Podcasts about Charade

TROUBLEMAKER enters through the foyer. Troublemaker— I never though I'd see you again. — you won't. Yo what do I owe the displeasure? Fascinatingly inept. Ahem, excuse me— to what do I owe the nauseating discomfort? Better, but still no dice. What are you going here, exiler? “Exiler” well now, here we are making up words after a rusty start. What do you want? Where are they? Who do you mean? Birdsong and Hawkeye? I'm supposed to know? You do know. Do I now? Now— tomorrow— always and forever. Don't play mind games. But oh, a game it was to have given you the mark of the call in the first place. The what? I made my time with you and you alone; and you as well as I remember this; I know what you know, and I am where you are at all and any given times. So then, you can find them all on your own. Clever but not! Without seeing both eyes, I have none at all. What are you seeking? The hidden truths. Well then; you're going to have to kill me. Then I will. MONARCH THE SUFFERER enters through the galley in extreme panic. STOP, STOP! WAIT AT IT. MEANWHILE Okay, Conan, what gives? Nothing! Should this mean something at all? This is innapropriate, So you are—completely lucid. Of course I am; I'm an astral traveler, aren't I? I don't know what you are? For now, as it appears, just a thought. Well, if I give you my eyes, will you sprout arms or something? The mystic waits and ponders; this seems to be an enlightening thought; filled with amusement, she replies. Why, yes, Conan. Give me your eyes. Are you serious? What a remarkable thought. Actually! Wait a moment. Please be in jeans and a t shirt not a sweater or a jacket or a suit When I please you want you to be my teacher In this essence, you are light and I'm the truth Feed me See me for my demons As I need your for your weakness Only on the weekdays, and never on the weekends We hiatus summers— Smart, huh DJs on the long nights, Your festival seasons Turtlenecks at Christmas, No hannukah for Christians, I'm waving at the Krishnas in the station And I'm brace to even right this; As I brace myself for impact, Saving Grace is in its place I guess the last days have to happen As the last act take its placement —Ace of Spades. Somebody kill me I need to get pass go Collect $200 dollars And never ever roll again To roll the dice To troll the doll —someone's lost in the mall, alright, I bet. I thought it was a poker game I even hoped, But no, Just lunch and cake. Amen. A dog in the host suit On octopus arms How alarming. How are you? I'm no good, No good, No good, America No good, No goon, But too false for truth, America No words, No news— Who ties the noose, America? No time for booze, America Just cut me loose, America. Patrick! Patrick! What about the offer? There was no offer! I lied, to you! But why would you do that? To get the most out of you. Well— you certainly did do that. You certainly did do well. Certified freak; Shh, I can't leak the secrets. I could be speaking in codes, Or keep cleaning my creases with bleach If you mean what you mean, Death. I sure do think, You are in for The ride of your life The ride of your life I sure do wish, That I just didn't have eyes m Just didn't have eyes Just didn't have— Here's a thought: who'd you wash in the laundry? Were you hoping that I'd wander? Mayday — lost focus That is just not your business! Keep it simple Keep it tie dye Keep it strange And keep it rowdy Keep it pushing Keep it pouty Keep it off the walk And show now panty lines No petty theft No truth remarks No sighs No heavy dining Bleeding Eating Breathing Thinking Where were for you when I marked you though and then? This is no Romeo and Juliet! Did you forget your lunch? Oh you forgot, You know I'm just old fashioned. That was passionate For a paraground in parameters of iambic Drenched in suffocating silent Lock box I have the option I have the option I have the option But I'd rather not! Ha ha Charade you are Ha ha hav Show me what you got Ha ha. Ha ha A hallmark card marked Penny in a fountain. That's the address, Well, send it back then! Which fountain? Which penny? Which wish, Which which And which Christmas. I don't get it I took a half wit plastered bastard and had him hammered into a masterpiece; Now I'm the madman. Now what's the matter? Now what's the difference in a fan and a friend Or a cat in a hat or Peanut butter jelly and a baseball bat Is it just as indifferently anyway just another day In fact, It's opposite independence Interestingly in this circumstance I am imprisoned Listening to indefinitely And whether or not I'd never admit it This Is In me. Never friend, However, In the final act, Holding hands as the curtains lift, And the audience stance, The simple tremble of a pulse Which resembles the flicker of definite grip Rather publicly, In fact, Center percentium How's that for a show of affection? The drop of a hat, Or as light as a feather Who goes there Or yonder. “I ponder on that,” “Very often” Said Cheshire Cat. Don't forget how long it's been since Alice had originally fallen, And that all along we've all been in and under, up and down in Wonderland. (and also, it's the phantom of the opera) Come crashing down now the silvered chandelier of crystal and of course the precious iridescent diamonds. How remarkable the art but perched and parched above it he shadow lives in sawdust And showtunes And auras And hauntings And mayday And mating calls And over all The body calls to rotting soul To find a plug to pull A bull to taunt Another fan that wants you. What the fuck would love fall upon of not the shoulders of the golden one. You're doomed. I don't know what that means. {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.

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.

TROUBLEMAKER enters through the foyer. Troublemaker— I never though I'd see you again. — you won't. Yo what do I owe the displeasure? Fascinatingly inept. Ahem, excuse me— to what do I owe the nauseating discomfort? Better, but still no dice. What are you going here, exiler? “Exiler” well now, here we are making up words after a rusty start. What do you want? Where are they? Who do you mean? Birdsong and Hawkeye? I'm supposed to know? You do know. Do I now? Now— tomorrow— always and forever. Don't play mind games. But oh, a game it was to have given you the mark of the call in the first place. The what? I made my time with you and you alone; and you as well as I remember this; I know what you know, and I am where you are at all and any given times. So then, you can find them all on your own. Clever but not! Without seeing both eyes, I have none at all. What are you seeking? The hidden truths. Well then; you're going to have to kill me. Then I will. MONARCH THE SUFFERER enters through the galley in extreme panic. STOP, STOP! WAIT AT IT. MEANWHILE Okay, Conan, what gives? Nothing! Should this mean something at all? This is innapropriate, So you are—completely lucid. Of course I am; I'm an astral traveler, aren't I? I don't know what you are? For now, as it appears, just a thought. Well, if I give you my eyes, will you sprout arms or something? The mystic waits and ponders; this seems to be an enlightening thought; filled with amusement, she replies. Why, yes, Conan. Give me your eyes. Are you serious? What a remarkable thought. Actually! Wait a moment. Please be in jeans and a t shirt not a sweater or a jacket or a suit When I please you want you to be my teacher In this essence, you are light and I'm the truth Feed me See me for my demons As I need your for your weakness Only on the weekdays, and never on the weekends We hiatus summers— Smart, huh DJs on the long nights, Your festival seasons Turtlenecks at Christmas, No hannukah for Christians, I'm waving at the Krishnas in the station And I'm brace to even right this; As I brace myself for impact, Saving Grace is in its place I guess the last days have to happen As the last act take its placement —Ace of Spades. Somebody kill me I need to get pass go Collect $200 dollars And never ever roll again To roll the dice To troll the doll —someone's lost in the mall, alright, I bet. I thought it was a poker game I even hoped, But no, Just lunch and cake. Amen. A dog in the host suit On octopus arms How alarming. How are you? I'm no good, No good, No good, America No good, No goon, But too false for truth, America No words, No news— Who ties the noose, America? No time for booze, America Just cut me loose, America. Patrick! Patrick! What about the offer? There was no offer! I lied, to you! But why would you do that? To get the most out of you. Well— you certainly did do that. You certainly did do well. Certified freak; Shh, I can't leak the secrets. I could be speaking in codes, Or keep cleaning my creases with bleach If you mean what you mean, Death. I sure do think, You are in for The ride of your life The ride of your life I sure do wish, That I just didn't have eyes m Just didn't have eyes Just didn't have— Here's a thought: who'd you wash in the laundry? Were you hoping that I'd wander? Mayday — lost focus That is just not your business! Keep it simple Keep it tie dye Keep it strange And keep it rowdy Keep it pushing Keep it pouty Keep it off the walk And show now panty lines No petty theft No truth remarks No sighs No heavy dining Bleeding Eating Breathing Thinking Where were for you when I marked you though and then? This is no Romeo and Juliet! Did you forget your lunch? Oh you forgot, You know I'm just old fashioned. That was passionate For a paraground in parameters of iambic Drenched in suffocating silent Lock box I have the option I have the option I have the option But I'd rather not! Ha ha Charade you are Ha ha hav Show me what you got Ha ha. Ha ha A hallmark card marked Penny in a fountain. That's the address, Well, send it back then! Which fountain? Which penny? Which wish, Which which And which Christmas. I don't get it I took a half wit plastered bastard and had him hammered into a masterpiece; Now I'm the madman. Now what's the matter? Now what's the difference in a fan and a friend Or a cat in a hat or Peanut butter jelly and a baseball bat Is it just as indifferently anyway just another day In fact, It's opposite independence Interestingly in this circumstance I am imprisoned Listening to indefinitely And whether or not I'd never admit it This Is In me. Never friend, However, In the final act, Holding hands as the curtains lift, And the audience stance, The simple tremble of a pulse Which resembles the flicker of definite grip Rather publicly, In fact, Center percentium How's that for a show of affection? The drop of a hat, Or as light as a feather Who goes there Or yonder. “I ponder on that,” “Very often” Said Cheshire Cat. Don't forget how long it's been since Alice had originally fallen, And that all along we've all been in and under, up and down in Wonderland. (and also, it's the phantom of the opera) Come crashing down now the silvered chandelier of crystal and of course the precious iridescent diamonds. How remarkable the art but perched and parched above it he shadow lives in sawdust And showtunes And auras And hauntings And mayday And mating calls And over all The body calls to rotting soul To find a plug to pull A bull to taunt Another fan that wants you. What the fuck would love fall upon of not the shoulders of the golden one. You're doomed. I don't know what that means. {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.

