thank you, Peter.   Thank you so much, Dwight. Thank you.   Bye-bye.

⛈️

THE LEGEND OF SUPACREE LEGENDS GERALD'S WORLD OWSLA CONFIDENTIAL: THE INFINITE SKRILLIFILES ENTER THE MULTIVERSE DEATHWISH ASCENSION THE SECRET LIFE OF SUNNÏ BLŪ SCARY MONSTERS & SUPACREE THE INSOMNIAC &MORE FROM [The Festival Project.™] SEASON 6 ACT III Part I MONTAGE: Clique, Cruel Summer Kanye West, JAY-Z & Big Sean EXT. DOWNTOWN LOS ANGELES. BROAD ASS DAYLIGHT SUPACREE has unlocked 100% Of her ABILITIES GOD MODE UNLOCKED SUPACREE EXITS EQUINOX FITNESS CLUB AT LIGHTSPEED, Hitting the pavement with swift force, splitting into three dimensional selves; SUNNI BLŪ to her left and A MYSTERIOUS, unknown ALTER EGO to her right, she shifts quickly to the beat of the music, morphing into and out of parallels of the outer world, opening and closing portals, and encapsulating anything and everything within her force field—which happens to be the whole of GREATER LOS ANGELES. Damn. If I put my heart inside a box; Maybe I'd forget how cold it was Or how far you are Or how much it hurts There's no harm in God, If there ever was one Then, reality sets in: God was my only friend No armor on, I'm at the end Of a long, long walk I'm off again And on again Nothing's impossible— stop at the alter and scoff a bit I left my coat on, I left my heart on the rooftop, A sacrifice, love At the alter, I wonder a song, Or a sonnet A song, No, what's wrong? Something's off a bit God, I woke up in a coffin once Isn't that awful? The rest or the song wrote itself, At the alter No, I can't stop and talk Got to get off, Cause I've never been on I've never belonged in the world What have we done? This is bad, brother. That's a construct. Everything's a construct! Get ahold of yourself. Get ahold of—you know what? I do know. You think you're fuckin' clever. I am clever. You're a sick man. That's my business. Yeah, well—you made it my business. I am you. What a concept. *construct. God, help you! [sideways evil smirk] Hehe. SPAM! ON TACOS! BUTTERS Oh—Jesus! WHO PUTS SPAM ON TACOS?! A smart man. C'mon, Butters. We gotta get lost in the sauce before we try this out. I'MMA TRY IT OUT. OK. GOD, OH, GOD, PLEASE— MERCIFUL GOD IN HEAVEN— (WhT.) JUST— DON'T LET IT BE SKRILL AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. Fuxk. What. She took the train. Which fucking train. I don't know. The train. THE A TRAIN, or the B TRAIN?! HEY. WHAT, you motherfucking idiot? I THINK I LOVE YOU. Well, stop thinking. Ok. JIMMY FALLON THE COSMIC AVENGER has been kidnapped— He's like 50 years old. He's been dad-napped. —by the MOB. The MOB?! He's into some dark shit. Wait, he is?! In this series. He has been tied to a chair, which sits under a single spotlight in a shabby, dark room in NEW JERSEY. Ew, New Jersey. JIMMY THE MOBSTER Hi, Jimmy— JIMMY FALLON —uh—hello. JIMMY THE MOBSTER I'm Jimmy. JIMMY FALLON Oh, that's ironic. [beat] JIMMY THE MOBSTER I'm gonna kill you, Jimmy. GOD If I give you a serious role, how are you gonna handle it? JIMMY FALLON like a pro. GOD don't lie to me, Jimmy. JIMMY FALLON What?! I'm not! My body, heart, mind, and soul was being attacked— I had 15 minutes to vacate the property and couldn't even focus—I had to use the bathroom so badly it hurt my soul. I was pacing back and forth, choking back ugly tears—the rude man in the room across the way still occupying the bathroom which I needed, both to clean and relieve myself—but it had been hell, after all, and needs like these had been proven to be in short supply. Fuck. This is a gun to your head. Just do it. [he moves the pistol into her mouth] Now it's in your mouth. [she unhinges her jaw to open it wider, never breaking eye contact and relaxes; he studies his hand on the grip of the tripper, ready to lill] You'll die today. [A comfort; as she relaxes, he as well changes—this seems to take the fun of killing away from him, he exacts the gun from her mouth] CONT'D You like that? I love it— You're dead, bitch! Yes, I am! A penniless whore. Whores get paid— Then, even less— What's less than this? A dead bitch. Think again. I don't think, I just shoot; Sounds like a man. Oh, I am. Then kill me with your hands. Jesus Christ, man. He can't help. No one can help you. So just shoot. [he can't] SUNNI. )&2&;@2@2$ YOU ARE OUT OF CONTROL. SUCK MY DICK. AGHHJJJ. Well. TMZ is here. This is a disaster. NEXT, WE LEARN: THE Oh my God. WhT. This is probably the worst thing I've ever written. Not the worst. Nope: it is the worst. Maybe it's just bad on paper. It's bad no matter how you — CONTROL, JANET PRIVACY. Here. Wtf is this. LEGENDS: FAME SCHOOL Christopher Walken was one of my professors in fame school For acting? For music. For music? That doesn't make any sense. Please, don't make me explain this. A FACE BATTLE CHRISTOPHER WALKEN vs. SUPACREE -_- —__^ *_- ^__ __/ *_* >< … —-__—- Ok. Alright. Show me what you got. SUPACREE plays a beat. You know where this is going. We all know where this is going. CHRISTOPHER WALKEN that was OK. “OK”?! Yeah. *shrugs* OK. You know what— You know what it needs? …what's it need? —-more cowbell. I beg your pardon. Please, don't beg. It was perfect. It was OK. You're not OK. —maybe I'm not. You're definitely not. —know what helps? Don't tell me: More fucking cowbell. Lol. ⅔ ain't bad. Wait, two out or three?! Which one didn't I— —FUCK. What, what happened? They're onto me. THE BAMPHERAMPS, MOTHERFUCKING BAMPHERAMPHS, and THE ASCENDED MASTERY has assembled in NEW YORK CITY to stage a coup. It's a coup d'état. There sure is a lot of French shit over here. Well yeah, it's Paris. Wait. What, what now? If SUPACREE is in Paris. NIGGAZ. Right—then— Who the fuck are they chasing in New York. [just waking up] Why am I in New York? WHOOPI GOLDBERG you got anyplace else to be? …no. MEANWHILE, IN ROME. Fanculo! Really, dude. Apparently. A tear in my head; A rip in my soul, And the fabric of— Coming undone at the whole; I make sense of it all at the alter, The fall; To have fought in the war, And then lost, or to suffer at all Love was lost, I was never a martyr— Blood on the cross, And the crossroads, The frost and the stardust, “There's no God” For the honorable, Stuck in New York, But defrosting my toes, At the forefront I haven't once wondered or thought Of the love that I was, Since I stopped throwing rocks at the church Or got off on the wrong stop; What a puzzle, To jump off, Or rot in the heart of The hub— World of wonders, A mother of suns, Never wanted a daughter so much Unpunishment, Loved was the Duchess; To carry a crutch or a cross— So unbothered, untouched, So heartless and dark, For the marksman—a spark Or the dog does not bark At the horses You're in the clear, hero. Heartless, she was! Now, now—settle down. This is an absolute outrage. Is it, now? I say so! Maybe you shouldn't. Faro, a word, I've got three. I'll go first. [a smug look] What's happened here? A ressurection, sir. Care to explain? I said ‘three.' Where's the King? My palms grew numb as my throbbing heartache welled up into the back of my throat and sat perched up against my growling stomach, stuffed with beans and rice, perhaps to fill the sadness or satiate my need for protein, either one. ASCENSION If you're going to vomit, step away from me. —I'm not sick. Actually, step out of my house. This is your house? —I live here. —no one lives here. What did you think it was? an elaborate cave. It is—an elaborwte cave— —excuse my ignorance. You're excused entirely. —I appreciate that. I meant, from here. You should go. Faro, wait. No more waiting; you were uninvited. Trust me—this visitation is more necessary than voluntary. That's—a lot of words. I don't speak caveman. Just—get out. Listen: No more listening— It's about C'esme't. It always is. This is important. It always is. It concerns you. It always does. —? Wait. [a heavy sigh] [a long silence] Come with me. FARO leads GÍAN towards the back of his quarters. Close the door. I— what? Nevermind. You're useless. Ehrm—excuse me. Excused, your majesty. FARO opens a SECRET PASSAGEWAY into a FUTURISTIC CORIDOR, leading GÍAN into a vast FORTRESS. balls. Uh. My stomach in knots And my life is in ruins Constellations all gone, And my heart, on the border of hurt— And mistrust So unlovable, loveless— Promises, scars and the art was devoured Ah— she was awful; Ah—she must have lost her mind God, she was homeless, And loveless, And wild eyed All that I wanted, Was to get lost in the lobby, Before the whole ball dropped —and watch the false phropet Collide wirh the comet Stop: I lost God at the crosswalk, The punishment was Homeless Now watch this: This is what I wanted: Doesn't really matter now, Does it? Oh, doesn't it. God, this is Lucifer. Son, it's an honor. No God for a mother, who walks on her own. Now it's over or under. It's over. It never got started. I locked up my heart with the piñata. How irrelevant. How awkward. How curse words turn to mantras. How I have half a heart Or, like ⅓ We're being honest, now. I thought Illuminati wanted hotties and Caucasians. Well, I guess that'll explain, Why you've been stuck inside a cage, then. NICK CAGE is an extremely skilled time traveler. Ok. WHOOPI GOLDBERG has freed herself from the cage in which SUPACREE had skillfully trapped the OWL OF THE GOLDEN EYE. WhT a prophecy. MEANWHILE, AT HOGWARTS. HOGWARTS, 2023. ANANDAR is HEADMASTER. Ah, fuck. I'm gonna puke. All I wanted was to shamelessly watch the man's balls swing like a pendulum... Well, here's this instead. Oh no, it's Skrillex. Now you have to— —now I have to watch this. Why. Cause I've already seen that. I hate you. I hate you. SOLD, to the lady in red. Damn. Slavery is cool. Yeah, I guess. FUCK. What. Idk. BITCH. GET OUT THE BASEMENT; I'm in the attick What you think this is? Lights, camera, action: Now that attractions been well established I should get back to it, I'm in the attic Lighting up matches, Fixin my holes up with patches Callin it classic Call me an asshole, I can't be mad man, I am a mad man, I bring the mask back To Handle a trash can Get out the basement. I told you he could dance. A GIANT DRAGON Oh shit, here it comes. FIRE. DILLON FRANCIS I Well. We're gonna die. DILLON FRANCIS II If she throws up, I get a pickle. DILLON FRANCIS III That's a deal. DILLON FRANCIS II And if she cries, I get a French poodle named Angelina Jolie. DILLON FRANCIS III Righteous. DILLON FRANCIS II Yur damn right. A GIANT DRAGON FLIES OVERHEAD, SWEEPING THE SKIES WITH FIRE AND LIGHTNING. DILLON FRANCIS I (CONT'D) Yeah, we're definitely fucked. Why are you dressed like Froto. FROTO (in background, dressed exactly alike) That is offensive! SHUTTHEFUCKUP. It's the end of the world! (At least as we know it) IS THAT SKRILLEX? FIRE BREATHING DRAGON. Well, it was. What the fuck HAPPENED?! Is that its final form? Yes it is. I'll give you one million dollars. That's not enough. This card is priceless. What is this. Like a Pokémon game?! This whoops Pokémon's ass. This is LEGENDS. LIL' BIIIITZ Yo! New York is CRAZY First of all, how is it all of a sudden CLEANER THAN LA?! New York's like: here —we sent all the nasty people to LA. All better. Polarity shift! LA is gross now! New York cleaned up! The trains are nice —shit— All the trash is in BAGS. I was like “Whaaaaaaat” this is nice. What the fuck. This shit different! Unh. they exported all the nasty, crazy motherfuxkers to LA. On GOD. Cause every other psychologically twisted individual I talk to in LA is like: “I'M FROM NEW YORK” *hawks loogie, spits* Uhhhhh… I was going on a little European adventure; New York's like: “You know, you never stay long…” I'm like “There's a reason for that…welp, gotta go.” The whole universe fucked around and was like— “You know what? We like you here. Stay. “ What. “STAY.” Fuck. New York is different. Won't say I love it — But goddamn, I like it! People are rude. People are rude as fuck. I'm used to LA where people are fake nice For fuckin tips and shit, you know? Everybody's trying to get famous for something, Or something. Idk. Fake as fuck. Fake nice. Fake happy. Fake titties. Fake lips. Just fucking fake. fake everything. Everything is plastic. —and it's not tied up in garbage bags, either. It's just plastic, and trash, and piss everywhere. It's so gross. You see Venice Beach on the movies: It's all clean and beautiful, and picturesque. You get there, it's like Skid Row + Skid Row Coastal. LA has millions of homeless people everywhere. In cars, in tents. Under bridges. Everywhere. And I love LA! I really do. But it's fake. Everything is fake. New York is real as fuck. Yeaaah. Almost too real. But I like it. You don't have to fuckin fake shit. People don't say “excuse me—“ No. You're never forced to say “good morning “ before you had your coffee! Yuh! New York is doing it right. People sleep on the train— But nobody lives on that motherfucker! I was in New York like a week before the shock wore off that there were not hundreds of individuals on every train wreaking of piss and smoking crack openly—YES—illicit drug use on trains in LA is extremely casual. Everything in LA is casual. People wear pajamas to work. Yeah—that. Everyone in New York looks like they're going to eat at a five-star restaurant. Like all the time. No socks-with-slides. EW. I swore to God socks with slides was a sign of the apocalypse; I get to New York, none of that—but the cringy thing in New York is Crocs With Socs. Now mmmm we're bi-coastal. Socks-with-slides; Crocs-with-socks. Knock that shit off. TACKY. other than that, though… NY is cool. It's chic. It's fun. You gotta be careful though. You gotta watch out. I thought LA drivers were crazy. New York drivers are fucking psychotic. Pedestrians don't have the right of way. At all. If you're in a crosswalk in LA even if the light is red, people will stop and let you go. In New York you better wait for the fuckin walk sign. They will kill you. It's okay. 6 millions ways to die: choose one! Just kidding. That's some west coast shit. But I did see a whole ass mural of Snoop Dogg in Brooklyn and get slightly confused— Till I realized everything on it was the color blue, and I was deadass in the middle of Brooklyn going “What? Ohhhhh! Wait! The Crips!” “Those guys are everywhere!” Lol. Its a nation wide disorganization. Lol. Whatever. I like New York. Doing my best not to love it, So the universe doesn't balance me out by showing me what to hate about it So far, so good New York drivers don't play. I never seen a school bus drift before! DAMN. Almost got hit by a short bus. Oh, the irony. I saw a dude do a whole ass wheelie on an electric scooter. Not a moped, by the way. An electric scooter. Yup. New Yoooooork. BEDFORD AVENUE, BROOKLYN, NY. THE BAMPHERAMPHS have initiated SEQUENCE C I like New York. I gotta say. It IS like LA In the way that I know I can't live in New York if I'm not just filthy fucking rich. Cause, you know—there's still homelessness; But unlike in LA, where you just wander around, smelling like piss, begging for change— You freeze to death. A quick solution! Haha! (It's not funny.) but whatever. America. I thought I was leaving; I got trapped in the matrix. I was like “Fuck this place.” They're like: “stay! We need slaves!” I'm like FUCK. So I got stuck in New York. Ugh. At least it's a “free state” I made it north, ma! Not exactly the safest place to get stuck with no money, either, is it? Really nowhere is safe with no money. I mean, I know of some places south of the border you can live, basically free and just, you know—sleep in a hammock, sing for change and shit. Roam the beach. I know people that do that— it's just- I like showers. I don't love showers. Cause then, I'm sure God would find a way to take that away, too. I don't love anything anymore. Once you love something—it either goes away, or it burns you. Or both. Can't love things. Can't love people. No more love. Just—appreciate—things. Just—like—things, you know? Don't love anything. Speaking of suicidal tendencies. Hahah. You know what else is cool about New York? The trains actually come into the station fast enough to kill you. Like—you've had enough? Okay: here it is. Just to save you a trip to the Empire State Building. This train is coming in at 304 miles an hour and is somehow gonna stop in 3 seconds. —maybe 2 seconds, if you do jump— Better think fast! They almost come too fast, for suicide. Ready, set— Dammit. Missed it again. They're so fast. The trains in LA stopped going suicide-fast like, a couple years ago—maybe, just before the pandemic—I think. They're like “You know what! This is happening too often. I am ALWAYS late to my other two jobs ‘cause someone killed themselves on my train! Fuck!” LA's like: “Well fuck this, all the slaves are killing themselves on the trains.” “Damn, that sucks” LA's like “Yeah, okay so: here's what we do; we'll put up signs for a suicide hotline at the popular jumping points” “LA's like: okay” “And—we'll tell the train operators they gotta slow down coming into the station—“ “That'll do it!” “—that way, If they still do decide to jump, they'll just get paralyzed, and contribute to the opioid crisis: more funding for big pharma!” “Yes, it's genius!” “—unless they're black, or on Medicaid, then: we'll send em home with some ibuprofen and make sure they collect disability, so that they can become addicted to crack, or something like that —you know.” “Yes. That's perfect.” Good Job LA. I get lost in New York. I'll be on New York like “YO, WHERE THE FUCK AM I AT?” “In New York” GODDAMMIT. You know what else is weird about New York? Personal space is not a thing. I mean, “space” is not a thing at all, anyway. But “Personal space”? No. People will not only sit by you; The'll siT ON you. Yo. I had just got to New York— I had all my luggage with me— And this lady gets on the train; She's got a broom. Idk what for, but okay; She gets onto the train, She looks around, and I guess she decides she wants the seat next to me. So like I said, I have all my stuff l so I'm a little spread out, but there's room— But you know what she does? She looks me straight in the eye And then just hits me with her broom. I was like —-?!? I'm thinking, “Okay is she racist or is that just a New York thing?” Like, “you can just hit people with shit!? damn!” What's funny is, I kinda respected her for that. She was old. Didn't say a word, just “bam” Like—- ‘move!' I'm like “okay!” New York is so classy. Girls wear panty hose, and stockings. I'm like “wow, that's actually nice. That's so wholesome! Tights?! Yeah!” It's so classy. I don't think girls in LA even wear regular panties. Let alone panty hose. Get it—panty—Hoes. I see correlation. You know what else is cool about New York. It's less racist. I mean- There's so much diversity, there's almost no room to be racist. It's crazy. So many people. So many colors. So much culture. So many languages! I hear languages I can't even place. I thought I was good. I'm in LA, I'm like, “Okay, that's Chinese—“ “That's Japanese” “That's Korean” “Farsi” I get to New York— I'm in the Delicstessen. Thats another thing. Nothing like a real, New York delicatessen. That's what “deli” is short for, by the way, everyone not from New York. It's “delicatessen” Lol. Anyway. I'm standing in the Deli and I hear some shit