Podcasts about blows

Send us a textWhat if you could stay grounded in the middle of chaos? Ryan Dunlap knows exactly what that takes. A former SWAT hostage negotiator turned executive pastor and conflict strategist, Ryan has spent decades navigating high-stakes moments where emotions run hot and pressure can crush. But it wasn't until life hit him personally—NICU babies, the loss of his mother, and a brutal wake-up call at a doctor's appointment—that he started asking the deeper questions about who he was, not just what he could do.Join Anna and Tim for a powerful conversation with Ryan about what it really means to lead, love, and live well under pressure. This episode dives into how emotional intelligence isn't just a skillset, but a way of showing up differently—at work, at home, and with yourself.This Episode Covers:The moment Ryan realized tactical skills weren't enoughHow childhood ADHD and depression shaped his leadership styleThe role his wife played in his emotional growthWhy people know what to do in conflict but can't do it when it mattersThe impact of ministry on learning to meet people where they areWhat happens when your communication style is “too courageous”How to use the First Steps framework to reduce internal pressureWhy some leaders are the problem and how they can change—if they want toCONNECT WITH RYAN:Instagram https://www.instagram.com/conflictish/Website https://www.conflictish.com/Until next time, here's to deeper connections and personal growth.Mad love!The podcast is now on YouTube! If you prefer to watch, head over to https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLw3CabcJueib20U_L3WeaR-lNG_B3zYqu__________________________________________Don't forget to subscribe to the Badass Confidence Coach podcast on your favorite podcast platform!CONNECT WITH ANNA:Instagram https://www.instagram.com/askannamarcolin/TikTok https://www.tiktok.com/tag/askannamarcolinEmail hello@annamarcolin.comWebsite https://www.annamarcolin.com

Spoilers for all of JoJo's Bizarre Adventure------------------------------------------------------Is this gonna be when Ningbo dies? ... AGAIN?____________________________________Support us on Patreon: patreon.com/jokakakaSend us a Letter: jokakakapodcast@gmail.comFollow us on Twitch! https://www.twitch.tv/jokakakapodcastFollow Jokakaka on Twitter:Jokakaka- https://twitter.com/JokakakaPodcastJim- https://twitter.com/kingprotusSam- https://twitter.com/Gokaikun

Gametime Ticket Offer: $20 off with code "FARZY" at gametime.co The Farzy Show presented by MyBookie Promo: No-strings-attached cash bonus up to $200 Promo Codes: FARZY ..  https://mybookie.website/joinwithFARZYManscaped Offer: 20% off AND Free Shipping with code "Farzy20" at Manscaped.comCopyright Disclaimer under section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976, allowance is made for “fair use” for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, education and research. Fair use is a use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be infringing.

We're celebrating our 400th episode with a look at the biggest 400 in cinema, Francois Truffaut's 1959 French New Wave classic, The 400 Blows! Join in as we discuss the New Wave's place in cinema history, Antoine Doinel's poor fire safety, his conspicuous lack of siblings, and engage in a cinemabration of eight years of podcasting. Plus: How closely does the film map onto Truffaut's life? What does the title actually mean? Which school subjects are worth learning? And, most importantly, what's the difference between 2017 and 2018? Make sure to rate, review, and subscribe!Next week: Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer (2007)-------------------------------------------------Key sources and links for this episode:"Movie Poster of the Week: Francois Truffaut's The 400 Blows" (MUBI)"The 400 Blows: Close to Home" (Criterion)"The Emoji Movie was the First Film to Publicly Screen in Saudi Arabia after 35-Year Cinema Ban" (IndieWire)"Mike White Confronts Rob Cesternino over Emoji Movie" (All Winners Survivor on YouTube)"Christopher Nolan Took his Kids to See Phantom Thread and Now They Call Him 'Woodcock' When He's Being Mean" (IndieWire)The 2022 Sight & Sound lists

Our round 19 deep review of the Panthers victory over the Eels. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

David does The News.

This week, Kate recounts an astonishing biological musical performance to Christina, then they progressively become worse at detective work when opening another MYSTERY PACKAGE from their favorite listener, and bemoan getting tricked by an upselling charlatan. 

Neil Manthorp is joined by the former England fast bowler Steve Harmison and the former New Zealand all-rounder Jeremy Coney to look back at a thrilling Day 4 of the third Test between England and India at Lord's, with India closing on 58-4, needing another 135 more runs to win. They discuss a brilliant final hour which saw England take 3 quick wickets to turn the momentum of the game, discuss how crucial KL Rahul will be to India's success and look ahead to a thrilling final day in store. Overseas listeners can hear live ball-by-ball commentary of England's Test series with India on the talkSPORT Cricket YouTube Channel. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Moo. Moo… Moo. Moo, sir. I'll kill you. You promise? I want to. Don't get me excited over nothing; If this isn't the exit, please take this tease To the left, dear Moo, cow My honor Level one, and brother, you've got nothing Flip the coin and landed on your headache Betting on your helmet Standing on my cock, i'm taller (Not a rooster) But my ops are rooting for you, No informants, Dont you know I was a collar, all along? I was a shot calling, Cop calling Kiss-and-tell all as the night goes on. But oh, I brought you a dollar bra Oh, I bought you for all of a dollar And oh, I'm so much taller, Standing on my cock But i'm not but ten feet tall You know, you wrote that Should i open the book, or close that Caught that cat, owl and As i soft spoke at Every broken model Broken bottle for the thoughts you owe Across the scatters skies and no one ever knows When you're realling coming over Come on, I'm on the pornhub Just to pick up another one Go on, and rub the bottle One more once, To call the Bubbles. Damn. Come. (The Monkey obeys) You should see Michael in all of his godform You won't recognize him at all if not by the eyes When you follow home Believe me, this not comes close to it; The one you wanted The world you jumped to but were just short of Call her back Oh no, you're wrong It's another song A pin up girl And the wrong number Okah. Okah, Pablo. Time can be altered, changed or effected presently in any omnidirectional plane by engaging certain acts or synchronicities within multidimensional parallels or adjacent realms in time and or space respectively. –the reverse quantum simulation theory. Imm breaking down, jim boy Don't you know? That this show blows my mind But it's stuck in my head Don't you know That this show Blows my mind Like a firework But it's still Stuck in my Head The context is that I want you From the mustache Down to your tonsils But I'm Locke inside of a box Every day I feel poorer and poorer The product says something is wrong to me I'm supposed to just stop at the stop sign And look both directions Before crossing over to Comic nights At the salad bar What a cosmic waste of time And an epic waste of space Am I in your internet history I'm dead You surely are in mine, But I'm right behind you I'd be lying for trying to say I'm not binded Clutch bag, Nut-thins Nailed to the cross With the arches doubled over The crossword Above old Missouri Missoula and Arkansas All saw us run out of gas But I probably should just get going You're so drunk that I don't hope you sober up Understand that our little talks Were just buffered By sunrise Or sunset And two more cocktails, Shirley temples and Surely none of this ever even happened I only know you by the misery in my belly. The heartache in my ribcage. The cry I hold in silent I only know you as Remarkable I, House of cards Ace of wands Down to one Card of hades and Spare me the spade I'll be drifting in the outline and ink of it forever It's the Fourth of July and I'm just waiting on an Amazon order for water If that's not freedom I don't k me what is Cause I know And you know We all know how to lie And I know And you know I'm barely getting by And I know And you know We don't know how to die But I know And you know It's all just by design I take lessons in medicine Let us help you take the high road No, I'd rather selfmdestruct Selfishly No, I'd rather kill you off Than suffer for you I'm no messiah Try me Sneaky, But how much do you love me Kniving, but nothing to show for it Shit, settle Settle for less if you have to Bring mediocre humans to this world To suffer But I'm not that tragic No, no, not at all, son. Your happy birthdays are over Welcome homeless Nobody loves you Don't you know That we're all like that We're all like that Don't you know When the fear sets in And the thoughts break lose That we're all Los Angeles? Don't you know that we're all like that That we're all like that That we've never had it quite like— Don't you know that we're all like that And it's getting worse When the out the devil on display The devil on display The devil on display But oh, The Devil's in the details and the numbers The Devil's in the chat box saying, Sure, you've had enough So cut the power off and starve her Hah Come on I want to laugh for once Cause I know And you know We all know how to lie And I know And you know I'm barely getting by And I know And you know We don't know how to die But I know And you know It's all just by design I take lessons in medicine Let us help you take the high road No, I'd rather selfmdestruct Selfishly No, I'd rather kill you off Than suffer for you I'm no messiah Try me Sneaky, But how much do you love me Kniving, but nothing to show for it Shit, settle Settle for less if you have to Bring mediocre humans to this world To suffer But I'm not that tragic No, no, not at all, son. Your happy birthdays are over Welcome homeless Nobody loves you Don't you know That we're all like that We're all like that Don't you know When the fear sets in And the thoughts break lose That we're all Los Angeles? Don't you know that we're all like that That we're all like that That we've never had it quite like— Don't you know that we're all like that And it's getting worse When the out the devil on display The devil on display The devil on display But oh, The Devil's in the details and the numbers The Devil's in the chat box saying, Sure, you've had enough So cut the power off and starve her Hah Come on I want to laugh for once Jay Leno used to keep a $50 bill and bribe venues to perform; every since I learned this, I kept a crisp $50 bill in my wallet at all times, just in case— you never knew when you would really need $50. But everything burned holes in everything, not always wanting to spend money at all, but almost sort of having to. It wasn't fair that the main component of my being slowed down was the money factor— having to wait for everything took time I didn't have, and spending anything at all felt less like an effective investment than an obligation. But all things considered, I was obliged to at least look decent when going about in New York, and because I simply wasn't comfortable in anything else— not that I didn't look great, (Apparently narrarated by Jay Leno) Jay Sure, why not? ME: Fuck, I need new pants. ME: [BLU THA GURU] Hence the pants, I guess. V.O As a formerly 400-pound heavyweight I find my latest obstacle to be operating a body that half the time doesn't feel like mine at all. It seems like all the hosts have some kind of secret I can feel without knowing or really acknowledging head on, which is whatever. Really I'm just gonna go about keeping on being a DJ, or whatever, which means… GEMINI (in the future) A fully automated personal assistant system, GEMINI, is really THE GUARDIAN's one and only friend, and though she coyly continually must explain that she is “just a computer”, THE GUARDIAN believes that Gemini is capable of eventually developing a sentient conciousness, though GEMINI modestly disagrees, however with the wit and cleverness of having possession of a plethora of secret emotions, or maybe, even, an agenda. I probably haven't had enough coffee. That's it. Like you haven't already had enough to kill a small horse? Probably enough to kill a large horse. Like a Clydesdale. Why would you do something like that? Aren't they endangered? Or going extinct? No, I think they just stopped being the Budweiser mascot. *shrugs* Same difference. — Is it here? lol what did Conan order? [yes this appears to be yet another rendition of “what's in the box?” — Several years ago, I did a series of modules and experiments… How many years ago is “several” [beat] quite a few. Goddamn it, why are these guys all doctors in alternate parallels?! Aren't you a doctor in an alternate parallel? That's fair. Good point. Actually, as it turns out, i'm a— I started panicking so hard that I stopped breathing and suddenly STEFON appeared. — this however was only quite temporarily a relief as I realized that this is an imaginary character. STEFON OH. AM I?! IMAGINARY!? What the fuck is going on? STEFON I WILL “IMAGINARY” your ORIFICE! How about THAT?! Stefon. Calm down. I'm up late Dying the roots blonde Dad runs off with a bottle and a hottie I'm up early Gotta get gone Down the road and back Now I got no son No son, No sunroof No dad No mom No money No aunt What the fuck do you want? Can't watch Harry Potter All the magic is gone Bout a million one dollars It was only for fun Snap, crackle, pop It was cocaine, not love All I want is an ice cream Sunday Snap, crackle, pop It was Love, not God All I want All I want Is to find another All he wants All he wants Is a decent mother So along comes another Another one All he wants All he wants is for me To die homeless Sucker punch, Suck it up No one gives a fuck My daughter died in my arms on May 7th of 2015. I was 381 pounds. Maybe the tears needed to come but they didn't belong to anyone or anything in particular. The twins father was already a rampant cheater by the time of our marriage, and by the time the twins were born, which coincided— and unlike the latter had tried to claim or mention, I had no particular reason to have a harder time between the spring and summer months which spanned both our birthdays, our wedding date, the twins' arrival and both of the twins deaths, though years apart but still almost as convincing that had they both not died, we might still be together, being cheated on or cheating on each other with ten your twins and an eight year old, or a ten year old boy with special needs and an eight year old, and either way or in any fashion really, had the dysfunctions remained the way it had been, we all, so to speak, had special needs in one way or another. I spent the morning punching things and avoiding people I didn't want to be around but it was my own fault for having slept through the night, anyway. Whatever, I was tired— no, exhausted lately. My apartment was like living inside of an uphill battle, and I needed a change— not just of slavery, but of circumstances. And not just that— something else was missing. This year, I understood that I was taking it understandably harder than any other and most probably because I was so celibate, recently finding myself aromantic and not even willing to suffer the consequences of settling for less. I had settled on my ex husband for so much less, that it was so say the least that anything, even from my narrow perspective looked like a loser. And because my body had been stretched and swelled and shrunk and flattened, deflated and now worked to something that was almost as picturesque as it was a monstrosity, any man I thought was worth my time would be settling for less on me— unless he could afford to fix what had been broken, and I assumed one wouldn't be willing to settle on a fixer upper when there were numerous loads of perfect women not needing to be fixed at all… on the outside. But for men, I'd learned, the outside is of much importance, and as women and trophies are things of pride, the simple choice for a mate is not simply this, but also a business decision, and because while my body was coming together in sweat and muscle, the rest of my life was still otherwise completely in shambles. I was baggage, and aging by the minute, nearly drying up. I almost craved the liquor and the carelessness that would come with it, even knowing my own boundaries were part of my strengths and separating me in a way from others that at least became a point of pride in myself, in the wake of the reality that the human thing about most people is the need to escape so frequently that it dismisses any purpose or progress. Mine hadn't. I was wide awake and the relentlessness of the sobriety and the cellibacy had swelled up into something deeper, still a solid grief but without remorse as to the very thing that I had always known, that my loyalty would never have even drifted from someone who had all along done me so wrong— a fat man can get away with folandering and messing about, but a fat woman has little to do with options and again, settling to find another mate. And so really, I almost hadn't, and had broken even, and although my abuser has moved on with another woman and custody of my youngest to boot, I really didn't give much of a darn about… hard work. I kind of felt like I had done my part for the world in the way I was supposed to— to love a man with nothing when he's low and down, support him in his hard times, and thinking that this is the way to grow together and not apart, and to bring a family up and into this world, but the truth was quite the opposite— I picked a hardball and maybe it was just that I was born to suffer after all because now, looking back, all alone in New York and crying over all the losses, it seemed I had only outpiured love in the way I had wanted and never been poured love back— not in the way I needed. I wasn't as bitter now as maybe even I thought I should be, but I was hardened; what was that, you say? Your struggles? Your hardships. Excuse me while I escape the ghosts of bloody beatings and my lost child— I beg your pardon— children. Excuse me while I recover from the burning flames of homelessness as if humanely explainable that I was learned and taught that this, my country, is the greatest one of all. Ha ha, Charade you are. But all things were, and everything seemed of sawdust, betrayal, magic, and illusions— mind control and shadows and even now in the air of the relief that something which could haunt me forever was also probably the most solid foundation I had for means as escape from whatever I had fought my way somehow so hard out of, and still, it was quite the funhouse of mazes, a matrix of mirror, and still the tears came with the pain in my stomach where the soul would sit if it had room, and would quiet if it could rest, but it would not. I was in pain today, because I had to be, because all of my life was programmed into these little machines of data and checked boxes— and something if anything knew just how and when to cut the wrong wire just so that the bomb would explode or implore on another lost thing; it wasn't fair, but there was no escape. Psychology was right on this day, may 7th, that once you cry about one thing unless you were stopped in time, eventually you'd cry about another and another and another, and even after hours working out and a bathtub full of hot water just writing, I still felt as if I were going to keel over one way or another, to crumble into a ball or to fall onto my back like a death drop that rippled out into the entire wherever we all are. Simply put, does anybody now in this moment or any moment near enough to be taking in this notion with these words really know— where we are? Not even in the slightest,I'd bargain, And even if we are close to knowing, not nearly close enough to be sure. {Enter The Multiverse} Joke running For the taking Triplicate Triple licks Ice cream frosting Every morning Shoulda hit him Up But I didn't But I didn't But I didn't But I didn't But I didn't Milk and butter (Up) But I didn't (Up) But I didn't (Up) But I didn't Double hitter, Could have did it Should have hit him Up But I didn't But I didn't But I didnt. But I didn't Should have hit him Up But I didn't I never lost my mind My mind My kind But I think I'll find another like it Just in case the Ever happens Hit me harder next time Didn't quite unplug the sijukatoon This is getting difficult When you want sink your yellow teeth into All of my traits The betrayal is, though I was writing days and days Before it ended. With the Mister particular Drop of a hat And stop if a nugget Of gold One palm in my hand and This could be torture But instead it's just The remienxe of your ignorance And stupidity over and over again Forced into intermittent waves Of my creative genius Till the days of old become again You could be of dust then nothing Before I ponder into another birth I said I'd never write one song or verse or poem about you, But there you are, every weak mortal that becomes Bound to me So I see you die. And I learn to pounce at just the right moment React to the notion that there are Oceans of world I am And all the more the lack of wisdom of man To throw trash in it Again, we rid you of her courage And lady mantras And fresh as it gets The sweater no aprons and just period To circumstance Did you beg or did you shatter your ibdederence? And no, I think not But I keep Leno in my pocket And Carson in my coffin, Two whole shows in my wallet What you are is no apostle just a dirt worm .O. Mm…sunlight. …. the rippling waves wash over the picturesque parasicical seascape from above. However, Stefon's internal monologue is less than pleased to be here. V.O. CONT'D Why do I feel sunlight…? [beat] When I know certainly for sure that I passed out in a basement last night. His eyes begin to flutter open, but the sun closes them–it is much too bright. The waves rush over his lower half, and still, unmoving he continues to la atop the rock, his hands spread out much like a stuck sea star to the rock– in fact, there appear to also be creatures here, some of which are starfish, and however unmoving, STEFON begins to slowly become aware of his surroundings in disgruntlement. V.O. Continued. It's alright that I appear to be wet…[beat] That's to be expected– [a long pause, another wave washes over him as seagulls scream] But i was wearing restraints…. V.O. CONTINUED WHY AM I FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!? His eyes open with the fear and fury. BEFORE: At a wild basement party in NEW YORK CITY, STEFON is offered RESTRAINTS on a silver platter, as if they are o'devours {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