TROUBLEMAKER enters through the foyer. Troublemaker— I never though I'd see you again. — you won't. Yo what do I owe the displeasure? Fascinatingly inept. Ahem, excuse me— to what do I owe the nauseating discomfort? Better, but still no dice. What are you going here, exiler? “Exiler” well now, here we are making up words after a rusty start. What do you want? Where are they? Who do you mean? Birdsong and Hawkeye? I'm supposed to know? You do know. Do I now? Now— tomorrow— always and forever. Don't play mind games. But oh, a game it was to have given you the mark of the call in the first place. The what? I made my time with you and you alone; and you as well as I remember this; I know what you know, and I am where you are at all and any given times. So then, you can find them all on your own. Clever but not! Without seeing both eyes, I have none at all. What are you seeking? The hidden truths. Well then; you're going to have to kill me. Then I will. MONARCH THE SUFFERER enters through the galley in extreme panic. STOP, STOP! WAIT AT IT. MEANWHILE Okay, Conan, what gives? Nothing! Should this mean something at all? This is innapropriate, So you are—completely lucid. Of course I am; I'm an astral traveler, aren't I? I don't know what you are? For now, as it appears, just a thought. Well, if I give you my eyes, will you sprout arms or something? The mystic waits and ponders; this seems to be an enlightening thought; filled with amusement, she replies. Why, yes, Conan. Give me your eyes. Are you serious? What a remarkable thought. Actually! Wait a moment. Please be in jeans and a t shirt not a sweater or a jacket or a suit When I please you want you to be my teacher In this essence, you are light and I'm the truth Feed me See me for my demons As I need your for your weakness Only on the weekdays, and never on the weekends We hiatus summers— Smart, huh DJs on the long nights, Your festival seasons Turtlenecks at Christmas, No hannukah for Christians, I'm waving at the Krishnas in the station And I'm brace to even right this; As I brace myself for impact, Saving Grace is in its place I guess the last days have to happen As the last act take its placement —Ace of Spades. Somebody kill me I need to get pass go Collect $200 dollars And never ever roll again To roll the dice To troll the doll —someone's lost in the mall, alright, I bet. I thought it was a poker game I even hoped, But no, Just lunch and cake. Amen. A dog in the host suit On octopus arms How alarming. How are you? I'm no good, No good, No good, America No good, No goon, But too false for truth, America No words, No news— Who ties the noose, America? No time for booze, America Just cut me loose, America. Patrick! Patrick! What about the offer? There was no offer! I lied, to you! But why would you do that? To get the most out of you. Well— you certainly did do that. You certainly did do well. Certified freak; Shh, I can't leak the secrets. I could be speaking in codes, Or keep cleaning my creases with bleach If you mean what you mean, Death. I sure do think, You are in for The ride of your life The ride of your life I sure do wish, That I just didn't have eyes m Just didn't have eyes Just didn't have— Here's a thought: who'd you wash in the laundry? Were you hoping that I'd wander? Mayday — lost focus That is just not your business! Keep it simple Keep it tie dye Keep it strange And keep it rowdy Keep it pushing Keep it pouty Keep it off the walk And show now panty lines No petty theft No truth remarks No sighs No heavy dining Bleeding Eating Breathing Thinking Where were for you when I marked you though and then? This is no Romeo and Juliet! Did you forget your lunch? Oh you forgot, You know I'm just old fashioned. That was passionate For a paraground in parameters of iambic Drenched in suffocating silent Lock box I have the option I have the option I have the option But I'd rather not! Ha ha Charade you are Ha ha hav Show me what you got Ha ha. Ha ha A hallmark card marked Penny in a fountain. That's the address, Well, send it back then! Which fountain? Which penny? Which wish, Which which And which Christmas. I don't get it I took a half wit plastered bastard and had him hammered into a masterpiece; Now I'm the madman. Now what's the matter? Now what's the difference in a fan and a friend Or a cat in a hat or Peanut butter jelly and a baseball bat Is it just as indifferently anyway just another day In fact, It's opposite independence Interestingly in this circumstance I am imprisoned Listening to indefinitely And whether or not I'd never admit it This Is In me. Never friend, However, In the final act, Holding hands as the curtains lift, And the audience stance, The simple tremble of a pulse Which resembles the flicker of definite grip Rather publicly, In fact, Center percentium How's that for a show of affection? The drop of a hat, Or as light as a feather Who goes there Or yonder. “I ponder on that,” “Very often” Said Cheshire Cat. Don't forget how long it's been since Alice had originally fallen, And that all along we've all been in and under, up and down in Wonderland. (and also, it's the phantom of the opera) Come crashing down now the silvered chandelier of crystal and of course the precious iridescent diamonds. How remarkable the art but perched and parched above it he shadow lives in sawdust And showtunes And auras And hauntings And mayday And mating calls And over all The body calls to rotting soul To find a plug to pull A bull to taunt Another fan that wants you. What the fuck would love fall upon of not the shoulders of the golden one. You're doomed. I don't know what that means. {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.