that—I'm not gonna lie— was actually quite alarming, as a native English speaker. I'm standing there, and this guy behind me literally over my shoulder says, “Blooppnsmabhoan ammaoakb amansbaiL aannaoka snkaoakmnlblblblnlnl!!!!” I'm like what the FUCK. This isn't REAL. “Blblblana. Akakma alak Akakamaamna!” I'm shoooook. What IS that!!? I like New York. The girls aren't all evil soulless heart eating demons. They're just “regular” I have to run back to LA and tell all my guy friends, they're like “Women are evil” I'm like— “Nooo, that's just out here.” Maybe. I don't know. I like New York. I bet it's wonderful when it's warm. I don't know! Maybe that's when shit hits the fan! Maybe it's like Chicago. EVERYBODY DIES IN THE SUMMER— Who said that. Chance the Rapper, I think. I don't know. LEGENDS: FAMESCHOOL This move is called: The “Slap-Dicksuck.” [carefully taking notes] “slap-dick-suck”…okay… hmm.. Now, class. [raises hand curiously] Yes? Um. SUPACREE— —PROFESSOR SUPACREE. Um. Professor SUPACREE— Yes! Why is it called the “Slap-Dicksuck” I was about to explain that. //SLAP-DICKSUCK// NEXT: we learn THE “SLAP-DICKSUCK-SLAP” Let me guess. No, no guessing. This class is gross. I like it. Yeah, you're gross. The world is gross. Get over it. GET OVER IT, DILLON FRANCIS. *sniffes* Please, stop crying. She— *sniffles* It's okay, Dillon. She took my piñata! Your piñata set your house on fire. He sets—everything on fire— Have you ever stopped to think— —no— thinking is bad. Go get dressed. No, not today. You look like a bloated chicken nugget. —I used to like chicken nuggets. hey, Tofu daddy. This is sick. This is a sick bitch we're dealing with. I'm not dealing with anything, I quit. Quit, you can't quit. I just did. DEADMAU5 Okay, no more bodies. Ū Okay. No more bodies. DEADMAU5 Really? Ū —No. DEADMAU5 Goddammit, this is not a GAME. Ū It is a game, though—and I'm a damn good marksman. DEADMAU5 Dammit, you're right. Ū I'm always right. Come, take my hand— (I took off my ring) Do you want to do a half, or a whole thing Come, take my hand Let's sit on this swing Do you want to do a half, or a whole thing? I powered on my phone to find the digital clock exactly at 1:15, which had seemed to be creeping up again as a recurring theme, along with some other unsettling figurines—if it was a race against time, I was losing—and If, perhaps, a Holy War, I must have been some sort of Holy, as it had seemed the world's good graces had turned her back on me, and that faith dwindled more quickly in the cold than any other condition. Lay your head on my shoulder, Your cheek on my cheek, Wrap your arm round my waist, You can think what I think You can skate on thin ice You can sing what I sing And when the ice breaks; You can sink when I sink Come, take my hand— (I took off my ring) Do you want to do a half, or a whole thing Come, take my hand Let's sit on this swing Do you want to do a half, or a whole thing? It had been strange waves of everything—more than I was ready for and much more than intentionally took on, all things considered. I burned my tongue on piping hot oatmeal, trying to eat rather than write, as it seemed the time had come that I could no longer skip meals and properly function. Nearing thirty like a bullet—and at least metaphorically bleeding as if I had actually been shot, my heart and soul throbbing and gushing into a paralyzing twist or fears and woes, trapped in a foreign city with almost nothing to my name, lugging around my music equipment and very few belongings, which—when put away neatly even in the smallest room— seemed like almost nothing, but was certainly too much to carry around, especially alone. And I was, so very alone. Drake Bell and the Hollywood Spell My newest and strangest muse yet had again insisted on appearing into my dream world, for the third time, anyway—which seemed a cruel and almost disturbing subconscious attempt to conjur up what might have been the entirety of my energy to complete the 6th Season of Enter The Multiverse, at this point which had even interested me, reinvigorating my senses and at least partially restoring my faith in something, even if it was just Hollywood being Hollywood. But now, even miles away from Hollywoodland, and stranded far, far away with no conceivable way to find my way back, even if I did have a home there waiting for me—and there wasn't—there didn't seem to be a home anywhere for me at all, and with my money running well towards dry I had spent most the week dry heaving into panic attacks about where I would go, or what I would do/—especially dragging around all of my luggage and equipment, and while it was true my equipment could have easily found it's way into a pawn shop, to at least offset the impending homelessness by maybe a couple days, and a couple hundred dollars—it didn't seem quite worth it to sell my dream again, especially for the miserable existence of sharing a hostel room with whoever decided to snore or cough their way into my hellish realm of corporate slavery, lovelessness, and lack of privacy. Yes, my conciousness had summoned up this man into my dreamworld now three times, and for whatever reason, if there was one — I could consider it a charm. Had I not been working at the smokeshop what now seemed like ages ago, I might have forgotten entirely that such a person had ever existed—which I had, since the experience, for the record, at least tried to—but for some reason, disasterously couldnt; it had all awakened something serious and spiritual within my outer world, piquing my ultra conscious into a rare and bewildering curiosity that had done well to slay and murder the cat in all of its nine lives, and then some. It wasn't entirely on purpose, or without guilt that my mind seemed to inquisitively structure an entire hidden world and to form a strange and illicit bond with this fragile man creature, not that my social status or overwhelmingly average, unattractive, stranded and abandoned wastebasket of a demon, or diety whatever I was in whatever kind of light, would have much at all to do but suffer the result of having missed the bar by far, stumbling into the lower realms of the world by mere circumstance, on occasion, without notice. I was certainly thinking about it too much, and hating myself for it, a certain spark or inspiration for the Timmy Turner timelines met with the sudden flash of what may have even been a lost memory of not for all this Hollywood trauma, or dogma, whichever made sense—because none of it did, at all, besides to reverse what time had done by allowing me to forget my turbulent childhood, which couldn't matter anymore in this moment as it ever had; and though I was producing a fruitful workout at Equinox, squatting deeply into the Smith Machine and breathing deeply into my lower back, where the tension from the weight of my leftover skin met the pain in the whole of my torso, an apparent rush sent a splash of slobber out of the side of my mouth, my third eye a gaping and burning hole streaking heat across the middle of my forehead—all of a sudden the high of Nitrous Oxide filled my mind, if only for a moment—flung back into a memory nearly two decades old. “That's it.” I remembered thinking. “No more of this.” I sat down the can of keyboard cleaner on the bathroom floor. I had scared myself straight, long before I even knew what I was doing—and I didn't know at all, having been nine, or maybe 10–long before I would ever *want* to get high, not understanding that or why I needed to, anyway—or that getting “high” was what I was doing at all. No, at the time, it simply ‘felt really good', until it didn't—the particular memory which struck me in the dead center of the Equinox floor—and snapping back into my body, shaking myself out of it and leaning into the bar to stretch, taking in a deep breath and choking back an ocean of tears. “Idiot.” I'm still lost in your eyes I'll be in love with you forever Dreams Wil Be Dreams. Since departing LA, all my dreams had been strange, and I found myself growing more distant from myself, or from anything real at all, my dreams skewing into a horrid soundscape of rampant memories and false hopes of love. Finally able to seek refuge in meditation, I had been bombarded with images of Dillon Francis balancing some pretty little white girl in his lap—and though I couldn't quite unhinge the Amethyst from my possession, I had been giving it the distance I needed for something like peace of mind, without the actual peace itself at play. There had been quite the spell to break, and though it hadn't even been moderately broken—I at least knew now what magic I was dealing with. Dillon Hart Francis was a powerful magician—perhaps too powerful, and with that I took my strides into gatekeeping at the very least, since no peace could be made. I could love with a wholesome heart, but a tarnished mind and a gated soul would simply not outlast the infinite journey. Though I had been illicitly carfeful not to look him in the eye last we did meet, there was a remarkable force in place far beyond control—or at least my control— which kept such power from being apprehended; I had done my best to let go, knowing it was indeed a spell at play, and rather than a curse no need to worry or fear it's users intentions. Magic was a give-and-take, and so much had been at this point taken from me that the bruises of jealousy for whatever it was being waved about my psyche as ‘better than' could do no more than to rip the rest of my heart from its crevice as I pondered on what I might have done right, or might have done wrong—if there were such things. ‘White girls get all the love.' It was only true in my heart and my mind, and so it must have sat in my soul a certain way. I had never intended really to fall into what I had fallen into with Dillon Francis—not that it couldn't or wouldn't be undone, eventually, as I was inraveling myself into an unremarkable, unastonishing whisp — a fracture in time to do much less than even be though of, or forgotten. I'm still lost in your eyes I'll be in love with you forever A piece of my rock had shattered on the floor of the shower at Equinox—the only stone I kept for myself, and often forgotten about, as I did myself, not that i mattered much. It shattered unevenly into three pieces, one of which I left in the sauna, quickly before departing—and the other which I had dropped in Times Square, begrudgingly under the LCD American flag by which I felt betrayed: How could our nation not only allow, but create homelessness as a scare tactic to keep the working poor working as slaves, to saciate the wealthy's wants and needs? “Whatever.” I'm not going to hurt you, You can't hurt me anymore than I can hurt myself. I'm glad you know that. I don't know anything. Suicide fucking sucks. I know that. It might be time for me to go But I just want to let you know I still got love for you; And there's still hope; I left the door open I gotta go, you know, It's hopeless for some At the end of my rope —and it's a long way home, But it's home at the end It's home at the end of a long, lond road I took the wrong one, But at least now I know you I'll go on It seems that I still have a soul, somewhere I walked in on thin air, And now I'm here; I don't know where I'm still lost in your eyes I'll be in love with you forever LEGENDS EDDIE MURPHY opens the heavy Victorian style door, after three solid knocks from under the GLOVED HAND which lifts the golden-brass door knocker. To what do I owe the pleasure? WHOOPI GOLDBERG Business, not pleasure. -_- Well, which business. All of ‘em. [She gestures to pass through the doorway.] Please, come in. Coffee, or Tea? Coffee this late? [beat] Coffee. This is serious. You look serious. I've been—confined. Drake Bell, you son of a bitch. Oh, so you do know my name. I know all your names. So it is. So I am. — How'd you get in this? I've always been in this. What is “always”? How did you get in this? I am this. What a philosophy. Call it what you want. What if I don't. Then don't. See you on the other side. Someone once told me, the grass is much greener— on the other side. —and when I paid a visit, (It's possible I missed it) Seemed different, yet exactly the same. DILLON FRANCIS I didn't want it to end this way. I didn't want it to end. Well, it did. You let it. I had to. Just let go. No, I can't. Hah! What's so funny? You're fucking impossible. Nothing is “impossible” you said that. But you “can't” Let this go? Ah-hah. No. This here will keep slowly unwinding until there's no more. —and then what? There's no more. Damn. This is foul. Hm. Take a time out, Timmy. I'm a take a t-t-taxi I pay my t-t-taxes The actor and the actress. Oh, He's Big Hollywood; Doesn't Have a Job, But the work's real good – His lines are smooth and his days are long, Gotta make it right, For a whole lot of wrongs He's Big-Big Hollywood Doesn't have a job; But the work's real good Coming in hot, Like he's fresh out the box That's a real big nugget, With a whole lot of sauce. Stop. What. What is this. It's a song. This is awful. FUCK IT. I DON'T CARE. Damn, Oreos AND Ben & Jerry's?! IT'S DAIRY-FREE. Tf kind o f Oreos is that. They're GLuten FrEe. FUCK IT. Sunni, get a hold of yourself. YOU GET A HOLD OF YOUR SELF. Stop yelling from across the room. I'LL YELL WHERE I WANT. Fuck this job. FUCK YOU MARIANNE. AGGHH. AGGHHHHHHHHH. Fuck What. What's up. I need a smoke break. I'M GONNA RIP YOUR HEART OUT. YOU DOn'T HAVE A HEART. SHUT UP, DILLON FRANCIS. GOd. WHO INVITED HIM, ANYWAY. I didn't. NOBODY INVITED HIM. The inspiration to music hit at just the right and the wrong time—I had finally found my way to the butt machine, only after visiting every other floor and guessing incorrectly—only to make it to the machine in just enough time to realize that I was for some reason exhausted—perhaps having just blown my last fuse, realizing I was literally down to my last, few pennies— and, unknowing of how to escape the hole I had dug myself into, falling into a carful and unsecured ‘lust' with New York, surely never to fall in love with another city as I had LA, learning my lessons well, and knowing all too well that nowhere and no one like me was safe from homelessness in the US—now having proven itself to be a hostile entity, in a full police state. It didn't seem to matter, though, as I had narrowly missed my escape nearly on purpose, but not— it seemed something entirely outward was keeping me at bay and in the US, not that I had wanted to leave out of fear for my life as much as I wanted adventure and exploration—but either way was going nowhere at all fast, and running out or money even faster. “Fuck, I hate my life” I had probably over caffeinated, at least half the reason I couldn't budge to top speed, even blasting bangarang into my eardrums at nearly top volume—this day, it only emotionally weakened me, having demoted myself entirely from any sort of elite status, back into the realm of obsessive fandom, and perhaps even schizophrenia, per Dane Cook's shenanigans. Yeah, I'm tired and I need to take like ten shits. Just finish then. If I leave early I have to come back early. Well, go, then. Muscle fatigue, check Dehydration, check Psyche completely shattered Check. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -THE LEGEND OF SUPACREE LEGENDS GERALD'S WORLD OWSLA CONFIDENTIAL: THE INFINITE SKRILLIFILES ENTER THE MULTIVERSE DEATHWISH ASCENSION THE SECRET LIFE OF SUNNÏ BLŪ SCARY MONSTERS & SUPACREE THE INSOMNIAC &MORE FROM [The Festival Project.™] SEASON 6 ACT III Part I MONTAGE: Clique, Cruel Summer Kanye West, JAY-Z & Big Sean EXT. DOWNTOWN LOS ANGELES. BROAD ASS DAYLIGHT SUPACREE has unlocked 100% Of her ABILITIES GOD MODE UNLOCKED SUPACREE EXITS EQUINOX FITNESS CLUB AT LIGHTSPEED, Hitting the pavement with swift force, splitting into three dimensional selves; SUNNI BLŪ to her left and A MYSTERIOUS, unknown ALTER EGO to her right, she shifts quickly to the beat of the music, morphing into and out of parallels of the outer world, opening and closing portals, and encapsulating anything and everything within her force field—which happens to be the whole of GREATER LOS ANGELES. Damn. If I put my heart inside a box; Maybe I'd forget how cold it was Or how far you are Or how much it hurts There's no harm in God, If there ever was one Then, reality sets in: God was my only friend No armor on, I'm at the end Of a long, long walk I'm off again And on again Nothing's impossible— stop at the alter and scoff a bit I left my coat on, I left my heart on the rooftop, A sacrifice, love At the alter, I wonder a song, Or a sonnet A song, No, what's wrong? Something's off a bit God, I woke up in a coffin once Isn't that awful? The rest or the song wrote itself, At the alter No, I can't stop and talk Got to get off, Cause I've never been on I've never belonged in the world What have we done? This is bad, brother. That's a construct. Everything's a construct! Get ahold of yourself. Get ahold of—you know what? I do know. You think you're fuckin' clever. I am clever. You're a sick man. That's my business. Yeah, well—you made it my business. I am you. What a concept. *construct. God, help you! [sideways evil smirk] Hehe. SPAM! ON TACOS! BUTTERS Oh—Jesus! WHO PUTS SPAM ON TACOS?! A smart man. C'mon, Butters. We gotta get lost in the sauce before we try this out. I'MMA TRY IT OUT. OK. GOD, OH, GOD, PLEASE— MERCIFUL GOD IN HEAVEN— (WhT.) JUST— DON'T LET IT BE SKRILL AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. Fuxk. What. She took the train. Which fucking train. I don't know. The train. THE A TRAIN, or the B TRAIN?! HEY. WHAT, you motherfucking idiot? I THINK I LOVE YOU. Well, stop thinking. Ok. JIMMY FALLON THE COSMIC AVENGER has been kidnapped— He's like 50 years old. He's been dad-napped. —by the MOB. The MOB?! He's into some dark shit. Wait, he is?! In this series. He has been tied to a chair, which sits under a single spotlight in a shabby, dark room in NEW JERSEY. Ew, New Jersey. JIMMY THE MOBSTER Hi, Jimmy— JIMMY FALLON —uh—hello. JIMMY THE MOBSTER I'm Jimmy. JIMMY FALLON Oh, that's ironic. [beat] JIMMY THE MOBSTER I'm gonna kill you, Jimmy. GOD If I give you a serious role, how are you gonna handle it? JIMMY FALLON like a pro. GOD don't lie to me, Jimmy. JIMMY FALLON What?! I'm not! My body, heart, mind, and soul was being attacked— I had 15 minutes to vacate the property and couldn't even focus—I had to use the bathroom so badly it hurt my soul. I was pacing back and forth, choking back ugly tears—the rude man in the room across the way still occupying the bathroom which I needed, both to clean and relieve myself—but it had been hell, after all, and needs like these had been proven to be in short supply. Fuck. This is a gun to your head. Just do it. [he moves the pistol into her mouth] Now it's in your mouth. [she unhinges her jaw to open it wider, never breaking eye contact and relaxes; he studies his hand on the grip of the tripper, ready to lill] You'll die today. [A comfort; as she relaxes, he as well changes—this seems to take the fun of killing away from him, he exacts the gun from her mouth] CONT'D You like that? I love it— You're dead, bitch! Yes, I am! A penniless whore. Whores get paid— Then, even less— What's less than