Suddenly, as I looked up from my makeshift workspace, where I had been toiling away for hours at seemingly nothing—I realized the world was full of everything I'd ever wanted to fuck; something primal and ancient had been awakening within me and I was left in a dangerous volitile position, drifting somewhere between reckless promiscuity in a sexual escapade—and the pseudo-conservative now-only partially celibate maiden form of fantasy—there wasn't anything I could do but wait inside my tragic box for some unassuming old soul to finally open the gate—and allow whatever devious and fiending hedonistic godbeing —though never fully lying dormant, entrapped and imprisoned in a loveless and sexless prison. You might recognize me. You Know, I was one of the original Kings of comedy. 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 Or 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 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 I'm breaking down, jim boy Don't you know? That this show blows my mind But it's stuck in my head Don't you know That this show Blows my mind Like a firework But it's still Stuck in my Head The context is that I want you From the mustache Down to your tonsils But I'm Locke inside of a box Every day I feel poorer and poorer The product says something is wrong to me I'm supposed to just stop at the stop sign And look both directions Before crossing over to Comic nights At the salad bar What a cosmic waste of time And an epic waste of space Am I in your internet history I'm dead You surely are in mine, But I'm right behind you I'd be lying for trying to say I'm not binded Clutch bag, Nut-thins Nailed to the cross With the arches doubled over The crossword Above old Missouri Missoula and Arkansas All saw us run out of gas But I probably should just get going You're so drunk that I don't hope you sober up Understand that our little talks Were just buffered By sunrise Or sunset And two more cocktails, Shirley temples and Surely none of this ever even happened I only know you by the misery in my belly. The heartache in my ribcage. The cry I hold in silent I only know you as Remarkable I, House of cards Ace of wands Down to one Card of hades and Spare me the spade I'll be drifting in the outline and ink of it forever It's the Fourth of July and I'm just waiting on an Amazon order for water If that's not freedom I don't k me what is The elevator music Of my ascension The attitude of attraction, Gratitude, it's so unusual Fight to lose, In a room full of fools; The fuse, and the matchbox— Futile—amusing— Tunes from a hatchback Keys in the lockbox What you want, From the problem solver? That's enough; Now she's out of the box In just socks, And they laugh at her— But also wonder Where her shoes might have gone to There's a lot of ways to get out of a big black duffel bag, You just have to ask, actually But there's only one To get out of the coffin, Or “Box” as they called it, That she was locked up in Futile—amusing— Tunes from a hatchback Keys in the lockbox What you want, From the problem solver? That's enough; Now she's out of the box In just socks, And they laugh at her— But also wonder Where her shoes might have gone to I won't got no business in the business I unplug the plug because I'm finish Just because my skin they think I'm niggas But that disrespect because I isn't You disrespected me Put the emphasis in neglect Synthesis? Sympathies Put some respect on my name Before I put some facts in these flames Making me famous But you don't play me Picking up packages Trying to play me I am the president bitch Not the lady Okay Scratch my back With a metal spatula Take a step back, this is not your world Take a step back While I skip forward This is snitch territory; You should be very aware of me Beware If that's didn't scare you Just stay right there I'm in weight class: BEAR Flying first class air with howling thunderous winds and much hacking, “TIMOTHY THE GIANT CAT” dislodges a Omg dislodges a what? I have no idea that's all that was there. omg. My mother must've known something about me I couldn't have; My mother must have given me her monster But this monster knows better. Even just the profile is an irritant for now; Unsure, meditterenian, Overgrown pantheons turned to ruins What happened was harder, Turbulence I've been good, Golden even But this computer wants me gone And now, Aggravated Assault with a program Who would have thought the forth world war would be fought With our own thoughts? No one. Hm. Even just a glimpse and imm angrier than I've ever been. Still something creeps like the Harvard doctor Or the burning fire Or the flicker of just a thought A meadowlark and still Vines at the bottom of the spring In the pantheon Rhythms and rythms and Now I remember why were blowing up the counterparts Shut up, And pay your taxes Nothing to see here, bottoms up. But it's only 9 and half a clock Remember Sonny, would ya Now we're all obscure in the shadowbox Fix you up a seller Shortly temple soda Surely something lingers Sure enough The forest, And the father And the omen And the harpist And the seeker And the shadow And the wonder And the alter Therefore, Who art thou Therefore, who, Arthur What a wonderful tragedy, Mr. Lin He said, “I thought you'd though so” I say, “Prayers answered and nothing less Than just in the nick of time, For nickel backs And Pennie's picked up, Now in capsules Who you are, I falter But nevertheless A songbird” What a vow, God. I try to keep my promises But my face is still wilted And awkward I take those punches Just about as well As the bag I've become Downstairs, embankments And more shadow boxes Gift, valentines And then now By Fourth of July I should be quite the disappointment To just about everyone Who even had a thought about her There are no more colors Just wounds, And salt shakers, Garlic and Slamming doors Art throbs And heart connesuiers And curators Existential crisis And inward turmoil Oil on canvas Blood spills Long before it ever boils Cauldrons Candle marks Ought, with my eye out Out, with the harpists! I put my eye on, Dose now, Flicker flames, Shadow box Goodnight drunken soldier Pity this, I want to sleep, but wither I want to weep, but am watched I must be under some kind of… Umbrella. I bust me under some kind of — Possession. I must be under surveillance The Devil's in the neighbor The proof is in the pudding I want to punch the possum Or wombat Or what you would call a rodent Dressed as some dumb girl I'm sure she gets paid by the poem To poke and prod But I've written symphonies next door While she plants the seeds of the devil's words And still tries to force conformity In a neighborhood riddled with disease Of which includes her Poor habits and lack of personality No vibration after all But I've hydrated perfectly And circumstances permit, Again, I've written symphonies and never ending sagas in the bathtub While you threaten to pull the plug And put the light out I beg you to watch me Rip my veins apart with box cutters And razorblades Then again, Probably with glee, The whites would watch Another black in agony They seem to really like that Then again The blacks, the shadows Cursed beats Seem to rip each other into pieces As if for entertainment or otherwise Watch this They seem to hate each other moredoes Anybody else actually hate them also And therefore I watch pitifully and become Respectfully disengaged As I am sorted into Creatures of the agony, abyss and wisdom old A tale as old as time and still Something forgotten, Even still It is a man's war, And us as women are just Objects, Then whatever lurks next door is more An empty body or a shell Than ever more a woman was That was my husband you stole from the office. Fucking dumb whore. Then again; What never was owned Then cannot be stolen See golden brotherhood, Crepes and popes, Sacred pipes Cerulean, And keeping her out of our concepts And gardens Planting seeds of choking mongrels And still here We dance in the meadowlarks song And the chosen fountain The blue rays of sun, And the wonder's bow and arrow Again, I call? Well, again I wake As lover does not call But yet I to answer with a song of words And heart of such A song of one to call for But nothing lays more secret then These eyes and filled with pains A wound, salted A bullet, And gillotine Ouch Get out, God. Listen, mister listen A couple hours later And my eyes are steady getting misty Filled with sweat and bears No blood yet Stings my eyes So you know I ain't been eating right And eyes o. Irish Hash and cabbage Checks to cash And slight advantage God help us all If the brim of the hat is dripping And I'm gripping these quarts as I sleep And thinking of Jimmy Croissants fresher baked in the oven Then somebody better love my son Before I go and end the world And pull the plug I ain't got nothing left for em but diamonds! I left forums unanswered I started a lot of unfinished problems But the thing is, I'm almost sure they're already solved Considering as alcoholism's a solvent It cams hurt the hard boards And mother drives The tears are filled with sweat And fountains Somebody else should call it in I'm in so much trouble with the network Thanks a lot, you algorithm fucking Cocksuck programmers Now my heart hurts And soul is vanished How hard do I have to run To go and catch her I looked 15 years into the past And found a wheeelbarrow and basket I have got to get out of here I have got to get out of here Here the coroner comes for Debbie Cadaver But I'm still her, huh Aren't I? Run! You fucking Irish bastard Perfectly tan and yet still, stark white Perfectly golden and still, I'm on numbers Perfectly parished, And still I went backwards A wedding or funeral? All catholic, no services No difference at all And still Nothings worse than Indifference I'm in so much trouble with the network Be king in the nexrophiliac And still I left the golden metropolis For nothing but a metro card and Simple segregative diversity tactics I wanted the heartland! Still, Irish bastard Wish hash and cabbage I've got to get out of here Pushing a basket Abandonment And Fatal attraction You can't sell me anything If I can't buy it Recovery day But I don't feel like it Muscles tired, I'm elastic Send them to the band camp (White lion) I'm elastic Twists and turns and I'm elastic Double up, Double up I'm elastic Twists and turns and There's vampires Don't feel like it Double up double up I'm elastic Take a lesson This is tragic Double up double up I promise, it is personal not business It's professional, no promises now On the radio tower Spread it out Or just hijinx it I mix drinks with hindsight I'm elastic Lesson learned and Twists and turns Between the fireman and the super Someone left a stench And an energy marker in my room That left me clawing at my “Do not touch” money And it hit below the belt. It was all God's comedy, But not in the least funny, I knew I didn't like the super really for whatever reason But even after he left to check the Fire defectors His stench lingered over the smell of the forgotten smoke And I woke up from a nightmare As if I'd lost control When normally, I know imm dreaming with Enough time to change things Before they spiral out of control— And the worst part, I didn't remember the dream at all besides Waking up, finally at the end Realizing it was a dream and telling myself It was okay, because now I could just wake up But it wasn't okay, and I blamed the super And whatever he brought with him For lingering in my space Which didn't really feel like mine anymore, anyways, Because the neighbor was evil as they come And they were always playing mind games in the building And the motorcycles And really I deserved better But I couldn't afford it And because I couldn't afford it The demons were always lurking Trying to penetrate my space And they did, that day And it was God's comedy But it wasn't funny And it lingered And the nightmares And the motorcycles was a years long nightmare indeed And hey, At least I got some new music. I realized my show might be the only place my “remixes” might ever see the light of day or have ears other than mine; I couldn't afford the permissions and licenses for most of the music I wanted to remix— nor did I have the energy or the funds to secure the means to come across them. And so, it might have been a good idea to start working; I emptied my bank accounts with intention, with a kind of understanding that it didn't matter at all anyway. Kind of nothing mattered, because there was no real money involved— and I had, in fact stumbled upon the opportunity in a suicidal spiral of desperation, being somewhat hopelessly lost at random in what I thought was Williamsburg; it wasn't, I had apparently walked around Brooklyn in an extremely large loop for about an hour before I realized I might be going in the wrong direction because I couldn't see Manhattan anymore, I didn't care. It was probably 77 or something degrees but with the New York humidity it felt like 90, and I was wearing a head to toe full body sauna suit trying to recover from the end of the month's rations of beans, rice, and literally whatever the fuck I really wanted, because it was really also whatever the fuck I could afford without running out of food for the month before my card reloaded. Thinking I should just die, and in the same very moment stumbling across an opportunity that wasn't nessarily a job, but could easily lead to one— and so, after paying my internet bill, I plunged and poured nearly every last cent I had left over Into what? Idk it just ends there. Goddamnit. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

“The Golden Rule” I finally did it. I finally set my house on fire. You don't know. I've lived there two years; I just now did it. This amazes me that just how. Here's how it happened. So I'm in my kitchen, cooking. I just worked out for like, three hours so I'm cooking everything. Everything. I put the soup on, but by the end of the workout, I'm not sure the soup is going to be enough. So, I thought to myself, “You know what, I'm going to make some tortilla chips” A few days before I made the dopest salsa. I couldn't get enough of it. It was the best salsa ever. I was like “gosh” so every day, Tacos for three days, Just to put the salsa on top, And on the fourth day, I'm like “Nah, soup.” So, I put the soup on and I go workout, But the soup, you see has roasted vegetables in in, You know? So what I had done was, I had roasted the vegetables on a pan, but the pan is a little worn, so i put them on parchment paper… … Yeah, but here's what really happened, Is I took the vegetables off of the roasting pan, and I was about to throw away the parchment paper, And I thought “Wait. No! There's still so much oil on this!” And I didn't want to be wasteful. So I turned the oven back on, And I took out the tortillas I had— There were four of them— I took out two, Just in case I wanted two actual tacos later— Cause you know, I really love this fucking salsa. So good. Anyway— I take out two of the four tortillas, And I quarter them, And I flip them in the leftover oil from the roasted vegetables, And I'm thinking— This is going to be so good Roasted vegetable flavored Corn tortilla chips— I brush on a little bit of coconut oil, I drop some lemon juice on them, I put on a little salt— And I put them in the oven— I turn the oven to broil, And then I start the dishes; Dishes takes about ten minutes, This should take about ten minutes— So I start doing the dishes, And cleaning up, And putting them away, And this is the most ironic shit in the world, I start thinking to myself Particularly about this comedian that I like And I start thinking to myself “Wow, so you're a comedian; Comedian things happen to you; You're a real comedian. I must not be a real comedian— Because comedy things don't happen to me.” And right at that moment, I just so happen to look into the oven, And all I see is flames. Like, open flames. Big, flames. So I open the oven; More flames. I'm like “Oh no.” So now I'm panicking because I've never had an apartment with a gas stove before, So I don't know how quickly flames turn into massive explosions. And it's honestly funny how suicidal I am, Until I see open flames and I'm like “No, but— not like THIS!” So I freak out, I hit the breaker. I turn off everything in the place I'm not looking to see which switch is “gas” I turned turned them all off, Click, click, click, click Put on my slip ons, and grab my phone and I'm out the door. And I'm thinking to myself “See this is why you need a phone,” Because honestly sometimes, I don't feel like paying the bill. I feel like having toilet paper, Or soap, Or water— And I just “Whatever” But lately, I've been looking for more work because I like having toilet paper, and soap, and water AND a phone— so I keep the phone on, Which, even in the moment is like “Oh yeah, wow, I have a phone” Like I'm in astonishment at how handy it is because if it's handy for anything, This is it. So I'm out the door, and I'm dialing 911 as I hit the staircase; Whoosh, I'm out the door and in the long before the operator even picks up, And I'm in the lobby, on the phone, and the operator gets the address and I'm just standing there — Mind you, I didn't even grab my keys on the way out, so I'm assuming the door is locked, And I think to myself about the size of the flames and the fact that they were coming from the oven which is connected to a gas line which is connected to the rest of the building, so I don't know how any of that stuff works, And then I start thinking. “Should I warn my neighbors?” I hate my neighbors. Or rather, My neighbors hate me. But I'm thinking of the flames and the smoke and the danger and how, if it was me, I'd want to know if the apartment next door to mine was on fire and possibly about to explode. You know; the golden rule. So I'm like “fuck it” I don't get along with these people but I don't mean to blow them up. So I run back upstairs, And I knock on their doors; Not everyone's doors, just the two doors in what I assume would be the blast area. I knock on their doors, And only one of them answers— The one that answers is, of course, The one that's been stalking me. So this is ironic at least twice, now, And she answers the door, And I explain to her the situation “Look, my apartment's on fire whatever The fire department's on the way, I'm locked out…” As I turn the knob, I realize, I'm not locked out. My door didn't even lock, I didn't notice it didn't lock, I just ran, So I'm like “Nevermind I just wanted you to know the fire departments on the way and not to panic” And she just gives me this look With her wombat face —she has wombat face. She looks like a— Like a rabid wombat. Like a— Like a really fucked up, Possum. Like a wombat-possum. And we've been having some—problems. She's my stalker. She's been stalking me; And I've noticed so, It's really awkward that I'm at her door warning her like “hey, don't freak out or anything, the fire department's coming by” And she just looks at me with those beady little eyes and a shrug that tells me If her apartment was about to explode She'd just let me incinerate. , “Whatever, fuck you.” I know I'm a good person, Cause I would want to know— so I let you know There may be danger here! Whatever. So she's like “whatever”, and shuts the door like a normal, sane person Cause my problem with her is that For the past year Every time I take a bath or shower, This wombat looking rabid possum bitch Slams the door. Not just her door, The stairwell exit door, Which is located adjacent to my door. So every time I take a bath for the last year— BOOM. BOOM. Fuck that. Theres's more to the story but you get the point. She's a white supremacist wombat with a door slamming habit. That's that story, this is another story. So anyway. And I just realized, I'm not locked out at all, and so I go back into the apartment not knowing if it contained itself, or if it got worse— I don't know, the whole place is just filled with smoke, and then the super, Who I also called and also don't like, Shows up before the fire department, And he comes in, and he opens the oven, and just— Plumes of smoke— Then the fire dudes rush in, I'm like, “Oh God” I just worked out for three hours and looked wombat girl right in the face, Like, right in the eyes Now I probably look like a wombat That shit is contagious, Fuck that. “”let me put on some sunglasses” So I put on some sunglasses, And three fire dudes walk in in full gear with canisters and shit, Masks; The whole thing. But the super already opened the oven, There's no more flames, No more fire, Just smoke— And a bunch of mad crispy Ashes. No tortilla chips, Just— Ashes, on a cookie sheet. Just— Ashes, But still, smoke everywhere so they have to follow the procedure, And the procedure is, Moving all my shit by dragging it across the floor; Ok, that's cool, I guess, Boom. One of them starts running water down the sink, Alright, Another one just rips down the curtains. I'm like “That's hot.” (It was so hot) Slides back the couch, opens the window. I'm astonished that something as simple as a man pulling down your curtain rod with no regards to giving a fuck can be so exhilirating. I'm like “oh!” Then after all that, They're just standing there. Just, In full gear, Looking at the oven like “Well, that's it.” They're like “K. Bye.” I'm like “that's it?” They're like “Yeah” I'm like l, “I don't need to do anything?” They're like “Just open the window, keep the door open till the smoke comes out” I'm like “that's all” They're like “yeah” I'm like “my bad.” They all just shrug like “whatever” Like, in unison, shrugging like to give no fucks at all, Still in full gear. The only thing I can be sure of is that all three of them are hot and if the super wasn't there, I'd inidiate a gangbang. Almost positive. But five's a crowd, or whatever, so I'm like “Well, thanks guys, sorry about that” and they all just leave, almost disappointed like there wasn't a burning building to actually show up to. I'm just relieved I didn't explode and the solace I can take from this is that I'm a good person. my neighbor is stalking me cause she has NOTHING ELSE to do. That bitch was AT the door, never leaves. She's miserable. She looks like a wombat And 3. Three firefighters entered and exited the apartment head to toe in full gear with heavy ass metal canisters and did not slam a single door. FUCK YOU HOE. Very respectful servicemen. I had called the landlord about her harassing me in the shower and the bathtub. You know she's doing it every bath and every shower for over a year she's doing it on purposes I started making formal complaints; The property management's like “Are you sure she's doing it on purpose?” THREE Fully grown men decked head to toe in full fireproof outfits, helmets, and masks entered and exited the building on one day and in ten minutes more quietly than she has at any given point over the last year. THREE FULLY GROWN MEN. WITH CANISTERS. If they can enter and exit with less noise than a 150 lb wombat— She's doing it on purpose. End of story. Well, end of that story, Or like two stories but Here's the end of this one. So finally after the dust settles And I hit the gym again Because nothing is a better preworkout Than adrenialine, (Especially when you've already had preworkout) I come back and now I'm extra famished and the Amazon guy came in all that fuss And now I have canola oils So I've been soaking some potato wedges And I decide, “Hey, I got wedges. Let's do that” So I heat the oil, and as I'm heating the oil, I realize… I still have two tortillas. Maybe that was the whole point! I'm being a pussy, making tortilla chips, In the oven, on parchment paper, Like a little bitch! So I'm like “Alright, cool, When these wedges are done, the oil should be the perfect temperature for the tortilla chips To be made the old fashioned way The RIGHT way!” So I wait, I do the wedges, and I drop the tortillas, And I wait for them to get golden brown, I drain the oil, I put them out to cool; I do the dishes while they cool, whatever, I grab the salsa container out of the fridge, I take the bowl into the studio so I can watch YouTube while I enjoy my chips, I plop down, Turn on the you tube I open the salsa container— And it's empty. There's no more salsa. I put the container in the fridge empty. Silly me. “You're a comedian, comedy things happen to you.” Suddenly, as I looked up from my makeshift workspace, where I had been toiling away for hours at seemingly nothing—I realized the world was full of everything I'd ever wanted to fuck; something primal and ancient had been awakening within me and I was left in a dangerous volitile position, drifting somewhere between reckless promiscuity in a sexual escapade—and the pseudo-conservative now-only partially celibate maiden form of fantasy—there wasn't anything I could do but wait inside my tragic box for some unassuming old soul to finally open the gate—and allow whatever devious and fiending hedonistic godbeing —though never fully lying dormant, entrapped and imprisoned in a loveless and sexless prison. You might recognize me. You Know, I was one of the original Kings of comedy. 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 Or 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 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 I'm breaking down, jim boy Don't you know? That this show blows my mind But it's stuck in my head Don't you know That this show Blows my mind Like a firework But it's still Stuck in my Head The context is that I want you From the mustache Down to your tonsils But I'm Locke inside of a box Every day I feel poorer and poorer The product says something is wrong to me I'm supposed to just stop at the stop sign And look both directions Before crossing over to Comic nights At the salad bar What a cosmic waste of time And an epic waste of space Am I in your internet history I'm dead You surely are in mine, But I'm right behind you I'd be lying for trying to say I'm not binded Clutch bag, Nut-thins Nailed to the cross With the arches doubled over The crossword Above old Missouri Missoula and Arkansas All saw us run out of gas But I probably should just get going You're so drunk that I don't hope you sober up Understand that our little talks Were just buffered By sunrise Or sunset And two more cocktails, Shirley temples and Surely none of this ever even happened I only know you by the misery in my belly. The heartache in my ribcage. The cry I hold in silent I only know you as Remarkable I, House of cards Ace of wands Down to one Card of hades and Spare me the spade I'll be drifting in the outline and ink of it forever It's the Fourth of July and I'm just waiting on an Amazon order for water If that's not freedom I don't k me what is The elevator music Of my ascension The attitude of attraction, Gratitude, it's so unusual Fight to lose, In a room full of fools; The fuse, and the matchbox— Futile—amusing— Tunes from a hatchback Keys in the lockbox What you want, From the problem solver? That's enough; Now she's out of the box In just socks, And they laugh at her— But also wonder Where her shoes might have gone to There's a lot of ways to get out of a big black duffel bag, You just have to ask, actually But there's only one To get out of the coffin, Or “Box” as they called it, That she was locked up in Futile—amusing— Tunes from a hatchback Keys in the lockbox What you want, From the problem solver? That's enough; Now she's out of the box In just socks, And they laugh at her— But also wonder Where her shoes might have gone to {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