A Fort Lauderdale lawyer's ostentatious lifestyle is supported by the largest Ponzi scheme in Florida history. Prelude: The body of attorney Melissa Britt Lewis is found in a Florida canal. –––-–---------------------------------------- BECOME A VALUEDLISTENER™ ⁠⁠⁠⁠Spotify⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠Patreon⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠Apple Podcasts⁠⁠⁠⁠ –––-–---------------------------------------- DONATE: ⁠⁠⁠⁠SwindledPodcast.com/Support⁠⁠⁠⁠ CONSUME: ⁠⁠⁠⁠SwindledPodcast.com/Shop⁠⁠⁠⁠ WATCH: ⁠⁠⁠⁠SwindledVideo.com⁠⁠⁠⁠ –––-–---------------------------------------- MUSIC: ⁠⁠⁠⁠Deformr⁠⁠⁠⁠ –––-–---------------------------------------- FOLLOW: ⁠⁠⁠⁠SwindledPodcast.com⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠Instagram⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠Twitter.com⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠TikTok⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠Facebook⁠⁠⁠⁠ Thanks for listening. :-) Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Big Beautiful Charade - Republicans Cave; Democrats Rave by Ron Paul Liberty Report

Love Island USA Season 7 Episode 24 recap: Someone is trying to stir up drama. The heart rate challenge gets hearts racing in more ways than one! And there's a lot of weirdo behavior going on! ​​⁠⁠⁠ACCESS AD FREE, EARLY, EXTENDED/BONUS AND VIDEO EPISODES BY BECOMING A PATRON HERE⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠Follow me on Instagram⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Support the show⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠HERE Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Movies are kinda awesome. I hope you like this one Kegan! It's a gooder! Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

THEME - The Godless Don't Enforce Laws; LA Riots Are A Charade; Iran; Thunberg; KJP Sells Biden Out by Barak Lurie

The Southern Poverty Law Center has been in the business of big hate for decades. Even after inspiring a 2012 domestic terror attack by an attempted mass-shooter who used their "hate map," the SPLC doubled down. The organization is once again targeting conservatives for their views. Daily Signal's Tyler O'Neil and Family Research Council's Chris Gacek explain the history and corruption of SPLC, their devolution to the far left, and impact of its hate map.

The Southern Poverty Law Center has been in the business of big hate for decades. Even after inspiring a 2012 domestic terror attack by an attempted mass-shooter who used their "hate map," the SPLC doubled down. The organization is once again targeting conservatives for their views. Daily Signal's Tyler O'Neil and Family Research Council's Chris Gacek explain the history and corruption of SPLC, their devolution to the far left, and impact of its hate map.

The Southern Poverty Law Center has been in the business of big hate for decades. Even after inspiring a 2012 domestic terror attack by an attempted mass-shooter who used their "hate map," the SPLC doubled down. The organization is once again targeting conservatives for their views. Daily Signal's Tyler O'Neil and Family Research Council's Chris Gacek explain the history and corruption of SPLC, their devolution to the far left, and impact of its hate map.

It was surreal, I was off the grid and in airplane mode, and completely lost without giving a care I was so frustrated that I just kept waking. Just when I started to seriously consider suicide, with the exact timing of my thoughts reaching the logistical point that ‘there was really nothing let in the world for me'— then it appeared right before my eyes; as if it had just sprung up in my path. I wasn't worried that I was lost, or even panicking in a suicidal spiral, I just thought to myself “It's really time to go.” Then, the radio tower, which looked something like a sigil that had been appearing to me over and over. It made no other kind of sense; my phone wasn't connected to the internet, nor was maps installed; my location was off and in lockdown mode, and I knew I had missed the turn for Whole Foods… and just kept walking. In airplane mode, listening to heavy rock, wondering why I should even try at anything at all when Suddenly i realized It was a radio station. I didn't know what kind of music, but it didn't matter— I had music in all the genres. And though it was with intense irony that I had pretty much entirely given up on DJing, especially for the moment— here was this, something I just stumbled upon after walking what seemed pretty aimlessly into an almost suicidal frame of mind— not unheard of. My apartment was a hellscape and walking around Brooklyn was not much difference, besides that I was in the noise rather than on top of it. Either way, it was so exact I couldn't tell whether it happened before or at the same time, almost as if the universe's response to my logical needing to just kill muself off before it could get any worse was this thing I had very recently, pretty much entirely meaningfully abandoned. Trying to be a DJ. Was I trying? I didn't know. But either way, I had music out and business cards in my pocket, and so here it just must have been where I was walking to, anyway. At least I got rid of the trackers by confusing them— and myself— by completing a large circle in the opposite direction of the way I was sure I was supposed to be going. I'm hungry And I'm lonely And nobody loves me anyway I never feel at home And look Nobody wants me anyway My body is a rotting truck Nobody wants me anyway I might as well have been a corpse Nobody wants me anyway lol Didn't it have like ham, And— — both these cheeses. Cojita and queso blanco. With like— Pinapple, I think— And like, a kosher dill pickle. Hence the Dill. I guess. It was a really good sandwhich. Yeah. Oh well. When the friend in your head ends, And just drops dead, so you run in With the old hog for a laugh and a couple of Drops of syrup Water fountain Now I'm hungry It's been years But who the fuck is counting. We all made bad decisions and choices Mine was to jump first, Yours comes with comfort, a petite stature And a long slovic look with an axe tongue And a language no one on earth speaks But those who had what most or none do And you wonder why I close my eyes and suffer harder in oceans of blondes Far off looks of lost souls Eyes of oceans And no monuments without our fortunes Wrong, bud. I put it on a kings Hawaiian roll One for ever one I've suffered We have the same deck of cards, Only mine can talk, son Look, I wrote you an open socket Conform to nothing Nobody loves me, anyway cause I get hungry Go be a husband, dope boy Go be a Carhart, countryman Go be a store bought doughboy That ought to solve it Dropped you on Stop that Round the corner 9 holes of golf left I told you who won that Round one What a way to die What a way to live What a way to love King James! What away to lose. What away to tie. What a way to die. What a way to lie! King James! I've got bibles for miles And eyes on my articles, Isis on cycles And Christs in criseses I put a thorn on your mailbox Will you promise to prick it? The finger I picked it! The truth was involved And in blood it was written The ritual sense, Pretenses Pretend this didn't happen “I didn't” I swore throat on your mailbox I promise I nailed the mailman and ten blondes Just not to fawn at the thought of ya Fawn at the thought of you But oh am I woke on my tired Regardless I simple don't write in code —till I'm inspired. Woah! What a lovely scroll you wrote! King James! What the fuck made me write that? Scallions! There's a million ways to die And oh, The toll of having Wolverine Wrapped around your finger Aspartame Had better bitter sanctions From the tales of old Histophcles And obstacles The Oxford girls? More tour bus stories, Blonde hair Broke Bloke, Tits and tits and Have you written any sentiments About your post mortem. Of course. I even put my will in order It's obvious they want me dead And rather than a lover There simply is no love left! String her up and cut the torso, Let the blood fall And the organs, And the morbid flesh rot, Soaking all of her horror stories Of love and unrequited hypocrisy! There, there, settle down. You haven't one yet I still have an ounce of coke in my pocket Coke in my pocket And I can't pronounce the name of my next guest, The show I'm hosting— I might as well just sound it ouhhuuuut— Cold . Okay, then. I can have a pilot in a month with just the look of him Without it on a tub of Petroleum jelly or whatever jew bargain I cried so much I really liked the taste of reddi whip You know I guess I just Wasn't ready for it Will and Grady, Grace and Katie Now were all watching Cause they're younger While we're steady greying Who are her?! I'll hire her. Not so fast, A laundry list of thoughts And plummeting stock options I still love all my loved men But nobody loves me So unrequited is the prerequisite for this poet And so I chose to split open With my guts, hunting forward into the cut Knowing, my purple entrails will impale you And the words I have laid here I didn't fit the herd mentality And still was lead to slaughter Haha, Charade you are, sir. I know my love when I'm shadow bonded. Not now, Matthew, James and I are talking, Dear brethren As brother And mother and son And as whore and horror show. Tell me something, sparrow Did I throw you off your steep cut oats It's heavy on the tongue With whispers that I love you Mother son and brother Just around the corner Bear around the bush again Just to jack it off, or up The spare tire's on a doughnut How god loving I want the world, my whole throat Throbbing at the thought of concepts Lover, lover, lover— magnet, skip a turn And call his mother No one's going home alive Or any other way, So I just call the others, Others Fathers, Sons, And brothers Ties And bonds— A uniformed comfort. My hopes. In an evolving box. L E G E N D S {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project ™ ] The Collective Complex © COPYRIGHT THE FESTIVAL PROJECT ™ , INC. 2019-2025 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED -nobody, by now. (-Ū.) INT. RAVE. DAY-ISH. CARL COX Answers the Phone. Oh yes, oh yes? Tales of a Superstar Dj