this? A dead bitch. Think again. I don't think, I just shoot; Sounds like a man. Oh, I am. Then kill me with your hands. Jesus Christ, man. He can't help. No one can help you. So just shoot. [he can't] SUNNI. )&2&;@2@2$ YOU ARE OUT OF CONTROL. SUCK MY DICK. AGHHJJJ. Well. TMZ is here. This is a disaster. NEXT, WE LEARN: THE Oh my God. WhT. This is probably the worst thing I've ever written. Not the worst. Nope: it is the worst. Maybe it's just bad on paper. It's bad no matter how you — CONTROL, JANET PRIVACY. Here. Wtf is this. LEGENDS: FAME SCHOOL Christopher Walken was one of my professors in fame school For acting? For music. For music? That doesn't make any sense. Please, don't make me explain this. A FACE BATTLE CHRISTOPHER WALKEN vs. SUPACREE -_- —__^ *_- ^__ __/ *_* >< … —-__—- Ok. Alright. Show me what you got. SUPACREE plays a beat. You know where this is going. We all know where this is going. CHRISTOPHER WALKEN that was OK. “OK”?! Yeah. *shrugs* OK. You know what— You know what it needs? …what's it need? —-more cowbell. I beg your pardon. Please, don't beg. It was perfect. It was OK. You're not OK. —maybe I'm not. You're definitely not. —know what helps? Don't tell me: More fucking cowbell. Lol. ⅔ ain't bad. Wait, two out or three?! Which one didn't I— —FUCK. What, what happened? They're onto me. THE BAMPHERAMPS, MOTHERFUCKING BAMPHERAMPHS, and THE ASCENDED MASTERY has assembled in NEW YORK CITY to stage a coup. It's a coup d'état. There sure is a lot of French shit over here. Well yeah, it's Paris. Wait. What, what now? If SUPACREE is in Paris. NIGGAZ. Right—then— Who the fuck are they chasing in New York. [just waking up] Why am I in New York? WHOOPI GOLDBERG you got anyplace else to be? …no. MEANWHILE, IN ROME. Fanculo! Really, dude. Apparently. A tear in my head; A rip in my soul, And the fabric of— Coming undone at the whole; I make sense of it all at the alter, The fall; To have fought in the war, And then lost, or to suffer at all Love was lost, I was never a martyr— Blood on the cross, And the crossroads, The frost and the stardust, “There's no God” For the honorable, Stuck in New York, But defrosting my toes, At the forefront I haven't once wondered or thought Of the love that I was, Since I stopped throwing rocks at the church Or got off on the wrong stop; What a puzzle, To jump off, Or rot in the heart of The hub— World of wonders, A mother of suns, Never wanted a daughter so much Unpunishment, Loved was the Duchess; To carry a crutch or a cross— So unbothered, untouched, So heartless and dark, For the marksman—a spark Or the dog does not bark At the horses You're in the clear, hero. Heartless, she was! Now, now—settle down. This is an absolute outrage. Is it, now? I say so! Maybe you shouldn't. Faro, a word, I've got three. I'll go first. [a smug look] What's happened here? A ressurection, sir. Care to explain? I said ‘three.' Where's the King? My palms grew numb as my throbbing heartache welled up into the back of my throat and sat perched up against my growling stomach, stuffed with beans and rice, perhaps to fill the sadness or satiate my need for protein, either one. ASCENSION If you're going to vomit, step away from me. —I'm not sick. Actually, step out of my house. This is your house? —I live here. —no one lives here. What did you think it was? an elaborate cave. It is—an elaborwte cave— —excuse my ignorance. You're excused entirely. —I appreciate that. I meant, from here. You should go. Faro, wait. No more waiting; you were uninvited. Trust me—this visitation is more necessary than voluntary. That's—a lot of words. I don't speak caveman. Just—get out. Listen: No more listening— It's about C'esme't. It always is. This is important. It always is. It concerns you. It always does. —? Wait. [a heavy sigh] [a long silence] Come with me. FARO leads GÍAN towards the back of his quarters. Close the door. I— what? Nevermind. You're useless. Ehrm—excuse me. Excused, your majesty. FARO opens a SECRET PASSAGEWAY into a FUTURISTIC CORIDOR, leading GÍAN into a vast FORTRESS. balls. Uh. My stomach in knots And my life is in ruins Constellations all gone, And my heart, on the border of hurt— And mistrust So unlovable, loveless— Promises, scars and the art was devoured Ah— she was awful; Ah—she must have lost her mind God, she was homeless, And loveless, And wild eyed All that I wanted, Was to get lost in the lobby, Before the whole ball dropped —and watch the false phropet Collide wirh the comet Stop: I lost God at the crosswalk, The punishment was Homeless Now watch this: This is what I wanted: Doesn't really matter now, Does it? Oh, doesn't it. God, this is Lucifer. Son, it's an honor. No God for a mother, who walks on her own. Now it's over or under. It's over. It never got started. I locked up my heart with the piñata. How irrelevant. How awkward. How curse words turn to mantras. How I have half a heart Or, like ⅓ We're being honest, now. I thought Illuminati wanted hotties and Caucasians. Well, I guess that'll explain, Why you've been stuck inside a cage, then. NICK CAGE is an extremely skilled time traveler. Ok. WHOOPI GOLDBERG has freed herself from the cage in which SUPACREE had skillfully trapped the OWL OF THE GOLDEN EYE. WhT a prophecy. MEANWHILE, AT HOGWARTS. HOGWARTS, 2023. ANANDAR is HEADMASTER. Ah, fuck. I'm gonna puke. All I wanted was to shamelessly watch the man's balls swing like a pendulum... Well, here's this instead. Oh no, it's Skrillex. Now you have to— —now I have to watch this. Why. Cause I've already seen that. I hate you. I hate you. SOLD, to the lady in red. Damn. Slavery is cool. Yeah, I guess. FUCK. What. Idk. BITCH. GET OUT THE BASEMENT; I'm in the attick What you think this is? Lights, camera, action: Now that attractions been well established I should get back to it, I'm in the attic Lighting up matches, Fixin my holes up with patches Callin it classic Call me an asshole, I can't be mad man, I am a mad man, I bring the mask back To Handle a trash can Get out the basement. I told you he could dance. A GIANT DRAGON Oh shit, here it comes. FIRE. DILLON FRANCIS I Well. We're gonna die. DILLON FRANCIS II If she throws up, I get a pickle. DILLON FRANCIS III That's a deal. DILLON FRANCIS II And if she cries, I get a French poodle named Angelina Jolie. DILLON FRANCIS III Righteous. DILLON FRANCIS II Yur damn right. A GIANT DRAGON FLIES OVERHEAD, SWEEPING THE SKIES WITH FIRE AND LIGHTNING. DILLON FRANCIS I (CONT'D) Yeah, we're definitely fucked. Why are you dressed like Froto. FROTO (in background, dressed exactly alike) That is offensive! SHUTTHEFUCKUP. It's the end of the world! (At least as we know it) IS THAT SKRILLEX? FIRE BREATHING DRAGON. Well, it was. What the fuck HAPPENED?! Is that its final form? Yes it is. I'll give you one million dollars. That's not enough. This card is priceless. What is this. Like a Pokémon game?! This whoops Pokémon's ass. This is LEGENDS. LIL' BIIIITZ Yo! New York is CRAZY First of all, how is it all of a sudden CLEANER THAN LA?! New York's like: here —we sent all the nasty people to LA. All better. Polarity shift! LA is gross now! New York cleaned up! The trains are nice —shit— All the trash is in BAGS. I was like “Whaaaaaaat” this is nice. What the fuck. This shit different! Unh. they exported all the nasty, crazy motherfuxkers to LA. On GOD. Cause every other psychologically twisted individual I talk to in LA is like: “I'M FROM NEW YORK” *hawks loogie, spits* Uhhhhh… I was going on a little European adventure; New York's like: “You know, you never stay long…” I'm like “There's a reason for that…welp, gotta go.” The whole universe fucked around and was like— “You know what? We like you here. Stay. “ What. “STAY.” Fuck. New York is different. Won't say I love it — But goddamn, I like it! People are rude. People are rude as fuck. I'm used to LA where people are fake nice For fuckin tips and shit, you know? Everybody's trying to get famous for something, Or something. Idk. Fake as fuck. Fake nice. Fake happy. Fake titties. Fake lips. Just fucking fake. fake everything. Everything is plastic. —and it's not tied up in garbage bags, either. It's just plastic, and trash, and piss everywhere. It's so gross. You see Venice Beach on the movies: It's all clean and beautiful, and picturesque. You get there, it's like Skid Row + Skid Row Coastal. LA has millions of homeless people everywhere. In cars, in tents. Under bridges. Everywhere. And I love LA! I really do. But it's fake. Everything is fake. New York is real as fuck. Yeaaah. Almost too real. But I like it. You don't have to fuckin fake shit. People don't say “excuse me—“ No. You're never forced to say “good morning “ before you had your coffee! Yuh! New York is doing it right. People sleep on the train— But nobody lives on that motherfucker! I was in New York like a week before the shock wore off that there were not hundreds of individuals on every train wreaking of piss and smoking crack openly—YES—illicit drug use on trains in LA is extremely casual. Everything in LA is casual. People wear pajamas to work. Yeah—that. Everyone in New York looks like they're going to eat at a five-star restaurant. Like all the time. No socks-with-slides. EW. I swore to God socks with slides was a sign of the apocalypse; I get to New York, none of that—but the cringy thing in New York is Crocs With Socs. Now mmmm we're bi-coastal. Socks-with-slides; Crocs-with-socks. Knock that shit off. TACKY. other than that, though… NY is cool. It's chic. It's fun. You gotta be careful though. You gotta watch out. I thought LA drivers were crazy. New York drivers are fucking psychotic. Pedestrians don't have the right of way. At all. If you're in a crosswalk in LA even if the light is red, people will stop and let you go. In New York you better wait for the fuckin walk sign. They will kill you. It's okay. 6 millions ways to die: choose one! Just kidding. That's some west coast shit. But I did see a whole ass mural of Snoop Dogg in Brooklyn and get slightly confused— Till I realized everything on it was the color blue, and I was deadass in the middle of Brooklyn going “What? Ohhhhh! Wait! The Crips!” “Those guys are everywhere!” Lol. Its a nation wide disorganization. Lol. Whatever. I like New York. Doing my best not to love it, So the universe doesn't balance me out by showing me what to hate about it So far, so good New York drivers don't play. I never seen a school bus drift before! DAMN. Almost got hit by a short bus. Oh, the irony. I saw a dude do a whole ass wheelie on an electric scooter. Not a moped, by the way. An electric scooter. Yup. New Yoooooork. BEDFORD AVENUE, BROOKLYN, NY. THE BAMPHERAMPHS have initiated SEQUENCE C I like New York. I gotta say. It IS like LA In the way that I know I can't live in New York if I'm not just filthy fucking rich. Cause, you know—there's still homelessness; But unlike in LA, where you just wander around, smelling like piss, begging for change— You freeze to death. A quick solution! Haha! (It's not funny.) but whatever. America. I thought I was leaving; I got trapped in the matrix. I was like “Fuck this place.” They're like: “stay! We need slaves!” I'm like FUCK. So I got stuck in New York. Ugh. At least it's a “free state” I made it north, ma! Not exactly the safest place to get stuck with no money, either, is it? Really nowhere is safe with no money. I mean, I know of some places south of the border you can live, basically free and just, you know—sleep in a hammock, sing for change and shit. Roam the beach. I know people that do that— it's just- I like showers. I don't love showers. Cause then, I'm sure God would find a way to take that away, too. I don't love anything anymore. Once you love something—it either goes away, or it burns you. Or both. Can't love things. Can't love people. No more love. Just—appreciate—things. Just—like—things, you know? Don't love anything. Speaking of suicidal tendencies. Hahah. You know what else is cool about New York? The trains actually come into the station fast enough to kill you. Like—you've had enough? Okay: here it is. Just to save you a trip to the Empire State Building. This train is coming in at 304 miles an hour and is somehow gonna stop in 3 seconds. —maybe 2 seconds, if you do jump— Better think fast! They almost come too fast, for suicide. Ready, set— Dammit. Missed it again. They're so fast. The trains in LA stopped going suicide-fast like, a couple years ago—maybe, just before the pandemic—I think. They're like “You know what! This is happening too often. I am ALWAYS late to my other two jobs ‘cause someone killed themselves on my train! Fuck!” LA's like: “Well fuck this, all the slaves are killing themselves on the trains.” “Damn, that sucks” LA's like “Yeah, okay so: here's what we do; we'll put up signs for a suicide hotline at the popular jumping points” “LA's like: okay” “And—we'll tell the train operators they gotta slow down coming into the station—“ “That'll do it!” “—that way, If they still do decide to jump, they'll just get paralyzed, and contribute to the opioid crisis: more funding for big pharma!” “Yes, it's genius!” “—unless they're black, or on Medicaid, then: we'll send em home with some ibuprofen and make sure they collect disability, so that they can become addicted to crack, or something like that —you know.” “Yes. That's perfect.” Good Job LA. I get lost in New York. I'll be on New York like “YO, WHERE THE FUCK AM I AT?” “In New York” GODDAMMIT. You know what else is weird about New York? Personal space is not a thing. I mean, “space” is not a thing at all, anyway. But “Personal space”? No. People will not only sit by you; The'll siT ON you. Yo. I had just got to New York— I had all my luggage with me— And this lady gets on the train; She's got a broom. Idk what for, but okay; She gets onto the train, She looks around, and I guess she decides she wants the seat next to me. So like I said, I have all my stuff l so I'm a little spread out, but there's room— But you know what she does? She looks me straight in the eye And then just hits me with her broom. I was like —-?!? I'm thinking, “Okay is she racist or is that just a New York thing?” Like, “you can just hit people with shit!? damn!” What's funny is, I kinda respected her for that. She was old. Didn't say a word, just “bam” Like—- ‘move!' I'm like “okay!” New York is so classy. Girls wear panty hose, and stockings. I'm like “wow, that's actually nice. That's so wholesome! Tights?! Yeah!” It's so classy. I don't think girls in LA even wear regular panties. Let alone panty hose. Get it—panty—Hoes. I see correlation. You know what else is cool about New York. It's less racist. I mean- There's so much diversity, there's almost no room to be racist. It's crazy. So many people. So many colors. So much culture. So many languages! I hear languages I can't even place. I thought I was good. I'm in LA, I'm like, “Okay, that's Chinese—“ “That's Japanese” “That's Korean” “Farsi” I get to New York— I'm in the Delicstessen. Thats another thing. Nothing like a real, New York delicatessen. That's what “deli” is short for, by the way, everyone not from New York. It's “delicatessen” Lol. Anyway. I'm standing in the Deli and I hear some shit that—I'm not gonna lie— was actually quite alarming, as a native English speaker. I'm standing there, and this guy behind me literally over my shoulder says, “Blooppnsmabhoan ammaoakb amansbaiL aannaoka snkaoakmnlblblblnlnl!!!!” I'm like what the FUCK. This isn't REAL. “Blblblana. Akakma alak Akakamaamna!” I'm shoooook. What IS that!!? I like New York. The girls aren't all evil soulless heart eating demons. They're just “regular” I have to run back to LA and tell all my guy friends, they're like “Women are evil” I'm like— “Nooo, that's just out here.” Maybe. I don't know. I like New York. I bet it's wonderful when it's warm. I don't know! Maybe that's when shit hits the fan! Maybe it's like Chicago. EVERYBODY DIES IN THE SUMMER— Who said that. Chance the Rapper, I think. I don't know. LEGENDS: FAMESCHOOL This move is called: The “Slap-Dicksuck.” [carefully taking notes] “slap-dick-suck”…okay… hmm.. Now, class. [raises hand curiously] Yes? Um. SUPACREE— —PROFESSOR SUPACREE. Um. Professor SUPACREE— Yes! Why is it called the “Slap-Dicksuck” I was about to explain that. //SLAP-DICKSUCK// NEXT: we learn THE “SLAP-DICKSUCK-SLAP” Let me guess. No, no guessing. This class is gross. I like it. Yeah, you're gross. The world is gross. Get over it. GET OVER IT, DILLON FRANCIS. *sniffes* Please, stop crying. She— *sniffles* It's okay, Dillon. She took my piñata! Your piñata set your house on fire. He sets—everything on fire— Have you ever stopped to think— —no— thinking is bad. Go get dressed. No, not today. You look like a bloated chicken nugget. —I used to like chicken nuggets. hey, Tofu daddy. This is sick. This is a sick bitch we're dealing with. I'm not dealing with anything, I quit. Quit, you can't quit. I just did. DEADMAU5 Okay, no more bodies. Ū Okay. No more bodies. DEADMAU5 Really? Ū —No. DEADMAU5 Goddammit, this is not a GAME. Ū It is a game, though—and I'm a damn good marksman. DEADMAU5 Dammit, you're right. Ū I'm always right. Come, take my hand— (I took off my ring) Do you want to do a half, or a whole thing Come, take my hand Let's sit on this swing Do you want to do a half, or a whole thing? I powered on my phone to find the digital clock exactly at 1:15, which had seemed to be creeping up again as a recurring theme, along with some other unsettling figurines—if it was a race against time, I was losing—and If, perhaps, a Holy War, I must have been some sort of Holy, as it had seemed the world's good graces had turned her back on me, and that faith dwindled more quickly in the cold than any other condition. Lay your head on my shoulder, Your cheek on my cheek, Wrap your arm round my waist, You can think what I think You can skate on thin ice You can sing what I sing And when the ice breaks; You can sink when I sink Come, take my hand— (I took off my ring) Do you want to do a half, or a whole thing Come, take my hand Let's sit on this swing Do you want to do a half, or a whole thing? It had been strange waves of everything—more than I was ready for and much more than intentionally took on, all things considered. I burned my tongue on piping hot oatmeal, trying to eat rather than write, as it seemed the time had come that I could no longer skip meals and properly function. Nearing thirty like a bullet—and at least metaphorically bleeding as if I had actually been shot, my heart and soul throbbing and gushing into a paralyzing twist or fears and woes, trapped in a foreign city with almost nothing to my name, lugging around my music equipment and very few belongings, which—when put away neatly even in the smallest room— seemed like almost nothing, but was certainly too much to carry around, especially alone. And I was, so very alone. Drake Bell and the Hollywood Spell My newest and strangest muse yet had again insisted on appearing into my dream world, for the third time, anyway—which seemed a cruel and almost disturbing subconscious attempt to conjur up what might have been the entirety of my energy to complete the 6th Season of Enter The Multiverse, at this point which had even interested m