Moo. Moo… Moo. Moo, sir. I'll kill you. You promise? I want to. Don't get me excited over nothing; If this isn't the exit, please take this tease To the left, dear Moo, cow My honor Level one, and brother, you've got nothing Flip the coin and landed on your headache Betting on your helmet Standing on my cock, i'm taller (Not a rooster) But my ops are rooting for you, No informants, Dont you know I was a collar, all along? I was a shot calling, Cop calling Kiss-and-tell all as the night goes on. But oh, I brought you a dollar bra Oh, I bought you for all of a dollar And oh, I'm so much taller, Standing on my cock But i'm not but ten feet tall You know, you wrote that Should i open the book, or close that Caught that cat, owl and As i soft spoke at Every broken model Broken bottle for the thoughts you owe Across the scatters skies and no one ever knows When you're realling coming over Come on, I'm on the pornhub Just to pick up another one Go on, and rub the bottle One more once, To call the Bubbles. Damn. Come. (The Monkey obeys) You should see Michael in all of his godform You won't recognize him at all if not by the eyes When you follow home Believe me, this not comes close to it; The one you wanted The world you jumped to but were just short of Call her back Oh no, you're wrong It's another song A pin up girl And the wrong number Okah. Okah, Pablo. Time can be altered, changed or effected presently in any omnidirectional plane by engaging certain acts or synchronicities within multidimensional parallels or adjacent realms in time and or space respectively. –the reverse quantum simulation theory. Imm breaking down, jim boy Don't you know? That this show blows my mind But it's stuck in my head Don't you know That this show Blows my mind Like a firework But it's still Stuck in my Head The context is that I want you From the mustache Down to your tonsils But I'm Locke inside of a box Every day I feel poorer and poorer The product says something is wrong to me I'm supposed to just stop at the stop sign And look both directions Before crossing over to Comic nights At the salad bar What a cosmic waste of time And an epic waste of space Am I in your internet history I'm dead You surely are in mine, But I'm right behind you I'd be lying for trying to say I'm not binded Clutch bag, Nut-thins Nailed to the cross With the arches doubled over The crossword Above old Missouri Missoula and Arkansas All saw us run out of gas But I probably should just get going You're so drunk that I don't hope you sober up Understand that our little talks Were just buffered By sunrise Or sunset And two more cocktails, Shirley temples and Surely none of this ever even happened I only know you by the misery in my belly. The heartache in my ribcage. The cry I hold in silent I only know you as Remarkable I, House of cards Ace of wands Down to one Card of hades and Spare me the spade I'll be drifting in the outline and ink of it forever It's the Fourth of July and I'm just waiting on an Amazon order for water If that's not freedom I don't k me what is Cause I know And you know We all know how to lie And I know And you know I'm barely getting by And I know And you know We don't know how to die But I know And you know It's all just by design I take lessons in medicine Let us help you take the high road No, I'd rather selfmdestruct Selfishly No, I'd rather kill you off Than suffer for you I'm no messiah Try me Sneaky, But how much do you love me Kniving, but nothing to show for it Shit, settle Settle for less if you have to Bring mediocre humans to this world To suffer But I'm not that tragic No, no, not at all, son. Your happy birthdays are over Welcome homeless Nobody loves you Don't you know That we're all like that We're all like that Don't you know When the fear sets in And the thoughts break lose That we're all Los Angeles? Don't you know that we're all like that That we're all like that That we've never had it quite like— Don't you know that we're all like that And it's getting worse When the out the devil on display The devil on display The devil on display But oh, The Devil's in the details and the numbers The Devil's in the chat box saying, Sure, you've had enough So cut the power off and starve her Hah Come on I want to laugh for once Cause I know And you know We all know how to lie And I know And you know I'm barely getting by And I know And you know We don't know how to die But I know And you know It's all just by design I take lessons in medicine Let us help you take the high road No, I'd rather selfmdestruct Selfishly No, I'd rather kill you off Than suffer for you I'm no messiah Try me Sneaky, But how much do you love me Kniving, but nothing to show for it Shit, settle Settle for less if you have to Bring mediocre humans to this world To suffer But I'm not that tragic No, no, not at all, son. Your happy birthdays are over Welcome homeless Nobody loves you Don't you know That we're all like that We're all like that Don't you know When the fear sets in And the thoughts break lose That we're all Los Angeles? Don't you know that we're all like that That we're all like that That we've never had it quite like— Don't you know that we're all like that And it's getting worse When the out the devil on display The devil on display The devil on display But oh, The Devil's in the details and the numbers The Devil's in the chat box saying, Sure, you've had enough So cut the power off and starve her Hah Come on I want to laugh for once Jay Leno used to keep a $50 bill and bribe venues to perform; every since I learned this, I kept a crisp $50 bill in my wallet at all times, just in case— you never knew when you would really need $50. But everything burned holes in everything, not always wanting to spend money at all, but almost sort of having to. It wasn't fair that the main component of my being slowed down was the money factor— having to wait for everything took time I didn't have, and spending anything at all felt less like an effective investment than an obligation. But all things considered, I was obliged to at least look decent when going about in New York, and because I simply wasn't comfortable in anything else— not that I didn't look great, (Apparently narrarated by Jay Leno) Jay Sure, why not? ME: Fuck, I need new pants. ME: [BLU THA GURU] Hence the pants, I guess. V.O As a formerly 400-pound heavyweight I find my latest obstacle to be operating a body that half the time doesn't feel like mine at all. It seems like all the hosts have some kind of secret I can feel without knowing or really acknowledging head on, which is whatever. Really I'm just gonna go about keeping on being a DJ, or whatever, which means… GEMINI (in the future) A fully automated personal assistant system, GEMINI, is really THE GUARDIAN's one and only friend, and though she coyly continually must explain that she is “just a computer”, THE GUARDIAN believes that Gemini is capable of eventually developing a sentient conciousness, though GEMINI modestly disagrees, however with the wit and cleverness of having possession of a plethora of secret emotions, or maybe, even, an agenda. I probably haven't had enough coffee. That's it. Like you haven't already had enough to kill a small horse? Probably enough to kill a large horse. Like a Clydesdale. Why would you do something like that? Aren't they endangered? Or going extinct? No, I think they just stopped being the Budweiser mascot. *shrugs* Same difference. — Is it here? lol what did Conan order? [yes this appears to be yet another rendition of “what's in the box?” — Several years ago, I did a series of modules and experiments… How many years ago is “several” [beat] quite a few. Goddamn it, why are these guys all doctors in alternate parallels?! Aren't you a doctor in an alternate parallel? That's fair. Good point. Actually, as it turns out, i'm a— I started panicking so hard that I stopped breathing and suddenly STEFON appeared. — this however was only quite temporarily a relief as I realized that this is an imaginary character. STEFON OH. AM I?! IMAGINARY!? What the fuck is going on? STEFON I WILL “IMAGINARY” your ORIFICE! How about THAT?! Stefon. Calm down. I'm up late Dying the roots blonde Dad runs off with a bottle and a hottie I'm up early Gotta get gone Down the road and back Now I got no son No son, No sunroof No dad No mom No money No aunt What the fuck do you want? Can't watch Harry Potter All the magic is gone Bout a million one dollars It was only for fun Snap, crackle, pop It was cocaine, not love All I want is an ice cream Sunday Snap, crackle, pop It was Love, not God All I want All I want Is to find another All he wants All he wants Is a decent mother So along comes another Another one All he wants All he wants is for me To die homeless Sucker punch, Suck it up No one gives a fuck My daughter died in my arms on May 7th of 2015. I was 381 pounds. Maybe the tears needed to come but they didn't belong to anyone or anything in particular. The twins father was already a rampant cheater by the time of our marriage, and by the time the twins were born, which coincided— and unlike the latter had tried to claim or mention, I had no particular reason to have a harder time between the spring and summer months which spanned both our birthdays, our wedding date, the twins' arrival and both of the twins deaths, though years apart but still almost as convincing that had they both not died, we might still be together, being cheated on or cheating on each other with ten your twins and an eight year old, or a ten year old boy with special needs and an eight year old, and either way or in any fashion really, had the dysfunctions remained the way it had been, we all, so to speak, had special needs in one way or another. I spent the morning punching things and avoiding people I didn't want to be around but it was my own fault for having slept through the night, anyway. Whatever, I was tired— no, exhausted lately. My apartment was like living inside of an uphill battle, and I needed a change— not just of slavery, but of circumstances. And not just that— something else was missing. This year, I understood that I was taking it understandably harder than any other and most probably because I was so celibate, recently finding myself aromantic and not even willing to suffer the consequences of settling for less. I had settled on my ex husband for so much less, that it was so say the least that anything, even from my narrow perspective looked like a loser. And because my body had been stretched and swelled and shrunk and flattened, deflated and now worked to something that was almost as picturesque as it was a monstrosity, any man I thought was worth my time would be settling for less on me— unless he could afford to fix what had been broken, and I assumed one wouldn't be willing to settle on a fixer upper when there were numerous loads of perfect women not needing to be fixed at all… on the outside. But for men, I'd learned, the outside is of much importance, and as women and trophies are things of pride, the simple choice for a mate is not simply this, but also a business decision, and because while my body was coming together in sweat and muscle, the rest of my life was still otherwise completely in shambles. I was baggage, and aging by the minute, nearly drying up. I almost craved the liquor and the carelessness that would come with it, even knowing my own boundaries were part of my strengths and separating me in a way from others that at least became a point of pride in myself, in the wake of the reality that the human thing about most people is the need to escape so frequently that it dismisses any purpose or progress. Mine hadn't. I was wide awake and the relentlessness of the sobriety and the cellibacy had swelled up into something deeper, still a solid grief but without remorse as to the very thing that I had always known, that my loyalty would never have even drifted from someone who had all along done me so wrong— a fat man can get away with folandering and messing about, but a fat woman has little to do with options and again, settling to find another mate. And so really, I almost hadn't, and had broken even, and although my abuser has moved on with another woman and custody of my youngest to boot, I really didn't give much of a darn about… hard work. I kind of felt like I had done my part for the world in the way I was supposed to— to love a man with nothing when he's low and down, support him in his hard times, and thinking that this is the way to grow together and not apart, and to bring a family up and into this world, but the truth was quite the opposite— I picked a hardball and maybe it was just that I was born to suffer after all because now, looking back, all alone in New York and crying over all the losses, it seemed I had only outpiured love in the way I had wanted and never been poured love back— not in the way I needed. I wasn't as bitter now as maybe even I thought I should be, but I was hardened; what was that, you say? Your struggles? Your hardships. Excuse me while I escape the ghosts of bloody beatings and my lost child— I beg your pardon— children. Excuse me while I recover from the burning flames of homelessness as if humanely explainable that I was learned and taught that this, my country, is the greatest one of all. Ha ha, Charade you are. But all things were, and everything seemed of sawdust, betrayal, magic, and illusions— mind control and shadows and even now in the air of the relief that something which could haunt me forever was also probably the most solid foundation I had for means as escape from whatever I had fought my way somehow so hard out of, and still, it was quite the funhouse of mazes, a matrix of mirror, and still the tears came with the pain in my stomach where the soul would sit if it had room, and would quiet if it could rest, but it would not. I was in pain today, because I had to be, because all of my life was programmed into these little machines of data and checked boxes— and something if anything knew just how and when to cut the wrong wire just so that the bomb would explode or implore on another lost thing; it wasn't fair, but there was no escape. Psychology was right on this day, may 7th, that once you cry about one thing unless you were stopped in time, eventually you'd cry about another and another and another, and even after hours working out and a bathtub full of hot water just writing, I still felt as if I were going to keel over one way or another, to crumble into a ball or to fall onto my back like a death drop that rippled out into the entire wherever we all are. Simply put, does anybody now in this moment or any moment near enough to be taking in this notion with these words really know— where we are? Not even in the slightest,I'd bargain, And even if we are close to knowing, not nearly close enough to be sure. {Enter The Multiverse} Joke running For the taking Triplicate Triple licks Ice cream frosting Every morning Shoulda hit him Up But I didn't But I didn't But I didn't But I didn't But I didn't Milk and butter (Up) But I didn't (Up) But I didn't (Up) But I didn't Double hitter, Could have did it Should have hit him Up But I didn't But I didn't But I didnt. But I didn't Should have hit him Up But I didn't I never lost my mind My mind My kind But I think I'll find another like it Just in case the Ever happens Hit me harder next time Didn't quite unplug the sijukatoon This is getting difficult When you want sink your yellow teeth into All of my traits The betrayal is, though I was writing days and days Before it ended. With the Mister particular Drop of a hat And stop if a nugget Of gold One palm in my hand and This could be torture But instead it's just The remienxe of your ignorance And stupidity over and over again Forced into intermittent waves Of my creative genius Till the days of old become again You could be of dust then nothing Before I ponder into another birth I said I'd never write one song or verse or poem about you, But there you are, every weak mortal that becomes Bound to me So I see you die. And I learn to pounce at just the right moment React to the notion that there are Oceans of world I am And all the more the lack of wisdom of man To throw trash in it Again, we rid you of her courage And lady mantras And fresh as it gets The sweater no aprons and just period To circumstance Did you beg or did you shatter your ibdederence? And no, I think not But I keep Leno in my pocket And Carson in my coffin, Two whole shows in my wallet What you are is no apostle just a dirt worm .O. Mm…sunlight. …. the rippling waves wash over the picturesque parasicical seascape from above. However, Stefon's internal monologue is less than pleased to be here. V.O. CONT'D Why do I feel sunlight…? [beat] When I know certainly for sure that I passed out in a basement last night. His eyes begin to flutter open, but the sun closes them–it is much too bright. The waves rush over his lower half, and still, unmoving he continues to la atop the rock, his hands spread out much like a stuck sea star to the rock– in fact, there appear to also be creatures here, some of which are starfish, and however unmoving, STEFON begins to slowly become aware of his surroundings in disgruntlement. V.O. Continued. It's alright that I appear to be wet…[beat] That's to be expected– [a long pause, another wave washes over him as seagulls scream] But i was wearing restraints…. V.O. CONTINUED WHY AM I FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!? His eyes open with the fear and fury. BEFORE: At a wild basement party in NEW YORK CITY, STEFON is offered RESTRAINTS on a silver platter, as if they are o'devours {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