It was surreal, I was off the grid and in airplane mode, and completely lost without giving a care I was so frustrated that I just kept waking. Just when I started to seriously consider suicide, with the exact timing of my thoughts reaching the logistical point that ‘there was really nothing let in the world for me'— then it appeared right before my eyes; as if it had just sprung up in my path. I wasn't worried that I was lost, or even panicking in a suicidal spiral, I just thought to myself “It's really time to go.” Then, the radio tower, which looked something like a sigil that had been appearing to me over and over. It made no other kind of sense; my phone wasn't connected to the internet, nor was maps installed; my location was off and in lockdown mode, and I knew I had missed the turn for Whole Foods… and just kept walking. In airplane mode, listening to heavy rock, wondering why I should even try at anything at all when Suddenly i realized It was a radio station. I didn't know what kind of music, but it didn't matter— I had music in all the genres. And though it was with intense irony that I had pretty much entirely given up on DJing, especially for the moment— here was this, something I just stumbled upon after walking what seemed pretty aimlessly into an almost suicidal frame of mind— not unheard of. My apartment was a hellscape and walking around Brooklyn was not much difference, besides that I was in the noise rather than on top of it. Either way, it was so exact I couldn't tell whether it happened before or at the same time, almost as if the universe's response to my logical needing to just kill muself off before it could get any worse was this thing I had very recently, pretty much entirely meaningfully abandoned. Trying to be a DJ. Was I trying? I didn't know. But either way, I had music out and business cards in my pocket, and so here it just must have been where I was walking to, anyway. At least I got rid of the trackers by confusing them— and myself— by completing a large circle in the opposite direction of the way I was sure I was supposed to be going. I'm hungry And I'm lonely And nobody loves me anyway I never feel at home And look Nobody wants me anyway My body is a rotting truck Nobody wants me anyway I might as well have been a corpse Nobody wants me anyway lol Didn't it have like ham, And— — both these cheeses. Cojita and queso blanco. With like— Pinapple, I think— And like, a kosher dill pickle. Hence the Dill. I guess. It was a really good sandwhich. Yeah. Oh well. When the friend in your head ends, And just drops dead, so you run in With the old hog for a laugh and a couple of Drops of syrup Water fountain Now I'm hungry It's been years But who the fuck is counting. We all made bad decisions and choices Mine was to jump first, Yours comes with comfort, a petite stature And a long slovic look with an axe tongue And a language no one on earth speaks But those who had what most or none do And you wonder why I close my eyes and suffer harder in oceans of blondes Far off looks of lost souls Eyes of oceans And no monuments without our fortunes Wrong, bud. I put it on a kings Hawaiian roll One for ever one I've suffered We have the same deck of cards, Only mine can talk, son Look, I wrote you an open socket Conform to nothing Nobody loves me, anyway cause I get hungry Go be a husband, dope boy Go be a Carhart, countryman Go be a store bought doughboy That ought to solve it Dropped you on Stop that Round the corner 9 holes of golf left I told you who won that Round one What a way to die What a way to live What a way to love King James! What away to lose. What away to tie. What a way to die. What a way to lie! King James! I've got bibles for miles And eyes on my articles, Isis on cycles And Christs in criseses I put a thorn on your mailbox Will you promise to prick it? The finger I picked it! The truth was involved And in blood it was written The ritual sense, Pretenses Pretend this didn't happen “I didn't” I swore throat on your mailbox I promise I nailed the mailman and ten blondes Just not to fawn at the thought of ya Fawn at the thought of you But oh am I woke on my tired Regardless I simple don't write in code —till I'm inspired. Woah! What a lovely scroll you wrote! King James! What the fuck made me write that? Scallions! There's a million ways to die And oh, The toll of having Wolverine Wrapped around your finger Aspartame Had better bitter sanctions From the tales of old Histophcles And obstacles The Oxford girls? More tour bus stories, Blonde hair Broke Bloke, Tits and tits and Have you written any sentiments About your post mortem. Of course. I even put my will in order It's obvious they want me dead And rather than a lover There simply is no love left! String her up and cut the torso, Let the blood fall And the organs, And the morbid flesh rot, Soaking all of her horror stories Of love and unrequited hypocrisy! There, there, settle down. You haven't one yet I still have an ounce of coke in my pocket Coke in my pocket And I can't pronounce the name of my next guest, The show I'm hosting— I might as well just sound it ouhhuuuut— Cold . Okay, then. I can have a pilot in a month with just the look of him Without it on a tub of Petroleum jelly or whatever jew bargain I cried so much I really liked the taste of reddi whip You know I guess I just Wasn't ready for it Will and Grady, Grace and Katie Now were all watching Cause they're younger While we're steady greying Who are her?! I'll hire her. Not so fast, A laundry list of thoughts And plummeting stock options I still love all my loved men But nobody loves me So unrequited is the prerequisite for this poet And so I chose to split open With my guts, hunting forward into the cut Knowing, my purple entrails will impale you And the words I have laid here I didn't fit the herd mentality And still was lead to slaughter Haha, Charade you are, sir. I know my love when I'm shadow bonded. Not now, Matthew, James and I are talking, Dear brethren As brother And mother and son And as whore and horror show. Tell me something, sparrow Did I throw you off your steep cut oats It's heavy on the tongue With whispers that I love you Mother son and brother Just around the corner Bear around the bush again Just to jack it off, or up The spare tire's on a doughnut How god loving I want the world, my whole throat Throbbing at the thought of concepts Lover, lover, lover— magnet, skip a turn And call his mother No one's going home alive Or any other way, So I just call the others, Others Fathers, Sons, And brothers Ties And bonds— A uniformed comfort. My hopes. In an evolving box. L E G E N D S {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project ™ ] The Collective Complex © COPYRIGHT THE FESTIVAL PROJECT ™ , INC. 2019-2025 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED -nobody, by now. (-Ū.) INT. RAVE. DAY-ISH. CARL COX Answers the Phone. Oh yes, oh yes? Tales of a Superstar Dj