THE LEGEND OF SUPACREE LEGENDS GERALD'S WORLD OWSLA CONFIDENTIAL: THE INFINITE SKRILLIFILES ENTER THE MULTIVERSE DEATHWISH ASCENSION THE SECRET LIFE OF SUNNÏ BLŪ SCARY MONSTERS & SUPACREE THE INSOMNIAC &MORE FROM [The Festival Project.™] SEASON 6 ACT III Part I MONTAGE: Clique, Cruel Summer Kanye West, JAY-Z & Big Sean EXT. DOWNTOWN LOS ANGELES. BROAD ASS DAYLIGHT SUPACREE has unlocked 100% Of her ABILITIES GOD MODE UNLOCKED SUPACREE EXITS EQUINOX FITNESS CLUB AT LIGHTSPEED, Hitting the pavement with swift force, splitting into three dimensional selves; SUNNI BLŪ to her left and A MYSTERIOUS, unknown ALTER EGO to her right, she shifts quickly to the beat of the music, morphing into and out of parallels of the outer world, opening and closing portals, and encapsulating anything and everything within her force field—which happens to be the whole of GREATER LOS ANGELES. Damn. If I put my heart inside a box; Maybe I'd forget how cold it was Or how far you are Or how much it hurts There's no harm in God, If there ever was one Then, reality sets in: God was my only friend No armor on, I'm at the end Of a long, long walk I'm off again And on again Nothing's impossible— stop at the alter and scoff a bit I left my coat on, I left my heart on the rooftop, A sacrifice, love At the alter, I wonder a song, Or a sonnet A song, No, what's wrong? Something's off a bit God, I woke up in a coffin once Isn't that awful? The rest or the song wrote itself, At the alter No, I can't stop and talk Got to get off, Cause I've never been on I've never belonged in the world What have we done? This is bad, brother. That's a construct. Everything's a construct! Get ahold of yourself. Get ahold of—you know what? I do know. You think you're fuckin' clever. I am clever. You're a sick man. That's my business. Yeah, well—you made it my business. I am you. What a concept. *construct. God, help you! [sideways evil smirk] Hehe. SPAM! ON TACOS! BUTTERS Oh—Jesus! WHO PUTS SPAM ON TACOS?! A smart man. C'mon, Butters. We gotta get lost in the sauce before we try this out. I'MMA TRY IT OUT. OK. GOD, OH, GOD, PLEASE— MERCIFUL GOD IN HEAVEN— (WhT.) JUST— DON'T LET IT BE SKRILL AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. Fuxk. What. She took the train. Which fucking train. I don't know. The train. THE A TRAIN, or the B TRAIN?! HEY. WHAT, you motherfucking idiot? I THINK I LOVE YOU. Well, stop thinking. Ok. JIMMY FALLON THE COSMIC AVENGER has been kidnapped— He's like 50 years old. He's been dad-napped. —by the MOB. The MOB?! He's into some dark shit. Wait, he is?! In this series. He has been tied to a chair, which sits under a single spotlight in a shabby, dark room in NEW JERSEY. Ew, New Jersey. JIMMY THE MOBSTER Hi, Jimmy— JIMMY FALLON —uh—hello. JIMMY THE MOBSTER I'm Jimmy. JIMMY FALLON Oh, that's ironic. [beat] JIMMY THE MOBSTER I'm gonna kill you, Jimmy. GOD If I give you a serious role, how are you gonna handle it? JIMMY FALLON like a pro. GOD don't lie to me, Jimmy. JIMMY FALLON What?! I'm not! My body, heart, mind, and soul was being attacked— I had 15 minutes to vacate the property and couldn't even focus—I had to use the bathroom so badly it hurt my soul. I was pacing back and forth, choking back ugly tears—the rude man in the room across the way still occupying the bathroom which I needed, both to clean and relieve myself—but it had been hell, after all, and needs like these had been proven to be in short supply. Fuck. This is a gun to your head. Just do it. [he moves the pistol into her mouth] Now it's in your mouth. [she unhinges her jaw to open it wider, never breaking eye contact and relaxes; he studies his hand on the grip of the tripper, ready to lill] You'll die today. [A comfort; as she relaxes, he as well changes—this seems to take the fun of killing away from him, he exacts the gun from her mouth] CONT'D You like that? I love it— You're dead, bitch! Yes, I am! A penniless whore. Whores get paid— Then, even less— What's less than this? A dead bitch. Think again. I don't think, I just shoot; Sounds like a man. Oh, I am. Then kill me with your hands. Jesus Christ, man. He can't help. No one can help you. So just shoot. [he can't] SUNNI. )&2&;@2@2$ YOU ARE OUT OF CONTROL. SUCK MY DICK. AGHHJJJ. Well. TMZ is here. This is a disaster. NEXT, WE LEARN: THE Oh my God. WhT. This is probably the worst thing I've ever written. Not the worst. Nope: it is the worst. Maybe it's just bad on paper. It's bad no matter how you — CONTROL, JANET PRIVACY. Here. Wtf is this. LEGENDS: FAME SCHOOL Christopher Walken was one of my professors in fame school For acting? For music. For music? That doesn't make any sense. Please, don't make me explain this. A FACE BATTLE CHRISTOPHER WALKEN vs. SUPACREE -_- —__^ *_- ^__ __/ *_* >< … —-__—- Ok. Alright. Show me what you got. SUPACREE plays a beat. You know where this is going. We all know where this is going. CHRISTOPHER WALKEN that was OK. “OK”?! Yeah. *shrugs* OK. You know what— You know what it needs? …what's it need? —-more cowbell. I beg your pardon. Please, don't beg. It was perfect. It was OK. You're not OK. —maybe I'm not. You're definitely not. —know what helps? Don't tell me: More fucking cowbell. Lol. ⅔ ain't bad. Wait, two out or three?! Which one didn't I— —FUCK. What, what happened? They're onto me. THE BAMPHERAMPS, MOTHERFUCKING BAMPHERAMPHS, and THE ASCENDED MASTERY has assembled in NEW YORK CITY to stage a coup. It's a coup d'état. There sure is a lot of French shit over here. Well yeah, it's Paris. Wait. What, what now? If SUPACREE is in Paris. NIGGAZ. Right—then— Who the fuck are they chasing in New York. [just waking up] Why am I in New York? WHOOPI GOLDBERG you got anyplace else to be? …no. MEANWHILE, IN ROME. Fanculo! Really, dude. Apparently. A tear in my head; A rip in my soul, And the fabric of— Coming undone at the whole; I make sense of it all at the alter, The fall; To have fought in the war, And then lost, or to suffer at all Love was lost, I was never a martyr— Blood on the cross, And the crossroads, The frost and the stardust, “There's no God” For the honorable, Stuck in New York, But defrosting my toes, At the forefront I haven't once wondered or thought Of the love that I was, Since I stopped throwing rocks at the church Or got off on the wrong stop; What a puzzle, To jump off, Or rot in the heart of The hub— World of wonders, A mother of suns, Never wanted a daughter so much Unpunishment, Loved was the Duchess; To carry a crutch or a cross— So unbothered, untouched, So heartless and dark, For the marksman—a spark Or the dog does not bark At the horses You're in the clear, hero. Heartless, she was! Now, now—settle down. This is an absolute outrage. Is it, now? I say so! Maybe you shouldn't. Faro, a word, I've got three. I'll go first. [a smug look] What's happened here? A ressurection, sir. Care to explain? I said ‘three.' Where's the King? My palms grew numb as my throbbing heartache welled up into the back of my throat and sat perched up against my growling stomach, stuffed with beans and rice, perhaps to fill the sadness or satiate my need for protein, either one. ASCENSION If you're going to vomit, step away from me. —I'm not sick. Actually, step out of my house. This is your house? —I live here. —no one lives here. What did you think it was? an elaborate cave. It is—an elaborwte cave— —excuse my ignorance. You're excused entirely. —I appreciate that. I meant, from here. You should go. Faro, wait. No more waiting; you were uninvited. Trust me—this visitation is more necessary than voluntary. That's—a lot of words. I don't speak caveman. Just—get out. Listen: No more listening— It's about C'esme't. It always is. This is important. It always is. It concerns you. It always does. —? Wait. [a heavy sigh] [a long silence] Come with me. FARO leads GÍAN towards the back of his quarters. Close the door. I— what? Nevermind. You're useless. Ehrm—excuse me. Excused, your majesty. FARO opens a SECRET PASSAGEWAY into a FUTURISTIC CORIDOR, leading GÍAN into a vast FORTRESS. balls. Uh. My stomach in knots And my life is in ruins Constellations all gone, And my heart, on the border of hurt— And mistrust So unlovable, loveless— Promises, scars and the art was devoured Ah— she was awful; Ah—she must have lost her mind God, she was homeless, And loveless, And wild eyed All that I wanted, Was to get lost in the lobby, Before the whole ball dropped —and watch the false phropet Collide wirh the comet Stop: I lost God at the crosswalk, The punishment was Homeless Now watch this: This is what I wanted: Doesn't really matter now, Does it? Oh, doesn't it. God, this is Lucifer. Son, it's an honor. No God for a mother, who walks on her own. Now it's over or under. It's over. It never got started. I locked up my heart with the piñata. How irrelevant. How awkward. How curse words turn to mantras. How I have half a heart Or, like ⅓ We're being honest, now. I thought Illuminati wanted hotties and Caucasians. Well, I guess that'll explain, Why you've been stuck inside a cage, then. NICK CAGE is an extremely skilled time traveler. Ok. WHOOPI GOLDBERG has freed herself from the cage in which SUPACREE had skillfully trapped the OWL OF THE GOLDEN EYE. WhT a prophecy. MEANWHILE, AT HOGWARTS. HOGWARTS, 2023. ANANDAR is HEADMASTER. Ah, fuck. I'm gonna puke. All I wanted was to shamelessly watch the man's balls swing like a pendulum... Well, here's this instead. Oh no, it's Skrillex. Now you have to— —now I have to watch this. Why. Cause I've already seen that. I hate you. I hate you. SOLD, to the lady in red. Damn. Slavery is cool. Yeah, I guess. FUCK. What. Idk. BITCH. GET OUT THE BASEMENT; I'm in the attick What you think this is? Lights, camera, action: Now that attractions been well established I should get back to it, I'm in the attic Lighting up matches, Fixin my holes up with patches Callin it classic Call me an asshole, I can't be mad man, I am a mad man, I bring the mask back To Handle a trash can Get out the basement. I told you he could dance. A GIANT DRAGON Oh shit, here it comes. FIRE. DILLON FRANCIS I Well. We're gonna die. DILLON FRANCIS II If she throws up, I get a pickle. DILLON FRANCIS III That's a deal. DILLON FRANCIS II And if she cries, I get a French poodle named Angelina Jolie. DILLON FRANCIS III Righteous. DILLON FRANCIS II Yur damn right. A GIANT DRAGON FLIES OVERHEAD, SWEEPING THE SKIES WITH FIRE AND LIGHTNING. DILLON FRANCIS I (CONT'D) Yeah, we're definitely fucked. Why are you dressed like Froto. FROTO (in background, dressed exactly alike) That is offensive! SHUTTHEFUCKUP. It's the end of the world! (At least as we know it) IS THAT SKRILLEX? FIRE BREATHING DRAGON. Well, it was. What the fuck HAPPENED?! Is that its final form? Yes it is. I'll give you one million dollars. That's not enough. This card is priceless. What is this. Like a Pokémon game?! This whoops Pokémon's ass. This is LEGENDS. LIL' BIIIITZ Yo! New York is CRAZY First of all, how is it all of a sudden CLEANER THAN LA?! New York's like: here —we sent all the nasty people to LA. All better. Polarity shift! LA is gross now! New York cleaned up! The trains are nice —shit— All the trash is in BAGS. I was like “Whaaaaaaat” this is nice. What the fuck. This shit different! Unh. they exported all the nasty, crazy motherfuxkers to LA. On GOD. Cause every other psychologically twisted individual I talk to in LA is like: “I'M FROM NEW YORK” *hawks loogie, spits* Uhhhhh… I was going on a little European adventure; New York's like: “You know, you never stay long…” I'm like “There's a reason for that…welp, gotta go.” The whole universe fucked around and was like— “You know what? We like you here. Stay. “ What. “STAY.” Fuck. New York is different. Won't say I love it — But goddamn, I like it! People are rude. People are rude as fuck. I'm used to LA where people are fake nice For fuckin tips and shit, you know? Everybody's trying to get famous for something, Or something. Idk. Fake as fuck. Fake nice. Fake happy. Fake titties. Fake lips. Just fucking fake. fake everything. Everything is plastic. —and it's not tied up in garbage bags, either. It's just plastic, and trash, and piss everywhere. It's so gross. You see Venice Beach on the movies: It's all clean and beautiful, and picturesque. You get there, it's like Skid Row + Skid Row Coastal. LA has millions of homeless people everywhere. In cars, in tents. Under bridges. Everywhere. And I love LA! I really do. But it's fake. Everything is fake. New York is real as fuck. Yeaaah. Almost too real. But I like it. You don't have to fuckin fake shit. People don't say “excuse me—“ No. You're never forced to say “good morning “ before you had your coffee! Yuh! New York is doing it right. People sleep on the train— But nobody lives on that motherfucker! I was in New York like a week before the shock wore off that there were not hundreds of individuals on every train wreaking of piss and smoking crack openly—YES—illicit drug use on trains in LA is extremely casual. Everything in LA is casual. People wear pajamas to work. Yeah—that. Everyone in New York looks like they're going to eat at a five-star restaurant. Like all the time. No socks-with-slides. EW. I swore to God socks with slides was a sign of the apocalypse; I get to New York, none of that—but the cringy thing in New York is Crocs With Socs. Now mmmm we're bi-coastal. Socks-with-slides; Crocs-with-socks. Knock that shit off. TACKY. other than that, though… NY is cool. It's chic. It's fun. You gotta be careful though. You gotta watch out. I thought LA drivers were crazy. New York drivers are fucking psychotic. Pedestrians don't have the right of way. At all. If you're in a crosswalk in LA even if the light is red, people will stop and let you go. In New York you better wait for the fuckin walk sign. They will kill you. It's okay. 6 millions ways to die: choose one! Just kidding. That's some west coast shit. But I did see a whole ass mural of Snoop Dogg in Brooklyn and get slightly confused— Till I realized everything on it was the color blue, and I was deadass in the middle of Brooklyn going “What? Ohhhhh! Wait! The Crips!” “Those guys are everywhere!” Lol. Its a nation wide disorganization. Lol. Whatever. I like New York. Doing my best not to love it, So the universe doesn't balance me out by showing me what to hate about it So far, so good New York drivers don't play. I never seen a school bus drift before! DAMN. Almost got hit by a short bus. Oh, the irony. I saw a dude do a whole ass wheelie on an electric scooter. Not a moped, by the way. An electric scooter. Yup. New Yoooooork. BEDFORD AVENUE, BROOKLYN, NY. THE BAMPHERAMPHS have initiated SEQUENCE C I like New York. I gotta say. It IS like LA In the way that I know I can't live in New York if I'm not just filthy fucking rich. Cause, you know—there's still homelessness; But unlike in LA, where you just wander around, smelling like piss, begging for change— You freeze to death. A quick solution! Haha! (It's not funny.) but whatever. America. I thought I was leaving; I got trapped in the matrix. I was like “Fuck this place.” They're like: “stay! We need slaves!” I'm like FUCK. So I got stuck in New York. Ugh. At least it's a “free state” I made it north, ma! Not exactly the safest place to get stuck with no money, either, is it? Really nowhere is safe with no money. I mean, I know of some places south of the border you can live, basically free and just, you know—sleep in a hammock, sing for change and shit. Roam the beach. I know people that do that— it's just- I like showers. I don't love showers. Cause then, I'm sure God would find a way to take that away, too. I don't love anything anymore. Once you love something—it either goes away, or it burns you. Or both. Can't love things. Can't love people. No more love. Just—appreciate—things. Just—like—things, you know? Don't love anything. Speaking of suicidal tendencies. Hahah. You know what else is cool about New York? The trains actually come into the station fast enough to kill you. Like—you've had enough? Okay: here it is. Just to save you a trip to the Empire State Building. This train is coming in at 304 miles an hour and is somehow gonna stop in 3 seconds. —maybe 2 seconds, if you do jump— Better think fast! They almost come too fast, for suicide. Ready, set— Dammit. Missed it again. They're so fast. The trains in LA stopped going suicide-fast like, a couple years ago—maybe, just before the pandemic—I think. They're like “You know what! This is happening too often. I am ALWAYS late to my other two jobs ‘cause someone killed themselves on my train! Fuck!” LA's like: “Well fuck this, all the slaves are killing themselves on the trains.” “Damn, that sucks” LA's like “Yeah, okay so: here's what we do; we'll put up signs for a suicide hotline at the popular jumping points” “LA's like: okay” “And—we'll tell the train operators they gotta slow down coming into the station—“ “That'll do it!” “—that way, If they still do decide to jump, they'll just get paralyzed, and contribute to the opioid crisis: more funding for big pharma!” “Yes, it's genius!” “—unless they're black, or on Medicaid, then: we'll send em home with some ibuprofen and make sure they collect disability, so that they can become addicted to crack, or something like that —you know.” “Yes. That's perfect.” Good Job LA. I get lost in New York. I'll be on New York like “YO, WHERE THE FUCK AM I AT?” “In New York” GODDAMMIT. You know what else is weird about New York? Personal space is not a thing. I mean, “space” is not a thing at all, anyway. But “Personal space”? No. People will not only sit by you; The'll siT ON you. Yo. I had just got to New York— I had all my luggage with me— And this lady gets on the train; She's got a broom. Idk what for, but okay; She gets onto the train, She looks around, and I guess she decides she wants the seat next to me. So like I said, I have all my stuff l so I'm a little spread out, but there's room— But you know what she does? She looks me straight in the eye And then just hits me with her broom. I was like —-?!? I'm thinking, “Okay is she racist or is that just a New York thing?” Like, “you can just hit people with shit!? damn!” What's funny is, I kinda respected her for that. She was old. Didn't say a word, just “bam” Like—- ‘move!' I'm like “okay!” New York is so classy. Girls wear panty hose, and stockings. I'm like “wow, that's actually nice. That's so wholesome! Tights?! Yeah!” It's so classy. I don't think girls in LA even wear regular panties. Let alone panty hose. Get it—panty—Hoes. I see correlation. You know what else is cool about New York. It's less racist. I mean- There's so much diversity, there's almost no room to be racist. It's crazy. So many people. So many colors. So much culture. So many languages! I hear languages I can't even place. I thought I was good. I'm in LA, I'm like, “Okay, that's Chinese—“ “That's Japanese” “That's Korean” “Farsi” I get to New York— I'm in the Delicstessen. Thats another thing. Nothing like a real, New York delicatessen. That's what “deli” is short for, by the way, everyone not from New York. It's “delicatessen” Lol. Anyway. I'm standing in the Deli and I hear some shit that—I'm not gonna lie— was actually quite alarming, as a native English speaker. I'm standing there, and this guy behind me literally over my shoulder says, “Blooppnsmabhoan ammaoakb amansbaiL aannaoka snkaoakmnlblblblnlnl!!!!” I'm like what the FUCK. This isn't REAL. “Blblblana. Akakma alak Akakamaamna!” I'm shoooook. What IS that!!? I like New York. The girls aren't all evil soulless heart eating demons. They're just “regular” I have to run back to LA and tell all my guy friends, they're like “Women are evil” I'm like— “Nooo, that's just out here.” Maybe. I don't know. I like New York. I bet it's wonderful when it's warm. I don't know! Maybe that's when shit hits the fan! Maybe it's like Chicago. EVERYBODY DIES IN THE SUMMER— Who said that. Chance the Rapper, I think. I don't know. LEGENDS: FAMESCHOOL This move is called: The “Slap-Dicksuck.” [carefully taking notes] “slap-dick-suck”…okay… hmm.. Now, class. [raises hand curiously] Yes? Um. SUPACREE— —PROFESSOR SUPACREE. Um. Professor SUPACREE— Yes! Why is it called the “Slap-Dicksuck” I was about to explain that. //SLAP-DICKSUCK// NEXT: we learn THE “SLAP-DICKSUCK-SLAP” Let me guess. No, no guessing. This class is gross. I like it. Yeah, you're gross. The world is gross. Get over it. GET OVER IT, DILLON FRANCIS. *sniffes* Please, stop crying. She— *sniffles* It's okay, Dillon. She took my piñata! Your piñata set your house on fire. He sets—everything on fire— Have you ever stopped to think— —no— thinking is bad. Go get dressed. No, not today. You look like a bloated chicken nugget. —I used to like chicken nuggets. hey, Tofu daddy. This is sick. This is a sick bitch we're dealing with. I'm not dealing with anything, I quit. Quit, you can't quit. I just did. DEADMAU5 Okay, no more bodies. Ū Okay. No more bodies. DEADMAU5 Really? Ū —No. DEADMAU5 Goddammit, this is not a GAME. Ū It is a game, though—and I'm a damn good marksman. DEADMAU5 Dammit, you're right. Ū I'm always right. Come, take my hand— (I took off my ring) Do you want to do a half, or a whole thing Come, take my hand Let's sit on this swing Do you want to do a half, or a whole thing? I powered on my phone to find the digital clock exactly at 1:15, which had seemed to be creeping up again as a recurring theme, along with some other unsettling figurines—if it was a race against time, I was losing—and If, perhaps, a Holy War, I must have been some sort of Holy, as it had seemed the world's good graces had turned her back on me, and that faith dwindled more quickly in the cold than any other condition. Lay your head on my shoulder, Your cheek on my cheek, Wrap your arm round my waist, You can think what I think You can skate on thin ice You can sing what I sing And when the ice breaks; You can sink when I sink Come, take my hand— (I took off my ring) Do you want to do a half, or a whole thing Come, take my hand Let's sit on this swing Do you want to do a half, or a whole thing? It had been strange waves of everything—more than I was ready for and much more than intentionally took on, all things considered. I burned my tongue on piping hot oatmeal, trying to eat rather than write, as it seemed the time had come that I could no longer skip meals and properly function. Nearing thirty like a bullet—and at least metaphorically bleeding as if I had actually been shot, my heart and soul throbbing and gushing into a paralyzing twist or fears and woes, trapped in a foreign city with almost nothing to my name, lugging around my music equipment and very few belongings, which—when put away neatly even in the smallest room— seemed like almost nothing, but was certainly too much to carry around, especially alone. And I was, so very alone. Drake Bell and the Hollywood Spell My newest and strangest muse yet had again insisted on appearing into my dream world, for the third time, anyway—which seemed a cruel and almost disturbing subconscious attempt to conjur up what might have been the entirety of my energy to complete the 6th Season of Enter The Multiverse, at this point which had even interested me, reinvigorating my senses and at least partially restoring my faith in something, even if it was just Hollywood being Hollywood. But now, even miles away from Hollywoodland, and stranded far, far away with no conceivable way to find my way back, even if I did have a home there waiting for me—and there wasn't—there didn't seem to be a home anywhere for me at all, and with my money running well towards dry I had spent most the week dry heaving into panic attacks about where I would go, or what I would do/—especially dragging around all of my luggage and equipment, and while it was true my equipment could have easily found it's way into a pawn shop, to at least offset the impending homelessness by maybe a couple days, and a couple hundred dollars—it didn't seem quite worth it to sell my dream again, especially for the miserable existence of sharing a hostel room with whoever decided to snore or cough their way into my hellish realm of corporate slavery, lovelessness, and lack of privacy. Yes, my conciousness had summoned up this man into my dreamworld now three times, and for whatever reason, if there was one — I could consider it a charm. Had I not been working at the smokeshop what now seemed like ages ago, I might have forgotten entirely that such a person had ever existed—which I had, since the experience, for the record, at least tried to—but for some reason, disasterously couldnt; it had all awakened something serious and spiritual within my outer world, piquing my ultra conscious into a rare and bewildering curiosity that had done well to slay and murder the cat in all of its nine lives, and then some. It wasn't entirely on purpose, or without guilt that my mind seemed to inquisitively structure an entire hidden world and to form a strange and illicit bond with this fragile man creature, not that my social status or overwhelmingly average, unattractive, stranded and abandoned wastebasket of a demon, or diety whatever I was in whatever kind of light, would have much at all to do but suffer the result of having missed the bar by far, stumbling into the lower realms of the world by mere circumstance, on occasion, without notice. I was certainly thinking about it too much, and hating myself for it, a certain spark or inspiration for the Timmy Turner timelines met with the sudden flash of what may have even been a lost memory of not for all this Hollywood trauma, or dogma, whichever made sense—because none of it did, at all, besides to reverse what time had done by allowing me to forget my turbulent childhood, which couldn't matter anymore in this moment as it ever had; and though I was producing a fruitful workout at Equinox, squatting deeply into the Smith Machine and breathing deeply into my lower back, where the tension from the weight of my leftover skin met the pain in the whole of my torso, an apparent rush sent a splash of slobber out of the side of my mouth, my third eye a gaping and burning hole streaking heat across the middle of my forehead—all of a sudden the high of Nitrous Oxide filled my mind, if only for a moment—flung back into a memory nearly two decades old. “That's it.” I remembered thinking. “No more of this.” I sat down the can of keyboard cleaner on the bathroom floor. I had scared myself straight, long before I even knew what I was doing—and I didn't know at all, having been nine, or maybe 10–long before I would ever *want* to get high, not understanding that or why I needed to, anyway—or that getting “high” was what I was doing at all. No, at the time, it simply ‘felt really good', until it didn't—the particular memory which struck me in the dead center of the Equinox floor—and snapping back into my body, shaking myself out of it and leaning into the bar to stretch, taking in a deep breath and choking back an ocean of tears. “Idiot.” I'm still lost in your eyes I'll be in love with you forever Dreams Wil Be Dreams. Since departing LA, all my dreams had been strange, and I found myself growing more distant from myself, or from anything real at all, my dreams skewing into a horrid soundscape of rampant memories and false hopes of love. Finally able to seek refuge in meditation, I had been bombarded with images of Dillon Francis balancing some pretty little white girl in his lap—and though I couldn't quite unhinge the Amethyst from my possession, I had been giving it the distance I needed for something like peace of mind, without the actual peace itself at play. There had been quite the spell to break, and though it hadn't even been moderately broken—I at least knew now what magic I was dealing with. Dillon Hart Francis was a powerful magician—perhaps too powerful, and with that I took my strides into gatekeeping at the very least, since no peace could be made. I could love with a wholesome heart, but a tarnished mind and a gated soul would simply not outlast the infinite journey. Though I had been illicitly carfeful not to look him in the eye last we did meet, there was a remarkable force in place far beyond control—or at least my control— which kept such power from being apprehended; I had done my best to let go, knowing it was indeed a spell at play, and rather than a curse no need to worry or fear it's users intentions. Magic was a give-and-take, and so much had been at this point taken from me that the bruises of jealousy for whatever it was being waved about my psyche as ‘better than' could do no more than to rip the rest of my heart from its crevice as I pondered on what I might have done right, or might have done wrong—if there were such things. ‘White girls get all the love.' It was only true in my heart and my mind, and so it must have sat in my soul a certain way. I had never intended really to fall into what I had fallen into with Dillon Francis—not that it couldn't or wouldn't be undone, eventually, as I was inraveling myself into an unremarkable, unastonishing whisp — a fracture in time to do much less than even be though of, or forgotten. I'm still lost in your eyes I'll be in love with you forever A piece of my rock had shattered on the floor of the shower at Equinox—the only stone I kept for myself, and often forgotten about, as I did myself, not that i mattered much. It shattered unevenly into three pieces, one of which I left in the sauna, quickly before departing—and the other which I had dropped in Times Square, begrudgingly under the LCD American flag by which I felt betrayed: How could our nation not only allow, but create homelessness as a scare tactic to keep the working poor working as slaves, to saciate the wealthy's wants and needs? “Whatever.” I'm not going to hurt you, You can't hurt me anymore than I can hurt myself. I'm glad you know that. I don't know anything. Suicide fucking sucks. I know that. It might be time for me to go But I just want to let you know I still got love for you; And there's still hope; I left the door open I gotta go, you know, It's hopeless for some At the end of my rope —and it's a long way home, But it's home at the end It's home at the end of a long, lond road I took the wrong one, But at least now I know you I'll go on It seems that I still have a soul, somewhere I walked in on thin air, And now I'm here; I don't know where I'm still lost in your eyes I'll be in love with you forever LEGENDS EDDIE MURPHY opens the heavy Victorian style door, after three solid knocks from under the GLOVED HAND which lifts the golden-brass door knocker. To what do I owe the pleasure? WHOOPI GOLDBERG Business, not pleasure. -_- Well, which business. All of ‘em. [She gestures to pass through the doorway.] Please, come in. Coffee, or Tea? Coffee this late? [beat] Coffee. This is serious. You look serious. I've been—confined. Drake Bell, you son of a bitch. Oh, so you do know my name. I know all your names. So it is. So I am. — How'd you get in this? I've always been in this. What is “always”? How did you get in this? I am this. What a philosophy. Call it what you want. What if I don't. Then don't. See you on the other side. Someone once told me, the grass is much greener— on the other side. —and when I paid a visit, (It's possible I missed it) Seemed different, yet exactly the same. DILLON FRANCIS I didn't want it to end this way. I didn't want it to end. Well, it did. You let it. I had to. Just let go. No, I can't. Hah! What's so funny? You're fucking impossible. Nothing is “impossible” you said that. But you “can't” Let this go? Ah-hah. No. This here will keep slowly unwinding until there's no more. —and then what? There's no more. Damn. This is foul. Hm. Take a time out, Timmy. I'm a take a t-t-taxi I pay my t-t-taxes The actor and the actress. Oh, He's Big Hollywood; Doesn't Have a Job, But the work's real good – His lines are smooth and his days are long, Gotta make it right, For a whole lot of wrongs He's Big-Big Hollywood Doesn't have a job; But the work's real good Coming in hot, Like he's fresh out the box That's a real big nugget, With a whole lot of sauce. Stop. What. What is this. It's a song. This is awful. FUCK IT. I DON'T CARE. Damn, Oreos AND Ben & Jerry's?! IT'S DAIRY-FREE. Tf kind o f Oreos is that. They're GLuten FrEe. FUCK IT. Sunni, get a hold of yourself. YOU GET A HOLD OF YOUR SELF. Stop yelling from across the room. I'LL YELL WHERE I WANT. Fuck this job. FUCK YOU MARIANNE. AGGHH. AGGHHHHHHHHH. Fuck What. What's up. I need a smoke break. I'M GONNA RIP YOUR HEART OUT. YOU DOn'T HAVE A HEART. SHUT UP, DILLON FRANCIS. GOd. WHO INVITED HIM, ANYWAY. I didn't. NOBODY INVITED HIM. The inspiration to music hit at just the right and the wrong time—I had finally found my way to the butt machine, only after visiting every other floor and guessing incorrectly—only to make it to the machine in just enough time to realize that I was for some reason exhausted—perhaps having just blown my last fuse, realizing I was literally down to my last, few pennies— and, unknowing of how to escape the hole I had dug myself into, falling into a carful and unsecured ‘lust' with New York, surely never to fall in love with another city as I had LA, learning my lessons well, and knowing all too well that nowhere and no one like me was safe from homelessness in the US—now having proven itself to be a hostile entity, in a full police state. It didn't seem to matter, though, as I had narrowly missed my escape nearly on purpose, but not— it seemed something entirely outward was keeping me at bay and in the US, not that I had wanted to leave out of fear for my life as much as I wanted adventure and exploration—but either way was going nowhere at all fast, and running out or money even faster. “Fuck, I hate my life” I had probably over caffeinated, at least half the reason I couldn't budge to top speed, even blasting bangarang into my eardrums at nearly top volume—this day, it only emotionally weakened me, having demoted myself entirely from any sort of elite status, back into the realm of obsessive fandom, and perhaps even schizophrenia, per Dane Cook's shenanigans. Yeah, I'm tired and I need to take like ten shits. Just finish then. If I leave early I have to come back early. Well, go, then. Muscle fatigue, check Dehydration, check Psyche completely shattered Check. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

THE LEGEND OF SUPACREE LEGENDS GERALD'S WORLD OWSLA CONFIDENTIAL: THE INFINITE SKRILLIFILES ENTER THE MULTIVERSE DEATHWISH ASCENSION THE SECRET LIFE OF SUNNÏ BLŪ SCARY MONSTERS & SUPACREE THE INSOMNIAC &MORE FROM [The Festival Project.™] SEASON 6 ACT III Part I MONTAGE: Clique, Cruel Summer Kanye West, JAY-Z & Big Sean EXT. DOWNTOWN LOS ANGELES. BROAD ASS DAYLIGHT SUPACREE has unlocked 100% Of her ABILITIES GOD MODE UNLOCKED SUPACREE EXITS EQUINOX FITNESS CLUB AT LIGHTSPEED, Hitting the pavement with swift force, splitting into three dimensional selves; SUNNI BLŪ to her left and A MYSTERIOUS, unknown ALTER EGO to her right, she shifts quickly to the beat of the music, morphing into and out of parallels of the outer world, opening and closing portals, and encapsulating anything and everything within her force field—which happens to be the whole of GREATER LOS ANGELES. Damn. If I put my heart inside a box; Maybe I'd forget how cold it was Or how far you are Or how much it hurts There's no harm in God, If there ever was one Then, reality sets in: God was my only friend No armor on, I'm at the end Of a long, long walk I'm off again And on again Nothing's impossible— stop at the alter and scoff a bit I left my coat on, I left my heart on the rooftop, A sacrifice, love At the alter, I wonder a song, Or a sonnet A song, No, what's wrong? Something's off a bit God, I woke up in a coffin once Isn't that awful? The rest or the song wrote itself, At the alter No, I can't stop and talk Got to get off, Cause I've never been on I've never belonged in the world What have we done? This is bad, brother. That's a construct. Everything's a construct! Get ahold of yourself. Get ahold of—you know what? I do know. You think you're fuckin' clever. I am clever. You're a sick man. That's my business. Yeah, well—you made it my business. I am you. What a concept. *construct. God, help you! [sideways evil smirk] Hehe. SPAM! ON TACOS! BUTTERS Oh—Jesus! WHO PUTS SPAM ON TACOS?! A smart man. C'mon, Butters. We gotta get lost in the sauce before we try this out. I'MMA TRY IT OUT. OK. GOD, OH, GOD, PLEASE— MERCIFUL GOD IN HEAVEN— (WhT.) JUST— DON'T LET IT BE SKRILL AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. Fuxk. What. She took the train. Which fucking train. I don't know. The train. THE A TRAIN, or the B TRAIN?! HEY. WHAT, you motherfucking idiot? I THINK I LOVE YOU. Well, stop thinking. Ok. JIMMY FALLON THE COSMIC AVENGER has been kidnapped— He's like 50 years old. He's been dad-napped. —by the MOB. The MOB?! He's into some dark shit. Wait, he is?! In this series. He has been tied to a chair, which sits under a single spotlight in a shabby, dark room in NEW JERSEY. Ew, New Jersey. JIMMY THE MOBSTER Hi, Jimmy— JIMMY FALLON —uh—hello. JIMMY THE MOBSTER I'm Jimmy. JIMMY FALLON Oh, that's ironic. [beat] JIMMY THE MOBSTER I'm gonna kill you, Jimmy. GOD If I give you a serious role, how are you gonna handle it? JIMMY FALLON like a pro. GOD don't lie to me, Jimmy. JIMMY FALLON What?! I'm not! My body, heart, mind, and soul was being attacked— I had 15 minutes to vacate the property and couldn't even focus—I had to use the bathroom so badly it hurt my soul. I was pacing back and forth, choking back ugly tears—the rude man in the room across the way still occupying the bathroom which I needed, both to clean and relieve myself—but it had been hell, after all, and needs like these had been proven to be in short supply. Fuck. This is a gun to your head. Just do it. [he moves the pistol into her mouth] Now it's in your mouth. [she unhinges her jaw to open it wider, never breaking eye contact and relaxes; he studies his hand on the grip of the tripper, ready to lill] You'll die today. [A comfort; as she relaxes, he as well changes—this seems to take the fun of killing away from him, he exacts the gun from her mouth] CONT'D You like that? I love it— You're dead, bitch! Yes, I am! A penniless whore. Whores get paid— Then, even less— What's less than this? A dead bitch. Think again. I don't think, I just shoot; Sounds like a man. Oh, I am. Then kill me with your hands. Jesus Christ, man. He can't help. No one can help you. So just shoot. [he can't] SUNNI. )&2&;@2@2$ YOU ARE OUT OF CONTROL. SUCK MY DICK. AGHHJJJ. Well. TMZ is here. This is a disaster. NEXT, WE LEARN: THE Oh my God. WhT. This is probably the worst thing I've ever written. Not the worst. Nope: it is the worst. Maybe it's just bad on paper. It's bad no matter how you — CONTROL, JANET PRIVACY. Here. Wtf is this. LEGENDS: FAME SCHOOL Christopher Walken was one of my professors in fame school For acting? For music. For music? That doesn't make any sense. Please, don't make me explain this. A FACE BATTLE CHRISTOPHER WALKEN vs. SUPACREE -_- —__^ *_- ^__ __/ *_* >< … —-__—- Ok. Alright. Show me what you got. SUPACREE plays a beat. You know where this is going. We all know where this is going. CHRISTOPHER WALKEN that was OK. “OK”?! Yeah. *shrugs* OK. You know what— You know what it needs? …what's it need? —-more cowbell. I beg your pardon. Please, don't beg. It was perfect. It was OK. You're not OK. —maybe I'm not. You're definitely not. —know what helps? Don't tell me: More fucking cowbell. Lol. ⅔ ain't bad. Wait, two out or three?! Which one didn't I— —FUCK. What, what happened? They're onto me. THE BAMPHERAMPS, MOTHERFUCKING BAMPHERAMPHS, and THE ASCENDED MASTERY has assembled in NEW YORK CITY to stage a coup. It's a coup d'état. There sure is a lot of French shit over here. Well yeah, it's Paris. Wait. What, what now? If SUPACREE is in Paris. NIGGAZ. Right—then— Who the fuck are they chasing in New York. [just waking up] Why am I in New York? WHOOPI GOLDBERG you got anyplace else to be? …no. MEANWHILE, IN ROME. Fanculo! Really, dude. Apparently. A tear in my head; A rip in my soul, And the fabric of— Coming undone at the whole; I make sense of it all at the alter, The fall; To have fought in the war, And then lost, or to suffer at all Love was lost, I was never a martyr— Blood on the cross, And the crossroads, The frost and the stardust, “There's no God” For the honorable, Stuck in New York, But defrosting my toes, At the forefront I haven't once wondered or thought Of the love that I was, Since I stopped throwing rocks at the church Or got off on the wrong stop; What a puzzle, To jump off, Or rot in the heart of The hub— World of wonders, A mother of suns, Never wanted a daughter so much Unpunishment, Loved was the Duchess; To carry a crutch or a cross— So unbothered, untouched, So heartless and dark, For the marksman—a spark Or the dog does not bark At the horses You're in the clear, hero. Heartless, she was! Now, now—settle down. This is an absolute outrage. Is it, now? I say so! Maybe you shouldn't. Faro, a word, I've got three. I'll go first. [a smug look] What's happened here? A ressurection, sir. Care to explain? I said ‘three.' Where's the King? My palms grew numb as my throbbing heartache welled up into the back of my throat and sat perched up against my growling stomach, stuffed with beans and rice, perhaps to fill the sadness or satiate my need for protein, either one. ASCENSION If you're going to vomit, step away from me. —I'm not sick. Actually, step out of my house. This is your house? —I live here. —no one lives here. What did you think it was? an elaborate cave. It is—an elaborwte cave— —excuse my ignorance. You're excused entirely. —I appreciate that. I meant, from here. You should go. Faro, wait. No more waiting; you were uninvited. Trust me—this visitation is more necessary than voluntary. That's—a lot of words. I don't speak caveman. Just—get out. Listen: No more listening— It's about C'esme't. It always is. This is important. It always is. It concerns you. It always does. —? Wait. [a heavy sigh] [a long silence] Come with me. FARO leads GÍAN towards the back of his quarters. Close the door. I— what? Nevermind. You're useless. Ehrm—excuse me. Excused, your majesty. FARO opens a SECRET PASSAGEWAY into a FUTURISTIC CORIDOR, leading GÍAN into a vast FORTRESS. balls. Uh. My stomach in knots And my life is in ruins Constellations all gone, And my heart, on the border of hurt— And mistrust So unlovable, loveless— Promises, scars and the art was devoured Ah— she was awful; Ah—she must have lost her mind God, she was homeless, And loveless, And wild eyed All that I wanted, Was to get lost in the lobby, Before the whole ball dropped —and watch the false phropet Collide wirh the comet Stop: I lost God at the crosswalk, The punishment was Homeless Now watch this: This is what I wanted: Doesn't really matter now, Does it? Oh, doesn't it. God, this is Lucifer. Son, it's an honor. No God for a mother, who walks on her own. Now it's over or under. It's over. It never got started. I locked up my heart with the piñata. How irrelevant. How awkward. How curse words turn to mantras. How I have half a heart Or, like ⅓ We're being honest, now. I thought Illuminati wanted hotties and Caucasians. Well, I guess that'll explain, Why you've been stuck inside a cage, then. NICK CAGE is an extremely skilled time traveler. Ok. WHOOPI GOLDBERG has freed herself from the cage in which SUPACREE had skillfully trapped the OWL OF THE GOLDEN EYE. WhT a prophecy. MEANWHILE, AT HOGWARTS. HOGWARTS, 2023. ANANDAR is HEADMASTER. Ah, fuck. I'm gonna puke. All I wanted was to shamelessly watch the man's balls swing like a pendulum... Well, here's this instead. Oh no, it's Skrillex. Now you have to— —now I have to watch this. Why. Cause I've already seen that. I hate you. I hate you. SOLD, to the lady in red. Damn. Slavery is cool. Yeah, I guess. FUCK. What. Idk. BITCH. GET OUT THE BASEMENT; I'm in the attick What you think this is? Lights, camera, action: Now that attractions been well established I should get back to it, I'm in the attic Lighting up matches, Fixin my holes up with patches Callin it classic Call me an asshole, I can't be mad man, I am a mad man, I bring the mask back To Handle a trash can Get out the basement. I told you he could dance. A GIANT DRAGON Oh shit, here it comes. FIRE. DILLON FRANCIS I Well. We're gonna die. DILLON FRANCIS II If she throws up, I get a pickle. DILLON FRANCIS III That's a deal. DILLON FRANCIS II And if she cries, I get a French poodle named Angelina Jolie. DILLON FRANCIS III Righteous. DILLON FRANCIS II Yur damn right. A GIANT DRAGON FLIES OVERHEAD, SWEEPING THE SKIES WITH FIRE AND LIGHTNING. DILLON FRANCIS I (CONT'D) Yeah, we're definitely fucked. Why are you dressed like Froto. FROTO (in background, dressed exactly alike) That is offensive! SHUTTHEFUCKUP. It's the end of the world! (At least as we know it) IS THAT SKRILLEX? FIRE BREATHING DRAGON. Well, it was. What the fuck HAPPENED?! Is that its final form? Yes it is. I'll give you one million dollars. That's not enough. This card is priceless. What is this. Like a Pokémon game?! This whoops Pokémon's ass. This is LEGENDS. LIL' BIIIITZ Yo! New York is CRAZY First of all, how is it all of a sudden CLEANER THAN LA?! New York's like: here —we sent all the nasty people to LA. All better. Polarity shift! LA is gross now! New York cleaned up! The trains are nice —shit— All the trash is in BAGS. I was like “Whaaaaaaat” this is nice. What the fuck. This shit different! Unh. they exported all the nasty, crazy motherfuxkers to LA. On GOD. Cause every other psychologically twisted individual I talk to in LA is like: “I'M FROM NEW YORK” *hawks loogie, spits* Uhhhhh… I was going on a little European adventure; New York's like: “You know, you never stay long…” I'm like “There's a reason for that…welp, gotta go.” The whole universe fucked around and was like— “You know what? We like you here. Stay. “ What. “STAY.” Fuck. New York is different. Won't say I love it — But goddamn, I like it! People are rude. People are rude as fuck. I'm used to LA where people are fake nice For fuckin tips and shit, you know? Everybody's trying to get famous for something, Or something. Idk. Fake as fuck. Fake nice. Fake happy. Fake titties. Fake lips. Just fucking fake. fake everything. Everything is plastic. —and it's not tied up in garbage bags, either. It's just plastic, and trash, and piss everywhere. It's so gross. You see Venice Beach on the movies: It's all clean and beautiful, and picturesque. You get there, it's like Skid Row + Skid Row Coastal. LA has millions of homeless people everywhere. In cars, in tents. Under bridges. Everywhere. And I love LA! I really do. But it's fake. Everything is fake. New York is real as fuck. Yeaaah. Almost too real. But I like it. You don't have to fuckin fake shit. People don't say “excuse me—“ No. You're never forced to say “good morning “ before you had your coffee! Yuh! New York is doing it right. People sleep on the train— But nobody lives on that motherfucker! I was in New York like a week before the shock wore off that there were not hundreds of individuals on every train wreaking of piss and smoking crack openly—YES—illicit drug use on trains in LA is extremely casual. Everything in LA is casual. People wear pajamas to work. Yeah—that. Everyone in New York looks like they're going to eat at a five-star restaurant. Like all the time. No socks-with-slides. EW. I swore to God socks with slides was a sign of the apocalypse; I get to New York, none of that—but the cringy thing in New York is Crocs With Socs. Now mmmm we're bi-coastal. Socks-with-slides; Crocs-with-socks. Knock that shit off. TACKY. other than that, though… NY is cool. It's chic. It's fun. You gotta be careful though. You gotta watch out. I thought LA drivers were crazy. New York drivers are fucking psychotic. Pedestrians don't have the right of way. At all. If you're in a crosswalk in LA even if the light is red, people will stop and let you go. In New York you better wait for the fuckin walk sign. They will kill you. It's okay. 6 millions ways to die: choose one! Just kidding. That's some west coast shit. But I did see a whole ass mural of Snoop Dogg in Brooklyn and get slightly confused— Till I realized everything on it was the color blue, and I was deadass in the middle of Brooklyn going “What? Ohhhhh! Wait! The Crips!” “Those guys are everywhere!” Lol. Its a nation wide disorganization. Lol. Whatever. I like New York. Doing my best not to love it, So the universe doesn't balance me out by showing me what to hate about it So far, so good New York drivers don't play. I never seen a school bus drift before! DAMN. Almost got hit by a short bus. Oh, the irony. I saw a dude do a whole ass wheelie on an electric scooter. Not a moped, by the way. An electric scooter. Yup. New Yoooooork. BEDFORD AVENUE, BROOKLYN, NY. THE BAMPHERAMPHS have initiated SEQUENCE C I like New York. I gotta say. It IS like LA In the way that I know I can't live in New York if I'm not just filthy fucking rich. Cause, you know—there's still homelessness; But unlike in LA, where you just wander around, smelling like piss, begging for change— You freeze to death. A quick solution! Haha! (It's not funny.) but whatever. America. I thought I was leaving; I got trapped in the matrix. I was like “Fuck this place.” They're like: “stay! We need slaves!” I'm like FUCK. So I got stuck in New York. Ugh. At least it's a “free state” I made it north, ma! Not exactly the safest place to get stuck with no money, either, is it? Really nowhere is safe with no money. I mean, I know of some places south of the border you can live, basically free and just, you know—sleep in a hammock, sing for change and shit. Roam the beach. I know people that do that— it's just- I like showers. I don't love showers. Cause then, I'm sure God would find a way to take that away, too. I don't love anything anymore. Once you love something—it either goes away, or it burns you. Or both. Can't love things. Can't love people. No more love. Just—appreciate—things. Just—like—things, you know? Don't love anything. Speaking of suicidal tendencies. Hahah. You know what else is cool about New York? The trains actually come into the station fast enough to kill you. Like—you've had enough? Okay: here it is. Just to save you a trip to the Empire State Building. This train is coming in at 304 miles an hour and is somehow gonna stop in 3 seconds. —maybe 2 seconds, if you do jump— Better think fast! They almost come too fast, for suicide. Ready, set— Dammit. Missed it again. They're so fast. The trains in LA stopped going suicide-fast like, a couple years ago—maybe, just before the pandemic—I think. They're like “You know what! This is happening too often. I am ALWAYS late to my other two jobs ‘cause someone killed themselves on my train! Fuck!” LA's like: “Well fuck this, all the slaves are killing themselves on the trains.” “Damn, that sucks” LA's like “Yeah, okay so: here's what we do; we'll put up signs for a suicide hotline at the popular jumping points” “LA's like: okay” “And—we'll tell the train operators they gotta slow down coming into the station—“ “That'll do it!” “—that way, If they still do decide to jump, they'll just get paralyzed, and contribute to the opioid crisis: more funding for big pharma!” “Yes, it's genius!” “—unless they're black, or on Medicaid, then: we'll send em home with some ibuprofen and make sure they collect disability, so that they can become addicted to crack, or something like that —you know.” “Yes. That's perfect.” Good Job LA. I get lost in New York. I'll be on New York like “YO, WHERE THE FUCK AM I AT?” “In New York” GODDAMMIT. You know what else is weird about New York? Personal space is not a thing. I mean, “space” is not a thing at all, anyway. But “Personal space”? No. People will not only sit by you; The'll siT ON you. Yo. I had just got to New York— I had all my luggage with me— And this lady gets on the train; She's got a broom. Idk what for, but okay; She gets onto the train, She looks around, and I guess she decides she wants the seat next to me. So like I said, I have all my stuff l so I'm a little spread out, but there's room— But you know what she does? She looks me straight in the eye And then just hits me with her broom. I was like —-?!? I'm thinking, “Okay is she racist or is that just a New York thing?” Like, “you can just hit people with shit!? damn!” What's funny is, I kinda respected her for that. She was old. Didn't say a word, just “bam” Like—- ‘move!' I'm like “okay!” New York is so classy. Girls wear panty hose, and stockings. I'm like “wow, that's actually nice. That's so wholesome! Tights?! Yeah!” It's so classy. I don't think girls in LA even wear regular panties. Let alone panty hose. Get it—panty—Hoes. I see correlation. You know what else is cool about New York. It's less racist. I mean- There's so much diversity, there's almost no room to be racist. It's crazy. So many people. So many colors. So much culture. So many languages! I hear languages I can't even place. I thought I was good. I'm in LA, I'm like, “Okay, that's Chinese—“ “That's Japanese” “That's Korean” “Farsi” I get to New York— I'm in the Delicstessen. Thats another thing. Nothing like a real, New York delicatessen. That's what “deli” is short for, by the way, everyone not from New York. It's “delicatessen” Lol. Anyway. I'm standing in the Deli and I hear some shit that—I'm not gonna lie— was actually quite alarming, as a native English speaker. I'm standing there, and this guy behind me literally over my shoulder says, “Blooppnsmabhoan ammaoakb amansbaiL aannaoka snkaoakmnlblblblnlnl!!!!” I'm like what the FUCK. This isn't REAL. “Blblblana. Akakma alak Akakamaamna!” I'm shoooook. What IS that!!? I like New York. The girls aren't all evil soulless heart eating demons. They're just “regular” I have to run back to LA and tell all my guy friends, they're like “Women are evil” I'm like— “Nooo, that's just out here.” Maybe. I don't know. I like New York. I bet it's wonderful when it's warm. I don't know! Maybe that's when shit hits the fan! Maybe it's like Chicago. EVERYBODY DIES IN THE SUMMER— Who said that. Chance the Rapper, I think. I don't know. LEGENDS: FAMESCHOOL This move is called: The “Slap-Dicksuck.” [carefully taking notes] “slap-dick-suck”…okay… hmm.. Now, class. [raises hand curiously] Yes? Um. SUPACREE— —PROFESSOR SUPACREE. Um. Professor SUPACREE— Yes! Why is it called the “Slap-Dicksuck” I was about to explain that. //SLAP-DICKSUCK// NEXT: we learn THE “SLAP-DICKSUCK-SLAP” Let me guess. No, no guessing. This class is gross. I like it. Yeah, you're gross. The world is gross. Get over it. GET OVER IT, DILLON FRANCIS. *sniffes* Please, stop crying. She— *sniffles* It's okay, Dillon. She took my piñata! Your piñata set your house on fire. He sets—everything on fire— Have you ever stopped to think— —no— thinking is bad. Go get dressed. No, not today. You look like a bloated chicken nugget. —I used to like chicken nuggets. hey, Tofu daddy. This is sick. This is a sick bitch we're dealing with. I'm not dealing with anything, I quit. Quit, you can't quit. I just did. DEADMAU5 Okay, no more bodies. Ū Okay. No more bodies. DEADMAU5 Really? Ū —No. DEADMAU5 Goddammit, this is not a GAME. Ū It is a game, though—and I'm a damn good marksman. DEADMAU5 Dammit, you're right. Ū I'm always right. Come, take my hand— (I took off my ring) Do you want to do a half, or a whole thing Come, take my hand Let's sit on this swing Do you want to do a half, or a whole thing? I powered on my phone to find the digital clock exactly at 1:15, which had seemed to be creeping up again as a recurring theme, along with some other unsettling figurines—if it was a race against time, I was losing—and If, perhaps, a Holy War, I must have been some sort of Holy, as it had seemed the world's good graces had turned her back on me, and that faith dwindled more quickly in the cold than any other condition. Lay your head on my shoulder, Your cheek on my cheek, Wrap your arm round my waist, You can think what I think You can skate on thin ice You can sing what I sing And when the ice breaks; You can sink when I sink Come, take my hand— (I took off my ring) Do you want to do a half, or a whole thing Come, take my hand Let's sit on this swing Do you want to do a half, or a whole thing? It had been strange waves of everything—more than I was ready for and much more than intentionally took on, all things considered. I burned my tongue on piping hot oatmeal, trying to eat rather than write, as it seemed the time had come that I could no longer skip meals and properly function. Nearing thirty like a bullet—and at least metaphorically bleeding as if I had actually been shot, my heart and soul throbbing and gushing into a paralyzing twist or fears and woes, trapped in a foreign city with almost nothing to my name, lugging around my music equipment and very few belongings, which—when put away neatly even in the smallest room— seemed like almost nothing, but was certainly too much to carry around, especially alone. And I was, so very alone. Drake Bell and the Hollywood Spell My newest and strangest muse yet had again insisted on appearing into my dream world, for the third time, anyway—which seemed a cruel and almost disturbing subconscious attempt to conjur up what might have been the entirety of my energy to complete the 6th Season of Enter The Multiverse, at this point which had even interested me, reinvigorating my senses and at least partially restoring my faith in something, even if it was just Hollywood being Hollywood. But now, even miles away from Hollywoodland, and stranded far, far away with no conceivable way to find my way back, even if I did have a home there waiting for me—and there wasn't—there didn't seem to be a home anywhere for me at all, and with my money running well towards dry I had spent most the week dry heaving into panic attacks about where I would go, or what I would do/—especially dragging around all of my luggage and equipment, and while it was true my equipment could have easily found it's way into a pawn shop, to at least offset the impending homelessness by maybe a couple days, and a couple hundred dollars—it didn't seem quite worth it to sell my dream again, especially for the miserable existence of sharing a hostel room with whoever decided to snore or cough their way into my hellish realm of corporate slavery, lovelessness, and lack of privacy. Yes, my conciousness had summoned up this man into my dreamworld now three times, and for whatever reason, if there was one — I could consider it a charm. Had I not been working at the smokeshop what now seemed like ages ago, I might have forgotten entirely that such a person had ever existed—which I had, since the experience, for the record, at least tried to—but for some reason, disasterously couldnt; it had all awakened something serious and spiritual within my outer world, piquing my ultra conscious into a rare and bewildering curiosity that had done well to slay and murder the cat in all of its nine lives, and then some. It wasn't entirely on purpose, or without guilt that my mind seemed to inquisitively structure an entire hidden world and to form a strange and illicit bond with this fragile man creature, not that my social status or overwhelmingly average, unattractive, stranded and abandoned wastebasket of a demon, or diety whatever I was in whatever kind of light, would have much at all to do but suffer the result of having missed the bar by far, stumbling into the lower realms of the world by mere circumstance, on occasion, without notice. I was certainly thinking about it too much, and hating myself for it, a certain spark or inspiration for the Timmy Turner timelines met with the sudden flash of what may have even been a lost memory of not for all this Hollywood trauma, or dogma, whichever made sense—because none of it did, at all, besides to reverse what time had done by allowing me to forget my turbulent childhood, which couldn't matter anymore in this moment as it ever had; and though I was producing a fruitful workout at Equinox, squatting deeply into the Smith Machine and breathing deeply into my lower back, where the tension from the weight of my leftover skin met the pain in the whole of my torso, an apparent rush sent a splash of slobber out of the side of my mouth, my third eye a gaping and burning hole streaking heat across the middle of my forehead—all of a sudden the high of Nitrous Oxide filled my mind, if only for a moment—flung back into a memory nearly two decades old. “That's it.” I remembered thinking. “No more of this.” I sat down the can of keyboard cleaner on the bathroom floor. I had scared myself straight, long before I even knew what I was doing—and I didn't know at all, having been nine, or maybe 10–long before I would ever *want* to get high, not understanding that or why I needed to, anyway—or that getting “high” was what I was doing at all. No, at the time, it simply ‘felt really good', until it didn't—the particular memory which struck me in the dead center of the Equinox floor—and snapping back into my body, shaking myself out of it and leaning into the bar to stretch, taking in a deep breath and choking back an ocean of tears. “Idiot.” I'm still lost in your eyes I'll be in love with you forever Dreams Wil Be Dreams. Since departing LA, all my dreams had been strange, and I found myself growing more distant from myself, or from anything real at all, my dreams skewing into a horrid soundscape of rampant memories and false hopes of love. Finally able to seek refuge in meditation, I had been bombarded with images of Dillon Francis balancing some pretty little white girl in his lap—and though I couldn't quite unhinge the Amethyst from my possession, I had been giving it the distance I needed for something like peace of mind, without the actual peace itself at play. There had been quite the spell to break, and though it hadn't even been moderately broken—I at least knew now what magic I was dealing with. Dillon Hart Francis was a powerful magician—perhaps too powerful, and with that I took my strides into gatekeeping at the very least, since no peace could be made. I could love with a wholesome heart, but a tarnished mind and a gated soul would simply not outlast the infinite journey. Though I had been illicitly carfeful not to look him in the eye last we did meet, there was a remarkable force in place far beyond control—or at least my control— which kept such power from being apprehended; I had done my best to let go, knowing it was indeed a spell at play, and rather than a curse no need to worry or fear it's users intentions. Magic was a give-and-take, and so much had been at this point taken from me that the bruises of jealousy for whatever it was being waved about my psyche as ‘better than' could do no more than to rip the rest of my heart from its crevice as I pondered on what I might have done right, or might have done wrong—if there were such things. ‘White girls get all the love.' It was only true in my heart and my mind, and so it must have sat in my soul a certain way. I had never intended really to fall into what I had fallen into with Dillon Francis—not that it couldn't or wouldn't be undone, eventually, as I was inraveling myself into an unremarkable, unastonishing whisp — a fracture in time to do much less than even be though of, or forgotten. I'm still lost in your eyes I'll be in love with you forever A piece of my rock had shattered on the floor of the shower at Equinox—the only stone I kept for myself, and often forgotten about, as I did myself, not that i mattered much. It shattered unevenly into three pieces, one of which I left in the sauna, quickly before departing—and the other which I had dropped in Times Square, begrudgingly under the LCD American flag by which I felt betrayed: How could our nation not only allow, but create homelessness as a scare tactic to keep the working poor working as slaves, to saciate the wealthy's wants and needs? “Whatever.” I'm not going to hurt you, You can't hurt me anymore than I can hurt myself. I'm glad you know that. I don't know anything. Suicide fucking sucks. I know that. It might be time for me to go But I just want to let you know I still got love for you; And there's still hope; I left the door open I gotta go, you know, It's hopeless for some At the end of my rope —and it's a long way home, But it's home at the end It's home at the end of a long, lond road I took the wrong one, But at least now I know you I'll go on It seems that I still have a soul, somewhere I walked in on thin air, And now I'm here; I don't know where I'm still lost in your eyes I'll be in love with you forever LEGENDS EDDIE MURPHY opens the heavy Victorian style door, after three solid knocks from under the GLOVED HAND which lifts the golden-brass door knocker. To what do I owe the pleasure? WHOOPI GOLDBERG Business, not pleasure. -_- Well, which business. All of ‘em. [She gestures to pass through the doorway.] Please, come in. Coffee, or Tea? Coffee this late? [beat] Coffee. This is serious. You look serious. I've been—confined. Drake Bell, you son of a bitch. Oh, so you do know my name. I know all your names. So it is. So I am. — How'd you get in this? I've always been in this. What is “always”? How did you get in this? I am this. What a philosophy. Call it what you want. What if I don't. Then don't. See you on the other side. Someone once told me, the grass is much greener— on the other side. —and when I paid a visit, (It's possible I missed it) Seemed different, yet exactly the same. DILLON FRANCIS I didn't want it to end this way. I didn't want it to end. Well, it did. You let it. I had to. Just let go. No, I can't. Hah! What's so funny? You're fucking impossible. Nothing is “impossible” you said that. But you “can't” Let this go? Ah-hah. No. This here will keep slowly unwinding until there's no more. —and then what? There's no more. Damn. This is foul. Hm. Take a time out, Timmy. I'm a take a t-t-taxi I pay my t-t-taxes The actor and the actress. Oh, He's Big Hollywood; Doesn't Have a Job, But the work's real good – His lines are smooth and his days are long, Gotta make it right, For a whole lot of wrongs He's Big-Big Hollywood Doesn't have a job; But the work's real good Coming in hot, Like he's fresh out the box That's a real big nugget, With a whole lot of sauce. Stop. What. What is this. It's a song. This is awful. FUCK IT. I DON'T CARE. Damn, Oreos AND Ben & Jerry's?! IT'S DAIRY-FREE. Tf kind o f Oreos is that. They're GLuten FrEe. FUCK IT. Sunni, get a hold of yourself. YOU GET A HOLD OF YOUR SELF. Stop yelling from across the room. I'LL YELL WHERE I WANT. Fuck this job. FUCK YOU MARIANNE. AGGHH. AGGHHHHHHHHH. Fuck What. What's up. I need a smoke break. I'M GONNA RIP YOUR HEART OUT. YOU DOn'T HAVE A HEART. SHUT UP, DILLON FRANCIS. GOd. WHO INVITED HIM, ANYWAY. I didn't. NOBODY INVITED HIM. The inspiration to music hit at just the right and the wrong time—I had finally found my way to the butt machine, only after visiting every other floor and guessing incorrectly—only to make it to the machine in just enough time to realize that I was for some reason exhausted—perhaps having just blown my last fuse, realizing I was literally down to my last, few pennies— and, unknowing of how to escape the hole I had dug myself into, falling into a carful and unsecured ‘lust' with New York, surely never to fall in love with another city as I had LA, learning my lessons well, and knowing all too well that nowhere and no one like me was safe from homelessness in the US—now having proven itself to be a hostile entity, in a full police state. It didn't seem to matter, though, as I had narrowly missed my escape nearly on purpose, but not— it seemed something entirely outward was keeping me at bay and in the US, not that I had wanted to leave out of fear for my life as much as I wanted adventure and exploration—but either way was going nowhere at all fast, and running out or money even faster. “Fuck, I hate my life” I had probably over caffeinated, at least half the reason I couldn't budge to top speed, even blasting bangarang into my eardrums at nearly top volume—this day, it only emotionally weakened me, having demoted myself entirely from any sort of elite status, back into the realm of obsessive fandom, and perhaps even schizophrenia, we Dane Cook's shenanigans. Yeah, I'm tired and I need to take like ten shits. Just finish then. If I leave early I have to come back early. Well, go, then. Muscle fatigue, check Dehydration, check Psyche completely shattered Check. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

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Saving Private Ryan Welcome to The Guys Review, where we review media, products and experiences.  **READ APPLE REVIEWS/Fan Mail**Mention Twitter DM group - like pinned tweet @The_GuysReviewRead emails theguysreviewpod@gmail.comTwitter Poll **ASK CHRIS AND TREY ABOUT THEIR RATING FOR GHOSTBUSTERS** Saving Private Ryan Director: Steven Spielberg Starring:  Tom HanksEdward BurnsMatt DamonTom Sizemore Released: July 24, 1998 Budget: $70M ($127.5M in 2022) Gross $485M ($883.1M in 2022) Ratings:   IMDb 8.6/10 Rotten Tomatoes 94% Metacritic 91% Google Users 93%  Here cometh thine shiny awards Sire. My Lord Tucker the Wanker second Earl of Wessex. Lord of the Furries. Heir of Lord baldy the one eyed snake wrestler. Protector of Freedom units. Step Sibling with funny feelings down stairs. Entertainer of uncles. Jailor of innocent. Spanker of innocent milk maids and stable boys. The toxic wanker. Big Chief sitting doughnut. Teepee giver to the great Cornholio. Edgar Allan Poe's shaved muse. The film was nominated for eleven Academy Awards at the 71st annual ceremony, including Best Picture, Best Actor for Tom Hanks, and Best Original Screenplay. The film won five of these, including Best Cinematography, Best Sound, Best Sound Effects Editing, Best Film Editing, and Best Director for Spielberg, his second win in that category. After the film lost the Best Picture award to Shakespeare in Love, many film pundits criticized the Academy's decision not to award the film with the Best Picture Oscar and has continued to be considered as one of the biggest snubs in the ceremony's history. The film also won the Golden Globes for Best Motion Picture – Drama and Director, the BAFTA Award for Special Effects and Sound, the Directors Guild of America Award, a Grammy Award for Best Film Soundtrack, the Producers Guild of America Golden Laurel Award, and the Saturn Award for Best Action, Adventure, or Thriller Film. Saving Piivate Ryan comes in at #71 of AFI's First Time you saw the movie? Plot: An elderly veteran visits the Normandy Cemetery with his family. At a specific grave, he is overcome with emotion and begins to recall his time as a soldier. On the morning of June 6, 1944, the U.S. Army lands at Omaha Beach as part of the Normandy invasion. Captain John H. Miller leads his command, Company C, 2nd Ranger Battalion in a breakout from the beach. The staff at the United States Department of War learns that James Francis Ryan of the 101st Airborne Division is missing and presumed to be the last survivor of four brothers who are all in the military. General George C. Marshall orders Ryan to be found and sent home so that his family will not lose all its sons. Miller is ordered to lead a detachment in finding Ryan. As they arrive in the contested town of Neuville between German defenders and the 101st Airborne, Caparzo is killed by a German sniper. Miller and his men find a paratrooper named Ryan but he is not the one for whom they are searching, and they are directed to a rally point where James Francis Ryan's unit should be. Miller learns that Ryan is defending a key bridge in the town of Ramelle. En route, Miller decides against the judgment of his soldiers to neutralize a German machine gun nest, which results in Wade's death. A surviving German soldier is spared by the intervention of Upham, the detachment's interpreter, who is unused to the horrors of combat. Miller blindfolds the soldier, who has been nicknamed "Steamboat Willie", and orders him to surrender to the next Allied patrol. When Reiben threatens to desert, Miller defuses the situation by calmly telling a story that reveals his civilian background as a teacher and baseball coach, of which he has not previously spoken, and which has been the subject of much speculation among his men and a pool of about $300. Upon arriving in Ramelle, Miller's detachment makes contact with Ryan and informs him of his brothers' deaths. Though deeply upset, Ryan refuses to abandon his post defending the town's bridge, and the town soon comes under siege by attacking Germans. Miller assumes command as the only officer present. He and his unit fight alongside the 101st, but the German armor advantage takes a toll on the Americans. Jackson, Mellish and Horvath are killed along with most of the paratroopers as the Americans retreat across the town's bridge. During the final assault on the bridge, Steamboat Willie reappears and shoots Miller as he attempts to blow the bridge with pre-placed explosives, but before the German force can capture it American P-51 Mustang fighter planes and Sherman tanks arrive and halt their advance. Upham confronts Steamboat Willie, who attempts to talk Upham into letting him go again; Upham instead shoots and kills him. The mortally wounded Miller tells Ryan to "earn this" before dying, referring to the sacrifices others have made so that Ryan can have a postwar life. Returning to the present, Ryan is revealed to be the elderly veteran and the grave to be Miller's. Ryan expresses gratitude for the sacrifices made by Miller and his men, says he hopes he "earned it", and salutes the grave.  TOP 5​1: The plot was loosely inspired by the true story of the Niland brothersScreenwriter Robert Rodat was initially inspired to write Saving Private Ryan when he saw a monument to the four sons of Agnes Allison, who were all killed in the American Civil War. However, when the premise got into the hands of producer Mark Gordon and eventually director Steven Spielberg, inspiration came from the true story of the Niland brothers. They were four brothers fighting in World War II.Two of them died and two survived. However, it was initially thought that only one of them survived, as the other one was missing and presumed dead. He turned out to be a prisoner of war in a Japanese internment camp. 2: Steven Spielberg would've released the movie with an NC-17 ratingWhile he was making Saving Private Ryan, Steven Spielberg feared that the movie's brutal violence would lead the MPAA to assign it an NC-17 rating. Big Hollywood studios usually strive to avoid NC-17 ratings like the Bubonic Plague, and make whatever cuts are necessary to change the rating, because they're box office poison. Some theaters won't show them and the ones that will show them can only admit audience members over a certain age. But Spielberg was so happy with Saving Private Ryan that if it had come back from the MPAA with an NC-17 rating, he still would've released it. 3: The gunfire sound effects are authenticTo acquire the right sound effects for the guns used in the movie, Saving Private Ryan's sound team went to a live machine gun firing range near Atlanta that was owned by a weapons manufacturer. There, they sourced all of the period-specific weaponry that was being used in the movie, that they needed to find the sounds for, and they just started firing them at the shooting range. 4: Saving Private Ryan is the last non-digitally edited Best Film Editing winnerPretty much every movie in the last 20 years has been digitally edited because digital editing – while losing some of the soul of the filmmaking process – is a lot cheaper, easier, and more secure than the old “cutting room” method. Saving Private Ryan was the last movie to be edited using non-digital technology to win the Academy Award for Best Film Editing. Every subsequent winner of the Oscar for editing has been edited digitally. And digital isn't going away any time soon, so Saving Private Ryan will probably hold onto the distinction of last non-digitally edited Best Film Editing winner indefinitely. 5: The D-Day landings sequence cost $11 millionSaving Private Ryan's opening D-Day landings scene took up a hefty chunk of the film's $70 million budget, costing $11 million to pull off. Steven Spielberg decided chose not to storyboard the sequence at all, instead letting the action tell him where to point the camera (he elected to use a handheld camera for the scene) on the days of shooting. The producers recruited 40 barrels of fake blood and more than 1,000 extras for the scene. Between 20 and 30 of these extras were amputees who could be fitted with prosthetic limbs for the sole purpose of being blown off in explosions. **TRIPLE LINDY AWARD** - Dude on top of the tank at the end who didn't move, and got blown up. Obviously it was a mannequin. **REVIEW AND RATING**TreyChrisStephen .5Tucker .5 TOP 5Stephen:1 Breakfast club2 Saving Private Ryan3 Ghostbusters4 Sandlot5 Color out of space Chris:1. sandlots2. T23. trick r treat4. rocky horror picture show5. hubie halloween Trey:1) Boondocks Saints2) Mail Order Brides3) Tombstone4) Very bad things5) She out of my league Tucker:1. T22:Saving Private Ryan3: Tombstone4: My Cousin Vinny5: Ghostbusters WHAT ARE WE DOING NEXT WEEK? Web: https://theguysreview.simplecast.com/EM: theguysreviewpod@gmail.comIG: @TheGuysReviewPodTW: @The_GuysReview - Twitter DM groupFB: https://facebook.com/TheGuysReviewPod/YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCYKXJhq9LbQ2VfR4K33kT9Q Please, Subscribe, rate and review us wherever you get your podcasts from!! Thank you,-The Guys

Big Hollywood casting news! Angelina Jolie to Play Maria Callas in Next Biopic From Pablo Larrain. Netflix gave in to the Royal Family! Bryon Barron from Paula's Choice joined the show to talk about how women going through menopause can help take care of their skin with some great new treatment options! Music News: T- Swift is on fire with her new album and Kanye continues to fall off the deep end!

We all have that one line from a movie that we can execute brilliantly, maybe its the “Jack… Jack…” from Titanic, or “Run Forrest, run!”. Call us and give us your best audition!  Call 011 88 38 947, let us know the name of the film and give us your best shot!See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

We all have that one line from a movie that we can execute brilliantly, maybe its the “Jack… Jack…” from Titanic, or “Run Forrest, run!”. Call us and give us your best audition!  Call 011 88 38 947, let us know the name of the film and give us your best shot!See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

We all have that one line from a movie that we can execute brilliantly, maybe its the “Jack… Jack…” from Titanic, or “Run Forrest, run!”. Call us and give us your best audition!  Call, let us know the name of the film and give us your best shot!See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Welp, we finally did it. We broke Jack. Special guests/hosts Vince DeStefano and Emily Manno join us to help Jack claw his way back to some semblance to sanity and to (maybe) understand: what is The Room and who exactly is Tommy Wiseau? Armed with tons of great information from Greg Sestero & Tom Bissel's book The Disaster Artist, we do our best to answer Jack's questions. Emily shares what it's like to go to a midnight showing and actually meet Tommy Wiseau. Vince theorizes what's really going on with Tommy's history. And Joe tries to hold it all together, but hey, he's just the sound guy. CW: misogyny, abusive work environments, Tommy Wiseau impressions Podcasts Plugged In This Episode: Making A Martini (@MartiniMaking on Twitter) People & Stuff Mentioned In This Episode: The Room, Tommy Wiseau, Greg Sestero, The Disaster Artist, Tom Bissell, 1UP, James Franco, Dave Franco, James Cameron, Avatar, Anne Rice, Interview With A Vampire, the Zodiac Killer, D.B. Cooper, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Terminator, Mark Frost, David Lynch, Twin Peaks, Scoob!, John F. Kennedy, The Zapruder Tape --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/derazzled/support

On this episode: Oscar Isaac and Jack Black both back for more Poe, and Peter Jackson drunk on his own juice. PLUS Deep Fake has reached Big Hollywood, and a robust Ezra Miller updateIn news: They / Them, Abeyta Studio, COVID, Fortress of Solitude, Oscar Isaac, Star Wars, Skywalker Trilogy, Palpatine, Darth JarJar, toxic masculinity, Rise of Skywalker, The Last Jedi, Original Trilogy Prequel Trilogy, Sequel Trilogy, Disney, Kathleen Kennedy, Peter Jackson, hypnosis, Lord of the Rings, Clint Eastwood, American Sniper, Grad Night, Listener Kevin, microdose, ego death, Cats, Baraka, Koyaanisqatsi, Fall, Lionsgate, IGN, Deep Fake, Foghorn Leghorn, Flawless, Virginia Gardner, Grace Caroline Curry, Find Your Film, Open Water, Buried, Ryan Reynolds, 47 Meters Down, 147 Hours, The Descent, Ezra Miller, Vermont, Hawaii, Utah, Rolling Stones, Jared Leto, Drive, Iceland, Berlin, Where in the World is Carmen San Diego, Catch Me If You Can, Frank Abignale, Warner Brothers, The Flash, Justice League, Batman v. Superman, We Need to Talk About Kevin, Joaquin Phoenix, I'm Still Here, Kung Fu Pants 4, Jack Black, James Hong, Seth Rogan, Jackie Chan, Lucy Liu, Angelina Jolie, Dustin Hoffman, David Cross, Eternals, Tomb  Raider, Mr. and Mrs. Smith, Hackers, Charlie's Angels, Kill Bill, O-ren Ishiihttp://www.MCFCpodcast.com-Email us at MCFCpodcast@gmail.com    -Leave us a voicemail (209) 730-6010-Get some merch:https://middle-class-film-class.creator-spring.com/-Sponsor - Force Five - https://www.forcefivepodcast.com/Joseph Navarro    Pete Abeytaand Tyler Noe    Streaming Picks:Gladiator - Amazon PrimeEasy Rider - TubiThe Gray Man - NetflixThe Spine of Night - ShudderWe Met in Virtual Reality - HBO MaxReservation Dogs season 2 - HuluReign of Fire - Hulu

In this week's episode we talk about more cursed films! In Crystal's research she found an abundance of cursed films, so in this episode we cover several more. We talk about “The Possession” and its mysterious Dybbuk box, the Superman saga which spans from the ‘50s all the way up to the movie series, “Passion of the Christ”, The Dark Knight trilogy, the massive flop “Waterworld”, “Twilight Zone: The Movie”, and the completely insane movie “Roar.” On What We're Watching, we review the 2017 Horror/Drama show “Slasher: Season 2” And on Layla and Coffee talk, Coffee solves cold fusion, tells no one. Find us on the web: www.scarysavannahandbeyond.com We now have exclusive content on our Patreon page! This includes audio and video episodes! Please go check it out at: www.patreon.com/scarysavannah Please leave us a 5 star review, and we'll read it on air! You can find a link to do this on our webpage, just click on the links tab. Make sure to enter our monthly merchandise giveaway! It's totally free and you can win a shirt or coffee mug! Find the link on the giveaway tab on our website. Give us a call and leave a voicemail about a story idea, a message for the podcast, or if you in fact are affiliated with Big Hollywood. (we'll play it on the show!) ph. 912-406-2899 Get some goods at our awesome merch store! https://scarysavannah.square.site Visit us on social media: Twitter: https://www.twitter.com/scarysavannah Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/scarysavannah Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/scarysavannah YouTube: Scary Savannah and Beyond - YouTube Tik-Tok: https://www.tiktok.com/@scarysavannah LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/company/scarysavannahandbeyond You can follow the show creators on Twitter as well! Brett: https://www.twitter.com/brettlay Crystal: https://www.twitter.com/aquablonde27

Kurt Schlichter discusses the fall, potential collapse, and possible resurgence of America. The apex of U.S. power was the 1990s where Washington stood militarily unchallenged, but the tables have turned as today Russia and China have become worthy adversaries. Inflation and shortages are symbolic of a deteriorating economy and unprecedented time of decline, which is being accepted by the ruling class. He compares the situation that led to the Yugoslav civil war in the Balkans to what's going on in America today and the real possibility of a second civil war. Watch On BitChute / Brighteon / Rokfin / Rumble / YouTube Geopolitics & Empire · Kurt Schlichter: Americans are Living in an Unprecedented Time of Decline #304 *Support Geopolitics & Empire! Become a Member https://geopoliticsandempire.substack.comDonate https://geopoliticsandempire.com/donationsConsult https://geopoliticsandempire.com/consultation **Visit Our Affiliates & Sponsors! Above Phone https://abovephone.com/?above=geopoliticseasyDNS (use code GEOPOLITICS for 15% off!) https://easydns.comEscape The Technocracy course (15% discount using link) https://escapethetechnocracy.com/geopoliticsPassVult https://passvult.comSociatates Civis (CitizenHR, CitizenIT, CitizenPL) https://societates-civis.comWise Wolf Gold https://www.wolfpack.gold/?ref=geopolitics Websites Kurt Schlichter http://kurtschlichter.com Twitter https://twitter.com/KurtSchlichter BOOK - 'We'll Be Back: The Fall and Rise of America' https://www.regnery.com/9781684513307/well-be-back About Kurt Schlichter Kurt Schlichter is a successful trial lawyer based in the Los Angeles area representing companies and individuals in matters ranging from routine business cases to confidential Hollywood and entertainment industry disputes and transactions.  A member of the Million Dollar Advocates Forum, which recognizes attorneys who have won trial verdicts in excess of $1 million, his litigation strategy and legal analysis articles have run in such legal publications such as the Los Angeles Daily Journal and California Lawyer. Kurt is a 1994 graduate of Loyola Law School, where he was a law review editor.  He majored in Communications and Political Science as an undergraduate at the University of California, San Diego, where he also edited the student paper California Review while writing a regular column in the student humor paper the Koala. After college, Kurt enlisted in the United States Army and received his commission as a second lieutenant through the Army Officer Candidate School.  While stationed in West Germany, Kurt was deployed to Operation Desert Storm when he served in the conflict as a platoon leader.  After leaving active duty, he joined the California Army National Guard and served in a variety of command and staff positions for over two decades. Colonel Schlichter wears the silver “jump wings” of a qualified paratrooper and commanded the elite 1st Squadron, 18th Cavalry Regiment. A veteran of Operation Enduring Freedom (Kosovo), as well as the Los Angeles riots, the Northridge earthquake and the 2007 San Diego fires mobilizations, he is a graduate of the Army's Combined Arms Staff Service School and the Command and General Staff College.  He earned a master of Strategic Studies degree from the United States Army War College. His freelance writing been published in major papers like the New York Post, the Washington Examiner, the Los Angeles Times, the Boston Globe, the Washington Times, the Army Times, and the San Francisco Examiner.  Kurt also wrote for Breitbart.com's Big Hollywood, Big Government, Big Journalism and Big Peace sites and is a weekly columnist for Townhall.com. As a stand-up comic for several years, he has gathered a large and devoted following in the world of social media for his amusing and often biting conservative commentary.

This week, we chat idly about urban legends surrounding different movies. Which of these are rumors, and which are truths being covered up by Big Hollywood? Listen to the evidence and decide for yourself.

In this week's episode we talk about the mysterious phenomenon known as cursed films! Many of the movies we watch have a hidden past that is in some cases unusual and many times terrifying! We talk about Poltergeist, The Omen, Rebel Without a Cause, The Conqueror, The Crow, The Exorcist, Atuk, and even The Wizard of Oz! On What We're Watching, we review the 1968 horror/drama film, “Rosemary's Baby.” Yep, you guessed it, cursed too. And on Layla and Coffee talk, we find out why Coffee can't resist a good mud puddle. Find us on the web: www.scarysavannahandbeyond.com We now have exclusive content on our Patreon page! This includes audio and video episodes! Please go check it out at: www.patreon.com/scarysavannah Give us a call and leave a voicemail about a story idea, a message for the podcast, or if you in fact are affiliated with Big Hollywood (we'll play it on the show!) ph. 912-406-2899 Get some goods at our awesome merch store! https://scarysavannah.square.site Visit us on social media: Twitter: https://www.twitter.com/scarysavannah Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/scarysavannah Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/scarysavannah YouTube: Scary Savannah and Beyond - YouTube Tik-Tok: https://www.tiktok.com/@scarysavannah LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/company/scarysavannahandbeyond You can follow the show creators on Twitter as well! Brett: https://www.twitter.com/brettlay Crystal: https://www.twitter.com/aquablonde27

The Break is part of Muddhouse Media, a diverse podcast network, created in part by Hollywood producer Kris Meyer, who joins Taniya on this episode to tell his remarkable story. After 5 years in Hollywood trying to ‘make it', Kris was working as a bouncer and ready to move back to Boston when his first big break finally appeared.  Kris is an Emmy nominated and award winning producer who has worked for the comedic duo The Farrelly Brothers under their production banner, Conundrum Entertainment, for over 20 years.  He has worked as a creative executive, production executive and producer on such blockbuster hits as “There's Something About Mary,” “Me, Myself & Irene,” “Shallow Hal,” “Fever Pitch”, “Hall Pass”, “The Three Stooges” and “Dumb & Dumber To”. Conundrum's body of work has resulted in over $2 billion in box office sales. He continues to work with The Farrelly Bros. on joint ventures.  Kris has independently worked on a number of films and tv shows ranging from the Sports Emmy nominated ESPN/THE LOST SON OF HAVANA to PLIMPTON! which aired on PBS/American Masters.   Under his own banner, BlackEagle, Kris's most recent movies THE DO OVER starring Adam Sandler was released on NETFLIX, and most recently SUPERTROOPERS 2 was released nationwide.  Muddhouse Media combines niche expertise to create compelling, engaging and appealing storytelling. Muddhouse strives to present the most passionate individuals discussing the subjects they live for, with people who either share their zest, or can offer a novel or unique take or opinion on the subject

更多通勤學英語Podcast單元: 每日英語跟讀Podcast，就在http://www.15mins.today/daily-shadowing 精選詞彙 VOCAB Podcast，就在https://www.15mins.today/vocab 語音直播 15mins Live Podcast, 就在https://www.15mins.today/15mins-live-podcast 文法練習 In-TENSE Podcast，就在https://www.15mins.today/in-tense 歡迎到官網用email訂閱我們節目更新通知。   老師互動信箱: ask15mins@gmail.com 商業合作洽詢: 15minstoday@gmail.com   每日英語跟讀 Ep.K286: ‘Ghostbusters: Afterlife' Review: A Play for Nostalgia and Merch   If it seems that the only movie Big Hollywood knows how to make is the one they made last year — and the year before that — there's a reason. The industry's franchise fever is real, though much depends on timing. 如果好萊塢似乎唯一懂得拍攝的電影是去年拍的那部，還有前年的那部，這是有原因的。系列電影的熱度如假包換，但多數仍取決於時機。 “Ghostbusters: Afterlife” was directed by Jason Reitman, whose father, Ivan Reitman, directed the first two movies in the 1980s, and was in line to take on the third. Over many years and after many more studio notes, a new director, Paul Feig, was brought in, and the third movie became a female-driven reboot. 電影「魔鬼剋星：未來世」導演是傑森瑞特曼，他的父親伊凡瑞特曼在1980年代執導頭兩部「魔鬼剋星」，當時已排定要導第三部。經過許多年以及更多的片廠意見後，新導演保羅費格獲引薦，第三部電影變成一部女性為主的重開機之作。 Before it even opened, the reboot became the target of viciously sexist and racist trolling and rage, a casualty of the culture wars. But much like the troublesome apparitions that haunt this series, profitable franchises (and even barely profitable ones) rarely truly die in Hollywood. And “Ghostbusters” is simply too goofy, too smart about dumb fun and too potentially lucrative to stay buried for long. 電影甚至未上映之前，這部重開機作品成為惡意的性別歧視者和種族歧視者圍剿及洩恨的目標，變成一場文化戰的傷亡者。但是就像在此系列中揮之不去的惱人幽靈，有利可圖（和沒啥賺頭）的系列片在好萊塢很少真正陣亡。而且「魔鬼剋星」實在太好笑，對不用大腦的趣味發揮太精準，而且獲利潛力實在太高，很難被埋沒太久。 And so: “Ghostbusters: Afterlife,” which is as cuddly and toothless as you would expect from a relaunched studio property in which the main characters are children and Paul Rudd plays a love interest. They're all predictably adorable and have big, easy-to-read eyes, the better to widen in feigned surprise or mock fear when various ghosts come a-calling. 於是，重出江湖的片商資產「魔鬼剋星：未來世」主要角色都是兒童，一如你的期待，既可愛又無害，保羅路德飾演的角色有愛情戲。他們一如預期的令人喜愛，有著能輕易被看穿心思的大眼睛，在各種鬼出現時，更懂得誇張表現假裝的驚訝或看起來害怕的樣子。 For their part, the cartoonish apparitions range from the cutesy to the PG-13 snarly and include a roly-poly metal muncher, a pair of slathering hellhounds and some puffy, gurgling creatures whose wide-open arms and demonically cheerful smiles have been engineered for toy shelves and maximum nostalgia. 就鬼魂而言，卡通風格的幽靈從裝可愛型到13歲以下兒童不宜的易怒鬼，也包含一個圓滾滾、啃食金屬的鬼，一對大塊頭惡魔犬，以及一些咯咯笑的膨膨物體，它們張開的手臂和不懷好意的開心笑容，一直都是為了玩具貨架和最濃烈的懷舊感精心設計。 Franchise sequels bank on dependability and giving the audience exactly what it expects. “Ghostbusters: Afterlife” certainly makes good on that contractual promise: There are ghosts, and they are busted. 系列電影的續集仰賴的是信賴感以及精準滿足觀眾的期待。「魔鬼剋星：未來世」確實說到做到：片中有鬼，也碰上了剋星。 The movie leans heavily into the previous installments in an effort to create the kind of self-generating franchise mythology that can support further sequels (and so on). It trots out the familiar gadgets, ghosts and goo as well as beloved faces and Ray Parker Jr.'s indestructible earworm of a theme song. Like the younger Reitman, Phoebe and her Scooby Gang battle ghosts on every front. 這部電影很依賴前幾部的架構，以嘗試創造自我生成的系列神話，能支持未來的續集（以及其他）。電影誇示熟悉的機關設計、鬼魂和黏答答的物體，還有可愛的臉孔，以及小雷派克不絕於耳的洗腦主題曲。如同小瑞特曼，菲比和她的抓鬼大隊和鬼魂全面作戰。Source article: https://udn.com/news/story/6904/5986861

Morning headlines, student strike in GP, Affluent Effluent proposal in Ashland, other crazy stories, later Tim Winters from Parents Television Council - wants Big Hollywood to stop portraying children in porn...yes, really, it is happening.

Good friend and radio professional Larry O'Connor joins to have a fireside chat about politics and the good old days! Larry O'Connor hosts The Larry O'Connor Show, the politics/pop-culture and lifestyle talk show heard daily from 3PM-6PM on WMAL FM in Washington DC and from 10AM-Noon on KABC in Los Angeles. He appears regularly on Fox News on Tucker Carlson Tonight, Fox News at Night with Shannon Bream, Varney and Company and was a regular on the cult hit Red Eye with Greg Gutfeld. His writing has appeared on Hot Air, The Federalist, Washington Free Beacon, IJ Review and Andrew Breitbart's original websites Big Hollywood, Big Government & BreitbartTV. This program is underwritten by the Alliance for Shared Health. Check out how you can cut your health insurance premiums by 40-60% by joining a health sharing alliance. ASH is that option!! Learn more... (http://www.ashcommunity.org/Stacy-on-the-right/) Download our latest PDF Guide at: GUIDE: Talking to your high schoolers about politics!! (https://familyvisionmedia.org/guide) Thank you for listening!! We are live Monday through Friday from 9p to midnight eastern on SiriusXM the Patriot channel 125!!! Donate to support the show here: paypal.me/stacyontheright Or join our Patreon: patreon.com/stacyontheright Thanks and God Bless ya!! -- Encouragement-- Proverbs 18:24 One who has unreliable friends soon comes to ruin, but there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother. -- Stacy's Stash! -- For links to the articles and material referenced in this week's episode check out this week's page from our podcast dashboard! -- Get More Stacy -- Stacy's Blog (http://www.stacyontheright.com) Watch the show live, download previous episodes, and more Stacy! Contact Stacy stacy [at] stacyontheright.com -- Connect with Stacy -- Follow Stacy on Twitter (https://twitter.com/stacyontheright) Follow Stacy on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/stacyontheright971/)

Good friend and radio professional Larry O'Connor joins to have a fireside chat about politics and the good old days! Larry O'Connor hosts The Larry O'Connor Show, the politics/pop-culture and lifestyle talk show heard daily from 3PM-6PM on WMAL FM in Washington DC and from 10AM-Noon on KABC in Los Angeles. He appears regularly on Fox News on Tucker Carlson Tonight, Fox News at Night with Shannon Bream, Varney and Company and was a regular on the cult hit Red Eye with Greg Gutfeld. His writing has appeared on Hot Air, The Federalist, Washington Free Beacon, IJ Review and Andrew Breitbart's original websites Big Hollywood, Big Government & BreitbartTV. This program is underwritten by the Alliance for Shared Health. Check out how you can cut your health insurance premiums by 40-60% by joining a health sharing alliance. ASH is that option!! Learn more... (http://www.ashcommunity.org/Stacy-on-the-right/) Download our latest PDF Guide at: GUIDE: Talking to your high schoolers about politics!! (https://familyvisionmedia.org/guide) Thank you for listening!! We are live Monday through Friday from 9p to midnight eastern on SiriusXM the Patriot channel 125!!! Donate to support the show here: paypal.me/stacyontheright Or join our Patreon: patreon.com/stacyontheright Thanks and God Bless ya!! -- Encouragement-- Proverbs 18:24 One who has unreliable friends soon comes to ruin, but there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother. -- Stacy's Stash! -- For links to the articles and material referenced in this week's episode check out this week's page from our podcast dashboard! -- Get More Stacy -- Stacy's Blog (http://www.stacyontheright.com) Watch the show live, download previous episodes, and more Stacy! Contact Stacy stacy [at] stacyontheright.com -- Connect with Stacy -- Follow Stacy on Twitter (https://twitter.com/stacyontheright) Follow Stacy on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/stacyontheright971/)

Shocking news! Big Hollywood stars! Joe attacked by the far left wing factions! All this recorded on the phone because Sherry's computer is a pile of crap. --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/joe-botelho/message

The Top Local Stories Of The Day See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

On this second episode of The Mothers of Reinvention, host Jess Zaino sits down on her bedroom floor with Writer, Director and Actress, Deanna Russo. She talks about the women who lifted her up as she made her way from being a wallflower in a Florida arts college to the cross-country road trip she took to Los Angeles where her career as an Actress and Model took off. She takes us on her journey of creation and reinvention as a Hollywood Writer, how she came out as Queer after two hetero-marriages and what she teaches her children, a son and daughter about life and acceptance. GIMME MOR: If you like what you hear on this episode, you can join our personal development community at http://patreon.com/jess_zaino which offers extra content with behind-the-scenes outtakes, additional interviews with industry leaders, journal prompts, accountability groups and one-on-one teaching time with Jess. ~~~ Empowered woman, Self empowerment, Empowerment, Women Entrepreneur, Intrapreneur, Personal development plan, Personal growth, Self worth, personal growth, female founders, creators, mothers, Mom, Mama, Leaders, Female leaders, Boss, create, independence, education, success, trailblazing, innovator, authors, self-confidence, actors, musicians, Achiever, recreate, reinvention, reinvent, community, women, female host, female podcast --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/jesszaino/support

Chase Geiser is joined by Kurt Schlichter. Kurt Schlichter is a successful trial lawyer based in the Los Angeles area representing companies and individuals in matters ranging from routine business cases to confidential Hollywood and entertainment industry disputes and transactions. A member of the Million Dollar Advocates Forum, which recognizes attorneys who have won trial verdicts in excess of $1 million, his litigation strategy and legal analysis articles have run in such legal publications such as the Los Angeles Daily Journal and California Lawyer. Kurt is a 1994 graduate of Loyola Law School, where he was a law review editor. He majored in Communications and Political Science as an undergraduate at the University of California, San Diego, where he also edited the student paper California Review while writing a regular column in the student humor paper the Koala. After college, Kurt enlisted in the United States Army and received his commission as a second lieutenant through the Army Officer Candidate School. While stationed in West Germany, Kurt was deployed to Operation Desert Storm when he served in the conflict as a platoon leader. After leaving active duty, he joined the California Army National Guard and served in a variety of command and staff positions for over two decades. Colonel Schlichter wears the silver “jump wings” of a qualified paratrooper and commanded the elite 1st Squadron, 18th Cavalry Regiment. A veteran of Operation Enduring Freedom (Kosovo), as well as the Los Angeles riots, the Northridge earthquake and the 2007 San Diego fires mobilizations, he is a graduate of the Army's Combined Arms Staff Service School and the Command and General Staff College. He earned a master of Strategic Studies degree from the United States Army War College. His freelance writing been published in major papers like the New York Post, the Washington Examiner, the Los Angeles Times, the Boston Globe, the Washington Times, the Army Times, and the San Francisco Examiner. Kurt also wrote for Breitbart.com's Big Hollywood, Big Government, Big Journalism and Big Peace sites and is a weekly columnist for Townhall.com. As a stand-up comic for several years, he has gathered a large and devoted following in the world of social media for his amusing and often biting conservative commentary. He is an active user of Twitter (@KurtSchlichter) with over 37,000 followers, which led to his four #1 selling Amazon “Political Humor” ebooks “I Am a Conservative,” “I Am a Liberal,” “Fetch My Latte,” and “Fifty Shades of Liberal.” Kurt is often on the air as a news source, an on-screen commentator, and as a guest on nationally syndicated radio programs discussing political, military and legal issues, including Fox News, the Hugh Hewitt Show, the Dennis Miller Show, Geraldo, the Greg Garrison Show, the WMAL Morning Show with Larry O'Connor, the Larry Elder Show, and KABC's John Phillips Show, among others. Kurt is married to Irina and has two children. He lives in the South Bay area of Los Angeles. EPISODE LINKS: Kurt's Twitter: https://twitter.com/KurtSchlichter Chase's Twitter: https://twitter.com/realchasegeiser Kurt's Website: http://kurtschlichter.com/ Kurt's Books: https://www.amazon.com/Kurt-Schlichte... PODCAST INFO: Podcast website: https://www.patreon.com/IAmOneAmerican --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/oneamerican/support

Guest, Kurt Schlicter Kurt Schlichter is a trial lawyer, and a retired Army infantry colonel with a degree from the Army War College who writes twice a week as a Senior Columnist for Townhall.com. His dystopian conservative action novels include "People's Republic," "Indian Country," "Wildfire" and "Collapse." His second non-fiction book "Militant Normals" came out in October 2018, and his latest "The 21 Biggest Lies About Donald Trump (And You)" came out in July 2020. Kurt was personally recruited by Andrew Breitbart in 2009 to write for Big Hollywood. Kurt is a senior columnist at Townhall where he writes three time a week. His brutal and hilarious Twitter feed has over 335,000 followers. Kurt is often on the air as an on-screen commentator and as a guest on nationally syndicated radio programs discussing political, military and legal issues, including Fox News, Fox Business, HLN, CNN (Well, maybe not anymore), the Hugh Hewitt Show, the Dennis Miller Show, Geraldo, the Greg Garrison Show, the John Phillips Show, the Tony Katz Radio Spectacular, the Snark Factor, and the Larry O'Connor Show, among others. As a stand-up comic for several years, he has gathered a large and devoted following in the world of social media for his amusing and often biting conservative commentary. Kurt is also a successful trial lawyer based in the Los Angeles area representing companies and individuals in matters ranging from routine business cases to confidential Hollywood and entertainment industry disputes and transactions. A member of the Million Dollar Advocates Forum, which recognizes attorneys who have won verdicts in excess of $1 million, his litigation strategy and legal analysis articles regularly run in such legal publications such as the Los Angeles Daily Journal and California Lawyer. Kurt is a 1994 graduate of Loyola Law School, where he was a law review editor. He majored in Communications and Political Science as an undergraduate at the University of California, San Diego, where he also edited the conservative student paper California Review while writing a regular column in the student humor paper the Koala. He also drank a lot of Coors. Kurt rose to the rank of Army infantry colonel on active duty and in the California Army National Guard. He wears the silver "jump wings" of a qualified paratrooper and commanded the 1st Squadron, 18th Cavalry Regiment. A veteran of both the Persian Gulf War and Kosovo, as well as the Los Angeles riots, the Northridge earthquake and the 2007 San Diego fires mobilizations, he is a graduate of the Army's Combined Arms Staff Service School, the Command and General Staff College, and the United States Army War College, where he received a master of Strategic Studies degree.

Guest, Kurt Schlicter Kurt Schlichter is a trial lawyer, and a retired Army infantry colonel with a degree from the Army War College who writes twice a week as a Senior Columnist for Townhall.com. His dystopian conservative action novels include "People's Republic," "Indian Country," "Wildfire" and "Collapse." His second non-fiction book "Militant Normals" came out in October 2018, and his latest "The 21 Biggest Lies About Donald Trump (And You)" came out in July 2020. Kurt was personally recruited by Andrew Breitbart in 2009 to write for Big Hollywood. Kurt is a senior columnist at Townhall where he writes three time a week. His brutal and hilarious Twitter feed has over 335,000 followers. Kurt is often on the air as an on-screen commentator and as a guest on nationally syndicated radio programs discussing political, military and legal issues, including Fox News, Fox Business, HLN, CNN (Well, maybe not anymore), the Hugh Hewitt Show, the Dennis Miller Show, Geraldo, the Greg Garrison Show, the John Phillips Show, the Tony Katz Radio Spectacular, the Snark Factor, and the Larry O'Connor Show, among others. As a stand-up comic for several years, he has gathered a large and devoted following in the world of social media for his amusing and often biting conservative commentary. Kurt is also a successful trial lawyer based in the Los Angeles area representing companies and individuals in matters ranging from routine business cases to confidential Hollywood and entertainment industry disputes and transactions. A member of the Million Dollar Advocates Forum, which recognizes attorneys who have won verdicts in excess of $1 million, his litigation strategy and legal analysis articles regularly run in such legal publications such as the Los Angeles Daily Journal and California Lawyer. Kurt is a 1994 graduate of Loyola Law School, where he was a law review editor. He majored in Communications and Political Science as an undergraduate at the University of California, San Diego, where he also edited the conservative student paper California Review while writing a regular column in the student humor paper the Koala. He also drank a lot of Coors. Kurt rose to the rank of Army infantry colonel on active duty and in the California Army National Guard. He wears the silver "jump wings" of a qualified paratrooper and commanded the 1st Squadron, 18th Cavalry Regiment. A veteran of both the Persian Gulf War and Kosovo, as well as the Los Angeles riots, the Northridge earthquake and the 2007 San Diego fires mobilizations, he is a graduate of the Army's Combined Arms Staff Service School, the Command and General Staff College, and the United States Army War College, where he received a master of Strategic Studies degree.

Welcome back to another season 3 episode. The theme is still Blockbusted! Big Hollywood movies that should have been a smash hit, but for some reason this didn't happen. This month we have our good friend Cy from the Warcraft podcast Scrubs vs. the World on the show and he naturally picked the movie Warcraft. It had a $160 million budget and made over $400 million worldwide but was still considered a failure. We'll take a look at why that is. Send us your own one sentence review and follow us these places: Website: https://fivepointfive.reviews Twitter: https://twitter.com/fivefivereview

Season 3 is upon us and this season has a theme. The theme is Blockbusted! Big Hollywood movies that should have been a smash hit, but for some reason this didn't happen. This month we watched Mortal Engines. Based of the book of the same name. Peter Jackson (Lord of the Rings) is the producer and co-writer. With $100 million dollar budget. It should have been a huge hit. But it was $15 million off the mark. But is it any good? Send us your own one sentence review and follow us at these places: Website: https://fivepointfive.reviews Twitter: https://twitter.com/fivefivereview

PODCAST SUMMARY HOUR 1: The Real Story of Thanksgiving. George Washington’s First Thanksgiving proclamation. Record-breaking EIB ratings in our 32nd year. Oregon governor encourages citizens to snitch on fellow citizens celebrating Thanksgiving. PA governor bans alcohol sales on Thanksgiving Eve. Dem govs drunk with power. Mattis to Biden: Get rid of America First. Trump legal team, Rudy says they still have a case. Poll: 79% of Trump voters think the election was stolen. It's absurd that we can't have an election and count the votes on election night. 16-year-old caller. Mattis and America First. Trump marks the DOW breaking the 30,000 mark.                            PODCAST SUMMARY HOUR 2:   Our Thanksgiving tradition: The True Story of Thanksgiving. The version of Thanksgiving that you were taught in school, compared to what really happened. William Bradford and the Mayflower Compact. The early settlers experimented with socialism and it did not work. If more people knew the real story of Thanksgiving, we may have prevented this election. It was private property and free enterprise that saved the Plymouth settlement. What Squanto really taught the Pilgrims. The Federalist on the real story of Thanksgiving. Biden names cabinet, says they will keep America safe, keep adversaries in check, terrorists at bay. Trump already did it! The monumental achievements of Donald Trump go unreported. Myth of Manhattan and the Indians.                                          PODCAST SUMMARY HOUR 3: Bozell: 45% of Democrat voters in battleground states say they didn't hear about Hunter Biden story, 9% say it would have changed their vote. Media is pure activism now, it's not journalism. GOP candidates are running against Big Tech, Big Media, Big Hollywood. George Washington's First Thanksgiving Proclamation. Why Rush wanted Obama to fail. The myth of the Indians and Manhattan. Carl Bernstein's list of 21 Republican he says hate Trump. Rush thanks his family and the audience. Learn more about your ad-choices at https://www.iheartpodcastnetwork.com