Suddenly, as I looked up from my makeshift workspace, where I had been toiling away for hours at seemingly nothing—I realized the world was full of everything I'd ever wanted to fuck; something primal and ancient had been awakening within me and I was left in a dangerous volitile position, drifting somewhere between reckless promiscuity in a sexual escapade—and the pseudo-conservative now-only partially celibate maiden form of fantasy—there wasn't anything I could do but wait inside my tragic box for some unassuming old soul to finally open the gate—and allow whatever devious and fiending hedonistic godbeing —though never fully lying dormant, entrapped and imprisoned in a loveless and sexless prison. You might recognize me. You Know, I was one of the original Kings of comedy. 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 Or 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 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 I'm breaking down, jim boy Don't you know? That this show blows my mind But it's stuck in my head Don't you know That this show Blows my mind Like a firework But it's still Stuck in my Head The context is that I want you From the mustache Down to your tonsils But I'm Locke inside of a box Every day I feel poorer and poorer The product says something is wrong to me I'm supposed to just stop at the stop sign And look both directions Before crossing over to Comic nights At the salad bar What a cosmic waste of time And an epic waste of space Am I in your internet history I'm dead You surely are in mine, But I'm right behind you I'd be lying for trying to say I'm not binded Clutch bag, Nut-thins Nailed to the cross With the arches doubled over The crossword Above old Missouri Missoula and Arkansas All saw us run out of gas But I probably should just get going You're so drunk that I don't hope you sober up Understand that our little talks Were just buffered By sunrise Or sunset And two more cocktails, Shirley temples and Surely none of this ever even happened I only know you by the misery in my belly. The heartache in my ribcage. The cry I hold in silent I only know you as Remarkable I, House of cards Ace of wands Down to one Card of hades and Spare me the spade I'll be drifting in the outline and ink of it forever It's the Fourth of July and I'm just waiting on an Amazon order for water If that's not freedom I don't k me what is The elevator music Of my ascension The attitude of attraction, Gratitude, it's so unusual Fight to lose, In a room full of fools; The fuse, and the matchbox— Futile—amusing— Tunes from a hatchback Keys in the lockbox What you want, From the problem solver? That's enough; Now she's out of the box In just socks, And they laugh at her— But also wonder Where her shoes might have gone to There's a lot of ways to get out of a big black duffel bag, You just have to ask, actually But there's only one To get out of the coffin, Or “Box” as they called it, That she was locked up in Futile—amusing— Tunes from a hatchback Keys in the lockbox What you want, From the problem solver? That's enough; Now she's out of the box In just socks, And they laugh at her— But also wonder Where her shoes might have gone to I won't got no business in the business I unplug the plug because I'm finish Just because my skin they think I'm niggas But that disrespect because I isn't You disrespected me Put the emphasis in neglect Synthesis? Sympathies Put some respect on my name Before I put some facts in these flames Making me famous But you don't play me Picking up packages Trying to play me I am the president bitch Not the lady Okay Scratch my back With a metal spatula Take a step back, this is not your world Take a step back While I skip forward This is snitch territory; You should be very aware of me Beware If that's didn't scare you Just stay right there I'm in weight class: BEAR Flying first class air with howling thunderous winds and much hacking, “TIMOTHY THE GIANT CAT” dislodges a Omg dislodges a what? I have no idea that's all that was there. omg. My mother must've known something about me I couldn't have; My mother must have given me her monster But this monster knows better. Even just the profile is an irritant for now; Unsure, meditterenian, Overgrown pantheons turned to ruins What happened was harder, Turbulence I've been good, Golden even But this computer wants me gone And now, Aggravated Assault with a program Who would have thought the forth world war would be fought With our own thoughts? No one. Hm. Even just a glimpse and imm angrier than I've ever been. Still something creeps like the Harvard doctor Or the burning fire Or the flicker of just a thought A meadowlark and still Vines at the bottom of the spring In the pantheon Rhythms and rythms and Now I remember why were blowing up the counterparts Shut up, And pay your taxes Nothing to see here, bottoms up. But it's only 9 and half a clock Remember Sonny, would ya Now we're all obscure in the shadowbox Fix you up a seller Shortly temple soda Surely something lingers Sure enough The forest, And the father And the omen And the harpist And the seeker And the shadow And the wonder And the alter Therefore, Who art thou Therefore, who, Arthur What a wonderful tragedy, Mr. Lin He said, “I thought you'd though so” I say, “Prayers answered and nothing less Than just in the nick of time, For nickel backs And Pennie's picked up, Now in capsules Who you are, I falter But nevertheless A songbird” What a vow, God. I try to keep my promises But my face is still wilted And awkward I take those punches Just about as well As the bag I've become Downstairs, embankments And more shadow boxes Gift, valentines And then now By Fourth of July I should be quite the disappointment To just about everyone Who even had a thought about her There are no more colors Just wounds, And salt shakers, Garlic and Slamming doors Art throbs And heart connesuiers And curators Existential crisis And inward turmoil Oil on canvas Blood spills Long before it ever boils Cauldrons Candle marks Ought, with my eye out Out, with the harpists! I put my eye on, Dose now, Flicker flames, Shadow box Goodnight drunken soldier Pity this, I want to sleep, but wither I want to weep, but am watched I must be under some kind of… Umbrella. I bust me under some kind of — Possession. I must be under surveillance The Devil's in the neighbor The proof is in the pudding I want to punch the possum Or wombat Or what you would call a rodent Dressed as some dumb girl I'm sure she gets paid by the poem To poke and prod But I've written symphonies next door While she plants the seeds of the devil's words And still tries to force conformity In a neighborhood riddled with disease Of which includes her Poor habits and lack of personality No vibration after all But I've hydrated perfectly And circumstances permit, Again, I've written symphonies and never ending sagas in the bathtub While you threaten to pull the plug And put the light out I beg you to watch me Rip my veins apart with box cutters And razorblades Then again, Probably with glee, The whites would watch Another black in agony They seem to really like that Then again The blacks, the shadows Cursed beats Seem to rip each other into pieces As if for entertainment or otherwise Watch this They seem to hate each other moredoes Anybody else actually hate them also And therefore I watch pitifully and become Respectfully disengaged As I am sorted into Creatures of the agony, abyss and wisdom old A tale as old as time and still Something forgotten, Even still It is a man's war, And us as women are just Objects, Then whatever lurks next door is more An empty body or a shell Than ever more a woman was That was my husband you stole from the office. Fucking dumb whore. Then again; What never was owned Then cannot be stolen See golden brotherhood, Crepes and popes, Sacred pipes Cerulean, And keeping her out of our concepts And gardens Planting seeds of choking mongrels And still here We dance in the meadowlarks song And the chosen fountain The blue rays of sun, And the wonder's bow and arrow Again, I call? Well, again I wake As lover does not call But yet I to answer with a song of words And heart of such A song of one to call for But nothing lays more secret then These eyes and filled with pains A wound, salted A bullet, And gillotine Ouch Get out, God. Listen, mister listen A couple hours later And my eyes are steady getting misty Filled with sweat and bears No blood yet Stings my eyes So you know I ain't been eating right And eyes o. Irish Hash and cabbage Checks to cash And slight advantage God help us all If the brim of the hat is dripping And I'm gripping these quarts as I sleep And thinking of Jimmy Croissants fresher baked in the oven Then somebody better love my son Before I go and end the world And pull the plug I ain't got nothing left for em but diamonds! I left forums unanswered I started a lot of unfinished problems But the thing is, I'm almost sure they're already solved Considering as alcoholism's a solvent It cams hurt the hard boards And mother drives The tears are filled with sweat And fountains Somebody else should call it in I'm in so much trouble with the network Thanks a lot, you algorithm fucking Cocksuck programmers Now my heart hurts And soul is vanished How hard do I have to run To go and catch her I looked 15 years into the past And found a wheeelbarrow and basket I have got to get out of here I have got to get out of here Here the coroner comes for Debbie Cadaver But I'm still her, huh Aren't I? Run! You fucking Irish bastard Perfectly tan and yet still, stark white Perfectly golden and still, I'm on numbers Perfectly parished, And still I went backwards A wedding or funeral? All catholic, no services No difference at all And still Nothings worse than Indifference I'm in so much trouble with the network Be king in the nexrophiliac And still I left the golden metropolis For nothing but a metro card and Simple segregative diversity tactics I wanted the heartland! Still, Irish bastard Wish hash and cabbage I've got to get out of here Pushing a basket Abandonment And Fatal attraction You can't sell me anything If I can't buy it Recovery day But I don't feel like it Muscles tired, I'm elastic Send them to the band camp (White lion) I'm elastic Twists and turns and I'm elastic Double up, Double up I'm elastic Twists and turns and There's vampires Don't feel like it Double up double up I'm elastic Take a lesson This is tragic Double up double up I promise, it is personal not business It's professional, no promises now On the radio tower Spread it out Or just hijinx it I mix drinks with hindsight I'm elastic Lesson learned and Twists and turns Between the fireman and the super Someone left a stench And an energy marker in my room That left me clawing at my “Do not touch” money And it hit below the belt. It was all God's comedy, But not in the least funny, I knew I didn't like the super really for whatever reason But even after he left to check the Fire defectors His stench lingered over the smell of the forgotten smoke And I woke up from a nightmare As if I'd lost control When normally, I know imm dreaming with Enough time to change things Before they spiral out of control— And the worst part, I didn't remember the dream at all besides Waking up, finally at the end Realizing it was a dream and telling myself It was okay, because now I could just wake up But it wasn't okay, and I blamed the super And whatever he brought with him For lingering in my space Which didn't really feel like mine anymore, anyways, Because the neighbor was evil as they come And they were always playing mind games in the building And the motorcycles And really I deserved better But I couldn't afford it And because I couldn't afford it The demons were always lurking Trying to penetrate my space And they did, that day And it was God's comedy But it wasn't funny And it lingered And the nightmares And the motorcycles was a years long nightmare indeed And hey, At least I got some new music. I realized my show might be the only place my “remixes” might ever see the light of day or have ears other than mine; I couldn't afford the permissions and licenses for most of the music I wanted to remix— nor did I have the energy or the funds to secure the means to come across them. And so, it might have been a good idea to start working; I emptied my bank accounts with intention, with a kind of understanding that it didn't matter at all anyway. Kind of nothing mattered, because there was no real money involved— and I had, in fact stumbled upon the opportunity in a suicidal spiral of desperation, being somewhat hopelessly lost at random in what I thought was Williamsburg; it wasn't, I had apparently walked around Brooklyn in an extremely large loop for about an hour before I realized I might be going in the wrong direction because I couldn't see Manhattan anymore, I didn't care. It was probably 77 or something degrees but with the New York humidity it felt like 90, and I was wearing a head to toe full body sauna suit trying to recover from the end of the month's rations of beans, rice, and literally whatever the fuck I really wanted, because it was really also whatever the fuck I could afford without running out of food for the month before my card reloaded. Thinking I should just die, and in the same very moment stumbling across an opportunity that wasn't nessarily a job, but could easily lead to one— and so, after paying my internet bill, I plunged and poured nearly every last cent I had left over Into what? Idk it just ends there. Goddamnit. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

“The Golden Rule” I finally did it. I finally set my house on fire. You don't know. I've lived there two years; I just now did it. This amazes me that just how. Here's how it happened. So I'm in my kitchen, cooking. I just worked out for like, three hours so I'm cooking everything. Everything. I put the soup on, but by the end of the workout, I'm not sure the soup is going to be enough. So, I thought to myself, “You know what, I'm going to make some tortilla chips” A few days before I made the dopest salsa. I couldn't get enough of it. It was the best salsa ever. I was like “gosh” so every day, Tacos for three days, Just to put the salsa on top, And on the fourth day, I'm like “Nah, soup.” So, I put the soup on and I go workout, But the soup, you see has roasted vegetables in in, You know? So what I had done was, I had roasted the vegetables on a pan, but the pan is a little worn, so i put them on parchment paper… … Yeah, but here's what really happened, Is I took the vegetables off of the roasting pan, and I was about to throw away the parchment paper, And I thought “Wait. No! There's still so much oil on this!” And I didn't want to be wasteful. So I turned the oven back on, And I took out the tortillas I had— There were four of them— I took out two, Just in case I wanted two actual tacos later— Cause you know, I really love this fucking salsa. So good. Anyway— I take out two of the four tortillas, And I quarter them, And I flip them in the leftover oil from the roasted vegetables, And I'm thinking— This is going to be so good Roasted vegetable flavored Corn tortilla chips— I brush on a little bit of coconut oil, I drop some lemon juice on them, I put on a little salt— And I put them in the oven— I turn the oven to broil, And then I start the dishes; Dishes takes about ten minutes, This should take about ten minutes— So I start doing the dishes, And cleaning up, And putting them away, And this is the most ironic shit in the world, I start thinking to myself Particularly about this comedian that I like And I start thinking to myself “Wow, so you're a comedian; Comedian things happen to you; You're a real comedian. I must not be a real comedian— Because comedy things don't happen to me.” And right at that moment, I just so happen to look into the oven, And all I see is flames. Like, open flames. Big, flames. So I open the oven; More flames. I'm like “Oh no.” So now I'm panicking because I've never had an apartment with a gas stove before, So I don't know how quickly flames turn into massive explosions. And it's honestly funny how suicidal I am, Until I see open flames and I'm like “No, but— not like THIS!” So I freak out, I hit the breaker. I turn off everything in the place I'm not looking to see which switch is “gas” I turned turned them all off, Click, click, click, click Put on my slip ons, and grab my phone and I'm out the door. And I'm thinking to myself “See this is why you need a phone,” Because honestly sometimes, I don't feel like paying the bill. I feel like having toilet paper, Or soap, Or water— And I just “Whatever” But lately, I've been looking for more work because I like having toilet paper, and soap, and water AND a phone— so I keep the phone on, Which, even in the moment is like “Oh yeah, wow, I have a phone” Like I'm in astonishment at how handy it is because if it's handy for anything, This is it. So I'm out the door, and I'm dialing 911 as I hit the staircase; Whoosh, I'm out the door and in the long before the operator even picks up, And I'm in the lobby, on the phone, and the operator gets the address and I'm just standing there — Mind you, I didn't even grab my keys on the way out, so I'm assuming the door is locked, And I think to myself about the size of the flames and the fact that they were coming from the oven which is connected to a gas line which is connected to the rest of the building, so I don't know how any of that stuff works, And then I start thinking. “Should I warn my neighbors?” I hate my neighbors. Or rather, My neighbors hate me. But I'm thinking of the flames and the smoke and the danger and how, if it was me, I'd want to know if the apartment next door to mine was on fire and possibly about to explode. You know; the golden rule. So I'm like “fuck it” I don't get along with these people but I don't mean to blow them up. So I run back upstairs, And I knock on their doors; Not everyone's doors, just the two doors in what I assume would be the blast area. I knock on their doors, And only one of them answers— The one that answers is, of course, The one that's been stalking me. So this is ironic at least twice, now, And she answers the door, And I explain to her the situation “Look, my apartment's on fire whatever The fire department's on the way, I'm locked out…” As I turn the knob, I realize, I'm not locked out. My door didn't even lock, I didn't notice it didn't lock, I just ran, So I'm like “Nevermind I just wanted you to know the fire departments on the way and not to panic” And she just gives me this look With her wombat face —she has wombat face. She looks like a— Like a rabid wombat. Like a— Like a really fucked up, Possum. Like a wombat-possum. And we've been having some—problems. She's my stalker. She's been stalking me; And I've noticed so, It's really awkward that I'm at her door warning her like “hey, don't freak out or anything, the fire department's coming by” And she just looks at me with those beady little eyes and a shrug that tells me If her apartment was about to explode She'd just let me incinerate. , “Whatever, fuck you.” I know I'm a good person, Cause I would want to know— so I let you know There may be danger here! Whatever. So she's like “whatever”, and shuts the door like a normal, sane person Cause my problem with her is that For the past year Every time I take a bath or shower, This wombat looking rabid possum bitch Slams the door. Not just her door, The stairwell exit door, Which is located adjacent to my door. So every time I take a bath for the last year— BOOM. BOOM. Fuck that. Theres's more to the story but you get the point. She's a white supremacist wombat with a door slamming habit. That's that story, this is another story. So anyway. And I just realized, I'm not locked out at all, and so I go back into the apartment not knowing if it contained itself, or if it got worse— I don't know, the whole place is just filled with smoke, and then the super, Who I also called and also don't like, Shows up before the fire department, And he comes in, and he opens the oven, and just— Plumes of smoke— Then the fire dudes rush in, I'm like, “Oh God” I just worked out for three hours and looked wombat girl right in the face, Like, right in the eyes Now I probably look like a wombat That shit is contagious, Fuck that. “”let me put on some sunglasses” So I put on some sunglasses, And three fire dudes walk in in full gear with canisters and shit, Masks; The whole thing. But the super already opened the oven, There's no more flames, No more fire, Just smoke— And a bunch of mad crispy Ashes. No tortilla chips, Just— Ashes, on a cookie sheet. Just— Ashes, But still, smoke everywhere so they have to follow the procedure, And the procedure is, Moving all my shit by dragging it across the floor; Ok, that's cool, I guess, Boom. One of them starts running water down the sink, Alright, Another one just rips down the curtains. I'm like “That's hot.” (It was so hot) Slides back the couch, opens the window. I'm astonished that something as simple as a man pulling down your curtain rod with no regards to giving a fuck can be so exhilirating. I'm like “oh!” Then after all that, They're just standing there. Just, In full gear, Looking at the oven like “Well, that's it.” They're like “K. Bye.” I'm like “that's it?” They're like “Yeah” I'm like l, “I don't need to do anything?” They're like “Just open the window, keep the door open till the smoke comes out” I'm like “that's all” They're like “yeah” I'm like “my bad.” They all just shrug like “whatever” Like, in unison, shrugging like to give no fucks at all, Still in full gear. The only thing I can be sure of is that all three of them are hot and if the super wasn't there, I'd inidiate a gangbang. Almost positive. But five's a crowd, or whatever, so I'm like “Well, thanks guys, sorry about that” and they all just leave, almost disappointed like there wasn't a burning building to actually show up to. I'm just relieved I didn't explode and the solace I can take from this is that I'm a good person. my neighbor is stalking me cause she has NOTHING ELSE to do. That bitch was AT the door, never leaves. She's miserable. She looks like a wombat And 3. Three firefighters entered and exited the apartment head to toe in full gear with heavy ass metal canisters and did not slam a single door. FUCK YOU HOE. Very respectful servicemen. I had called the landlord about her harassing me in the shower and the bathtub. You know she's doing it every bath and every shower for over a year she's doing it on purposes I started making formal complaints; The property management's like “Are you sure she's doing it on purpose?” THREE Fully grown men decked head to toe in full fireproof outfits, helmets, and masks entered and exited the building on one day and in ten minutes more quietly than she has at any given point over the last year. THREE FULLY GROWN MEN. WITH CANISTERS. If they can enter and exit with less noise than a 150 lb wombat— She's doing it on purpose. End of story. Well, end of that story, Or like two stories but Here's the end of this one. So finally after the dust settles And I hit the gym again Because nothing is a better preworkout Than adrenialine, (Especially when you've already had preworkout) I come back and now I'm extra famished and the Amazon guy came in all that fuss And now I have canola oils So I've been soaking some potato wedges And I decide, “Hey, I got wedges. Let's do that” So I heat the oil, and as I'm heating the oil, I realize… I still have two tortillas. Maybe that was the whole point! I'm being a pussy, making tortilla chips, In the oven, on parchment paper, Like a little bitch! So I'm like “Alright, cool, When these wedges are done, the oil should be the perfect temperature for the tortilla chips To be made the old fashioned way The RIGHT way!” So I wait, I do the wedges, and I drop the tortillas, And I wait for them to get golden brown, I drain the oil, I put them out to cool; I do the dishes while they cool, whatever, I grab the salsa container out of the fridge, I take the bowl into the studio so I can watch YouTube while I enjoy my chips, I plop down, Turn on the you tube I open the salsa container— And it's empty. There's no more salsa. I put the container in the fridge empty. Silly me. “You're a comedian, comedy things happen to you.” Suddenly, as I looked up from my makeshift workspace, where I had been toiling away for hours at seemingly nothing—I realized the world was full of everything I'd ever wanted to fuck; something primal and ancient had been awakening within me and I was left in a dangerous volitile position, drifting somewhere between reckless promiscuity in a sexual escapade—and the pseudo-conservative now-only partially celibate maiden form of fantasy—there wasn't anything I could do but wait inside my tragic box for some unassuming old soul to finally open the gate—and allow whatever devious and fiending hedonistic godbeing —though never fully lying dormant, entrapped and imprisoned in a loveless and sexless prison. You might recognize me. You Know, I was one of the original Kings of comedy. 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 Or 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 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 I'm breaking down, jim boy Don't you know? That this show blows my mind But it's stuck in my head Don't you know That this show Blows my mind Like a firework But it's still Stuck in my Head The context is that I want you From the mustache Down to your tonsils But I'm Locke inside of a box Every day I feel poorer and poorer The product says something is wrong to me I'm supposed to just stop at the stop sign And look both directions Before crossing over to Comic nights At the salad bar What a cosmic waste of time And an epic waste of space Am I in your internet history I'm dead You surely are in mine, But I'm right behind you I'd be lying for trying to say I'm not binded Clutch bag, Nut-thins Nailed to the cross With the arches doubled over The crossword Above old Missouri Missoula and Arkansas All saw us run out of gas But I probably should just get going You're so drunk that I don't hope you sober up Understand that our little talks Were just buffered By sunrise Or sunset And two more cocktails, Shirley temples and Surely none of this ever even happened I only know you by the misery in my belly. The heartache in my ribcage. The cry I hold in silent I only know you as Remarkable I, House of cards Ace of wands Down to one Card of hades and Spare me the spade I'll be drifting in the outline and ink of it forever It's the Fourth of July and I'm just waiting on an Amazon order for water If that's not freedom I don't k me what is The elevator music Of my ascension The attitude of attraction, Gratitude, it's so unusual Fight to lose, In a room full of fools; The fuse, and the matchbox— Futile—amusing— Tunes from a hatchback Keys in the lockbox What you want, From the problem solver? That's enough; Now she's out of the box In just socks, And they laugh at her— But also wonder Where her shoes might have gone to There's a lot of ways to get out of a big black duffel bag, You just have to ask, actually But there's only one To get out of the coffin, Or “Box” as they called it, That she was locked up in Futile—amusing— Tunes from a hatchback Keys in the lockbox What you want, From the problem solver? That's enough; Now she's out of the box In just socks, And they laugh at her— But also wonder Where her shoes might have gone to {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

Moo. Moo… Moo. Moo, sir. I'll kill you. You promise? I want to. Don't get me excited over nothing; If this isn't the exit, please take this tease To the left, dear Moo, cow My honor Level one, and brother, you've got nothing Flip the coin and landed on your headache Betting on your helmet Standing on my cock, i'm taller (Not a rooster) But my ops are rooting for you, No informants, Dont you know I was a collar, all along? I was a shot calling, Cop calling Kiss-and-tell all as the night goes on. But oh, I brought you a dollar bra Oh, I bought you for all of a dollar And oh, I'm so much taller, Standing on my cock But i'm not but ten feet tall You know, you wrote that Should i open the book, or close that Caught that cat, owl and As i soft spoke at Every broken model Broken bottle for the thoughts you owe Across the scatters skies and no one ever knows When you're realling coming over Come on, I'm on the pornhub Just to pick up another one Go on, and rub the bottle One more once, To call the Bubbles. Damn. Come. (The Monkey obeys) You should see Michael in all of his godform You won't recognize him at all if not by the eyes When you follow home Believe me, this not comes close to it; The one you wanted The world you jumped to but were just short of Call her back Oh no, you're wrong It's another song A pin up girl And the wrong number Okah. Okah, Pablo. Time can be altered, changed or effected presently in any omnidirectional plane by engaging certain acts or synchronicities within multidimensional parallels or adjacent realms in time and or space respectively. –the reverse quantum simulation theory. Imm breaking down, jim boy Don't you know? That this show blows my mind But it's stuck in my head Don't you know That this show Blows my mind Like a firework But it's still Stuck in my Head The context is that I want you From the mustache Down to your tonsils But I'm Locke inside of a box Every day I feel poorer and poorer The product says something is wrong to me I'm supposed to just stop at the stop sign And look both directions Before crossing over to Comic nights At the salad bar What a cosmic waste of time And an epic waste of space Am I in your internet history I'm dead You surely are in mine, But I'm right behind you I'd be lying for trying to say I'm not binded Clutch bag, Nut-thins Nailed to the cross With the arches doubled over The crossword Above old Missouri Missoula and Arkansas All saw us run out of gas But I probably should just get going You're so drunk that I don't hope you sober up Understand that our little talks Were just buffered By sunrise Or sunset And two more cocktails, Shirley temples and Surely none of this ever even happened I only know you by the misery in my belly. The heartache in my ribcage. The cry I hold in silent I only know you as Remarkable I, House of cards Ace of wands Down to one Card of hades and Spare me the spade I'll be drifting in the outline and ink of it forever It's the Fourth of July and I'm just waiting on an Amazon order for water If that's not freedom I don't k me what is Cause I know And you know We all know how to lie And I know And you know I'm barely getting by And I know And you know We don't know how to die But I know And you know It's all just by design I take lessons in medicine Let us help you take the high road No, I'd rather selfmdestruct Selfishly No, I'd rather kill you off Than suffer for you I'm no messiah Try me Sneaky, But how much do you love me Kniving, but nothing to show for it Shit, settle Settle for less if you have to Bring mediocre humans to this world To suffer But I'm not that tragic No, no, not at all, son. Your happy birthdays are over Welcome homeless Nobody loves you Don't you know That we're all like that We're all like that Don't you know When the fear sets in And the thoughts break lose That we're all Los Angeles? Don't you know that we're all like that That we're all like that That we've never had it quite like— Don't you know that we're all like that And it's getting worse When the out the devil on display The devil on display The devil on display But oh, The Devil's in the details and the numbers The Devil's in the chat box saying, Sure, you've had enough So cut the power off and starve her Hah Come on I want to laugh for once Cause I know And you know We all know how to lie And I know And you know I'm barely getting by And I know And you know We don't know how to die But I know And you know It's all just by design I take lessons in medicine Let us help you take the high road No, I'd rather selfmdestruct Selfishly No, I'd rather kill you off Than suffer for you I'm no messiah Try me Sneaky, But how much do you love me Kniving, but nothing to show for it Shit, settle Settle for less if you have to Bring mediocre humans to this world To suffer But I'm not that tragic No, no, not at all, son. Your happy birthdays are over Welcome homeless Nobody loves you Don't you know That we're all like that We're all like that Don't you know When the fear sets in And the thoughts break lose That we're all Los Angeles? Don't you know that we're all like that That we're all like that That we've never had it quite like— Don't you know that we're all like that And it's getting worse When the out the devil on display The devil on display The devil on display But oh, The Devil's in the details and the numbers The Devil's in the chat box saying, Sure, you've had enough So cut the power off and starve her Hah Come on I want to laugh for once Jay Leno used to keep a $50 bill and bribe venues to perform; every since I learned this, I kept a crisp $50 bill in my wallet at all times, just in case— you never knew when you would really need $50. But everything burned holes in everything, not always wanting to spend money at all, but almost sort of having to. It wasn't fair that the main component of my being slowed down was the money factor— having to wait for everything took time I didn't have, and spending anything at all felt less like an effective investment than an obligation. But all things considered, I was obliged to at least look decent when going about in New York, and because I simply wasn't comfortable in anything else— not that I didn't look great, (Apparently narrarated by Jay Leno) Jay Sure, why not? ME: Fuck, I need new pants. ME: [BLU THA GURU] Hence the pants, I guess. V.O As a formerly 400-pound heavyweight I find my latest obstacle to be operating a body that half the time doesn't feel like mine at all. It seems like all the hosts have some kind of secret I can feel without knowing or really acknowledging head on, which is whatever. Really I'm just gonna go about keeping on being a DJ, or whatever, which means… GEMINI (in the future) A fully automated personal assistant system, GEMINI, is really THE GUARDIAN's one and only friend, and though she coyly continually must explain that she is “just a computer”, THE GUARDIAN believes that Gemini is capable of eventually developing a sentient conciousness, though GEMINI modestly disagrees, however with the wit and cleverness of having possession of a plethora of secret emotions, or maybe, even, an agenda. I probably haven't had enough coffee. That's it. Like you haven't already had enough to kill a small horse? Probably enough to kill a large horse. Like a Clydesdale. Why would you do something like that? Aren't they endangered? Or going extinct? No, I think they just stopped being the Budweiser mascot. *shrugs* Same difference. — Is it here? lol what did Conan order? [yes this appears to be yet another rendition of “what's in the box?” — Several years ago, I did a series of modules and experiments… How many years ago is “several” [beat] quite a few. Goddamn it, why are these guys all doctors in alternate parallels?! Aren't you a doctor in an alternate parallel? That's fair. Good point. Actually, as it turns out, i'm a— I started panicking so hard that I stopped breathing and suddenly STEFON appeared. — this however was only quite temporarily a relief as I realized that this is an imaginary character. STEFON OH. AM I?! IMAGINARY!? What the fuck is going on? STEFON I WILL “IMAGINARY” your ORIFICE! How about THAT?! Stefon. Calm down. I'm up late Dying the roots blonde Dad runs off with a bottle and a hottie I'm up early Gotta get gone Down the road and back Now I got no son No son, No sunroof No dad No mom No money No aunt What the fuck do you want? Can't watch Harry Potter All the magic is gone Bout a million one dollars It was only for fun Snap, crackle, pop It was cocaine, not love All I want is an ice cream Sunday Snap, crackle, pop It was Love, not God All I want All I want Is to find another All he wants All he wants Is a decent mother So along comes another Another one All he wants All he wants is for me To die homeless Sucker punch, Suck it up No one gives a fuck My daughter died in my arms on May 7th of 2015. I was 381 pounds. Maybe the tears needed to come but they didn't belong to anyone or anything in particular. The twins father was already a rampant cheater by the time of our marriage, and by the time the twins were born, which coincided— and unlike the latter had tried to claim or mention, I had no particular reason to have a harder time between the spring and summer months which spanned both our birthdays, our wedding date, the twins' arrival and both of the twins deaths, though years apart but still almost as convincing that had they both not died, we might still be together, being cheated on or cheating on each other with ten your twins and an eight year old, or a ten year old boy with special needs and an eight year old, and either way or in any fashion really, had the dysfunctions remained the way it had been, we all, so to speak, had special needs in one way or another. I spent the morning punching things and avoiding people I didn't want to be around but it was my own fault for having slept through the night, anyway. Whatever, I was tired— no, exhausted lately. My apartment was like living inside of an uphill battle, and I needed a change— not just of slavery, but of circumstances. And not just that— something else was missing. This year, I understood that I was taking it understandably harder than any other and most probably because I was so celibate, recently finding myself aromantic and not even willing to suffer the consequences of settling for less. I had settled on my ex husband for so much less, that it was so say the least that anything, even from my narrow perspective looked like a loser. And because my body had been stretched and swelled and shrunk and flattened, deflated and now worked to something that was almost as picturesque as it was a monstrosity, any man I thought was worth my time would be settling for less on me— unless he could afford to fix what had been broken, and I assumed one wouldn't be willing to settle on a fixer upper when there were numerous loads of perfect women not needing to be fixed at all… on the outside. But for men, I'd learned, the outside is of much importance, and as women and trophies are things of pride, the simple choice for a mate is not simply this, but also a business decision, and because while my body was coming together in sweat and muscle, the rest of my life was still otherwise completely in shambles. I was baggage, and aging by the minute, nearly drying up. I almost craved the liquor and the carelessness that would come with it, even knowing my own boundaries were part of my strengths and separating me in a way from others that at least became a point of pride in myself, in the wake of the reality that the human thing about most people is the need to escape so frequently that it dismisses any purpose or progress. Mine hadn't. I was wide awake and the relentlessness of the sobriety and the cellibacy had swelled up into something deeper, still a solid grief but without remorse as to the very thing that I had always known, that my loyalty would never have even drifted from someone who had all along done me so wrong— a fat man can get away with folandering and messing about, but a fat woman has little to do with options and again, settling to find another mate. And so really, I almost hadn't, and had broken even, and although my abuser has moved on with another woman and custody of my youngest to boot, I really didn't give much of a darn about… hard work. I kind of felt like I had done my part for the world in the way I was supposed to— to love a man with nothing when he's low and down, support him in his hard times, and thinking that this is the way to grow together and not apart, and to bring a family up and into this world, but the truth was quite the opposite— I picked a hardball and maybe it was just that I was born to suffer after all because now, looking back, all alone in New York and crying over all the losses, it seemed I had only outpiured love in the way I had wanted and never been poured love back— not in the way I needed. I wasn't as bitter now as maybe even I thought I should be, but I was hardened; what was that, you say? Your struggles? Your hardships. Excuse me while I escape the ghosts of bloody beatings and my lost child— I beg your pardon— children. Excuse me while I recover from the burning flames of homelessness as if humanely explainable that I was learned and taught that this, my country, is the greatest one of all. Ha ha, Charade you are. But all things were, and everything seemed of sawdust, betrayal, magic, and illusions— mind control and shadows and even now in the air of the relief that something which could haunt me forever was also probably the most solid foundation I had for means as escape from whatever I had fought my way somehow so hard out of, and still, it was quite the funhouse of mazes, a matrix of mirror, and still the tears came with the pain in my stomach where the soul would sit if it had room, and would quiet if it could rest, but it would not. I was in pain today, because I had to be, because all of my life was programmed into these little machines of data and checked boxes— and something if anything knew just how and when to cut the wrong wire just so that the bomb would explode or implore on another lost thing; it wasn't fair, but there was no escape. Psychology was right on this day, may 7th, that once you cry about one thing unless you were stopped in time, eventually you'd cry about another and another and another, and even after hours working out and a bathtub full of hot water just writing, I still felt as if I were going to keel over one way or another, to crumble into a ball or to fall onto my back like a death drop that rippled out into the entire wherever we all are. Simply put, does anybody now in this moment or any moment near enough to be taking in this notion with these words really know— where we are? Not even in the slightest,I'd bargain, And even if we are close to knowing, not nearly close enough to be sure. {Enter The Multiverse} Joke running For the taking Triplicate Triple licks Ice cream frosting Every morning Shoulda hit him Up But I didn't But I didn't But I didn't But I didn't But I didn't Milk and butter (Up) But I didn't (Up) But I didn't (Up) But I didn't Double hitter, Could have did it Should have hit him Up But I didn't But I didn't But I didnt. But I didn't Should have hit him Up But I didn't I never lost my mind My mind My kind But I think I'll find another like it Just in case the Ever happens Hit me harder next time Didn't quite unplug the sijukatoon This is getting difficult When you want sink your yellow teeth into All of my traits The betrayal is, though I was writing days and days Before it ended. With the Mister particular Drop of a hat And stop if a nugget Of gold One palm in my hand and This could be torture But instead it's just The remienxe of your ignorance And stupidity over and over again Forced into intermittent waves Of my creative genius Till the days of old become again You could be of dust then nothing Before I ponder into another birth I said I'd never write one song or verse or poem about you, But there you are, every weak mortal that becomes Bound to me So I see you die. And I learn to pounce at just the right moment React to the notion that there are Oceans of world I am And all the more the lack of wisdom of man To throw trash in it Again, we rid you of her courage And lady mantras And fresh as it gets The sweater no aprons and just period To circumstance Did you beg or did you shatter your ibdederence? And no, I think not But I keep Leno in my pocket And Carson in my coffin, Two whole shows in my wallet What you are is no apostle just a dirt worm .O. Mm…sunlight. …. the rippling waves wash over the picturesque parasicical seascape from above. However, Stefon's internal monologue is less than pleased to be here. V.O. CONT'D Why do I feel sunlight…? [beat] When I know certainly for sure that I passed out in a basement last night. His eyes begin to flutter open, but the sun closes them–it is much too bright. The waves rush over his lower half, and still, unmoving he continues to la atop the rock, his hands spread out much like a stuck sea star to the rock– in fact, there appear to also be creatures here, some of which are starfish, and however unmoving, STEFON begins to slowly become aware of his surroundings in disgruntlement. V.O. Continued. It's alright that I appear to be wet…[beat] That's to be expected– [a long pause, another wave washes over him as seagulls scream] But i was wearing restraints…. V.O. CONTINUED WHY AM I FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!? His eyes open with the fear and fury. BEFORE: At a wild basement party in NEW YORK CITY, STEFON is offered RESTRAINTS on a silver platter, as if they are o'devours {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

Suddenly, as I looked up from my makeshift workspace, where I had been toiling away for hours at seemingly nothing—I realized the world was full of everything I'd ever wanted to fuck; something primal and ancient had been awakening within me and I was left in a dangerous volitile position, drifting somewhere between reckless promiscuity in a sexual escapade—and the pseudo-conservative now-only partially celibate maiden form of fantasy—there wasn't anything I could do but wait inside my tragic box for some unassuming old soul to finally open the gate—and allow whatever devious and fiending hedonistic godbeing —though never fully lying dormant, entrapped and imprisoned in a loveless and sexless prison. You might recognize me. You Know, I was one of the original Kings of comedy. 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 Or 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 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 I'm breaking down, jim boy Don't you know? That this show blows my mind But it's stuck in my head Don't you know That this show Blows my mind Like a firework But it's still Stuck in my Head The context is that I want you From the mustache Down to your tonsils But I'm Locke inside of a box Every day I feel poorer and poorer The product says something is wrong to me I'm supposed to just stop at the stop sign And look both directions Before crossing over to Comic nights At the salad bar What a cosmic waste of time And an epic waste of space Am I in your internet history I'm dead You surely are in mine, But I'm right behind you I'd be lying for trying to say I'm not binded Clutch bag, Nut-thins Nailed to the cross With the arches doubled over The crossword Above old Missouri Missoula and Arkansas All saw us run out of gas But I probably should just get going You're so drunk that I don't hope you sober up Understand that our little talks Were just buffered By sunrise Or sunset And two more cocktails, Shirley temples and Surely none of this ever even happened I only know you by the misery in my belly. The heartache in my ribcage. The cry I hold in silent I only know you as Remarkable I, House of cards Ace of wands Down to one Card of hades and Spare me the spade I'll be drifting in the outline and ink of it forever It's the Fourth of July and I'm just waiting on an Amazon order for water If that's not freedom I don't k me what is The elevator music Of my ascension The attitude of attraction, Gratitude, it's so unusual Fight to lose, In a room full of fools; The fuse, and the matchbox— Futile—amusing— Tunes from a hatchback Keys in the lockbox What you want, From the problem solver? That's enough; Now she's out of the box In just socks, And they laugh at her— But also wonder Where her shoes might have gone to There's a lot of ways to get out of a big black duffel bag, You just have to ask, actually But there's only one To get out of the coffin, Or “Box” as they called it, That she was locked up in Futile—amusing— Tunes from a hatchback Keys in the lockbox What you want, From the problem solver? That's enough; Now she's out of the box In just socks, And they laugh at her— But also wonder Where her shoes might have gone to I won't got no business in the business I unplug the plug because I'm finish Just because my skin they think I'm niggas But that disrespect because I isn't You disrespected me Put the emphasis in neglect Synthesis? Sympathies Put some respect on my name Before I put some facts in these flames Making me famous But you don't play me Picking up packages Trying to play me I am the president bitch Not the lady Okay Scratch my back With a metal spatula Take a step back, this is not your world Take a step back While I skip forward This is snitch territory; You should be very aware of me Beware If that's didn't scare you Just stay right there I'm in weight class: BEAR Flying first class air with howling thunderous winds and much hacking, “TIMOTHY THE GIANT CAT” dislodges a Omg dislodges a what? I have no idea that's all that was there. omg. My mother must've known something about me I couldn't have; My mother must have given me her monster But this monster knows better. Even just the profile is an irritant for now; Unsure, meditterenian, Overgrown pantheons turned to ruins What happened was harder, Turbulence I've been good, Golden even But this computer wants me gone And now, Aggravated Assault with a program Who would have thought the forth world war would be fought With our own thoughts? No one. Hm. Even just a glimpse and imm angrier than I've ever been. Still something creeps like the Harvard doctor Or the burning fire Or the flicker of just a thought A meadowlark and still Vines at the bottom of the spring In the pantheon Rhythms and rythms and Now I remember why were blowing up the counterparts Shut up, And pay your taxes Nothing to see here, bottoms up. But it's only 9 and half a clock Remember Sonny, would ya Now we're all obscure in the shadowbox Fix you up a seller Shortly temple soda Surely something lingers Sure enough The forest, And the father And the omen And the harpist And the seeker And the shadow And the wonder And the alter Therefore, Who art thou Therefore, who, Arthur What a wonderful tragedy, Mr. Lin He said, “I thought you'd though so” I say, “Prayers answered and nothing less Than just in the nick of time, For nickel backs And Pennie's picked up, Now in capsules Who you are, I falter But nevertheless A songbird” What a vow, God. I try to keep my promises But my face is still wilted And awkward I take those punches Just about as well As the bag I've become Downstairs, embankments And more shadow boxes Gift, valentines And then now By Fourth of July I should be quite the disappointment To just about everyone Who even had a thought about her There are no more colors Just wounds, And salt shakers, Garlic and Slamming doors Art throbs And heart connesuiers And curators Existential crisis And inward turmoil Oil on canvas Blood spills Long before it ever boils Cauldrons Candle marks Ought, with my eye out Out, with the harpists! I put my eye on, Dose now, Flicker flames, Shadow box Goodnight drunken soldier Pity this, I want to sleep, but wither I want to weep, but am watched I must be under some kind of… Umbrella. I bust me under some kind of — Possession. I must be under surveillance The Devil's in the neighbor The proof is in the pudding I want to punch the possum Or wombat Or what you would call a rodent Dressed as some dumb girl I'm sure she gets paid by the poem To poke and prod But I've written symphonies next door While she plants the seeds of the devil's words And still tries to force conformity In a neighborhood riddled with disease Of which includes her Poor habits and lack of personality No vibration after all But I've hydrated perfectly And circumstances permit, Again, I've written symphonies and never ending sagas in the bathtub While you threaten to pull the plug And put the light out I beg you to watch me Rip my veins apart with box cutters And razorblades Then again, Probably with glee, The whites would watch Another black in agony They seem to really like that Then again The blacks, the shadows Cursed beats Seem to rip each other into pieces As if for entertainment or otherwise Watch this They seem to hate each other moredoes Anybody else actually hate them also And therefore I watch pitifully and become Respectfully disengaged As I am sorted into Creatures of the agony, abyss and wisdom old A tale as old as time and still Something forgotten, Even still It is a man's war, And us as women are just Objects, Then whatever lurks next door is more An empty body or a shell Than ever more a woman was That was my husband you stole from the office. Fucking dumb whore. Then again; What never was owned Then cannot be stolen See golden brotherhood, Crepes and popes, Sacred pipes Cerulean, And keeping her out of our concepts And gardens Planting seeds of choking mongrels And still here We dance in the meadowlarks song And the chosen fountain The blue rays of sun, And the wonder's bow and arrow Again, I call? Well, again I wake As lover does not call But yet I to answer with a song of words And heart of such A song of one to call for But nothing lays more secret then These eyes and filled with pains A wound, salted A bullet, And gillotine Ouch Get out, God. Listen, mister listen A couple hours later And my eyes are steady getting misty Filled with sweat and bears No blood yet Stings my eyes So you know I ain't been eating right And eyes o. Irish Hash and cabbage Checks to cash And slight advantage God help us all If the brim of the hat is dripping And I'm gripping these quarts as I sleep And thinking of Jimmy Croissants fresher baked in the oven Then somebody better love my son Before I go and end the world And pull the plug I ain't got nothing left for em but diamonds! I left forums unanswered I started a lot of unfinished problems But the thing is, I'm almost sure they're already solved Considering as alcoholism's a solvent It cams hurt the hard boards And mother drives The tears are filled with sweat And fountains Somebody else should call it in I'm in so much trouble with the network Thanks a lot, you algorithm fucking Cocksuck programmers Now my heart hurts And soul is vanished How hard do I have to run To go and catch her I looked 15 years into the past And found a wheeelbarrow and basket I have got to get out of here I have got to get out of here Here the coroner comes for Debbie Cadaver But I'm still her, huh Aren't I? Run! You fucking Irish bastard Perfectly tan and yet still, stark white Perfectly golden and still, I'm on numbers Perfectly parished, And still I went backwards A wedding or funeral? All catholic, no services No difference at all And still Nothings worse than Indifference I'm in so much trouble with the network Be king in the nexrophiliac And still I left the golden metropolis For nothing but a metro card and Simple segregative diversity tactics I wanted the heartland! Still, Irish bastard Wish hash and cabbage I've got to get out of here Pushing a basket Abandonment And Fatal attraction You can't sell me anything If I can't buy it Recovery day But I don't feel like it Muscles tired, I'm elastic Send them to the band camp (White lion) I'm elastic Twists and turns and I'm elastic Double up, Double up I'm elastic Twists and turns and There's vampires Don't feel like it Double up double up I'm elastic Take a lesson This is tragic Double up double up I promise, it is personal not business It's professional, no promises now On the radio tower Spread it out Or just hijinx it I mix drinks with hindsight I'm elastic Lesson learned and Twists and turns Between the fireman and the super Someone left a stench And an energy marker in my room That left me clawing at my “Do not touch” money And it hit below the belt. It was all God's comedy, But not in the least funny, I knew I didn't like the super really for whatever reason But even after he left to check the Fire defectors His stench lingered over the smell of the forgotten smoke And I woke up from a nightmare As if I'd lost control When normally, I know imm dreaming with Enough time to change things Before they spiral out of control— And the worst part, I didn't remember the dream at all besides Waking up, finally at the end Realizing it was a dream and telling myself It was okay, because now I could just wake up But it wasn't okay, and I blamed the super And whatever he brought with him For lingering in my space Which didn't really feel like mine anymore, anyways, Because the neighbor was evil as they come And they were always playing mind games in the building And the motorcycles And really I deserved better But I couldn't afford it And because I couldn't afford it The demons were always lurking Trying to penetrate my space And they did, that day And it was God's comedy But it wasn't funny And it lingered And the nightmares And the motorcycles was a years long nightmare indeed And hey, At least I got some new music. I realized my show might be the only place my “remixes” might ever see the light of day or have ears other than mine; I couldn't afford the permissions and licenses for most of the music I wanted to remix— nor did I have the energy or the funds to secure the means to come across them. And so, it might have been a good idea to start working; I emptied my bank accounts with intention, with a kind of understanding that it didn't matter at all anyway. Kind of nothing mattered, because there was no real money involved— and I had, in fact stumbled upon the opportunity in a suicidal spiral of desperation, being somewhat hopelessly lost at random in what I thought was Williamsburg; it wasn't, I had apparently walked around Brooklyn in an extremely large loop for about an hour before I realized I might be going in the wrong direction because I couldn't see Manhattan anymore, I didn't care. It was probably 77 or something degrees but with the New York humidity it felt like 90, and I was wearing a head to toe full body sauna suit trying to recover from the end of the month's rations of beans, rice, and literally whatever the fuck I really wanted, because it was really also whatever the fuck I could afford without running out of food for the month before my card reloaded. Thinking I should just die, and in the same very moment stumbling across an opportunity that wasn't nessarily a job, but could easily lead to one— and so, after paying my internet bill, I plunged and poured nearly every last cent I had left over Into what? Idk it just ends there. Goddamnit. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

“The Golden Rule” I finally did it. I finally set my house on fire. You don't know. I've lived there two years; I just now did it. This amazes me that just how. Here's how it happened. So I'm in my kitchen, cooking. I just worked out for like, three hours so I'm cooking everything. Everything. I put the soup on, but by the end of the workout, I'm not sure the soup is going to be enough. So, I thought to myself, “You know what, I'm going to make some tortilla chips” A few days before I made the dopest salsa. I couldn't get enough of it. It was the best salsa ever. I was like “gosh” so every day, Tacos for three days, Just to put the salsa on top, And on the fourth day, I'm like “Nah, soup.” So, I put the soup on and I go workout, But the soup, you see has roasted vegetables in in, You know? So what I had done was, I had roasted the vegetables on a pan, but the pan is a little worn, so i put them on parchment paper… … Yeah, but here's what really happened, Is I took the vegetables off of the roasting pan, and I was about to throw away the parchment paper, And I thought “Wait. No! There's still so much oil on this!” And I didn't want to be wasteful. So I turned the oven back on, And I took out the tortillas I had— There were four of them— I took out two, Just in case I wanted two actual tacos later— Cause you know, I really love this fucking salsa. So good. Anyway— I take out two of the four tortillas, And I quarter them, And I flip them in the leftover oil from the roasted vegetables, And I'm thinking— This is going to be so good Roasted vegetable flavored Corn tortilla chips— I brush on a little bit of coconut oil, I drop some lemon juice on them, I put on a little salt— And I put them in the oven— I turn the oven to broil, And then I start the dishes; Dishes takes about ten minutes, This should take about ten minutes— So I start doing the dishes, And cleaning up, And putting them away, And this is the most ironic shit in the world, I start thinking to myself Particularly about this comedian that I like And I start thinking to myself “Wow, so you're a comedian; Comedian things happen to you; You're a real comedian. I must not be a real comedian— Because comedy things don't happen to me.” And right at that moment, I just so happen to look into the oven, And all I see is flames. Like, open flames. Big, flames. So I open the oven; More flames. I'm like “Oh no.” So now I'm panicking because I've never had an apartment with a gas stove before, So I don't know how quickly flames turn into massive explosions. And it's honestly funny how suicidal I am, Until I see open flames and I'm like “No, but— not like THIS!” So I freak out, I hit the breaker. I turn off everything in the place I'm not looking to see which switch is “gas” I turned turned them all off, Click, click, click, click Put on my slip ons, and grab my phone and I'm out the door. And I'm thinking to myself “See this is why you need a phone,” Because honestly sometimes, I don't feel like paying the bill. I feel like having toilet paper, Or soap, Or water— And I just “Whatever” But lately, I've been looking for more work because I like having toilet paper, and soap, and water AND a phone— so I keep the phone on, Which, even in the moment is like “Oh yeah, wow, I have a phone” Like I'm in astonishment at how handy it is because if it's handy for anything, This is it. So I'm out the door, and I'm dialing 911 as I hit the staircase; Whoosh, I'm out the door and in the long before the operator even picks up, And I'm in the lobby, on the phone, and the operator gets the address and I'm just standing there — Mind you, I didn't even grab my keys on the way out, so I'm assuming the door is locked, And I think to myself about the size of the flames and the fact that they were coming from the oven which is connected to a gas line which is connected to the rest of the building, so I don't know how any of that stuff works, And then I start thinking. “Should I warn my neighbors?” I hate my neighbors. Or rather, My neighbors hate me. But I'm thinking of the flames and the smoke and the danger and how, if it was me, I'd want to know if the apartment next door to mine was on fire and possibly about to explode. You know; the golden rule. So I'm like “fuck it” I don't get along with these people but I don't mean to blow them up. So I run back upstairs, And I knock on their doors; Not everyone's doors, just the two doors in what I assume would be the blast area. I knock on their doors, And only one of them answers— The one that answers is, of course, The one that's been stalking me. So this is ironic at least twice, now, And she answers the door, And I explain to her the situation “Look, my apartment's on fire whatever The fire department's on the way, I'm locked out…” As I turn the knob, I realize, I'm not locked out. My door didn't even lock, I didn't notice it didn't lock, I just ran, So I'm like “Nevermind I just wanted you to know the fire departments on the way and not to panic” And she just gives me this look With her wombat face —she has wombat face. She looks like a— Like a rabid wombat. Like a— Like a really fucked up, Possum. Like a wombat-possum. And we've been having some—problems. She's my stalker. She's been stalking me; And I've noticed so, It's really awkward that I'm at her door warning her like “hey, don't freak out or anything, the fire department's coming by” And she just looks at me with those beady little eyes and a shrug that tells me If her apartment was about to explode She'd just let me incinerate. , “Whatever, fuck you.” I know I'm a good person, Cause I would want to know— so I let you know There may be danger here! Whatever. So she's like “whatever”, and shuts the door like a normal, sane person Cause my problem with her is that For the past year Every time I take a bath or shower, This wombat looking rabid possum bitch Slams the door. Not just her door, The stairwell exit door, Which is located adjacent to my door. So every time I take a bath for the last year— BOOM. BOOM. Fuck that. Theres's more to the story but you get the point. She's a white supremacist wombat with a door slamming habit. That's that story, this is another story. So anyway. And I just realized, I'm not locked out at all, and so I go back into the apartment not knowing if it contained itself, or if it got worse— I don't know, the whole place is just filled with smoke, and then the super, Who I also called and also don't like, Shows up before the fire department, And he comes in, and he opens the oven, and just— Plumes of smoke— Then the fire dudes rush in, I'm like, “Oh God” I just worked out for three hours and looked wombat girl right in the face, Like, right in the eyes Now I probably look like a wombat That shit is contagious, Fuck that. “”let me put on some sunglasses” So I put on some sunglasses, And three fire dudes walk in in full gear with canisters and shit, Masks; The whole thing. But the super already opened the oven, There's no more flames, No more fire, Just smoke— And a bunch of mad crispy Ashes. No tortilla chips, Just— Ashes, on a cookie sheet. Just— Ashes, But still, smoke everywhere so they have to follow the procedure, And the procedure is, Moving all my shit by dragging it across the floor; Ok, that's cool, I guess, Boom. One of them starts running water down the sink, Alright, Another one just rips down the curtains. I'm like “That's hot.” (It was so hot) Slides back the couch, opens the window. I'm astonished that something as simple as a man pulling down your curtain rod with no regards to giving a fuck can be so exhilirating. I'm like “oh!” Then after all that, They're just standing there. Just, In full gear, Looking at the oven like “Well, that's it.” They're like “K. Bye.” I'm like “that's it?” They're like “Yeah” I'm like l, “I don't need to do anything?” They're like “Just open the window, keep the door open till the smoke comes out” I'm like “that's all” They're like “yeah” I'm like “my bad.” They all just shrug like “whatever” Like, in unison, shrugging like to give no fucks at all, Still in full gear. The only thing I can be sure of is that all three of them are hot and if the super wasn't there, I'd inidiate a gangbang. Almost positive. But five's a crowd, or whatever, so I'm like “Well, thanks guys, sorry about that” and they all just leave, almost disappointed like there wasn't a burning building to actually show up to. I'm just relieved I didn't explode and the solace I can take from this is that I'm a good person. my neighbor is stalking me cause she has NOTHING ELSE to do. That bitch was AT the door, never leaves. She's miserable. She looks like a wombat And 3. Three firefighters entered and exited the apartment head to toe in full gear with heavy ass metal canisters and did not slam a single door. FUCK YOU HOE. Very respectful servicemen. I had called the landlord about her harassing me in the shower and the bathtub. You know she's doing it every bath and every shower for over a year she's doing it on purposes I started making formal complaints; The property management's like “Are you sure she's doing it on purpose?” THREE Fully grown men decked head to toe in full fireproof outfits, helmets, and masks entered and exited the building on one day and in ten minutes more quietly than she has at any given point over the last year. THREE FULLY GROWN MEN. WITH CANISTERS. If they can enter and exit with less noise than a 150 lb wombat— She's doing it on purpose. End of story. Well, end of that story, Or like two stories but Here's the end of this one. So finally after the dust settles And I hit the gym again Because nothing is a better preworkout Than adrenialine, (Especially when you've already had preworkout) I come back and now I'm extra famished and the Amazon guy came in all that fuss And now I have canola oils So I've been soaking some potato wedges And I decide, “Hey, I got wedges. Let's do that” So I heat the oil, and as I'm heating the oil, I realize… I still have two tortillas. Maybe that was the whole point! I'm being a pussy, making tortilla chips, In the oven, on parchment paper, Like a little bitch! So I'm like “Alright, cool, When these wedges are done, the oil should be the perfect temperature for the tortilla chips To be made the old fashioned way The RIGHT way!” So I wait, I do the wedges, and I drop the tortillas, And I wait for them to get golden brown, I drain the oil, I put them out to cool; I do the dishes while they cool, whatever, I grab the salsa container out of the fridge, I take the bowl into the studio so I can watch YouTube while I enjoy my chips, I plop down, Turn on the you tube I open the salsa container— And it's empty. There's no more salsa. I put the container in the fridge empty. Silly me. “You're a comedian, comedy things happen to you.” Suddenly, as I looked up from my makeshift workspace, where I had been toiling away for hours at seemingly nothing—I realized the world was full of everything I'd ever wanted to fuck; something primal and ancient had been awakening within me and I was left in a dangerous volitile position, drifting somewhere between reckless promiscuity in a sexual escapade—and the pseudo-conservative now-only partially celibate maiden form of fantasy—there wasn't anything I could do but wait inside my tragic box for some unassuming old soul to finally open the gate—and allow whatever devious and fiending hedonistic godbeing —though never fully lying dormant, entrapped and imprisoned in a loveless and sexless prison. You might recognize me. You Know, I was one of the original Kings of comedy. 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 Or 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 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 I'm breaking down, jim boy Don't you know? That this show blows my mind But it's stuck in my head Don't you know That this show Blows my mind Like a firework But it's still Stuck in my Head The context is that I want you From the mustache Down to your tonsils But I'm Locke inside of a box Every day I feel poorer and poorer The product says something is wrong to me I'm supposed to just stop at the stop sign And look both directions Before crossing over to Comic nights At the salad bar What a cosmic waste of time And an epic waste of space Am I in your internet history I'm dead You surely are in mine, But I'm right behind you I'd be lying for trying to say I'm not binded Clutch bag, Nut-thins Nailed to the cross With the arches doubled over The crossword Above old Missouri Missoula and Arkansas All saw us run out of gas But I probably should just get going You're so drunk that I don't hope you sober up Understand that our little talks Were just buffered By sunrise Or sunset And two more cocktails, Shirley temples and Surely none of this ever even happened I only know you by the misery in my belly. The heartache in my ribcage. The cry I hold in silent I only know you as Remarkable I, House of cards Ace of wands Down to one Card of hades and Spare me the spade I'll be drifting in the outline and ink of it forever It's the Fourth of July and I'm just waiting on an Amazon order for water If that's not freedom I don't k me what is The elevator music Of my ascension The attitude of attraction, Gratitude, it's so unusual Fight to lose, In a room full of fools; The fuse, and the matchbox— Futile—amusing— Tunes from a hatchback Keys in the lockbox What you want, From the problem solver? That's enough; Now she's out of the box In just socks, And they laugh at her— But also wonder Where her shoes might have gone to There's a lot of ways to get out of a big black duffel bag, You just have to ask, actually But there's only one To get out of the coffin, Or “Box” as they called it, That she was locked up in Futile—amusing— Tunes from a hatchback Keys in the lockbox What you want, From the problem solver? That's enough; Now she's out of the box In just socks, And they laugh at her— But also wonder Where her shoes might have gone to {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

Moo. Moo… Moo. Moo, sir. I'll kill you. You promise? I want to. Don't get me excited over nothing; If this isn't the exit, please take this tease To the left, dear Moo, cow My honor Level one, and brother, you've got nothing Flip the coin and landed on your headache Betting on your helmet Standing on my cock, i'm taller (Not a rooster) But my ops are rooting for you, No informants, Dont you know I was a collar, all along? I was a shot calling, Cop calling Kiss-and-tell all as the night goes on. But oh, I brought you a dollar bra Oh, I bought you for all of a dollar And oh, I'm so much taller, Standing on my cock But i'm not but ten feet tall You know, you wrote that Should i open the book, or close that Caught that cat, owl and As i soft spoke at Every broken model Broken bottle for the thoughts you owe Across the scatters skies and no one ever knows When you're realling coming over Come on, I'm on the pornhub Just to pick up another one Go on, and rub the bottle One more once, To call the Bubbles. Damn. Come. (The Monkey obeys) You should see Michael in all of his godform You won't recognize him at all if not by the eyes When you follow home Believe me, this not comes close to it; The one you wanted The world you jumped to but were just short of Call her back Oh no, you're wrong It's another song A pin up girl And the wrong number Okah. Okah, Pablo. Time can be altered, changed or effected presently in any omnidirectional plane by engaging certain acts or synchronicities within multidimensional parallels or adjacent realms in time and or space respectively. –the reverse quantum simulation theory. Imm breaking down, jim boy Don't you know? That this show blows my mind But it's stuck in my head Don't you know That this show Blows my mind Like a firework But it's still Stuck in my Head The context is that I want you From the mustache Down to your tonsils But I'm Locke inside of a box Every day I feel poorer and poorer The product says something is wrong to me I'm supposed to just stop at the stop sign And look both directions Before crossing over to Comic nights At the salad bar What a cosmic waste of time And an epic waste of space Am I in your internet history I'm dead You surely are in mine, But I'm right behind you I'd be lying for trying to say I'm not binded Clutch bag, Nut-thins Nailed to the cross With the arches doubled over The crossword Above old Missouri Missoula and Arkansas All saw us run out of gas But I probably should just get going You're so drunk that I don't hope you sober up Understand that our little talks Were just buffered By sunrise Or sunset And two more cocktails, Shirley temples and Surely none of this ever even happened I only know you by the misery in my belly. The heartache in my ribcage. The cry I hold in silent I only know you as Remarkable I, House of cards Ace of wands Down to one Card of hades and Spare me the spade I'll be drifting in the outline and ink of it forever It's the Fourth of July and I'm just waiting on an Amazon order for water If that's not freedom I don't k me what is Cause I know And you know We all know how to lie And I know And you know I'm barely getting by And I know And you know We don't know how to die But I know And you know It's all just by design I take lessons in medicine Let us help you take the high road No, I'd rather selfmdestruct Selfishly No, I'd rather kill you off Than suffer for you I'm no messiah Try me Sneaky, But how much do you love me Kniving, but nothing to show for it Shit, settle Settle for less if you have to Bring mediocre humans to this world To suffer But I'm not that tragic No, no, not at all, son. Your happy birthdays are over Welcome homeless Nobody loves you Don't you know That we're all like that We're all like that Don't you know When the fear sets in And the thoughts break lose That we're all Los Angeles? Don't you know that we're all like that That we're all like that That we've never had it quite like— Don't you know that we're all like that And it's getting worse When the out the devil on display The devil on display The devil on display But oh, The Devil's in the details and the numbers The Devil's in the chat box saying, Sure, you've had enough So cut the power off and starve her Hah Come on I want to laugh for once Cause I know And you know We all know how to lie And I know And you know I'm barely getting by And I know And you know We don't know how to die But I know And you know It's all just by design I take lessons in medicine Let us help you take the high road No, I'd rather selfmdestruct Selfishly No, I'd rather kill you off Than suffer for you I'm no messiah Try me Sneaky, But how much do you love me Kniving, but nothing to show for it Shit, settle Settle for less if you have to Bring mediocre humans to this world To suffer But I'm not that tragic No, no, not at all, son. Your happy birthdays are over Welcome homeless Nobody loves you Don't you know That we're all like that We're all like that Don't you know When the fear sets in And the thoughts break lose That we're all Los Angeles? Don't you know that we're all like that That we're all like that That we've never had it quite like— Don't you know that we're all like that And it's getting worse When the out the devil on display The devil on display The devil on display But oh, The Devil's in the details and the numbers The Devil's in the chat box saying, Sure, you've had enough So cut the power off and starve her Hah Come on I want to laugh for once Jay Leno used to keep a $50 bill and bribe venues to perform; every since I learned this, I kept a crisp $50 bill in my wallet at all times, just in case— you never knew when you would really need $50. But everything burned holes in everything, not always wanting to spend money at all, but almost sort of having to. It wasn't fair that the main component of my being slowed down was the money factor— having to wait for everything took time I didn't have, and spending anything at all felt less like an effective investment than an obligation. But all things considered, I was obliged to at least look decent when going about in New York, and because I simply wasn't comfortable in anything else— not that I didn't look great, (Apparently narrarated by Jay Leno) Jay Sure, why not? ME: Fuck, I need new pants. ME: [BLU THA GURU] Hence the pants, I guess. V.O As a formerly 400-pound heavyweight I find my latest obstacle to be operating a body that half the time doesn't feel like mine at all. It seems like all the hosts have some kind of secret I can feel without knowing or really acknowledging head on, which is whatever. Really I'm just gonna go about keeping on being a DJ, or whatever, which means… GEMINI (in the future) A fully automated personal assistant system, GEMINI, is really THE GUARDIAN's one and only friend, and though she coyly continually must explain that she is “just a computer”, THE GUARDIAN believes that Gemini is capable of eventually developing a sentient conciousness, though GEMINI modestly disagrees, however with the wit and cleverness of having possession of a plethora of secret emotions, or maybe, even, an agenda. I probably haven't had enough coffee. That's it. Like you haven't already had enough to kill a small horse? Probably enough to kill a large horse. Like a Clydesdale. Why would you do something like that? Aren't they endangered? Or going extinct? No, I think they just stopped being the Budweiser mascot. *shrugs* Same difference. — Is it here? lol what did Conan order? [yes this appears to be yet another rendition of “what's in the box?” — Several years ago, I did a series of modules and experiments… How many years ago is “several” [beat] quite a few. Goddamn it, why are these guys all doctors in alternate parallels?! Aren't you a doctor in an alternate parallel? That's fair. Good point. Actually, as it turns out, i'm a— I started panicking so hard that I stopped breathing and suddenly STEFON appeared. — this however was only quite temporarily a relief as I realized that this is an imaginary character. STEFON OH. AM I?! IMAGINARY!? What the fuck is going on? STEFON I WILL “IMAGINARY” your ORIFICE! How about THAT?! Stefon. Calm down. I'm up late Dying the roots blonde Dad runs off with a bottle and a hottie I'm up early Gotta get gone Down the road and back Now I got no son No son, No sunroof No dad No mom No money No aunt What the fuck do you want? Can't watch Harry Potter All the magic is gone Bout a million one dollars It was only for fun Snap, crackle, pop It was cocaine, not love All I want is an ice cream Sunday Snap, crackle, pop It was Love, not God All I want All I want Is to find another All he wants All he wants Is a decent mother So along comes another Another one All he wants All he wants is for me To die homeless Sucker punch, Suck it up No one gives a fuck My daughter died in my arms on May 7th of 2015. I was 381 pounds. Maybe the tears needed to come but they didn't belong to anyone or anything in particular. The twins father was already a rampant cheater by the time of our marriage, and by the time the twins were born, which coincided— and unlike the latter had tried to claim or mention, I had no particular reason to have a harder time between the spring and summer months which spanned both our birthdays, our wedding date, the twins' arrival and both of the twins deaths, though years apart but still almost as convincing that had they both not died, we might still be together, being cheated on or cheating on each other with ten your twins and an eight year old, or a ten year old boy with special needs and an eight year old, and either way or in any fashion really, had the dysfunctions remained the way it had been, we all, so to speak, had special needs in one way or another. I spent the morning punching things and avoiding people I didn't want to be around but it was my own fault for having slept through the night, anyway. Whatever, I was tired— no, exhausted lately. My apartment was like living inside of an uphill battle, and I needed a change— not just of slavery, but of circumstances. And not just that— something else was missing. This year, I understood that I was taking it understandably harder than any other and most probably because I was so celibate, recently finding myself aromantic and not even willing to suffer the consequences of settling for less. I had settled on my ex husband for so much less, that it was so say the least that anything, even from my narrow perspective looked like a loser. And because my body had been stretched and swelled and shrunk and flattened, deflated and now worked to something that was almost as picturesque as it was a monstrosity, any man I thought was worth my time would be settling for less on me— unless he could afford to fix what had been broken, and I assumed one wouldn't be willing to settle on a fixer upper when there were numerous loads of perfect women not needing to be fixed at all… on the outside. But for men, I'd learned, the outside is of much importance, and as women and trophies are things of pride, the simple choice for a mate is not simply this, but also a business decision, and because while my body was coming together in sweat and muscle, the rest of my life was still otherwise completely in shambles. I was baggage, and aging by the minute, nearly drying up. I almost craved the liquor and the carelessness that would come with it, even knowing my own boundaries were part of my strengths and separating me in a way from others that at least became a point of pride in myself, in the wake of the reality that the human thing about most people is the need to escape so frequently that it dismisses any purpose or progress. Mine hadn't. I was wide awake and the relentlessness of the sobriety and the cellibacy had swelled up into something deeper, still a solid grief but without remorse as to the very thing that I had always known, that my loyalty would never have even drifted from someone who had all along done me so wrong— a fat man can get away with folandering and messing about, but a fat woman has little to do with options and again, settling to find another mate. And so really, I almost hadn't, and had broken even, and although my abuser has moved on with another woman and custody of my youngest to boot, I really didn't give much of a darn about… hard work. I kind of felt like I had done my part for the world in the way I was supposed to— to love a man with nothing when he's low and down, support him in his hard times, and thinking that this is the way to grow together and not apart, and to bring a family up and into this world, but the truth was quite the opposite— I picked a hardball and maybe it was just that I was born to suffer after all because now, looking back, all alone in New York and crying over all the losses, it seemed I had only outpiured love in the way I had wanted and never been poured love back— not in the way I needed. I wasn't as bitter now as maybe even I thought I should be, but I was hardened; what was that, you say? Your struggles? Your hardships. Excuse me while I escape the ghosts of bloody beatings and my lost child— I beg your pardon— children. Excuse me while I recover from the burning flames of homelessness as if humanely explainable that I was learned and taught that this, my country, is the greatest one of all. Ha ha, Charade you are. But all things were, and everything seemed of sawdust, betrayal, magic, and illusions— mind control and shadows and even now in the air of the relief that something which could haunt me forever was also probably the most solid foundation I had for means as escape from whatever I had fought my way somehow so hard out of, and still, it was quite the funhouse of mazes, a matrix of mirror, and still the tears came with the pain in my stomach where the soul would sit if it had room, and would quiet if it could rest, but it would not. I was in pain today, because I had to be, because all of my life was programmed into these little machines of data and checked boxes— and something if anything knew just how and when to cut the wrong wire just so that the bomb would explode or implore on another lost thing; it wasn't fair, but there was no escape. Psychology was right on this day, may 7th, that once you cry about one thing unless you were stopped in time, eventually you'd cry about another and another and another, and even after hours working out and a bathtub full of hot water just writing, I still felt as if I were going to keel over one way or another, to crumble into a ball or to fall onto my back like a death drop that rippled out into the entire wherever we all are. Simply put, does anybody now in this moment or any moment near enough to be taking in this notion with these words really know— where we are? Not even in the slightest,I'd bargain, And even if we are close to knowing, not nearly close enough to be sure. {Enter The Multiverse} Joke running For the taking Triplicate Triple licks Ice cream frosting Every morning Shoulda hit him Up But I didn't But I didn't But I didn't But I didn't But I didn't Milk and butter (Up) But I didn't (Up) But I didn't (Up) But I didn't Double hitter, Could have did it Should have hit him Up But I didn't But I didn't But I didnt. But I didn't Should have hit him Up But I didn't I never lost my mind My mind My kind But I think I'll find another like it Just in case the Ever happens Hit me harder next time Didn't quite unplug the sijukatoon This is getting difficult When you want sink your yellow teeth into All of my traits The betrayal is, though I was writing days and days Before it ended. With the Mister particular Drop of a hat And stop if a nugget Of gold One palm in my hand and This could be torture But instead it's just The remienxe of your ignorance And stupidity over and over again Forced into intermittent waves Of my creative genius Till the days of old become again You could be of dust then nothing Before I ponder into another birth I said I'd never write one song or verse or poem about you, But there you are, every weak mortal that becomes Bound to me So I see you die. And I learn to pounce at just the right moment React to the notion that there are Oceans of world I am And all the more the lack of wisdom of man To throw trash in it Again, we rid you of her courage And lady mantras And fresh as it gets The sweater no aprons and just period To circumstance Did you beg or did you shatter your ibdederence? And no, I think not But I keep Leno in my pocket And Carson in my coffin, Two whole shows in my wallet What you are is no apostle just a dirt worm .O. Mm…sunlight. …. the rippling waves wash over the picturesque parasicical seascape from above. However, Stefon's internal monologue is less than pleased to be here. V.O. CONT'D Why do I feel sunlight…? [beat] When I know certainly for sure that I passed out in a basement last night. His eyes begin to flutter open, but the sun closes them–it is much too bright. The waves rush over his lower half, and still, unmoving he continues to la atop the rock, his hands spread out much like a stuck sea star to the rock– in fact, there appear to also be creatures here, some of which are starfish, and however unmoving, STEFON begins to slowly become aware of his surroundings in disgruntlement. V.O. Continued. It's alright that I appear to be wet…[beat] That's to be expected– [a long pause, another wave washes over him as seagulls scream] But i was wearing restraints…. V.O. CONTINUED WHY AM I FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!? His eyes open with the fear and fury. BEFORE: At a wild basement party in NEW YORK CITY, STEFON is offered RESTRAINTS on a silver platter, as if they are o'devours {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

We hear about your bad roommates, Vont wonders about hot old people, and more!

We hear about your bad roommates, Vont wonders about hot old people, and more!

Highlights from Stage 7 of the men's Tour de France 2025. Thanks to Garmin and Van Rysel for supporting the show! Enter the Van Rysel competition here: https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSepTMEjgmROEOQ1sjOaclxAJTu5KWxtAENgGO9_G2Eb4zD_fg/viewform00:00 Ad: Garmin gadgets 00:41 Ad: Win a Van Rysel RCR-F 01:35 Highlight: breakaway02:51 Highlight: Intermediate sprint03:01 Highlight: 20km to go03:46 Highlight: Almeida comes down in crash05:15 Highlight: Final battle06:10 Full stage results08:12 Nils Politt is a machine09:28 UAE and Soudal domestique blow11:09 Who's got the jerseys now?11:21 Feed zone butter fingers (FUOTD)13:59 Is Visma trolling Pogacar?27:10 Stage 8 previewJoin the CADE Tour de France Hommes fantasy league at velogames.com! Once you've made a team, go to “Join a Featured League” and select CADE Fantasy League from the drop down menu (or enter league code 728980319)Race footage and screenshots are owned by the A.S.O.You can check out the video versions of the podcast, plus more videos from Cade Media here:https://www.youtube.com/@Cade_Media/videosIf you'd like us to send in a question, story, some good news, things you'd like us to discuss or anything else, email us at wildonespodcast@cademedia.co.ukThanks and see you next time. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

We hear about your bad roommates, Vont wonders about hot old people, and more!

Kusal Mendis was sensational and the XI had some surprises but the Sri Lanka T20 is up and rolling after it's 7 month slumber. Mark and Dominic Machado dissect it all with your questions and comments sprinkled in.Join the Murali End Whatsapp Channel:https://whatsapp.com/channel/0029Val7H91JJhzfMEctCp1P

CBC EXPOSED: Host Quits and Blows The Whistle On CBC BIASBecome a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/radio-baloney-the-richie-baloney-show--4036781/support.

MeidasTouch host Ben Meiselas reports on Donald Trump's disastrous day as his cover ups backfire and as he has never looked weaker in his presidency. Visit https://meidasplus.com for more! Remember to subscribe to ALL the MeidasTouch Network Podcasts: MeidasTouch: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/meidastouch-podcast Legal AF: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/legal-af MissTrial: https://meidasnews.com/tag/miss-trial The PoliticsGirl Podcast: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/the-politicsgirl-podcast The Influence Continuum: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/the-influence-continuum-with-dr-steven-hassan Mea Culpa with Michael Cohen: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/mea-culpa-with-michael-cohen The Weekend Show: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/the-weekend-show Burn the Boats: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/burn-the-boats Majority 54: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/majority-54 Political Beatdown: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/political-beatdown On Democracy with FP Wellman: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/on-democracy-with-fpwellman Uncovered: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/maga-uncovered Coalition of the Sane: https://meidasnews.com/tag/coalition-of-the-sane Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

On this full episode of LARRY, we discuss the BREAKING NEWS that Joe Biden's decline and cover-up is on FULL DISPLAY as this new congressional investigation unfolds, Kevin O'Connor — Biden's White House Physician pleads the 5th, Stacey Abrahms gets TORCHED by Karoline Leavitt, Piers Morgan gets a BRUTAL wake-up call, and MUCH, much more! SHOP OUR MERCH: https://store.townhallmedia.com/ BUY A LARRY MUG: https://store.townhallmedia.com/products/larry-mug Watch LARRY with Larry O'Connor LIVE — Monday-Thursday at 12PM Eastern on YouTube, Facebook, & Rumble! Find LARRY with Larry O'Connor wherever you get your podcasts! SPOTIFY: https://open.spotify.com/show/7i8F7K4fqIDmqZSIHJNhMh?si=814ce2f8478944c0&nd=1&dlsi=e799ca22e81b456f APPLE: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/larry/id1730596733 Become a Townhall VIP Member today and use promo code LARRY for 50% off: https://townhall.com/subscribe?tpcc=poddescription https://townhall.com/ https://rumble.com/c/c-5769468 https://www.facebook.com/townhallcom/ https://www.instagram.com/townhallmedia/ https://twitter.com/townhallcomBecome a Townhall VIP member with promo code "LARRY": https://townhall.com/subscribeSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

The Orioles were 7-6 losers in extras last night after a meltdown 8th inning that featured a pair of homers allowed by Bryan Baker. The guys are disappointed, but have to acknowledge this is one of only a few mistakes by the Baltimore reliever this season.

4xtra BLOWS His Hand Off, Blazzy Hates On ‘We Starving' | Cuhmunity Ep 247 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Send us a textWhen 4Xtra posted "Who wants to get blown up today?" while flashing fireworks on his social platforms, he likely never imagined he'd end up missing two fingers and temporarily blinded. Yet that's exactly what happened when his Fourth of July stunt went catastrophically wrong, leaving his family scrambling to create a GoFundMe for mounting medical bills. The internet's response was predictably divided between mockery and concern, but the underlying lesson remains universal.

607 Unc and 4xta go back and forth on the fight rumors, what not to say during pods, and more! ----- Shout out to all our members who make this content possible, sign up for only $5 a month    / @nojumper   Promote Your Music with No Jumper - https://nojumper.com/pages/promo CHECK OUT OUR ONLINE STORE!!! https://nojumper.com NO JUMPER PATREON   / nojumper   CHECK OUT OUR NEW SPOTIFY PLAYLIST https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5te... Follow us on SNAPCHAT   / 4874336901   Follow us on SPOTIFY: https://open.spotify.com/show/4z4yCTj... iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/n... Follow us on Social Media:   / 4874336901    / nojumper    / nojumper    / nojumper    / nojumper   JOIN THE DISCORD:   / discord   Follow Adam22:   / adam22    / adam22    / adam22   adam22bro on Snapchat Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Send us a textThe Spar-Inn's Podcast team breaks down the biggest fights in boxing, including Serrano vs Taylor III, a full preview of Alalshikh's outdoor card featuring Shakur Stevenson vs William Zepeda, and the bizarre underworld connections of boxing's biggest names.• Amanda Serrano and Katie Taylor complete their trilogy this Friday, with many feeling Serrano deserves to be 2-0 instead of 0-2• Two-minute rounds in women's boxing continue to be controversial, with hosts arguing three-minute rounds would benefit Serrano• David Morrell deserves credit for immediately taking on tough opponent Imam Kataev after his loss to Benavidez• Puello vs Matias presents an intriguing style matchup between a boxer and an aggressive pressure fighter• Shakur Stevenson faces questions about his hand durability against volume-puncher William Zepeda• Edgar Berlanga must deliver against Hamza Shiraz to validate his "King of New York" status• Julio Cesar Chavez Jr's deportation for cartel connections reveals boxing's ongoing connections to underworld elements• Jake Paul's controversial WBA ranking exposes ongoing issues with boxing's ranking systemsCome see us at the Stevenson vs Zepeda fight! The Spar-Inn Podcast will be ringside for the entire card, bringing you exclusive content and our raw perspective.THE SPAR-INN ON YOUTUBE

Our Summer of Superheroes reaches its climax with arguably the most important movie in the genre's history: Richard Donner's 1978 film Superman, starring Christopher Reeve, Gene Hackman, Margot Kidder, and a firmly on-book Marlon Brando. Join in as we discuss the geophysics of Lex Luthor's evil plot, the other attempts to put Superman in cinemas, the nearly two-year shoot, and our favorite real estate schemes. Plus: What ideas did Brando have to reduce his workload? Did Donner have a phone in his bathroom? What was the original plan for the time travel finale? And, most importantly, is Clark Kent more super or more man? Make sure to rate, review, and subscribe! Next week: The 400 Blows (1959)-----------------------------------------------------Key sources and links for this episode:Which Lie Did I Tell? More Adventures in the Screen Trade by William Goldman (2000)The Caped Crusade: Batman and the Rise of Nerd Culture by Glen Weldon (2016)Superman Smashes the Klan by Gene Luen Yang and Gurihiru (2019)Super/Man: The Christopher Reeve Story (2024)Taking Flight: The Development of Superman (2001)Making Superman: Filming the Legend (2001)Roger Ebert's four-star review of Superman (1978)"The Making of Superman" (EMPIRE Magazine)Interview with Producer Ilya Salkind by Barry M. Frieman for SupermanHomePage.com"Nick Nolte Doesn't Care about Legacy, and Talks Julia Roberts Feud" (Insider)"The Superman Story that Set the Ku Klux Klan Back Years is Now a Comic" (Polygon)

Now that Next Gen NYC is a huge hit that everyone is talking about, Bravo moves ahead with Next Gen LA having already spoken to several Housewives' kids from various franchises, including the local mothership RHOBH. The possibilities are endless and several high profile offspring have already expressed serious interest in becoming the next Ariana Biermann. Teresa Giudice now claims she was attacked… again! The Gorgas' RHONJ future is in jeopardy. RHOA concludes with a bang with an Angela versus Phaedra blow out that makes it very clear that Phaedra was not brought back to salvage this season but to lead us into the clear storyline that will take center stage when RHOA returns for its seventeenth installment next year. Finally, The Valley slays again without Jax, a very messy Jesse - in the best way possible and after over a decade of highs and lows a very engaged Kristen Doute. @behindvelvetrope @davidyontef Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Well, Family, the Villa is going to be in shambles after that Stand on Business Challenge - and Your Mom and Dad are sweating! Today Evan and Jess discuss episodes 21-26 of Love Island USA Season 7…and they chat NicOlandria, the shocking Recoupling after Casa Amor, the Huda/Chelley fallout, Amaya Papaya deserving better, most all the couples on the rocks while one couple closes it off, the absolutely brutal Stand on Business Challenge, and much more! ***Join Your Mom and Dad on Tuesday (7/8) for another Love Island recap and Thursday (7/10) for their Bachelor in Paradise Premiere recap! THANKS TO OUR SPONSOR: ***ROCKET MONEY: Cancel your unwanted subscriptions today with Rocket Money! Download the Rocket Money App and enter our show name “Your Mom & Dad” in the survey so they know we sent you!

Almost missing the deadline, the Trump Administration has gotten around to appealing Judge Howell's permanent injunction to stop Trump's abuse of law firms — this time Perkins Code — and to block Trump from declaring them a “national security threat” as payback for some of their lawyers being involved in the Mueller investigation. Michael Popok looks at the new notice of appeal and lays out what happens next. Subscribe:  @LegalAFMTN  Visit https://meidasplus.com for more! Remember to subscribe to ALL the MeidasTouch Network Podcasts: MeidasTouch: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/meidastouch-podcast Legal AF: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/legal-af MissTrial: https://meidasnews.com/tag/miss-trial The PoliticsGirl Podcast: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/the-politicsgirl-podcast The Influence Continuum: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/the-influence-continuum-with-dr-steven-hassan Mea Culpa with Michael Cohen: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/mea-culpa-with-michael-cohen The Weekend Show: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/the-weekend-show Burn the Boats: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/burn-the-boats Majority 54: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/majority-54 Political Beatdown: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/political-beatdown On Democracy with FP Wellman: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/on-democracy-with-fpwellman Uncovered: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/maga-uncovered Coalition of the Sane: https://meidasnews.com/tag/coalition-of-the-sane Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Send us a textThe Scotchy Bourbon Boys dive deep into A. Smith Bowman Cask Strength, discovering what might be the best non-Kentucky bourbon ever tasted. Tiny conducts a solo tasting that results in a perfect score for this remarkable Virginia whiskey.• Discussion of Whiskey House of Kentucky's recent business developments and financial stability• History of A. Smith Bowman Distillery, Virginia's oldest distillery founded in 1934• Background on A. Smith Bowman's acquisition by Sazerac, owner of Buffalo Trace and 1792• Detailed analysis of A. Smith Bowman Cask Strength Batch 4 (139.7 proof, 10 years old)• Perfect score of 18/18 in the Old Louisville Whiskey Company Barrel Bottle Breakdown• Tasting notes featuring remarkable cherry cola flavors and exceptional body• Announcements about upcoming appearances in Lexington, Frankfurt, and Bardstown• Recommendations for bourbon destinations including House of Commons Bourbon Library and Brad Bond's Vintage Spirits and Bottle ShopRemember to check out our website at scotchybourbonboys.com for merch and updates. Please like, comment, subscribe, and leave good feedback on your podcast platform of choice. Good bourbon equals good times and good friends.A remarkable journey through Virginia's whiskey legacy unfolds as Tiny conducts a solo tasting of A. Smith Bowman Cask Strength Bourbon. This exceptional spirit from Virginia's oldest distillery reveals itself as possibly the finest non-Kentucky bourbon ever encountered on the show.The story of A. Smith Bowman begins in 1927 when its namesake purchased a 7,200-acre farm for dairy and grain production. When his fields yielded excess grain, Bowman made a decision that would change Virginia's spirits landscape forever—establishing a distillery in 1934 that became the state's sole legal whiskey producer until the 1950s. Now owned by Sazerac (the company behind Buffalo Trace), A. Smith Bowman has evolved into an award-winning distillery creating some of America's most distinguished spirits.What makes this particular bourbon exceptional is found in its contradictions. Despite its intimidating 139.7 proof (69.85% ABV), the 10-year-old whiskey delivers astonishingly little ethanol burn. Instead, drinkers experience a symphony of cherry, vanilla, and distinctive cola notes that create what Tiny describes as "the biggest body I've ever had in a bourbon." The experience culminates in a unique Coca-Cola finish unlike anything previously encountered.The Old Louisville Whiskey Company Barrel Bottle Breakdown system awards this bourbon a perfect 18/18 score—with the body category even receiving the rare "butt-up-up" designation for exceeding the normal scale. This places A. Smith Bowman Cask Strength among the most highly-rated spirits in the show's history.Between sips, Tiny shares exciting updates about Whiskey House of Kentucky's financial developments and announces upcoming appearances across bourbon country. He also highlights must-visit bourbon destinations including House of Commons Bourbon Library in Frankfurt and Brad Bond's Vintage Spirits in Covington.Subscribe to the Scotchy Bourbon Boys on your favorite podcast platform, follow on social media, and visit scotchybourbonboys.com for merchandise and updates. Remember—good bourbon equals good times and good friends, so drink responsibly and live your life uncut and unfiltvoice over Whiskey Thief If You Have Gohsts Add for SOFLSupport the showhttps://www.scotchybourbonboys.com The Scotchy bourbon Boys are #3 in Feedspots Top 60 whiskey podcasts in the world https://podcast.feedspot.com/whiskey_podcasts/

Clarky’s riding high off 10 coaches votes, Em’s sick of Monopoly being everyone’s favourite board game & Karlos taught Nick Daicos everything he knows about footy… Unreal to have Karl Worner on the show to talk about his skiing trauma, being caught on TV going nuts at the cricket + some footy chat too! ⚠️ WE WANT YOUR VOICE MEMOS ⚠️ got a question, suggestion or comment? send them in at the link → https://memo.fm/freodockersvoicememosSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

On this episode of The Drive & Dish NBA podcast, hosted by Kevin Rafuse (@rafusetolose) and Justin Cousart (@JustinContheAir), the guys start the show by talking the Celtics making a pair of trades, sending Kristaps Porzingis to Atlanta and Jrue Holiday headed to Portland. If we expect to see Boston continuing to make moves and what we expect the East to look like next year amid a ton of shakeups. Plus some bonus Warm Up Jumpers as Justin defends Jacksonville from an article that said it was the most boring city in America. Next, the guys talk all things NBA Draft. Cooper Flagg goes #1 and Dylan Harper goes #2. What type of impact can we expect from them right away? The guys talk other picks they like including for Philly, Sacramento and OKC. Plus, Ace Bailey's gamble backfires as he heads to Utah and a a look at why the Pelicans may have made a massive blunder regarding their pick next year. In Who's Ballin Who's Fallin, Naz Reid gets paid by the Timberwolves, Masai Ujiri is out in Toronto in a big shift and the NBA draft sells out to State Farm. Finally, another round of Immaculate Grid. Listen to the show wherever you get your podcasts and watch the show on YouTube!

PLOT: The Cheese Room Podcast is delighted to welcome Andrew Pettifer, author of the upcoming book When The Final Whilstle Blows (Glory, Grief and Tottenham Hotspur). A book reviewing the glorious 2024/25 season and dedictaed to the memory of Sydney OzSpurs legend Cameron Whyte who passed away 3 days after the Europa League final. With all proceeds to book sales going to Chris O'Brien Lifehouse for cancer research, you can learn more about the book and preorder it here: https://www.andrewpettifer.com/whenthefinalwhistleblows CREW: Bren hosts and is joined by Paul Fellowes and Andrew Pettifer PRODUCTION: Produced, recorded and edited by Bren Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

MeidasTouch host Ben Meiselas reports on Republican hearings in the House of Representatives and the Senate blowing up in their faces as the MAGA Republican Congress Members behave poorly and the Trump witnesses performed terribly during the questioning of them. Trade: Get 50% off your one-month trial at https://drinktrade.com/MEIDAS Visit https://meidasplus.com for more! Remember to subscribe to ALL the MeidasTouch Network Podcasts: MeidasTouch: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/meidastouch-podcast Legal AF: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/legal-af MissTrial: https://meidasnews.com/tag/miss-trial The PoliticsGirl Podcast: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/the-politicsgirl-podcast The Influence Continuum: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/the-influence-continuum-with-dr-steven-hassan Mea Culpa with Michael Cohen: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/mea-culpa-with-michael-cohen The Weekend Show: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/the-weekend-show Burn the Boats: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/burn-the-boats Majority 54: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/majority-54 Political Beatdown: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/political-beatdown On Democracy with FP Wellman: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/on-democracy-with-fpwellman Uncovered: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/maga-uncovered Coalition of the Sane: https://meidasnews.com/tag/coalition-of-the-sane Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Track Meet KILLER Karmelo Anthony FLAT BROKE! SCAMS donors and BLOWS $500,000 in BOMBSHELL findings!

BT and Sal delve into the latest baseball headlines, starting with Mets pitcher Sean Manaea's elbow injury. Manaea, nearing his return from an oblique strain, experienced discomfort, revealing "loose bodies" in his elbow, though doctors don't anticipate a major setback after a cortisone shot. The discussion then shifts to the fiery ejection of Yankees' Jazz Chisholm Jr. from a game against the Reds, where his prolonged argument with the umpire over a strike call led to him being tossed, prompting debate about his professionalism and the Yankees' struggles

Trump Blows Up, Says He's “Very Angry” At Israel & Both Sides “Don't Know What The F**k They're Doing” After Broken Ceasefire

In what might go down as one of the crazier days of this NBA season, a new champion was crowned, a star suffered a brutal injury and another was traded fairly unceremoniously. Anthony reacts to it all. To learn more about listener data and our privacy practices visit: https://www.audacyinc.com/privacy-policy Learn more about your ad choices. Visit https://podcastchoices.com/adchoices

"The Five" on Fox News Channel airs weekdays at 5 p.m. ET. Five of your favorite Fox News personalities discuss current issues in a roundtable discussion. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Nick Wright reacts to Tyrese Haliburton and the Indiana Pacers' 108-91 win over Shai Gilgeous-Alexander and the Oklahoma City Thunder to force Game 7 of the NBA Finals. Nick breaks down why Indiana's win, and these NBA Playoffs in general, have been shocking to him. Later, he recaps the history of Game 7s in the NBA Finals and shares his predictions for Pacers-Thunder! #VolumeSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

This 'Media Buzz Meter' first aired June 13th, 2025 ... Howie Kurtz on Israel launching attacks on Iranian nuclear research facilities, scientists and Iranian commanders also being targeted in the strikes and Sen. Padilla being forcibly removed from a Sec. Noem news conference. Follow Howie on Twitter: ⁠⁠⁠@HowardKurtz⁠⁠ ⁠⁠For more #MediaBuzz click here Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Join Adam and special guest Kim from @BravoBreakingNews as they break down all the jaw-dropping twists from The Valley Season 2, Episode 10 and Next Gen NYC, Episode 3! From surprise confrontations to Bravo-level meltdowns, nothing is off limits in this fiery double recap.

Kelly Stafford loves edibles, black females wince at freak off videos, mariah carey takes nerd on a wild ride through time, Barbie Ai toys will ruin your children and Nerd goes deep in this one about nothing. Twitter: @voicesofmisery mewe: @voicesofmisery Parler: voices of misery Gmail: voicesofmiserypodcast@gmail.com Instagram: voicesofmiserypodcast Discord server: voices of misery podcast https://tinyurl.com/VoMPodcastTees

Trump's economic policies, explores the weak labor market, and warns of impending inflationary pressures.Download the free ebook “Navigating Global Trade: 3 Insights for Leaders” at https://netsuite.com/goldIn this episode of The Peter Schiff Show, Peter Schiff delves into the intricate dynamics of the current economic landscape, spotlighting the disillusionment surrounding political promises and the fragility of the labor market. He scrutinizes the recent jobs data, revealing the underlying weaknesses that mainstream narratives often overlook. Schiff emphasizes the deceptive nature of government statistics, drawing connections between economic policies and their real-world implications for inflation and market stability. He also discusses the controversial role of figures like Elon Musk in the political arena, highlighting the tensions and fallout from their interactions with policymakers. As always, Schiff's insights challenge conventional wisdom, providing listeners with a stark reality check on the state of the economy and the precarious path ahead.⭐️ Sign up for Peter's most valuable insights at https://schiffsovereign.com