It was surreal, I was off the grid and in airplane mode, and completely lost without giving a care I was so frustrated that I just kept waking. Just when I started to seriously consider suicide, with the exact timing of my thoughts reaching the logistical point that ‘there was really nothing let in the world for me'— then it appeared right before my eyes; as if it had just sprung up in my path. I wasn't worried that I was lost, or even panicking in a suicidal spiral, I just thought to myself “It's really time to go.” Then, the radio tower, which looked something like a sigil that had been appearing to me over and over. It made no other kind of sense; my phone wasn't connected to the internet, nor was maps installed; my location was off and in lockdown mode, and I knew I had missed the turn for Whole Foods… and just kept walking. In airplane mode, listening to heavy rock, wondering why I should even try at anything at all when Suddenly i realized It was a radio station. I didn't know what kind of music, but it didn't matter— I had music in all the genres. And though it was with intense irony that I had pretty much entirely given up on DJing, especially for the moment— here was this, something I just stumbled upon after walking what seemed pretty aimlessly into an almost suicidal frame of mind— not unheard of. My apartment was a hellscape and walking around Brooklyn was not much difference, besides that I was in the noise rather than on top of it. Either way, it was so exact I couldn't tell whether it happened before or at the same time, almost as if the universe's response to my logical needing to just kill muself off before it could get any worse was this thing I had very recently, pretty much entirely meaningfully abandoned. Trying to be a DJ. Was I trying? I didn't know. But either way, I had music out and business cards in my pocket, and so here it just must have been where I was walking to, anyway. At least I got rid of the trackers by confusing them— and myself— by completing a large circle in the opposite direction of the way I was sure I was supposed to be going. I'm hungry And I'm lonely And nobody loves me anyway I never feel at home And look Nobody wants me anyway My body is a rotting truck Nobody wants me anyway I might as well have been a corpse Nobody wants me anyway lol Didn't it have like ham, And— — both these cheeses. Cojita and queso blanco. With like— Pinapple, I think— And like, a kosher dill pickle. Hence the Dill. I guess. It was a really good sandwhich. Yeah. Oh well. When the friend in your head ends, And just drops dead, so you run in With the old hog for a laugh and a couple of Drops of syrup Water fountain Now I'm hungry It's been years But who the fuck is counting. We all made bad decisions and choices Mine was to jump first, Yours comes with comfort, a petite stature And a long slovic look with an axe tongue And a language no one on earth speaks But those who had what most or none do And you wonder why I close my eyes and suffer harder in oceans of blondes Far off looks of lost souls Eyes of oceans And no monuments without our fortunes Wrong, bud. I put it on a kings Hawaiian roll One for ever one I've suffered We have the same deck of cards, Only mine can talk, son Look, I wrote you an open socket Conform to nothing Nobody loves me, anyway cause I get hungry Go be a husband, dope boy Go be a Carhart, countryman Go be a store bought doughboy That ought to solve it Dropped you on Stop that Round the corner 9 holes of golf left I told you who won that Round one What a way to die What a way to live What a way to love King James! What away to lose. What away to tie. What a way to die. What a way to lie! King James! I've got bibles for miles And eyes on my articles, Isis on cycles And Christs in criseses I put a thorn on your mailbox Will you promise to prick it? The finger I picked it! The truth was involved And in blood it was written The ritual sense, Pretenses Pretend this didn't happen “I didn't” I swore throat on your mailbox I promise I nailed the mailman and ten blondes Just not to fawn at the thought of ya Fawn at the thought of you But oh am I woke on my tired Regardless I simple don't write in code —till I'm inspired. Woah! What a lovely scroll you wrote! King James! What the fuck made me write that? Scallions! There's a million ways to die And oh, The toll of having Wolverine Wrapped around your finger Aspartame Had better bitter sanctions From the tales of old Histophcles And obstacles The Oxford girls? More tour bus stories, Blonde hair Broke Bloke, Tits and tits and Have you written any sentiments About your post mortem. Of course. I even put my will in order It's obvious they want me dead And rather than a lover There simply is no love left! String her up and cut the torso, Let the blood fall And the organs, And the morbid flesh rot, Soaking all of her horror stories Of love and unrequited hypocrisy! There, there, settle down. You haven't one yet I still have an ounce of coke in my pocket Coke in my pocket And I can't pronounce the name of my next guest, The show I'm hosting— I might as well just sound it ouhhuuuut— Cold . Okay, then. I can have a pilot in a month with just the look of him Without it on a tub of Petroleum jelly or whatever jew bargain I cried so much I really liked the taste of reddi whip You know I guess I just Wasn't ready for it Will and Grady, Grace and Katie Now were all watching Cause they're younger While we're steady greying Who are her?! I'll hire her. Not so fast, A laundry list of thoughts And plummeting stock options I still love all my loved men But nobody loves me So unrequited is the prerequisite for this poet And so I chose to split open With my guts, hunting forward into the cut Knowing, my purple entrails will impale you And the words I have laid here I didn't fit the herd mentality And still was lead to slaughter Haha, Charade you are, sir. I know my love when I'm shadow bonded. Not now, Matthew, James and I are talking, Dear brethren As brother And mother and son And as whore and horror show. Tell me something, sparrow Did I throw you off your steep cut oats It's heavy on the tongue With whispers that I love you Mother son and brother Just around the corner Bear around the bush again Just to jack it off, or up The spare tire's on a doughnut How god loving I want the world, my whole throat Throbbing at the thought of concepts Lover, lover, lover— magnet, skip a turn And call his mother No one's going home alive Or any other way, So I just call the others, Others Fathers, Sons, And brothers Ties And bonds— A uniformed comfort. My hopes. In an evolving box. L E G E N D S {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project ™ ] The Collective Complex © COPYRIGHT THE FESTIVAL PROJECT ™ , INC. 2019-2025 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED -nobody, by now. (-Ū.) INT. RAVE. DAY-ISH. CARL COX Answers the Phone. Oh yes, oh yes? Tales of a Superstar Dj

On the Sidelines of the Pope's Funeral, Zelensky Meets With Trump to Discuss the White House's Charade of a Peace Plan/Giveaway to Putin | Trump Orders the DOJ to Investigate Act Blue to Get Private Data on 15 Million Democratic Donors | Opus Dei and "Traditionalist" Forces Inside the Catholic Church Maneuver to Replace a Pope They Hated With a Reactionary backgroundbriefing.org/donate twitter.com/ianmastersmedia bsky.app/profile/ianmastersmedia.bsky.social facebook.com/ianmastersmedia

Nick kicks us off with some new music from The Hives and checks in with Jay on the announcement that Bruce Springsteen is releasing seven unreleased albums in June. Greg is out this week, so Keith Grasso is kind enough to join us again. Nick takes the opportunity to check in with the owner of Island Music (and five-time cohost) on the state of music equipment sales amid a tariff war.Song: The Hives - “Enough is Enough”Keith's feeds were blowing up this past week when it was announced that Ratt singer Stephen Pearcy and guitarist Warren DeMartini are touring together again after a ten year break.Song: RATT - “Way Cool Jr.”Jay closes things out with a Three For Thursday. We have a track off the new Springsteen project, an Apple Music Discovery find, and another from Sirius XM.Songs:Bruce Springsteen - “Rain in the River”Lola Kirke - “Bury Me In NYC”Birdtalker - “Season of Charade”

How does an artist once perceived to be ahead of his time fall behind the times? The choreographer/director of Golden Age classics like Singin' the Rain and Funny Face left Hollywood for all the 60s and the first half of the 70s, perfecting a certain brand of sophisticated comedy/romance abroad with films like Charade, Bedazzled and Two for the Road. His rough Hollywood re-entry was marked by exercises in nostalgia for eras gone by (Lucky Lady, a movie about Prohibition Era gangsters starring Burt Reynolds and Liza Minnelli; the 1930s spoof Movie Movie) and attempts to give audiences of the 80s what it was assumed they wanted (the sci-fi debacle Saturn 3, the sex comedy Blame it on Rio). 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

Today, Morgan, Martha, Bishop, and Andrew unpack the high-stakes phone call between Presidents Trump and Putin and what it means for the future of the war in Ukraine. The two leaders reached a limited agreement for a 30-day halt on attacks against Ukraine's energy infrastructure—but just hours later, both sides launched new strikes.Do we really have an agreement? As negotiations move to Jeddah, is the U.S. making progress toward a real peace settlement, or being drawn into Putin's playbook? And with Trump backing Putin's proposal for U.S.-Russia ice hockey matches, is this soft-power diplomacy or a PR win for Moscow?Check out the answers to these questions and more in this episode of Fault Lines.Check out the sources that helped shape our Fellows' discussion: Follow our experts on Twitter: @BishopGarrison@marthamillerdc@morganlroach@AndrewBoreneLike what we're doing here? Be sure to rate, review, and subscribe. And don't forget to follow @masonnatsec on Twitter!We are also on YouTube, and watch today's episode here: https://youtu.be/6vKw6AOQ9cI Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Why is Jane planning to attend her dad's celebration of life service when he was the cause of so much pain in her life?  Call 1-800-DR-LAURA / 1-800-375-2872 or make an appointment at DrLaura.comFollow me on social media:Facebook.com/DrLauraInstagram.com/DrLauraProgramYouTube.com/DrLauraJoin My Dr. Laura Family For Free! Receive my blogs, featured Email of the Day, event invitations, and early access to my Dr. Laura Designs Store, which is exclusive to my newsletter subscribers. You get 20% off Marriage 101, my six video-course to improve and strengthen your marriage! Plus, get an exclusive discount for 25% off your entire purchase on official Dr. Laura merch! What are you waiting for? Sign up today at DrLaura.com

Música de cine con grabaciones de Kyle Eastwood para sus discos 'Cinematic' ('Pink panther theme', 'Per le antiche scale', 'Charade') y 'Eastwood symphonic' homenaje a su padre Clint Eastwood ('Unforgiven', 'The bridges of Madison'); de Richard Baratta para el disco 'Music in film: The sequel' ('Soul bossa nova', 'Last tango in Paris', 'You´ve got a friend in me') y de Dave Stryker para 'Stryker strings goes to the movies' ('Taxi driver', 'You only live twice').Escuchar audio

She captured hearts and she thrilled them, too! Cinema Drive is back for another Audrey-centric episode! Hepburn springs into action in these classic 60s thrillers: the fun and feisty Charade (1963), dubbed "the best Hitchcock movie that Hitchcock never made" and the gripping Wait Until Dark (1967), with a heart-stopping climax that movie theaters ensured was an immersive experience. Tune in and discover two Audrey films you HAVE to watch!The Deep Question: Could Indy have safely gotten the grail?This Week's Features:Charade (1963)Wait Until Dark (1967)Message Jason and Ryan

Today on the podcast I will be revisiting a comfort film of mine, 'Charade' (1963)!  ------------------------------ Intro/outro music created by Patrick Baxter! You can find his social channels below as well: https://spamcaller.bandcamp.com/ https://twitter.com/pattyfuego

PWTorch editor Wade Keller is joined by PWTorch's Darrin Lilly to discuss the Jan. 29 edition of AEW Dynamite starting with a discussion of whether Mercedes Moné vs. Yuka Sakazaki was built up enough to justify it's main event status. They also try to make sense of why Toni Storm went to the trouble to deceive everyone for months if Mariah May was going to be completely totally unfazed by the big reveal on Saturday. They also discuss the rise of the Don Callis Family in storyline prominence, but do they need a more clear in-ring alpha? Plus Ricochet and the scissors nonsense, a soft-sell of Jeff Jarrett's dream to get a World Title match crashing down, and much more with live chat interaction throughout.Become a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/wade-keller-pro-wrestling-post-shows--3275545/support.

Episode 82 is here letting you know your dentist appointment has been rearranged. Our second movie for Game Night Mix is the 1963 caper: Charade. Will Marcie finally convert Dirk over to the Cary Crew? Join us please for a chicken sandwich and lunch time wine as we discuss topics such as: thin moustaches; Marvel Team-Ups; and skin regimes in the face of a 3 pack a day smoking habit Chapters Bonjour! Oscar Noms, David Lynch, Alien Romulus (00:00:00) Charade Chat (00:26:00) Song Choices (01:13:28) Emails and Next Episode (01:21:26) Thank you to everyone who listens to the show, we love you all. Your support means the world to us. If you want to contact the show you can email us at ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠themoviemixtapepod@gmail.com⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Join our Discord ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠HERE⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Find us on Instagram at ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠the_moviemixtape⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Hosts: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Dirk⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠, ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Marcie⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠, Edited by: Dirk and Marcie Logo by: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Irontooth Design⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ The Movie Mixtape Spotify Playlist can be found ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠HERE⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ The Movie Mixtape is a ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠TAPEDECK⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ podcast, along with our friends at ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠70mm⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠, ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Bat & Spider⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠, ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Escape Hatch⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠, ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Will Run For...⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠, ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Lost Light⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠, ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Twin Vipers⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ , ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠The Letterboxd Show⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠, ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Cinenauts⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ , ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠The Yeti Is Still Broken⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ , and ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Austin Danger Podcast⁠⁠

Chris breaks down the demise of the global tax scheme championed by Biden, Yellen, and European nations, highlighting its potential harm to American businesses. He explains how the OECD's "Pillar One" and "Pillar Two" would have unfairly targeted U.S. tech and pharmaceutical companies while imposing a 15% minimum global tax rate. www.watchdogonwallstreet.com

(00:00-15:27) Really diggin' in elbow deep. Rank our hotness. Doug's family has no idea where he is right now. You don't have to listen if it's gonna make you angry. Skol Down. Poor Marsh. Big weekend for NFL unders. Was Rocky IV the best Rocky? Clockgate. (15:35-33:30) An Orwellian charade. The St. Louis/Kansas City dynamic. It always comes down to liberty. Doug doesn't care what team you root for. The Arch is grabbing its ankles. Good comment, Doug. Doing self-inventory in the shower. (33:40-43:04 ) Joe Buck's kids have it coming. The Rams loss to Charlie Whitehurst really stuck with Jackson. Pick one, brother. The Eagles fan who explicitly berated the Packers fan. He got doxxed yesterday. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

(00:00-15:27) Really diggin' in elbow deep. Rank our hotness. Doug's family has no idea where he is right now. You don't have to listen if it's gonna make you angry. Skol Down. Poor Marsh. Big weekend for NFL unders. Was Rocky IV the best Rocky? Clockgate. (15:35-33:30) An Orwellian charade. The St. Louis/Kansas City dynamic. It always comes down to liberty. Doug doesn't care what team you root for. The Arch is grabbing its ankles. Good comment, Doug. Doing self-inventory in the shower. (33:40-43:04 ) Joe Buck's kids have it coming. The Rams loss to Charlie Whitehurst really stuck with Jackson. Pick one, brother. The Eagles fan who explicitly berated the Packers fan. He got doxxed yesterday. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoicesSee Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

See links to Scott Schara's work: See links to William Ramsey's work:https://www.williamramseyinvestigates.com/FYI readers follow this link to the late Rev. John Rankin's published thoughts on sorcery at the right hand of power:https://www.teii.org/sorcery-at-the-right-hand-of-power/Thanks for reading Drifting Pinions! This post is public so feel free to share it. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit driftingpinions.substack.com

Round Table tonight at 7 PM ET for members. Gift Cards now available over at PapaSwolio.com! Start your 7-Day Free Trial! Download The Swolenormous App Here BIG SALE, BUY 3 GET 1 FREE! PapaSwolio.com Watch the full episodes here: Subscribe on Rumble Submit A Question⁠ For The Show  Use Code "GTTFG" to get 10% OFF ALL MERCH! Get On Papa Swolio's Email List Download The 7 Pillars Ebook  Try A Swolega Class From Inside Swolenormous X  Get Your Free $10 In Bitcoin    Questions? Email Us: Support@Swolenormous.com

Journalist Tyler Gray was working in Orlando when he first heard about Lou Pearlman and his growing business empire. But it wasn't until authorities apprehended Pearlman in Bali in 2007 that Gray began to investigate the story behind the man who created the boy bands NSYNC and Backstreet Boys. Today, Tyler Gray joins Lindsay to talk about his book, The Hit Charade: Lou Pearlman, Boy Bands, and the Biggest Ponzi Scheme in U.S. History. Be the first to know about Wondery's newest podcasts, curated recommendations, and more! Sign up now at https://wondery.fm/wonderynewsletterListen to American Scandal on the Wondery App or wherever you get your podcasts. Experience all episodes ad-free and be the first to binge the newest season. Unlock exclusive early access by joining Wondery+ in the Wondery App, Apple Podcasts or Spotify. Start your free trial today by visiting wondery.com/links/american-scandal/ now.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Message from Greg Neal on November 24, 2024

We welcome you back to The Cafe for our first two Christmas movies of 2024 to make the menu. "The Christmas Charade" is a smart and funny modern send up of an old fashioned caper movie with Corey Sevier and Rachel Skarsten having a blast catching the crooks. For dessert, we switch things over to Hallmark Plus for "Mistletoe Murders." In this first of six episodes, we meet a shop owner with a mysterious past, played by Sarah Drew, who gets caught up in a mystery that puts her right in the middle of the investigation. Your yuletide table is ready here at The Hallmark Cafe! .

This election season many Trump voters are hoping the Amish in Pennsylvania will help swing the state red. Some commentators have even referenced the Amos Miller story as an example of why the Amish might now be more inclined to get out and vote for the GOP, and specifically Donald Trump. But have Trump and the Republicans stood up for the Amish? It turns out, one of Amos Miller's greatest enemies was a Trump-appointed Republican attorney general committed to pummeling Miller into submission to the Nanny State. In fact, no Republican in the county or state was willing to support Miller. On this episode of The Lancaster Patriot Podcast, Chris Hume shares some of his first-hand knowledge of the Amos Miller story and how it relates to claim that the GOP will help preserve the Amish from prosecution and persecution. More resources on the Amos Miller story: Dave Zimmerman's Statement About Amos Miller Will Any Civil Leader Stand Against Tyranny? | A Challenge to Dave Zimmerman, Doug Mastriano, et al. The Nanny State Versus Amos Miller

The movie kicks off with a mysterious situation. A blonde woman delivers a box containing Santa and a microchip. They flee together, and we discover that this is actually a TV show that a woman named Whitney watches intently while eating cereal in her PJs—just like me on Saturday mornings. Her coworker, Rachel, tries to set Whitney up on a date because she thinks Whitney watches too much TV—a bold statement, especially in a movie on a network that starts playing 24/7 Christmas movies two weeks before Halloween.We then meet real-life Secret Agent Josh Dawson, who works for a detective agency and has been undercover for six months with no results. His boss tells him they're shutting down the operation, but Josh explains that he wants to stop a heist involving a necklace called the Heart of Christmas, worth over $10 million, set to be displayed at a Christmas ball on Christmas Eve. His boss agrees to give him one more chance, but only if he has a partner. So, Agent Keira Tanner is assigned to go undercover as Dawson's girlfriend.Dawson, wearing a green sweater, agrees to meet with Keira to discuss the case. However, Whitney, who is supposed to be on a blind date with someone in a green sweater, sits down with him first. He jumps right into discussing the case, and Whitney is bewildered. He quickly realizes she's not who he was supposed to meet, but it's too late—they're expected to have dinner with “the mark.” So, he asks Whitney to just play along.Whitney reluctantly agrees but immediately fumbles by telling the couple that she's a ballroom dancer between jobs. The woman, Patty, then asks Whitney to help plan a ball!The next day, Agent Dawson brings Whitney to his boss, intending to figure out how to remove her from the situation. But the boss sees an opportunity: Whitney has secured regular access to their targets, so she can't drop out now. However, she'll need some training.Cue a training montage where Whitney initially struggles but eventually masters everything, from backstory to subtle texting. She's ready to go!At Patty and Maxwell's, Patty gives Whitney the lowdown on the necklace while Dawson snoops around. He's caught by Maxwell, but Maxwell brushes it off and offers him a bottle of wine.Finding no clues, they visit a museum to devise a plan for catching the thieves during the party. The museum guide mentions he once got tricked by a fake painting, giving Whitney an idea: a fake necklace!They find a woman who makes jewelry and can whip up a replica in just a few hours. They stay to watch her work, and Dawson is impressed by the result.In the short time before the party, Whitney decorates Dawson's apartment for Christmas because, well, you have to.The necklace arrives and is kept in a secure area. Dawson lowers Whitney down to swap the real necklace with the fake one, but the mission fails. Now, they'll have to try during the actual party.Before the party, Whitney has a game night with her family, and Dawson agrees to join. The game is Christmas charades. Nervous about meeting a girlfriend's family for the first time, Dawson ends up having fun and winning over the family, who are a bit suspicious of these two lovebirds.It's party time! When they see each other dressed up, sparks fly. At the party, they're about to swap the necklaces when Patty suddenly introduces them for a surprise tango. Fortunately, they nail it. Then Whitney's dad unexpectedly shows up.While they're talking, the power goes out, and the necklace goes missing. They spot a man with a briefcase and chase him to the roof. Opening the case, they find it's a decoy. Looking down, they see the museum director escaping with the jewels—and Whitney's parents have been taken hostage!They rappel down and catch up with the van, only to find that her parents have the situation under control. It turns out her parents used to be in the FBI. They explain that they were suspicious after Whitney rescheduled game night, so they showed up at the party and quickly figured things out. They even secured the real necklace.The movie could end here, but it doesn't. Whitney feels betrayed by her parents and storms off, upset that they ruined her exciting night. Josh follows her and tries to calm her down, telling her her parents are amazing. She retorts, “What do you know about family?”—a stinger, given that Josh grew up in the foster system.As Whitney mopes, she realizes the painting the museum guide mentioned earlier has been stolen. She suspects Patty and goes to confront her, only to end up in danger. Just as the bad guys are about to capture her, the FBI storms in and saves the day.It's Christmas Day, and Whitney's parents arrive with gifts and apologies. She forgives them. Josh shows up, and Whitney gives him a Christmas present—a snow globe. He gives her a replica of the Christmas necklace. Whitney invites Josh to spend Christmas with her family, and they kissssssss as the fake snow snows.  

What do a gem-studded necklace, the FBI, and a criminal named Patty have in common? Buckle up, fam! Jennifer + Josh are back to recap and review a new Hallmark 'Countdown to Christmas' flick, 'The Christmas Charade,' and this one has plenty of adventure, or maybe it's all just a bust. (DEPENDS WHICH CO-HOST YOU ASK.) Let's just say there's a difference of opinion on this one and it makes for a SUPER fun conversation! Watch as Jennifer + Josh recap the bonkers plot and break down the bottom line in their 'Gold or Coal' segment! Have you watched what we watched? Leave us a comment on our socials! Connect with us online at www.DoYouWatchWhatIWatch.com! And -- as always -- may your days be merry and bright!

Today Ann and Rachel are here to talk about 3 weekend Christmas movies on Hallmark and Hallmark Mystery channels Pick up THE CHRISTMAS COIN by Lindsay Gibson today (ad) https://amzn.to/4eUuC09 Follow Ann on twitter https://twitter.com/awscott21 Our Christmas podcasts are at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X4f2KtBPzUE&list=PLXv4sBF3mPUDo41tHqhkjHCvedmZwLzHx For all of our interviews https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLXv4sBF3mPUA_0JZ2r5fxhTRE_-RChCj Send us your feedback at feedback@hallmarkiespodcast.com or the twitter call +1 (801) 855-6407 Check out the merch store and get our #hashtag shirts! https://www.teepublic.com/stores/hallmarkies?utm_campaign=Hallmarkies&utm_medium=8581&utm_source=affiliate Please support the podcast on patreon at https://www.patreon.com/hallmarkies Follow us on ITunes https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/hallmarkies-podcast/id1296728288?mt=2 https://twitter.com/HallmarkiesPod on twitter @HallmarkiesPodcast on Instagram Check out our website HallmarkiesPodcast.com Follow Rachel's blog at http://rachelsreviews.net Follow Rachel on twitter twitter.com/rachel_reviews Follow Rachel's Reviews on youtube https://www.youtube.com/c/rachelsreviews Follow Rachel on facebook www.facebook.com/smilingldsgirlreviews Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Kerrie & Stephanie review the latest Hallmark holiday movies!Let us know what you thought by following us on Instagram: @loveandnonsensepodcastFollow Stephanie's author life:Website: www.thearrowedheart.comOnline Store: www.steamyromancereads.com Instagram/Facebook: @authorhalliebennett & @authorjemmafrostFollow Kerrie's photographer life:Website: www.kerriedawnphoto.comInstagram: @kerrie.dawn.photo

Another movie based on simple misunderstandings and people who could have used their words right from the beginning and avoided all the confusion. If that's your thing, you're in for a treat - there was a LOT of confusion. There was a mildly interesting story with the parents, and a couple of funny moments, but if this is how the FBI works, we're all in trouble! Hide your jewels! Get bonus content on Patreon Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

One of the most snarkable movies we've seen in a long time, featuring a top-five snarkable moment—a five-story, one-handed rope slide (rope burn, anyone?) into a Christmas inflatable. So many twists in this one our necks hurt (her parents were also FBI agents??). Tara learned she wouldn't make it as a spy due to her inability to pocket text—guess she'll have to stick to her Hallmark job as a librarian. And glad to know if we ever need to break into a 24/7 secure vault, all we need is a precisely timed gingerbread cookie delivery. This plot unravels if you look at it for more than a second, but it's so ridiculous you can't help but watch. Join us for Episode 4 of our snarky adventure as we watch, discuss, and judge Hallmark Christmas movies. Check out our latest rankings at HallmarkSnark.com and follow us @HallmarkSnark on Facebook, Instagram, and X.

In this lively conversation, Nick and Leslie review the Hallmark movie 'The Christmas Charade,' discussing its plot, character dynamics, and the themes of love and family. They share their thoughts on the film's humor, budget constraints, and the chemistry between the lead characters, ultimately giving their ratings and recommendations for viewers. --- Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/a4ps/support

The sadly beautiful and beautifully sad Human Experiment™ as seen at 17,000 miles per hour. Continued. Transmitted from the Extremely Above Ground Bunker once again.Some lurking into the strange world of GㅇㅇGㄴㅌMaps as it relates to bizarre, yet officially reviewed places within the walls of the White House. Some off the cuff remarks about USA domestic political twaddle. The US accelerates toward war with Iran.The Biden admin will not stop fucking around with pretending to be peeved at Israel while wholeheartedly being the Prime Mover behind its unhinged genocidal mania.In the Mouth of Madness: The Matt Miller Saga ContinuesMuch like the US, Germany plays absurd games with pretending to condition its support for the Zionist Entity (although they do want a pinky swear promise in writing).Germans get sickened by their own theatrical perversions.Jeremy Loffredo is still trapped in Israel for doing real journalism.Northern Gaza is a nightmare beyond the strained reaches of language.The IDF knows no depths to its depravity and has the custom made t-shirts to prove it (along with all the video evidence).Some repugnantly joyous Zionists celebrate the worst crimes and expect to be given a prize for doing so.Dr. Tanya Haj-Hassan is a rare and wonderful bright spot in the black as pitch wilderness of the bloodletting and mass murder campaign in Palestine.The US pretends some more to give a shit about Israel doing Gaza 2.0 in Lebanon and the nauseating charade is gossamer thin.Special thanks to KNOWER for the vocal sample in the intro music.Commiserate on Discord: discord.gg/aDf4Yv9PrYSupport: patreon / buzzsproutNever Forget: standwithdanielhale.orgFurther Reading, Viewing, ListeningShow notes + Full list of links, sources, etcLocationless Locationsheatdeathpod.comEvery show-related link is corralled and available here.Twitter: @heatdeathpodPlease send all Letters of Derision, Indifference, Inquiry, Mild Elation, et cetera to: heatdeathodtheuniversepodcast@gmail.comSend us a textSupport the show

The First Part in our Identity Crisis Cinema Trilogy If ever we have an identity crisis we can only hope to handle it with as much charm as Audrey Hepburn or Cary Grant. Instead you get us. And that ONCE AGAIN involves us comparing ourselves once again to Paul Giamatti's character in SIDEWAYS. So... as far from Ms. Hepburn and Mr. Grant as you can get. Which is why this episode is on CHARADE! Because we all need a little more of Audrey and Cary and a little less... well, I won't say less Paul Giammati or SIDEWAYS. How about less show notes? Enjoy! Catchup on last year's Movie Book Club from Quentin Tarantino's CINEMA SPECULATION! Follow along at our Patreon page as once a month (although sometimes more) we read AND watch films from 1999 for BEST MOVIE YEAR EVER by Brian Raftery! Threads/Twitter/Instagram/Facebook: @trilogyintheory Letterboxd: @projectingfilm & @webistrying Artwork by: @nasketchs Find out more at https://trilogyintheory.pinecast.co This podcast is powered by Pinecast.

Today we're revisiting the season five finale “I Love A Charade”, a.k.a. the episode where the ladies head to the Hamptons to celebrate the nuptials of Bobby Fine and Bitsy Von Muffling. Topics discussed include Samantha's cantaloupe breakdown, the return of Berger, Miranda and Brady's couples look, the perils of waxing, the pink suede elephant in the room, Carrie's hair crisis, Stanny's Cynthia Rowley china, and more! The Every Outfit West Coast Tour wraps up next week! SoCal fuckettes we are playing two night at the Bourbon Room June 28th and June 29th! Today's episode is brought to you by Green Chef. Go to Greenchef.com/Outfit50 and use code outfit50 to get 50% off, plus 20% off your next two months. As well as, Juvederm. For important safety information and to find a licensed specialist, visit Juvederm.com. And our favorite water Fiji Water!

GGACP celebrates the 50th anniversary of Francis Ford Coppola's masterpiece "The Conversation" (originally opened April 7, 1972) by revisiting this mini-episode from 2015, as Gilbert praises the classic thriller he previously introduced on Turner Classic Movies. Also, Robert Duvall makes the scene, Harrison Ford makes a bold choice, Allen Garfield becomes Allen Goorwitz and the boys look back at the short -- but memorable -- career of John Cazale. PLUS: Frank recommends the Cary Grant-Audrey Hepburn starrer "Charade"! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices