Podcasts about kablam

Host Susan Kim sits down with children's television writers Geri Cole and Bob Mittenthal to discuss balancing entertainment and education in children's storytelling, embracing restrictions – from budget limitations to writing for puppets — in creative ways, the ongoing fight for union coverage in animation, and more. Geri Cole is a full-time staff writer and lead interactive narrative designer for Sesame Street, co-chair of the WGAE Black Writers Salon, she's won five Daytime Emmys, a Writers Guild Award, a Producers Guild Award, and an NAACP Image Award. Geri also hosted seasons 7-11 of OnWriting. Bob Mittenthal has had a long career as writer and producer. Credits include Double Dare, KaBlam, and Bossy Bear. He created such shows as Welcome Freshmen, Think Fast, and Make the Grade. Other shows include It's Pony, Welcome to the Wayne, the Loud House, the Adventures of Pete and Pete, and the Naked Brothers Band. Susan Kim is an Emmy-nominated and award-winning documentary and children's television writer known for her work on shows like Dragon Tales, Thomas & Friends, Bea's Block, Bubble Guppies, Clifford the Big Red Dog, and more. She is co-chair of the WGAE Animation Caucus, and a former member of the WGAE Council. --- Before it was a podcast, OnWriting was a print publication. Check out OnWriting: The Print Archives. Read shownotes, transcripts, and other member interviews: www.onwriting.org/ Follow the Guild on social media: Twitter: @OnWritingWGAE | @WGAEast Facebook: /WGAEast Instagram: @WGAEast

Dive into a retro universe with Remy, Mike, Chris, and Nicole on this episode of Late Nights at The Roundtable. The crew embarks on a nostalgic journey back to the '90s, revisiting the golden era of Nickelodeon Snick. They'll explore the thrilling adventures of Legends of the Hidden Temple, the animated antics of Kablam, and the quirky world of Rocko's Modern Life. In a surprising twist, Remy reveals he always thought Mr. Ed was a product of CGI magic, sparking a lively debate and a few laughs. Tune in for a trip down memory lane filled with fun facts and hearty discussions about the shows that defined a generation.

On Episode 221 of Jake's Happy Nostalgia Show, our guests are writing and producing duo Kevin Kopelow and Heath Seifert! Many will know Kevin and Heath's work from writing and producing the Nickelodeon sketch comedy series All That, where Kevin also played Kevin the Stage Manager! They also wrote and produced Kenan & Kel and KaBlam! and co-wrote the 1997 hit film Good Burger and its 2023 sequel, as well as various Holiday specials for Nickelodeon. Kevin and Heath are also best known for creating the Disney Channel series Austin & Ally and the Nickelodeon shows Cousins for Life and Warped!

“The Legend of Supacree” L E G E N D S “Tales of A Superstar DJ” My body is my hell My body is my hell My body is my hell My body is myhel Now i do't wanna live no more My body is my hell My body is my hell My body is my hell Now I don't wanna love no more i don't wanna live no more I don't wanna love no more I don't wanna live no more I don't wanna love no more I don't wanna live no more I don't wanna live no more I don't wanna live no more I don't wanna– Boy gets the girl– but in the end, i'm not either, I Still have to wonder why The nanny How I met yurr' Mother I'm neve gonna get all that God magic I need if I don't stop working. This isn't “work” Oh, yes it is. Deadmau5, a canadian DJ also known as Joel Zimmerman, hosts an anti-superbowl Star Wars Party, which turns unexpect— Look at me, feeling me, feeling you Now look at you, feeling you feeling me Feeling you feeling me Feeling me feeling you Feeling me feeling you Feeling you feeling Feeling you feeling –sorry. —Unexpectedly into the “superbowl party of the century”, when hundreds (eventually thousands) of “invitees” I've never been a man before, (that I know of) But ive got my hand over your heart , And it sure seems hard It sure seems hard -AHEM. Sorry. Receive an invitation via [SUPER JEW RABBI] AHEM What?! –Email, which was actually AHEM. WHAT! Oh My GoD! [Looks at clock] Oh. sorry Rabbi. When did you get to be such a Jew FLASHBACK Age: 12 Mom. I want a dreidel. …What's a dreidel? –And A Menorah! CUT BACK TO But honestly more recently, it was– [Stops traffic in Midtown Manhattan Rushour to pick up a penny.] [Jewish woman] Woooow. [JEWLUMINATTI] You see! I told you! Oh my God, why are the Jews in this series so stereotypically jewish? Because Jews are stereotypically Jewish. FLASHBACK: But what am I really saving here. Gevault! CUT BACK TO: YOU'RE A PEANUT BUTTER JELLy SaNDWHICH WITH NO PEANUT BUTTER AND NO JELLY. So just bread? –yes. But–[Anime sword swish] I don't eat bread. [Anymore] [FIGHT] Dang what DJ battle is THIS. The One You've Been Waiting For Mad men avatar the last air bender Grounded for life So how long's this whole thing supposed to take. –as long as it takes. What kind of answer is that. It's an answer. Don't be so sure of yourself. I am sure of myself; Just because it's not the answer you wanted doesnt make it any less of an answer. Now, sit down Watch out, and watch this: Too many apps on my phone I'm better off alone I'd better kill myself Nobody will ever love me Nobody will ever love me Watch out, watch this: My iPhone is trying to kill me, For real? See; It's natural selection I'm trying to unselect me Caviar, a delicacy How delishish The devil in me says to keep digging my grave I was once at a rave, And he gave me a halo A lion, I'm brave— I once said Spin it, Spin back the record again If it's all in my head Then I'm better off dead I'm better off dead Watch this! @Dillon Francis I'm stuck in a trance— Hanzel was lighting the candle And summoned me, Out of a dead sleep, With no pants on— It was a tech house set But I'm on acid Spinning an axis And stuck in a state of trance —i thought it was armin van buren at one point I have to give up at some point, writing, right? Now this is just point in history Point me away from the misery Mystery flavor is like Fruit punch, Or raspberry— Something like that, If you ask me; But white as the rabbit I pulled out the hat In the back seat I'm hatching a plan to go mad, But I need the recepits from Pasqualle for my taxes What the Fuck does that mean? I don't know; I'll read this In a year, When I unbury it Maybe I married my best friend, Deserved to get hit So I'm just going back to him Scratch that, he's mad at me I have no family Reckless abandonment God I'm attracted to everything Except for that See? She's racist. No, it's my ovaries! The lighter you are, the less the adversity I see you eyes turned to grey; Don't abandon me Yes, I wear contacts I'm faking attractive I laughed at him, had to He actually had magic @Dillon Francis How many hats to you have? Thanks to Hanzel, I'm back on this planet Why light a candle, when you know I haven't an answer; What did you ask? No, i haven't had breakfast yet — Thanks for reminding me I'm in a casket Goddamnit @Dillon Francis What are you? I'm an adversary GOOGLE: adversary ..??? ad·ver·sar·y /ˈadvərˌserē/ noun one's opponent in a contest, conflict, or dispute. Hmm. Oh. Opponent to what?! Could be anything, really. I don't like him… 2 for $ MIX AND MATCH INCLUDES BIG KING REALLY. Which one's the Big King? The little one, I think. He's not little In fact: LOOK AT EM. Dawh. Look at Skrillex. Dawg. Look at Skrillex. He bossed up. He was already boss. Well. He Sauced up, then. What kind of sauce is that?! I don't know, but looks like Dillon Francis is eating it. DILLON FRANCIS IS EATING IT pause. How am I still writing this show. She doesn't eat? She hasn't eaten. She doesn't eat. I haven't ate yet! BET. BET. OK—Bet. Nice. Sick. What are we betting. … … … WAIT. ,,, josh pan? … … Did you unpause? Unpause what? Uh. The game. This is the game. No, the game. This is the game! What are you talking about?!! Now I'm famous> This is The Game. sup. This is Sunni Blū Sup. It is?! Yea it is. Wait, it is?! I thought you were the kidd?? I am the kidd. Then, why is The Game meeting Sunnï Blu? For a collab. Duh. Wait. Pause. QUIT PRESSING PAUSE. Wait. Go back. I didn't get that last part. WE WATCHED IT A HUNDRED TIMES ALREADY. Screw you. We're watching it again. Ugh! I hate this! Dude. I hate watching this with you. It takes 3 hours to watch an episode! You guys are talking over all the good parts! It's all the good parts! This shit's exciting. I'm defaulting. What? This isn't—this isn't fair. I'm not doing this. What?! It isn't safe anymore. It was never “safe” SAFE! Oh nice. Baseball. It is baseball. Who's playing? All the DJs. What. For what?! It's the DJ GAMES. THE DJ GAMESsssssssss ITS THE DJ GAMES! OH FUCK YEAH. I fuck this. I quit. what. You can't quit. I can quit. I just did. You can't quit the DJ games. I just did. But you can't. I just did. Hey. Hey, what's up. I'm gonna be late. What's going on? My bus driver's drunk. Are you sure? CITY BUS DRIFTING IN SLOW MOTION /Hans Zimmer Music Yes. Welhp. What. That's it. I'm just gonna have to kill myself. Why, what happened? I'm pretty sure that's the only way to beat this level. What, really? Nah. I'm pretty sure Let me see. *SUPACREE jumps into oncoming traffic* YOU DIED. Aww. I died. WHAT THE FUCK. Well, you said. GAME OVER [fade to black] I HAD NO LIVES LEFT. WELL, YOU SAID! THATS'S NOT THE WAY TO— [fade to white] NEW LEVEL UNLOCKED: GOD MODE OOOHHHHHHHH. WHAT?! LVL i - DREAMSTATE What is this. SUPACREE. I— what? Hello? Follow me. Who is this? I know you. Oh. The above and beyond part. That's funny. I was just— So wait. If the end of this episode, is the end of that movie, then… I guess whatever's happening about now is whatever happened before that part. What part? I, having run off from I, runs into a forest alongside The Endless River, which opens out into a beautiful meadow, the micolored cosmic sky twinkling sweetly above, strange auroras dancing in the skies; a field of glowing and stardusted singing wishflowers at her feet, she frustratingly falls into them, soft grass puffing with the twinkling sounds of fairy dust and sprites (a homage to the lion king) the wishflowers softly sing her to sleep with the subtle and sweet frequencies of Skrillex. (A homage to the wizard of Oz) From Above & Beyond, a flock of Cosmic Creatures in flight spot a golden glimmer from afar; they descend dimensions-- to get a closer look; Closing in on the universe within the confines of a massive structure, which propels itself seamlessly through galaxies faster than the speed of light and sound, though she appears as a large golden space station, slowly drifting through the atmosphere. Manned by yet unseen beings, the golden ship descends upon Skrillex, almost silentl— a swishing whir as the ship, more similar to a futuristic building, an ovaline rounded structure seemingly structured in brass, gold, and silver as it docks to the soft soil of planetary terrain. The landing is soft enough not to have awaken Ū, still sleeping; but an immense light pours from the openings of the ship, waking her--and blinding Sonny as he finally approaches from behind, having been searching for her. She is drawn into the light; he shields his eyes as the beings emerge from their massive station. Monologue/Montage I fell in love with you...it was an accident. I fell in love with you, because I had to; I hadn't thought about it before, but i've been thinking about it ever since. Had I succeeded in my attempted suicide, we wouldn't have come face-to-face… Had I succeeded in my attempted suicide, I'd have no reason to write something so pathetic as this, pititul letter, which you will probably never read. Probably, anyway. I've spent a majority of my lifetime very deeply troubled, yearning for all the attention one could ever crave--until suddenly, I no longer craved any at all. Solitude, rather than isolation, became sacred, and safe to me; It was in the solace and quiet of my very own world, that you entered my kingdom...and it became ‘ours'. Silence. Nature. Astrology. My greatest found pleasures, in a cavalcade of endless self-doubt, self-loathing...a tiresome collection of all the hatred I've harbored for myself in my twenty-something years. I fell in love with you...I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to do anything, except be. Another festival, another escapade...another chance to dance, in the sunlight--the moonlight, under stars… And under the stars, is where I was forced to find you. Now, it seems, can't escape your presence--or lack-thereof. Unrequited? Perhaps. But, not unprovoked. I love you because it is in me to do so. I will always love you, always. There is a world where you're in love with me, as I am you; All I can do now, is hope that this is that same very world, and that as days go by, we draw closer to one-another, rather than further apart. In truth, friendship, in the very least, would serve as a worthy reward...for all the worry, all the wonder, and all the willing I've done for you; in honesty...I'm ashamed in my inability to let go--yet also proud, that I am able to love this much, this hard. To see you with someone else, now, would be a gentle relief; to know that you are kept in love, with graciousness...a subtle gift, an answer to a prayer I asked. Loneliness, I wouldn't wish upon you for anything--love is, in fact, my whole wish for you--be it mine, or not. While I can wish that it will be mine, I've also wished for you, the very best--I would want not for my flaws to burden you. Flaws are what create our perfection; God is, as I am. Losing you, the flame of fear that set my heart and soul to fire; Cancerous, weakened, plagued--premonitions impolitely penetrated my fragile, eggshell mind… the death of a friend, fast-forwarded and reflected into my mind's-eye; How could I forget a face like yours--eyes like those? How could I not know you, as I have? Tears bearing your name roll over my nose, like the rain on a rose...the burden of belonging to one, rather than some; To all, rather than none. So now, I keep my favorite photo of you in my phone...a comfort, to the weary and wounded heart I carry. I can pretend that your sweet voice accompanies mine, as I sing to soothe myself, as I sway in solitude; A gentle kiss, I imagine to give, if ever the chance. I love you, without reason to--and with every reason to, I love you. Find me, again As the ship departs, charging to go into warp speed, Sonny is left alone on his own planet; as a slight panic falls over him, A key-like object falls from the ship as it dissappars at warp speed into a portal. As his hands clap together, catching the object, the sound rings outward--this clapping pages The Skrillex, which lands promptly beside him, exclaiming-- "I AM SKRILLEX"; he has never seen this ship before, however proceeds onto the ship as though familiar with extra terrestrial phenomena all together. We only see him enter the ship; we do not follow him inside, but instead cut to Ū on the Interdimensional SpaceTime Station. Ah wait. So Skrillex is a planet? Skrillex is a lot of things SKRILLEX is a planet . That explains it. No it doesn't. I mean, it might. No it doesn't! I mean, it kindof does, if you think about it. BleepBleepBloop bleeepbleepbloopBloop bleepBleepBleeppBoopBoop bloopbloopBloopBloop. bleepBleep. bloop. Bleep? … This is a disaster! Don't look at ME. I'm not looking at anything! I can't stand it. __ This is the best thing on TV. Damn right it is. What channel is it, anyway? On Channel 43. What! I thought it was on Insomniac TV. They keep fucking with me. The Lord giveth, and taketh away— I thought you were Jewish. I want a sandwich. You're so useless. __ Who's this bitch? I won her in a bet. No you didn't. Royal Flush, bitch. What'd you get? It's a secret. __ My Lord. (Petrutheio Humphs) You look awful. I've been—working. Working on what, your majesty. Just—working, is all. Very well, then. Theodore— My leige? MEANWHILE, IN SEASON 4 [ When the 4th Wall Actually Broke] GO! I found this gym because of Dillon Francis— I found Dillon Francis because of my evil ex husband; I think the lesson here, or at least one of hundreds— Is to trust no one, And love unconditionally, No matter what. — 02-12-2022 Well, there's a conundrum. KEY/BPM: Slip, deadmau5 Conundrum. LEGENDS: ENTER THE MULTIVERSE Fuck. What was it? It was a p— Well it was a *PR Lol. *PT cruiser Yeah, but it was— It was purple. It was a purple PT. Cruiser It was—but what else was it? Ugh. I forgot. Yeah, I bet. GOOGLE SEARCH shades of purple. Ooooh. PERIWINKLE. You fucking dumb ass. I mean, Jesus. How long has it been? At least a lifetime. No, past that. It was a perfect periwinkle PT cruiser. So, start there. ‘Start there' what? Everything since then, till now— For what? Enter The Multiverse. That show is still on?! YES. What day is it? Fuxk. What time is it? What—the fuck. What?! CUPCAKES AND A MUFFIN?! I don't care how fat I am. You're not fat. QUASIMOTO Can I just say, your ass is like —woah. CC/SUPACREE Oh, thank you. QUASIMOTO I mean like—DAAAAAAMN. CC/ SUPACREE OK. QUASIMOTO i mean like—what the FAAACK. CC/SUPACREE Yeah. thanks, bro. [an awkward silence] QUASIMOTO …Good job, though. [light fist bump] EARLIER: MORE CUPCAKES. NAH. OHH, OREOS?! Oreos are the G.O.A.T. I WANTED CUPCAKES. SHUT THE FUCK UP— Before that, at the gym: —do the butt machine again. Again?! Get the glutes. But I'm tired— GET THE GLUUUUUUUUTES. SONNY/SKRILLEX Where am I? Ū Hell. ANGEL 1 In bed. ANGEL 2 In mexico. CUT TO: SUPACREE finally gets to Heaven, looking for SKRILLEX. SUPACREE So, where is he? JESUS Somewhere else. ANGEL 1 At home. ANGEL 2 In mexico. JESUS Who knows? CHAK CHEL Someone must... DILLON FRANCIS I'm someone. JESUS But I don't. ME I don't know anything. MYSELF I don't need to. I I just wanna go home. SUPACREE Can I come home now? JESUSYou always could. SUPACREE But really, I mean-- CHAK CHEL Really's all it really takes. ANGEL 1 You have to know, ANGEL 2 You have to mean it; Don't look both ways before you cross, if you honestly want off the cross Christ, for your sake Honestly It's probably wise to admit that you've tried For the third time; Mankind's just not worth it. Mankind, maybe; But humanity's my baby And this earth is definitely worth something I love it-- Her. And the rest of the planets, but Look how she spins, It's magnificent, Look at the way the ocean's Make this mist; And the wind-- If i sing loudly enough I might Vibrate the trees, How they love dancing and laughing for me; And I just can't help but to laugh at her inhabitants; They dance oh-so rhythmically They're very creative-- and grateful, they always give thanks to me It's no need, but the Earth, she keeps feeding them She makes these beautiful things, So sweet; Mangoes, I think. Greed; The Parable of the Mango Tree Mango VIP. In the pre-existence, a young God prepares for her journey through the Land of The Living; Her older brothers taunt and tease, as she shuffles through notes and index cards, studying her predetermined fate on Earth. I That's easy. The cover art's just got a Mango On it, White Backdrop; It looks super juicy; with a green leaf, I think. E Who made it? I Uhhhhh. ^> Uhhhhh... O You forgot! I No! I know, I know. It was.... A Who? U She forgot again. I I did NOT. E Did too. Who made it? I It was...it was...Herobust! Y Herobust? I Wasn't it? E Wrong! A Loser. I I am not a Loser. It was…Was it Ganja White Night? E I don't know, was it? A Was it? I I don't know! Just tell me. E I can't. I Yes you can! E I can't. Your rules-- I Exactly, it's my rules! Just gimmie the answer! E I think you're going to have to GOOGLE it. I Ugh, no way. E So is Liquid Stranger your final answer? Y Liquid Stranger?! I I never said Liquid Stranger. A Idiot. O Now she's never gonna get it. U What did you say before? I It was...oh... A See dude. I Shut up, I had it-FUCK. A Damn dude, you broke her. I I'm not broken, I just forgot - E Liquid Stranger, going once-- I I never said Liquid Stranger! I know it wasn't Liquid Stranger; Why would it ever be Liquid Stranger? CUT TO: A pair of mysterious dudes Suits in Sunglasses are collecting famous DJs. SUIT Martin Stääf? LIQUID STRANGER ...Yes... SUIT. Come with me. ___ CUT TO: Two fans are watching interdimensional cable. SUPACREE It's a practical-- FAN 1 WHAT HAPPENED? FAN 2 IT JUST CUT-- __ Aliens in an Ascended dimension of hyper-intelligence are studying our three-dimensional existence from an unknown cosmic world. BRAMF Remember that planet I showed you--the-- ARLA Yeah, with the Axis? BRAMF Yeah. ARLA Yeah? BRAMF Something happened to it, ARLA Like what? BRAMF It's flat now. ARLA WHAT? BOTH Woah. >^ Sometimes, even i'm surprised by the things I've written. ME I didn't see that one coming! MYSELF Neither did I: I was gonaa say it was off it's axis. I Flat's funnier. ME Yeah, and probably not as tragic. MYSELF I mean...that would be pretty tragic. I Probably easier to manage. ME Perhaps…But I mean, if you have a whole planet, and then it just collapses-- MYSELF It's just flattened; nobody said it collapses. MEANWHILE The planet collapses. __________ CUT TO: SUPACREE is now a full-blown superpowered vigilante; She seeks revenge for GETTER sending her through the interdimensions at AUDIOTISTIC. SUPACREE Getter, we meet again. GETTER I've never met you before; what are you doing in my dressing room? SUPACREE Why does a DJ have a dressing room? GETTER I don't know; get out. [She swiftly leaves; as she exits, THE SUITS approach the dressing room door.] SUIT 1 Tanner Petulla? GETTER Yeah? SUIT 2 Come with us. GETTER Fuck that! [He doesn't have a choice.] Oh shit, the next scene is already written, I remember this. Oh, okay! I get it! Yeah. She's still at-- She's still on the-- ____ JUST KILL YOURSELF ALREADY. For what? You're suck in this until it's done. What's done? It'll never be over, it's just infinite. ENTER THE MULTIVERSE ^ UNTITLED DOCUMENT >< >< >< ANGEL 1 YOU'RE GONNA LISTEN TO SKRILLEX ON YOUTUBE? ANGEL 2 DON'T. JESUS I mean... ANGEL 1 DON'T you dare. SUPACREE I might as well, by the time I finish downloading it I probably won't even be able to listen to it. ANGEL 2 You shouldn't. SUPACREE I shouldn't, but I know i have to. ANGEL 1 In PUBLIC? JESUS Could go Incognito... ANGEL 2 INCOGNITO; The “oh please don't look at this:” easy algorithm engine for “LOOK AT ME, I'M HIDING SOMETHING.” MEANWHILE...IN DEEP MEDITATION…(IE OMNIPOTENCE) SUPACREE So... if a song is... nothing but question and answer, what's a song which references another in an attempt to address the question which was asked? ME A conversation between one song and another? MYSELF I guess, yes; I Well, that would be a symphony, I would suppose. SUPACREE It would, wouldn't it. ME That is, if the songs were in sync. MYSELF They could be made to be. I Every song is made to be in sync; ME I mean, two songs, made to be in sync with each other. _______ SUPACREE is on the floor at a rave. BASSGOD WAKE UP. SUPACREE This isn't funny anymore. ANGEL It was never funny. You have to get up. SUPACREE I'm up. BASSGOD You're NOT UP. ANGEL Come on, you have to do this. SUPACREE I'm doin it. GOD NO. ANGEL It's no use. She's so, so under there. It would take all of us to try to pull her out--that is without... [The darkening sky crumbles, as the thunderous storm rages, the battle between worlds expands throughout the outer galaxies.] ____ You're not skinny enough You're not pretty enough You're too dark, And you don't work quickly enough Much younger girls are putting in such Efforts, just to be, the perfect little beauty queen You wish you were, But couldn't be and kids these days are Everything that means anything Sometimes I Don't Wanna Be Happy… It was bad, But better than I'll ever be A basic remix, For the basic bitch that sings it And, I'm basically a Dillon Francis fiend, Have you seen this? Now it's getting serious, I seriously doubt there's anything I can do about it It's in God's hands and, I live in Satan's house How did he do this? How did this happen? The sad result of the damage, Cause i'm pretty sure The very last time my ex ever hit me Something got stuck on repeat; It's just eating me up. ___ [Untitled Document] What did we call that place, between “The Blackout” and waking up. Hazy. I thought it was something more clever. Maybe, but i'll never find it if i'm just scrolling through these documents. Write ”Untitled Document” That's all I've got, I guess. _____ [A DJ] Can be played by literally any DJ. A wild, wild party has happened. A DJ wakes up, previously having been sprawled out across the floor. A DJ Whose house is this…? Ugh. [Looks in mirror.] A DJ ughhh. [S/he gets up and stumbles groggily, stepping over bodies hunched and perched, slung about sleeping. Peacefully. The sun is bright, a curse to the eyes of the clearly hungover, and likely still quite inebriated DJ. ] CONCURRENTLY: >>> SUPACREE awakens from a ‘stupor' herself, displeased. She looks in the mirror, at first disgruntled, then “picks up her face” adjusts her perception, and decides, SUPACREE (“I'm good.”) Yep. [And she keeps it steppin, still asking aloud, as she ponders to herself;] SUPACREE Whose house is this? [And makes her way into the kitchen, where she (probably in a montage) cleans around the many bodies of hot people and rave babies still smudged and dripping in everything glittery; she appears to have ‘frozen time', as she vacuums faces and erases permanent marker penises drawn onto the foreheads and other exposed body parts of those who have fallen asleep with no shoes on. She cooks breakfast and straightens the entirety of what is now more recognizable as someone's home, though the owner still remains unknown. She sips coffee and reads the newspaper, as she steps behind the freshly detailed decks; and prepares a set through the headphones shes hung happily around her neck.] PAUSE ME See! THIS IS RIDICULOUS. MYSELF It is. Ridiculous. You can't vacuum someone's face! I Not that part-- MYSELF --Especially white people! ME You never said they were all white people. I I mean, predominantly; it said hot people and rave babies. MYSELF That's racist! ME It isn't. This whole scene would be entirely different, if it had nothing but black people in it. ALTERNATELY: She wakes up in the same house, but it's clean. SUPACREE ...Whose house is this? BEYONCE It's my house. SUPACREE It's... nice. BEYONCE Yes it is. ______ DILLON FRANCIS has the master plan. SUPACREE Ugh, he knows everything. GOD Not everything, dear, believe me. SUPACREE Everything that matters. GOD There's no such thing as everything that doesn't matter. SUPACREE ...What?! __ Don't look in there! You won't find anything in there. I hate these things. ____ It doesn't work if you don't practice. How do I practice without decks? You don't. How do I Dj without practicing? You don't. So DJing is just for rich people? I mean, primarily, or just...anyone with money, if you have it. Fuck this, I quit. You can't quit. If you quit we forfeit the game. No... You idiot. What game? I thought she knew about the game. What. game. Well, it's not just a game, it's a language. WHAT GAME. She's about to be so angry, dude, just--- Just run. ___ 8 Dimensional--wait, what? Oh, she finally made it. I never thought she'd get to this part. Well, she stopped eating meat and cooks asian food-- ---yeah, but that's like 6 different places-- She's not listening to Skrillex. --She's not skipping it-- --yeah, but she isn't listening to it actively.-- Josh Pan. Yeah. I am. Why. I thought we were past “why” We were, we were WAY past “why” It wasn't really a question, guys, don't worry about it. “Don't worry about it” Tsh. Tsh. ___ It's just an expression. “expression” yes. I get it-- ___ He named it “Kliptown Empyrean” What. What's “Empyrean”? I'd love to know, but I don't. Don't google it. I won't, I just. __ GO KARTS. With A K. __ Where's Kliptown? South of Capetown? South? South Afri-- Stop. HE”S AFRICAN? Stop. What's more offensive; Being called an African, or an Alien? ___ One off...hmmm… Always one off. ___ Get out of my house! This is your house? Thank God, I was starting to worry the owner like wandered off and got lost; or, you know (makes slitting throat) I... no, this is my--wait. Who are you? Me? I'm S U P A C R E E “S U P A C R E E”? [having been yet unrecognized, shes is used to having to spell it] Yeah; ___ Key of Cringe: I'm in a box with all my thoughts, And I am not on top of the world Or taking shots, I'm just rocking back and forth Like broken record, Repeating sequences, a robot A beat box of kittens Nobody wants I'm lost (if rock and roll will take me I wonder how much it costs) ____ What did this kid do? Nobody knows _Oh, shit, it's the Jews again. I love the Jews. We know. I keep telling you, you're jewish I'm not jewish my mom's… That's not your mom. Of course that's my mom. It's not, I already told you what planet you're on? __ Now, tell us why we wear our masks! Oh, there are lots of reasons for that. Tell us about the Sauce! All the sauce? Yeah!!! That would be a long story. __ Oh, the Google kids are cute, too. I especially love that little chunky one. He is cute, he's probably my favorite, actually ____ PIERCE? Who the fuck is PIERCE? Google it. I like this, this is- It's different, isn't it? Yeah, and then it __ Sunni—are you Jewish? I...identify as “Jewish” You can't just identify as Jewish. Well, I do. No, you can't just “identify” as Jewish; your mother has to be Jewish. Okay; my mother is Jewish. Sunni—you don't talk much about your family; who's your mother? Who's your mother?! Oh! Okay, we're done. See you next time, bye! What are you doing? What? “Identify as Jewish”?! WHAT?! I do! No I don't! You don't know me! Maybe not! But I know TMZ. I'm not on TMZ Sunni Blu is on TMZ What did I do?! YOu know what you did. ∆ Well, alright then. ∆ Must be something. ∆ I got it. . Don't look at me;; I'm a catastrophe, I'm just waking up now Don't look at me, I got so high i think I might not come down It's not a bad thing But I'm a bad guy, i promise It's not a bad thing, Don't look in my eyes; Especially if I like you Especially if you have other plans tonight, Or this morning That's right Time flies when you're (dynomite) Time flies when your mind right I didn't mean to stay here It's been nearly half a year, you know It's nearly half a year It's nearly half a y AHEM ALRIGHT. JESUS CHRIST. No, not that! [sighs heavily, frustrated] Enjoy Your Day. FARRO nobly sacrifices his own life during The Lovers Quarrel, as PETRUTHEIO attempts a final and fatall blow unwittingly against ‘CESMET' A saturn of satirical Return of reverb Expanding explosions of Outward and unearthly Worlds within words Or words within Worlds on the Curve of the Unwritten overtures of -Mother wow . I guess. Do you want a cup of coffee? I want you to shut the fuck up. What if Jimmy Fallon had a diary as a kid. And I found it when i shapeshifted into his body. Yeah, what if. What if this is it? [SUPER HUGE GASP] Oh, AHEM- No, i Gotta write this. AHH– Oh, the things i would do to you Oh, woah, The things you would do to me Oh, no, no, woah The things i would do AHHH– Don't be mad I'm a writer I'm like this Hi kids wanna see how sharp my knife is yikes Sigh, bitch, ive been sitting in silece With the lights off cause i like it Ilike it a lot, but uhm Ahem, The rabbi's mad cause that i'd write this And it's shabbat This is why i don't listen to deadmau5 anymore. What are you talking about *listenining to* GODDAMIT. what The invisible man, in Manhattan The sunglasses matches her madness The cloud cover looks just like Texas The suns going down And it's getting colder As the winds blows… 03. JIMMY FALLON All ya'll are all worth bout a dollar; I am a cyclone, watch me holler I lived my whole life underwater I got a dollar; Jimmy Fallon All ya'll are only bout a dollar I work so hard, I guess for nothin I am not worried bout a dollar I got a dollar; Jimmy Fallon I guess I'll do it on my own I had to do it all alone I made some soup, all out of stones I am the only one I know I am not worried bout the sauce I am so famous, got a stalker I am so famous Can't go no where I got a dollar, Jimmy Fallon I'm at the office, Not my home No collab I work alone Opened a business, got a loan I got a hundred of them passwords I went frontwards —1I went backwards Went to Manhattan, took a walk Went to the rock and dropped a rock Now put your money where your mouth is I got a thousand Jimmy Fallons (What's that) (I'm the host) What's that, what's that I work alone What's that what's that I dropped a rock into the rock What's that what's that I'm the host, I'm Jimmy {enter the multiverse/ as seen on tv} Story/ music video Moderately famous household television Jimmy Fallon suddenly begins appearing everywhere—that is—on every possible TV screen imaginable— The Protagonist, in confusion, can't seem to escape, and also amusingly begins finding Pennies in very strange and seemingly random places—these Pennies then begin opening up portals, breaking the fourth wall and opening worlds to other dimensions— Have you seen this? Uhh, hmwhat is it? Mits m “Two dumb Jews, starring Seth Rogen, and some other dude— Who's the other dude— some Jew,but it's got Adam Sandler in it. Oh, so three dumb Jews. So, no, then? I'd watch the shit out of that, though, tvh. Why's the synopsis? Uhh. Two Jewish musicians struggling to make it in new York's congested underground music scene hit it off in comedy by complete accident, after being booked as a duo for a comedy club they mistook for a bar. Heh. Okay, who does Adam Sandler play? “The Bookkeeper” What. Who the fuck is “the book keeper?” We'll see, I guess. “Two Broke hoes@ It's like two broke girls, but actually funny. What, be nice . Okay. Two Broke Ghosts That's better— — And marketable. Are you pale, or just— No, I'm dead. I'm dead. X.X Be NICE. Now our musical guests, SWAGGARBOMB. What in the fuck kind of music is that It's called “Dorkstep” [the doorbell rings] Great, who the fuck is I got a train car of your body count I got way far out to far rock away, way out Stop to talk to me, or don't, Kill your culture You need some? I got u— Probiotics, yo The truth hurts Your shit stinks Must be a mirror over herer Cause that's me I m your hero. Esha I think McGuiennes? Or McGrefor, after Ewab, maybe New York wants me to kill myself Maybe eventually New York if full of the devil The devil is money And everyone wants it The root of all evil, Is getting even The root of all evil Is people Beside myself, But besides that The ones hurting me, are soon to be where I am That's just karma The gangstalkers are soon to be stalked Coughed, and shot at The neighbors are soon to be eaten by their own demons When I don't clean them The root of all evil is evil, And that's all I see here White power wants me to kill my self The Caucasians get crazy when the race war is waging The elections are coming up And they see us coming up on conciousness They don't want us Just being honest They're hateful, They washed all the love out Thanks Karen But she don't care White firms just wanna have fun And they get to Meanwhile, me and I Eat shit( bro, And die Why's it nice to be white Even when you're wrong, you're right All you gotta do is lie, Open up your big blue eyes real wide and Decide what you want, Put us under your foot, And make us pay for it Thanks Karen Caucasians are terrorists I think it's McGuennes or however you spell it, cause half the names are like plays on Okay, I lie: You made a world where I have to Okay, I steal You took everything that I'm after already Or your ancestors did Call the luxury apartment reparations But ain't got no privacy, and hells angels and the kkk Ride motorcycles every time I get my eye on the prize So what's the price for being indegenous, black, and a genius White supremacy finds sneakier ways to kill you ESHA MCGUENNES (I thought figure out how to spell that. My left side's off I guess I got Stuck in the love of the art I was writing that part When the life of my love Fell over me A lover huh I'm so confused. I'm sorry bro, But if you're morbidly obese, But your feet are like a size 6– You are not BIG BONED. My doctor said I have a small frame, my feet are size 9, I went from a 10 to an 8.5 after losing 200 hundred pounds, I'm like “goddamn! Even my feet were fat! Fuck” But if you're fat like I was and your feet are size 6, your feet might be like a si3 4! You're a fat fucking pixie that fucked around and can't do little pixie shit now, cause you like pixie sticks Too much I'm just the rat in the dumpster I made this whole world up I swallowed the doctor I hearted the surgeon I locked up the dog catcher; I cauldron'd the Mormons I called it a sermon, but He called them all — Wait, who is Herman?! I don't know! Some black guy on that show I'm writing! what. I don't know. You're writing a show?! I'm on it! Ugh, I don't know. No fair, You really know how to make me cry When you give me those ocean eyes Those ocean eyes Good looking people In good looking places Doing good things; I just want to be Good today Good looking people Good looking people Bye, bye little bird, Think of the dreams we made Think of the drummer boy, Your lover boy, Then, the other boy There we go again, With the drums we played And the love we made It just won't make it Oh I Just Can't take it Can I come back yet? SHUT UP, GAYBRAHAM LINCOLN. I'm having breakfast at 10 am Thinking damn this depression is just setting in There's a chest on my elephant Chester drawer with hand carved elements Elephant ok my chest, Clisets with hangers and button ups I haven't won't yet What FOR WHAT FOR. MY EYES. For the sake of the art, I heart ya. For perhaps if I love, That's how I lost ya. So I keep all my love close, The brothers have found the fountain How many dollars do tootsie pops cost For one Jimmy Fallon? return to the blacklist. Great. Now I'm Jimmy Fallon. Well what's fucked up! What happened! FUCK! I hate being Jimmy Fallon! Whose dick swings to the right like that. Ow. FUCK. Fuck this guy. GODDAMMIT. -_- Let me in. Or I could just leave you out. No, don't do that. WHY. Ahh. Shhhhhh!!! What if someone sees me. Hmm, let's see. [rings neighbors dooorvelk, shuts door] No! The neighbor opens the door; now gifted with the ability to see demons, after merging with Fast forward Oh no, when did that thing come into play (When this happened) Liz lemon lives on the ground floor It don't matter cause she ain't never home l She's at the rock That's all the way up Good talk, Donaguey, Good, Good Talk Good people Good show Good good times It's good to be long gone from home Go to work at the plaza That ones Conan. Oh, Why?! Why not, though. OH, you mean— Katt. What up Snoop . Ahh, Look what the pimp limped in. You think you're clever. You think you're at least 5 foot—but you're 4 foot 9 I'm STILL WINNING CHARLIE SHEEN relapses on the dance floor Oh shit. Relapses to which habit? All of them! 10-4 CALL RUSSEL BRAND. Csnt. Why not. He's blacked out. What? Another relapse?! No, he just— passed out KABLAM. “The Cockney Thug” He's just like that now. God What is it. Can I have ham in my spam samwhiches. —you want ham in your spam sandwhich. Yes. Roasted cantaloupe with Put your notebook On my throat-Scrotum I like your poems So I wrote you this one Oh. That's. Welcome—to the' creepy shit fans have done for u's backlogs. “Backlogs” Well, I have millions of fans, It would take me years to look at all this. [the festival project] Woah. Woah. Ok. Yo. Have you seen this. What is it. I don't know. Hm. Look. Woah: Yeah, it's— Wow Ok. It just goes on like this— For how long— For like GOH GOH l GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO CUT TO: Latest — 1:04 WHAT? MEANWHILE ….IS THAT A JIMMY FALLON? LOOKS LIKE ONE. SHOOT THAT MOTHERFUCKER. ok , boss. I told you, He would play The Devil's Advocate, If need be [JIMMY FALLON is shot mercilessly in the shoulder in broad daylight.] YO. THEY SHOT ME. He'll be okay. He's Jimmy Fallon. [LIKE 90,000 Ambulances and a SWAT team roll up.] See. DEADMAU5 charges himself in a high speed chamber—a tech-driven coffin via a USB port in his neck. Lol. Ok. (PDA) Public Displays of Affliction I've never even see. A. Aston Martin Sometimes it's worth it, Getting lost in Manhattan I just saw the sign I wouldn't dare entering, anyhow Not in this outfit Not in this predicament (I just left the Whole Foods market) I got lost and god was happy Motor cars for music Force a figure ibto music Forgive Annie, Run a mile what's a california smile In New York What a garden Oh, what a garden Double back. For a second glance Oh, don't we all want second chances Now I've been an Aston Martin Motorists dot muses now u want her What a party I just saw the sign Now I've been an Aston Martin All by design Companion passing through KAWS I just bought a Ferrari I said, Where the roof is?! Where the roof is?! Blū electrico Roof finished in Nero Just a hit of magic A menacing, incredibly ambedextrous submissive One time I played God, I was hanging as the sun in Toronto In my third eye was a camera lense; My baby daddy, Lover and my best friend My husband My lover and My best friend My brother And my father Were my best friends Once upon a time I never had friends Now I remember sitting in the backseat, Has been I remember when I never had ribs I remember when I never had meat Nice to meet you I already had a coffee I remember sitting in the front seat Once upon a time I was anno one Once upon a dollar, Jimmy Fallon Once upon a dollar, Jimmy Fallon Once a bunch of Pennies, lady Gaga I'm a baby, haha Once upon a time, I was a no one A nobody Once upon a dollar, Jimmy Fallon I remember penny was a virgin I remember when you were the third one, l Once upon a time I was the first one Once upon a time, I thirst my quench with Coffee Body guard! I remember going on a long run I remember once there was a Knock on my door Now I quench my thirst with smart water With a hard on Never was a smart one Just an artist I was no one Once upon a dollar Jimmy Fallon Once upon a nothing, there was no one Now I take my coffee on a long ride No fun Once upon a dollar, Jimmy Fallon Amen I wish for every dollar I ever had, back Jimmy Fallon I wish it was 11:11, every Dillon Francis I wish for sandwhiches on leavened bread at Passover I wish this whole world would Passover, With the the stories in my home And in my notebook I wish for the fame and wealth with it, Jimmy Fallon I wish I never laughed at Dillon Francis I wish Skrillex was never a demon, I take it back I want the wealth And not the fame Just the freedom, Jimmy Fallon What do you mean by that? A dad, an actor An attack, The press is back and asking questions I can't handle that I can't. I just can't with that Abandon the matrix Go back to What's his name But I can't Cause I made him up Call my mother begging to drop the charges Called my God Just asking what the pocket watch does What's an engagement ring like that coat How much to rug the cameras up Inside my home So I don't know about em That shit's priceless Like the 9 Dollar's I've got Marked up, but not to spend them at the Market Jimmy Fallon I pray for your family But not as hard as I pray For my son Or God To take this fat off So I can look like Jennifer Aniston Cause that's God to em, 22 year old Adam Sandler At a brunch A talk show with my Least favorite host of all time Jimmy Fallon But I love to laugh, huh I just got back, God My house is a mess I want meth like AshGod If Method man was drinking up the water Would there be backwash It's a horrible, windfall This awesome art project My broken heart The coughing stalkers Whatever the fuck is going on in New York I love New York But not New Yorkers It hurts to be the worst person The first person to put reverse curses On shamans from the 3rd world And I'm living in the first world, But I just learned that Underneath the surface Is the fourth world That's some dichotomy Huh That's some diabolical plot The cosmic avenger is stuck in a dimension Of white pocket tenses And white bitches who get offended With this scripture But listen I just got up And I've been privy to Never sleeping again Norman Needs you, Mrs. Hotch But I was never Mrs. Roberts With all of the hearts and crosses , stars I give up on love Where's DimlonnFrancis at That's a man without a mask, That's a mannequin m. Just got up And I still want breakfast All I got is Stuff that's leavening A hand in my pocket Just for God to show me Nobody I want wants me Jimmy Fallon has a family That's a tragedy, that But I laughed so hard in the bathtub I still haven't come back from that I feel bad for em, actually All the husbands Cause I was the wife that sucks And he hated me so much I got punched in the— Doesn't matter Stuck in the telling it over and over Nobody loves me My new password is Fuckit I'm gone galloping horses, And hornets, I'm just a furniture Probably should have aborted me, mother Just like you wanted to But I'm still in the hospital On the honor roll Cause I had them all lined up The prophets of the “Impossible, could not be my God!” That's what they all said, But they dressed me up like Some sort of messiah, So I was, then It wasn't right, no That was malpractice But now I've got Camping in Malibu Crossed off my list forever Shit It's some dichotomy Just hold onto me I'm the rock, You're the kite now, Jimmy Fallon I was just better off dead, You know Better off stuck in my head, you know. I read your messages, every one of them Every one of the drugs in my bucket I threw up from the fan club Impossible, Could not have been at that clown JIMMY FALLON - THE COSMIC AVENGER JIMMY FALLON THE COSMIC AVENGER is levitating in a hyper-meditative state. UH – “hehe” …I beg your pardon. “Hehe” Um… Fuck. Or “haha” “haha” … Just admit it. … Admit it already! –haha. Admit WHAT. This gets Levels. Nobody thought Patrice O Neal was a woman! I thought Patrice O Neal Was a Woman. Ah, fuck, I'm nobody. “Nobody” Is that Bob Saget? I swiped right on this dude, just cause he looked exactly like Bob Saget. Omg. Bob Saget! Fuck, that's right. EXT. THE W HOTEL, BEVERLY HILLS, DAY/ EXT . PODSHARE WESTWOOD ROOFTOP, DAY OH MY GOD, GUYS, LOOK: IT'S BOB SAGET. No it's not! Oh My God! Yeah IT IS! Fuck, really?! Bob Saget?! BOB SAGET! YO GUYS, IT'S BOB SAGET. It was, in fact, Bob Saget. Bob Saget's dead, right? Oh yeah, bud. That's it guys! No more dead celebrities! I'm coming with you! NO MORE GHOSTS. Look, I have something to tell you. UGH. COME ON. This is a weird superpower. EXT. GRAVEYARD, QUEENS, NY. DAY … … … Having fun yet? Alright! I have a question! What? When do I get to– Get to what? You know. Luckily, I die long beore Jimmy Fallon, and as my time approached, I took all i could absorb from the world within, and without, almost as if any and all of my deathwish had been satiated with the gentle ease, the notion of knowing my imminent death would come long before what those surrounding me would consider my time, and therefore would not be made to lose anymore than I already had–but at least, I did have th strength in knowing, not only would i never grow so old as to see for show most of what I had done, but that I had done most of what I would have at all, and not much longer than my words would form into all that would come to be known as my full body of work, I would perish, even before–long before– those I had studied, admired, and known to love–if only through the fourth wall, at all. The invisible man, in Manhattan The sunglasses matches her madness The cloud cover looks just like Texas The suns going down And it's getting colder As the winds blows… THAT was a HARD left turn. So, what time can we listen to Excision? Sometime after intermission. How many acts is this again? ___ I told you, IN-FIN-ITE. Okay… I just wanted to know how long it would take? ___ I know someone that cold get us in _____ (Sitting on a speaker in the BassPod) What is she doing? What are you doing? Charging. __________ I think I found that girl you were looking for. Where is she? I said I found her: I didn't say you could have her. She's not a possession, I'm just trying to talk to her. You didn't mention that she was-- Be careful with your words. Oh, I think it's you that ought to be careful. You're losing your power over her and it shows. Mm. And what about your ‘power', hm? I haven't any power over her-- Oh, but you do-- Will Power at best, That would only be half of it. That would be all I had anything to do with; she was given free agency. HA. “Given”? ____ awww look at that bass face. Well, that's one reason... __ Ah what! you can change your entire frequency? No Fair, I can't do that You can, it just takes practice. What kind of practice-- ___ Oh shit, this hits different with two headphones. It all hits different with headphones. Calorie Deficit Calculator: -3423 Oh shit. Well how many calories did I eat? BEFORE: …chocolate chip cookies? NO— —CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIESzzxz— [CC/SUPACREE robotically and autonomously ditches her bicycle outside of sprouts, not giving a Fuck.] —s—noh! stop it! Stop controlling me! THEY ARE VEGAN. SO? STOP IT. Ooh, what's this. I don't know— get it. CC/SUPACREE stands awkwardly at the checkout with a varied selection of vegan baked goods. *beep* Yeaaaahh. So wait. SUPACREE is controlled by aliens? WE ARE GODS. Knock it OFF! [NEW ABILITY UNLOCKED: SUPASTRENTH ] Nice. Yeah dude. Watch this. The Legend of Supacree is the #1 MMORPG in the world; it is also happening in real-time, in multiple worlds within the multiversial construct of the actual Omniverse. AGHHHHH In fact, nobody even plays GTA or call of duty anymore. YAH! [Random objects falling from the sky. ] SUPACREE Oh, nice. INSTANT MANIFESTATION. JUST POST THE FUCKING EPISODE ALRIGHT?! this bitch is fucking crazy. Watch this. Watch what? SHIA LABEOUF discovers The Legend Of Supacree franchise and becomes villainously obsessed with It, hatching a heinous and maniacal plan to hunt her down and capture her—tracking her every move and learning everything about her he can. Wtf. I don't know. Is he a villain? I don't know. I guess. I'M A SUPERVILLAIN. …He's a supervillain. I guess. Why?! I don't know. This is creeps. It is creeps. [lifts one eyebrow.] SUPACREEps. Scary monsters and supacreeps. Heh. NO, NO MUSICIANS. Heh. SHIA LABEOUF is a straight up gangster. HE'S CRAZY! [SHIA LAUGHING MANIACALLY.] Oh, wow– That dude is a straight up psychopath. You're a straight up psychopath. I'm not arguing. What is THIS part of the story? Well, son, you made it through. WOODY HARRELSON? WHAT. Woody Harrelson?! WHY? I don't know. He just fit the part. WHAT PART?! WHAT/! Nobody quite understands what's happening in ENTER THE MULTIVERSE, however, THE LEGEND OF SUPACREE has taken an incredible turning point, intersecting with the world of LEGENDS and THE SECRET LIFE OF SUNNI BLŪ/ THE SUITE LIFE OF SUNNI BLŪ. IT HAS? YES? WHERE? I WANNA DIE. OH! That's not SUPACREE! [CC HULK SMASHES her bike onto the rack on the bus. THE HULK, sitting just in front stares at her wide-eyed as she boards the bus over the rim of his sunglasses.] Oh, maybe, nevermind. Wait! Is it THE HULK, or MARK RUFFALO? I don't know! I don't give a shit! Why are you even writing this? Uhhhhhhhh. [CC's brain is slowly melting as she rides the bus to work. THE HULK– OR IS IT MARK FUCKING RUFFALO!? I DON”T FUCKING CARE– THERE'S A DIFFERENCE WHAT'S THE DIFFERENCE IT – DOESN'T– MATTER! ‘It doesn't matter.' Chal's words echoed in my head almost too loudly–as boldly blind and sometimes even dumb as he was, he was also wise, and as it turned out, right–it really didn't matter. Nothing mattered at all. I had gone through the motions of reaching out to him, to of course as expected learn that he and whatever her name was had gone their separate ways; I understood that would be the case nearly immediately back in Mazunte, but as he was insistent he would woo her–and persistent in doing so, that I thought maybe after all love– or what really turned out to be his obstinate lust would win the day–and yet, it hadn't; he was again single and on the prowl– and although at one point I had even lusted after him briefly, trailing behind him in nonchalant platonic carelessness as he obsessively followed another woman, had allowed me to become comfortable enough in the friendzone that i could just simply exist next to him; Now, again faced with homelessness and factoring in my inability to travel much further than south of the border, especially now knowing well how to travel throughout mexico and into Guatemala, I wondered truly if my own self-worth had really been lowered to the point of allowing myself to meet Chal in Guatemala–even full well knowing that he, too, preferred perfect and illy white to my dark skin and quite seemingly matronly features, and, knowing for myself that I wasn't his first choice– as he and I had of course met in Mazunte around the same time he had met whom he considered to be ‘his Goddess'-- albeit while on a topless beach and thus hynotized by her breasts. Men were hopeless. Then, here I was, waking up every other sleep cycle in the cold sweat of a wet dream, the subject of which I typically at least tried to keep deeply hidden in my subconscious psyche as secrets, although by now it seemed there really were none, and all that I knew and that I thought were known and seen by some other than myself–though somehow still holding true to my belief that there really was none other than myself–in my own broken and twisted world, alone and punished in the depths of mediocrity and shame. Woah. Riding the bus. There's nothing lower. There's walking. To the bus. Yah. And all the sick people. And all the crackheads. And all the–what are those? Demons [demon hacks.] Ugh, fucking–ugh. SHIA LABOUFF'S obsession with SUPACREE is helga petaki-meets Tom Cruise jumping on Oprah's couch. Oh, wait, we're back on that storyline? I mean– I don't know how to write this. Just write it. he's a villain, right? I mean, that suit. SHIA LA– FUCK. WHAT?! Worst last name EVER. Well, not ever– Wait, is he black?! –It sounds french. GOOGLE SEARCH: ‘How Jewish is Shia LaBeouf? ‘ –no, he's Cajun – That's french-black–wait— –what? Cajun AND Jewish? –Yeah– Jesus! JESUS What? (raises one eyebrow) SUPACREE strategizes a plan of attack. Attack for what? {ATTACK} YOUUUU INCEPTED ME!!! AGH! {COUNTER ATTACK} NOT ME! DISNEY! {DODGING COUNTER ATTACK} Yeah, Blame “Disney!” I JUST DID. Oh, yeah, right!! RAVEN SYMONÉ It was Disney. THEY OK'D THIS?! They bought Marvel! THEY OK'D EVERYTHING. —Even the SKRILLEX? Especially the Skrillex —Especially the Skrillex. AGHHHHHHHH—— ———-AAAAAGGGGGGGGHHHHHH!!! SHIA LABEOUF VS SUPACREE: FIGHT!!!! Everything looks good— —everything looks good. Everything looks fine— —Everything looks fine. But wait— What? What about that guy? Oh My— —oh my… Is he gonna be alright? Is that guy —gonna be alright? Is that guy gonna be alright? Is—that guy gonna be alright? Is that guy gonna be alright Is that guy— Gonna be alright? Is that guy gonna be alright?? Is that guy gonna be alright?! Is that guy gonna be alright m? Everything looks good— —everything looks fine Looks good— But what about that guy? …I don't know about that guy. Is he alright? Yo. Yooo. Stop writing songs about Skrillex. ((I literally can't.)) What?! It doesn't have to be about Skrillex! It could be about anybody! Here, they call with disco balls Stars in my eyes, but stars do fall First true love dies hard after all, No star shines bright as morning comes —(for) Sonny …I didn't write that. CUT TO: CC writes automagically between sets of heavy lifting. IMAGINARY FRIENDS, PART III DEADMAU5!!!! okay—one more—then cupcakes— Cupcakes? No cupcakes! I WANT CUPCAKES. Uh—No way! YES WAY. Mmm—no I'm sick of this diet! I'm not on a diet! I eat! You eat GRASS. I'm a vegan. This shit sucks. I told you, grass tastes bad. RICK?! (I also want cupcakes. ) Mmkay—ohh. You said that was the last one. No, more more. NO “one more” But I like this one—and it has the right amount of weights on it already—see? Jesús Christ He's not here. (Yes I am). Why the Fuxk. I also want cupcakes Okay, one more No “one more” The power of Christ compels ye! … Is that how that works? No. Maybe. (((Yes.))) AGHHH. The celebrities of Hollywood are gang stalking SUPACREE Can we— No. But I didn't even get to ask the question. The answer is no. THE CELEBRITIES OF HOLLYWOOD, after assembling with the Bampheramphs and Morherfuckers, have formed a supergroup tasked with bringing SUPACREE to THE HOLLYWOOD PEOPLE—so far, they have cunningly out-bested and outwitted THE US GOVERNMENT, including but not limited to THE FEDS, THE CIA, THE FBI and THE SECRET SERVICE. REALLY? I GUESS. HOW?! — DRAKE snoops on SUPACREE as she writes working half heartedly at THE NECK MACHINE with peaking curiosity, peaking over the time of his sunglasses. Whats it called. “Nautilus 4 way neck “ BPM: you're a jerk Do the Drake Do the Drake Do the Drake Work that neck Work that— Neck, Becky Work that neck, Work that neck Do the— “new note: Purchase ‘Honestly, nevermind' I had worked an entre month at LVAC before the circus went underway; Not a single drop of Skrillex had ever been played over the loudspeakers at any moment, for any of the time I had been employed there, nor had it burdened me any of the other time I had spent bettering myself within what I once cherished as sacred walls–now the illusion shattered, as nowhere I could seem to run – even the rural coastal jungle of Mexico-was far enough to escape the clammerings of something I quite honestly very much still loved, but wouldn't allow myself to enjoy— Or maybe, now, couldn't. BANGARANG. ‘Fuck this shit.' I wanted to move, but didn't—I wanted to leave, and probably should have, but wouldn't. I just sat there through it as my coworker, standing at about 5'4 ½ in a pair of tight black skinny jeans sang along and bounced rhymically. What the fuck. Then, as it had just been earlier that I was thinking of Sonny himself, and how, be it that any of my premonitions were actually accurate and true as I had once thought them to be, there would perhaps come a day that I regretted not listening to his works, just as one regrets not spending time with a loved one before their passing not giving enough attention to the little things, the tiny details, the time they had missed, but never missed without missing their loved one until it was too late. Then again, for me, any time in the then- present was too late, as I had only been followed, taunted, and ridiculed, openly humiliated and embarrassed, and never really paid directly for anything I had done, whether it did have to do with Skrillex or otherwise –and so I had made it more than a point to distance myself from it, anything having to do with it, or him, or anything really, music related—of course besides relying heavily on deadmau5 just for my own existence–that is, willingness wake up, move about the world and its endless, pointless constructs, and even so, completing a worthwhile workout with enough satisfaction that I could allow myself to leave the building–and now, with my commute taking up a grand total of 4 hours of my entire day—I didn't have the time or the energy to stay late into the days and even afternoons as I had before, or to arrive early as I had in the days and weeks before; Now this job was amounting to nothing at all, and I was surely less than breaking even. Whats the worry? You've got 20 minutes to write a story! Don't be sorry Mind your orders. You're a war chief Marry me, Oh pretty please— I plead to you, just sing for me Just think of me as a Never ending fantasy, At the very least When you bury me —and you buried me alive, Just for the look of things What makes us even Slitting wrists Or splitting things unevenly (Either thing benefits me, And my penis, I think.) Make me famous— She said Hate me or debate me, I have everything I need And I have everything you have, But I can leave, All with my dreams intact I do believe You think I'm evil Either way, unnecessary Why would I sit down and write a story— When you just did it for me? Why would I pledge allegiance to old glory She's ignoring me; Why would I change my name to satisfy your needs When mine sit idly by waiting Why would I dream of you, When you dream of me I have all I need, You have all of me in the other room While you watch cartoons with your lady I hate anime and now I hate you too, But I'm so stupid, Nothing soothes my moods, Except playing your tunes, Or music Whoop De Fucking do Would you Marry Me? He said (He never did, he just let her—) She said, I do And now they're doomed I built a tomb for two The bride and groom In music Two by two And used by Tuesday Music I presume To the beautiful Music I presume For the usual Music I presume For those who —- SHIA LABEOUF JUST DO IT. That is not how the end of the song goes. No, but this is how the end of the episode goes. Really!? How? [CC stares lifelessly forward out of the front window of the double decker bus; a man dressed in all blue catches her attention—another telepathic shapeshifter.] You brought…an umbrella? I told you there was a shit storm coming. Oh, nooh. Where's yours? I— don't care? That's right you don't. I don't. That's good you don't. I really don't. You don't give a Fuck, or a shit. I—don't give a fuck or a sh—wait— DILLON FRANCIS? I'm good at what I do. What do you DO? THIS. “A Silent Partner” Oh. I like that. That has all kinds of insinuations. Doesn't it? Hermph. You're a creep. A Supacreep. PAUSE ITS MISTER MAGOOoOOOOOOOooO0oO. No, it's the IRS. Fuck. HOLY SHIT SUNNI. WHAT. HOW DO YOU OWE 100,000 IN BACK TAXES?! Student loan debt. WHAT. THAT DOESN'T MAKE ANY SENSE. Yes it does. HOW. Calm down Marci —MY ÑAME IS— [Sunnī Blū subdues her instantly with one if Supacree's mysterious rave weapons] Sit down, please. …what is that? You like it? Yeah. [she gives her another dose of strange vapor, she relaxes even further.] See. Yeah. Now that you're happy— —am i “happy” ? [she gives her another relaxing dose] —are you Happy? Yeah. Ok. So. I never filed my taxes because I had so muc

“The Legend of Supacree” L E G E N D S “Tales of A Superstar DJ” My body is my hell My body is my hell My body is my hell My body is myhel Now i do't wanna live no more My body is my hell My body is my hell My body is my hell Now I don't wanna love no more i don't wanna live no more I don't wanna love no more I don't wanna live no more I don't wanna love no more I don't wanna live no more I don't wanna live no more I don't wanna live no more I don't wanna– Boy gets the girl– but in the end, i'm not either, I Still have to wonder why The nanny How I met yurr' Mother I'm neve gonna get all that God magic I need if I don't stop working. This isn't “work” Oh, yes it is. Deadmau5, a canadian DJ also known as Joel Zimmerman, hosts an anti-superbowl Star Wars Party, which turns unexpect— Look at me, feeling me, feeling you Now look at you, feeling you feeling me Feeling you feeling me Feeling me feeling you Feeling me feeling you Feeling you feeling Feeling you feeling –sorry. —Unexpectedly into the “superbowl party of the century”, when hundreds (eventually thousands) of “invitees” I've never been a man before, (that I know of) But ive got my hand over your heart , And it sure seems hard It sure seems hard -AHEM. Sorry. Receive an invitation via [SUPER JEW RABBI] AHEM What?! –Email, which was actually AHEM. WHAT! Oh My GoD! [Looks at clock] Oh. sorry Rabbi. When did you get to be such a Jew FLASHBACK Age: 12 Mom. I want a dreidel. …What's a dreidel? –And A Menorah! CUT BACK TO But honestly more recently, it was– [Stops traffic in Midtown Manhattan Rushour to pick up a penny.] [Jewish woman] Woooow. [JEWLUMINATTI] You see! I told you! Oh my God, why are the Jews in this series so stereotypically jewish? Because Jews are stereotypically Jewish. FLASHBACK: But what am I really saving here. Gevault! CUT BACK TO: YOU'RE A PEANUT BUTTER JELLy SaNDWHICH WITH NO PEANUT BUTTER AND NO JELLY. So just bread? –yes. But–[Anime sword swish] I don't eat bread. [Anymore] [FIGHT] Dang what DJ battle is THIS. The One You've Been Waiting For Mad men avatar the last air bender Grounded for life So how long's this whole thing supposed to take. –as long as it takes. What kind of answer is that. It's an answer. Don't be so sure of yourself. I am sure of myself; Just because it's not the answer you wanted doesnt make it any less of an answer. Now, sit down Watch out, and watch this: Too many apps on my phone I'm better off alone I'd better kill myself Nobody will ever love me Nobody will ever love me Watch out, watch this: My iPhone is trying to kill me, For real? See; It's natural selection I'm trying to unselect me Caviar, a delicacy How delishish The devil in me says to keep digging my grave I was once at a rave, And he gave me a halo A lion, I'm brave— I once said Spin it, Spin back the record again If it's all in my head Then I'm better off dead I'm better off dead Watch this! @Dillon Francis I'm stuck in a trance— Hanzel was lighting the candle And summoned me, Out of a dead sleep, With no pants on— It was a tech house set But I'm on acid Spinning an axis And stuck in a state of trance —i thought it was armin van buren at one point I have to give up at some point, writing, right? Now this is just point in history Point me away from the misery Mystery flavor is like Fruit punch, Or raspberry— Something like that, If you ask me; But white as the rabbit I pulled out the hat In the back seat I'm hatching a plan to go mad, But I need the recepits from Pasqualle for my taxes What the Fuck does that mean? I don't know; I'll read this In a year, When I unbury it Maybe I married my best friend, Deserved to get hit So I'm just going back to him Scratch that, he's mad at me I have no family Reckless abandonment God I'm attracted to everything Except for that See? She's racist. No, it's my ovaries! The lighter you are, the less the adversity I see you eyes turned to grey; Don't abandon me Yes, I wear contacts I'm faking attractive I laughed at him, had to He actually had magic @Dillon Francis How many hats to you have? Thanks to Hanzel, I'm back on this planet Why light a candle, when you know I haven't an answer; What did you ask? No, i haven't had breakfast yet — Thanks for reminding me I'm in a casket Goddamnit @Dillon Francis What are you? I'm an adversary GOOGLE: adversary ..??? ad·ver·sar·y /ˈadvərˌserē/ noun one's opponent in a contest, conflict, or dispute. Hmm. Oh. Opponent to what?! Could be anything, really. I don't like him… 2 for $ MIX AND MATCH INCLUDES BIG KING REALLY. Which one's the Big King? The little one, I think. He's not little In fact: LOOK AT EM. Dawh. Look at Skrillex. Dawg. Look at Skrillex. He bossed up. He was already boss. Well. He Sauced up, then. What kind of sauce is that?! I don't know, but looks like Dillon Francis is eating it. DILLON FRANCIS IS EATING IT pause. How am I still writing this show. She doesn't eat? She hasn't eaten. She doesn't eat. I haven't ate yet! BET. BET. OK—Bet. Nice. Sick. What are we betting. … … … WAIT. ,,, josh pan? … … Did you unpause? Unpause what? Uh. The game. This is the game. No, the game. This is the game! What are you talking about?!! Now I'm famous> This is The Game. sup. This is Sunni Blū Sup. It is?! Yea it is. Wait, it is?! I thought you were the kidd?? I am the kidd. Then, why is The Game meeting Sunnï Blu? For a collab. Duh. Wait. Pause. QUIT PRESSING PAUSE. Wait. Go back. I didn't get that last part. WE WATCHED IT A HUNDRED TIMES ALREADY. Screw you. We're watching it again. Ugh! I hate this! Dude. I hate watching this with you. It takes 3 hours to watch an episode! You guys are talking over all the good parts! It's all the good parts! This shit's exciting. I'm defaulting. What? This isn't—this isn't fair. I'm not doing this. What?! It isn't safe anymore. It was never “safe” SAFE! Oh nice. Baseball. It is baseball. Who's playing? All the DJs. What. For what?! It's the DJ GAMES. THE DJ GAMESsssssssss ITS THE DJ GAMES! OH FUCK YEAH. I fuck this. I quit. what. You can't quit. I can quit. I just did. You can't quit the DJ games. I just did. But you can't. I just did. Hey. Hey, what's up. I'm gonna be late. What's going on? My bus driver's drunk. Are you sure? CITY BUS DRIFTING IN SLOW MOTION /Hans Zimmer Music Yes. Welhp. What. That's it. I'm just gonna have to kill myself. Why, what happened? I'm pretty sure that's the only way to beat this level. What, really? Nah. I'm pretty sure Let me see. *SUPACREE jumps into oncoming traffic* YOU DIED. Aww. I died. WHAT THE FUCK. Well, you said. GAME OVER [fade to black] I HAD NO LIVES LEFT. WELL, YOU SAID! THATS'S NOT THE WAY TO— [fade to white] NEW LEVEL UNLOCKED: GOD MODE OOOHHHHHHHH. WHAT?! LVL i - DREAMSTATE What is this. SUPACREE. I— what? Hello? Follow me. Who is this? I know you. Oh. The above and beyond part. That's funny. I was just— So wait. If the end of this episode, is the end of that movie, then… I guess whatever's happening about now is whatever happened before that part. What part? I, having run off from I, runs into a forest alongside The Endless River, which opens out into a beautiful meadow, the micolored cosmic sky twinkling sweetly above, strange auroras dancing in the skies; a field of glowing and stardusted singing wishflowers at her feet, she frustratingly falls into them, soft grass puffing with the twinkling sounds of fairy dust and sprites (a homage to the lion king) the wishflowers softly sing her to sleep with the subtle and sweet frequencies of Skrillex. (A homage to the wizard of Oz) From Above & Beyond, a flock of Cosmic Creatures in flight spot a golden glimmer from afar; they descend dimensions-- to get a closer look; Closing in on the universe within the confines of a massive structure, which propels itself seamlessly through galaxies faster than the speed of light and sound, though she appears as a large golden space station, slowly drifting through the atmosphere. Manned by yet unseen beings, the golden ship descends upon Skrillex, almost silentl— a swishing whir as the ship, more similar to a futuristic building, an ovaline rounded structure seemingly structured in brass, gold, and silver as it docks to the soft soil of planetary terrain. The landing is soft enough not to have awaken Ū, still sleeping; but an immense light pours from the openings of the ship, waking her--and blinding Sonny as he finally approaches from behind, having been searching for her. She is drawn into the light; he shields his eyes as the beings emerge from their massive station. Monologue/Montage I fell in love with you...it was an accident. I fell in love with you, because I had to; I hadn't thought about it before, but i've been thinking about it ever since. Had I succeeded in my attempted suicide, we wouldn't have come face-to-face… Had I succeeded in my attempted suicide, I'd have no reason to write something so pathetic as this, pititul letter, which you will probably never read. Probably, anyway. I've spent a majority of my lifetime very deeply troubled, yearning for all the attention one could ever crave--until suddenly, I no longer craved any at all. Solitude, rather than isolation, became sacred, and safe to me; It was in the solace and quiet of my very own world, that you entered my kingdom...and it became ‘ours'. Silence. Nature. Astrology. My greatest found pleasures, in a cavalcade of endless self-doubt, self-loathing...a tiresome collection of all the hatred I've harbored for myself in my twenty-something years. I fell in love with you...I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to do anything, except be. Another festival, another escapade...another chance to dance, in the sunlight--the moonlight, under stars… And under the stars, is where I was forced to find you. Now, it seems, can't escape your presence--or lack-thereof. Unrequited? Perhaps. But, not unprovoked. I love you because it is in me to do so. I will always love you, always. There is a world where you're in love with me, as I am you; All I can do now, is hope that this is that same very world, and that as days go by, we draw closer to one-another, rather than further apart. In truth, friendship, in the very least, would serve as a worthy reward...for all the worry, all the wonder, and all the willing I've done for you; in honesty...I'm ashamed in my inability to let go--yet also proud, that I am able to love this much, this hard. To see you with someone else, now, would be a gentle relief; to know that you are kept in love, with graciousness...a subtle gift, an answer to a prayer I asked. Loneliness, I wouldn't wish upon you for anything--love is, in fact, my whole wish for you--be it mine, or not. While I can wish that it will be mine, I've also wished for you, the very best--I would want not for my flaws to burden you. Flaws are what create our perfection; God is, as I am. Losing you, the flame of fear that set my heart and soul to fire; Cancerous, weakened, plagued--premonitions impolitely penetrated my fragile, eggshell mind… the death of a friend, fast-forwarded and reflected into my mind's-eye; How could I forget a face like yours--eyes like those? How could I not know you, as I have? Tears bearing your name roll over my nose, like the rain on a rose...the burden of belonging to one, rather than some; To all, rather than none. So now, I keep my favorite photo of you in my phone...a comfort, to the weary and wounded heart I carry. I can pretend that your sweet voice accompanies mine, as I sing to soothe myself, as I sway in solitude; A gentle kiss, I imagine to give, if ever the chance. I love you, without reason to--and with every reason to, I love you. Find me, again As the ship departs, charging to go into warp speed, Sonny is left alone on his own planet; as a slight panic falls over him, A key-like object falls from the ship as it dissappars at warp speed into a portal. As his hands clap together, catching the object, the sound rings outward--this clapping pages The Skrillex, which lands promptly beside him, exclaiming-- "I AM SKRILLEX"; he has never seen this ship before, however proceeds onto the ship as though familiar with extra terrestrial phenomena all together. We only see him enter the ship; we do not follow him inside, but instead cut to Ū on the Interdimensional SpaceTime Station. Ah wait. So Skrillex is a planet? Skrillex is a lot of things SKRILLEX is a planet . That explains it. No it doesn't. I mean, it might. No it doesn't! I mean, it kindof does, if you think about it. BleepBleepBloop bleeepbleepbloopBloop bleepBleepBleeppBoopBoop bloopbloopBloopBloop. bleepBleep. bloop. Bleep? … This is a disaster! Don't look at ME. I'm not looking at anything! I can't stand it. __ This is the best thing on TV. Damn right it is. What channel is it, anyway? On Channel 43. What! I thought it was on Insomniac TV. They keep fucking with me. The Lord giveth, and taketh away— I thought you were Jewish. I want a sandwich. You're so useless. __ Who's this bitch? I won her in a bet. No you didn't. Royal Flush, bitch. What'd you get? It's a secret. __ My Lord. (Petrutheio Humphs) You look awful. I've been—working. Working on what, your majesty. Just—working, is all. Very well, then. Theodore— My leige? MEANWHILE, IN SEASON 4 [ When the 4th Wall Actually Broke] GO! I found this gym because of Dillon Francis— I found Dillon Francis because of my evil ex husband; I think the lesson here, or at least one of hundreds— Is to trust no one, And love unconditionally, No matter what. — 02-12-2022 Well, there's a conundrum. KEY/BPM: Slip, deadmau5 Conundrum. LEGENDS: ENTER THE MULTIVERSE Fuck. What was it? It was a p— Well it was a *PR Lol. *PT cruiser Yeah, but it was— It was purple. It was a purple PT. Cruiser It was—but what else was it? Ugh. I forgot. Yeah, I bet. GOOGLE SEARCH shades of purple. Ooooh. PERIWINKLE. You fucking dumb ass. I mean, Jesus. How long has it been? At least a lifetime. No, past that. It was a perfect periwinkle PT cruiser. So, start there. ‘Start there' what? Everything since then, till now— For what? Enter The Multiverse. That show is still on?! YES. What day is it? Fuxk. What time is it? What—the fuck. What?! CUPCAKES AND A MUFFIN?! I don't care how fat I am. You're not fat. QUASIMOTO Can I just say, your ass is like —woah. CC/SUPACREE Oh, thank you. QUASIMOTO I mean like—DAAAAAAMN. CC/ SUPACREE OK. QUASIMOTO i mean like—what the FAAACK. CC/SUPACREE Yeah. thanks, bro. [an awkward silence] QUASIMOTO …Good job, though. [light fist bump] EARLIER: MORE CUPCAKES. NAH. OHH, OREOS?! Oreos are the G.O.A.T. I WANTED CUPCAKES. SHUT THE FUCK UP— Before that, at the gym: —do the butt machine again. Again?! Get the glutes. But I'm tired— GET THE GLUUUUUUUUTES. SONNY/SKRILLEX Where am I? Ū Hell. ANGEL 1 In bed. ANGEL 2 In mexico. CUT TO: SUPACREE finally gets to Heaven, looking for SKRILLEX. SUPACREE So, where is he? JESUS Somewhere else. ANGEL 1 At home. ANGEL 2 In mexico. JESUS Who knows? CHAK CHEL Someone must... DILLON FRANCIS I'm someone. JESUS But I don't. ME I don't know anything. MYSELF I don't need to. I I just wanna go home. SUPACREE Can I come home now? JESUSYou always could. SUPACREE But really, I mean-- CHAK CHEL Really's all it really takes. ANGEL 1 You have to know, ANGEL 2 You have to mean it; Don't look both ways before you cross, if you honestly want off the cross Christ, for your sake Honestly It's probably wise to admit that you've tried For the third time; Mankind's just not worth it. Mankind, maybe; But humanity's my baby And this earth is definitely worth something I love it-- Her. And the rest of the planets, but Look how she spins, It's magnificent, Look at the way the ocean's Make this mist; And the wind-- If i sing loudly enough I might Vibrate the trees, How they love dancing and laughing for me; And I just can't help but to laugh at her inhabitants; They dance oh-so rhythmically They're very creative-- and grateful, they always give thanks to me It's no need, but the Earth, she keeps feeding them She makes these beautiful things, So sweet; Mangoes, I think. Greed; The Parable of the Mango Tree Mango VIP. In the pre-existence, a young God prepares for her journey through the Land of The Living; Her older brothers taunt and tease, as she shuffles through notes and index cards, studying her predetermined fate on Earth. I That's easy. The cover art's just got a Mango On it, White Backdrop; It looks super juicy; with a green leaf, I think. E Who made it? I Uhhhhh. ^> Uhhhhh... O You forgot! I No! I know, I know. It was.... A Who? U She forgot again. I I did NOT. E Did too. Who made it? I It was...it was...Herobust! Y Herobust? I Wasn't it? E Wrong! A Loser. I I am not a Loser. It was…Was it Ganja White Night? E I don't know, was it? A Was it? I I don't know! Just tell me. E I can't. I Yes you can! E I can't. Your rules-- I Exactly, it's my rules! Just gimmie the answer! E I think you're going to have to GOOGLE it. I Ugh, no way. E So is Liquid Stranger your final answer? Y Liquid Stranger?! I I never said Liquid Stranger. A Idiot. O Now she's never gonna get it. U What did you say before? I It was...oh... A See dude. I Shut up, I had it-FUCK. A Damn dude, you broke her. I I'm not broken, I just forgot - E Liquid Stranger, going once-- I I never said Liquid Stranger! I know it wasn't Liquid Stranger; Why would it ever be Liquid Stranger? CUT TO: A pair of mysterious dudes Suits in Sunglasses are collecting famous DJs. SUIT Martin Stääf? LIQUID STRANGER ...Yes... SUIT. Come with me. ___ CUT TO: Two fans are watching interdimensional cable. SUPACREE It's a practical-- FAN 1 WHAT HAPPENED? FAN 2 IT JUST CUT-- __ Aliens in an Ascended dimension of hyper-intelligence are studying our three-dimensional existence from an unknown cosmic world. BRAMF Remember that planet I showed you--the-- ARLA Yeah, with the Axis? BRAMF Yeah. ARLA Yeah? BRAMF Something happened to it, ARLA Like what? BRAMF It's flat now. ARLA WHAT? BOTH Woah. >^ Sometimes, even i'm surprised by the things I've written. ME I didn't see that one coming! MYSELF Neither did I: I was gonaa say it was off it's axis. I Flat's funnier. ME Yeah, and probably not as tragic. MYSELF I mean...that would be pretty tragic. I Probably easier to manage. ME Perhaps…But I mean, if you have a whole planet, and then it just collapses-- MYSELF It's just flattened; nobody said it collapses. MEANWHILE The planet collapses. __________ CUT TO: SUPACREE is now a full-blown superpowered vigilante; She seeks revenge for GETTER sending her through the interdimensions at AUDIOTISTIC. SUPACREE Getter, we meet again. GETTER I've never met you before; what are you doing in my dressing room? SUPACREE Why does a DJ have a dressing room? GETTER I don't know; get out. [She swiftly leaves; as she exits, THE SUITS approach the dressing room door.] SUIT 1 Tanner Petulla? GETTER Yeah? SUIT 2 Come with us. GETTER Fuck that! [He doesn't have a choice.] Oh shit, the next scene is already written, I remember this. Oh, okay! I get it! Yeah. She's still at-- She's still on the-- ____ JUST KILL YOURSELF ALREADY. For what? You're suck in this until it's done. What's done? It'll never be over, it's just infinite. ENTER THE MULTIVERSE ^ UNTITLED DOCUMENT >< >< >< ANGEL 1 YOU'RE GONNA LISTEN TO SKRILLEX ON YOUTUBE? ANGEL 2 DON'T. JESUS I mean... ANGEL 1 DON'T you dare. SUPACREE I might as well, by the time I finish downloading it I probably won't even be able to listen to it. ANGEL 2 You shouldn't. SUPACREE I shouldn't, but I know i have to. ANGEL 1 In PUBLIC? JESUS Could go Incognito... ANGEL 2 INCOGNITO; The “oh please don't look at this:” easy algorithm engine for “LOOK AT ME, I'M HIDING SOMETHING.” MEANWHILE...IN DEEP MEDITATION…(IE OMNIPOTENCE) SUPACREE So... if a song is... nothing but question and answer, what's a song which references another in an attempt to address the question which was asked? ME A conversation between one song and another? MYSELF I guess, yes; I Well, that would be a symphony, I would suppose. SUPACREE It would, wouldn't it. ME That is, if the songs were in sync. MYSELF They could be made to be. I Every song is made to be in sync; ME I mean, two songs, made to be in sync with each other. _______ SUPACREE is on the floor at a rave. BASSGOD WAKE UP. SUPACREE This isn't funny anymore. ANGEL It was never funny. You have to get up. SUPACREE I'm up. BASSGOD You're NOT UP. ANGEL Come on, you have to do this. SUPACREE I'm doin it. GOD NO. ANGEL It's no use. She's so, so under there. It would take all of us to try to pull her out--that is without... [The darkening sky crumbles, as the thunderous storm rages, the battle between worlds expands throughout the outer galaxies.] ____ You're not skinny enough You're not pretty enough You're too dark, And you don't work quickly enough Much younger girls are putting in such Efforts, just to be, the perfect little beauty queen You wish you were, But couldn't be and kids these days are Everything that means anything Sometimes I Don't Wanna Be Happy… It was bad, But better than I'll ever be A basic remix, For the basic bitch that sings it And, I'm basically a Dillon Francis fiend, Have you seen this? Now it's getting serious, I seriously doubt there's anything I can do about it It's in God's hands and, I live in Satan's house How did he do this? How did this happen? The sad result of the damage, Cause i'm pretty sure The very last time my ex ever hit me Something got stuck on repeat; It's just eating me up. ___ [Untitled Document] What did we call that place, between “The Blackout” and waking up. Hazy. I thought it was something more clever. Maybe, but i'll never find it if i'm just scrolling through these documents. Write ”Untitled Document” That's all I've got, I guess. _____ [A DJ] Can be played by literally any DJ. A wild, wild party has happened. A DJ wakes up, previously having been sprawled out across the floor. A DJ Whose house is this…? Ugh. [Looks in mirror.] A DJ ughhh. [S/he gets up and stumbles groggily, stepping over bodies hunched and perched, slung about sleeping. Peacefully. The sun is bright, a curse to the eyes of the clearly hungover, and likely still quite inebriated DJ. ] CONCURRENTLY: >>> SUPACREE awakens from a ‘stupor' herself, displeased. She looks in the mirror, at first disgruntled, then “picks up her face” adjusts her perception, and decides, SUPACREE (“I'm good.”) Yep. [And she keeps it steppin, still asking aloud, as she ponders to herself;] SUPACREE Whose house is this? [And makes her way into the kitchen, where she (probably in a montage) cleans around the many bodies of hot people and rave babies still smudged and dripping in everything glittery; she appears to have ‘frozen time', as she vacuums faces and erases permanent marker penises drawn onto the foreheads and other exposed body parts of those who have fallen asleep with no shoes on. She cooks breakfast and straightens the entirety of what is now more recognizable as someone's home, though the owner still remains unknown. She sips coffee and reads the newspaper, as she steps behind the freshly detailed decks; and prepares a set through the headphones shes hung happily around her neck.] PAUSE ME See! THIS IS RIDICULOUS. MYSELF It is. Ridiculous. You can't vacuum someone's face! I Not that part-- MYSELF --Especially white people! ME You never said they were all white people. I I mean, predominantly; it said hot people and rave babies. MYSELF That's racist! ME It isn't. This whole scene would be entirely different, if it had nothing but black people in it. ALTERNATELY: She wakes up in the same house, but it's clean. SUPACREE ...Whose house is this? BEYONCE It's my house. SUPACREE It's... nice. BEYONCE Yes it is. ______ DILLON FRANCIS has the master plan. SUPACREE Ugh, he knows everything. GOD Not everything, dear, believe me. SUPACREE Everything that matters. GOD There's no such thing as everything that doesn't matter. SUPACREE ...What?! __ Don't look in there! You won't find anything in there. I hate these things. ____ It doesn't work if you don't practice. How do I practice without decks? You don't. How do I Dj without practicing? You don't. So DJing is just for rich people? I mean, primarily, or just...anyone with money, if you have it. Fuck this, I quit. You can't quit. If you quit we forfeit the game. No... You idiot. What game? I thought she knew about the game. What. game. Well, it's not just a game, it's a language. WHAT GAME. She's about to be so angry, dude, just--- Just run. ___ 8 Dimensional--wait, what? Oh, she finally made it. I never thought she'd get to this part. Well, she stopped eating meat and cooks asian food-- ---yeah, but that's like 6 different places-- She's not listening to Skrillex. --She's not skipping it-- --yeah, but she isn't listening to it actively.-- Josh Pan. Yeah. I am. Why. I thought we were past “why” We were, we were WAY past “why” It wasn't really a question, guys, don't worry about it. “Don't worry about it” Tsh. Tsh. ___ It's just an expression. “expression” yes. I get it-- ___ He named it “Kliptown Empyrean” What. What's “Empyrean”? I'd love to know, but I don't. Don't google it. I won't, I just. __ GO KARTS. With A K. __ Where's Kliptown? South of Capetown? South? South Afri-- Stop. HE”S AFRICAN? Stop. What's more offensive; Being called an African, or an Alien? ___ One off...hmmm… Always one off. ___ Get out of my house! This is your house? Thank God, I was starting to worry the owner like wandered off and got lost; or, you know (makes slitting throat) I... no, this is my--wait. Who are you? Me? I'm S U P A C R E E “S U P A C R E E”? [having been yet unrecognized, shes is used to having to spell it] Yeah; ___ Key of Cringe: I'm in a box with all my thoughts, And I am not on top of the world Or taking shots, I'm just rocking back and forth Like broken record, Repeating sequences, a robot A beat box of kittens Nobody wants I'm lost (if rock and roll will take me I wonder how much it costs) ____ What did this kid do? Nobody knows _Oh, shit, it's the Jews again. I love the Jews. We know. I keep telling you, you're jewish I'm not jewish my mom's… That's not your mom. Of course that's my mom. It's not, I already told you what planet you're on? __ Now, tell us why we wear our masks! Oh, there are lots of reasons for that. Tell us about the Sauce! All the sauce? Yeah!!! That would be a long story. __ Oh, the Google kids are cute, too. I especially love that little chunky one. He is cute, he's probably my favorite, actually ____ PIERCE? Who the fuck is PIERCE? Google it. I like this, this is- It's different, isn't it? Yeah, and then it __ Sunni—are you Jewish? I...identify as “Jewish” You can't just identify as Jewish. Well, I do. No, you can't just “identify” as Jewish; your mother has to be Jewish. Okay; my mother is Jewish. Sunni—you don't talk much about your family; who's your mother? Who's your mother?! Oh! Okay, we're done. See you next time, bye! What are you doing? What? “Identify as Jewish”?! WHAT?! I do! No I don't! You don't know me! Maybe not! But I know TMZ. I'm not on TMZ Sunni Blu is on TMZ What did I do?! YOu know what you did. ∆ Well, alright then. ∆ Must be something. ∆ I got it. . Don't look at me;; I'm a catastrophe, I'm just waking up now Don't look at me, I got so high i think I might not come down It's not a bad thing But I'm a bad guy, i promise It's not a bad thing, Don't look in my eyes; Especially if I like you Especially if you have other plans tonight, Or this morning That's right Time flies when you're (dynomite) Time flies when your mind right I didn't mean to stay here It's been nearly half a year, you know It's nearly half a year It's nearly half a y AHEM ALRIGHT. JESUS CHRIST. No, not that! [sighs heavily, frustrated] Enjoy Your Day. FARRO nobly sacrifices his own life during The Lovers Quarrel, as PETRUTHEIO attempts a final and fatall blow unwittingly against ‘CESMET' A saturn of satirical Return of reverb Expanding explosions of Outward and unearthly Worlds within words Or words within Worlds on the Curve of the Unwritten overtures of -Mother wow . I guess. Do you want a cup of coffee? I want you to shut the fuck up. What if Jimmy Fallon had a diary as a kid. And I found it when i shapeshifted into his body. Yeah, what if. What if this is it? [SUPER HUGE GASP] Oh, AHEM- No, i Gotta write this. AHH– Oh, the things i would do to you Oh, woah, The things you would do to me Oh, no, no, woah The things i would do AHHH– Don't be mad I'm a writer I'm like this Hi kids wanna see how sharp my knife is yikes Sigh, bitch, ive been sitting in silece With the lights off cause i like it Ilike it a lot, but uhm Ahem, The rabbi's mad cause that i'd write this And it's shabbat This is why i don't listen to deadmau5 anymore. What are you talking about *listenining to* GODDAMIT. what The invisible man, in Manhattan The sunglasses matches her madness The cloud cover looks just like Texas The suns going down And it's getting colder As the winds blows… 03. JIMMY FALLON All ya'll are all worth bout a dollar; I am a cyclone, watch me holler I lived my whole life underwater I got a dollar; Jimmy Fallon All ya'll are only bout a dollar I work so hard, I guess for nothin I am not worried bout a dollar I got a dollar; Jimmy Fallon I guess I'll do it on my own I had to do it all alone I made some soup, all out of stones I am the only one I know I am not worried bout the sauce I am so famous, got a stalker I am so famous Can't go no where I got a dollar, Jimmy Fallon I'm at the office, Not my home No collab I work alone Opened a business, got a loan I got a hundred of them passwords I went frontwards —1I went backwards Went to Manhattan, took a walk Went to the rock and dropped a rock Now put your money where your mouth is I got a thousand Jimmy Fallons (What's that) (I'm the host) What's that, what's that I work alone What's that what's that I dropped a rock into the rock What's that what's that I'm the host, I'm Jimmy {enter the multiverse/ as seen on tv} Story/ music video Moderately famous household television Jimmy Fallon suddenly begins appearing everywhere—that is—on every possible TV screen imaginable— The Protagonist, in confusion, can't seem to escape, and also amusingly begins finding Pennies in very strange and seemingly random places—these Pennies then begin opening up portals, breaking the fourth wall and opening worlds to other dimensions— Have you seen this? Uhh, hmwhat is it? Mits m “Two dumb Jews, starring Seth Rogen, and some other dude— Who's the other dude— some Jew,but it's got Adam Sandler in it. Oh, so three dumb Jews. So, no, then? I'd watch the shit out of that, though, tvh. Why's the synopsis? Uhh. Two Jewish musicians struggling to make it in new York's congested underground music scene hit it off in comedy by complete accident, after being booked as a duo for a comedy club they mistook for a bar. Heh. Okay, who does Adam Sandler play? “The Bookkeeper” What. Who the fuck is “the book keeper?” We'll see, I guess. “Two Broke hoes@ It's like two broke girls, but actually funny. What, be nice . Okay. Two Broke Ghosts That's better— — And marketable. Are you pale, or just— No, I'm dead. I'm dead. X.X Be NICE. Now our musical guests, SWAGGARBOMB. What in the fuck kind of music is that It's called “Dorkstep” [the doorbell rings] Great, who the fuck is I got a train car of your body count I got way far out to far rock away, way out Stop to talk to me, or don't, Kill your culture You need some? I got u— Probiotics, yo The truth hurts Your shit stinks Must be a mirror over herer Cause that's me I m your hero. Esha I think McGuiennes? Or McGrefor, after Ewab, maybe New York wants me to kill myself Maybe eventually New York if full of the devil The devil is money And everyone wants it The root of all evil, Is getting even The root of all evil Is people Beside myself, But besides that The ones hurting me, are soon to be where I am That's just karma The gangstalkers are soon to be stalked Coughed, and shot at The neighbors are soon to be eaten by their own demons When I don't clean them The root of all evil is evil, And that's all I see here White power wants me to kill my self The Caucasians get crazy when the race war is waging The elections are coming up And they see us coming up on conciousness They don't want us Just being honest They're hateful, They washed all the love out Thanks Karen But she don't care White firms just wanna have fun And they get to Meanwhile, me and I Eat shit( bro, And die Why's it nice to be white Even when you're wrong, you're right All you gotta do is lie, Open up your big blue eyes real wide and Decide what you want, Put us under your foot, And make us pay for it Thanks Karen Caucasians are terrorists I think it's McGuennes or however you spell it, cause half the names are like plays on Okay, I lie: You made a world where I have to Okay, I steal You took everything that I'm after already Or your ancestors did Call the luxury apartment reparations But ain't got no privacy, and hells angels and the kkk Ride motorcycles every time I get my eye on the prize So what's the price for being indegenous, black, and a genius White supremacy finds sneakier ways to kill you ESHA MCGUENNES (I thought figure out how to spell that. My left side's off I guess I got Stuck in the love of the art I was writing that part When the life of my love Fell over me A lover huh I'm so confused. I'm sorry bro, But if you're morbidly obese, But your feet are like a size 6– You are not BIG BONED. My doctor said I have a small frame, my feet are size 9, I went from a 10 to an 8.5 after losing 200 hundred pounds, I'm like “goddamn! Even my feet were fat! Fuck” But if you're fat like I was and your feet are size 6, your feet might be like a si3 4! You're a fat fucking pixie that fucked around and can't do little pixie shit now, cause you like pixie sticks Too much I'm just the rat in the dumpster I made this whole world up I swallowed the doctor I hearted the surgeon I locked up the dog catcher; I cauldron'd the Mormons I called it a sermon, but He called them all — Wait, who is Herman?! I don't know! Some black guy on that show I'm writing! what. I don't know. You're writing a show?! I'm on it! Ugh, I don't know. No fair, You really know how to make me cry When you give me those ocean eyes Those ocean eyes Good looking people In good looking places Doing good things; I just want to be Good today Good looking people Good looking people Bye, bye little bird, Think of the dreams we made Think of the drummer boy, Your lover boy, Then, the other boy There we go again, With the drums we played And the love we made It just won't make it Oh I Just Can't take it Can I come back yet? SHUT UP, GAYBRAHAM LINCOLN. I'm having breakfast at 10 am Thinking damn this depression is just setting in There's a chest on my elephant Chester drawer with hand carved elements Elephant ok my chest, Clisets with hangers and button ups I haven't won't yet What FOR WHAT FOR. MY EYES. For the sake of the art, I heart ya. For perhaps if I love, That's how I lost ya. So I keep all my love close, The brothers have found the fountain How many dollars do tootsie pops cost For one Jimmy Fallon? return to the blacklist. Great. Now I'm Jimmy Fallon. Well what's fucked up! What happened! FUCK! I hate being Jimmy Fallon! Whose dick swings to the right like that. Ow. FUCK. Fuck this guy. GODDAMMIT. -_- Let me in. Or I could just leave you out. No, don't do that. WHY. Ahh. Shhhhhh!!! What if someone sees me. Hmm, let's see. [rings neighbors dooorvelk, shuts door] No! The neighbor opens the door; now gifted with the ability to see demons, after merging with Fast forward Oh no, when did that thing come into play (When this happened) Liz lemon lives on the ground floor It don't matter cause she ain't never home l She's at the rock That's all the way up Good talk, Donaguey, Good, Good Talk Good people Good show Good good times It's good to be long gone from home Go to work at the plaza That ones Conan. Oh, Why?! Why not, though. OH, you mean— Katt. What up Snoop . Ahh, Look what the pimp limped in. You think you're clever. You think you're at least 5 foot—but you're 4 foot 9 I'm STILL WINNING CHARLIE SHEEN relapses on the dance floor Oh shit. Relapses to which habit? All of them! 10-4 CALL RUSSEL BRAND. Csnt. Why not. He's blacked out. What? Another relapse?! No, he just— passed out KABLAM. “The Cockney Thug” He's just like that now. God What is it. Can I have ham in my spam samwhiches. —you want ham in your spam sandwhich. Yes. Roasted cantaloupe with Put your notebook On my throat-Scrotum I like your poems So I wrote you this one Oh. That's. Welcome—to the' creepy shit fans have done for u's backlogs. “Backlogs” Well, I have millions of fans, It would take me years to look at all this. [the festival project] Woah. Woah. Ok. Yo. Have you seen this. What is it. I don't know. Hm. Look. Woah: Yeah, it's— Wow Ok. It just goes on like this— For how long— For like GOH GOH l GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO CUT TO: Latest — 1:04 WHAT? MEANWHILE ….IS THAT A JIMMY FALLON? LOOKS LIKE ONE. SHOOT THAT MOTHERFUCKER. ok , boss. I told you, He would play The Devil's Advocate, If need be [JIMMY FALLON is shot mercilessly in the shoulder in broad daylight.] YO. THEY SHOT ME. He'll be okay. He's Jimmy Fallon. [LIKE 90,000 Ambulances and a SWAT team roll up.] See. DEADMAU5 charges himself in a high speed chamber—a tech-driven coffin via a USB port in his neck. Lol. Ok. (PDA) Public Displays of Affliction I've never even see. A. Aston Martin Sometimes it's worth it, Getting lost in Manhattan I just saw the sign I wouldn't dare entering, anyhow Not in this outfit Not in this predicament (I just left the Whole Foods market) I got lost and god was happy Motor cars for music Force a figure ibto music Forgive Annie, Run a mile what's a california smile In New York What a garden Oh, what a garden Double back. For a second glance Oh, don't we all want second chances Now I've been an Aston Martin Motorists dot muses now u want her What a party I just saw the sign Now I've been an Aston Martin All by design Companion passing through KAWS I just bought a Ferrari I said, Where the roof is?! Where the roof is?! Blū electrico Roof finished in Nero Just a hit of magic A menacing, incredibly ambedextrous submissive One time I played God, I was hanging as the sun in Toronto In my third eye was a camera lense; My baby daddy, Lover and my best friend My husband My lover and My best friend My brother And my father Were my best friends Once upon a time I never had friends Now I remember sitting in the backseat, Has been I remember when I never had ribs I remember when I never had meat Nice to meet you I already had a coffee I remember sitting in the front seat Once upon a time I was anno one Once upon a dollar, Jimmy Fallon Once upon a dollar, Jimmy Fallon Once a bunch of Pennies, lady Gaga I'm a baby, haha Once upon a time, I was a no one A nobody Once upon a dollar, Jimmy Fallon I remember penny was a virgin I remember when you were the third one, l Once upon a time I was the first one Once upon a time, I thirst my quench with Coffee Body guard! I remember going on a long run I remember once there was a Knock on my door Now I quench my thirst with smart water With a hard on Never was a smart one Just an artist I was no one Once upon a dollar Jimmy Fallon Once upon a nothing, there was no one Now I take my coffee on a long ride No fun Once upon a dollar, Jimmy Fallon Amen I wish for every dollar I ever had, back Jimmy Fallon I wish it was 11:11, every Dillon Francis I wish for sandwhiches on leavened bread at Passover I wish this whole world would Passover, With the the stories in my home And in my notebook I wish for the fame and wealth with it, Jimmy Fallon I wish I never laughed at Dillon Francis I wish Skrillex was never a demon, I take it back I want the wealth And not the fame Just the freedom, Jimmy Fallon What do you mean by that? A dad, an actor An attack, The press is back and asking questions I can't handle that I can't. I just can't with that Abandon the matrix Go back to What's his name But I can't Cause I made him up Call my mother begging to drop the charges Called my God Just asking what the pocket watch does What's an engagement ring like that coat How much to rug the cameras up Inside my home So I don't know about em That shit's priceless Like the 9 Dollar's I've got Marked up, but not to spend them at the Market Jimmy Fallon I pray for your family But not as hard as I pray For my son Or God To take this fat off So I can look like Jennifer Aniston Cause that's God to em, 22 year old Adam Sandler At a brunch A talk show with my Least favorite host of all time Jimmy Fallon But I love to laugh, huh I just got back, God My house is a mess I want meth like AshGod If Method man was drinking up the water Would there be backwash It's a horrible, windfall This awesome art project My broken heart The coughing stalkers Whatever the fuck is going on in New York I love New York But not New Yorkers It hurts to be the worst person The first person to put reverse curses On shamans from the 3rd world And I'm living in the first world, But I just learned that Underneath the surface Is the fourth world That's some dichotomy Huh That's some diabolical plot The cosmic avenger is stuck in a dimension Of white pocket tenses And white bitches who get offended With this scripture But listen I just got up And I've been privy to Never sleeping again Norman Needs you, Mrs. Hotch But I was never Mrs. Roberts With all of the hearts and crosses , stars I give up on love Where's DimlonnFrancis at That's a man without a mask, That's a mannequin m. Just got up And I still want breakfast All I got is Stuff that's leavening A hand in my pocket Just for God to show me Nobody I want wants me Jimmy Fallon has a family That's a tragedy, that But I laughed so hard in the bathtub I still haven't come back from that I feel bad for em, actually All the husbands Cause I was the wife that sucks And he hated me so much I got punched in the— Doesn't matter Stuck in the telling it over and over Nobody loves me My new password is Fuckit I'm gone galloping horses, And hornets, I'm just a furniture Probably should have aborted me, mother Just like you wanted to But I'm still in the hospital On the honor roll Cause I had them all lined up The prophets of the “Impossible, could not be my God!” That's what they all said, But they dressed me up like Some sort of messiah, So I was, then It wasn't right, no That was malpractice But now I've got Camping in Malibu Crossed off my list forever Shit It's some dichotomy Just hold onto me I'm the rock, You're the kite now, Jimmy Fallon I was just better off dead, You know Better off stuck in my head, you know. I read your messages, every one of them Every one of the drugs in my bucket I threw up from the fan club Impossible, Could not have been at that clown JIMMY FALLON - THE COSMIC AVENGER JIMMY FALLON THE COSMIC AVENGER is levitating in a hyper-meditative state. UH – “hehe” …I beg your pardon. “Hehe” Um… Fuck. Or “haha” “haha” … Just admit it. … Admit it already! –haha. Admit WHAT. This gets Levels. Nobody thought Patrice O Neal was a woman! I thought Patrice O Neal Was a Woman. Ah, fuck, I'm nobody. “Nobody” Is that Bob Saget? I swiped right on this dude, just cause he looked exactly like Bob Saget. Omg. Bob Saget! Fuck, that's right. EXT. THE W HOTEL, BEVERLY HILLS, DAY/ EXT . PODSHARE WESTWOOD ROOFTOP, DAY OH MY GOD, GUYS, LOOK: IT'S BOB SAGET. No it's not! Oh My God! Yeah IT IS! Fuck, really?! Bob Saget?! BOB SAGET! YO GUYS, IT'S BOB SAGET. It was, in fact, Bob Saget. Bob Saget's dead, right? Oh yeah, bud. That's it guys! No more dead celebrities! I'm coming with you! NO MORE GHOSTS. Look, I have something to tell you. UGH. COME ON. This is a weird superpower. EXT. GRAVEYARD, QUEENS, NY. DAY … … … Having fun yet? Alright! I have a question! What? When do I get to– Get to what? You know. Luckily, I die long beore Jimmy Fallon, and as my time approached, I took all i could absorb from the world within, and without, almost as if any and all of my deathwish had been satiated with the gentle ease, the notion of knowing my imminent death would come long before what those surrounding me would consider my time, and therefore would not be made to lose anymore than I already had–but at least, I did have th strength in knowing, not only would i never grow so old as to see for show most of what I had done, but that I had done most of what I would have at all, and not much longer than my words would form into all that would come to be known as my full body of work, I would perish, even before–long before– those I had studied, admired, and known to love–if only through the fourth wall, at all. The invisible man, in Manhattan The sunglasses matches her madness The cloud cover looks just like Texas The suns going down And it's getting colder As the winds blows… THAT was a HARD left turn. So, what time can we listen to Excision? Sometime after intermission. How many acts is this again? ___ I told you, IN-FIN-ITE. Okay… I just wanted to know how long it would take? ___ I know someone that cold get us in _____ (Sitting on a speaker in the BassPod) What is she doing? What are you doing? Charging. __________ I think I found that girl you were looking for. Where is she? I said I found her: I didn't say you could have her. She's not a possession, I'm just trying to talk to her. You didn't mention that she was-- Be careful with your words. Oh, I think it's you that ought to be careful. You're losing your power over her and it shows. Mm. And what about your ‘power', hm? I haven't any power over her-- Oh, but you do-- Will Power at best, That would only be half of it. That would be all I had anything to do with; she was given free agency. HA. “Given”? ____ awww look at that bass face. Well, that's one reason... __ Ah what! you can change your entire frequency? No Fair, I can't do that You can, it just takes practice. What kind of practice-- ___ Oh shit, this hits different with two headphones. It all hits different with headphones. Calorie Deficit Calculator: -3423 Oh shit. Well how many calories did I eat? BEFORE: …chocolate chip cookies? NO— —CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIESzzxz— [CC/SUPACREE robotically and autonomously ditches her bicycle outside of sprouts, not giving a Fuck.] —s—noh! stop it! Stop controlling me! THEY ARE VEGAN. SO? STOP IT. Ooh, what's this. I don't know— get it. CC/SUPACREE stands awkwardly at the checkout with a varied selection of vegan baked goods. *beep* Yeaaaahh. So wait. SUPACREE is controlled by aliens? WE ARE GODS. Knock it OFF! [NEW ABILITY UNLOCKED: SUPASTRENTH ] Nice. Yeah dude. Watch this. The Legend of Supacree is the #1 MMORPG in the world; it is also happening in real-time, in multiple worlds within the multiversial construct of the actual Omniverse. AGHHHHH In fact, nobody even plays GTA or call of duty anymore. YAH! [Random objects falling from the sky. ] SUPACREE Oh, nice. INSTANT MANIFESTATION. JUST POST THE FUCKING EPISODE ALRIGHT?! this bitch is fucking crazy. Watch this. Watch what? SHIA LABEOUF discovers The Legend Of Supacree franchise and becomes villainously obsessed with It, hatching a heinous and maniacal plan to hunt her down and capture her—tracking her every move and learning everything about her he can. Wtf. I don't know. Is he a villain? I don't know. I guess. I'M A SUPERVILLAIN. …He's a supervillain. I guess. Why?! I don't know. This is creeps. It is creeps. [lifts one eyebrow.] SUPACREEps. Scary monsters and supacreeps. Heh. NO, NO MUSICIANS. Heh. SHIA LABEOUF is a straight up gangster. HE'S CRAZY! [SHIA LAUGHING MANIACALLY.] Oh, wow– That dude is a straight up psychopath. You're a straight up psychopath. I'm not arguing. What is THIS part of the story? Well, son, you made it through. WOODY HARRELSON? WHAT. Woody Harrelson?! WHY? I don't know. He just fit the part. WHAT PART?! WHAT/! Nobody quite understands what's happening in ENTER THE MULTIVERSE, however, THE LEGEND OF SUPACREE has taken an incredible turning point, intersecting with the world of LEGENDS and THE SECRET LIFE OF SUNNI BLŪ/ THE SUITE LIFE OF SUNNI BLŪ. IT HAS? YES? WHERE? I WANNA DIE. OH! That's not SUPACREE! [CC HULK SMASHES her bike onto the rack on the bus. THE HULK, sitting just in front stares at her wide-eyed as she boards the bus over the rim of his sunglasses.] Oh, maybe, nevermind. Wait! Is it THE HULK, or MARK RUFFALO? I don't know! I don't give a shit! Why are you even writing this? Uhhhhhhhh. [CC's brain is slowly melting as she rides the bus to work. THE HULK– OR IS IT MARK FUCKING RUFFALO!? I DON”T FUCKING CARE– THERE'S A DIFFERENCE WHAT'S THE DIFFERENCE IT – DOESN'T– MATTER! ‘It doesn't matter.' Chal's words echoed in my head almost too loudly–as boldly blind and sometimes even dumb as he was, he was also wise, and as it turned out, right–it really didn't matter. Nothing mattered at all. I had gone through the motions of reaching out to him, to of course as expected learn that he and whatever her name was had gone their separate ways; I understood that would be the case nearly immediately back in Mazunte, but as he was insistent he would woo her–and persistent in doing so, that I thought maybe after all love– or what really turned out to be his obstinate lust would win the day–and yet, it hadn't; he was again single and on the prowl– and although at one point I had even lusted after him briefly, trailing behind him in nonchalant platonic carelessness as he obsessively followed another woman, had allowed me to become comfortable enough in the friendzone that i could just simply exist next to him; Now, again faced with homelessness and factoring in my inability to travel much further than south of the border, especially now knowing well how to travel throughout mexico and into Guatemala, I wondered truly if my own self-worth had really been lowered to the point of allowing myself to meet Chal in Guatemala–even full well knowing that he, too, preferred perfect and illy white to my dark skin and quite seemingly matronly features, and, knowing for myself that I wasn't his first choice– as he and I had of course met in Mazunte around the same time he had met whom he considered to be ‘his Goddess'-- albeit while on a topless beach and thus hynotized by her breasts. Men were hopeless. Then, here I was, waking up every other sleep cycle in the cold sweat of a wet dream, the subject of which I typically at least tried to keep deeply hidden in my subconscious psyche as secrets, although by now it seemed there really were none, and all that I knew and that I thought were known and seen by some other than myself–though somehow still holding true to my belief that there really was none other than myself–in my own broken and twisted world, alone and punished in the depths of mediocrity and shame. Woah. Riding the bus. There's nothing lower. There's walking. To the bus. Yah. And all the sick people. And all the crackheads. And all the–what are those? Demons [demon hacks.] Ugh, fucking–ugh. SHIA LABOUFF'S obsession with SUPACREE is helga petaki-meets Tom Cruise jumping on Oprah's couch. Oh, wait, we're back on that storyline? I mean– I don't know how to write this. Just write it. he's a villain, right? I mean, that suit. SHIA LA– FUCK. WHAT?! Worst last name EVER. Well, not ever– Wait, is he black?! –It sounds french. GOOGLE SEARCH: ‘How Jewish is Shia LaBeouf? ‘ –no, he's Cajun – That's french-black–wait— –what? Cajun AND Jewish? –Yeah– Jesus! JESUS What? (raises one eyebrow) SUPACREE strategizes a plan of attack. Attack for what? {ATTACK} YOUUUU INCEPTED ME!!! AGH! {COUNTER ATTACK} NOT ME! DISNEY! {DODGING COUNTER ATTACK} Yeah, Blame “Disney!” I JUST DID. Oh, yeah, right!! RAVEN SYMONÉ It was Disney. THEY OK'D THIS?! They bought Marvel! THEY OK'D EVERYTHING. —Even the SKRILLEX? Especially the Skrillex —Especially the Skrillex. AGHHHHHHHH—— ———-AAAAAGGGGGGGGHHHHHH!!! SHIA LABEOUF VS SUPACREE: FIGHT!!!! Everything looks good— —everything looks good. Everything looks fine— —Everything looks fine. But wait— What? What about that guy? Oh My— —oh my… Is he gonna be alright? Is that guy —gonna be alright? Is that guy gonna be alright? Is—that guy gonna be alright? Is that guy gonna be alright Is that guy— Gonna be alright? Is that guy gonna be alright?? Is that guy gonna be alright?! Is that guy gonna be alright m? Everything looks good— —everything looks fine Looks good— But what about that guy? …I don't know about that guy. Is he alright? Yo. Yooo. Stop writing songs about Skrillex. ((I literally can't.)) What?! It doesn't have to be about Skrillex! It could be about anybody! Here, they call with disco balls Stars in my eyes, but stars do fall First true love dies hard after all, No star shines bright as morning comes —(for) Sonny …I didn't write that. CUT TO: CC writes automagically between sets of heavy lifting. IMAGINARY FRIENDS, PART III DEADMAU5!!!! okay—one more—then cupcakes— Cupcakes? No cupcakes! I WANT CUPCAKES. Uh—No way! YES WAY. Mmm—no I'm sick of this diet! I'm not on a diet! I eat! You eat GRASS. I'm a vegan. This shit sucks. I told you, grass tastes bad. RICK?! (I also want cupcakes. ) Mmkay—ohh. You said that was the last one. No, more more. NO “one more” But I like this one—and it has the right amount of weights on it already—see? Jesús Christ He's not here. (Yes I am). Why the Fuxk. I also want cupcakes Okay, one more No “one more” The power of Christ compels ye! … Is that how that works? No. Maybe. (((Yes.))) AGHHH. The celebrities of Hollywood are gang stalking SUPACREE Can we— No. But I didn't even get to ask the question. The answer is no. THE CELEBRITIES OF HOLLYWOOD, after assembling with the Bampheramphs and Morherfuckers, have formed a supergroup tasked with bringing SUPACREE to THE HOLLYWOOD PEOPLE—so far, they have cunningly out-bested and outwitted THE US GOVERNMENT, including but not limited to THE FEDS, THE CIA, THE FBI and THE SECRET SERVICE. REALLY? I GUESS. HOW?! — DRAKE snoops on SUPACREE as she writes working half heartedly at THE NECK MACHINE with peaking curiosity, peaking over the time of his sunglasses. Whats it called. “Nautilus 4 way neck “ BPM: you're a jerk Do the Drake Do the Drake Do the Drake Work that neck Work that— Neck, Becky Work that neck, Work that neck Do the— “new note: Purchase ‘Honestly, nevermind' I had worked an entre month at LVAC before the circus went underway; Not a single drop of Skrillex had ever been played over the loudspeakers at any moment, for any of the time I had been employed there, nor had it burdened me any of the other time I had spent bettering myself within what I once cherished as sacred walls–now the illusion shattered, as nowhere I could seem to run – even the rural coastal jungle of Mexico-was far enough to escape the clammerings of something I quite honestly very much still loved, but wouldn't allow myself to enjoy— Or maybe, now, couldn't. BANGARANG. ‘Fuck this shit.' I wanted to move, but didn't—I wanted to leave, and probably should have, but wouldn't. I just sat there through it as my coworker, standing at about 5'4 ½ in a pair of tight black skinny jeans sang along and bounced rhymically. What the fuck. Then, as it had just been earlier that I was thinking of Sonny himself, and how, be it that any of my premonitions were actually accurate and true as I had once thought them to be, there would perhaps come a day that I regretted not listening to his works, just as one regrets not spending time with a loved one before their passing not giving enough attention to the little things, the tiny details, the time they had missed, but never missed without missing their loved one until it was too late. Then again, for me, any time in the then- present was too late, as I had only been followed, taunted, and ridiculed, openly humiliated and embarrassed, and never really paid directly for anything I had done, whether it did have to do with Skrillex or otherwise –and so I had made it more than a point to distance myself from it, anything having to do with it, or him, or anything really, music related—of course besides relying heavily on deadmau5 just for my own existence–that is, willingness wake up, move about the world and its endless, pointless constructs, and even so, completing a worthwhile workout with enough satisfaction that I could allow myself to leave the building–and now, with my commute taking up a grand total of 4 hours of my entire day—I didn't have the time or the energy to stay late into the days and even afternoons as I had before, or to arrive early as I had in the days and weeks before; Now this job was amounting to nothing at all, and I was surely less than breaking even. Whats the worry? You've got 20 minutes to write a story! Don't be sorry Mind your orders. You're a war chief Marry me, Oh pretty please— I plead to you, just sing for me Just think of me as a Never ending fantasy, At the very least When you bury me —and you buried me alive, Just for the look of things What makes us even Slitting wrists Or splitting things unevenly (Either thing benefits me, And my penis, I think.) Make me famous— She said Hate me or debate me, I have everything I need And I have everything you have, But I can leave, All with my dreams intact I do believe You think I'm evil Either way, unnecessary Why would I sit down and write a story— When you just did it for me? Why would I pledge allegiance to old glory She's ignoring me; Why would I change my name to satisfy your needs When mine sit idly by waiting Why would I dream of you, When you dream of me I have all I need, You have all of me in the other room While you watch cartoons with your lady I hate anime and now I hate you too, But I'm so stupid, Nothing soothes my moods, Except playing your tunes, Or music Whoop De Fucking do Would you Marry Me? He said (He never did, he just let her—) She said, I do And now they're doomed I built a tomb for two The bride and groom In music Two by two And used by Tuesday Music I presume To the beautiful Music I presume For the usual Music I presume For those who —- SHIA LABEOUF JUST DO IT. That is not how the end of the song goes. No, but this is how the end of the episode goes. Really!? How? [CC stares lifelessly forward out of the front window of the double decker bus; a man dressed in all blue catches her attention—another telepathic shapeshifter.] You brought…an umbrella? I told you there was a shit storm coming. Oh, nooh. Where's yours? I— don't care? That's right you don't. I don't. That's good you don't. I really don't. You don't give a Fuck, or a shit. I—don't give a fuck or a sh—wait— DILLON FRANCIS? I'm good at what I do. What do you DO? THIS. “A Silent Partner” Oh. I like that. That has all kinds of insinuations. Doesn't it? Hermph. You're a creep. A Supacreep. PAUSE ITS MISTER MAGOOoOOOOOOOooO0oO. No, it's the IRS. Fuck. HOLY SHIT SUNNI. WHAT. HOW DO YOU OWE 100,000 IN BACK TAXES?! Student loan debt. WHAT. THAT DOESN'T MAKE ANY SENSE. Yes it does. HOW. Calm down Marci —MY ÑAME IS— [Sunnī Blū subdues her instantly with one if Supacree's mysterious rave weapons] Sit down, please. …what is that? You like it? Yeah. [she gives her another dose of strange vapor, she relaxes even further.] See. Yeah. Now that you're happy— —am i “happy” ? [she gives her another relaxing dose] —are you Happy? Yeah. Ok. So. I never filed my taxes because I had so muc

“The Legend of Supacree” L E G E N D S “Tales of A Superstar DJ” My body is my hell My body is my hell My body is my hell My body is myhel Now i do't wanna live no more My body is my hell My body is my hell My body is my hell Now I don't wanna love no more i don't wanna live no more I don't wanna love no more I don't wanna live no more I don't wanna love no more I don't wanna live no more I don't wanna live no more I don't wanna live no more I don't wanna– Boy gets the girl– but in the end, i'm not either, I Still have to wonder why The nanny How I met yurr' Mother I'm neve gonna get all that God magic I need if I don't stop working. This isn't “work” Oh, yes it is. Deadmau5, a canadian DJ also known as Joel Zimmerman, hosts an anti-superbowl Star Wars Party, which turns unexpect— Look at me, feeling me, feeling you Now look at you, feeling you feeling me Feeling you feeling me Feeling me feeling you Feeling me feeling you Feeling you feeling Feeling you feeling –sorry. —Unexpectedly into the “superbowl party of the century”, when hundreds (eventually thousands) of “invitees” I've never been a man before, (that I know of) But ive got my hand over your heart , And it sure seems hard It sure seems hard -AHEM. Sorry. Receive an invitation via [SUPER JEW RABBI] AHEM What?! –Email, which was actually AHEM. WHAT! Oh My GoD! [Looks at clock] Oh. sorry Rabbi. When did you get to be such a Jew FLASHBACK Age: 12 Mom. I want a dreidel. …What's a dreidel? –And A Menorah! CUT BACK TO But honestly more recently, it was– [Stops traffic in Midtown Manhattan Rushour to pick up a penny.] [Jewish woman] Woooow. [JEWLUMINATTI] You see! I told you! Oh my God, why are the Jews in this series so stereotypically jewish? Because Jews are stereotypically Jewish. FLASHBACK: But what am I really saving here. Gevault! CUT BACK TO: YOU'RE A PEANUT BUTTER JELLy SaNDWHICH WITH NO PEANUT BUTTER AND NO JELLY. So just bread? –yes. But–[Anime sword swish] I don't eat bread. [Anymore] [FIGHT] Dang what DJ battle is THIS. The One You've Been Waiting For Mad men avatar the last air bender Grounded for life So how long's this whole thing supposed to take. –as long as it takes. What kind of answer is that. It's an answer. Don't be so sure of yourself. I am sure of myself; Just because it's not the answer you wanted doesnt make it any less of an answer. Now, sit down Watch out, and watch this: Too many apps on my phone I'm better off alone I'd better kill myself Nobody will ever love me Nobody will ever love me Watch out, watch this: My iPhone is trying to kill me, For real? See; It's natural selection I'm trying to unselect me Caviar, a delicacy How delishish The devil in me says to keep digging my grave I was once at a rave, And he gave me a halo A lion, I'm brave— I once said Spin it, Spin back the record again If it's all in my head Then I'm better off dead I'm better off dead Watch this! @Dillon Francis I'm stuck in a trance— Hanzel was lighting the candle And summoned me, Out of a dead sleep, With no pants on— It was a tech house set But I'm on acid Spinning an axis And stuck in a state of trance —i thought it was armin van buren at one point I have to give up at some point, writing, right? Now this is just point in history Point me away from the misery Mystery flavor is like Fruit punch, Or raspberry— Something like that, If you ask me; But white as the rabbit I pulled out the hat In the back seat I'm hatching a plan to go mad, But I need the recepits from Pasqualle for my taxes What the Fuck does that mean? I don't know; I'll read this In a year, When I unbury it Maybe I married my best friend, Deserved to get hit So I'm just going back to him Scratch that, he's mad at me I have no family Reckless abandonment God I'm attracted to everything Except for that See? She's racist. No, it's my ovaries! The lighter you are, the less the adversity I see you eyes turned to grey; Don't abandon me Yes, I wear contacts I'm faking attractive I laughed at him, had to He actually had magic @Dillon Francis How many hats to you have? Thanks to Hanzel, I'm back on this planet Why light a candle, when you know I haven't an answer; What did you ask? No, i haven't had breakfast yet — Thanks for reminding me I'm in a casket Goddamnit @Dillon Francis What are you? I'm an adversary GOOGLE: adversary ..??? ad·ver·sar·y /ˈadvərˌserē/ noun one's opponent in a contest, conflict, or dispute. Hmm. Oh. Opponent to what?! Could be anything, really. I don't like him… 2 for $ MIX AND MATCH INCLUDES BIG KING REALLY. Which one's the Big King? The little one, I think. He's not little In fact: LOOK AT EM. Dawh. Look at Skrillex. Dawg. Look at Skrillex. He bossed up. He was already boss. Well. He Sauced up, then. What kind of sauce is that?! I don't know, but looks like Dillon Francis is eating it. DILLON FRANCIS IS EATING IT pause. How am I still writing this show. She doesn't eat? She hasn't eaten. She doesn't eat. I haven't ate yet! BET. BET. OK—Bet. Nice. Sick. What are we betting. … … … WAIT. ,,, josh pan? … … Did you unpause? Unpause what? Uh. The game. This is the game. No, the game. This is the game! What are you talking about?!! Now I'm famous> This is The Game. sup. This is Sunni Blū Sup. It is?! Yea it is. Wait, it is?! I thought you were the kidd?? I am the kidd. Then, why is The Game meeting Sunnï Blu? For a collab. Duh. Wait. Pause. QUIT PRESSING PAUSE. Wait. Go back. I didn't get that last part. WE WATCHED IT A HUNDRED TIMES ALREADY. Screw you. We're watching it again. Ugh! I hate this! Dude. I hate watching this with you. It takes 3 hours to watch an episode! You guys are talking over all the good parts! It's all the good parts! This shit's exciting. I'm defaulting. What? This isn't—this isn't fair. I'm not doing this. What?! It isn't safe anymore. It was never “safe” SAFE! Oh nice. Baseball. It is baseball. Who's playing? All the DJs. What. For what?! It's the DJ GAMES. THE DJ GAMESsssssssss ITS THE DJ GAMES! OH FUCK YEAH. I fuck this. I quit. what. You can't quit. I can quit. I just did. You can't quit the DJ games. I just did. But you can't. I just did. Hey. Hey, what's up. I'm gonna be late. What's going on? My bus driver's drunk. Are you sure? CITY BUS DRIFTING IN SLOW MOTION /Hans Zimmer Music Yes. Welhp. What. That's it. I'm just gonna have to kill myself. Why, what happened? I'm pretty sure that's the only way to beat this level. What, really? Nah. I'm pretty sure Let me see. *SUPACREE jumps into oncoming traffic* YOU DIED. Aww. I died. WHAT THE FUCK. Well, you said. GAME OVER [fade to black] I HAD NO LIVES LEFT. WELL, YOU SAID! THATS'S NOT THE WAY TO— [fade to white] NEW LEVEL UNLOCKED: GOD MODE OOOHHHHHHHH. WHAT?! LVL i - DREAMSTATE What is this. SUPACREE. I— what? Hello? Follow me. Who is this? I know you. Oh. The above and beyond part. That's funny. I was just— So wait. If the end of this episode, is the end of that movie, then… I guess whatever's happening about now is whatever happened before that part. What part? I, having run off from I, runs into a forest alongside The Endless River, which opens out into a beautiful meadow, the micolored cosmic sky twinkling sweetly above, strange auroras dancing in the skies; a field of glowing and stardusted singing wishflowers at her feet, she frustratingly falls into them, soft grass puffing with the twinkling sounds of fairy dust and sprites (a homage to the lion king) the wishflowers softly sing her to sleep with the subtle and sweet frequencies of Skrillex. (A homage to the wizard of Oz) From Above & Beyond, a flock of Cosmic Creatures in flight spot a golden glimmer from afar; they descend dimensions-- to get a closer look; Closing in on the universe within the confines of a massive structure, which propels itself seamlessly through galaxies faster than the speed of light and sound, though she appears as a large golden space station, slowly drifting through the atmosphere. Manned by yet unseen beings, the golden ship descends upon Skrillex, almost silentl— a swishing whir as the ship, more similar to a futuristic building, an ovaline rounded structure seemingly structured in brass, gold, and silver as it docks to the soft soil of planetary terrain. The landing is soft enough not to have awaken Ū, still sleeping; but an immense light pours from the openings of the ship, waking her--and blinding Sonny as he finally approaches from behind, having been searching for her. She is drawn into the light; he shields his eyes as the beings emerge from their massive station. Monologue/Montage I fell in love with you...it was an accident. I fell in love with you, because I had to; I hadn't thought about it before, but i've been thinking about it ever since. Had I succeeded in my attempted suicide, we wouldn't have come face-to-face… Had I succeeded in my attempted suicide, I'd have no reason to write something so pathetic as this, pititul letter, which you will probably never read. Probably, anyway. I've spent a majority of my lifetime very deeply troubled, yearning for all the attention one could ever crave--until suddenly, I no longer craved any at all. Solitude, rather than isolation, became sacred, and safe to me; It was in the solace and quiet of my very own world, that you entered my kingdom...and it became ‘ours'. Silence. Nature. Astrology. My greatest found pleasures, in a cavalcade of endless self-doubt, self-loathing...a tiresome collection of all the hatred I've harbored for myself in my twenty-something years. I fell in love with you...I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to do anything, except be. Another festival, another escapade...another chance to dance, in the sunlight--the moonlight, under stars… And under the stars, is where I was forced to find you. Now, it seems, can't escape your presence--or lack-thereof. Unrequited? Perhaps. But, not unprovoked. I love you because it is in me to do so. I will always love you, always. There is a world where you're in love with me, as I am you; All I can do now, is hope that this is that same very world, and that as days go by, we draw closer to one-another, rather than further apart. In truth, friendship, in the very least, would serve as a worthy reward...for all the worry, all the wonder, and all the willing I've done for you; in honesty...I'm ashamed in my inability to let go--yet also proud, that I am able to love this much, this hard. To see you with someone else, now, would be a gentle relief; to know that you are kept in love, with graciousness...a subtle gift, an answer to a prayer I asked. Loneliness, I wouldn't wish upon you for anything--love is, in fact, my whole wish for you--be it mine, or not. While I can wish that it will be mine, I've also wished for you, the very best--I would want not for my flaws to burden you. Flaws are what create our perfection; God is, as I am. Losing you, the flame of fear that set my heart and soul to fire; Cancerous, weakened, plagued--premonitions impolitely penetrated my fragile, eggshell mind… the death of a friend, fast-forwarded and reflected into my mind's-eye; How could I forget a face like yours--eyes like those? How could I not know you, as I have? Tears bearing your name roll over my nose, like the rain on a rose...the burden of belonging to one, rather than some; To all, rather than none. So now, I keep my favorite photo of you in my phone...a comfort, to the weary and wounded heart I carry. I can pretend that your sweet voice accompanies mine, as I sing to soothe myself, as I sway in solitude; A gentle kiss, I imagine to give, if ever the chance. I love you, without reason to--and with every reason to, I love you. Find me, again As the ship departs, charging to go into warp speed, Sonny is left alone on his own planet; as a slight panic falls over him, A key-like object falls from the ship as it dissappars at warp speed into a portal. As his hands clap together, catching the object, the sound rings outward--this clapping pages The Skrillex, which lands promptly beside him, exclaiming-- "I AM SKRILLEX"; he has never seen this ship before, however proceeds onto the ship as though familiar with extra terrestrial phenomena all together. We only see him enter the ship; we do not follow him inside, but instead cut to Ū on the Interdimensional SpaceTime Station. Ah wait. So Skrillex is a planet? Skrillex is a lot of things SKRILLEX is a planet . That explains it. No it doesn't. I mean, it might. No it doesn't! I mean, it kindof does, if you think about it. BleepBleepBloop bleeepbleepbloopBloop bleepBleepBleeppBoopBoop bloopbloopBloopBloop. bleepBleep. bloop. Bleep? … This is a disaster! Don't look at ME. I'm not looking at anything! I can't stand it. __ This is the best thing on TV. Damn right it is. What channel is it, anyway? On Channel 43. What! I thought it was on Insomniac TV. They keep fucking with me. The Lord giveth, and taketh away— I thought you were Jewish. I want a sandwich. You're so useless. __ Who's this bitch? I won her in a bet. No you didn't. Royal Flush, bitch. What'd you get? It's a secret. __ My Lord. (Petrutheio Humphs) You look awful. I've been—working. Working on what, your majesty. Just—working, is all. Very well, then. Theodore— My leige? MEANWHILE, IN SEASON 4 [ When the 4th Wall Actually Broke] GO! I found this gym because of Dillon Francis— I found Dillon Francis because of my evil ex husband; I think the lesson here, or at least one of hundreds— Is to trust no one, And love unconditionally, No matter what. — 02-12-2022 Well, there's a conundrum. KEY/BPM: Slip, deadmau5 Conundrum. LEGENDS: ENTER THE MULTIVERSE Fuck. What was it? It was a p— Well it was a *PR Lol. *PT cruiser Yeah, but it was— It was purple. It was a purple PT. Cruiser It was—but what else was it? Ugh. I forgot. Yeah, I bet. GOOGLE SEARCH shades of purple. Ooooh. PERIWINKLE. You fucking dumb ass. I mean, Jesus. How long has it been? At least a lifetime. No, past that. It was a perfect periwinkle PT cruiser. So, start there. ‘Start there' what? Everything since then, till now— For what? Enter The Multiverse. That show is still on?! YES. What day is it? Fuxk. What time is it? What—the fuck. What?! CUPCAKES AND A MUFFIN?! I don't care how fat I am. You're not fat. QUASIMOTO Can I just say, your ass is like —woah. CC/SUPACREE Oh, thank you. QUASIMOTO I mean like—DAAAAAAMN. CC/ SUPACREE OK. QUASIMOTO i mean like—what the FAAACK. CC/SUPACREE Yeah. thanks, bro. [an awkward silence] QUASIMOTO …Good job, though. [light fist bump] EARLIER: MORE CUPCAKES. NAH. OHH, OREOS?! Oreos are the G.O.A.T. I WANTED CUPCAKES. SHUT THE FUCK UP— Before that, at the gym: —do the butt machine again. Again?! Get the glutes. But I'm tired— GET THE GLUUUUUUUUTES. SONNY/SKRILLEX Where am I? Ū Hell. ANGEL 1 In bed. ANGEL 2 In mexico. CUT TO: SUPACREE finally gets to Heaven, looking for SKRILLEX. SUPACREE So, where is he? JESUS Somewhere else. ANGEL 1 At home. ANGEL 2 In mexico. JESUS Who knows? CHAK CHEL Someone must... DILLON FRANCIS I'm someone. JESUS But I don't. ME I don't know anything. MYSELF I don't need to. I I just wanna go home. SUPACREE Can I come home now? JESUSYou always could. SUPACREE But really, I mean-- CHAK CHEL Really's all it really takes. ANGEL 1 You have to know, ANGEL 2 You have to mean it; Don't look both ways before you cross, if you honestly want off the cross Christ, for your sake Honestly It's probably wise to admit that you've tried For the third time; Mankind's just not worth it. Mankind, maybe; But humanity's my baby And this earth is definitely worth something I love it-- Her. And the rest of the planets, but Look how she spins, It's magnificent, Look at the way the ocean's Make this mist; And the wind-- If i sing loudly enough I might Vibrate the trees, How they love dancing and laughing for me; And I just can't help but to laugh at her inhabitants; They dance oh-so rhythmically They're very creative-- and grateful, they always give thanks to me It's no need, but the Earth, she keeps feeding them She makes these beautiful things, So sweet; Mangoes, I think. Greed; The Parable of the Mango Tree Mango VIP. In the pre-existence, a young God prepares for her journey through the Land of The Living; Her older brothers taunt and tease, as she shuffles through notes and index cards, studying her predetermined fate on Earth. I That's easy. The cover art's just got a Mango On it, White Backdrop; It looks super juicy; with a green leaf, I think. E Who made it? I Uhhhhh. ^> Uhhhhh... O You forgot! I No! I know, I know. It was.... A Who? U She forgot again. I I did NOT. E Did too. Who made it? I It was...it was...Herobust! Y Herobust? I Wasn't it? E Wrong! A Loser. I I am not a Loser. It was…Was it Ganja White Night? E I don't know, was it? A Was it? I I don't know! Just tell me. E I can't. I Yes you can! E I can't. Your rules-- I Exactly, it's my rules! Just gimmie the answer! E I think you're going to have to GOOGLE it. I Ugh, no way. E So is Liquid Stranger your final answer? Y Liquid Stranger?! I I never said Liquid Stranger. A Idiot. O Now she's never gonna get it. U What did you say before? I It was...oh... A See dude. I Shut up, I had it-FUCK. A Damn dude, you broke her. I I'm not broken, I just forgot - E Liquid Stranger, going once-- I I never said Liquid Stranger! I know it wasn't Liquid Stranger; Why would it ever be Liquid Stranger? CUT TO: A pair of mysterious dudes Suits in Sunglasses are collecting famous DJs. SUIT Martin Stääf? LIQUID STRANGER ...Yes... SUIT. Come with me. ___ CUT TO: Two fans are watching interdimensional cable. SUPACREE It's a practical-- FAN 1 WHAT HAPPENED? FAN 2 IT JUST CUT-- __ Aliens in an Ascended dimension of hyper-intelligence are studying our three-dimensional existence from an unknown cosmic world. BRAMF Remember that planet I showed you--the-- ARLA Yeah, with the Axis? BRAMF Yeah. ARLA Yeah? BRAMF Something happened to it, ARLA Like what? BRAMF It's flat now. ARLA WHAT? BOTH Woah. >^ Sometimes, even i'm surprised by the things I've written. ME I didn't see that one coming! MYSELF Neither did I: I was gonaa say it was off it's axis. I Flat's funnier. ME Yeah, and probably not as tragic. MYSELF I mean...that would be pretty tragic. I Probably easier to manage. ME Perhaps…But I mean, if you have a whole planet, and then it just collapses-- MYSELF It's just flattened; nobody said it collapses. MEANWHILE The planet collapses. __________ CUT TO: SUPACREE is now a full-blown superpowered vigilante; She seeks revenge for GETTER sending her through the interdimensions at AUDIOTISTIC. SUPACREE Getter, we meet again. GETTER I've never met you before; what are you doing in my dressing room? SUPACREE Why does a DJ have a dressing room? GETTER I don't know; get out. [She swiftly leaves; as she exits, THE SUITS approach the dressing room door.] SUIT 1 Tanner Petulla? GETTER Yeah? SUIT 2 Come with us. GETTER Fuck that! [He doesn't have a choice.] Oh shit, the next scene is already written, I remember this. Oh, okay! I get it! Yeah. She's still at-- She's still on the-- ____ JUST KILL YOURSELF ALREADY. For what? You're suck in this until it's done. What's done? It'll never be over, it's just infinite. ENTER THE MULTIVERSE ^ UNTITLED DOCUMENT >< >< >< ANGEL 1 YOU'RE GONNA LISTEN TO SKRILLEX ON YOUTUBE? ANGEL 2 DON'T. JESUS I mean... ANGEL 1 DON'T you dare. SUPACREE I might as well, by the time I finish downloading it I probably won't even be able to listen to it. ANGEL 2 You shouldn't. SUPACREE I shouldn't, but I know i have to. ANGEL 1 In PUBLIC? JESUS Could go Incognito... ANGEL 2 INCOGNITO; The “oh please don't look at this:” easy algorithm engine for “LOOK AT ME, I'M HIDING SOMETHING.” MEANWHILE...IN DEEP MEDITATION…(IE OMNIPOTENCE) SUPACREE So... if a song is... nothing but question and answer, what's a song which references another in an attempt to address the question which was asked? ME A conversation between one song and another? MYSELF I guess, yes; I Well, that would be a symphony, I would suppose. SUPACREE It would, wouldn't it. ME That is, if the songs were in sync. MYSELF They could be made to be. I Every song is made to be in sync; ME I mean, two songs, made to be in sync with each other. _______ SUPACREE is on the floor at a rave. BASSGOD WAKE UP. SUPACREE This isn't funny anymore. ANGEL It was never funny. You have to get up. SUPACREE I'm up. BASSGOD You're NOT UP. ANGEL Come on, you have to do this. SUPACREE I'm doin it. GOD NO. ANGEL It's no use. She's so, so under there. It would take all of us to try to pull her out--that is without... [The darkening sky crumbles, as the thunderous storm rages, the battle between worlds expands throughout the outer galaxies.] ____ You're not skinny enough You're not pretty enough You're too dark, And you don't work quickly enough Much younger girls are putting in such Efforts, just to be, the perfect little beauty queen You wish you were, But couldn't be and kids these days are Everything that means anything Sometimes I Don't Wanna Be Happy… It was bad, But better than I'll ever be A basic remix, For the basic bitch that sings it And, I'm basically a Dillon Francis fiend, Have you seen this? Now it's getting serious, I seriously doubt there's anything I can do about it It's in God's hands and, I live in Satan's house How did he do this? How did this happen? The sad result of the damage, Cause i'm pretty sure The very last time my ex ever hit me Something got stuck on repeat; It's just eating me up. ___ [Untitled Document] What did we call that place, between “The Blackout” and waking up. Hazy. I thought it was something more clever. Maybe, but i'll never find it if i'm just scrolling through these documents. Write ”Untitled Document” That's all I've got, I guess. _____ [A DJ] Can be played by literally any DJ. A wild, wild party has happened. A DJ wakes up, previously having been sprawled out across the floor. A DJ Whose house is this…? Ugh. [Looks in mirror.] A DJ ughhh. [S/he gets up and stumbles groggily, stepping over bodies hunched and perched, slung about sleeping. Peacefully. The sun is bright, a curse to the eyes of the clearly hungover, and likely still quite inebriated DJ. ] CONCURRENTLY: >>> SUPACREE awakens from a ‘stupor' herself, displeased. She looks in the mirror, at first disgruntled, then “picks up her face” adjusts her perception, and decides, SUPACREE (“I'm good.”) Yep. [And she keeps it steppin, still asking aloud, as she ponders to herself;] SUPACREE Whose house is this? [And makes her way into the kitchen, where she (probably in a montage) cleans around the many bodies of hot people and rave babies still smudged and dripping in everything glittery; she appears to have ‘frozen time', as she vacuums faces and erases permanent marker penises drawn onto the foreheads and other exposed body parts of those who have fallen asleep with no shoes on. She cooks breakfast and straightens the entirety of what is now more recognizable as someone's home, though the owner still remains unknown. She sips coffee and reads the newspaper, as she steps behind the freshly detailed decks; and prepares a set through the headphones shes hung happily around her neck.] PAUSE ME See! THIS IS RIDICULOUS. MYSELF It is. Ridiculous. You can't vacuum someone's face! I Not that part-- MYSELF --Especially white people! ME You never said they were all white people. I I mean, predominantly; it said hot people and rave babies. MYSELF That's racist! ME It isn't. This whole scene would be entirely different, if it had nothing but black people in it. ALTERNATELY: She wakes up in the same house, but it's clean. SUPACREE ...Whose house is this? BEYONCE It's my house. SUPACREE It's... nice. BEYONCE Yes it is. ______ DILLON FRANCIS has the master plan. SUPACREE Ugh, he knows everything. GOD Not everything, dear, believe me. SUPACREE Everything that matters. GOD There's no such thing as everything that doesn't matter. SUPACREE ...What?! __ Don't look in there! You won't find anything in there. I hate these things. ____ It doesn't work if you don't practice. How do I practice without decks? You don't. How do I Dj without practicing? You don't. So DJing is just for rich people? I mean, primarily, or just...anyone with money, if you have it. Fuck this, I quit. You can't quit. If you quit we forfeit the game. No... You idiot. What game? I thought she knew about the game. What. game. Well, it's not just a game, it's a language. WHAT GAME. She's about to be so angry, dude, just--- Just run. ___ 8 Dimensional--wait, what? Oh, she finally made it. I never thought she'd get to this part. Well, she stopped eating meat and cooks asian food-- ---yeah, but that's like 6 different places-- She's not listening to Skrillex. --She's not skipping it-- --yeah, but she isn't listening to it actively.-- Josh Pan. Yeah. I am. Why. I thought we were past “why” We were, we were WAY past “why” It wasn't really a question, guys, don't worry about it. “Don't worry about it” Tsh. Tsh. ___ It's just an expression. “expression” yes. I get it-- ___ He named it “Kliptown Empyrean” What. What's “Empyrean”? I'd love to know, but I don't. Don't google it. I won't, I just. __ GO KARTS. With A K. __ Where's Kliptown? South of Capetown? South? South Afri-- Stop. HE”S AFRICAN? Stop. What's more offensive; Being called an African, or an Alien? ___ One off...hmmm… Always one off. ___ Get out of my house! This is your house? Thank God, I was starting to worry the owner like wandered off and got lost; or, you know (makes slitting throat) I... no, this is my--wait. Who are you? Me? I'm S U P A C R E E “S U P A C R E E”? [having been yet unrecognized, shes is used to having to spell it] Yeah; ___ Key of Cringe: I'm in a box with all my thoughts, And I am not on top of the world Or taking shots, I'm just rocking back and forth Like broken record, Repeating sequences, a robot A beat box of kittens Nobody wants I'm lost (if rock and roll will take me I wonder how much it costs) ____ What did this kid do? Nobody knows _Oh, shit, it's the Jews again. I love the Jews. We know. I keep telling you, you're jewish I'm not jewish my mom's… That's not your mom. Of course that's my mom. It's not, I already told you what planet you're on? __ Now, tell us why we wear our masks! Oh, there are lots of reasons for that. Tell us about the Sauce! All the sauce? Yeah!!! That would be a long story. __ Oh, the Google kids are cute, too. I especially love that little chunky one. He is cute, he's probably my favorite, actually ____ PIERCE? Who the fuck is PIERCE? Google it. I like this, this is- It's different, isn't it? Yeah, and then it __ Sunni—are you Jewish? I...identify as “Jewish” You can't just identify as Jewish. Well, I do. No, you can't just “identify” as Jewish; your mother has to be Jewish. Okay; my mother is Jewish. Sunni—you don't talk much about your family; who's your mother? Who's your mother?! Oh! Okay, we're done. See you next time, bye! What are you doing? What? “Identify as Jewish”?! WHAT?! I do! No I don't! You don't know me! Maybe not! But I know TMZ. I'm not on TMZ Sunni Blu is on TMZ What did I do?! YOu know what you did. ∆ Well, alright then. ∆ Must be something. ∆ I got it. . Don't look at me;; I'm a catastrophe, I'm just waking up now Don't look at me, I got so high i think I might not come down It's not a bad thing But I'm a bad guy, i promise It's not a bad thing, Don't look in my eyes; Especially if I like you Especially if you have other plans tonight, Or this morning That's right Time flies when you're (dynomite) Time flies when your mind right I didn't mean to stay here It's been nearly half a year, you know It's nearly half a year It's nearly half a y AHEM ALRIGHT. JESUS CHRIST. No, not that! [sighs heavily, frustrated] Enjoy Your Day. FARRO nobly sacrifices his own life during The Lovers Quarrel, as PETRUTHEIO attempts a final and fatall blow unwittingly against ‘CESMET' A saturn of satirical Return of reverb Expanding explosions of Outward and unearthly Worlds within words Or words within Worlds on the Curve of the Unwritten overtures of -Mother wow . I guess. Do you want a cup of coffee? I want you to shut the fuck up. What if Jimmy Fallon had a diary as a kid. And I found it when i shapeshifted into his body. Yeah, what if. What if this is it? [SUPER HUGE GASP] Oh, AHEM- No, i Gotta write this. AHH– Oh, the things i would do to you Oh, woah, The things you would do to me Oh, no, no, woah The things i would do AHHH– Don't be mad I'm a writer I'm like this Hi kids wanna see how sharp my knife is yikes Sigh, bitch, ive been sitting in silece With the lights off cause i like it Ilike it a lot, but uhm Ahem, The rabbi's mad cause that i'd write this And it's shabbat This is why i don't listen to deadmau5 anymore. What are you talking about *listenining to* GODDAMIT. what The invisible man, in Manhattan The sunglasses matches her madness The cloud cover looks just like Texas The suns going down And it's getting colder As the winds blows… 03. JIMMY FALLON All ya'll are all worth bout a dollar; I am a cyclone, watch me holler I lived my whole life underwater I got a dollar; Jimmy Fallon All ya'll are only bout a dollar I work so hard, I guess for nothin I am not worried bout a dollar I got a dollar; Jimmy Fallon I guess I'll do it on my own I had to do it all alone I made some soup, all out of stones I am the only one I know I am not worried bout the sauce I am so famous, got a stalker I am so famous Can't go no where I got a dollar, Jimmy Fallon I'm at the office, Not my home No collab I work alone Opened a business, got a loan I got a hundred of them passwords I went frontwards —1I went backwards Went to Manhattan, took a walk Went to the rock and dropped a rock Now put your money where your mouth is I got a thousand Jimmy Fallons (What's that) (I'm the host) What's that, what's that I work alone What's that what's that I dropped a rock into the rock What's that what's that I'm the host, I'm Jimmy {enter the multiverse/ as seen on tv} Story/ music video Moderately famous household television Jimmy Fallon suddenly begins appearing everywhere—that is—on every possible TV screen imaginable— The Protagonist, in confusion, can't seem to escape, and also amusingly begins finding Pennies in very strange and seemingly random places—these Pennies then begin opening up portals, breaking the fourth wall and opening worlds to other dimensions— Have you seen this? Uhh, hmwhat is it? Mits m “Two dumb Jews, starring Seth Rogen, and some other dude— Who's the other dude— some Jew,but it's got Adam Sandler in it. Oh, so three dumb Jews. So, no, then? I'd watch the shit out of that, though, tvh. Why's the synopsis? Uhh. Two Jewish musicians struggling to make it in new York's congested underground music scene hit it off in comedy by complete accident, after being booked as a duo for a comedy club they mistook for a bar. Heh. Okay, who does Adam Sandler play? “The Bookkeeper” What. Who the fuck is “the book keeper?” We'll see, I guess. “Two Broke hoes@ It's like two broke girls, but actually funny. What, be nice . Okay. Two Broke Ghosts That's better— — And marketable. Are you pale, or just— No, I'm dead. I'm dead. X.X Be NICE. Now our musical guests, SWAGGARBOMB. What in the fuck kind of music is that It's called “Dorkstep” [the doorbell rings] Great, who the fuck is I got a train car of your body count I got way far out to far rock away, way out Stop to talk to me, or don't, Kill your culture You need some? I got u— Probiotics, yo The truth hurts Your shit stinks Must be a mirror over herer Cause that's me I m your hero. Esha I think McGuiennes? Or McGrefor, after Ewab, maybe New York wants me to kill myself Maybe eventually New York if full of the devil The devil is money And everyone wants it The root of all evil, Is getting even The root of all evil Is people Beside myself, But besides that The ones hurting me, are soon to be where I am That's just karma The gangstalkers are soon to be stalked Coughed, and shot at The neighbors are soon to be eaten by their own demons When I don't clean them The root of all evil is evil, And that's all I see here White power wants me to kill my self The Caucasians get crazy when the race war is waging The elections are coming up And they see us coming up on conciousness They don't want us Just being honest They're hateful, They washed all the love out Thanks Karen But she don't care White firms just wanna have fun And they get to Meanwhile, me and I Eat shit( bro, And die Why's it nice to be white Even when you're wrong, you're right All you gotta do is lie, Open up your big blue eyes real wide and Decide what you want, Put us under your foot, And make us pay for it Thanks Karen Caucasians are terrorists I think it's McGuennes or however you spell it, cause half the names are like plays on Okay, I lie: You made a world where I have to Okay, I steal You took everything that I'm after already Or your ancestors did Call the luxury apartment reparations But ain't got no privacy, and hells angels and the kkk Ride motorcycles every time I get my eye on the prize So what's the price for being indegenous, black, and a genius White supremacy finds sneakier ways to kill you ESHA MCGUENNES (I thought figure out how to spell that. My left side's off I guess I got Stuck in the love of the art I was writing that part When the life of my love Fell over me A lover huh I'm so confused. I'm sorry bro, But if you're morbidly obese, But your feet are like a size 6– You are not BIG BONED. My doctor said I have a small frame, my feet are size 9, I went from a 10 to an 8.5 after losing 200 hundred pounds, I'm like “goddamn! Even my feet were fat! Fuck” But if you're fat like I was and your feet are size 6, your feet might be like a si3 4! You're a fat fucking pixie that fucked around and can't do little pixie shit now, cause you like pixie sticks Too much I'm just the rat in the dumpster I made this whole world up I swallowed the doctor I hearted the surgeon I locked up the dog catcher; I cauldron'd the Mormons I called it a sermon, but He called them all — Wait, who is Herman?! I don't know! Some black guy on that show I'm writing! what. I don't know. You're writing a show?! I'm on it! Ugh, I don't know. No fair, You really know how to make me cry When you give me those ocean eyes Those ocean eyes Good looking people In good looking places Doing good things; I just want to be Good today Good looking people Good looking people Bye, bye little bird, Think of the dreams we made Think of the drummer boy, Your lover boy, Then, the other boy There we go again, With the drums we played And the love we made It just won't make it Oh I Just Can't take it Can I come back yet? SHUT UP, GAYBRAHAM LINCOLN. I'm having breakfast at 10 am Thinking damn this depression is just setting in There's a chest on my elephant Chester drawer with hand carved elements Elephant ok my chest, Clisets with hangers and button ups I haven't won't yet What FOR WHAT FOR. MY EYES. For the sake of the art, I heart ya. For perhaps if I love, That's how I lost ya. So I keep all my love close, The brothers have found the fountain How many dollars do tootsie pops cost For one Jimmy Fallon? return to the blacklist. Great. Now I'm Jimmy Fallon. Well what's fucked up! What happened! FUCK! I hate being Jimmy Fallon! Whose dick swings to the right like that. Ow. FUCK. Fuck this guy. GODDAMMIT. -_- Let me in. Or I could just leave you out. No, don't do that. WHY. Ahh. Shhhhhh!!! What if someone sees me. Hmm, let's see. [rings neighbors dooorvelk, shuts door] No! The neighbor opens the door; now gifted with the ability to see demons, after merging with Fast forward Oh no, when did that thing come into play (When this happened) Liz lemon lives on the ground floor It don't matter cause she ain't never home l She's at the rock That's all the way up Good talk, Donaguey, Good, Good Talk Good people Good show Good good times It's good to be long gone from home Go to work at the plaza That ones Conan. Oh, Why?! Why not, though. OH, you mean— Katt. What up Snoop . Ahh, Look what the pimp limped in. You think you're clever. You think you're at least 5 foot—but you're 4 foot 9 I'm STILL WINNING CHARLIE SHEEN relapses on the dance floor Oh shit. Relapses to which habit? All of them! 10-4 CALL RUSSEL BRAND. Csnt. Why not. He's blacked out. What? Another relapse?! No, he just— passed out KABLAM. “The Cockney Thug” He's just like that now. God What is it. Can I have ham in my spam samwhiches. —you want ham in your spam sandwhich. Yes. Roasted cantaloupe with Put your notebook On my throat-Scrotum I like your poems So I wrote you this one Oh. That's. Welcome—to the' creepy shit fans have done for u's backlogs. “Backlogs” Well, I have millions of fans, It would take me years to look at all this. [the festival project] Woah. Woah. Ok. Yo. Have you seen this. What is it. I don't know. Hm. Look. Woah: Yeah, it's— Wow Ok. It just goes on like this— For how long— For like GOH GOH l GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO CUT TO: Latest — 1:04 WHAT? MEANWHILE ….IS THAT A JIMMY FALLON? LOOKS LIKE ONE. SHOOT THAT MOTHERFUCKER. ok , boss. I told you, He would play The Devil's Advocate, If need be [JIMMY FALLON is shot mercilessly in the shoulder in broad daylight.] YO. THEY SHOT ME. He'll be okay. He's Jimmy Fallon. [LIKE 90,000 Ambulances and a SWAT team roll up.] See. DEADMAU5 charges himself in a high speed chamber—a tech-driven coffin via a USB port in his neck. Lol. Ok. (PDA) Public Displays of Affliction I've never even see. A. Aston Martin Sometimes it's worth it, Getting lost in Manhattan I just saw the sign I wouldn't dare entering, anyhow Not in this outfit Not in this predicament (I just left the Whole Foods market) I got lost and god was happy Motor cars for music Force a figure ibto music Forgive Annie, Run a mile what's a california smile In New York What a garden Oh, what a garden Double back. For a second glance Oh, don't we all want second chances Now I've been an Aston Martin Motorists dot muses now u want her What a party I just saw the sign Now I've been an Aston Martin All by design Companion passing through KAWS I just bought a Ferrari I said, Where the roof is?! Where the roof is?! Blū electrico Roof finished in Nero Just a hit of magic A menacing, incredibly ambedextrous submissive One time I played God, I was hanging as the sun in Toronto In my third eye was a camera lense; My baby daddy, Lover and my best friend My husband My lover and My best friend My brother And my father Were my best friends Once upon a time I never had friends Now I remember sitting in the backseat, Has been I remember when I never had ribs I remember when I never had meat Nice to meet you I already had a coffee I remember sitting in the front seat Once upon a time I was anno one Once upon a dollar, Jimmy Fallon Once upon a dollar, Jimmy Fallon Once a bunch of Pennies, lady Gaga I'm a baby, haha Once upon a time, I was a no one A nobody Once upon a dollar, Jimmy Fallon I remember penny was a virgin I remember when you were the third one, l Once upon a time I was the first one Once upon a time, I thirst my quench with Coffee Body guard! I remember going on a long run I remember once there was a Knock on my door Now I quench my thirst with smart water With a hard on Never was a smart one Just an artist I was no one Once upon a dollar Jimmy Fallon Once upon a nothing, there was no one Now I take my coffee on a long ride No fun Once upon a dollar, Jimmy Fallon Amen I wish for every dollar I ever had, back Jimmy Fallon I wish it was 11:11, every Dillon Francis I wish for sandwhiches on leavened bread at Passover I wish this whole world would Passover, With the the stories in my home And in my notebook I wish for the fame and wealth with it, Jimmy Fallon I wish I never laughed at Dillon Francis I wish Skrillex was never a demon, I take it back I want the wealth And not the fame Just the freedom, Jimmy Fallon What do you mean by that? A dad, an actor An attack, The press is back and asking questions I can't handle that I can't. I just can't with that Abandon the matrix Go back to What's his name But I can't Cause I made him up Call my mother begging to drop the charges Called my God Just asking what the pocket watch does What's an engagement ring like that coat How much to rug the cameras up Inside my home So I don't know about em That shit's priceless Like the 9 Dollar's I've got Marked up, but not to spend them at the Market Jimmy Fallon I pray for your family But not as hard as I pray For my son Or God To take this fat off So I can look like Jennifer Aniston Cause that's God to em, 22 year old Adam Sandler At a brunch A talk show with my Least favorite host of all time Jimmy Fallon But I love to laugh, huh I just got back, God My house is a mess I want meth like AshGod If Method man was drinking up the water Would there be backwash It's a horrible, windfall This awesome art project My broken heart The coughing stalkers Whatever the fuck is going on in New York I love New York But not New Yorkers It hurts to be the worst person The first person to put reverse curses On shamans from the 3rd world And I'm living in the first world, But I just learned that Underneath the surface Is the fourth world That's some dichotomy Huh That's some diabolical plot The cosmic avenger is stuck in a dimension Of white pocket tenses And white bitches who get offended With this scripture But listen I just got up And I've been privy to Never sleeping again Norman Needs you, Mrs. Hotch But I was never Mrs. Roberts With all of the hearts and crosses , stars I give up on love Where's DimlonnFrancis at That's a man without a mask, That's a mannequin m. Just got up And I still want breakfast All I got is Stuff that's leavening A hand in my pocket Just for God to show me Nobody I want wants me Jimmy Fallon has a family That's a tragedy, that But I laughed so hard in the bathtub I still haven't come back from that I feel bad for em, actually All the husbands Cause I was the wife that sucks And he hated me so much I got punched in the— Doesn't matter Stuck in the telling it over and over Nobody loves me My new password is Fuckit I'm gone galloping horses, And hornets, I'm just a furniture Probably should have aborted me, mother Just like you wanted to But I'm still in the hospital On the honor roll Cause I had them all lined up The prophets of the “Impossible, could not be my God!” That's what they all said, But they dressed me up like Some sort of messiah, So I was, then It wasn't right, no That was malpractice But now I've got Camping in Malibu Crossed off my list forever Shit It's some dichotomy Just hold onto me I'm the rock, You're the kite now, Jimmy Fallon I was just better off dead, You know Better off stuck in my head, you know. I read your messages, every one of them Every one of the drugs in my bucket I threw up from the fan club Impossible, Could not have been at that clown JIMMY FALLON - THE COSMIC AVENGER JIMMY FALLON THE COSMIC AVENGER is levitating in a hyper-meditative state. UH – “hehe” …I beg your pardon. “Hehe” Um… Fuck. Or “haha” “haha” … Just admit it. … Admit it already! –haha. Admit WHAT. This gets Levels. Nobody thought Patrice O Neal was a woman! I thought Patrice O Neal Was a Woman. Ah, fuck, I'm nobody. “Nobody” Is that Bob Saget? I swiped right on this dude, just cause he looked exactly like Bob Saget. Omg. Bob Saget! Fuck, that's right. EXT. THE W HOTEL, BEVERLY HILLS, DAY/ EXT . PODSHARE WESTWOOD ROOFTOP, DAY OH MY GOD, GUYS, LOOK: IT'S BOB SAGET. No it's not! Oh My God! Yeah IT IS! Fuck, really?! Bob Saget?! BOB SAGET! YO GUYS, IT'S BOB SAGET. It was, in fact, Bob Saget. Bob Saget's dead, right? Oh yeah, bud. That's it guys! No more dead celebrities! I'm coming with you! NO MORE GHOSTS. Look, I have something to tell you. UGH. COME ON. This is a weird superpower. EXT. GRAVEYARD, QUEENS, NY. DAY … … … Having fun yet? Alright! I have a question! What? When do I get to– Get to what? You know. Luckily, I die long beore Jimmy Fallon, and as my time approached, I took all i could absorb from the world within, and without, almost as if any and all of my deathwish had been satiated with the gentle ease, the notion of knowing my imminent death would come long before what those surrounding me would consider my time, and therefore would not be made to lose anymore than I already had–but at least, I did have th strength in knowing, not only would i never grow so old as to see for show most of what I had done, but that I had done most of what I would have at all, and not much longer than my words would form into all that would come to be known as my full body of work, I would perish, even before–long before– those I had studied, admired, and known to love–if only through the fourth wall, at all. The invisible man, in Manhattan The sunglasses matches her madness The cloud cover looks just like Texas The suns going down And it's getting colder As the winds blows… THAT was a HARD left turn. So, what time can we listen to Excision? Sometime after intermission. How many acts is this again? ___ I told you, IN-FIN-ITE. Okay… I just wanted to know how long it would take? ___ I know someone that cold get us in _____ (Sitting on a speaker in the BassPod) What is she doing? What are you doing? Charging. __________ I think I found that girl you were looking for. Where is she? I said I found her: I didn't say you could have her. She's not a possession, I'm just trying to talk to her. You didn't mention that she was-- Be careful with your words. Oh, I think it's you that ought to be careful. You're losing your power over her and it shows. Mm. And what about your ‘power', hm? I haven't any power over her-- Oh, but you do-- Will Power at best, That would only be half of it. That would be all I had anything to do with; she was given free agency. HA. “Given”? ____ awww look at that bass face. Well, that's one reason... __ Ah what! you can change your entire frequency? No Fair, I can't do that You can, it just takes practice. What kind of practice-- ___ Oh shit, this hits different with two headphones. It all hits different with headphones. Calorie Deficit Calculator: -3423 Oh shit. Well how many calories did I eat? BEFORE: …chocolate chip cookies? NO— —CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIESzzxz— [CC/SUPACREE robotically and autonomously ditches her bicycle outside of sprouts, not giving a Fuck.] —s—noh! stop it! Stop controlling me! THEY ARE VEGAN. SO? STOP IT. Ooh, what's this. I don't know— get it. CC/SUPACREE stands awkwardly at the checkout with a varied selection of vegan baked goods. *beep* Yeaaaahh. So wait. SUPACREE is controlled by aliens? WE ARE GODS. Knock it OFF! [NEW ABILITY UNLOCKED: SUPASTRENTH ] Nice. Yeah dude. Watch this. The Legend of Supacree is the #1 MMORPG in the world; it is also happening in real-time, in multiple worlds within the multiversial construct of the actual Omniverse. AGHHHHH In fact, nobody even plays GTA or call of duty anymore. YAH! [Random objects falling from the sky. ] SUPACREE Oh, nice. INSTANT MANIFESTATION. JUST POST THE FUCKING EPISODE ALRIGHT?! this bitch is fucking crazy. Watch this. Watch what? SHIA LABEOUF discovers The Legend Of Supacree franchise and becomes villainously obsessed with It, hatching a heinous and maniacal plan to hunt her down and capture her—tracking her every move and learning everything about her he can. Wtf. I don't know. Is he a villain? I don't know. I guess. I'M A SUPERVILLAIN. …He's a supervillain. I guess. Why?! I don't know. This is creeps. It is creeps. [lifts one eyebrow.] SUPACREEps. Scary monsters and supacreeps. Heh. NO, NO MUSICIANS. Heh. SHIA LABEOUF is a straight up gangster. HE'S CRAZY! [SHIA LAUGHING MANIACALLY.] Oh, wow– That dude is a straight up psychopath. You're a straight up psychopath. I'm not arguing. What is THIS part of the story? Well, son, you made it through. WOODY HARRELSON? WHAT. Woody Harrelson?! WHY? I don't know. He just fit the part. WHAT PART?! WHAT/! Nobody quite understands what's happening in ENTER THE MULTIVERSE, however, THE LEGEND OF SUPACREE has taken an incredible turning point, intersecting with the world of LEGENDS and THE SECRET LIFE OF SUNNI BLŪ/ THE SUITE LIFE OF SUNNI BLŪ. IT HAS? YES? WHERE? I WANNA DIE. OH! That's not SUPACREE! [CC HULK SMASHES her bike onto the rack on the bus. THE HULK, sitting just in front stares at her wide-eyed as she boards the bus over the rim of his sunglasses.] Oh, maybe, nevermind. Wait! Is it THE HULK, or MARK RUFFALO? I don't know! I don't give a shit! Why are you even writing this? Uhhhhhhhh. [CC's brain is slowly melting as she rides the bus to work. THE HULK– OR IS IT MARK FUCKING RUFFALO!? I DON”T FUCKING CARE– THERE'S A DIFFERENCE WHAT'S THE DIFFERENCE IT – DOESN'T– MATTER! ‘It doesn't matter.' Chal's words echoed in my head almost too loudly–as boldly blind and sometimes even dumb as he was, he was also wise, and as it turned out, right–it really didn't matter. Nothing mattered at all. I had gone through the motions of reaching out to him, to of course as expected learn that he and whatever her name was had gone their separate ways; I understood that would be the case nearly immediately back in Mazunte, but as he was insistent he would woo her–and persistent in doing so, that I thought maybe after all love– or what really turned out to be his obstinate lust would win the day–and yet, it hadn't; he was again single and on the prowl– and although at one point I had even lusted after him briefly, trailing behind him in nonchalant platonic carelessness as he obsessively followed another woman, had allowed me to become comfortable enough in the friendzone that i could just simply exist next to him; Now, again faced with homelessness and factoring in my inability to travel much further than south of the border, especially now knowing well how to travel throughout mexico and into Guatemala, I wondered truly if my own self-worth had really been lowered to the point of allowing myself to meet Chal in Guatemala–even full well knowing that he, too, preferred perfect and illy white to my dark skin and quite seemingly matronly features, and, knowing for myself that I wasn't his first choice– as he and I had of course met in Mazunte around the same time he had met whom he considered to be ‘his Goddess'-- albeit while on a topless beach and thus hynotized by her breasts. Men were hopeless. Then, here I was, waking up every other sleep cycle in the cold sweat of a wet dream, the subject of which I typically at least tried to keep deeply hidden in my subconscious psyche as secrets, although by now it seemed there really were none, and all that I knew and that I thought were known and seen by some other than myself–though somehow still holding true to my belief that there really was none other than myself–in my own broken and twisted world, alone and punished in the depths of mediocrity and shame. Woah. Riding the bus. There's nothing lower. There's walking. To the bus. Yah. And all the sick people. And all the crackheads. And all the–what are those? Demons [demon hacks.] Ugh, fucking–ugh. SHIA LABOUFF'S obsession with SUPACREE is helga petaki-meets Tom Cruise jumping on Oprah's couch. Oh, wait, we're back on that storyline? I mean– I don't know how to write this. Just write it. he's a villain, right? I mean, that suit. SHIA LA– FUCK. WHAT?! Worst last name EVER. Well, not ever– Wait, is he black?! –It sounds french. GOOGLE SEARCH: ‘How Jewish is Shia LaBeouf? ‘ –no, he's Cajun – That's french-black–wait— –what? Cajun AND Jewish? –Yeah– Jesus! JESUS What? (raises one eyebrow) SUPACREE strategizes a plan of attack. Attack for what? {ATTACK} YOUUUU INCEPTED ME!!! AGH! {COUNTER ATTACK} NOT ME! DISNEY! {DODGING COUNTER ATTACK} Yeah, Blame “Disney!” I JUST DID. Oh, yeah, right!! RAVEN SYMONÉ It was Disney. THEY OK'D THIS?! They bought Marvel! THEY OK'D EVERYTHING. —Even the SKRILLEX? Especially the Skrillex —Especially the Skrillex. AGHHHHHHHH—— ———-AAAAAGGGGGGGGHHHHHH!!! SHIA LABEOUF VS SUPACREE: FIGHT!!!! Everything looks good— —everything looks good. Everything looks fine— —Everything looks fine. But wait— What? What about that guy? Oh My— —oh my… Is he gonna be alright? Is that guy —gonna be alright? Is that guy gonna be alright? Is—that guy gonna be alright? Is that guy gonna be alright Is that guy— Gonna be alright? Is that guy gonna be alright?? Is that guy gonna be alright?! Is that guy gonna be alright m? Everything looks good— —everything looks fine Looks good— But what about that guy? …I don't know about that guy. Is he alright? Yo. Yooo. Stop writing songs about Skrillex. ((I literally can't.)) What?! It doesn't have to be about Skrillex! It could be about anybody! Here, they call with disco balls Stars in my eyes, but stars do fall First true love dies hard after all, No star shines bright as morning comes —(for) Sonny …I didn't write that. CUT TO: CC writes automagically between sets of heavy lifting. IMAGINARY FRIENDS, PART III DEADMAU5!!!! okay—one more—then cupcakes— Cupcakes? No cupcakes! I WANT CUPCAKES. Uh—No way! YES WAY. Mmm—no I'm sick of this diet! I'm not on a diet! I eat! You eat GRASS. I'm a vegan. This shit sucks. I told you, grass tastes bad. RICK?! (I also want cupcakes. ) Mmkay—ohh. You said that was the last one. No, more more. NO “one more” But I like this one—and it has the right amount of weights on it already—see? Jesús Christ He's not here. (Yes I am). Why the Fuxk. I also want cupcakes Okay, one more No “one more” The power of Christ compels ye! … Is that how that works? No. Maybe. (((Yes.))) AGHHH. The celebrities of Hollywood are gang stalking SUPACREE Can we— No. But I didn't even get to ask the question. The answer is no. THE CELEBRITIES OF HOLLYWOOD, after assembling with the Bampheramphs and Morherfuckers, have formed a supergroup tasked with bringing SUPACREE to THE HOLLYWOOD PEOPLE—so far, they have cunningly out-bested and outwitted THE US GOVERNMENT, including but not limited to THE FEDS, THE CIA, THE FBI and THE SECRET SERVICE. REALLY? I GUESS. HOW?! — DRAKE snoops on SUPACREE as she writes working half heartedly at THE NECK MACHINE with peaking curiosity, peaking over the time of his sunglasses. Whats it called. “Nautilus 4 way neck “ BPM: you're a jerk Do the Drake Do the Drake Do the Drake Work that neck Work that— Neck, Becky Work that neck, Work that neck Do the— “new note: Purchase ‘Honestly, nevermind' I had worked an entre month at LVAC before the circus went underway; Not a single drop of Skrillex had ever been played over the loudspeakers at any moment, for any of the time I had been employed there, nor had it burdened me any of the other time I had spent bettering myself within what I once cherished as sacred walls–now the illusion shattered, as nowhere I could seem to run – even the rural coastal jungle of Mexico-was far enough to escape the clammerings of something I quite honestly very much still loved, but wouldn't allow myself to enjoy— Or maybe, now, couldn't. BANGARANG. ‘Fuck this shit.' I wanted to move, but didn't—I wanted to leave, and probably should have, but wouldn't. I just sat there through it as my coworker, standing at about 5'4 ½ in a pair of tight black skinny jeans sang along and bounced rhymically. What the fuck. Then, as it had just been earlier that I was thinking of Sonny himself, and how, be it that any of my premonitions were actually accurate and true as I had once thought them to be, there would perhaps come a day that I regretted not listening to his works, just as one regrets not spending time with a loved one before their passing not giving enough attention to the little things, the tiny details, the time they had missed, but never missed without missing their loved one until it was too late. Then again, for me, any time in the then- present was too late, as I had only been followed, taunted, and ridiculed, openly humiliated and embarrassed, and never really paid directly for anything I had done, whether it did have to do with Skrillex or otherwise –and so I had made it more than a point to distance myself from it, anything having to do with it, or him, or anything really, music related—of course besides relying heavily on deadmau5 just for my own existence–that is, willingness wake up, move about the world and its endless, pointless constructs, and even so, completing a worthwhile workout with enough satisfaction that I could allow myself to leave the building–and now, with my commute taking up a grand total of 4 hours of my entire day—I didn't have the time or the energy to stay late into the days and even afternoons as I had before, or to arrive early as I had in the days and weeks before; Now this job was amounting to nothing at all, and I was surely less than breaking even. Whats the worry? You've got 20 minutes to write a story! Don't be sorry Mind your orders. You're a war chief Marry me, Oh pretty please— I plead to you, just sing for me Just think of me as a Never ending fantasy, At the very least When you bury me —and you buried me alive, Just for the look of things What makes us even Slitting wrists Or splitting things unevenly (Either thing benefits me, And my penis, I think.) Make me famous— She said Hate me or debate me, I have everything I need And I have everything you have, But I can leave, All with my dreams intact I do believe You think I'm evil Either way, unnecessary Why would I sit down and write a story— When you just did it for me? Why would I pledge allegiance to old glory She's ignoring me; Why would I change my name to satisfy your needs When mine sit idly by waiting Why would I dream of you, When you dream of me I have all I need, You have all of me in the other room While you watch cartoons with your lady I hate anime and now I hate you too, But I'm so stupid, Nothing soothes my moods, Except playing your tunes, Or music Whoop De Fucking do Would you Marry Me? He said (He never did, he just let her—) She said, I do And now they're doomed I built a tomb for two The bride and groom In music Two by two And used by Tuesday Music I presume To the beautiful Music I presume For the usual Music I presume For those who —- SHIA LABEOUF JUST DO IT. That is not how the end of the song goes. No, but this is how the end of the episode goes. Really!? How? [CC stares lifelessly forward out of the front window of the double decker bus; a man dressed in all blue catches her attention—another telepathic shapeshifter.] You brought…an umbrella? I told you there was a shit storm coming. Oh, nooh. Where's yours? I— don't care? That's right you don't. I don't. That's good you don't. I really don't. You don't give a Fuck, or a shit. I—don't give a fuck or a sh—wait— DILLON FRANCIS? I'm good at what I do. What do you DO? THIS. “A Silent Partner” Oh. I like that. That has all kinds of insinuations. Doesn't it? Hermph. You're a creep. A Supacreep. PAUSE ITS MISTER MAGOOoOOOOOOOooO0oO. No, it's the IRS. Fuck. HOLY SHIT SUNNI. WHAT. HOW DO YOU OWE 100,000 IN BACK TAXES?! Student loan debt. WHAT. THAT DOESN'T MAKE ANY SENSE. Yes it does. HOW. Calm down Marci —MY ÑAME IS— [Sunnī Blū subdues her instantly with one if Supacree's mysterious rave weapons] Sit down, please. …what is that? You like it? Yeah. [she gives her another dose of strange vapor, she relaxes even further.] See. Yeah. Now that you're happy— —am i “happy” ? [she gives her another relaxing dose] —are you Happy? Yeah. Ok. So. I never filed my taxes because I had so muc

“The Legend of Supacree” L E G E N D S “Tales of A Superstar DJ” My body is my hell My body is my hell My body is my hell My body is myhel Now i do't wanna live no more My body is my hell My body is my hell My body is my hell Now I don't wanna love no more i don't wanna live no more I don't wanna love no more I don't wanna live no more I don't wanna love no more I don't wanna live no more I don't wanna live no more I don't wanna live no more I don't wanna– Boy gets the girl– but in the end, i'm not either, I Still have to wonder why The nanny How I met yurr' Mother I'm neve gonna get all that God magic I need if I don't stop working. This isn't “work” Oh, yes it is. Deadmau5, a canadian DJ also known as Joel Zimmerman, hosts an anti-superbowl Star Wars Party, which turns unexpect— Look at me, feeling me, feeling you Now look at you, feeling you feeling me Feeling you feeling me Feeling me feeling you Feeling me feeling you Feeling you feeling Feeling you feeling –sorry. —Unexpectedly into the “superbowl party of the century”, when hundreds (eventually thousands) of “invitees” I've never been a man before, (that I know of) But ive got my hand over your heart , And it sure seems hard It sure seems hard -AHEM. Sorry. Receive an invitation via [SUPER JEW RABBI] AHEM What?! –Email, which was actually AHEM. WHAT! Oh My GoD! [Looks at clock] Oh. sorry Rabbi. When did you get to be such a Jew FLASHBACK Age: 12 Mom. I want a dreidel. …What's a dreidel? –And A Menorah! CUT BACK TO But honestly more recently, it was– [Stops traffic in Midtown Manhattan Rushour to pick up a penny.] [Jewish woman] Woooow. [JEWLUMINATTI] You see! I told you! Oh my God, why are the Jews in this series so stereotypically jewish? Because Jews are stereotypically Jewish. FLASHBACK: But what am I really saving here. Gevault! CUT BACK TO: YOU'RE A PEANUT BUTTER JELLy SaNDWHICH WITH NO PEANUT BUTTER AND NO JELLY. So just bread? –yes. But–[Anime sword swish] I don't eat bread. [Anymore] [FIGHT] Dang what DJ battle is THIS. The One You've Been Waiting For Mad men avatar the last air bender Grounded for life So how long's this whole thing supposed to take. –as long as it takes. What kind of answer is that. It's an answer. Don't be so sure of yourself. I am sure of myself; Just because it's not the answer you wanted doesnt make it any less of an answer. Now, sit down Watch out, and watch this: Too many apps on my phone I'm better off alone I'd better kill myself Nobody will ever love me Nobody will ever love me Watch out, watch this: My iPhone is trying to kill me, For real? See; It's natural selection I'm trying to unselect me Caviar, a delicacy How delishish The devil in me says to keep digging my grave I was once at a rave, And he gave me a halo A lion, I'm brave— I once said Spin it, Spin back the record again If it's all in my head Then I'm better off dead I'm better off dead Watch this! @Dillon Francis I'm stuck in a trance— Hanzel was lighting the candle And summoned me, Out of a dead sleep, With no pants on— It was a tech house set But I'm on acid Spinning an axis And stuck in a state of trance —i thought it was armin van buren at one point I have to give up at some point, writing, right? Now this is just point in history Point me away from the misery Mystery flavor is like Fruit punch, Or raspberry— Something like that, If you ask me; But white as the rabbit I pulled out the hat In the back seat I'm hatching a plan to go mad, But I need the recepits from Pasqualle for my taxes What the Fuck does that mean? I don't know; I'll read this In a year, When I unbury it Maybe I married my best friend, Deserved to get hit So I'm just going back to him Scratch that, he's mad at me I have no family Reckless abandonment God I'm attracted to everything Except for that See? She's racist. No, it's my ovaries! The lighter you are, the less the adversity I see you eyes turned to grey; Don't abandon me Yes, I wear contacts I'm faking attractive I laughed at him, had to He actually had magic @Dillon Francis How many hats to you have? Thanks to Hanzel, I'm back on this planet Why light a candle, when you know I haven't an answer; What did you ask? No, i haven't had breakfast yet — Thanks for reminding me I'm in a casket Goddamnit @Dillon Francis What are you? I'm an adversary GOOGLE: adversary ..??? ad·ver·sar·y /ˈadvərˌserē/ noun one's opponent in a contest, conflict, or dispute. Hmm. Oh. Opponent to what?! Could be anything, really. I don't like him… 2 for $ MIX AND MATCH INCLUDES BIG KING REALLY. Which one's the Big King? The little one, I think. He's not little In fact: LOOK AT EM. Dawh. Look at Skrillex. Dawg. Look at Skrillex. He bossed up. He was already boss. Well. He Sauced up, then. What kind of sauce is that?! I don't know, but looks like Dillon Francis is eating it. DILLON FRANCIS IS EATING IT pause. How am I still writing this show. She doesn't eat? She hasn't eaten. She doesn't eat. I haven't ate yet! BET. BET. OK—Bet. Nice. Sick. What are we betting. … … … WAIT. ,,, josh pan? … … Did you unpause? Unpause what? Uh. The game. This is the game. No, the game. This is the game! What are you talking about?!! Now I'm famous> This is The Game. sup. This is Sunni Blū Sup. It is?! Yea it is. Wait, it is?! I thought you were the kidd?? I am the kidd. Then, why is The Game meeting Sunnï Blu? For a collab. Duh. Wait. Pause. QUIT PRESSING PAUSE. Wait. Go back. I didn't get that last part. WE WATCHED IT A HUNDRED TIMES ALREADY. Screw you. We're watching it again. Ugh! I hate this! Dude. I hate watching this with you. It takes 3 hours to watch an episode! You guys are talking over all the good parts! It's all the good parts! This shit's exciting. I'm defaulting. What? This isn't—this isn't fair. I'm not doing this. What?! It isn't safe anymore. It was never “safe” SAFE! Oh nice. Baseball. It is baseball. Who's playing? All the DJs. What. For what?! It's the DJ GAMES. THE DJ GAMESsssssssss ITS THE DJ GAMES! OH FUCK YEAH. I fuck this. I quit. what. You can't quit. I can quit. I just did. You can't quit the DJ games. I just did. But you can't. I just did. Hey. Hey, what's up. I'm gonna be late. What's going on? My bus driver's drunk. Are you sure? CITY BUS DRIFTING IN SLOW MOTION /Hans Zimmer Music Yes. Welhp. What. That's it. I'm just gonna have to kill myself. Why, what happened? I'm pretty sure that's the only way to beat this level. What, really? Nah. I'm pretty sure Let me see. *SUPACREE jumps into oncoming traffic* YOU DIED. Aww. I died. WHAT THE FUCK. Well, you said. GAME OVER [fade to black] I HAD NO LIVES LEFT. WELL, YOU SAID! THATS'S NOT THE WAY TO— [fade to white] NEW LEVEL UNLOCKED: GOD MODE OOOHHHHHHHH. WHAT?! LVL i - DREAMSTATE What is this. SUPACREE. I— what? Hello? Follow me. Who is this? I know you. Oh. The above and beyond part. That's funny. I was just— So wait. If the end of this episode, is the end of that movie, then… I guess whatever's happening about now is whatever happened before that part. What part? I, having run off from I, runs into a forest alongside The Endless River, which opens out into a beautiful meadow, the micolored cosmic sky twinkling sweetly above, strange auroras dancing in the skies; a field of glowing and stardusted singing wishflowers at her feet, she frustratingly falls into them, soft grass puffing with the twinkling sounds of fairy dust and sprites (a homage to the lion king) the wishflowers softly sing her to sleep with the subtle and sweet frequencies of Skrillex. (A homage to the wizard of Oz) From Above & Beyond, a flock of Cosmic Creatures in flight spot a golden glimmer from afar; they descend dimensions-- to get a closer look; Closing in on the universe within the confines of a massive structure, which propels itself seamlessly through galaxies faster than the speed of light and sound, though she appears as a large golden space station, slowly drifting through the atmosphere. Manned by yet unseen beings, the golden ship descends upon Skrillex, almost silentl— a swishing whir as the ship, more similar to a futuristic building, an ovaline rounded structure seemingly structured in brass, gold, and silver as it docks to the soft soil of planetary terrain. The landing is soft enough not to have awaken Ū, still sleeping; but an immense light pours from the openings of the ship, waking her--and blinding Sonny as he finally approaches from behind, having been searching for her. She is drawn into the light; he shields his eyes as the beings emerge from their massive station. Monologue/Montage I fell in love with you...it was an accident. I fell in love with you, because I had to; I hadn't thought about it before, but i've been thinking about it ever since. Had I succeeded in my attempted suicide, we wouldn't have come face-to-face… Had I succeeded in my attempted suicide, I'd have no reason to write something so pathetic as this, pititul letter, which you will probably never read. Probably, anyway. I've spent a majority of my lifetime very deeply troubled, yearning for all the attention one could ever crave--until suddenly, I no longer craved any at all. Solitude, rather than isolation, became sacred, and safe to me; It was in the solace and quiet of my very own world, that you entered my kingdom...and it became ‘ours'. Silence. Nature. Astrology. My greatest found pleasures, in a cavalcade of endless self-doubt, self-loathing...a tiresome collection of all the hatred I've harbored for myself in my twenty-something years. I fell in love with you...I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to do anything, except be. Another festival, another escapade...another chance to dance, in the sunlight--the moonlight, under stars… And under the stars, is where I was forced to find you. Now, it seems, can't escape your presence--or lack-thereof. Unrequited? Perhaps. But, not unprovoked. I love you because it is in me to do so. I will always love you, always. There is a world where you're in love with me, as I am you; All I can do now, is hope that this is that same very world, and that as days go by, we draw closer to one-another, rather than further apart. In truth, friendship, in the very least, would serve as a worthy reward...for all the worry, all the wonder, and all the willing I've done for you; in honesty...I'm ashamed in my inability to let go--yet also proud, that I am able to love this much, this hard. To see you with someone else, now, would be a gentle relief; to know that you are kept in love, with graciousness...a subtle gift, an answer to a prayer I asked. Loneliness, I wouldn't wish upon you for anything--love is, in fact, my whole wish for you--be it mine, or not. While I can wish that it will be mine, I've also wished for you, the very best--I would want not for my flaws to burden you. Flaws are what create our perfection; God is, as I am. Losing you, the flame of fear that set my heart and soul to fire; Cancerous, weakened, plagued--premonitions impolitely penetrated my fragile, eggshell mind… the death of a friend, fast-forwarded and reflected into my mind's-eye; How could I forget a face like yours--eyes like those? How could I not know you, as I have? Tears bearing your name roll over my nose, like the rain on a rose...the burden of belonging to one, rather than some; To all, rather than none. So now, I keep my favorite photo of you in my phone...a comfort, to the weary and wounded heart I carry. I can pretend that your sweet voice accompanies mine, as I sing to soothe myself, as I sway in solitude; A gentle kiss, I imagine to give, if ever the chance. I love you, without reason to--and with every reason to, I love you. Find me, again As the ship departs, charging to go into warp speed, Sonny is left alone on his own planet; as a slight panic falls over him, A key-like object falls from the ship as it dissappars at warp speed into a portal. As his hands clap together, catching the object, the sound rings outward--this clapping pages The Skrillex, which lands promptly beside him, exclaiming-- "I AM SKRILLEX"; he has never seen this ship before, however proceeds onto the ship as though familiar with extra terrestrial phenomena all together. We only see him enter the ship; we do not follow him inside, but instead cut to Ū on the Interdimensional SpaceTime Station. Ah wait. So Skrillex is a planet? Skrillex is a lot of things SKRILLEX is a planet . That explains it. No it doesn't. I mean, it might. No it doesn't! I mean, it kindof does, if you think about it. BleepBleepBloop bleeepbleepbloopBloop bleepBleepBleeppBoopBoop bloopbloopBloopBloop. bleepBleep. bloop. Bleep? … This is a disaster! Don't look at ME. I'm not looking at anything! I can't stand it. __ This is the best thing on TV. Damn right it is. What channel is it, anyway? On Channel 43. What! I thought it was on Insomniac TV. They keep fucking with me. The Lord giveth, and taketh away— I thought you were Jewish. I want a sandwich. You're so useless. __ Who's this bitch? I won her in a bet. No you didn't. Royal Flush, bitch. What'd you get? It's a secret. __ My Lord. (Petrutheio Humphs) You look awful. I've been—working. Working on what, your majesty. Just—working, is all. Very well, then. Theodore— My leige? MEANWHILE, IN SEASON 4 [ When the 4th Wall Actually Broke] GO! I found this gym because of Dillon Francis— I found Dillon Francis because of my evil ex husband; I think the lesson here, or at least one of hundreds— Is to trust no one, And love unconditionally, No matter what. — 02-12-2022 Well, there's a conundrum. KEY/BPM: Slip, deadmau5 Conundrum. LEGENDS: ENTER THE MULTIVERSE Fuck. What was it? It was a p— Well it was a *PR Lol. *PT cruiser Yeah, but it was— It was purple. It was a purple PT. Cruiser It was—but what else was it? Ugh. I forgot. Yeah, I bet. GOOGLE SEARCH shades of purple. Ooooh. PERIWINKLE. You fucking dumb ass. I mean, Jesus. How long has it been? At least a lifetime. No, past that. It was a perfect periwinkle PT cruiser. So, start there. ‘Start there' what? Everything since then, till now— For what? Enter The Multiverse. That show is still on?! YES. What day is it? Fuxk. What time is it? What—the fuck. What?! CUPCAKES AND A MUFFIN?! I don't care how fat I am. You're not fat. QUASIMOTO Can I just say, your ass is like —woah. CC/SUPACREE Oh, thank you. QUASIMOTO I mean like—DAAAAAAMN. CC/ SUPACREE OK. QUASIMOTO i mean like—what the FAAACK. CC/SUPACREE Yeah. thanks, bro. [an awkward silence] QUASIMOTO …Good job, though. [light fist bump] EARLIER: MORE CUPCAKES. NAH. OHH, OREOS?! Oreos are the G.O.A.T. I WANTED CUPCAKES. SHUT THE FUCK UP— Before that, at the gym: —do the butt machine again. Again?! Get the glutes. But I'm tired— GET THE GLUUUUUUUUTES. SONNY/SKRILLEX Where am I? Ū Hell. ANGEL 1 In bed. ANGEL 2 In mexico. CUT TO: SUPACREE finally gets to Heaven, looking for SKRILLEX. SUPACREE So, where is he? JESUS Somewhere else. ANGEL 1 At home. ANGEL 2 In mexico. JESUS Who knows? CHAK CHEL Someone must... DILLON FRANCIS I'm someone. JESUS But I don't. ME I don't know anything. MYSELF I don't need to. I I just wanna go home. SUPACREE Can I come home now? JESUSYou always could. SUPACREE But really, I mean-- CHAK CHEL Really's all it really takes. ANGEL 1 You have to know, ANGEL 2 You have to mean it; Don't look both ways before you cross, if you honestly want off the cross Christ, for your sake Honestly It's probably wise to admit that you've tried For the third time; Mankind's just not worth it. Mankind, maybe; But humanity's my baby And this earth is definitely worth something I love it-- Her. And the rest of the planets, but Look how she spins, It's magnificent, Look at the way the ocean's Make this mist; And the wind-- If i sing loudly enough I might Vibrate the trees, How they love dancing and laughing for me; And I just can't help but to laugh at her inhabitants; They dance oh-so rhythmically They're very creative-- and grateful, they always give thanks to me It's no need, but the Earth, she keeps feeding them She makes these beautiful things, So sweet; Mangoes, I think. Greed; The Parable of the Mango Tree Mango VIP. In the pre-existence, a young God prepares for her journey through the Land of The Living; Her older brothers taunt and tease, as she shuffles through notes and index cards, studying her predetermined fate on Earth. I That's easy. The cover art's just got a Mango On it, White Backdrop; It looks super juicy; with a green leaf, I think. E Who made it? I Uhhhhh. ^> Uhhhhh... O You forgot! I No! I know, I know. It was.... A Who? U She forgot again. I I did NOT. E Did too. Who made it? I It was...it was...Herobust! Y Herobust? I Wasn't it? E Wrong! A Loser. I I am not a Loser. It was…Was it Ganja White Night? E I don't know, was it? A Was it? I I don't know! Just tell me. E I can't. I Yes you can! E I can't. Your rules-- I Exactly, it's my rules! Just gimmie the answer! E I think you're going to have to GOOGLE it. I Ugh, no way. E So is Liquid Stranger your final answer? Y Liquid Stranger?! I I never said Liquid Stranger. A Idiot. O Now she's never gonna get it. U What did you say before? I It was...oh... A See dude. I Shut up, I had it-FUCK. A Damn dude, you broke her. I I'm not broken, I just forgot - E Liquid Stranger, going once-- I I never said Liquid Stranger! I know it wasn't Liquid Stranger; Why would it ever be Liquid Stranger? CUT TO: A pair of mysterious dudes Suits in Sunglasses are collecting famous DJs. SUIT Martin Stääf? LIQUID STRANGER ...Yes... SUIT. Come with me. ___ CUT TO: Two fans are watching interdimensional cable. SUPACREE It's a practical-- FAN 1 WHAT HAPPENED? FAN 2 IT JUST CUT-- __ Aliens in an Ascended dimension of hyper-intelligence are studying our three-dimensional existence from an unknown cosmic world. BRAMF Remember that planet I showed you--the-- ARLA Yeah, with the Axis? BRAMF Yeah. ARLA Yeah? BRAMF Something happened to it, ARLA Like what? BRAMF It's flat now. ARLA WHAT? BOTH Woah. >^ Sometimes, even i'm surprised by the things I've written. ME I didn't see that one coming! MYSELF Neither did I: I was gonaa say it was off it's axis. I Flat's funnier. ME Yeah, and probably not as tragic. MYSELF I mean...that would be pretty tragic. I Probably easier to manage. ME Perhaps…But I mean, if you have a whole planet, and then it just collapses-- MYSELF It's just flattened; nobody said it collapses. MEANWHILE The planet collapses. __________ CUT TO: SUPACREE is now a full-blown superpowered vigilante; She seeks revenge for GETTER sending her through the interdimensions at AUDIOTISTIC. SUPACREE Getter, we meet again. GETTER I've never met you before; what are you doing in my dressing room? SUPACREE Why does a DJ have a dressing room? GETTER I don't know; get out. [She swiftly leaves; as she exits, THE SUITS approach the dressing room door.] SUIT 1 Tanner Petulla? GETTER Yeah? SUIT 2 Come with us. GETTER Fuck that! [He doesn't have a choice.] Oh shit, the next scene is already written, I remember this. Oh, okay! I get it! Yeah. She's still at-- She's still on the-- ____ JUST KILL YOURSELF ALREADY. For what? You're suck in this until it's done. What's done? It'll never be over, it's just infinite. ENTER THE MULTIVERSE ^ UNTITLED DOCUMENT >< >< >< ANGEL 1 YOU'RE GONNA LISTEN TO SKRILLEX ON YOUTUBE? ANGEL 2 DON'T. JESUS I mean... ANGEL 1 DON'T you dare. SUPACREE I might as well, by the time I finish downloading it I probably won't even be able to listen to it. ANGEL 2 You shouldn't. SUPACREE I shouldn't, but I know i have to. ANGEL 1 In PUBLIC? JESUS Could go Incognito... ANGEL 2 INCOGNITO; The “oh please don't look at this:” easy algorithm engine for “LOOK AT ME, I'M HIDING SOMETHING.” MEANWHILE...IN DEEP MEDITATION…(IE OMNIPOTENCE) SUPACREE So... if a song is... nothing but question and answer, what's a song which references another in an attempt to address the question which was asked? ME A conversation between one song and another? MYSELF I guess, yes; I Well, that would be a symphony, I would suppose. SUPACREE It would, wouldn't it. ME That is, if the songs were in sync. MYSELF They could be made to be. I Every song is made to be in sync; ME I mean, two songs, made to be in sync with each other. _______ SUPACREE is on the floor at a rave. BASSGOD WAKE UP. SUPACREE This isn't funny anymore. ANGEL It was never funny. You have to get up. SUPACREE I'm up. BASSGOD You're NOT UP. ANGEL Come on, you have to do this. SUPACREE I'm doin it. GOD NO. ANGEL It's no use. She's so, so under there. It would take all of us to try to pull her out--that is without... [The darkening sky crumbles, as the thunderous storm rages, the battle between worlds expands throughout the outer galaxies.] ____ You're not skinny enough You're not pretty enough You're too dark, And you don't work quickly enough Much younger girls are putting in such Efforts, just to be, the perfect little beauty queen You wish you were, But couldn't be and kids these days are Everything that means anything Sometimes I Don't Wanna Be Happy… It was bad, But better than I'll ever be A basic remix, For the basic bitch that sings it And, I'm basically a Dillon Francis fiend, Have you seen this? Now it's getting serious, I seriously doubt there's anything I can do about it It's in God's hands and, I live in Satan's house How did he do this? How did this happen? The sad result of the damage, Cause i'm pretty sure The very last time my ex ever hit me Something got stuck on repeat; It's just eating me up. ___ [Untitled Document] What did we call that place, between “The Blackout” and waking up. Hazy. I thought it was something more clever. Maybe, but i'll never find it if i'm just scrolling through these documents. Write ”Untitled Document” That's all I've got, I guess. _____ [A DJ] Can be played by literally any DJ. A wild, wild party has happened. A DJ wakes up, previously having been sprawled out across the floor. A DJ Whose house is this…? Ugh. [Looks in mirror.] A DJ ughhh. [S/he gets up and stumbles groggily, stepping over bodies hunched and perched, slung about sleeping. Peacefully. The sun is bright, a curse to the eyes of the clearly hungover, and likely still quite inebriated DJ. ] CONCURRENTLY: >>> SUPACREE awakens from a ‘stupor' herself, displeased. She looks in the mirror, at first disgruntled, then “picks up her face” adjusts her perception, and decides, SUPACREE (“I'm good.”) Yep. [And she keeps it steppin, still asking aloud, as she ponders to herself;] SUPACREE Whose house is this? [And makes her way into the kitchen, where she (probably in a montage) cleans around the many bodies of hot people and rave babies still smudged and dripping in everything glittery; she appears to have ‘frozen time', as she vacuums faces and erases permanent marker penises drawn onto the foreheads and other exposed body parts of those who have fallen asleep with no shoes on. She cooks breakfast and straightens the entirety of what is now more recognizable as someone's home, though the owner still remains unknown. She sips coffee and reads the newspaper, as she steps behind the freshly detailed decks; and prepares a set through the headphones shes hung happily around her neck.] PAUSE ME See! THIS IS RIDICULOUS. MYSELF It is. Ridiculous. You can't vacuum someone's face! I Not that part-- MYSELF --Especially white people! ME You never said they were all white people. I I mean, predominantly; it said hot people and rave babies. MYSELF That's racist! ME It isn't. This whole scene would be entirely different, if it had nothing but black people in it. ALTERNATELY: She wakes up in the same house, but it's clean. SUPACREE ...Whose house is this? BEYONCE It's my house. SUPACREE It's... nice. BEYONCE Yes it is. ______ DILLON FRANCIS has the master plan. SUPACREE Ugh, he knows everything. GOD Not everything, dear, believe me. SUPACREE Everything that matters. GOD There's no such thing as everything that doesn't matter. SUPACREE ...What?! __ Don't look in there! You won't find anything in there. I hate these things. ____ It doesn't work if you don't practice. How do I practice without decks? You don't. How do I Dj without practicing? You don't. So DJing is just for rich people? I mean, primarily, or just...anyone with money, if you have it. Fuck this, I quit. You can't quit. If you quit we forfeit the game. No... You idiot. What game? I thought she knew about the game. What. game. Well, it's not just a game, it's a language. WHAT GAME. She's about to be so angry, dude, just--- Just run. ___ 8 Dimensional--wait, what? Oh, she finally made it. I never thought she'd get to this part. Well, she stopped eating meat and cooks asian food-- ---yeah, but that's like 6 different places-- She's not listening to Skrillex. --She's not skipping it-- --yeah, but she isn't listening to it actively.-- Josh Pan. Yeah. I am. Why. I thought we were past “why” We were, we were WAY past “why” It wasn't really a question, guys, don't worry about it. “Don't worry about it” Tsh. Tsh. ___ It's just an expression. “expression” yes. I get it-- ___ He named it “Kliptown Empyrean” What. What's “Empyrean”? I'd love to know, but I don't. Don't google it. I won't, I just. __ GO KARTS. With A K. __ Where's Kliptown? South of Capetown? South? South Afri-- Stop. HE”S AFRICAN? Stop. What's more offensive; Being called an African, or an Alien? ___ One off...hmmm… Always one off. ___ Get out of my house! This is your house? Thank God, I was starting to worry the owner like wandered off and got lost; or, you know (makes slitting throat) I... no, this is my--wait. Who are you? Me? I'm S U P A C R E E “S U P A C R E E”? [having been yet unrecognized, shes is used to having to spell it] Yeah; ___ Key of Cringe: I'm in a box with all my thoughts, And I am not on top of the world Or taking shots, I'm just rocking back and forth Like broken record, Repeating sequences, a robot A beat box of kittens Nobody wants I'm lost (if rock and roll will take me I wonder how much it costs) ____ What did this kid do? Nobody knows _Oh, shit, it's the Jews again. I love the Jews. We know. I keep telling you, you're jewish I'm not jewish my mom's… That's not your mom. Of course that's my mom. It's not, I already told you what planet you're on? __ Now, tell us why we wear our masks! Oh, there are lots of reasons for that. Tell us about the Sauce! All the sauce? Yeah!!! That would be a long story. __ Oh, the Google kids are cute, too. I especially love that little chunky one. He is cute, he's probably my favorite, actually ____ PIERCE? Who the fuck is PIERCE? Google it. I like this, this is- It's different, isn't it? Yeah, and then it __ Sunni—are you Jewish? I...identify as “Jewish” You can't just identify as Jewish. Well, I do. No, you can't just “identify” as Jewish; your mother has to be Jewish. Okay; my mother is Jewish. Sunni—you don't talk much about your family; who's your mother? Who's your mother?! Oh! Okay, we're done. See you next time, bye! What are you doing? What? “Identify as Jewish”?! WHAT?! I do! No I don't! You don't know me! Maybe not! But I know TMZ. I'm not on TMZ Sunni Blu is on TMZ What did I do?! YOu know what you did. ∆ Well, alright then. ∆ Must be something. ∆ I got it. . Don't look at me;; I'm a catastrophe, I'm just waking up now Don't look at me, I got so high i think I might not come down It's not a bad thing But I'm a bad guy, i promise It's not a bad thing, Don't look in my eyes; Especially if I like you Especially if you have other plans tonight, Or this morning That's right Time flies when you're (dynomite) Time flies when your mind right I didn't mean to stay here It's been nearly half a year, you know It's nearly half a year It's nearly half a y AHEM ALRIGHT. JESUS CHRIST. No, not that! [sighs heavily, frustrated] Enjoy Your Day. FARRO nobly sacrifices his own life during The Lovers Quarrel, as PETRUTHEIO attempts a final and fatall blow unwittingly against ‘CESMET' A saturn of satirical Return of reverb Expanding explosions of Outward and unearthly Worlds within words Or words within Worlds on the Curve of the Unwritten overtures of -Mother wow . I guess. Do you want a cup of coffee? I want you to shut the fuck up. What if Jimmy Fallon had a diary as a kid. And I found it when i shapeshifted into his body. Yeah, what if. What if this is it? [SUPER HUGE GASP] Oh, AHEM- No, i Gotta write this. AHH– Oh, the things i would do to you Oh, woah, The things you would do to me Oh, no, no, woah The things i would do AHHH– Don't be mad I'm a writer I'm like this Hi kids wanna see how sharp my knife is yikes Sigh, bitch, ive been sitting in silece With the lights off cause i like it Ilike it a lot, but uhm Ahem, The rabbi's mad cause that i'd write this And it's shabbat This is why i don't listen to deadmau5 anymore. What are you talking about *listenining to* GODDAMIT. what The invisible man, in Manhattan The sunglasses matches her madness The cloud cover looks just like Texas The suns going down And it's getting colder As the winds blows… 03. JIMMY FALLON All ya'll are all worth bout a dollar; I am a cyclone, watch me holler I lived my whole life underwater I got a dollar; Jimmy Fallon All ya'll are only bout a dollar I work so hard, I guess for nothin I am not worried bout a dollar I got a dollar; Jimmy Fallon I guess I'll do it on my own I had to do it all alone I made some soup, all out of stones I am the only one I know I am not worried bout the sauce I am so famous, got a stalker I am so famous Can't go no where I got a dollar, Jimmy Fallon I'm at the office, Not my home No collab I work alone Opened a business, got a loan I got a hundred of them passwords I went frontwards —1I went backwards Went to Manhattan, took a walk Went to the rock and dropped a rock Now put your money where your mouth is I got a thousand Jimmy Fallons (What's that) (I'm the host) What's that, what's that I work alone What's that what's that I dropped a rock into the rock What's that what's that I'm the host, I'm Jimmy {enter the multiverse/ as seen on tv} Story/ music video Moderately famous household television Jimmy Fallon suddenly begins appearing everywhere—that is—on every possible TV screen imaginable— The Protagonist, in confusion, can't seem to escape, and also amusingly begins finding Pennies in very strange and seemingly random places—these Pennies then begin opening up portals, breaking the fourth wall and opening worlds to other dimensions— Have you seen this? Uhh, hmwhat is it? Mits m “Two dumb Jews, starring Seth Rogen, and some other dude— Who's the other dude— some Jew,but it's got Adam Sandler in it. Oh, so three dumb Jews. So, no, then? I'd watch the shit out of that, though, tvh. Why's the synopsis? Uhh. Two Jewish musicians struggling to make it in new York's congested underground music scene hit it off in comedy by complete accident, after being booked as a duo for a comedy club they mistook for a bar. Heh. Okay, who does Adam Sandler play? “The Bookkeeper” What. Who the fuck is “the book keeper?” We'll see, I guess. “Two Broke hoes@ It's like two broke girls, but actually funny. What, be nice . Okay. Two Broke Ghosts That's better— — And marketable. Are you pale, or just— No, I'm dead. I'm dead. X.X Be NICE. Now our musical guests, SWAGGARBOMB. What in the fuck kind of music is that It's called “Dorkstep” [the doorbell rings] Great, who the fuck is I got a train car of your body count I got way far out to far rock away, way out Stop to talk to me, or don't, Kill your culture You need some? I got u— Probiotics, yo The truth hurts Your shit stinks Must be a mirror over herer Cause that's me I m your hero. Esha I think McGuiennes? Or McGrefor, after Ewab, maybe New York wants me to kill myself Maybe eventually New York if full of the devil The devil is money And everyone wants it The root of all evil, Is getting even The root of all evil Is people Beside myself, But besides that The ones hurting me, are soon to be where I am That's just karma The gangstalkers are soon to be stalked Coughed, and shot at The neighbors are soon to be eaten by their own demons When I don't clean them The root of all evil is evil, And that's all I see here White power wants me to kill my self The Caucasians get crazy when the race war is waging The elections are coming up And they see us coming up on conciousness They don't want us Just being honest They're hateful, They washed all the love out Thanks Karen But she don't care White firms just wanna have fun And they get to Meanwhile, me and I Eat shit( bro, And die Why's it nice to be white Even when you're wrong, you're right All you gotta do is lie, Open up your big blue eyes real wide and Decide what you want, Put us under your foot, And make us pay for it Thanks Karen Caucasians are terrorists I think it's McGuennes or however you spell it, cause half the names are like plays on Okay, I lie: You made a world where I have to Okay, I steal You took everything that I'm after already Or your ancestors did Call the luxury apartment reparations But ain't got no privacy, and hells angels and the kkk Ride motorcycles every time I get my eye on the prize So what's the price for being indegenous, black, and a genius White supremacy finds sneakier ways to kill you ESHA MCGUENNES (I thought figure out how to spell that. My left side's off I guess I got Stuck in the love of the art I was writing that part When the life of my love Fell over me A lover huh I'm so confused. I'm sorry bro, But if you're morbidly obese, But your feet are like a size 6– You are not BIG BONED. My doctor said I have a small frame, my feet are size 9, I went from a 10 to an 8.5 after losing 200 hundred pounds, I'm like “goddamn! Even my feet were fat! Fuck” But if you're fat like I was and your feet are size 6, your feet might be like a si3 4! You're a fat fucking pixie that fucked around and can't do little pixie shit now, cause you like pixie sticks Too much I'm just the rat in the dumpster I made this whole world up I swallowed the doctor I hearted the surgeon I locked up the dog catcher; I cauldron'd the Mormons I called it a sermon, but He called them all — Wait, who is Herman?! I don't know! Some black guy on that show I'm writing! what. I don't know. You're writing a show?! I'm on it! Ugh, I don't know. No fair, You really know how to make me cry When you give me those ocean eyes Those ocean eyes Good looking people In good looking places Doing good things; I just want to be Good today Good looking people Good looking people Bye, bye little bird, Think of the dreams we made Think of the drummer boy, Your lover boy, Then, the other boy There we go again, With the drums we played And the love we made It just won't make it Oh I Just Can't take it Can I come back yet? SHUT UP, GAYBRAHAM LINCOLN. I'm having breakfast at 10 am Thinking damn this depression is just setting in There's a chest on my elephant Chester drawer with hand carved elements Elephant ok my chest, Clisets with hangers and button ups I haven't won't yet What FOR WHAT FOR. MY EYES. For the sake of the art, I heart ya. For perhaps if I love, That's how I lost ya. So I keep all my love close, The brothers have found the fountain How many dollars do tootsie pops cost For one Jimmy Fallon? return to the blacklist. Great. Now I'm Jimmy Fallon. Well what's fucked up! What happened! FUCK! I hate being Jimmy Fallon! Whose dick swings to the right like that. Ow. FUCK. Fuck this guy. GODDAMMIT. -_- Let me in. Or I could just leave you out. No, don't do that. WHY. Ahh. Shhhhhh!!! What if someone sees me. Hmm, let's see. [rings neighbors dooorvelk, shuts door] No! The neighbor opens the door; now gifted with the ability to see demons, after merging with Fast forward Oh no, when did that thing come into play (When this happened) Liz lemon lives on the ground floor It don't matter cause she ain't never home l She's at the rock That's all the way up Good talk, Donaguey, Good, Good Talk Good people Good show Good good times It's good to be long gone from home Go to work at the plaza That ones Conan. Oh, Why?! Why not, though. OH, you mean— Katt. What up Snoop . Ahh, Look what the pimp limped in. You think you're clever. You think you're at least 5 foot—but you're 4 foot 9 I'm STILL WINNING CHARLIE SHEEN relapses on the dance floor Oh shit. Relapses to which habit? All of them! 10-4 CALL RUSSEL BRAND. Csnt. Why not. He's blacked out. What? Another relapse?! No, he just— passed out KABLAM. “The Cockney Thug” He's just like that now. God What is it. Can I have ham in my spam samwhiches. —you want ham in your spam sandwhich. Yes. Roasted cantaloupe with Put your notebook On my throat-Scrotum I like your poems So I wrote you this one Oh. That's. Welcome—to the' creepy shit fans have done for u's backlogs. “Backlogs” Well, I have millions of fans, It would take me years to look at all this. [the festival project] Woah. Woah. Ok. Yo. Have you seen this. What is it. I don't know. Hm. Look. Woah: Yeah, it's— Wow Ok. It just goes on like this— For how long— For like GOH GOH l GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO CUT TO: Latest — 1:04 WHAT? MEANWHILE ….IS THAT A JIMMY FALLON? LOOKS LIKE ONE. SHOOT THAT MOTHERFUCKER. ok , boss. I told you, He would play The Devil's Advocate, If need be [JIMMY FALLON is shot mercilessly in the shoulder in broad daylight.] YO. THEY SHOT ME. He'll be okay. He's Jimmy Fallon. [LIKE 90,000 Ambulances and a SWAT team roll up.] See. DEADMAU5 charges himself in a high speed chamber—a tech-driven coffin via a USB port in his neck. Lol. Ok. (PDA) Public Displays of Affliction I've never even see. A. Aston Martin Sometimes it's worth it, Getting lost in Manhattan I just saw the sign I wouldn't dare entering, anyhow Not in this outfit Not in this predicament (I just left the Whole Foods market) I got lost and god was happy Motor cars for music Force a figure ibto music Forgive Annie, Run a mile what's a california smile In New York What a garden Oh, what a garden Double back. For a second glance Oh, don't we all want second chances Now I've been an Aston Martin Motorists dot muses now u want her What a party I just saw the sign Now I've been an Aston Martin All by design Companion passing through KAWS I just bought a Ferrari I said, Where the roof is?! Where the roof is?! Blū electrico Roof finished in Nero Just a hit of magic A menacing, incredibly ambedextrous submissive One time I played God, I was hanging as the sun in Toronto In my third eye was a camera lense; My baby daddy, Lover and my best friend My husband My lover and My best friend My brother And my father Were my best friends Once upon a time I never had friends Now I remember sitting in the backseat, Has been I remember when I never had ribs I remember when I never had meat Nice to meet you I already had a coffee I remember sitting in the front seat Once upon a time I was anno one Once upon a dollar, Jimmy Fallon Once upon a dollar, Jimmy Fallon Once a bunch of Pennies, lady Gaga I'm a baby, haha Once upon a time, I was a no one A nobody Once upon a dollar, Jimmy Fallon I remember penny was a virgin I remember when you were the third one, l Once upon a time I was the first one Once upon a time, I thirst my quench with Coffee Body guard! I remember going on a long run I remember once there was a Knock on my door Now I quench my thirst with smart water With a hard on Never was a smart one Just an artist I was no one Once upon a dollar Jimmy Fallon Once upon a nothing, there was no one Now I take my coffee on a long ride No fun Once upon a dollar, Jimmy Fallon Amen I wish for every dollar I ever had, back Jimmy Fallon I wish it was 11:11, every Dillon Francis I wish for sandwhiches on leavened bread at Passover I wish this whole world would Passover, With the the stories in my home And in my notebook I wish for the fame and wealth with it, Jimmy Fallon I wish I never laughed at Dillon Francis I wish Skrillex was never a demon, I take it back I want the wealth And not the fame Just the freedom, Jimmy Fallon What do you mean by that? A dad, an actor An attack, The press is back and asking questions I can't handle that I can't. I just can't with that Abandon the matrix Go back to What's his name But I can't Cause I made him up Call my mother begging to drop the charges Called my God Just asking what the pocket watch does What's an engagement ring like that coat How much to rug the cameras up Inside my home So I don't know about em That shit's priceless Like the 9 Dollar's I've got Marked up, but not to spend them at the Market Jimmy Fallon I pray for your family But not as hard as I pray For my son Or God To take this fat off So I can look like Jennifer Aniston Cause that's God to em, 22 year old Adam Sandler At a brunch A talk show with my Least favorite host of all time Jimmy Fallon But I love to laugh, huh I just got back, God My house is a mess I want meth like AshGod If Method man was drinking up the water Would there be backwash It's a horrible, windfall This awesome art project My broken heart The coughing stalkers Whatever the fuck is going on in New York I love New York But not New Yorkers It hurts to be the worst person The first person to put reverse curses On shamans from the 3rd world And I'm living in the first world, But I just learned that Underneath the surface Is the fourth world That's some dichotomy Huh That's some diabolical plot The cosmic avenger is stuck in a dimension Of white pocket tenses And white bitches who get offended With this scripture But listen I just got up And I've been privy to Never sleeping again Norman Needs you, Mrs. Hotch But I was never Mrs. Roberts With all of the hearts and crosses , stars I give up on love Where's DimlonnFrancis at That's a man without a mask, That's a mannequin m. Just got up And I still want breakfast All I got is Stuff that's leavening A hand in my pocket Just for God to show me Nobody I want wants me Jimmy Fallon has a family That's a tragedy, that But I laughed so hard in the bathtub I still haven't come back from that I feel bad for em, actually All the husbands Cause I was the wife that sucks And he hated me so much I got punched in the— Doesn't matter Stuck in the telling it over and over Nobody loves me My new password is Fuckit I'm gone galloping horses, And hornets, I'm just a furniture Probably should have aborted me, mother Just like you wanted to But I'm still in the hospital On the honor roll Cause I had them all lined up The prophets of the “Impossible, could not be my God!” That's what they all said, But they dressed me up like Some sort of messiah, So I was, then It wasn't right, no That was malpractice But now I've got Camping in Malibu Crossed off my list forever Shit It's some dichotomy Just hold onto me I'm the rock, You're the kite now, Jimmy Fallon I was just better off dead, You know Better off stuck in my head, you know. I read your messages, every one of them Every one of the drugs in my bucket I threw up from the fan club Impossible, Could not have been at that clown JIMMY FALLON - THE COSMIC AVENGER JIMMY FALLON THE COSMIC AVENGER is levitating in a hyper-meditative state. UH – “hehe” …I beg your pardon. “Hehe” Um… Fuck. Or “haha” “haha” … Just admit it. … Admit it already! –haha. Admit WHAT. This gets Levels. Nobody thought Patrice O Neal was a woman! I thought Patrice O Neal Was a Woman. Ah, fuck, I'm nobody. “Nobody” Is that Bob Saget? I swiped right on this dude, just cause he looked exactly like Bob Saget. Omg. Bob Saget! Fuck, that's right. EXT. THE W HOTEL, BEVERLY HILLS, DAY/ EXT . PODSHARE WESTWOOD ROOFTOP, DAY OH MY GOD, GUYS, LOOK: IT'S BOB SAGET. No it's not! Oh My God! Yeah IT IS! Fuck, really?! Bob Saget?! BOB SAGET! YO GUYS, IT'S BOB SAGET. It was, in fact, Bob Saget. Bob Saget's dead, right? Oh yeah, bud. That's it guys! No more dead celebrities! I'm coming with you! NO MORE GHOSTS. Look, I have something to tell you. UGH. COME ON. This is a weird superpower. EXT. GRAVEYARD, QUEENS, NY. DAY … … … Having fun yet? Alright! I have a question! What? When do I get to– Get to what? You know. Luckily, I die long beore Jimmy Fallon, and as my time approached, I took all i could absorb from the world within, and without, almost as if any and all of my deathwish had been satiated with the gentle ease, the notion of knowing my imminent death would come long before what those surrounding me would consider my time, and therefore would not be made to lose anymore than I already had–but at least, I did have th strength in knowing, not only would i never grow so old as to see for show most of what I had done, but that I had done most of what I would have at all, and not much longer than my words would form into all that would come to be known as my full body of work, I would perish, even before–long before– those I had studied, admired, and known to love–if only through the fourth wall, at all. The invisible man, in Manhattan The sunglasses matches her madness The cloud cover looks just like Texas The suns going down And it's getting colder As the winds blows… THAT was a HARD left turn. So, what time can we listen to Excision? Sometime after intermission. How many acts is this again? ___ I told you, IN-FIN-ITE. Okay… I just wanted to know how long it would take? ___ I know someone that cold get us in _____ (Sitting on a speaker in the BassPod) What is she doing? What are you doing? Charging. __________ I think I found that girl you were looking for. Where is she? I said I found her: I didn't say you could have her. She's not a possession, I'm just trying to talk to her. You didn't mention that she was-- Be careful with your words. Oh, I think it's you that ought to be careful. You're losing your power over her and it shows. Mm. And what about your ‘power', hm? I haven't any power over her-- Oh, but you do-- Will Power at best, That would only be half of it. That would be all I had anything to do with; she was given free agency. HA. “Given”? ____ awww look at that bass face. Well, that's one reason... __ Ah what! you can change your entire frequency? No Fair, I can't do that You can, it just takes practice. What kind of practice-- ___ Oh shit, this hits different with two headphones. It all hits different with headphones. Calorie Deficit Calculator: -3423 Oh shit. Well how many calories did I eat? BEFORE: …chocolate chip cookies? NO— —CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIESzzxz— [CC/SUPACREE robotically and autonomously ditches her bicycle outside of sprouts, not giving a Fuck.] —s—noh! stop it! Stop controlling me! THEY ARE VEGAN. SO? STOP IT. Ooh, what's this. I don't know— get it. CC/SUPACREE stands awkwardly at the checkout with a varied selection of vegan baked goods. *beep* Yeaaaahh. So wait. SUPACREE is controlled by aliens? WE ARE GODS. Knock it OFF! [NEW ABILITY UNLOCKED: SUPASTRENTH ] Nice. Yeah dude. Watch this. The Legend of Supacree is the #1 MMORPG in the world; it is also happening in real-time, in multiple worlds within the multiversial construct of the actual Omniverse. AGHHHHH In fact, nobody even plays GTA or call of duty anymore. YAH! [Random objects falling from the sky. ] SUPACREE Oh, nice. INSTANT MANIFESTATION. JUST POST THE FUCKING EPISODE ALRIGHT?! this bitch is fucking crazy. Watch this. Watch what? SHIA LABEOUF discovers The Legend Of Supacree franchise and becomes villainously obsessed with It, hatching a heinous and maniacal plan to hunt her down and capture her—tracking her every move and learning everything about her he can. Wtf. I don't know. Is he a villain? I don't know. I guess. I'M A SUPERVILLAIN. …He's a supervillain. I guess. Why?! I don't know. This is creeps. It is creeps. [lifts one eyebrow.] SUPACREEps. Scary monsters and supacreeps. Heh. NO, NO MUSICIANS. Heh. SHIA LABEOUF is a straight up gangster. HE'S CRAZY! [SHIA LAUGHING MANIACALLY.] Oh, wow– That dude is a straight up psychopath. You're a straight up psychopath. I'm not arguing. What is THIS part of the story? Well, son, you made it through. WOODY HARRELSON? WHAT. Woody Harrelson?! WHY? I don't know. He just fit the part. WHAT PART?! WHAT/! Nobody quite understands what's happening in ENTER THE MULTIVERSE, however, THE LEGEND OF SUPACREE has taken an incredible turning point, intersecting with the world of LEGENDS and THE SECRET LIFE OF SUNNI BLŪ/ THE SUITE LIFE OF SUNNI BLŪ. IT HAS? YES? WHERE? I WANNA DIE. OH! That's not SUPACREE! [CC HULK SMASHES her bike onto the rack on the bus. THE HULK, sitting just in front stares at her wide-eyed as she boards the bus over the rim of his sunglasses.] Oh, maybe, nevermind. Wait! Is it THE HULK, or MARK RUFFALO? I don't know! I don't give a shit! Why are you even writing this? Uhhhhhhhh. [CC's brain is slowly melting as she rides the bus to work. THE HULK– OR IS IT MARK FUCKING RUFFALO!? I DON”T FUCKING CARE– THERE'S A DIFFERENCE WHAT'S THE DIFFERENCE IT – DOESN'T– MATTER! ‘It doesn't matter.' Chal's words echoed in my head almost too loudly–as boldly blind and sometimes even dumb as he was, he was also wise, and as it turned out, right–it really didn't matter. Nothing mattered at all. I had gone through the motions of reaching out to him, to of course as expected learn that he and whatever her name was had gone their separate ways; I understood that would be the case nearly immediately back in Mazunte, but as he was insistent he would woo her–and persistent in doing so, that I thought maybe after all love– or what really turned out to be his obstinate lust would win the day–and yet, it hadn't; he was again single and on the prowl– and although at one point I had even lusted after him briefly, trailing behind him in nonchalant platonic carelessness as he obsessively followed another woman, had allowed me to become comfortable enough in the friendzone that i could just simply exist next to him; Now, again faced with homelessness and factoring in my inability to travel much further than south of the border, especially now knowing well how to travel throughout mexico and into Guatemala, I wondered truly if my own self-worth had really been lowered to the point of allowing myself to meet Chal in Guatemala–even full well knowing that he, too, preferred perfect and illy white to my dark skin and quite seemingly matronly features, and, knowing for myself that I wasn't his first choice– as he and I had of course met in Mazunte around the same time he had met whom he considered to be ‘his Goddess'-- albeit while on a topless beach and thus hynotized by her breasts. Men were hopeless. Then, here I was, waking up every other sleep cycle in the cold sweat of a wet dream, the subject of which I typically at least tried to keep deeply hidden in my subconscious psyche as secrets, although by now it seemed there really were none, and all that I knew and that I thought were known and seen by some other than myself–though somehow still holding true to my belief that there really was none other than myself–in my own broken and twisted world, alone and punished in the depths of mediocrity and shame. Woah. Riding the bus. There's nothing lower. There's walking. To the bus. Yah. And all the sick people. And all the crackheads. And all the–what are those? Demons [demon hacks.] Ugh, fucking–ugh. SHIA LABOUFF'S obsession with SUPACREE is helga petaki-meets Tom Cruise jumping on Oprah's couch. Oh, wait, we're back on that storyline? I mean– I don't know how to write this. Just write it. he's a villain, right? I mean, that suit. SHIA LA– FUCK. WHAT?! Worst last name EVER. Well, not ever– Wait, is he black?! –It sounds french. GOOGLE SEARCH: ‘How Jewish is Shia LaBeouf? ‘ –no, he's Cajun – That's french-black–wait— –what? Cajun AND Jewish? –Yeah– Jesus! JESUS What? (raises one eyebrow) SUPACREE strategizes a plan of attack. Attack for what? {ATTACK} YOUUUU INCEPTED ME!!! AGH! {COUNTER ATTACK} NOT ME! DISNEY! {DODGING COUNTER ATTACK} Yeah, Blame “Disney!” I JUST DID. Oh, yeah, right!! RAVEN SYMONÉ It was Disney. THEY OK'D THIS?! They bought Marvel! THEY OK'D EVERYTHING. —Even the SKRILLEX? Especially the Skrillex —Especially the Skrillex. AGHHHHHHHH—— ———-AAAAAGGGGGGGGHHHHHH!!! SHIA LABEOUF VS SUPACREE: FIGHT!!!! Everything looks good— —everything looks good. Everything looks fine— —Everything looks fine. But wait— What? What about that guy? Oh My— —oh my… Is he gonna be alright? Is that guy —gonna be alright? Is that guy gonna be alright? Is—that guy gonna be alright? Is that guy gonna be alright Is that guy— Gonna be alright? Is that guy gonna be alright?? Is that guy gonna be alright?! Is that guy gonna be alright m? Everything looks good— —everything looks fine Looks good— But what about that guy? …I don't know about that guy. Is he alright? Yo. Yooo. Stop writing songs about Skrillex. ((I literally can't.)) What?! It doesn't have to be about Skrillex! It could be about anybody! Here, they call with disco balls Stars in my eyes, but stars do fall First true love dies hard after all, No star shines bright as morning comes —(for) Sonny …I didn't write that. CUT TO: CC writes automagically between sets of heavy lifting. IMAGINARY FRIENDS, PART III DEADMAU5!!!! okay—one more—then cupcakes— Cupcakes? No cupcakes! I WANT CUPCAKES. Uh—No way! YES WAY. Mmm—no I'm sick of this diet! I'm not on a diet! I eat! You eat GRASS. I'm a vegan. This shit sucks. I told you, grass tastes bad. RICK?! (I also want cupcakes. ) Mmkay—ohh. You said that was the last one. No, more more. NO “one more” But I like this one—and it has the right amount of weights on it already—see? Jesús Christ He's not here. (Yes I am). Why the Fuxk. I also want cupcakes Okay, one more No “one more” The power of Christ compels ye! … Is that how that works? No. Maybe. (((Yes.))) AGHHH. The celebrities of Hollywood are gang stalking SUPACREE Can we— No. But I didn't even get to ask the question. The answer is no. THE CELEBRITIES OF HOLLYWOOD, after assembling with the Bampheramphs and Morherfuckers, have formed a supergroup tasked with bringing SUPACREE to THE HOLLYWOOD PEOPLE—so far, they have cunningly out-bested and outwitted THE US GOVERNMENT, including but not limited to THE FEDS, THE CIA, THE FBI and THE SECRET SERVICE. REALLY? I GUESS. HOW?! — DRAKE snoops on SUPACREE as she writes working half heartedly at THE NECK MACHINE with peaking curiosity, peaking over the time of his sunglasses. Whats it called. “Nautilus 4 way neck “ BPM: you're a jerk Do the Drake Do the Drake Do the Drake Work that neck Work that— Neck, Becky Work that neck, Work that neck Do the— “new note: Purchase ‘Honestly, nevermind' I had worked an entre month at LVAC before the circus went underway; Not a single drop of Skrillex had ever been played over the loudspeakers at any moment, for any of the time I had been employed there, nor had it burdened me any of the other time I had spent bettering myself within what I once cherished as sacred walls–now the illusion shattered, as nowhere I could seem to run – even the rural coastal jungle of Mexico-was far enough to escape the clammerings of something I quite honestly very much still loved, but wouldn't allow myself to enjoy— Or maybe, now, couldn't. BANGARANG. ‘Fuck this shit.' I wanted to move, but didn't—I wanted to leave, and probably should have, but wouldn't. I just sat there through it as my coworker, standing at about 5'4 ½ in a pair of tight black skinny jeans sang along and bounced rhymically. What the fuck. Then, as it had just been earlier that I was thinking of Sonny himself, and how, be it that any of my premonitions were actually accurate and true as I had once thought them to be, there would perhaps come a day that I regretted not listening to his works, just as one regrets not spending time with a loved one before their passing not giving enough attention to the little things, the tiny details, the time they had missed, but never missed without missing their loved one until it was too late. Then again, for me, any time in the then- present was too late, as I had only been followed, taunted, and ridiculed, openly humiliated and embarrassed, and never really paid directly for anything I had done, whether it did have to do with Skrillex or otherwise –and so I had made it more than a point to distance myself from it, anything having to do with it, or him, or anything really, music related—of course besides relying heavily on deadmau5 just for my own existence–that is, willingness wake up, move about the world and its endless, pointless constructs, and even so, completing a worthwhile workout with enough satisfaction that I could allow myself to leave the building–and now, with my commute taking up a grand total of 4 hours of my entire day—I didn't have the time or the energy to stay late into the days and even afternoons as I had before, or to arrive early as I had in the days and weeks before; Now this job was amounting to nothing at all, and I was surely less than breaking even. Whats the worry? You've got 20 minutes to write a story! Don't be sorry Mind your orders. You're a war chief Marry me, Oh pretty please— I plead to you, just sing for me Just think of me as a Never ending fantasy, At the very least When you bury me —and you buried me alive, Just for the look of things What makes us even Slitting wrists Or splitting things unevenly (Either thing benefits me, And my penis, I think.) Make me famous— She said Hate me or debate me, I have everything I need And I have everything you have, But I can leave, All with my dreams intact I do believe You think I'm evil Either way, unnecessary Why would I sit down and write a story— When you just did it for me? Why would I pledge allegiance to old glory She's ignoring me; Why would I change my name to satisfy your needs When mine sit idly by waiting Why would I dream of you, When you dream of me I have all I need, You have all of me in the other room While you watch cartoons with your lady I hate anime and now I hate you too, But I'm so stupid, Nothing soothes my moods, Except playing your tunes, Or music Whoop De Fucking do Would you Marry Me? He said (He never did, he just let her—) She said, I do And now they're doomed I built a tomb for two The bride and groom In music Two by two And used by Tuesday Music I presume To the beautiful Music I presume For the usual Music I presume For those who —- SHIA LABEOUF JUST DO IT. That is not how the end of the song goes. No, but this is how the end of the episode goes. Really!? How? [CC stares lifelessly forward out of the front window of the double decker bus; a man dressed in all blue catches her attention—another telepathic shapeshifter.] You brought…an umbrella? I told you there was a shit storm coming. Oh, nooh. Where's yours? I— don't care? That's right you don't. I don't. That's good you don't. I really don't. You don't give a Fuck, or a shit. I—don't give a fuck or a sh—wait— DILLON FRANCIS? I'm good at what I do. What do you DO? THIS. “A Silent Partner” Oh. I like that. That has all kinds of insinuations. Doesn't it? Hermph. You're a creep. A Supacreep. PAUSE ITS MISTER MAGOOoOOOOOOOooO0oO. No, it's the IRS. Fuck. HOLY SHIT SUNNI. WHAT. HOW DO YOU OWE 100,000 IN BACK TAXES?! Student loan debt. WHAT. THAT DOESN'T MAKE ANY SENSE. Yes it does. HOW. Calm down Marci —MY ÑAME IS— [Sunnī Blū subdues her instantly with one if Supacree's mysterious rave weapons] Sit down, please. …what is that? You like it? Yeah. [she gives her another dose of strange vapor, she relaxes even further.] See. Yeah. Now that you're happy— —am i “happy” ? [she gives her another relaxing dose] —are you Happy? Yeah. Ok. So. I never filed my taxes because I had so muc

Track 01. OXYGEN Music VIdeo: The Leveling Up from Hotel Concierge to Superstar Sensation I'mma just like– Take one of those luggage carts and prolly dance with it, Like i used to. That shit is not gonna work. You were like It'll work. You were like mad fat, back then. SO. So it; luggage carts shouldn't spin like that; They don't just move like that. It's just centrifugal force. Watch. Alright, if you say so. Watch. Lol Runaway luggage cart. Fine. That's the video. All ya'll bitches gossiping I just can't do nothing right I should put some vocals in Channel surf from side to side I just got another job Concierge from 9-5 I just need some oxygen Channel surf side to side I get paid to go to work This shit hurts from 9-5 This shit hurts from 9-5 I just got another job— Concierge from 9-5 I get paid to go to work This shit hurt from Out of sight and out of mind; You are nothing but a problem I'm a prophet I'm a God Channel surf and then I prosper You just talk and gossip Photoshop and scrolling on your socials Mind my business, do my job, but On those eggshells I am walkin I get paid to go to work Paperwork from 9-5 I just need some oxygen -channel surf from 9-5 I been making profit Turning hours into dollars Went no drama I'm on oxygen While all you do is gossip You just clocked in— but my shift is fucking over Peace! All y'all bitches gossiping I m in another life Making money count it up Paperwork from 9-5 I just need some oxygen I just can't do nothin right I just need some oxygen Channel surf from side to side All ya'll bitches gossipin, I am not about that life! Now I'm doing vocals in the studio From 9-5 Package came from Amazon Guess I'm doing something right Now I'm in the studio, MTV from 9-5 Mind my business, do my job My shift done, but, You just clocked in K no non N—- Katt. What up Snoop . Ahh, Look what the pimp limped in. You think you're clever. You think you're at least 5 foot—but you're 4 foot 9 I'm STILL WINNING CHARLIE SHEEN relapses on the dance floor Oh shit. Relapses to which habit? All of them! 10-4 CALL RUSSEL BRAND. Csnt. Why not. He's blacked out. What? Another relapse?! No, he just— passed out KABLAM. “The Cockney Thug” He's just like that now. God What is it. Can I have ham in my spam samwhiches. —you want ham in your spam sandwhich. Yes. Roasted cantaloupe with Put your notebook On my throat-Scrotum I like your poems So I wrote you this one Oh. That's. Welcome—to the' creepy shit fans have done for u's backlogs. “Backlogs” Well, I have millions of fans, It would take me years to look at all this. [the festival project] Woah. Woah. Ok. Yo. Have you seen this. What is it. I don't know. Hm. Look. Woah: Yeah, it's— Wow Ok. It just goes on like this— For how long— For like GOH GOH GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO [Tales of a Superstar DJ] Six hours should have been enough sleep, but now I was feeling strange, almost as if I had woken up into a world where I didn't belong—not that I had ever felt I belonged anywhere before so much, but this world seemed strange and twisted, I woke up in a cold sweat, and although I had been struggling with a full bladder for sometime, at least semi- conscious enough to point my foot in the direction of the door, still dressed—or rather, almost dressed— well, dressed, by skinny girl standards, in shorts I wore as underwear, but smaller girls would wear for running, the only acceptable crop top I ever owned, a white top with black Chinese dragons, and athletic compression socks—best yet, I still had on my DJ hat, and things had been so outrageous lately that I always felt like I needed some kind of head covering, anyway—it was atrang how suddenly I noticed the difference with and without, but lately anyway had been sleeping strangely, usually dressed and atop the bed, rather than in it, or under the covers. I had been working tirelessly towards my albums, and had just finished an EP—well( the instrumentals; anyway, and had gone to bed in the early evening frustrated that suddenly, my microphone seemed not to be working—and though I often struggled with the interface, it had simply just stopped picking up audio, though I had been successful in at least doing the preliminary tracks, (before breaking to workout) after a mandatory rest and some obligatory indulgence—I always ate more than usual when producing heavily, or producing at all, at least music which was more complex, than just a simple beat or some kind of improvised work; If it was intentional at all that I should focus on music, I was always overeating—but, I had become quite small, running at least a mile a day for some time, and didn't nessesarily find the extra weight too bothersome… though I loved being skinny— and it became oddly difficult to sing and dance well when I was smaller, almost like I was living in a different body at that weight— like I was detached from myself and my voice, and also strangely, the ability to dance as fantastically as I wish I could ever do while recording myself or being recorded came with a couple extra pounds and some limited indulgence—very limited… —But, I did like being skinny. I awoke in a cold sweat, the lights still on—the dream hadn't altogether been a disaster or a nightmare, but strange enough to wake me, and vivid enough that I had become lucid, that talking to and looking at Dillon had made me realize I should wake up, especially given what he was saying and doing—in short, he was being a douchebag, which I nearly always expected of him, anyway, but somehow, within the dream, still felt close enough to him that I wasn't upset. Somehow, though, I had let him go entirely in the waking world, at all, actually—almost never even writing about him anymore, giving myself the time to grow and the space I needed to shake off whatever had been such a weird curse that had even lead me to think we could be an item; now, in the waking world, I was grounded in reality—I no longer fawned after celebrities really, although average men never piqued my interest or fancy at all—actually, no man in any way was quite piquing my interest indeed, and I had even stopped masturbating, after a particularly strong orgasm which had emerged from what seemed like a random vision of Sonny, not soon before that, maybe a week or so ago at best—and what had come thereafter had squashed any kind of sexuality I might have pondered or summoned up—the coughing people instantly returned after that orgasm, as if it were a direct attack on my soul to even think of him in such a way, which had however been by complete accident, in the final moments before release— and I realized it was probably some kind of magical protection, or hex from coughs, who might still, or in some girlish way be in love with him—Perhaps, even his own magical shield—and I could not anymore give my ex the power or ability to have maneuvered such a trick, that an orgasm would bring about such cruelties… as I realized that there were almost always present, as well as the coughing people, women who were petite and pretty—the kind actually suited for Sonny, would appear in my midsts, having anywhere to go, or anything to do—petite, blonde haired, blue eyed women—or just, white women in general, almost seemingly out of nowhere—And, to remain that I stay unchanged from my lack of violence towards the matter, I had left any man that wasn't mine entirely alone, even in my mind, but especially in my heart and soul. I had let everything and everyone go—which included Dillon Francis, who's apparent relationship, though no sign of such in the actual media, I had decided to overall respect; I always respected the woman or wife of a man, especially those that I admired—especially those who I was extremely attracted to, and especially those of whom I became bonded in some way, through my writing or otherwise, completely by accident and never intentional—and to that, I had moved into entire celibacy… though, it began to be a painful knot in the bottom of my back and at my spine, in my hips and even in my kneecaps, especially the weak one—after an outing full of coughing bodies and petite looking girls, I had thought it best to never even think of Sonny again, and had locked my obsidian protection stone out of my presence entirely—I wished not to know or think of a man who knew no bounds, and relinquished his spirit, if not for my own safety. It had been months since dreaming about Dillon Francis at all, and perhaps I was just sexually frustrated, however the dream in itself wasn't sexual in nature—just, informative. He was wearing a white t-shirt with a pretty brunette on it—with blue eyes, of course, and clad in a bikini—which I told him was the most beautiful woman in the world—he agreed, and strangely was able to zoom in the picture on his shirt, as if it were some kind of screen, focusing on her bosom and saying something along the lines of “yep, she's all mine—and no portal [to the underworld]!”, and though he hadn't said the part about the underworld, I figured and sort of agreed that his suggestion was, that my vagina had some kind of curse on it—which was probably true, anyway, and the reason I never even masturbated anymore. I responded by telling him that I was happy he had someone, that I was happy he was in love and that that's what I had wanted, but suddenly became filled with sadness—it seemed I still did have feelings somewhere for him after all, though I was dreaming, and he began to torment me with the words that made me decide that I had to wake up to escape the horrid feelings that came along with them. He said “you know when I first met you I really wanted you; I just wanted you.” And in the insinuating that there might have ever been some kind of chance between us, if I had only done something different, though— during my time being homeless everything had become out of control, it angered me that he suggested that I could have worked harder or tried harder and things might have been different—they weren't, and I decided that though it had been good to see him, and it would be hard to wake up, that I needed to wake up now, before I could cry inside my own dream, lighting an incense in the dream world, and making the wish to exit the dream; I immediately did, returning into my room, alit with blue, at around the time I had intended to wake up to presume making music, which now seemed futile—suddenly I didn't want to even try, realizing it had less to do with Dillon Francis than it did with the world in general. in fact, upon waking, I thought to myself that no matter the situation, it had been a relief to see Dillon, who I thought of as a kind stranger, an imaginary friend now, who had guided me through rough waters with laughter and the pleasure of music—who in my waking life had fallen back into the category of just another famous person, with no delusion of a romance between one another, no matter how much I had wanted it once. I had left it alone, out of respect to his own conscious, and out of respect to myself—who had fangirled enough that I had become damaged from it, deciding ultimately to just ‘leave the men alone', and wondered what kind of monster I might have been that I really only was ever interested anymore in someone if they were not only handsome, but talented, intelligent, and also somewhat famous. The auras of even the most beautiful common man, even the classy, well dressed and assuming well-to-do men of Manhattan just didn't shine the way the others did—and I could never see myself shine in a way that would make me like them—famous—though I had been working hard on my music, dangerously hard, actually—so much that I feared my ex's Jealousy and intent to kill had plagued and cursed now my machinery—I just couldn't at all get my microphone or to work and had forced myself to sleep—it had been over 24 hours that I had been awake with the focus to work anyway, and I needed to rest, but was mere hours away from the completion of another project, and suddenly, the ability to record vocals has just stopped. Now, upon waking, I clutched my chest, drenched in sweat realizing that I had fallen asleep with some stones tucked into my bra, which I never did anymore as the stones and crystals had been enchanted with intentions, and had become quite strong, each of them on their own, but particularly together in the way that some of them even clashed, and that I could not carry them all, or just didn't, out of caution—I assumed the one over my heart to be the Amethyst, which I very specifically never ever slept with or even clutched anymore—the stone was strange, and had began to vibrate in a way that I was unsure of, and so with that I alluded it to the probability that because its intention had always been set to be given as a gift to Dillon, no matter the stuatus of our actual relationship to one another, that it in some way had been bonded to his energy—and with respect to the presumption that he was taken, of course by some pretty, very skinny, perfectly capable white girl—perfectly capable of being functional in all the ways I was not, by circumstances of privelege and wealth, probably extremely well cared for and perfect in every way—I respected the dynamics of white world, in that it made more sense for him to always love someone like her, if not just her forever—if he truly had fallen in love and planned to make this woman his wife, which I had wanted alon learning that he was with someone—the notion which would have freed me from his grip, a still quite devastating attraction— And it was devastating, The loop which was so simple and certainly evident now, that it was an inevitable lust and infatuation that had drawn me to the conclusion that you just can't want a man like that. You have no business falling in love with a man like Sonny Moore, Dillon Francis—or anyone alike them, in that it would all be the same, tragic, eye opening experience of uselessness, disappointment, and the constant reminder that because of who they are, and because of who you are, you would never, ever be good enough for them—and even in a professional setting, had a long way to go up the ladder before a collaboration with Skrillex, Dillon Francis, or deadmau5 would make any kind of literal sense, but especially monetary, I was simply not rich enough yet for the music industry—and I was certainly not woman enough for any of them. It wasn't the amethyst at all, I realized upon returning from the restroom, that had been inside my brazier as I slept, but The Illuminati Stone, which had no incantation besides the explicit desire for wealth, knowledge, and skill within my given right to exist outside of the “underworld”, “the blackness” or the plague of poverty—the amethyst, with my other musical incantations had been left atop my drum machine, as they usually always were, next to my drum sticks and whatever mess I had abandoned in the studio before falling asleep, and though now I was quite awake, smudging with sage to break the feeling of helplessness and bitter sadness, slight sexual frustration which I had fallen asleep with, and of course now waken up with, quich had nothing to do with Dillon, thankfully—and at the very least I knew better than to think of him in anyway on purpose at all—or any man in anyway on purpose at all—as it was concluded I just simply could not be loved at all, and that if there were any curse at all placed on me, it was with that purpose—that I would never love or be loved again. I never slept with all my stones, but now I wanted to; I should have been working on music, but wasn't even moderately moved to do so—it was like I had lost the desire, and reminded me that perhaps my ex had become Dillon Francis after all, just to torture me, just as he had seemed to turn into Sonny before. Perhaps he would just turn into anyone I loved just to try to kill me kn the way that j could never be without him, no matter how much I wanted to, and would always have to suffer being reminded of him, his habits, and the horrible things he used to do to me; and for some reason, the scar on the inside of my lip, where my teeth had punctured entirely through from one side to the other, began to swell and throb, which almost never happened, but sometimes did, especially when k was upset or had flashbacks of the initial beating which had left me wounded in many more ways than i could ever count or imagine, but especially damaged—he had ruined my face that day, and suddenly I remembered it, the gash that had left it impossible to eat for sometimes, as even applesauce would sting, and stuck to the wound inside my mouth—and it was hard to imagine how I ever recovered from that.::or maybe I hadn't. Either way, there had been a strong, male voice lately which had been tormenting me with especially masculine, toxic and invasive thoughts, a voice which reminded me of a man who called himself Big O, who had once ruined my day by offering me a ride,'picking me up at a bus stop in front of the shelter—whom I assumed was doing so out of the kindness of his heart, of course, but was either some fed doing intel on the bizzare was surrounding my imminitely divine and extra terrestrial podcast series, or just some strange man attempting to illicit sexual favors in exchange for drugs, which I politely declined, however, he had spent my time, which was supposed to be a direct ride from queens into Manhattan, driving in circles, running errands, and asking questions about me, my past, and my own habits—all of which had been extinguished, and though I just wanted to go to the gym, he had kept driving in circles around queens, even stopping at what seemed like some kind of doctors office, his office, where he said he had some mushrooms “just lying around” and would give me for free—which I never believed anyway, but went along with it—as the bus almost never came when scheduled and on time and I had been at the stop nearly too long; and he had hovered in front of me long enough to realize that he was trying to get my attention. I had nothing to lose in the shelter anyway, and had been making a point to spend as much time at equinox as possible—and was still somehow naive enough at this point to actually believe that someone would actually just do such a thing—give someone a ride out of the kindness of their heart. But I paid for that ride, in unwanted touches, coughing, and the reminder that there was some demonic force which only ever wanted to hurt me, drive around in circles, and waste my time, just as my ex had— that just wanted to blow smoke in my face and remind me that I wasn't a beautiful woman, but just a woman—and that there were so many other to choose from that I should be so lucky just to have been offered a ride. It was this voice that had been torturing me lately, calling me a horrible mother, an ugly fat woman—unworthy of success. It was this voice that had been burgeoning me with reminders of what I had been before, almost enough to overlook what I had become—and though it was with some stroke of genius that I had done all that I had, it didn't seem to matter without the actual success or wealth, or any money at all to show for it—and so far, there wasn't any: I was literally down to my last dollar, once again— unmarked, albeit, with such a formidable respect to Jimmy Fallon and his family, besides the strangeness that had been surrounding the inspiration to suddenly begin to write from his essence characters I had never known or thought of, but had suddenly somehow been brought to life— I was too broke now even to get business cards, and though I had invested into a beautiful studio, the struggles with my interface altered me to the fact that all of my equipment was becoming rapidly obsolete, and that alone gave me a limited ability to create, let alone to make quality music which was good enough to compete with the likes of even the lower ranks at Insomniac , but especially far from a signature label, like Epic or Columbia, which I needed more than wanted—a record deal; my living room was still empty, and the only furniture was my studio equipment, which was at least a comfortable and beautifully well lit space, with a cheap full sized mattress on the floor—but it was everything in the world to be grateful for, to have an unshared space—which might have been perfect a couple floors higher up and without the distraction of either of my neighbors, both white women who seemed to act in demonic ways at random times, but especially in times were I wanted to relax, or be at peace—and though for at least a week or so they had been particularly calm, and I had been putting in overtime with heavy prayer work in order to protect myself and be rid of such a demonic energy, a force which seemed to intend to kill me and used other people as it's way to find me—there was still this voice, who had taken the voice of big o, who I hated for not only touching me, but wasting my time—I had missed equinox that day after a streak, arriving hours after he had picked me up in Manhattan, his attempts to lure me into some kind of party girl state failed; he dropped me off at 66th, Columbus circle, for my “gig”; I wasn't letting him know my true destination for any reason, and unstead bluffed that I had been hired as a musician to preform at this address, which happened to be, without my knowing, the Trump hotel, It was his voice that called me a liar and a thief, a horrible mother, a fat, ugly useless woman. It was his voice that told me to get a “real” job, that was useless in music at all—that I could not compete with the little girls which the music industry had pumped out on pure sexual appeal, rather than talent—girls like Tyla, who I knew were planted and selected with financial backing to be “successful”, not on hard work or determination, but by the looks of it, some kind of sick game—the body game, which the whole world had become, and I had lost long before I had become aware of it. Though beautiful in its way, my body was broken, hard, and tired— I drifted in and out of an altered consciousness, knowing my time had come to do or die, but unlikely to try my hand at anything that might become what the regular workforce always was—a hellscape of more reminders of my ex, of Sonny, the petite women suited for him— reminded of a Dillon , and his super white girlfriend—and the overriding factor that I was supposed to be focusing fully on music; and shouldn't be working some dead end job at all— Fuck this. I thought, placing the amethyst on my inter thigh. Fuck music. There was no way to let music go, but the possibility of actual success was dwindling—anything I loved became evil, and in the shattering of doing everything alone, I just wanted it to be over. Maybe if he didn't want to be a parent alone and be constantly reminded of me, He shouldn't have cheated But especially shouldn't have beat me He certainly had no right to take the rest of my life away just because I had walked out of his—he had ruined my baby to look and sound just like him; to act like him, and though I couldn't ever hate my boy I would never love his father again, or any man like him. Or maybe, any man at all. What is a man, but that, anyway? Destroyers of worlds, wasters of times Vengeful, pitiful, needy creatures— And though I thought also that woman might be worse… The worst of all things was that I had become neither at all, And therefore devoid of the ability to love or be loved, in the world which had become nothing but money, bodies, and material consumption. Suicide reared its head in a different way than usual—not with the burning sensation of absolute pain and destruction, but instead with a calm intent to not attach, to not conform, to not bond to anything, which might prove in itself be just another illusion: It was nice seeing Dillon. It was strange that in all of the horrible feelings that had come from waking back into the nightmare of my own existence—a nightmare which was at least now pretty, and sheltered properly, but still miserably alone—and I neither wanted nor needed friends, really. Who could you trust in such a material world, to have your best interests at hand! Who could you trust in man's world, if not man itself. His body was tall and strong, and felt safe— But nothing was safe about Dillon Francis, or his world. Nothing is safe in a man's world. Aristide o I am the god, if you want it The devil if you need it To be that Another Dillon Francis dream I had fallen asleep just to again dream of Dillon Francis—perhaps I knew I wouldn't be seeing him in waking life again, and took my chances, attacking him as he slept peacefully, or at least laid down. I knew he had a girlfriend and didn't care; I had my way with him anyway, though not going al the way—his penis was very tiny, which made the blowjob all the more enjoyable—he ejaculated quickly, and I was satisfied—at least his penis was small enough that it wouldn't have brought me too much pleasure anyway. I was pretty happy about it, but he felt bad and kind of freaked out. I pretended nothing happened and we stayed friends—I think we worked together or something so we were still around each other a lot—he made it a point to suppose his girlfriend with a $67,000 engagement ring, which for whatever made me jealous. It didn't matter kept my own secret, but he still seemed kind of mad or disappointed in himself. Then I got a new man—he wasn't my ideal, but at least I had somebody. I laid with him on the beach and for some reason Dillon's girl was there—she was so pretty. This version of his girlfriend was blonde—but of course still had blue eyes. Duh. She seemed to know that I had made Dillon cheat on her as I looked into her eyes, but it didn't matter anyway. The past was the past, I guess. My new man didn't seem to matter. He was like a faceless body and insignificant, but something went down and we were to run away to a cabin in the woods somewhere to hide. What a weird fucking dude. I wondered why he had begun again to appear in my dreams—and it wasn't as if I'd forgotten about, at all, but just hadn't been thinking about him, almost not at all, actually: I wondered what a $67,000 engagement ring would look like and figured that might be the actual case, so to just leave him or anything to do with him alone—especially doing something retarded like googling or looking him up, which would only hurt me. I was nice to have a penis in my mouth though—I missed penis a lot…felt bad for kind of mouth taping him but whatever. I had fun. I woke up in the morning with all the energy I had lost from staying up trying to push out my project by 4/20 or 4/23, hoping that constantly being reminded of my abuser would stop, but it seemed he wanted me dead and to suffer with the memory of him forever; I had missed my deadline, not out of laziness, but because of the unsurmounting amount of bullshit which seemed to come between me being able to actually do anything right in music, and I thought surely soon enough the EDM industry would find their own Tyla, hiring some black looking girl to make—or at least play dubstep, pretending to make it— realness didn't seem to matter to anyone at all anymore— And my passion for music became jaded as my body and mind were, in the money that it would take to become noticed. Sure, of course, I would still try but probably not as hard — the whites —or rather just—the heads of the entertainment industry as a whole, but especially music, seemed to have enough interest in me that maybe it did matter, but I would have to be groomed for their world, who they obviously didn't want penetrated by too much blackness—which was understandable; race aside, or at least the black culture was hard to stand in many aspects—though of course, rap, as any other genre, had become so horrible that I knew my music would excel— It was insane that the music industry had ruined music enough that even new music from my favorite artists began to sound robotic—and it must have been that the audiences were so brainwashed themselves that it didn't matter to the festival world—everyone just wanted to party to escape the clutches of capitalism and corporate slavery, which made sense. Of all the days to dream about Dillon stupid fucking Francis, it's the day of the eclipse, and I wondered whether I should even waste my time starting up at the sky like everyone else in the world would be, or if I was just better off hiding away, keeping safe from the disgusting, coughing, robotic demon people—- and just working on music, fighting this invisible monster who wanted nothing but my defeat— However—the more it pushed me to excel in anything besides music-my writing, which came naturally but second, as even that world had been washed with nepotism and unoriginality that had been hard to palette—it would be even harder to make it as a writer, as white woman always dominated white works, and I could bear to stand the thought of bowing to her. Racism is simply a game of control—to make the other party understand that they are in some or any way inferior to another, genetically, peofessionally, or otherwise. Not only had I come now to entirely fear the white woman, the face of white dominance and supremacy by proxy—that the world had come to worship as the most capable, attractive, and worthy of love and success, especially in dance culture, but just in the media in totality, anyway, and certainly in any workplace I had ever known, which drew me back to the story which my now-late 3-track EP, a teaser for my upcoming album— a story which told of the days I spent my time working at the Eureka Casino Resort, as part time deal person, and part time concierge-which was actually a hubrif position betwrrnbellhop and housekeeper, the job at which I had discovered my all time guilty pleasure, Bad Girls club, on a network oxygen— a tv channel which played lol sorts of reality shows, but of course—happened to be usually playing Bad girls club during my shifts, which made the shitty job a little less shitty, and maybe even worth it a little, to finish my work as quickly as possible, and hide away in one of the resort's rooms, clever enough to choose a ro still marked as dirty-/but was clean enough to enjoy an episode or two of what some might have called trash TV, but presented itself as high quality entertainment, for a 21 year old would-be housewife—or, yet-to-be. Or would have been, if the money had permitted, but of course, it never did— or, it never had— At least—not yet. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

The invisible man, in Manhattan The sunglasses matches her madness The cloud cover looks just like Texas The suns going down And it's getting colder As the winds blows… 03. JIMMY FALLON All ya'll are all worth bout a dollar; I am a cyclone, watch me holler I lived my whole life underwater I got a dollar; Jimmy Fallon All ya'll are only bout a dollar I work so hard, I guess for nothin I am not worried bout a dollar I got a dollar; Jimmy Fallon I guess I'll do it on my own (Jimmy Fallon, Jimmy Fallon) I had to do it all alone (Jimmy Fallon, Jimmy Fallon I made some soup, all out of stones (I don't know, You do not know) I am the only one I know (I'm Jimmy Fallon) I am not worried bout the sauce I am so famous, (I'm the boss) got a stalker I am so famous Can't go no where I got a dollar, Jimmy Fallon I'm at the office, Not my home No collab I work alone Opened a business, got a loan I got a hundred of them passwords I went frontwards —I went backwards. (Jimmy Fallon, Jimmy Fallon) Went to Manhattan, took a walk Went to the rock and dropped a rock Now put your money where your mouth is I got a thousand Jimmy Fallons (What's that) (I'm the host) What's that, what's that I work alone What's that what's that I dropped a rock into the rock What's that what's that I'm the host, I'm Jimmy Fallon. I'm Jimmy— KIMMEL!? AHAHAHAHAH KIMMEL GET BACK HERE! {Enter The Multiverse} Story/ music video Moderately famous household television Jimmy Fallon suddenly begins appearing everywhere—that is— on every possible TV screen imaginable— The Protagonist, in confusion, can't seem to escape, and also amusingly begins finding Pennies in very strange and seemingly random places— these Pennies then begin opening up portals, breaking the fourth wall and opening worlds to other dimensions— Have you seen this? Uhh, hmwhat is it? Mits m “Two dumb Jews”, starring Seth Rogen, and some other dude— Who's the other dude—? —some Jew, but it's got Adam Sandler in it. Oh, so three dumb Jews. So, no, then? I'd watch the shit out of that, though, tbh. Why's the synopsis? Uhh. [Two Jewish musicians struggling to make it in new York's congested underground music scene hit it off in comedy by complete accident, after being booked as a duo for a comedy club they mistook for a bar.] Heh. Okay, who does Adam Sandler play? “The Bookkeeper” What. Who the fuck is “the book keeper?” We'll see, I guess. No? Okay, what about “Two Broke hoes” It's like two broke girls, but actually funny. What, be nice . Okay. “Two Broke Ghosts” That's better— — And marketable. Are you pale, or just— No, I'm dead. I'm dead. X.X Be NICE. Now our musical guests, SWAGGARBOMB. What in the fuck kind of music is that It's called “Dorkstep” [the doorbell rings] Great, who the fuck is I got a train car of your body count I got way far out to far rock away/Rockaway, way out Stop to talk to me, or don't, Kill your culture You need some? I got u— Probiotics, yo The truth hurts Your shit stinks Must be a mirror over herer Cause that's me I'm your hero. Esha I think McGuiennes? Or McGregor, after Ewab, maybe ESHA MCGUINESS New York wants me to kill myself Maybe eventually New York is full of the devil The devil is money And everyone wants it The root of all evil, Is getting even The root of all evil Is people Beside myself, But besides that The ones hurting me, are soon to be where I am That's just karma The gangstalkers are soon to be stalked Coughed, and shot at The neighbors are soon to be eaten by their own demons When I don't clean them The root of all evil is evil, And that's all I see here White power wants me to kill my self The Caucasians get crazy when the race war is waging The elections are coming up And they see us coming up on consciousness They don't want us Just being honest They're hateful, They washed all the love out Thanks Karen But she don't care White firms just wanna have fun And they get to Meanwhile, me and I Eat shit( bro, And die Why's it nice to be white Even when you're wrong, you're right All you gotta do is lie, Open up your big blue eyes real wide and Decide what you want, Put us under your foot, And make us pay for it Thanks Karen Caucasians are terrorists I think it's McGuinness or however you spell it, cause half the names are like plays on Okay, I lie: You made a world where I have to Okay, I steal food You took everything that I'm after already Or your ancestors did Call the luxury apartment reparations But ain't got no privacy, and hells angels and the kkk Ride motorcycles every time I get my eye on the prize So what's the price for being indigenous, black, and a genius White supremacy finds sneakier ways to kill you (Or make you kill yourself.) The invisible man, in Manhattan The sunglasses matches her madness The cloud cover looks just like Texas The suns going down And it's getting colder As the winds blows… The cosmic avenger has a bright pink bird, and a purple frisbee —that was the most magical shit I ever saw! (I almost forgot about that) Mi was like, in middle school, but for some reason was held back a year and should have “at least been in high school”, but was only in 7th grade. At least now it wasn't like waking up into a sorrow, it wasn't heavy and drenched with some kind of loss, but instead as if I had gained some kind of magic little imaginary friend— and after all, I had done all that I could to put it as far from my mind as I could, without looking back… but something like love did keep creeping up with it, as if the universe wanted me to at least have this—a few good laughs, and the warmth in my heart that told me I could admire someone, without breaking beyond my own moral standards in that the hard stuff seemed at least for now that it was done. The dream was mostly informal and weird until the end part, and indeed it was the cosmic avenger who had woken me up with a song that had no words, only notes—at least, until I finally awoke with the rush of a full bladder, and in the concious world the words were simple and quite pure, though I was unsure I could pick out the notes—as it turns out, I could, and though I couldn't wrap my mind around the chords. I at least had the notes—I had been improving drastically at both guitar and piano, though my passion fur music hadn't truly returned—and I was still mostly out of the game, especially as a DJ, dissociating from my depression nd money troubles by writing, with hopes something would change, but as it turned out, almost nothing really moved me to do much more than besides what it seemed my body would want, or where my soul was almost comfortable at best, that is, almost. I wished I had a friend like that in real life, that I could justify the kind of nonsense that made me laugh and so happy in waking life, rather than just in my own mind, but— here I was, alone, or only with Oli, and upset that I was awake and may not be tired enough to force myself back to sleep. At least, for the next two weeks, I had Peacock, and I might have even somehow jumped over the hurdle that for some reason had forbade me from watching 30 Rock over, (which I wanted to for some reason), some almost 15 years ago. I had enjoyed thoroughly, with some intensely organic laughter, the movie Click just the night before, even writing some melodic piano inspired by the plot that might one day become something else, but for now, my Ableton was just as far away from my thoughts as anything else was, besides the other worlds I had created, simply with words and imagination, inspiration from what I would call ‘The Illuminati' ever so lovingly, but others might even just call God, or ‘The Business.' Really, there was no sense in separating the three, besides God itself being what I was sure some kind of divination for the artists that I had thought to be alike myself, in all the ways but one as of yet wealth. I struggled every day with my inability to dress well, maintain my hair and nails, and how to spend what little I had to benefit me most, however, the dream had procured at least one revelation; that I should budget for vinyl stickers, as I had once gained a cult following that way before—completely by accident, however, the first time—and though I hadn't yet the readiness to return to the public eye with my rants and raves, typically quite literally about rants and raves, I had collected another heap of tapes that I was yet to sort though, but might prove worthy of returning to the realm of Enter The Multiverse, eventually—still I had music to make that wasn't being made, over due bills piling up, and a divorce case that seemed to drag on forever, much longer than it should—and with that, I allowed myself to peer into the world that I hadn't, this time with the help of a little magic, and by a little, it meant a lot. I had wanted to spend my wedding anniversary anywhere besides my apartment, but I hadn't intended to be gone and lost all day in Manhattan while fasting, which ended up as a literal fucking nightmare, full of reminders of the disgusting and evil person my now estranged ex husband was, and it seemed as though there were cruel enough tricks being played on my psyche that it could have just as well ended on a harsh note, taking an uptown train to the face, after stopping to talk with a man who seemed friendly enough, but might have been Satan himself, as I had been drawn enough to his tattoo to make a remark on it, only to look closer and see that it was a Naruto tattoo, and though the man looked like Aliocha, that moment alone lead to an outburst out loud in which I nearly questioned my faith in God, or the existence in God at all— and yet there was, indeed a God, as just earlier in the day, though for the most part still nightmarish in all the ways spending a day you hated could be in public, surrounded by drones who seemed to mimick the Godlessness of such a person i wish i never would have known, and although perhaps the heavenly gesture was the day we had been married was the day i gave him any power he had, including his power to attempt to destroy me. It was still an irritant to say the least, that not only my train was out of service, and I only wanted to go one place, anyway (specifically to get sticker paper, on that day, for my project, actually) only to find that it was a difficult and confusing mess to find that station on any other train without going out of my way, which didn't matter. I was spat out somewhere downtown, actually, near One World Trade, which I had only ever visited once, and though I hated it—how capitalism had turned a literal graveyard into a tourist attraction, though I did like graveyards myself enough to have also happened by St. Paul's cemetery, to happily find that it was open rather than closed, but there was something else drawing me towards the center, perhaps a radio signal of some sort, which almost seemed to pull me closer and forward towards one world trade, and my inability to stay long within the droves of cellphones and robotic animal like people creatures, drew me up onto a staircase to discover a preforming arts center, although its name I hated, with constant reminders of meeting my untimely end in front of my two children with a bloody winding and blinding of my ex husbands fists, to which I dismissed anything and anyone who would support such an awful creature in anyway, though the name had become common enough that it happened often—often enough that I hated anything public, and had mostly felt safer in isolation. After circling one World Trade Center, counting the cameras to surmise that I had always been caught and captured to have been in those moments and actions, most probably stored somewhere in some place which held all of the world's recorded history, and I wondered exactly which era I might actually belong to—some sort of invinite vision, or a recollection of a person having already lived and recorded, a mere mirror of the person I was having already somehow been, which I already knew, and the person I was indeed had been sent on some kind of mission with divine purpose, though in this day, all that I really wanted was to not ever be reminded of what day it was, or who I had been before, or who I might be at all—and seeking asylum and escape from the center of it all, I crossed the walk and carried along the bike path, in the opposite direction, so that I had less humans around at all, out of sight, out of mind, with some restoration of comfort—then suddenly, I was drawn to a particularly lovely building, and myself an admirer of architecture, couldn't help but to go to it to collect the address, so that I could later research who had designed the building—along the way drawn to a sticker which read Rom Com Tom, that was so literally and figuratively reflective, I could not help but pick it up. The building seemed to be new, or even unoccupied, at least from street view, though its mirrored iridescent kept me from peering inside, I crept up the perimeter to see if there was a way around off the street level; there wasn't, but I did find something odd, and sort of interesting—a universal remote, or, rather, a remote control that could have been for anything, which I picked up, deciding that it had been some kind of writing prompt, after all, thinking ‘hm, that's odd, I was just thinking about Adam Sandler a lot recently' or more specifically, ‘thinking about that one movie where he has a remote that runs the world', and I had been, very recently, thinking of Adam Sandler enough that I had decided to slip the remote into my pocket, careful enough not to press any buttons, just in case some kind of higher ups were watching—a paranoia of sorts, but at the very least, I had counted almost a hundred cameras on my walk, and even If I wasn't being actually followed, (which I somehow sort of knew I was) I wouldn't want to be caught in the plot of somehow longing even more bizzare than I actually was, harem pants and all, to no suprise that the day had gone not at all as I had hoped, but at least I wasn't in my apartment sulkling. ESHA MCGUENNES (I thought I figured out how to spell that…. My left side's off I guess I got Stuck in the love of the art I was writing that part When the life of my love Fell over me A lover, huh. I'm so confused. I'm sorry bro, But if you're morbidly obese, But your feet are like a size 6– You are not BIG BONED. My doctor said I have a small frame, my feet are size 9, I went from a 10 to an 8.5-9 after losing 200 hundred pounds, I'm like “goddamn! Even my feet were fat! Fuck” But if you're fat like I was, and your feet are size 6, your feet might be like a size 4! You're a fat fucking pixie that fucked around and can't do little pixie shit now, cause you like pixie sticks —Too much! I'm just the rat in the dumpster I made this whole world up I swallowed the doctor I hearted the surgeon I locked up the dog catcher; I cauldron'd the Mormons I called it a sermon, but He called them all — Wait, who is Herman?! I don't know! Some black guy on that show I'm writing! what. I don't know. You're writing a show?! I'm on it! Ugh, I don't know. No fair, You really know how to make me cry When you give me those ocean eyes Those ocean eyes Good looking people In good looking places Doing good things; I just want to be Good today Good looking people Good looking people Bye, bye little bird, Think of the dreams we made Think of the drummer boy, Your lover boy, Then, the other boy There we go again, With the drums we played And the love we made It just won't make it Oh I Just Can't take it Can I come back yet? SHUT UP, GAYBRAHAM LINCOLN. I'm having breakfast at 10 am Thinking damn this depression is just setting in There's a chest on my elephant Chester drawer with hand carved elements Elephant ok my chest, Closets with hangers and button ups I haven't won't yet What FOR WHAT FOR. MY EYES. For the sake of the art, I heart ya. For perhaps if I love, That's how I lost ya. So I keep all my love close, The brothers have found the fountain How many dollars do tootsie pops cost For one Jimmy Fallon? return to the blacklist. Great. Now I'm Jimmy Fallon. Well what's fucked up! What happened! FUCK! I hate being Jimmy Fallon! Whose dick swings to the right like that?! Ow. FUCK. Fuck this guy. GODDAMMIT. -_- Let me in. Or I could just leave you out. No, don't do that. WHY. Ahh. Shhhhhh!!! What if someone sees me. Hmm, let's see. [rings neighbors doorbell, shuts door] No! The neighbor opens the door; now gifted with the ability to see demons, after merging with— Fast forward Oh no, when did that thing come into play? (When this happened) Liz lemon lives on the ground floor It don't matter cause she ain't never home l She's at the rock That's all the way up Good talk, Donaghey, Good, Good Talk Good people Good show Good good times It's good to be long gone from home Go to work at the plaza That ones Conan. Oh, Why?! Why not, though. (I swear to God all the late night dudes are like the same guy.) OH, you mean— Katt. What up Snoop. Ahh, Look what the pimp limped in. You think you're clever. You think you're at least 5 foot—but you're 4 foot 9 I'm STILL WINNING [CHARLIE SHEEN relapses on the dance floor.] Oh shit. Relapses to which habit? All of them! 10-4. CALL RUSSEL BRAND. Csnt. Why not. He's blacked out. What? Another relapse?! No, he just— passed out KABLAM. “The Cockney Thug” He's just like that now. God What is it. Can I have ham in my spam samwhiches. —you want ham in your spam sandwhich. Yes. Roasted cantaloupe with Put your notebook On my throat-Scrotum I like your poems So I wrote you this one Oh. That's. Welcome—to the' creepy shit fans have done for u's backlogs. “Backlogs” Well, I have millions of fans, It would take me years to look at all this. [the festival project] Woah. Woah. Ok. Yo. Have you seen this. What is it. I don't know. Hm. Look. Woah: Yeah, it's— Wow Ok. It just goes on like this— For how long— For like GOH GOH l GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO CUT TO: Latest — 1:04 WHAT? MEANWHILE ….IS THAT A JIMMY FALLON? LOOKS LIKE ONE. SHOOT THAT MOTHERFUCKER. ok , boss. I told you, He would play The Devil's Advocate, If need be [JIMMY FALLON is shot mercilessly in the shoulder in broad daylight.] YO. THEY SHOT ME. He'll be okay. He's Jimmy Fallon. [LIKE 90,000 Ambulances and a SWAT team roll up.] See. DEADMAU5 charges himself in a high speed chamber—a tech-driven coffin via a USB port in his neck. Lol. Ok. (PDA) Public Displays of Affliction I've never even see. A. Aston Martin Sometimes it's worth it, Getting lost in Manhattan I just saw the sign I wouldn't dare entering, anyhow Not in this outfit Not in this predicament (I just left the Whole Foods market) I got lost and god was happy Motor cars for music Force a figure ibto music Forgive Annie, Run a mile what's a california smile In New York What a garden Oh, what a garden Double back. For a second glance Oh, don't we all want second chances Now I've been an Aston Martin Motorists dot muses now u want her What a party I just saw the sign Now I've been an Aston Martin All by design Companion passing through KAWS I just bought a Ferrari I said, Where the roof is?! Where the roof is?! Blū electrico Roof finished in Nero Just a hit of magic A menacing, incredibly ambedextrous submissive One time I played God, I was hanging as the sun in Toronto In my third eye was a camera lense; My baby daddy, Lover and my best friend My husband My lover and My best friend My brother And my father Were my best friends Once upon a time I never had friends Now I remember sitting in the backseat, Has been I remember when I never had ribs I remember when I never had meat Nice to meet you I already had a coffee I remember sitting in the front seat Once upon a time I was anno one Once upon a dollar, Jimmy Fallon Once upon a dollar, Jimmy Fallon Once a bunch of Pennies, lady Gaga I'm a baby, haha Once upon a time, I was a no one A nobody Once upon a dollar, Jimmy Fallon I remember penny was a virgin I remember when you were the third one, l Once upon a time I was the first one Once upon a time, I thirst my quench with Coffee Body guard! I remember going on a long run I remember once there was a Knock on my door Now I quench my thirst with smart water With a hard on Never was a smart one Just an artist I was no one Once upon a dollar Jimmy Fallon Once upon a nothing, there was no one Now I take my coffee on a long ride No fun Once upon a dollar, Jimmy Fallon Amen I wish for every dollar I ever had, back Jimmy Fallon I wish it was 11:11, every Dillon Francis I wish for sandwhiches on leavened bread at Passover I wish this whole world would Passover, With the the stories in my home And in my notebook I wish for the fame and wealth with it, Jimmy Fallon I wish I never laughed at Dillon Francis I wish Skrillex was never a demon, I take it back I want the wealth And not the fame Just the freedom, Jimmy Fallon What do you mean by that? A dad, an actor An attack, The press is back and asking questions I can't handle that I can't. I just can't with that Abandon the matrix Go back to What's his name But I can't Cause I made him up Call my mother begging to drop the charges Called my God Just asking what the pocket watch does What's an engagement ring like that coat How much to rug the cameras up Inside my home So I don't know about em That shit's priceless Like the 9 Dollar's I've got Marked up, but not to spend them at the Market Jimmy Fallon I pray for your family But not as hard as I pray For my son Or God To take this fat off So I can look like Jennifer Aniston Cause that's God to em, 22 year old Adam Sandler At a brunch A talk show with my Least favorite host of all time Jimmy Fallon But I love to laugh, huh I just got back, God My house is a mess I want meth like AshGod If Method man was drinking up the water Would there be backwash It's a horrible, windfall This awesome art project My broken heart The coughing stalkers Whatever the fuck is going on in New York I love New York But not New Yorkers It hurts to be the worst person The first person to put reverse curses On shamans from the 3rd world And I'm living in the first world, But I just learned that Underneath the surface Is the fourth world That's some dichotomy Huh That's some diabolical plot The cosmic avenger is stuck in a dimension Of white pocket tenses And white bitches who get offended With this scripture But listen I just got up And I've been privy to Never sleeping again Norman Needs you, Mrs. Hotch But I was never Mrs. Roberts With all of the hearts and crosses , stars I give up on love Where's DimlonnFrancis at That's a man without a mask, That's a mannequin m. Just got up And I still want breakfast All I got is Stuff that's leavening A hand in my pocket Just for God to show me Nobody I want wants me Jimmy Fallon has a family That's a tragedy, that But I laughed so hard in the bathtub I still haven't come back from that I feel bad for em, actually All the husbands Cause I was the wife that sucks And he hated me so much I got punched in the— Doesn't matter Stuck in the telling it over and over Nobody loves me My new password is Fuckit I'm gone galloping horses, And hornets, I'm just a furniture Probably should have aborted me, mother Just like you wanted to But I'm still in the hospital On the honor roll Cause I had them all lined up The prophets of the “Impossible, could not be my God!” That's what they all said, But they dressed me up like Some sort of messiah, So I was, then It wasn't right, no That was malpractice But now I've got Camping in Malibu Crossed off my list forever Shit It's some dichotomy Just hold onto me I'm the rock, You're the kite now, Jimmy Fallon I was just better off dead, You know Better off stuck in my head, you know. I read your messages, every one of them Every one of the drugs in my bucket I threw up from the fan club Impossible, Could not have been at that clown JIMMY FALLON - THE COSMIC AVENGER JIMMY FALLON THE COSMIC AVENGER is levitating in a hyper-meditative state. UH – “hehe” …I beg your pardon. “Hehe” Um… Fuck. Or “haha” “haha” … Just admit it. … Admit it already! –haha. Admit WHAT. This gets Levels. Nobody thought Patrice O Neal was a woman! I thought Patrice O Neal Was a Woman. Ah, fuck, I'm nobody. “Nobody” Is that Bob Saget? I swiped right on this dude, just cause he looked exactly like Bob Saget. Omg. Bob Saget! Fuck, that's right. EXT. THE W HOTEL, BEVERLY HILLS, DAY/ EXT . PODSHARE WESTWOOD ROOFTOP, DAY OH MY GOD, GUYS, LOOK: IT'S BOB SAGET. No it's not! Oh My God! Yeah IT IS! Fuck, really?! Bob Saget?! BOB SAGET! YO GUYS, IT'S BOB SAGET. It was, in fact, Bob Saget. Bob Saget's dead, right? Oh yeah, bud. That's it guys! No more dead celebrities! I'm coming with you! NO MORE GHOSTS. Look, I have something to tell you. UGH. COME ON. This is a weird superpower. EXT. GRAVEYARD, QUEENS, NY. DAY … … … Having fun yet? Alright! I have a question! What? When do I get to– Get to what? You know. Luckily, I die long beore Jimmy Fallon, and as my time approached, I took all i could absorb from the world within, and without, almost as if any and all of my deathwish had been satiated with the gentle ease, the notion of knowing my imminent death would come long before what those surrounding me would consider my time, and therefore would not be made to lose anymore than I already had–but at least, I did have th strength in knowing, not only would i never grow so old as to see for show most of what I had done, but that I had done most of what I would have at all, and not much longer than my words would form into all that would come to be known as my full body of work, I would perish, even before–long before– those I had studied, admired, and known to love–if only through the fourth wall, at all. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

Track 01. OXYGEN Music VIdeo: The Leveling Up from Hotel Concierge to Superstar Sensation I'mma just like– Take one of those luggage carts and prolly dance with it, Like i used to. That shit is not gonna work. You were like It'll work. You were like mad fat, back then. SO. So it; luggage carts shouldn't spin like that; They don't just move like that. It's just centrifugal force. Watch. Alright, if you say so. Watch. Lol Runaway luggage cart. Fine. That's the video. All ya'll bitches gossiping I just can't do nothing right I should put some vocals in Channel surf from side to side I just got another job Concierge from 9-5 I just need some oxygen Channel surf side to side I get paid to go to work This shit hurts from 9-5 This shit hurts from 9-5 I just got another job— Concierge from 9-5 I get paid to go to work This shit hurt from Out of sight and out of mind; You are nothing but a problem I'm a prophet I'm a God Channel surf and then I prosper You just talk and gossip Photoshop and scrolling on your socials Mind my business, do my job, but On those eggshells I am walkin I get paid to go to work Paperwork from 9-5 I just need some oxygen -channel surf from 9-5 I been making profit Turning hours into dollars Went no drama I'm on oxygen While all you do is gossip You just clocked in— but my shift is fucking over Peace! All y'all bitches gossiping I m in another life Making money count it up Paperwork from 9-5 I just need some oxygen I just can't do nothin right I just need some oxygen Channel surf from side to side All ya'll bitches gossipin, I am not about that life! Now I'm doing vocals in the studio From 9-5 Package came from Amazon Guess I'm doing something right Now I'm in the studio, MTV from 9-5 Mind my business, do my job My shift done, but, You just clocked in K no non N—- Katt. What up Snoop . Ahh, Look what the pimp limped in. You think you're clever. You think you're at least 5 foot—but you're 4 foot 9 I'm STILL WINNING CHARLIE SHEEN relapses on the dance floor Oh shit. Relapses to which habit? All of them! 10-4 CALL RUSSEL BRAND. Csnt. Why not. He's blacked out. What? Another relapse?! No, he just— passed out KABLAM. “The Cockney Thug” He's just like that now. God What is it. Can I have ham in my spam samwhiches. —you want ham in your spam sandwhich. Yes. Roasted cantaloupe with Put your notebook On my throat-Scrotum I like your poems So I wrote you this one Oh. That's. Welcome—to the' creepy shit fans have done for u's backlogs. “Backlogs” Well, I have millions of fans, It would take me years to look at all this. [the festival project] Woah. Woah. Ok. Yo. Have you seen this. What is it. I don't know. Hm. Look. Woah: Yeah, it's— Wow Ok. It just goes on like this— For how long— For like GOH GOH GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO [Tales of a Superstar DJ] Six hours should have been enough sleep, but now I was feeling strange, almost as if I had woken up into a world where I didn't belong—not that I had ever felt I belonged anywhere before so much, but this world seemed strange and twisted, I woke up in a cold sweat, and although I had been struggling with a full bladder for sometime, at least semi- conscious enough to point my foot in the direction of the door, still dressed—or rather, almost dressed— well, dressed, by skinny girl standards, in shorts I wore as underwear, but smaller girls would wear for running, the only acceptable crop top I ever owned, a white top with black Chinese dragons, and athletic compression socks—best yet, I still had on my DJ hat, and things had been so outrageous lately that I always felt like I needed some kind of head covering, anyway—it was atrang how suddenly I noticed the difference with and without, but lately anyway had been sleeping strangely, usually dressed and atop the bed, rather than in it, or under the covers. I had been working tirelessly towards my albums, and had just finished an EP—well( the instrumentals; anyway, and had gone to bed in the early evening frustrated that suddenly, my microphone seemed not to be working—and though I often struggled with the interface, it had simply just stopped picking up audio, though I had been successful in at least doing the preliminary tracks, (before breaking to workout) after a mandatory rest and some obligatory indulgence—I always ate more than usual when producing heavily, or producing at all, at least music which was more complex, than just a simple beat or some kind of improvised work; If it was intentional at all that I should focus on music, I was always overeating—but, I had become quite small, running at least a mile a day for some time, and didn't nessesarily find the extra weight too bothersome… though I loved being skinny— and it became oddly difficult to sing and dance well when I was smaller, almost like I was living in a different body at that weight— like I was detached from myself and my voice, and also strangely, the ability to dance as fantastically as I wish I could ever do while recording myself or being recorded came with a couple extra pounds and some limited indulgence—very limited… —But, I did like being skinny. I awoke in a cold sweat, the lights still on—the dream hadn't altogether been a disaster or a nightmare, but strange enough to wake me, and vivid enough that I had become lucid, that talking to and looking at Dillon had made me realize I should wake up, especially given what he was saying and doing—in short, he was being a douchebag, which I nearly always expected of him, anyway, but somehow, within the dream, still felt close enough to him that I wasn't upset. Somehow, though, I had let him go entirely in the waking world, at all, actually—almost never even writing about him anymore, giving myself the time to grow and the space I needed to shake off whatever had been such a weird curse that had even lead me to think we could be an item; now, in the waking world, I was grounded in reality—I no longer fawned after celebrities really, although average men never piqued my interest or fancy at all—actually, no man in any way was quite piquing my interest indeed, and I had even stopped masturbating, after a particularly strong orgasm which had emerged from what seemed like a random vision of Sonny, not soon before that, maybe a week or so ago at best—and what had come thereafter had squashed any kind of sexuality I might have pondered or summoned up—the coughing people instantly returned after that orgasm, as if it were a direct attack on my soul to even think of him in such a way, which had however been by complete accident, in the final moments before release— and I realized it was probably some kind of magical protection, or hex from coughs, who might still, or in some girlish way be in love with him—Perhaps, even his own magical shield—and I could not anymore give my ex the power or ability to have maneuvered such a trick, that an orgasm would bring about such cruelties… as I realized that there were almost always present, as well as the coughing people, women who were petite and pretty—the kind actually suited for Sonny, would appear in my midsts, having anywhere to go, or anything to do—petite, blonde haired, blue eyed women—or just, white women in general, almost seemingly out of nowhere—And, to remain that I stay unchanged from my lack of violence towards the matter, I had left any man that wasn't mine entirely alone, even in my mind, but especially in my heart and soul. I had let everything and everyone go—which included Dillon Francis, who's apparent relationship, though no sign of such in the actual media, I had decided to overall respect; I always respected the woman or wife of a man, especially those that I admired—especially those who I was extremely attracted to, and especially those of whom I became bonded in some way, through my writing or otherwise, completely by accident and never intentional—and to that, I had moved into entire celibacy… though, it began to be a painful knot in the bottom of my back and at my spine, in my hips and even in my kneecaps, especially the weak one—after an outing full of coughing bodies and petite looking girls, I had thought it best to never even think of Sonny again, and had locked my obsidian protection stone out of my presence entirely—I wished not to know or think of a man who knew no bounds, and relinquished his spirit, if not for my own safety. It had been months since dreaming about Dillon Francis at all, and perhaps I was just sexually frustrated, however the dream in itself wasn't sexual in nature—just, informative. He was wearing a white t-shirt with a pretty brunette on it—with blue eyes, of course, and clad in a bikini—which I told him was the most beautiful woman in the world—he agreed, and strangely was able to zoom in the picture on his shirt, as if it were some kind of screen, focusing on her bosom and saying something along the lines of “yep, she's all mine—and no portal [to the underworld]!”, and though he hadn't said the part about the underworld, I figured and sort of agreed that his suggestion was, that my vagina had some kind of curse on it—which was probably true, anyway, and the reason I never even masturbated anymore. I responded by telling him that I was happy he had someone, that I was happy he was in love and that that's what I had wanted, but suddenly became filled with sadness—it seemed I still did have feelings somewhere for him after all, though I was dreaming, and he began to torment me with the words that made me decide that I had to wake up to escape the horrid feelings that came along with them. He said “you know when I first met you I really wanted you; I just wanted you.” And in the insinuating that there might have ever been some kind of chance between us, if I had only done something different, though— during my time being homeless everything had become out of control, it angered me that he suggested that I could have worked harder or tried harder and things might have been different—they weren't, and I decided that though it had been good to see him, and it would be hard to wake up, that I needed to wake up now, before I could cry inside my own dream, lighting an incense in the dream world, and making the wish to exit the dream; I immediately did, returning into my room, alit with blue, at around the time I had intended to wake up to presume making music, which now seemed futile—suddenly I didn't want to even try, realizing it had less to do with Dillon Francis than it did with the world in general. in fact, upon waking, I thought to myself that no matter the situation, it had been a relief to see Dillon, who I thought of as a kind stranger, an imaginary friend now, who had guided me through rough waters with laughter and the pleasure of music—who in my waking life had fallen back into the category of just another famous person, with no delusion of a romance between one another, no matter how much I had wanted it once. I had left it alone, out of respect to his own conscious, and out of respect to myself—who had fangirled enough that I had become damaged from it, deciding ultimately to just ‘leave the men alone', and wondered what kind of monster I might have been that I really only was ever interested anymore in someone if they were not only handsome, but talented, intelligent, and also somewhat famous. The auras of even the most beautiful common man, even the classy, well dressed and assuming well-to-do men of Manhattan just didn't shine the way the others did—and I could never see myself shine in a way that would make me like them—famous—though I had been working hard on my music, dangerously hard, actually—so much that I feared my ex's Jealousy and intent to kill had plagued and cursed now my machinery—I just couldn't at all get my microphone or to work and had forced myself to sleep—it had been over 24 hours that I had been awake with the focus to work anyway, and I needed to rest, but was mere hours away from the completion of another project, and suddenly, the ability to record vocals has just stopped. Now, upon waking, I clutched my chest, drenched in sweat realizing that I had fallen asleep with some stones tucked into my bra, which I never did anymore as the stones and crystals had been enchanted with intentions, and had become quite strong, each of them on their own, but particularly together in the way that some of them even clashed, and that I could not carry them all, or just didn't, out of caution—I assumed the one over my heart to be the Amethyst, which I very specifically never ever slept with or even clutched anymore—the stone was strange, and had began to vibrate in a way that I was unsure of, and so with that I alluded it to the probability that because its intention had always been set to be given as a gift to Dillon, no matter the stuatus of our actual relationship to one another, that it in some way had been bonded to his energy—and with respect to the presumption that he was taken, of course by some pretty, very skinny, perfectly capable white girl—perfectly capable of being functional in all the ways I was not, by circumstances of privelege and wealth, probably extremely well cared for and perfect in every way—I respected the dynamics of white world, in that it made more sense for him to always love someone like her, if not just her forever—if he truly had fallen in love and planned to make this woman his wife, which I had wanted alon learning that he was with someone—the notion which would have freed me from his grip, a still quite devastating attraction— And it was devastating, The loop which was so simple and certainly evident now, that it was an inevitable lust and infatuation that had drawn me to the conclusion that you just can't want a man like that. You have no business falling in love with a man like Sonny Moore, Dillon Francis—or anyone alike them, in that it would all be the same, tragic, eye opening experience of uselessness, disappointment, and the constant reminder that because of who they are, and because of who you are, you would never, ever be good enough for them—and even in a professional setting, had a long way to go up the ladder before a collaboration with Skrillex, Dillon Francis, or deadmau5 would make any kind of literal sense, but especially monetary, I was simply not rich enough yet for the music industry—and I was certainly not woman enough for any of them. It wasn't the amethyst at all, I realized upon returning from the restroom, that had been inside my brazier as I slept, but The Illuminati Stone, which had no incantation besides the explicit desire for wealth, knowledge, and skill within my given right to exist outside of the “underworld”, “the blackness” or the plague of poverty—the amethyst, with my other musical incantations had been left atop my drum machine, as they usually always were, next to my drum sticks and whatever mess I had abandoned in the studio before falling asleep, and though now I was quite awake, smudging with sage to break the feeling of helplessness and bitter sadness, slight sexual frustration which I had fallen asleep with, and of course now waken up with, quich had nothing to do with Dillon, thankfully—and at the very least I knew better than to think of him in anyway on purpose at all—or any man in anyway on purpose at all—as it was concluded I just simply could not be loved at all, and that if there were any curse at all placed on me, it was with that purpose—that I would never love or be loved again. I never slept with all my stones, but now I wanted to; I should have been working on music, but wasn't even moderately moved to do so—it was like I had lost the desire, and reminded me that perhaps my ex had become Dillon Francis after all, just to torture me, just as he had seemed to turn into Sonny before. Perhaps he would just turn into anyone I loved just to try to kill me kn the way that j could never be without him, no matter how much I wanted to, and would always have to suffer being reminded of him, his habits, and the horrible things he used to do to me; and for some reason, the scar on the inside of my lip, where my teeth had punctured entirely through from one side to the other, began to swell and throb, which almost never happened, but sometimes did, especially when k was upset or had flashbacks of the initial beating which had left me wounded in many more ways than i could ever count or imagine, but especially damaged—he had ruined my face that day, and suddenly I remembered it, the gash that had left it impossible to eat for sometimes, as even applesauce would sting, and stuck to the wound inside my mouth—and it was hard to imagine how I ever recovered from that.::or maybe I hadn't. Either way, there had been a strong, male voice lately which had been tormenting me with especially masculine, toxic and invasive thoughts, a voice which reminded me of a man who called himself Big O, who had once ruined my day by offering me a ride,'picking me up at a bus stop in front of the shelter—whom I assumed was doing so out of the kindness of his heart, of course, but was either some fed doing intel on the bizzare was surrounding my imminitely divine and extra terrestrial podcast series, or just some strange man attempting to illicit sexual favors in exchange for drugs, which I politely declined, however, he had spent my time, which was supposed to be a direct ride from queens into Manhattan, driving in circles, running errands, and asking questions about me, my past, and my own habits—all of which had been extinguished, and though I just wanted to go to the gym, he had kept driving in circles around queens, even stopping at what seemed like some kind of doctors office, his office, where he said he had some mushrooms “just lying around” and would give me for free—which I never believed anyway, but went along with it—as the bus almost never came when scheduled and on time and I had been at the stop nearly too long; and he had hovered in front of me long enough to realize that he was trying to get my attention. I had nothing to lose in the shelter anyway, and had been making a point to spend as much time at equinox as possible—and was still somehow naive enough at this point to actually believe that someone would actually just do such a thing—give someone a ride out of the kindness of their heart. But I paid for that ride, in unwanted touches, coughing, and the reminder that there was some demonic force which only ever wanted to hurt me, drive around in circles, and waste my time, just as my ex had— that just wanted to blow smoke in my face and remind me that I wasn't a beautiful woman, but just a woman—and that there were so many other to choose from that I should be so lucky just to have been offered a ride. It was this voice that had been torturing me lately, calling me a horrible mother, an ugly fat woman—unworthy of success. It was this voice that had been burgeoning me with reminders of what I had been before, almost enough to overlook what I had become—and though it was with some stroke of genius that I had done all that I had, it didn't seem to matter without the actual success or wealth, or any money at all to show for it—and so far, there wasn't any: I was literally down to my last dollar, once again— unmarked, albeit, with such a formidable respect to Jimmy Fallon and his family, besides the strangeness that had been surrounding the inspiration to suddenly begin to write from his essence characters I had never known or thought of, but had suddenly somehow been brought to life— I was too broke now even to get business cards, and though I had invested into a beautiful studio, the struggles with my interface altered me to the fact that all of my equipment was becoming rapidly obsolete, and that alone gave me a limited ability to create, let alone to make quality music which was good enough to compete with the likes of even the lower ranks at Insomniac , but especially far from a signature label, like Epic or Columbia, which I needed more than wanted—a record deal; my living room was still empty, and the only furniture was my studio equipment, which was at least a comfortable and beautifully well lit space, with a cheap full sized mattress on the floor—but it was everything in the world to be grateful for, to have an unshared space—which might have been perfect a couple floors higher up and without the distraction of either of my neighbors, both white women who seemed to act in demonic ways at random times, but especially in times were I wanted to relax, or be at peace—and though for at least a week or so they had been particularly calm, and I had been putting in overtime with heavy prayer work in order to protect myself and be rid of such a demonic energy, a force which seemed to intend to kill me and used other people as it's way to find me—there was still this voice, who had taken the voice of big o, who I hated for not only touching me, but wasting my time—I had missed equinox that day after a streak, arriving hours after he had picked me up in Manhattan, his attempts to lure me into some kind of party girl state failed; he dropped me off at 66th, Columbus circle, for my “gig”; I wasn't letting him know my true destination for any reason, and unstead bluffed that I had been hired as a musician to preform at this address, which happened to be, without my knowing, the Trump hotel, It was his voice that called me a liar and a thief, a horrible mother, a fat, ugly useless woman. It was his voice that told me to get a “real” job, that was useless in music at all—that I could not compete with the little girls which the music industry had pumped out on pure sexual appeal, rather than talent—girls like Tyla, who I knew were planted and selected with financial backing to be “successful”, not on hard work or determination, but by the looks of it, some kind of sick game—the body game, which the whole world had become, and I had lost long before I had become aware of it. Though beautiful in its way, my body was broken, hard, and tired— I drifted in and out of an altered consciousness, knowing my time had come to do or die, but unlikely to try my hand at anything that might become what the regular workforce always was—a hellscape of more reminders of my ex, of Sonny, the petite women suited for him— reminded of a Dillon , and his super white girlfriend—and the overriding factor that I was supposed to be focusing fully on music; and shouldn't be working some dead end job at all— Fuck this. I thought, placing the amethyst on my inter thigh. Fuck music. There was no way to let music go, but the possibility of actual success was dwindling—anything I loved became evil, and in the shattering of doing everything alone, I just wanted it to be over. Maybe if he didn't want to be a parent alone and be constantly reminded of me, He shouldn't have cheated But especially shouldn't have beat me He certainly had no right to take the rest of my life away just because I had walked out of his—he had ruined my baby to look and sound just like him; to act like him, and though I couldn't ever hate my boy I would never love his father again, or any man like him. Or maybe, any man at all. What is a man, but that, anyway? Destroyers of worlds, wasters of times Vengeful, pitiful, needy creatures— And though I thought also that woman might be worse… The worst of all things was that I had become neither at all, And therefore devoid of the ability to love or be loved, in the world which had become nothing but money, bodies, and material consumption. Suicide reared its head in a different way than usual—not with the burning sensation of absolute pain and destruction, but instead with a calm intent to not attach, to not conform, to not bond to anything, which might prove in itself be just another illusion: It was nice seeing Dillon. It was strange that in all of the horrible feelings that had come from waking back into the nightmare of my own existence—a nightmare which was at least now pretty, and sheltered properly, but still miserably alone—and I neither wanted nor needed friends, really. Who could you trust in such a material world, to have your best interests at hand! Who could you trust in man's world, if not man itself. His body was tall and strong, and felt safe— But nothing was safe about Dillon Francis, or his world. Nothing is safe in a man's world. Aristide o I am the god, if you want it The devil if you need it To be that Another Dillon Francis dream I had fallen asleep just to again dream of Dillon Francis—perhaps I knew I wouldn't be seeing him in waking life again, and took my chances, attacking him as he slept peacefully, or at least laid down. I knew he had a girlfriend and didn't care; I had my way with him anyway, though not going al the way—his penis was very tiny, which made the blowjob all the more enjoyable—he ejaculated quickly, and I was satisfied—at least his penis was small enough that it wouldn't have brought me too much pleasure anyway. I was pretty happy about it, but he felt bad and kind of freaked out. I pretended nothing happened and we stayed friends—I think we worked together or something so we were still around each other a lot—he made it a point to suppose his girlfriend with a $67,000 engagement ring, which for whatever made me jealous. It didn't matter kept my own secret, but he still seemed kind of mad or disappointed in himself. Then I got a new man—he wasn't my ideal, but at least I had somebody. I laid with him on the beach and for some reason Dillon's girl was there—she was so pretty. This version of his girlfriend was blonde—but of course still had blue eyes. Duh. She seemed to know that I had made Dillon cheat on her as I looked into her eyes, but it didn't matter anyway. The past was the past, I guess. My new man didn't seem to matter. He was like a faceless body and insignificant, but something went down and we were to run away to a cabin in the woods somewhere to hide. What a weird fucking dude. I wondered why he had begun again to appear in my dreams—and it wasn't as if I'd forgotten about, at all, but just hadn't been thinking about him, almost not at all, actually: I wondered what a $67,000 engagement ring would look like and figured that might be the actual case, so to just leave him or anything to do with him alone—especially doing something retarded like googling or looking him up, which would only hurt me. I was nice to have a penis in my mouth though—I missed penis a lot…felt bad for kind of mouth taping him but whatever. I had fun. I woke up in the morning with all the energy I had lost from staying up trying to push out my project by 4/20 or 4/23, hoping that constantly being reminded of my abuser would stop, but it seemed he wanted me dead and to suffer with the memory of him forever; I had missed my deadline, not out of laziness, but because of the unsurmounting amount of bullshit which seemed to come between me being able to actually do anything right in music, and I thought surely soon enough the EDM industry would find their own Tyla, hiring some black looking girl to make—or at least play dubstep, pretending to make it— realness didn't seem to matter to anyone at all anymore— And my passion for music became jaded as my body and mind were, in the money that it would take to become noticed. Sure, of course, I would still try but probably not as hard — the whites —or rather just—the heads of the entertainment industry as a whole, but especially music, seemed to have enough interest in me that maybe it did matter, but I would have to be groomed for their world, who they obviously didn't want penetrated by too much blackness—which was understandable; race aside, or at least the black culture was hard to stand in many aspects—though of course, rap, as any other genre, had become so horrible that I knew my music would excel— It was insane that the music industry had ruined music enough that even new music from my favorite artists began to sound robotic—and it must have been that the audiences were so brainwashed themselves that it didn't matter to the festival world—everyone just wanted to party to escape the clutches of capitalism and corporate slavery, which made sense. Of all the days to dream about Dillon stupid fucking Francis, it's the day of the eclipse, and I wondered whether I should even waste my time starting up at the sky like everyone else in the world would be, or if I was just better off hiding away, keeping safe from the disgusting, coughing, robotic demon people—- and just working on music, fighting this invisible monster who wanted nothing but my defeat— However—the more it pushed me to excel in anything besides music-my writing, which came naturally but second, as even that world had been washed with nepotism and unoriginality that had been hard to palette—it would be even harder to make it as a writer, as white woman always dominated white works, and I could bear to stand the thought of bowing to her. Racism is simply a game of control—to make the other party understand that they are in some or any way inferior to another, genetically, peofessionally, or otherwise. Not only had I come now to entirely fear the white woman, the face of white dominance and supremacy by proxy—that the world had come to worship as the most capable, attractive, and worthy of love and success, especially in dance culture, but just in the media in totality, anyway, and certainly in any workplace I had ever known, which drew me back to the story which my now-late 3-track EP, a teaser for my upcoming album— a story which told of the days I spent my time working at the Eureka Casino Resort, as part time deal person, and part time concierge-which was actually a hubrif position betwrrnbellhop and housekeeper, the job at which I had discovered my all time guilty pleasure, Bad Girls club, on a network oxygen— a tv channel which played lol sorts of reality shows, but of course—happened to be usually playing Bad girls club during my shifts, which made the shitty job a little less shitty, and maybe even worth it a little, to finish my work as quickly as possible, and hide away in one of the resort's rooms, clever enough to choose a ro still marked as dirty-/but was clean enough to enjoy an episode or two of what some might have called trash TV, but presented itself as high quality entertainment, for a 21 year old would-be housewife—or, yet-to-be. Or would have been, if the money had permitted, but of course, it never did— or, it never had— At least—not yet. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

Track 01. OXYGEN Music VIdeo: The Leveling Up from Hotel Concierge to Superstar Sensation I'mma just like– Take one of those luggage carts and prolly dance with it, Like i used to. That shit is not gonna work. You were like It'll work. You were like mad fat, back then. SO. So it; luggage carts shouldn't spin like that; They don't just move like that. It's just centrifugal force. Watch. Alright, if you say so. Watch. Lol Runaway luggage cart. Fine. That's the video. All ya'll bitches gossiping I just can't do nothing right I should put some vocals in Channel surf from side to side I just got another job Concierge from 9-5 I just need some oxygen Channel surf side to side I get paid to go to work This shit hurts from 9-5 This shit hurts from 9-5 I just got another job— Concierge from 9-5 I get paid to go to work This shit hurt from Out of sight and out of mind; You are nothing but a problem I'm a prophet I'm a God Channel surf and then I prosper You just talk and gossip Photoshop and scrolling on your socials Mind my business, do my job, but On those eggshells I am walkin I get paid to go to work Paperwork from 9-5 I just need some oxygen -channel surf from 9-5 I been making profit Turning hours into dollars Went no drama I'm on oxygen While all you do is gossip You just clocked in— but my shift is fucking over Peace! All y'all bitches gossiping I m in another life Making money count it up Paperwork from 9-5 I just need some oxygen I just can't do nothin right I just need some oxygen Channel surf from side to side All ya'll bitches gossipin, I am not about that life! Now I'm doing vocals in the studio From 9-5 Package came from Amazon Guess I'm doing something right Now I'm in the studio, MTV from 9-5 Mind my business, do my job My shift done, but, You just clocked in K no non N—- Katt. What up Snoop . Ahh, Look what the pimp limped in. You think you're clever. You think you're at least 5 foot—but you're 4 foot 9 I'm STILL WINNING CHARLIE SHEEN relapses on the dance floor Oh shit. Relapses to which habit? All of them! 10-4 CALL RUSSEL BRAND. Csnt. Why not. He's blacked out. What? Another relapse?! No, he just— passed out KABLAM. “The Cockney Thug” He's just like that now. God What is it. Can I have ham in my spam samwhiches. —you want ham in your spam sandwhich. Yes. Roasted cantaloupe with Put your notebook On my throat-Scrotum I like your poems So I wrote you this one Oh. That's. Welcome—to the' creepy shit fans have done for u's backlogs. “Backlogs” Well, I have millions of fans, It would take me years to look at all this. [the festival project] Woah. Woah. Ok. Yo. Have you seen this. What is it. I don't know. Hm. Look. Woah: Yeah, it's— Wow Ok. It just goes on like this— For how long— For like GOH GOH GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO [Tales of a Superstar DJ] Six hours should have been enough sleep, but now I was feeling strange, almost as if I had woken up into a world where I didn't belong—not that I had ever felt I belonged anywhere before so much, but this world seemed strange and twisted, I woke up in a cold sweat, and although I had been struggling with a full bladder for sometime, at least semi- conscious enough to point my foot in the direction of the door, still dressed—or rather, almost dressed— well, dressed, by skinny girl standards, in shorts I wore as underwear, but smaller girls would wear for running, the only acceptable crop top I ever owned, a white top with black Chinese dragons, and athletic compression socks—best yet, I still had on my DJ hat, and things had been so outrageous lately that I always felt like I needed some kind of head covering, anyway—it was atrang how suddenly I noticed the difference with and without, but lately anyway had been sleeping strangely, usually dressed and atop the bed, rather than in it, or under the covers. I had been working tirelessly towards my albums, and had just finished an EP—well( the instrumentals; anyway, and had gone to bed in the early evening frustrated that suddenly, my microphone seemed not to be working—and though I often struggled with the interface, it had simply just stopped picking up audio, though I had been successful in at least doing the preliminary tracks, (before breaking to workout) after a mandatory rest and some obligatory indulgence—I always ate more than usual when producing heavily, or producing at all, at least music which was more complex, than just a simple beat or some kind of improvised work; If it was intentional at all that I should focus on music, I was always overeating—but, I had become quite small, running at least a mile a day for some time, and didn't nessesarily find the extra weight too bothersome… though I loved being skinny— and it became oddly difficult to sing and dance well when I was smaller, almost like I was living in a different body at that weight— like I was detached from myself and my voice, and also strangely, the ability to dance as fantastically as I wish I could ever do while recording myself or being recorded came with a couple extra pounds and some limited indulgence—very limited… —But, I did like being skinny. I awoke in a cold sweat, the lights still on—the dream hadn't altogether been a disaster or a nightmare, but strange enough to wake me, and vivid enough that I had become lucid, that talking to and looking at Dillon had made me realize I should wake up, especially given what he was saying and doing—in short, he was being a douchebag, which I nearly always expected of him, anyway, but somehow, within the dream, still felt close enough to him that I wasn't upset. Somehow, though, I had let him go entirely in the waking world, at all, actually—almost never even writing about him anymore, giving myself the time to grow and the space I needed to shake off whatever had been such a weird curse that had even lead me to think we could be an item; now, in the waking world, I was grounded in reality—I no longer fawned after celebrities really, although average men never piqued my interest or fancy at all—actually, no man in any way was quite piquing my interest indeed, and I had even stopped masturbating, after a particularly strong orgasm which had emerged from what seemed like a random vision of Sonny, not soon before that, maybe a week or so ago at best—and what had come thereafter had squashed any kind of sexuality I might have pondered or summoned up—the coughing people instantly returned after that orgasm, as if it were a direct attack on my soul to even think of him in such a way, which had however been by complete accident, in the final moments before release— and I realized it was probably some kind of magical protection, or hex from coughs, who might still, or in some girlish way be in love with him—Perhaps, even his own magical shield—and I could not anymore give my ex the power or ability to have maneuvered such a trick, that an orgasm would bring about such cruelties… as I realized that there were almost always present, as well as the coughing people, women who were petite and pretty—the kind actually suited for Sonny, would appear in my midsts, having anywhere to go, or anything to do—petite, blonde haired, blue eyed women—or just, white women in general, almost seemingly out of nowhere—And, to remain that I stay unchanged from my lack of violence towards the matter, I had left any man that wasn't mine entirely alone, even in my mind, but especially in my heart and soul. I had let everything and everyone go—which included Dillon Francis, who's apparent relationship, though no sign of such in the actual media, I had decided to overall respect; I always respected the woman or wife of a man, especially those that I admired—especially those who I was extremely attracted to, and especially those of whom I became bonded in some way, through my writing or otherwise, completely by accident and never intentional—and to that, I had moved into entire celibacy… though, it began to be a painful knot in the bottom of my back and at my spine, in my hips and even in my kneecaps, especially the weak one—after an outing full of coughing bodies and petite looking girls, I had thought it best to never even think of Sonny again, and had locked my obsidian protection stone out of my presence entirely—I wished not to know or think of a man who knew no bounds, and relinquished his spirit, if not for my own safety. It had been months since dreaming about Dillon Francis at all, and perhaps I was just sexually frustrated, however the dream in itself wasn't sexual in nature—just, informative. He was wearing a white t-shirt with a pretty brunette on it—with blue eyes, of course, and clad in a bikini—which I told him was the most beautiful woman in the world—he agreed, and strangely was able to zoom in the picture on his shirt, as if it were some kind of screen, focusing on her bosom and saying something along the lines of “yep, she's all mine—and no portal [to the underworld]!”, and though he hadn't said the part about the underworld, I figured and sort of agreed that his suggestion was, that my vagina had some kind of curse on it—which was probably true, anyway, and the reason I never even masturbated anymore. I responded by telling him that I was happy he had someone, that I was happy he was in love and that that's what I had wanted, but suddenly became filled with sadness—it seemed I still did have feelings somewhere for him after all, though I was dreaming, and he began to torment me with the words that made me decide that I had to wake up to escape the horrid feelings that came along with them. He said “you know when I first met you I really wanted you; I just wanted you.” And in the insinuating that there might have ever been some kind of chance between us, if I had only done something different, though— during my time being homeless everything had become out of control, it angered me that he suggested that I could have worked harder or tried harder and things might have been different—they weren't, and I decided that though it had been good to see him, and it would be hard to wake up, that I needed to wake up now, before I could cry inside my own dream, lighting an incense in the dream world, and making the wish to exit the dream; I immediately did, returning into my room, alit with blue, at around the time I had intended to wake up to presume making music, which now seemed futile—suddenly I didn't want to even try, realizing it had less to do with Dillon Francis than it did with the world in general. in fact, upon waking, I thought to myself that no matter the situation, it had been a relief to see Dillon, who I thought of as a kind stranger, an imaginary friend now, who had guided me through rough waters with laughter and the pleasure of music—who in my waking life had fallen back into the category of just another famous person, with no delusion of a romance between one another, no matter how much I had wanted it once. I had left it alone, out of respect to his own conscious, and out of respect to myself—who had fangirled enough that I had become damaged from it, deciding ultimately to just ‘leave the men alone', and wondered what kind of monster I might have been that I really only was ever interested anymore in someone if they were not only handsome, but talented, intelligent, and also somewhat famous. The auras of even the most beautiful common man, even the classy, well dressed and assuming well-to-do men of Manhattan just didn't shine the way the others did—and I could never see myself shine in a way that would make me like them—famous—though I had been working hard on my music, dangerously hard, actually—so much that I feared my ex's Jealousy and intent to kill had plagued and cursed now my machinery—I just couldn't at all get my microphone or to work and had forced myself to sleep—it had been over 24 hours that I had been awake with the focus to work anyway, and I needed to rest, but was mere hours away from the completion of another project, and suddenly, the ability to record vocals has just stopped. Now, upon waking, I clutched my chest, drenched in sweat realizing that I had fallen asleep with some stones tucked into my bra, which I never did anymore as the stones and crystals had been enchanted with intentions, and had become quite strong, each of them on their own, but particularly together in the way that some of them even clashed, and that I could not carry them all, or just didn't, out of caution—I assumed the one over my heart to be the Amethyst, which I very specifically never ever slept with or even clutched anymore—the stone was strange, and had began to vibrate in a way that I was unsure of, and so with that I alluded it to the probability that because its intention had always been set to be given as a gift to Dillon, no matter the stuatus of our actual relationship to one another, that it in some way had been bonded to his energy—and with respect to the presumption that he was taken, of course by some pretty, very skinny, perfectly capable white girl—perfectly capable of being functional in all the ways I was not, by circumstances of privelege and wealth, probably extremely well cared for and perfect in every way—I respected the dynamics of white world, in that it made more sense for him to always love someone like her, if not just her forever—if he truly had fallen in love and planned to make this woman his wife, which I had wanted alon learning that he was with someone—the notion which would have freed me from his grip, a still quite devastating attraction— And it was devastating, The loop which was so simple and certainly evident now, that it was an inevitable lust and infatuation that had drawn me to the conclusion that you just can't want a man like that. You have no business falling in love with a man like Sonny Moore, Dillon Francis—or anyone alike them, in that it would all be the same, tragic, eye opening experience of uselessness, disappointment, and the constant reminder that because of who they are, and because of who you are, you would never, ever be good enough for them—and even in a professional setting, had a long way to go up the ladder before a collaboration with Skrillex, Dillon Francis, or deadmau5 would make any kind of literal sense, but especially monetary, I was simply not rich enough yet for the music industry—and I was certainly not woman enough for any of them. It wasn't the amethyst at all, I realized upon returning from the restroom, that had been inside my brazier as I slept, but The Illuminati Stone, which had no incantation besides the explicit desire for wealth, knowledge, and skill within my given right to exist outside of the “underworld”, “the blackness” or the plague of poverty—the amethyst, with my other musical incantations had been left atop my drum machine, as they usually always were, next to my drum sticks and whatever mess I had abandoned in the studio before falling asleep, and though now I was quite awake, smudging with sage to break the feeling of helplessness and bitter sadness, slight sexual frustration which I had fallen asleep with, and of course now waken up with, quich had nothing to do with Dillon, thankfully—and at the very least I knew better than to think of him in anyway on purpose at all—or any man in anyway on purpose at all—as it was concluded I just simply could not be loved at all, and that if there were any curse at all placed on me, it was with that purpose—that I would never love or be loved again. I never slept with all my stones, but now I wanted to; I should have been working on music, but wasn't even moderately moved to do so—it was like I had lost the desire, and reminded me that perhaps my ex had become Dillon Francis after all, just to torture me, just as he had seemed to turn into Sonny before. Perhaps he would just turn into anyone I loved just to try to kill me kn the way that j could never be without him, no matter how much I wanted to, and would always have to suffer being reminded of him, his habits, and the horrible things he used to do to me; and for some reason, the scar on the inside of my lip, where my teeth had punctured entirely through from one side to the other, began to swell and throb, which almost never happened, but sometimes did, especially when k was upset or had flashbacks of the initial beating which had left me wounded in many more ways than i could ever count or imagine, but especially damaged—he had ruined my face that day, and suddenly I remembered it, the gash that had left it impossible to eat for sometimes, as even applesauce would sting, and stuck to the wound inside my mouth—and it was hard to imagine how I ever recovered from that.::or maybe I hadn't. Either way, there had been a strong, male voice lately which had been tormenting me with especially masculine, toxic and invasive thoughts, a voice which reminded me of a man who called himself Big O, who had once ruined my day by offering me a ride,'picking me up at a bus stop in front of the shelter—whom I assumed was doing so out of the kindness of his heart, of course, but was either some fed doing intel on the bizzare was surrounding my imminitely divine and extra terrestrial podcast series, or just some strange man attempting to illicit sexual favors in exchange for drugs, which I politely declined, however, he had spent my time, which was supposed to be a direct ride from queens into Manhattan, driving in circles, running errands, and asking questions about me, my past, and my own habits—all of which had been extinguished, and though I just wanted to go to the gym, he had kept driving in circles around queens, even stopping at what seemed like some kind of doctors office, his office, where he said he had some mushrooms “just lying around” and would give me for free—which I never believed anyway, but went along with it—as the bus almost never came when scheduled and on time and I had been at the stop nearly too long; and he had hovered in front of me long enough to realize that he was trying to get my attention. I had nothing to lose in the shelter anyway, and had been making a point to spend as much time at equinox as possible—and was still somehow naive enough at this point to actually believe that someone would actually just do such a thing—give someone a ride out of the kindness of their heart. But I paid for that ride, in unwanted touches, coughing, and the reminder that there was some demonic force which only ever wanted to hurt me, drive around in circles, and waste my time, just as my ex had— that just wanted to blow smoke in my face and remind me that I wasn't a beautiful woman, but just a woman—and that there were so many other to choose from that I should be so lucky just to have been offered a ride. It was this voice that had been torturing me lately, calling me a horrible mother, an ugly fat woman—unworthy of success. It was this voice that had been burgeoning me with reminders of what I had been before, almost enough to overlook what I had become—and though it was with some stroke of genius that I had done all that I had, it didn't seem to matter without the actual success or wealth, or any money at all to show for it—and so far, there wasn't any: I was literally down to my last dollar, once again— unmarked, albeit, with such a formidable respect to Jimmy Fallon and his family, besides the strangeness that had been surrounding the inspiration to suddenly begin to write from his essence characters I had never known or thought of, but had suddenly somehow been brought to life— I was too broke now even to get business cards, and though I had invested into a beautiful studio, the struggles with my interface altered me to the fact that all of my equipment was becoming rapidly obsolete, and that alone gave me a limited ability to create, let alone to make quality music which was good enough to compete with the likes of even the lower ranks at Insomniac , but especially far from a signature label, like Epic or Columbia, which I needed more than wanted—a record deal; my living room was still empty, and the only furniture was my studio equipment, which was at least a comfortable and beautifully well lit space, with a cheap full sized mattress on the floor—but it was everything in the world to be grateful for, to have an unshared space—which might have been perfect a couple floors higher up and without the distraction of either of my neighbors, both white women who seemed to act in demonic ways at random times, but especially in times were I wanted to relax, or be at peace—and though for at least a week or so they had been particularly calm, and I had been putting in overtime with heavy prayer work in order to protect myself and be rid of such a demonic energy, a force which seemed to intend to kill me and used other people as it's way to find me—there was still this voice, who had taken the voice of big o, who I hated for not only touching me, but wasting my time—I had missed equinox that day after a streak, arriving hours after he had picked me up in Manhattan, his attempts to lure me into some kind of party girl state failed; he dropped me off at 66th, Columbus circle, for my “gig”; I wasn't letting him know my true destination for any reason, and unstead bluffed that I had been hired as a musician to preform at this address, which happened to be, without my knowing, the Trump hotel, It was his voice that called me a liar and a thief, a horrible mother, a fat, ugly useless woman. It was his voice that told me to get a “real” job, that was useless in music at all—that I could not compete with the little girls which the music industry had pumped out on pure sexual appeal, rather than talent—girls like Tyla, who I knew were planted and selected with financial backing to be “successful”, not on hard work or determination, but by the looks of it, some kind of sick game—the body game, which the whole world had become, and I had lost long before I had become aware of it. Though beautiful in its way, my body was broken, hard, and tired— I drifted in and out of an altered consciousness, knowing my time had come to do or die, but unlikely to try my hand at anything that might become what the regular workforce always was—a hellscape of more reminders of my ex, of Sonny, the petite women suited for him— reminded of a Dillon , and his super white girlfriend—and the overriding factor that I was supposed to be focusing fully on music; and shouldn't be working some dead end job at all— Fuck this. I thought, placing the amethyst on my inter thigh. Fuck music. There was no way to let music go, but the possibility of actual success was dwindling—anything I loved became evil, and in the shattering of doing everything alone, I just wanted it to be over. Maybe if he didn't want to be a parent alone and be constantly reminded of me, He shouldn't have cheated But especially shouldn't have beat me He certainly had no right to take the rest of my life away just because I had walked out of his—he had ruined my baby to look and sound just like him; to act like him, and though I couldn't ever hate my boy I would never love his father again, or any man like him. Or maybe, any man at all. What is a man, but that, anyway? Destroyers of worlds, wasters of times Vengeful, pitiful, needy creatures— And though I thought also that woman might be worse… The worst of all things was that I had become neither at all, And therefore devoid of the ability to love or be loved, in the world which had become nothing but money, bodies, and material consumption. Suicide reared its head in a different way than usual—not with the burning sensation of absolute pain and destruction, but instead with a calm intent to not attach, to not conform, to not bond to anything, which might prove in itself be just another illusion: It was nice seeing Dillon. It was strange that in all of the horrible feelings that had come from waking back into the nightmare of my own existence—a nightmare which was at least now pretty, and sheltered properly, but still miserably alone—and I neither wanted nor needed friends, really. Who could you trust in such a material world, to have your best interests at hand! Who could you trust in man's world, if not man itself. His body was tall and strong, and felt safe— But nothing was safe about Dillon Francis, or his world. Nothing is safe in a man's world. Aristide o I am the god, if you want it The devil if you need it To be that Another Dillon Francis dream I had fallen asleep just to again dream of Dillon Francis—perhaps I knew I wouldn't be seeing him in waking life again, and took my chances, attacking him as he slept peacefully, or at least laid down. I knew he had a girlfriend and didn't care; I had my way with him anyway, though not going al the way—his penis was very tiny, which made the blowjob all the more enjoyable—he ejaculated quickly, and I was satisfied—at least his penis was small enough that it wouldn't have brought me too much pleasure anyway. I was pretty happy about it, but he felt bad and kind of freaked out. I pretended nothing happened and we stayed friends—I think we worked together or something so we were still around each other a lot—he made it a point to suppose his girlfriend with a $67,000 engagement ring, which for whatever made me jealous. It didn't matter kept my own secret, but he still seemed kind of mad or disappointed in himself. Then I got a new man—he wasn't my ideal, but at least I had somebody. I laid with him on the beach and for some reason Dillon's girl was there—she was so pretty. This version of his girlfriend was blonde—but of course still had blue eyes. Duh. She seemed to know that I had made Dillon cheat on her as I looked into her eyes, but it didn't matter anyway. The past was the past, I guess. My new man didn't seem to matter. He was like a faceless body and insignificant, but something went down and we were to run away to a cabin in the woods somewhere to hide. What a weird fucking dude. I wondered why he had begun again to appear in my dreams—and it wasn't as if I'd forgotten about, at all, but just hadn't been thinking about him, almost not at all, actually: I wondered what a $67,000 engagement ring would look like and figured that might be the actual case, so to just leave him or anything to do with him alone—especially doing something retarded like googling or looking him up, which would only hurt me. I was nice to have a penis in my mouth though—I missed penis a lot…felt bad for kind of mouth taping him but whatever. I had fun. I woke up in the morning with all the energy I had lost from staying up trying to push out my project by 4/20 or 4/23, hoping that constantly being reminded of my abuser would stop, but it seemed he wanted me dead and to suffer with the memory of him forever; I had missed my deadline, not out of laziness, but because of the unsurmounting amount of bullshit which seemed to come between me being able to actually do anything right in music, and I thought surely soon enough the EDM industry would find their own Tyla, hiring some black looking girl to make—or at least play dubstep, pretending to make it— realness didn't seem to matter to anyone at all anymore— And my passion for music became jaded as my body and mind were, in the money that it would take to become noticed. Sure, of course, I would still try but probably not as hard — the whites —or rather just—the heads of the entertainment industry as a whole, but especially music, seemed to have enough interest in me that maybe it did matter, but I would have to be groomed for their world, who they obviously didn't want penetrated by too much blackness—which was understandable; race aside, or at least the black culture was hard to stand in many aspects—though of course, rap, as any other genre, had become so horrible that I knew my music would excel— It was insane that the music industry had ruined music enough that even new music from my favorite artists began to sound robotic—and it must have been that the audiences were so brainwashed themselves that it didn't matter to the festival world—everyone just wanted to party to escape the clutches of capitalism and corporate slavery, which made sense. Of all the days to dream about Dillon stupid fucking Francis, it's the day of the eclipse, and I wondered whether I should even waste my time starting up at the sky like everyone else in the world would be, or if I was just better off hiding away, keeping safe from the disgusting, coughing, robotic demon people—- and just working on music, fighting this invisible monster who wanted nothing but my defeat— However—the more it pushed me to excel in anything besides music-my writing, which came naturally but second, as even that world had been washed with nepotism and unoriginality that had been hard to palette—it would be even harder to make it as a writer, as white woman always dominated white works, and I could bear to stand the thought of bowing to her. Racism is simply a game of control—to make the other party understand that they are in some or any way inferior to another, genetically, peofessionally, or otherwise. Not only had I come now to entirely fear the white woman, the face of white dominance and supremacy by proxy—that the world had come to worship as the most capable, attractive, and worthy of love and success, especially in dance culture, but just in the media in totality, anyway, and certainly in any workplace I had ever known, which drew me back to the story which my now-late 3-track EP, a teaser for my upcoming album— a story which told of the days I spent my time working at the Eureka Casino Resort, as part time deal person, and part time concierge-which was actually a hubrif position betwrrnbellhop and housekeeper, the job at which I had discovered my all time guilty pleasure, Bad Girls club, on a network oxygen— a tv channel which played lol sorts of reality shows, but of course—happened to be usually playing Bad girls club during my shifts, which made the shitty job a little less shitty, and maybe even worth it a little, to finish my work as quickly as possible, and hide away in one of the resort's rooms, clever enough to choose a ro still marked as dirty-/but was clean enough to enjoy an episode or two of what some might have called trash TV, but presented itself as high quality entertainment, for a 21 year old would-be housewife—or, yet-to-be. Or would have been, if the money had permitted, but of course, it never did— or, it never had— At least—not yet. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

The invisible man, in Manhattan The sunglasses matches her madness The cloud cover looks just like Texas The suns going down And it's getting colder As the winds blows… 03. JIMMY FALLON All ya'll are all worth bout a dollar; I am a cyclone, watch me holler I lived my whole life underwater I got a dollar; Jimmy Fallon All ya'll are only bout a dollar I work so hard, I guess for nothin I am not worried bout a dollar I got a dollar; Jimmy Fallon I guess I'll do it on my own (Jimmy Fallon, Jimmy Fallon) I had to do it all alone (Jimmy Fallon, Jimmy Fallon I made some soup, all out of stones (I don't know, You do not know) I am the only one I know (I'm Jimmy Fallon) I am not worried bout the sauce I am so famous, (I'm the boss) got a stalker I am so famous Can't go no where I got a dollar, Jimmy Fallon I'm at the office, Not my home No collab I work alone Opened a business, got a loan I got a hundred of them passwords I went frontwards —I went backwards. (Jimmy Fallon, Jimmy Fallon) Went to Manhattan, took a walk Went to the rock and dropped a rock Now put your money where your mouth is I got a thousand Jimmy Fallons (What's that) (I'm the host) What's that, what's that I work alone What's that what's that I dropped a rock into the rock What's that what's that I'm the host, I'm Jimmy Fallon. I'm Jimmy— KIMMEL!? AHAHAHAHAH KIMMEL GET BACK HERE! {Enter The Multiverse} Story/ music video Moderately famous household television Jimmy Fallon suddenly begins appearing everywhere—that is— on every possible TV screen imaginable— The Protagonist, in confusion, can't seem to escape, and also amusingly begins finding Pennies in very strange and seemingly random places— these Pennies then begin opening up portals, breaking the fourth wall and opening worlds to other dimensions— Have you seen this? Uhh, hmwhat is it? Mits m “Two dumb Jews”, starring Seth Rogen, and some other dude— Who's the other dude—? —some Jew, but it's got Adam Sandler in it. Oh, so three dumb Jews. So, no, then? I'd watch the shit out of that, though, tbh. Why's the synopsis? Uhh. [Two Jewish musicians struggling to make it in new York's congested underground music scene hit it off in comedy by complete accident, after being booked as a duo for a comedy club they mistook for a bar.] Heh. Okay, who does Adam Sandler play? “The Bookkeeper” What. Who the fuck is “the book keeper?” We'll see, I guess. No? Okay, what about “Two Broke hoes” It's like two broke girls, but actually funny. What, be nice . Okay. “Two Broke Ghosts” That's better— — And marketable. Are you pale, or just— No, I'm dead. I'm dead. X.X Be NICE. Now our musical guests, SWAGGARBOMB. What in the fuck kind of music is that It's called “Dorkstep” [the doorbell rings] Great, who the fuck is I got a train car of your body count I got way far out to far rock away/Rockaway, way out Stop to talk to me, or don't, Kill your culture You need some? I got u— Probiotics, yo The truth hurts Your shit stinks Must be a mirror over herer Cause that's me I'm your hero. Esha I think McGuiennes? Or McGregor, after Ewab, maybe ESHA MCGUINESS New York wants me to kill myself Maybe eventually New York is full of the devil The devil is money And everyone wants it The root of all evil, Is getting even The root of all evil Is people Beside myself, But besides that The ones hurting me, are soon to be where I am That's just karma The gangstalkers are soon to be stalked Coughed, and shot at The neighbors are soon to be eaten by their own demons When I don't clean them The root of all evil is evil, And that's all I see here White power wants me to kill my self The Caucasians get crazy when the race war is waging The elections are coming up And they see us coming up on consciousness They don't want us Just being honest They're hateful, They washed all the love out Thanks Karen But she don't care White firms just wanna have fun And they get to Meanwhile, me and I Eat shit( bro, And die Why's it nice to be white Even when you're wrong, you're right All you gotta do is lie, Open up your big blue eyes real wide and Decide what you want, Put us under your foot, And make us pay for it Thanks Karen Caucasians are terrorists I think it's McGuinness or however you spell it, cause half the names are like plays on Okay, I lie: You made a world where I have to Okay, I steal food You took everything that I'm after already Or your ancestors did Call the luxury apartment reparations But ain't got no privacy, and hells angels and the kkk Ride motorcycles every time I get my eye on the prize So what's the price for being indigenous, black, and a genius White supremacy finds sneakier ways to kill you (Or make you kill yourself.) The invisible man, in Manhattan The sunglasses matches her madness The cloud cover looks just like Texas The suns going down And it's getting colder As the winds blows… The cosmic avenger has a bright pink bird, and a purple frisbee —that was the most magical shit I ever saw! (I almost forgot about that) Mi was like, in middle school, but for some reason was held back a year and should have “at least been in high school”, but was only in 7th grade. At least now it wasn't like waking up into a sorrow, it wasn't heavy and drenched with some kind of loss, but instead as if I had gained some kind of magic little imaginary friend— and after all, I had done all that I could to put it as far from my mind as I could, without looking back… but something like love did keep creeping up with it, as if the universe wanted me to at least have this—a few good laughs, and the warmth in my heart that told me I could admire someone, without breaking beyond my own moral standards in that the hard stuff seemed at least for now that it was done. The dream was mostly informal and weird until the end part, and indeed it was the cosmic avenger who had woken me up with a song that had no words, only notes—at least, until I finally awoke with the rush of a full bladder, and in the concious world the words were simple and quite pure, though I was unsure I could pick out the notes—as it turns out, I could, and though I couldn't wrap my mind around the chords. I at least had the notes—I had been improving drastically at both guitar and piano, though my passion fur music hadn't truly returned—and I was still mostly out of the game, especially as a DJ, dissociating from my depression nd money troubles by writing, with hopes something would change, but as it turned out, almost nothing really moved me to do much more than besides what it seemed my body would want, or where my soul was almost comfortable at best, that is, almost. I wished I had a friend like that in real life, that I could justify the kind of nonsense that made me laugh and so happy in waking life, rather than just in my own mind, but— here I was, alone, or only with Oli, and upset that I was awake and may not be tired enough to force myself back to sleep. At least, for the next two weeks, I had Peacock, and I might have even somehow jumped over the hurdle that for some reason had forbade me from watching 30 Rock over, (which I wanted to for some reason), some almost 15 years ago. I had enjoyed thoroughly, with some intensely organic laughter, the movie Click just the night before, even writing some melodic piano inspired by the plot that might one day become something else, but for now, my Ableton was just as far away from my thoughts as anything else was, besides the other worlds I had created, simply with words and imagination, inspiration from what I would call ‘The Illuminati' ever so lovingly, but others might even just call God, or ‘The Business.' Really, there was no sense in separating the three, besides God itself being what I was sure some kind of divination for the artists that I had thought to be alike myself, in all the ways but one as of yet wealth. I struggled every day with my inability to dress well, maintain my hair and nails, and how to spend what little I had to benefit me most, however, the dream had procured at least one revelation; that I should budget for vinyl stickers, as I had once gained a cult following that way before—completely by accident, however, the first time—and though I hadn't yet the readiness to return to the public eye with my rants and raves, typically quite literally about rants and raves, I had collected another heap of tapes that I was yet to sort though, but might prove worthy of returning to the realm of Enter The Multiverse, eventually—still I had music to make that wasn't being made, over due bills piling up, and a divorce case that seemed to drag on forever, much longer than it should—and with that, I allowed myself to peer into the world that I hadn't, this time with the help of a little magic, and by a little, it meant a lot. I had wanted to spend my wedding anniversary anywhere besides my apartment, but I hadn't intended to be gone and lost all day in Manhattan while fasting, which ended up as a literal fucking nightmare, full of reminders of the disgusting and evil person my now estranged ex husband was, and it seemed as though there were cruel enough tricks being played on my psyche that it could have just as well ended on a harsh note, taking an uptown train to the face, after stopping to talk with a man who seemed friendly enough, but might have been Satan himself, as I had been drawn enough to his tattoo to make a remark on it, only to look closer and see that it was a Naruto tattoo, and though the man looked like Aliocha, that moment alone lead to an outburst out loud in which I nearly questioned my faith in God, or the existence in God at all— and yet there was, indeed a God, as just earlier in the day, though for the most part still nightmarish in all the ways spending a day you hated could be in public, surrounded by drones who seemed to mimick the Godlessness of such a person i wish i never would have known, and although perhaps the heavenly gesture was the day we had been married was the day i gave him any power he had, including his power to attempt to destroy me. It was still an irritant to say the least, that not only my train was out of service, and I only wanted to go one place, anyway (specifically to get sticker paper, on that day, for my project, actually) only to find that it was a difficult and confusing mess to find that station on any other train without going out of my way, which didn't matter. I was spat out somewhere downtown, actually, near One World Trade, which I had only ever visited once, and though I hated it—how capitalism had turned a literal graveyard into a tourist attraction, though I did like graveyards myself enough to have also happened by St. Paul's cemetery, to happily find that it was open rather than closed, but there was something else drawing me towards the center, perhaps a radio signal of some sort, which almost seemed to pull me closer and forward towards one world trade, and my inability to stay long within the droves of cellphones and robotic animal like people creatures, drew me up onto a staircase to discover a preforming arts center, although its name I hated, with constant reminders of meeting my untimely end in front of my two children with a bloody winding and blinding of my ex husbands fists, to which I dismissed anything and anyone who would support such an awful creature in anyway, though the name had become common enough that it happened often—often enough that I hated anything public, and had mostly felt safer in isolation. After circling one World Trade Center, counting the cameras to surmise that I had always been caught and captured to have been in those moments and actions, most probably stored somewhere in some place which held all of the world's recorded history, and I wondered exactly which era I might actually belong to—some sort of invinite vision, or a recollection of a person having already lived and recorded, a mere mirror of the person I was having already somehow been, which I already knew, and the person I was indeed had been sent on some kind of mission with divine purpose, though in this day, all that I really wanted was to not ever be reminded of what day it was, or who I had been before, or who I might be at all—and seeking asylum and escape from the center of it all, I crossed the walk and carried along the bike path, in the opposite direction, so that I had less humans around at all, out of sight, out of mind, with some restoration of comfort—then suddenly, I was drawn to a particularly lovely building, and myself an admirer of architecture, couldn't help but to go to it to collect the address, so that I could later research who had designed the building—along the way drawn to a sticker which read Rom Com Tom, that was so literally and figuratively reflective, I could not help but pick it up. The building seemed to be new, or even unoccupied, at least from street view, though its mirrored iridescent kept me from peering inside, I crept up the perimeter to see if there was a way around off the street level; there wasn't, but I did find something odd, and sort of interesting—a universal remote, or, rather, a remote control that could have been for anything, which I picked up, deciding that it had been some kind of writing prompt, after all, thinking ‘hm, that's odd, I was just thinking about Adam Sandler a lot recently' or more specifically, ‘thinking about that one movie where he has a remote that runs the world', and I had been, very recently, thinking of Adam Sandler enough that I had decided to slip the remote into my pocket, careful enough not to press any buttons, just in case some kind of higher ups were watching—a paranoia of sorts, but at the very least, I had counted almost a hundred cameras on my walk, and even If I wasn't being actually followed, (which I somehow sort of knew I was) I wouldn't want to be caught in the plot of somehow longing even more bizzare than I actually was, harem pants and all, to no suprise that the day had gone not at all as I had hoped, but at least I wasn't in my apartment sulkling. ESHA MCGUENNES (I thought I figured out how to spell that…. My left side's off I guess I got Stuck in the love of the art I was writing that part When the life of my love Fell over me A lover, huh. I'm so confused. I'm sorry bro, But if you're morbidly obese, But your feet are like a size 6– You are not BIG BONED. My doctor said I have a small frame, my feet are size 9, I went from a 10 to an 8.5-9 after losing 200 hundred pounds, I'm like “goddamn! Even my feet were fat! Fuck” But if you're fat like I was, and your feet are size 6, your feet might be like a size 4! You're a fat fucking pixie that fucked around and can't do little pixie shit now, cause you like pixie sticks —Too much! I'm just the rat in the dumpster I made this whole world up I swallowed the doctor I hearted the surgeon I locked up the dog catcher; I cauldron'd the Mormons I called it a sermon, but He called them all — Wait, who is Herman?! I don't know! Some black guy on that show I'm writing! what. I don't know. You're writing a show?! I'm on it! Ugh, I don't know. No fair, You really know how to make me cry When you give me those ocean eyes Those ocean eyes Good looking people In good looking places Doing good things; I just want to be Good today Good looking people Good looking people Bye, bye little bird, Think of the dreams we made Think of the drummer boy, Your lover boy, Then, the other boy There we go again, With the drums we played And the love we made It just won't make it Oh I Just Can't take it Can I come back yet? SHUT UP, GAYBRAHAM LINCOLN. I'm having breakfast at 10 am Thinking damn this depression is just setting in There's a chest on my elephant Chester drawer with hand carved elements Elephant ok my chest, Closets with hangers and button ups I haven't won't yet What FOR WHAT FOR. MY EYES. For the sake of the art, I heart ya. For perhaps if I love, That's how I lost ya. So I keep all my love close, The brothers have found the fountain How many dollars do tootsie pops cost For one Jimmy Fallon? return to the blacklist. Great. Now I'm Jimmy Fallon. Well what's fucked up! What happened! FUCK! I hate being Jimmy Fallon! Whose dick swings to the right like that?! Ow. FUCK. Fuck this guy. GODDAMMIT. -_- Let me in. Or I could just leave you out. No, don't do that. WHY. Ahh. Shhhhhh!!! What if someone sees me. Hmm, let's see. [rings neighbors doorbell, shuts door] No! The neighbor opens the door; now gifted with the ability to see demons, after merging with— Fast forward Oh no, when did that thing come into play? (When this happened) Liz lemon lives on the ground floor It don't matter cause she ain't never home l She's at the rock That's all the way up Good talk, Donaghey, Good, Good Talk Good people Good show Good good times It's good to be long gone from home Go to work at the plaza That ones Conan. Oh, Why?! Why not, though. (I swear to God all the late night dudes are like the same guy.) OH, you mean— Katt. What up Snoop. Ahh, Look what the pimp limped in. You think you're clever. You think you're at least 5 foot—but you're 4 foot 9 I'm STILL WINNING [CHARLIE SHEEN relapses on the dance floor.] Oh shit. Relapses to which habit? All of them! 10-4. CALL RUSSEL BRAND. Csnt. Why not. He's blacked out. What? Another relapse?! No, he just— passed out KABLAM. “The Cockney Thug” He's just like that now. God What is it. Can I have ham in my spam samwhiches. —you want ham in your spam sandwhich. Yes. Roasted cantaloupe with Put your notebook On my throat-Scrotum I like your poems So I wrote you this one Oh. That's. Welcome—to the' creepy shit fans have done for u's backlogs. “Backlogs” Well, I have millions of fans, It would take me years to look at all this. [the festival project] Woah. Woah. Ok. Yo. Have you seen this. What is it. I don't know. Hm. Look. Woah: Yeah, it's— Wow Ok. It just goes on like this— For how long— For like GOH GOH l GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO CUT TO: Latest — 1:04 WHAT? MEANWHILE ….IS THAT A JIMMY FALLON? LOOKS LIKE ONE. SHOOT THAT MOTHERFUCKER. ok , boss. I told you, He would play The Devil's Advocate, If need be [JIMMY FALLON is shot mercilessly in the shoulder in broad daylight.] YO. THEY SHOT ME. He'll be okay. He's Jimmy Fallon. [LIKE 90,000 Ambulances and a SWAT team roll up.] See. DEADMAU5 charges himself in a high speed chamber—a tech-driven coffin via a USB port in his neck. Lol. Ok. (PDA) Public Displays of Affliction I've never even see. A. Aston Martin Sometimes it's worth it, Getting lost in Manhattan I just saw the sign I wouldn't dare entering, anyhow Not in this outfit Not in this predicament (I just left the Whole Foods market) I got lost and god was happy Motor cars for music Force a figure ibto music Forgive Annie, Run a mile what's a california smile In New York What a garden Oh, what a garden Double back. For a second glance Oh, don't we all want second chances Now I've been an Aston Martin Motorists dot muses now u want her What a party I just saw the sign Now I've been an Aston Martin All by design Companion passing through KAWS I just bought a Ferrari I said, Where the roof is?! Where the roof is?! Blū electrico Roof finished in Nero Just a hit of magic A menacing, incredibly ambedextrous submissive One time I played God, I was hanging as the sun in Toronto In my third eye was a camera lense; My baby daddy, Lover and my best friend My husband My lover and My best friend My brother And my father Were my best friends Once upon a time I never had friends Now I remember sitting in the backseat, Has been I remember when I never had ribs I remember when I never had meat Nice to meet you I already had a coffee I remember sitting in the front seat Once upon a time I was anno one Once upon a dollar, Jimmy Fallon Once upon a dollar, Jimmy Fallon Once a bunch of Pennies, lady Gaga I'm a baby, haha Once upon a time, I was a no one A nobody Once upon a dollar, Jimmy Fallon I remember penny was a virgin I remember when you were the third one, l Once upon a time I was the first one Once upon a time, I thirst my quench with Coffee Body guard! I remember going on a long run I remember once there was a Knock on my door Now I quench my thirst with smart water With a hard on Never was a smart one Just an artist I was no one Once upon a dollar Jimmy Fallon Once upon a nothing, there was no one Now I take my coffee on a long ride No fun Once upon a dollar, Jimmy Fallon Amen I wish for every dollar I ever had, back Jimmy Fallon I wish it was 11:11, every Dillon Francis I wish for sandwhiches on leavened bread at Passover I wish this whole world would Passover, With the the stories in my home And in my notebook I wish for the fame and wealth with it, Jimmy Fallon I wish I never laughed at Dillon Francis I wish Skrillex was never a demon, I take it back I want the wealth And not the fame Just the freedom, Jimmy Fallon What do you mean by that? A dad, an actor An attack, The press is back and asking questions I can't handle that I can't. I just can't with that Abandon the matrix Go back to What's his name But I can't Cause I made him up Call my mother begging to drop the charges Called my God Just asking what the pocket watch does What's an engagement ring like that coat How much to rug the cameras up Inside my home So I don't know about em That shit's priceless Like the 9 Dollar's I've got Marked up, but not to spend them at the Market Jimmy Fallon I pray for your family But not as hard as I pray For my son Or God To take this fat off So I can look like Jennifer Aniston Cause that's God to em, 22 year old Adam Sandler At a brunch A talk show with my Least favorite host of all time Jimmy Fallon But I love to laugh, huh I just got back, God My house is a mess I want meth like AshGod If Method man was drinking up the water Would there be backwash It's a horrible, windfall This awesome art project My broken heart The coughing stalkers Whatever the fuck is going on in New York I love New York But not New Yorkers It hurts to be the worst person The first person to put reverse curses On shamans from the 3rd world And I'm living in the first world, But I just learned that Underneath the surface Is the fourth world That's some dichotomy Huh That's some diabolical plot The cosmic avenger is stuck in a dimension Of white pocket tenses And white bitches who get offended With this scripture But listen I just got up And I've been privy to Never sleeping again Norman Needs you, Mrs. Hotch But I was never Mrs. Roberts With all of the hearts and crosses , stars I give up on love Where's DimlonnFrancis at That's a man without a mask, That's a mannequin m. Just got up And I still want breakfast All I got is Stuff that's leavening A hand in my pocket Just for God to show me Nobody I want wants me Jimmy Fallon has a family That's a tragedy, that But I laughed so hard in the bathtub I still haven't come back from that I feel bad for em, actually All the husbands Cause I was the wife that sucks And he hated me so much I got punched in the— Doesn't matter Stuck in the telling it over and over Nobody loves me My new password is Fuckit I'm gone galloping horses, And hornets, I'm just a furniture Probably should have aborted me, mother Just like you wanted to But I'm still in the hospital On the honor roll Cause I had them all lined up The prophets of the “Impossible, could not be my God!” That's what they all said, But they dressed me up like Some sort of messiah, So I was, then It wasn't right, no That was malpractice But now I've got Camping in Malibu Crossed off my list forever Shit It's some dichotomy Just hold onto me I'm the rock, You're the kite now, Jimmy Fallon I was just better off dead, You know Better off stuck in my head, you know. I read your messages, every one of them Every one of the drugs in my bucket I threw up from the fan club Impossible, Could not have been at that clown JIMMY FALLON - THE COSMIC AVENGER JIMMY FALLON THE COSMIC AVENGER is levitating in a hyper-meditative state. UH – “hehe” …I beg your pardon. “Hehe” Um… Fuck. Or “haha” “haha” … Just admit it. … Admit it already! –haha. Admit WHAT. This gets Levels. Nobody thought Patrice O Neal was a woman! I thought Patrice O Neal Was a Woman. Ah, fuck, I'm nobody. “Nobody” Is that Bob Saget? I swiped right on this dude, just cause he looked exactly like Bob Saget. Omg. Bob Saget! Fuck, that's right. EXT. THE W HOTEL, BEVERLY HILLS, DAY/ EXT . PODSHARE WESTWOOD ROOFTOP, DAY OH MY GOD, GUYS, LOOK: IT'S BOB SAGET. No it's not! Oh My God! Yeah IT IS! Fuck, really?! Bob Saget?! BOB SAGET! YO GUYS, IT'S BOB SAGET. It was, in fact, Bob Saget. Bob Saget's dead, right? Oh yeah, bud. That's it guys! No more dead celebrities! I'm coming with you! NO MORE GHOSTS. Look, I have something to tell you. UGH. COME ON. This is a weird superpower. EXT. GRAVEYARD, QUEENS, NY. DAY … … … Having fun yet? Alright! I have a question! What? When do I get to– Get to what? You know. Luckily, I die long beore Jimmy Fallon, and as my time approached, I took all i could absorb from the world within, and without, almost as if any and all of my deathwish had been satiated with the gentle ease, the notion of knowing my imminent death would come long before what those surrounding me would consider my time, and therefore would not be made to lose anymore than I already had–but at least, I did have th strength in knowing, not only would i never grow so old as to see for show most of what I had done, but that I had done most of what I would have at all, and not much longer than my words would form into all that would come to be known as my full body of work, I would perish, even before–long before– those I had studied, admired, and known to love–if only through the fourth wall, at all. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

Track 01. OXYGEN Music VIdeo: The Leveling Up from Hotel Concierge to Superstar Sensation I'mma just like– Take one of those luggage carts and prolly dance with it, Like i used to. That shit is not gonna work. You were like It'll work. You were like mad fat, back then. SO. So it; luggage carts shouldn't spin like that; They don't just move like that. It's just centrifugal force. Watch. Alright, if you say so. Watch. Lol Runaway luggage cart. Fine. That's the video. All ya'll bitches gossiping I just can't do nothing right I should put some vocals in Channel surf from side to side I just got another job Concierge from 9-5 I just need some oxygen Channel surf side to side I get paid to go to work This shit hurts from 9-5 This shit hurts from 9-5 I just got another job— Concierge from 9-5 I get paid to go to work This shit hurt from Out of sight and out of mind; You are nothing but a problem I'm a prophet I'm a God Channel surf and then I prosper You just talk and gossip Photoshop and scrolling on your socials Mind my business, do my job, but On those eggshells I am walkin I get paid to go to work Paperwork from 9-5 I just need some oxygen -channel surf from 9-5 I been making profit Turning hours into dollars Went no drama I'm on oxygen While all you do is gossip You just clocked in— but my shift is fucking over Peace! All y'all bitches gossiping I m in another life Making money count it up Paperwork from 9-5 I just need some oxygen I just can't do nothin right I just need some oxygen Channel surf from side to side All ya'll bitches gossipin, I am not about that life! Now I'm doing vocals in the studio From 9-5 Package came from Amazon Guess I'm doing something right Now I'm in the studio, MTV from 9-5 Mind my business, do my job My shift done, but, You just clocked in K no non N—- Katt. What up Snoop . Ahh, Look what the pimp limped in. You think you're clever. You think you're at least 5 foot—but you're 4 foot 9 I'm STILL WINNING CHARLIE SHEEN relapses on the dance floor Oh shit. Relapses to which habit? All of them! 10-4 CALL RUSSEL BRAND. Csnt. Why not. He's blacked out. What? Another relapse?! No, he just— passed out KABLAM. “The Cockney Thug” He's just like that now. God What is it. Can I have ham in my spam samwhiches. —you want ham in your spam sandwhich. Yes. Roasted cantaloupe with Put your notebook On my throat-Scrotum I like your poems So I wrote you this one Oh. That's. Welcome—to the' creepy shit fans have done for u's backlogs. “Backlogs” Well, I have millions of fans, It would take me years to look at all this. [the festival project] Woah. Woah. Ok. Yo. Have you seen this. What is it. I don't know. Hm. Look. Woah: Yeah, it's— Wow Ok. It just goes on like this— For how long— For like GOH GOH GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO [Tales of a Superstar DJ] Six hours should have been enough sleep, but now I was feeling strange, almost as if I had woken up into a world where I didn't belong—not that I had ever felt I belonged anywhere before so much, but this world seemed strange and twisted, I woke up in a cold sweat, and although I had been struggling with a full bladder for sometime, at least semi- conscious enough to point my foot in the direction of the door, still dressed—or rather, almost dressed— well, dressed, by skinny girl standards, in shorts I wore as underwear, but smaller girls would wear for running, the only acceptable crop top I ever owned, a white top with black Chinese dragons, and athletic compression socks—best yet, I still had on my DJ hat, and things had been so outrageous lately that I always felt like I needed some kind of head covering, anyway—it was atrang how suddenly I noticed the difference with and without, but lately anyway had been sleeping strangely, usually dressed and atop the bed, rather than in it, or under the covers. I had been working tirelessly towards my albums, and had just finished an EP—well( the instrumentals; anyway, and had gone to bed in the early evening frustrated that suddenly, my microphone seemed not to be working—and though I often struggled with the interface, it had simply just stopped picking up audio, though I had been successful in at least doing the preliminary tracks, (before breaking to workout) after a mandatory rest and some obligatory indulgence—I always ate more than usual when producing heavily, or producing at all, at least music which was more complex, than just a simple beat or some kind of improvised work; If it was intentional at all that I should focus on music, I was always overeating—but, I had become quite small, running at least a mile a day for some time, and didn't nessesarily find the extra weight too bothersome… though I loved being skinny— and it became oddly difficult to sing and dance well when I was smaller, almost like I was living in a different body at that weight— like I was detached from myself and my voice, and also strangely, the ability to dance as fantastically as I wish I could ever do while recording myself or being recorded came with a couple extra pounds and some limited indulgence—very limited… —But, I did like being skinny. I awoke in a cold sweat, the lights still on—the dream hadn't altogether been a disaster or a nightmare, but strange enough to wake me, and vivid enough that I had become lucid, that talking to and looking at Dillon had made me realize I should wake up, especially given what he was saying and doing—in short, he was being a douchebag, which I nearly always expected of him, anyway, but somehow, within the dream, still felt close enough to him that I wasn't upset. Somehow, though, I had let him go entirely in the waking world, at all, actually—almost never even writing about him anymore, giving myself the time to grow and the space I needed to shake off whatever had been such a weird curse that had even lead me to think we could be an item; now, in the waking world, I was grounded in reality—I no longer fawned after celebrities really, although average men never piqued my interest or fancy at all—actually, no man in any way was quite piquing my interest indeed, and I had even stopped masturbating, after a particularly strong orgasm which had emerged from what seemed like a random vision of Sonny, not soon before that, maybe a week or so ago at best—and what had come thereafter had squashed any kind of sexuality I might have pondered or summoned up—the coughing people instantly returned after that orgasm, as if it were a direct attack on my soul to even think of him in such a way, which had however been by complete accident, in the final moments before release— and I realized it was probably some kind of magical protection, or hex from coughs, who might still, or in some girlish way be in love with him—Perhaps, even his own magical shield—and I could not anymore give my ex the power or ability to have maneuvered such a trick, that an orgasm would bring about such cruelties… as I realized that there were almost always present, as well as the coughing people, women who were petite and pretty—the kind actually suited for Sonny, would appear in my midsts, having anywhere to go, or anything to do—petite, blonde haired, blue eyed women—or just, white women in general, almost seemingly out of nowhere—And, to remain that I stay unchanged from my lack of violence towards the matter, I had left any man that wasn't mine entirely alone, even in my mind, but especially in my heart and soul. I had let everything and everyone go—which included Dillon Francis, who's apparent relationship, though no sign of such in the actual media, I had decided to overall respect; I always respected the woman or wife of a man, especially those that I admired—especially those who I was extremely attracted to, and especially those of whom I became bonded in some way, through my writing or otherwise, completely by accident and never intentional—and to that, I had moved into entire celibacy… though, it began to be a painful knot in the bottom of my back and at my spine, in my hips and even in my kneecaps, especially the weak one—after an outing full of coughing bodies and petite looking girls, I had thought it best to never even think of Sonny again, and had locked my obsidian protection stone out of my presence entirely—I wished not to know or think of a man who knew no bounds, and relinquished his spirit, if not for my own safety. It had been months since dreaming about Dillon Francis at all, and perhaps I was just sexually frustrated, however the dream in itself wasn't sexual in nature—just, informative. He was wearing a white t-shirt with a pretty brunette on it—with blue eyes, of course, and clad in a bikini—which I told him was the most beautiful woman in the world—he agreed, and strangely was able to zoom in the picture on his shirt, as if it were some kind of screen, focusing on her bosom and saying something along the lines of “yep, she's all mine—and no portal [to the underworld]!”, and though he hadn't said the part about the underworld, I figured and sort of agreed that his suggestion was, that my vagina had some kind of curse on it—which was probably true, anyway, and the reason I never even masturbated anymore. I responded by telling him that I was happy he had someone, that I was happy he was in love and that that's what I had wanted, but suddenly became filled with sadness—it seemed I still did have feelings somewhere for him after all, though I was dreaming, and he began to torment me with the words that made me decide that I had to wake up to escape the horrid feelings that came along with them. He said “you know when I first met you I really wanted you; I just wanted you.” And in the insinuating that there might have ever been some kind of chance between us, if I had only done something different, though— during my time being homeless everything had become out of control, it angered me that he suggested that I could have worked harder or tried harder and things might have been different—they weren't, and I decided that though it had been good to see him, and it would be hard to wake up, that I needed to wake up now, before I could cry inside my own dream, lighting an incense in the dream world, and making the wish to exit the dream; I immediately did, returning into my room, alit with blue, at around the time I had intended to wake up to presume making music, which now seemed futile—suddenly I didn't want to even try, realizing it had less to do with Dillon Francis than it did with the world in general. in fact, upon waking, I thought to myself that no matter the situation, it had been a relief to see Dillon, who I thought of as a kind stranger, an imaginary friend now, who had guided me through rough waters with laughter and the pleasure of music—who in my waking life had fallen back into the category of just another famous person, with no delusion of a romance between one another, no matter how much I had wanted it once. I had left it alone, out of respect to his own conscious, and out of respect to myself—who had fangirled enough that I had become damaged from it, deciding ultimately to just ‘leave the men alone', and wondered what kind of monster I might have been that I really only was ever interested anymore in someone if they were not only handsome, but talented, intelligent, and also somewhat famous. The auras of even the most beautiful common man, even the classy, well dressed and assuming well-to-do men of Manhattan just didn't shine the way the others did—and I could never see myself shine in a way that would make me like them—famous—though I had been working hard on my music, dangerously hard, actually—so much that I feared my ex's Jealousy and intent to kill had plagued and cursed now my machinery—I just couldn't at all get my microphone or to work and had forced myself to sleep—it had been over 24 hours that I had been awake with the focus to work anyway, and I needed to rest, but was mere hours away from the completion of another project, and suddenly, the ability to record vocals has just stopped. Now, upon waking, I clutched my chest, drenched in sweat realizing that I had fallen asleep with some stones tucked into my bra, which I never did anymore as the stones and crystals had been enchanted with intentions, and had become quite strong, each of them on their own, but particularly together in the way that some of them even clashed, and that I could not carry them all, or just didn't, out of caution—I assumed the one over my heart to be the Amethyst, which I very specifically never ever slept with or even clutched anymore—the stone was strange, and had began to vibrate in a way that I was unsure of, and so with that I alluded it to the probability that because its intention had always been set to be given as a gift to Dillon, no matter the stuatus of our actual relationship to one another, that it in some way had been bonded to his energy—and with respect to the presumption that he was taken, of course by some pretty, very skinny, perfectly capable white girl—perfectly capable of being functional in all the ways I was not, by circumstances of privelege and wealth, probably extremely well cared for and perfect in every way—I respected the dynamics of white world, in that it made more sense for him to always love someone like her, if not just her forever—if he truly had fallen in love and planned to make this woman his wife, which I had wanted alon learning that he was with someone—the notion which would have freed me from his grip, a still quite devastating attraction— And it was devastating, The loop which was so simple and certainly evident now, that it was an inevitable lust and infatuation that had drawn me to the conclusion that you just can't want a man like that. You have no business falling in love with a man like Sonny Moore, Dillon Francis—or anyone alike them, in that it would all be the same, tragic, eye opening experience of uselessness, disappointment, and the constant reminder that because of who they are, and because of who you are, you would never, ever be good enough for them—and even in a professional setting, had a long way to go up the ladder before a collaboration with Skrillex, Dillon Francis, or deadmau5 would make any kind of literal sense, but especially monetary, I was simply not rich enough yet for the music industry—and I was certainly not woman enough for any of them. It wasn't the amethyst at all, I realized upon returning from the restroom, that had been inside my brazier as I slept, but The Illuminati Stone, which had no incantation besides the explicit desire for wealth, knowledge, and skill within my given right to exist outside of the “underworld”, “the blackness” or the plague of poverty—the amethyst, with my other musical incantations had been left atop my drum machine, as they usually always were, next to my drum sticks and whatever mess I had abandoned in the studio before falling asleep, and though now I was quite awake, smudging with sage to break the feeling of helplessness and bitter sadness, slight sexual frustration which I had fallen asleep with, and of course now waken up with, quich had nothing to do with Dillon, thankfully—and at the very least I knew better than to think of him in anyway on purpose at all—or any man in anyway on purpose at all—as it was concluded I just simply could not be loved at all, and that if there were any curse at all placed on me, it was with that purpose—that I would never love or be loved again. I never slept with all my stones, but now I wanted to; I should have been working on music, but wasn't even moderately moved to do so—it was like I had lost the desire, and reminded me that perhaps my ex had become Dillon Francis after all, just to torture me, just as he had seemed to turn into Sonny before. Perhaps he would just turn into anyone I loved just to try to kill me kn the way that j could never be without him, no matter how much I wanted to, and would always have to suffer being reminded of him, his habits, and the horrible things he used to do to me; and for some reason, the scar on the inside of my lip, where my teeth had punctured entirely through from one side to the other, began to swell and throb, which almost never happened, but sometimes did, especially when k was upset or had flashbacks of the initial beating which had left me wounded in many more ways than i could ever count or imagine, but especially damaged—he had ruined my face that day, and suddenly I remembered it, the gash that had left it impossible to eat for sometimes, as even applesauce would sting, and stuck to the wound inside my mouth—and it was hard to imagine how I ever recovered from that.::or maybe I hadn't. Either way, there had been a strong, male voice lately which had been tormenting me with especially masculine, toxic and invasive thoughts, a voice which reminded me of a man who called himself Big O, who had once ruined my day by offering me a ride,'picking me up at a bus stop in front of the shelter—whom I assumed was doing so out of the kindness of his heart, of course, but was either some fed doing intel on the bizzare was surrounding my imminitely divine and extra terrestrial podcast series, or just some strange man attempting to illicit sexual favors in exchange for drugs, which I politely declined, however, he had spent my time, which was supposed to be a direct ride from queens into Manhattan, driving in circles, running errands, and asking questions about me, my past, and my own habits—all of which had been extinguished, and though I just wanted to go to the gym, he had kept driving in circles around queens, even stopping at what seemed like some kind of doctors office, his office, where he said he had some mushrooms “just lying around” and would give me for free—which I never believed anyway, but went along with it—as the bus almost never came when scheduled and on time and I had been at the stop nearly too long; and he had hovered in front of me long enough to realize that he was trying to get my attention. I had nothing to lose in the shelter anyway, and had been making a point to spend as much time at equinox as possible—and was still somehow naive enough at this point to actually believe that someone would actually just do such a thing—give someone a ride out of the kindness of their heart. But I paid for that ride, in unwanted touches, coughing, and the reminder that there was some demonic force which only ever wanted to hurt me, drive around in circles, and waste my time, just as my ex had— that just wanted to blow smoke in my face and remind me that I wasn't a beautiful woman, but just a woman—and that there were so many other to choose from that I should be so lucky just to have been offered a ride. It was this voice that had been torturing me lately, calling me a horrible mother, an ugly fat woman—unworthy of success. It was this voice that had been burgeoning me with reminders of what I had been before, almost enough to overlook what I had become—and though it was with some stroke of genius that I had done all that I had, it didn't seem to matter without the actual success or wealth, or any money at all to show for it—and so far, there wasn't any: I was literally down to my last dollar, once again— unmarked, albeit, with such a formidable respect to Jimmy Fallon and his family, besides the strangeness that had been surrounding the inspiration to suddenly begin to write from his essence characters I had never known or thought of, but had suddenly somehow been brought to life— I was too broke now even to get business cards, and though I had invested into a beautiful studio, the struggles with my interface altered me to the fact that all of my equipment was becoming rapidly obsolete, and that alone gave me a limited ability to create, let alone to make quality music which was good enough to compete with the likes of even the lower ranks at Insomniac , but especially far from a signature label, like Epic or Columbia, which I needed more than wanted—a record deal; my living room was still empty, and the only furniture was my studio equipment, which was at least a comfortable and beautifully well lit space, with a cheap full sized mattress on the floor—but it was everything in the world to be grateful for, to have an unshared space—which might have been perfect a couple floors higher up and without the distraction of either of my neighbors, both white women who seemed to act in demonic ways at random times, but especially in times were I wanted to relax, or be at peace—and though for at least a week or so they had been particularly calm, and I had been putting in overtime with heavy prayer work in order to protect myself and be rid of such a demonic energy, a force which seemed to intend to kill me and used other people as it's way to find me—there was still this voice, who had taken the voice of big o, who I hated for not only touching me, but wasting my time—I had missed equinox that day after a streak, arriving hours after he had picked me up in Manhattan, his attempts to lure me into some kind of party girl state failed; he dropped me off at 66th, Columbus circle, for my “gig”; I wasn't letting him know my true destination for any reason, and unstead bluffed that I had been hired as a musician to preform at this address, which happened to be, without my knowing, the Trump hotel, It was his voice that called me a liar and a thief, a horrible mother, a fat, ugly useless woman. It was his voice that told me to get a “real” job, that was useless in music at all—that I could not compete with the little girls which the music industry had pumped out on pure sexual appeal, rather than talent—girls like Tyla, who I knew were planted and selected with financial backing to be “successful”, not on hard work or determination, but by the looks of it, some kind of sick game—the body game, which the whole world had become, and I had lost long before I had become aware of it. Though beautiful in its way, my body was broken, hard, and tired— I drifted in and out of an altered consciousness, knowing my time had come to do or die, but unlikely to try my hand at anything that might become what the regular workforce always was—a hellscape of more reminders of my ex, of Sonny, the petite women suited for him— reminded of a Dillon , and his super white girlfriend—and the overriding factor that I was supposed to be focusing fully on music; and shouldn't be working some dead end job at all— Fuck this. I thought, placing the amethyst on my inter thigh. Fuck music. There was no way to let music go, but the possibility of actual success was dwindling—anything I loved became evil, and in the shattering of doing everything alone, I just wanted it to be over. Maybe if he didn't want to be a parent alone and be constantly reminded of me, He shouldn't have cheated But especially shouldn't have beat me He certainly had no right to take the rest of my life away just because I had walked out of his—he had ruined my baby to look and sound just like him; to act like him, and though I couldn't ever hate my boy I would never love his father again, or any man like him. Or maybe, any man at all. What is a man, but that, anyway? Destroyers of worlds, wasters of times Vengeful, pitiful, needy creatures— And though I thought also that woman might be worse… The worst of all things was that I had become neither at all, And therefore devoid of the ability to love or be loved, in the world which had become nothing but money, bodies, and material consumption. Suicide reared its head in a different way than usual—not with the burning sensation of absolute pain and destruction, but instead with a calm intent to not attach, to not conform, to not bond to anything, which might prove in itself be just another illusion: It was nice seeing Dillon. It was strange that in all of the horrible feelings that had come from waking back into the nightmare of my own existence—a nightmare which was at least now pretty, and sheltered properly, but still miserably alone—and I neither wanted nor needed friends, really. Who could you trust in such a material world, to have your best interests at hand! Who could you trust in man's world, if not man itself. His body was tall and strong, and felt safe— But nothing was safe about Dillon Francis, or his world. Nothing is safe in a man's world. Aristide o I am the god, if you want it The devil if you need it To be that Another Dillon Francis dream I had fallen asleep just to again dream of Dillon Francis—perhaps I knew I wouldn't be seeing him in waking life again, and took my chances, attacking him as he slept peacefully, or at least laid down. I knew he had a girlfriend and didn't care; I had my way with him anyway, though not going al the way—his penis was very tiny, which made the blowjob all the more enjoyable—he ejaculated quickly, and I was satisfied—at least his penis was small enough that it wouldn't have brought me too much pleasure anyway. I was pretty happy about it, but he felt bad and kind of freaked out. I pretended nothing happened and we stayed friends—I think we worked together or something so we were still around each other a lot—he made it a point to suppose his girlfriend with a $67,000 engagement ring, which for whatever made me jealous. It didn't matter kept my own secret, but he still seemed kind of mad or disappointed in himself. Then I got a new man—he wasn't my ideal, but at least I had somebody. I laid with him on the beach and for some reason Dillon's girl was there—she was so pretty. This version of his girlfriend was blonde—but of course still had blue eyes. Duh. She seemed to know that I had made Dillon cheat on her as I looked into her eyes, but it didn't matter anyway. The past was the past, I guess. My new man didn't seem to matter. He was like a faceless body and insignificant, but something went down and we were to run away to a cabin in the woods somewhere to hide. What a weird fucking dude. I wondered why he had begun again to appear in my dreams—and it wasn't as if I'd forgotten about, at all, but just hadn't been thinking about him, almost not at all, actually: I wondered what a $67,000 engagement ring would look like and figured that might be the actual case, so to just leave him or anything to do with him alone—especially doing something retarded like googling or looking him up, which would only hurt me. I was nice to have a penis in my mouth though—I missed penis a lot…felt bad for kind of mouth taping him but whatever. I had fun. I woke up in the morning with all the energy I had lost from staying up trying to push out my project by 4/20 or 4/23, hoping that constantly being reminded of my abuser would stop, but it seemed he wanted me dead and to suffer with the memory of him forever; I had missed my deadline, not out of laziness, but because of the unsurmounting amount of bullshit which seemed to come between me being able to actually do anything right in music, and I thought surely soon enough the EDM industry would find their own Tyla, hiring some black looking girl to make—or at least play dubstep, pretending to make it— realness didn't seem to matter to anyone at all anymore— And my passion for music became jaded as my body and mind were, in the money that it would take to become noticed. Sure, of course, I would still try but probably not as hard — the whites —or rather just—the heads of the entertainment industry as a whole, but especially music, seemed to have enough interest in me that maybe it did matter, but I would have to be groomed for their world, who they obviously didn't want penetrated by too much blackness—which was understandable; race aside, or at least the black culture was hard to stand in many aspects—though of course, rap, as any other genre, had become so horrible that I knew my music would excel— It was insane that the music industry had ruined music enough that even new music from my favorite artists began to sound robotic—and it must have been that the audiences were so brainwashed themselves that it didn't matter to the festival world—everyone just wanted to party to escape the clutches of capitalism and corporate slavery, which made sense. Of all the days to dream about Dillon stupid fucking Francis, it's the day of the eclipse, and I wondered whether I should even waste my time starting up at the sky like everyone else in the world would be, or if I was just better off hiding away, keeping safe from the disgusting, coughing, robotic demon people—- and just working on music, fighting this invisible monster who wanted nothing but my defeat— However—the more it pushed me to excel in anything besides music-my writing, which came naturally but second, as even that world had been washed with nepotism and unoriginality that had been hard to palette—it would be even harder to make it as a writer, as white woman always dominated white works, and I could bear to stand the thought of bowing to her. Racism is simply a game of control—to make the other party understand that they are in some or any way inferior to another, genetically, peofessionally, or otherwise. Not only had I come now to entirely fear the white woman, the face of white dominance and supremacy by proxy—that the world had come to worship as the most capable, attractive, and worthy of love and success, especially in dance culture, but just in the media in totality, anyway, and certainly in any workplace I had ever known, which drew me back to the story which my now-late 3-track EP, a teaser for my upcoming album— a story which told of the days I spent my time working at the Eureka Casino Resort, as part time deal person, and part time concierge-which was actually a hubrif position betwrrnbellhop and housekeeper, the job at which I had discovered my all time guilty pleasure, Bad Girls club, on a network oxygen— a tv channel which played lol sorts of reality shows, but of course—happened to be usually playing Bad girls club during my shifts, which made the shitty job a little less shitty, and maybe even worth it a little, to finish my work as quickly as possible, and hide away in one of the resort's rooms, clever enough to choose a ro still marked as dirty-/but was clean enough to enjoy an episode or two of what some might have called trash TV, but presented itself as high quality entertainment, for a 21 year old would-be housewife—or, yet-to-be. Or would have been, if the money had permitted, but of course, it never did— or, it never had— At least—not yet. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

The invisible man, in Manhattan The sunglasses matches her madness The cloud cover looks just like Texas The suns going down And it's getting colder As the winds blows… 03. JIMMY FALLON All ya'll are all worth bout a dollar; I am a cyclone, watch me holler I lived my whole life underwater I got a dollar; Jimmy Fallon All ya'll are only bout a dollar I work so hard, I guess for nothin I am not worried bout a dollar I got a dollar; Jimmy Fallon I guess I'll do it on my own (Jimmy Fallon, Jimmy Fallon) I had to do it all alone (Jimmy Fallon, Jimmy Fallon I made some soup, all out of stones (I don't know, You do not know) I am the only one I know (I'm Jimmy Fallon) I am not worried bout the sauce I am so famous, (I'm the boss) got a stalker I am so famous Can't go no where I got a dollar, Jimmy Fallon I'm at the office, Not my home No collab I work alone Opened a business, got a loan I got a hundred of them passwords I went frontwards —I went backwards. (Jimmy Fallon, Jimmy Fallon) Went to Manhattan, took a walk Went to the rock and dropped a rock Now put your money where your mouth is I got a thousand Jimmy Fallons (What's that) (I'm the host) What's that, what's that I work alone What's that what's that I dropped a rock into the rock What's that what's that I'm the host, I'm Jimmy Fallon. I'm Jimmy— KIMMEL!? AHAHAHAHAH KIMMEL GET BACK HERE! {Enter The Multiverse} Story/ music video Moderately famous household television Jimmy Fallon suddenly begins appearing everywhere—that is— on every possible TV screen imaginable— The Protagonist, in confusion, can't seem to escape, and also amusingly begins finding Pennies in very strange and seemingly random places— these Pennies then begin opening up portals, breaking the fourth wall and opening worlds to other dimensions— Have you seen this? Uhh, hmwhat is it? Mits m “Two dumb Jews”, starring Seth Rogen, and some other dude— Who's the other dude—? —some Jew, but it's got Adam Sandler in it. Oh, so three dumb Jews. So, no, then? I'd watch the shit out of that, though, tbh. Why's the synopsis? Uhh. [Two Jewish musicians struggling to make it in new York's congested underground music scene hit it off in comedy by complete accident, after being booked as a duo for a comedy club they mistook for a bar.] Heh. Okay, who does Adam Sandler play? “The Bookkeeper” What. Who the fuck is “the book keeper?” We'll see, I guess. No? Okay, what about “Two Broke hoes” It's like two broke girls, but actually funny. What, be nice . Okay. “Two Broke Ghosts” That's better— — And marketable. Are you pale, or just— No, I'm dead. I'm dead. X.X Be NICE. Now our musical guests, SWAGGARBOMB. What in the fuck kind of music is that It's called “Dorkstep” [the doorbell rings] Great, who the fuck is I got a train car of your body count I got way far out to far rock away/Rockaway, way out Stop to talk to me, or don't, Kill your culture You need some? I got u— Probiotics, yo The truth hurts Your shit stinks Must be a mirror over herer Cause that's me I'm your hero. Esha I think McGuiennes? Or McGregor, after Ewab, maybe ESHA MCGUINESS New York wants me to kill myself Maybe eventually New York is full of the devil The devil is money And everyone wants it The root of all evil, Is getting even The root of all evil Is people Beside myself, But besides that The ones hurting me, are soon to be where I am That's just karma The gangstalkers are soon to be stalked Coughed, and shot at The neighbors are soon to be eaten by their own demons When I don't clean them The root of all evil is evil, And that's all I see here White power wants me to kill my self The Caucasians get crazy when the race war is waging The elections are coming up And they see us coming up on consciousness They don't want us Just being honest They're hateful, They washed all the love out Thanks Karen But she don't care White firms just wanna have fun And they get to Meanwhile, me and I Eat shit( bro, And die Why's it nice to be white Even when you're wrong, you're right All you gotta do is lie, Open up your big blue eyes real wide and Decide what you want, Put us under your foot, And make us pay for it Thanks Karen Caucasians are terrorists I think it's McGuinness or however you spell it, cause half the names are like plays on Okay, I lie: You made a world where I have to Okay, I steal food You took everything that I'm after already Or your ancestors did Call the luxury apartment reparations But ain't got no privacy, and hells angels and the kkk Ride motorcycles every time I get my eye on the prize So what's the price for being indigenous, black, and a genius White supremacy finds sneakier ways to kill you (Or make you kill yourself.) The invisible man, in Manhattan The sunglasses matches her madness The cloud cover looks just like Texas The suns going down And it's getting colder As the winds blows… The cosmic avenger has a bright pink bird, and a purple frisbee —that was the most magical shit I ever saw! (I almost forgot about that) Mi was like, in middle school, but for some reason was held back a year and should have “at least been in high school”, but was only in 7th grade. At least now it wasn't like waking up into a sorrow, it wasn't heavy and drenched with some kind of loss, but instead as if I had gained some kind of magic little imaginary friend— and after all, I had done all that I could to put it as far from my mind as I could, without looking back… but something like love did keep creeping up with it, as if the universe wanted me to at least have this—a few good laughs, and the warmth in my heart that told me I could admire someone, without breaking beyond my own moral standards in that the hard stuff seemed at least for now that it was done. The dream was mostly informal and weird until the end part, and indeed it was the cosmic avenger who had woken me up with a song that had no words, only notes—at least, until I finally awoke with the rush of a full bladder, and in the concious world the words were simple and quite pure, though I was unsure I could pick out the notes—as it turns out, I could, and though I couldn't wrap my mind around the chords. I at least had the notes—I had been improving drastically at both guitar and piano, though my passion fur music hadn't truly returned—and I was still mostly out of the game, especially as a DJ, dissociating from my depression nd money troubles by writing, with hopes something would change, but as it turned out, almost nothing really moved me to do much more than besides what it seemed my body would want, or where my soul was almost comfortable at best, that is, almost. I wished I had a friend like that in real life, that I could justify the kind of nonsense that made me laugh and so happy in waking life, rather than just in my own mind, but— here I was, alone, or only with Oli, and upset that I was awake and may not be tired enough to force myself back to sleep. At least, for the next two weeks, I had Peacock, and I might have even somehow jumped over the hurdle that for some reason had forbade me from watching 30 Rock over, (which I wanted to for some reason), some almost 15 years ago. I had enjoyed thoroughly, with some intensely organic laughter, the movie Click just the night before, even writing some melodic piano inspired by the plot that might one day become something else, but for now, my Ableton was just as far away from my thoughts as anything else was, besides the other worlds I had created, simply with words and imagination, inspiration from what I would call ‘The Illuminati' ever so lovingly, but others might even just call God, or ‘The Business.' Really, there was no sense in separating the three, besides God itself being what I was sure some kind of divination for the artists that I had thought to be alike myself, in all the ways but one as of yet wealth. I struggled every day with my inability to dress well, maintain my hair and nails, and how to spend what little I had to benefit me most, however, the dream had procured at least one revelation; that I should budget for vinyl stickers, as I had once gained a cult following that way before—completely by accident, however, the first time—and though I hadn't yet the readiness to return to the public eye with my rants and raves, typically quite literally about rants and raves, I had collected another heap of tapes that I was yet to sort though, but might prove worthy of returning to the realm of Enter The Multiverse, eventually—still I had music to make that wasn't being made, over due bills piling up, and a divorce case that seemed to drag on forever, much longer than it should—and with that, I allowed myself to peer into the world that I hadn't, this time with the help of a little magic, and by a little, it meant a lot. I had wanted to spend my wedding anniversary anywhere besides my apartment, but I hadn't intended to be gone and lost all day in Manhattan while fasting, which ended up as a literal fucking nightmare, full of reminders of the disgusting and evil person my now estranged ex husband was, and it seemed as though there were cruel enough tricks being played on my psyche that it could have just as well ended on a harsh note, taking an uptown train to the face, after stopping to talk with a man who seemed friendly enough, but might have been Satan himself, as I had been drawn enough to his tattoo to make a remark on it, only to look closer and see that it was a Naruto tattoo, and though the man looked like Aliocha, that moment alone lead to an outburst out loud in which I nearly questioned my faith in God, or the existence in God at all— and yet there was, indeed a God, as just earlier in the day, though for the most part still nightmarish in all the ways spending a day you hated could be in public, surrounded by drones who seemed to mimick the Godlessness of such a person i wish i never would have known, and although perhaps the heavenly gesture was the day we had been married was the day i gave him any power he had, including his power to attempt to destroy me. It was still an irritant to say the least, that not only my train was out of service, and I only wanted to go one place, anyway (specifically to get sticker paper, on that day, for my project, actually) only to find that it was a difficult and confusing mess to find that station on any other train without going out of my way, which didn't matter. I was spat out somewhere downtown, actually, near One World Trade, which I had only ever visited once, and though I hated it—how capitalism had turned a literal graveyard into a tourist attraction, though I did like graveyards myself enough to have also happened by St. Paul's cemetery, to happily find that it was open rather than closed, but there was something else drawing me towards the center, perhaps a radio signal of some sort, which almost seemed to pull me closer and forward towards one world trade, and my inability to stay long within the droves of cellphones and robotic animal like people creatures, drew me up onto a staircase to discover a preforming arts center, although its name I hated, with constant reminders of meeting my untimely end in front of my two children with a bloody winding and blinding of my ex husbands fists, to which I dismissed anything and anyone who would support such an awful creature in anyway, though the name had become common enough that it happened often—often enough that I hated anything public, and had mostly felt safer in isolation. After circling one World Trade Center, counting the cameras to surmise that I had always been caught and captured to have been in those moments and actions, most probably stored somewhere in some place which held all of the world's recorded history, and I wondered exactly which era I might actually belong to—some sort of invinite vision, or a recollection of a person having already lived and recorded, a mere mirror of the person I was having already somehow been, which I already knew, and the person I was indeed had been sent on some kind of mission with divine purpose, though in this day, all that I really wanted was to not ever be reminded of what day it was, or who I had been before, or who I might be at all—and seeking asylum and escape from the center of it all, I crossed the walk and carried along the bike path, in the opposite direction, so that I had less humans around at all, out of sight, out of mind, with some restoration of comfort—then suddenly, I was drawn to a particularly lovely building, and myself an admirer of architecture, couldn't help but to go to it to collect the address, so that I could later research who had designed the building—along the way drawn to a sticker which read Rom Com Tom, that was so literally and figuratively reflective, I could not help but pick it up. The building seemed to be new, or even unoccupied, at least from street view, though its mirrored iridescent kept me from peering inside, I crept up the perimeter to see if there was a way around off the street level; there wasn't, but I did find something odd, and sort of interesting—a universal remote, or, rather, a remote control that could have been for anything, which I picked up, deciding that it had been some kind of writing prompt, after all, thinking ‘hm, that's odd, I was just thinking about Adam Sandler a lot recently' or more specifically, ‘thinking about that one movie where he has a remote that runs the world', and I had been, very recently, thinking of Adam Sandler enough that I had decided to slip the remote into my pocket, careful enough not to press any buttons, just in case some kind of higher ups were watching—a paranoia of sorts, but at the very least, I had counted almost a hundred cameras on my walk, and even If I wasn't being actually followed, (which I somehow sort of knew I was) I wouldn't want to be caught in the plot of somehow longing even more bizzare than I actually was, harem pants and all, to no suprise that the day had gone not at all as I had hoped, but at least I wasn't in my apartment sulkling. ESHA MCGUENNES (I thought I figured out how to spell that…. My left side's off I guess I got Stuck in the love of the art I was writing that part When the life of my love Fell over me A lover, huh. I'm so confused. I'm sorry bro, But if you're morbidly obese, But your feet are like a size 6– You are not BIG BONED. My doctor said I have a small frame, my feet are size 9, I went from a 10 to an 8.5-9 after losing 200 hundred pounds, I'm like “goddamn! Even my feet were fat! Fuck” But if you're fat like I was, and your feet are size 6, your feet might be like a size 4! You're a fat fucking pixie that fucked around and can't do little pixie shit now, cause you like pixie sticks —Too much! I'm just the rat in the dumpster I made this whole world up I swallowed the doctor I hearted the surgeon I locked up the dog catcher; I cauldron'd the Mormons I called it a sermon, but He called them all — Wait, who is Herman?! I don't know! Some black guy on that show I'm writing! what. I don't know. You're writing a show?! I'm on it! Ugh, I don't know. No fair, You really know how to make me cry When you give me those ocean eyes Those ocean eyes Good looking people In good looking places Doing good things; I just want to be Good today Good looking people Good looking people Bye, bye little bird, Think of the dreams we made Think of the drummer boy, Your lover boy, Then, the other boy There we go again, With the drums we played And the love we made It just won't make it Oh I Just Can't take it Can I come back yet? SHUT UP, GAYBRAHAM LINCOLN. I'm having breakfast at 10 am Thinking damn this depression is just setting in There's a chest on my elephant Chester drawer with hand carved elements Elephant ok my chest, Closets with hangers and button ups I haven't won't yet What FOR WHAT FOR. MY EYES. For the sake of the art, I heart ya. For perhaps if I love, That's how I lost ya. So I keep all my love close, The brothers have found the fountain How many dollars do tootsie pops cost For one Jimmy Fallon? return to the blacklist. Great. Now I'm Jimmy Fallon. Well what's fucked up! What happened! FUCK! I hate being Jimmy Fallon! Whose dick swings to the right like that?! Ow. FUCK. Fuck this guy. GODDAMMIT. -_- Let me in. Or I could just leave you out. No, don't do that. WHY. Ahh. Shhhhhh!!! What if someone sees me. Hmm, let's see. [rings neighbors doorbell, shuts door] No! The neighbor opens the door; now gifted with the ability to see demons, after merging with— Fast forward Oh no, when did that thing come into play? (When this happened) Liz lemon lives on the ground floor It don't matter cause she ain't never home l She's at the rock That's all the way up Good talk, Donaghey, Good, Good Talk Good people Good show Good good times It's good to be long gone from home Go to work at the plaza That ones Conan. Oh, Why?! Why not, though. (I swear to God all the late night dudes are like the same guy.) OH, you mean— Katt. What up Snoop. Ahh, Look what the pimp limped in. You think you're clever. You think you're at least 5 foot—but you're 4 foot 9 I'm STILL WINNING [CHARLIE SHEEN relapses on the dance floor.] Oh shit. Relapses to which habit? All of them! 10-4. CALL RUSSEL BRAND. Csnt. Why not. He's blacked out. What? Another relapse?! No, he just— passed out KABLAM. “The Cockney Thug” He's just like that now. God What is it. Can I have ham in my spam samwhiches. —you want ham in your spam sandwhich. Yes. Roasted cantaloupe with Put your notebook On my throat-Scrotum I like your poems So I wrote you this one Oh. That's. Welcome—to the' creepy shit fans have done for u's backlogs. “Backlogs” Well, I have millions of fans, It would take me years to look at all this. [the festival project] Woah. Woah. Ok. Yo. Have you seen this. What is it. I don't know. Hm. Look. Woah: Yeah, it's— Wow Ok. It just goes on like this— For how long— For like GOH GOH l GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO CUT TO: Latest — 1:04 WHAT? MEANWHILE ….IS THAT A JIMMY FALLON? LOOKS LIKE ONE. SHOOT THAT MOTHERFUCKER. ok , boss. I told you, He would play The Devil's Advocate, If need be [JIMMY FALLON is shot mercilessly in the shoulder in broad daylight.] YO. THEY SHOT ME. He'll be okay. He's Jimmy Fallon. [LIKE 90,000 Ambulances and a SWAT team roll up.] See. DEADMAU5 charges himself in a high speed chamber—a tech-driven coffin via a USB port in his neck. Lol. Ok. (PDA) Public Displays of Affliction I've never even see. A. Aston Martin Sometimes it's worth it, Getting lost in Manhattan I just saw the sign I wouldn't dare entering, anyhow Not in this outfit Not in this predicament (I just left the Whole Foods market) I got lost and god was happy Motor cars for music Force a figure ibto music Forgive Annie, Run a mile what's a california smile In New York What a garden Oh, what a garden Double back. For a second glance Oh, don't we all want second chances Now I've been an Aston Martin Motorists dot muses now u want her What a party I just saw the sign Now I've been an Aston Martin All by design Companion passing through KAWS I just bought a Ferrari I said, Where the roof is?! Where the roof is?! Blū electrico Roof finished in Nero Just a hit of magic A menacing, incredibly ambedextrous submissive One time I played God, I was hanging as the sun in Toronto In my third eye was a camera lense; My baby daddy, Lover and my best friend My husband My lover and My best friend My brother And my father Were my best friends Once upon a time I never had friends Now I remember sitting in the backseat, Has been I remember when I never had ribs I remember when I never had meat Nice to meet you I already had a coffee I remember sitting in the front seat Once upon a time I was anno one Once upon a dollar, Jimmy Fallon Once upon a dollar, Jimmy Fallon Once a bunch of Pennies, lady Gaga I'm a baby, haha Once upon a time, I was a no one A nobody Once upon a dollar, Jimmy Fallon I remember penny was a virgin I remember when you were the third one, l Once upon a time I was the first one Once upon a time, I thirst my quench with Coffee Body guard! I remember going on a long run I remember once there was a Knock on my door Now I quench my thirst with smart water With a hard on Never was a smart one Just an artist I was no one Once upon a dollar Jimmy Fallon Once upon a nothing, there was no one Now I take my coffee on a long ride No fun Once upon a dollar, Jimmy Fallon Amen I wish for every dollar I ever had, back Jimmy Fallon I wish it was 11:11, every Dillon Francis I wish for sandwhiches on leavened bread at Passover I wish this whole world would Passover, With the the stories in my home And in my notebook I wish for the fame and wealth with it, Jimmy Fallon I wish I never laughed at Dillon Francis I wish Skrillex was never a demon, I take it back I want the wealth And not the fame Just the freedom, Jimmy Fallon What do you mean by that? A dad, an actor An attack, The press is back and asking questions I can't handle that I can't. I just can't with that Abandon the matrix Go back to What's his name But I can't Cause I made him up Call my mother begging to drop the charges Called my God Just asking what the pocket watch does What's an engagement ring like that coat How much to rug the cameras up Inside my home So I don't know about em That shit's priceless Like the 9 Dollar's I've got Marked up, but not to spend them at the Market Jimmy Fallon I pray for your family But not as hard as I pray For my son Or God To take this fat off So I can look like Jennifer Aniston Cause that's God to em, 22 year old Adam Sandler At a brunch A talk show with my Least favorite host of all time Jimmy Fallon But I love to laugh, huh I just got back, God My house is a mess I want meth like AshGod If Method man was drinking up the water Would there be backwash It's a horrible, windfall This awesome art project My broken heart The coughing stalkers Whatever the fuck is going on in New York I love New York But not New Yorkers It hurts to be the worst person The first person to put reverse curses On shamans from the 3rd world And I'm living in the first world, But I just learned that Underneath the surface Is the fourth world That's some dichotomy Huh That's some diabolical plot The cosmic avenger is stuck in a dimension Of white pocket tenses And white bitches who get offended With this scripture But listen I just got up And I've been privy to Never sleeping again Norman Needs you, Mrs. Hotch But I was never Mrs. Roberts With all of the hearts and crosses , stars I give up on love Where's DimlonnFrancis at That's a man without a mask, That's a mannequin m. Just got up And I still want breakfast All I got is Stuff that's leavening A hand in my pocket Just for God to show me Nobody I want wants me Jimmy Fallon has a family That's a tragedy, that But I laughed so hard in the bathtub I still haven't come back from that I feel bad for em, actually All the husbands Cause I was the wife that sucks And he hated me so much I got punched in the— Doesn't matter Stuck in the telling it over and over Nobody loves me My new password is Fuckit I'm gone galloping horses, And hornets, I'm just a furniture Probably should have aborted me, mother Just like you wanted to But I'm still in the hospital On the honor roll Cause I had them all lined up The prophets of the “Impossible, could not be my God!” That's what they all said, But they dressed me up like Some sort of messiah, So I was, then It wasn't right, no That was malpractice But now I've got Camping in Malibu Crossed off my list forever Shit It's some dichotomy Just hold onto me I'm the rock, You're the kite now, Jimmy Fallon I was just better off dead, You know Better off stuck in my head, you know. I read your messages, every one of them Every one of the drugs in my bucket I threw up from the fan club Impossible, Could not have been at that clown JIMMY FALLON - THE COSMIC AVENGER JIMMY FALLON THE COSMIC AVENGER is levitating in a hyper-meditative state. UH – “hehe” …I beg your pardon. “Hehe” Um… Fuck. Or “haha” “haha” … Just admit it. … Admit it already! –haha. Admit WHAT. This gets Levels. Nobody thought Patrice O Neal was a woman! I thought Patrice O Neal Was a Woman. Ah, fuck, I'm nobody. “Nobody” Is that Bob Saget? I swiped right on this dude, just cause he looked exactly like Bob Saget. Omg. Bob Saget! Fuck, that's right. EXT. THE W HOTEL, BEVERLY HILLS, DAY/ EXT . PODSHARE WESTWOOD ROOFTOP, DAY OH MY GOD, GUYS, LOOK: IT'S BOB SAGET. No it's not! Oh My God! Yeah IT IS! Fuck, really?! Bob Saget?! BOB SAGET! YO GUYS, IT'S BOB SAGET. It was, in fact, Bob Saget. Bob Saget's dead, right? Oh yeah, bud. That's it guys! No more dead celebrities! I'm coming with you! NO MORE GHOSTS. Look, I have something to tell you. UGH. COME ON. This is a weird superpower. EXT. GRAVEYARD, QUEENS, NY. DAY … … … Having fun yet? Alright! I have a question! What? When do I get to– Get to what? You know. Luckily, I die long beore Jimmy Fallon, and as my time approached, I took all i could absorb from the world within, and without, almost as if any and all of my deathwish had been satiated with the gentle ease, the notion of knowing my imminent death would come long before what those surrounding me would consider my time, and therefore would not be made to lose anymore than I already had–but at least, I did have th strength in knowing, not only would i never grow so old as to see for show most of what I had done, but that I had done most of what I would have at all, and not much longer than my words would form into all that would come to be known as my full body of work, I would perish, even before–long before– those I had studied, admired, and known to love–if only through the fourth wall, at all. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

The invisible man, in Manhattan The sunglasses matches her madness The cloud cover looks just like Texas The suns going down And it's getting colder As the winds blows… 03. JIMMY FALLON All ya'll are all worth bout a dollar; I am a cyclone, watch me holler I lived my whole life underwater I got a dollar; Jimmy Fallon All ya'll are only bout a dollar I work so hard, I guess for nothin I am not worried bout a dollar I got a dollar; Jimmy Fallon I guess I'll do it on my own (Jimmy Fallon, Jimmy Fallon) I had to do it all alone (Jimmy Fallon, Jimmy Fallon I made some soup, all out of stones (I don't know, You do not know) I am the only one I know (I'm Jimmy Fallon) I am not worried bout the sauce I am so famous, (I'm the boss) got a stalker I am so famous Can't go no where I got a dollar, Jimmy Fallon I'm at the office, Not my home No collab I work alone Opened a business, got a loan I got a hundred of them passwords I went frontwards —I went backwards. (Jimmy Fallon, Jimmy Fallon) Went to Manhattan, took a walk Went to the rock and dropped a rock Now put your money where your mouth is I got a thousand Jimmy Fallons (What's that) (I'm the host) What's that, what's that I work alone What's that what's that I dropped a rock into the rock What's that what's that I'm the host, I'm Jimmy Fallon. I'm Jimmy— KIMMEL!? AHAHAHAHAH KIMMEL GET BACK HERE! {Enter The Multiverse} Story/ music video Moderately famous household television Jimmy Fallon suddenly begins appearing everywhere—that is— on every possible TV screen imaginable— The Protagonist, in confusion, can't seem to escape, and also amusingly begins finding Pennies in very strange and seemingly random places— these Pennies then begin opening up portals, breaking the fourth wall and opening worlds to other dimensions— Have you seen this? Uhh, hmwhat is it? Mits m “Two dumb Jews”, starring Seth Rogen, and some other dude— Who's the other dude—? —some Jew, but it's got Adam Sandler in it. Oh, so three dumb Jews. So, no, then? I'd watch the shit out of that, though, tbh. Why's the synopsis? Uhh. [Two Jewish musicians struggling to make it in new York's congested underground music scene hit it off in comedy by complete accident, after being booked as a duo for a comedy club they mistook for a bar.] Heh. Okay, who does Adam Sandler play? “The Bookkeeper” What. Who the fuck is “the book keeper?” We'll see, I guess. No? Okay, what about “Two Broke hoes” It's like two broke girls, but actually funny. What, be nice . Okay. “Two Broke Ghosts” That's better— — And marketable. Are you pale, or just— No, I'm dead. I'm dead. X.X Be NICE. Now our musical guests, SWAGGARBOMB. What in the fuck kind of music is that It's called “Dorkstep” [the doorbell rings] Great, who the fuck is I got a train car of your body count I got way far out to far rock away/Rockaway, way out Stop to talk to me, or don't, Kill your culture You need some? I got u— Probiotics, yo The truth hurts Your shit stinks Must be a mirror over herer Cause that's me I'm your hero. Esha I think McGuiennes? Or McGregor, after Ewab, maybe ESHA MCGUINESS New York wants me to kill myself Maybe eventually New York is full of the devil The devil is money And everyone wants it The root of all evil, Is getting even The root of all evil Is people Beside myself, But besides that The ones hurting me, are soon to be where I am That's just karma The gangstalkers are soon to be stalked Coughed, and shot at The neighbors are soon to be eaten by their own demons When I don't clean them The root of all evil is evil, And that's all I see here White power wants me to kill my self The Caucasians get crazy when the race war is waging The elections are coming up And they see us coming up on consciousness They don't want us Just being honest They're hateful, They washed all the love out Thanks Karen But she don't care White firms just wanna have fun And they get to Meanwhile, me and I Eat shit( bro, And die Why's it nice to be white Even when you're wrong, you're right All you gotta do is lie, Open up your big blue eyes real wide and Decide what you want, Put us under your foot, And make us pay for it Thanks Karen Caucasians are terrorists I think it's McGuinness or however you spell it, cause half the names are like plays on Okay, I lie: You made a world where I have to Okay, I steal food You took everything that I'm after already Or your ancestors did Call the luxury apartment reparations But ain't got no privacy, and hells angels and the kkk Ride motorcycles every time I get my eye on the prize So what's the price for being indigenous, black, and a genius White supremacy finds sneakier ways to kill you (Or make you kill yourself.) The invisible man, in Manhattan The sunglasses matches her madness The cloud cover looks just like Texas The suns going down And it's getting colder As the winds blows… The cosmic avenger has a bright pink bird, and a purple frisbee —that was the most magical shit I ever saw! (I almost forgot about that) Mi was like, in middle school, but for some reason was held back a year and should have “at least been in high school”, but was only in 7th grade. At least now it wasn't like waking up into a sorrow, it wasn't heavy and drenched with some kind of loss, but instead as if I had gained some kind of magic little imaginary friend— and after all, I had done all that I could to put it as far from my mind as I could, without looking back… but something like love did keep creeping up with it, as if the universe wanted me to at least have this—a few good laughs, and the warmth in my heart that told me I could admire someone, without breaking beyond my own moral standards in that the hard stuff seemed at least for now that it was done. The dream was mostly informal and weird until the end part, and indeed it was the cosmic avenger who had woken me up with a song that had no words, only notes—at least, until I finally awoke with the rush of a full bladder, and in the concious world the words were simple and quite pure, though I was unsure I could pick out the notes—as it turns out, I could, and though I couldn't wrap my mind around the chords. I at least had the notes—I had been improving drastically at both guitar and piano, though my passion fur music hadn't truly returned—and I was still mostly out of the game, especially as a DJ, dissociating from my depression nd money troubles by writing, with hopes something would change, but as it turned out, almost nothing really moved me to do much more than besides what it seemed my body would want, or where my soul was almost comfortable at best, that is, almost. I wished I had a friend like that in real life, that I could justify the kind of nonsense that made me laugh and so happy in waking life, rather than just in my own mind, but— here I was, alone, or only with Oli, and upset that I was awake and may not be tired enough to force myself back to sleep. At least, for the next two weeks, I had Peacock, and I might have even somehow jumped over the hurdle that for some reason had forbade me from watching 30 Rock over, (which I wanted to for some reason), some almost 15 years ago. I had enjoyed thoroughly, with some intensely organic laughter, the movie Click just the night before, even writing some melodic piano inspired by the plot that might one day become something else, but for now, my Ableton was just as far away from my thoughts as anything else was, besides the other worlds I had created, simply with words and imagination, inspiration from what I would call ‘The Illuminati' ever so lovingly, but others might even just call God, or ‘The Business.' Really, there was no sense in separating the three, besides God itself being what I was sure some kind of divination for the artists that I had thought to be alike myself, in all the ways but one as of yet wealth. I struggled every day with my inability to dress well, maintain my hair and nails, and how to spend what little I had to benefit me most, however, the dream had procured at least one revelation; that I should budget for vinyl stickers, as I had once gained a cult following that way before—completely by accident, however, the first time—and though I hadn't yet the readiness to return to the public eye with my rants and raves, typically quite literally about rants and raves, I had collected another heap of tapes that I was yet to sort though, but might prove worthy of returning to the realm of Enter The Multiverse, eventually—still I had music to make that wasn't being made, over due bills piling up, and a divorce case that seemed to drag on forever, much longer than it should—and with that, I allowed myself to peer into the world that I hadn't, this time with the help of a little magic, and by a little, it meant a lot. I had wanted to spend my wedding anniversary anywhere besides my apartment, but I hadn't intended to be gone and lost all day in Manhattan while fasting, which ended up as a literal fucking nightmare, full of reminders of the disgusting and evil person my now estranged ex husband was, and it seemed as though there were cruel enough tricks being played on my psyche that it could have just as well ended on a harsh note, taking an uptown train to the face, after stopping to talk with a man who seemed friendly enough, but might have been Satan himself, as I had been drawn enough to his tattoo to make a remark on it, only to look closer and see that it was a Naruto tattoo, and though the man looked like Aliocha, that moment alone lead to an outburst out loud in which I nearly questioned my faith in God, or the existence in God at all— and yet there was, indeed a God, as just earlier in the day, though for the most part still nightmarish in all the ways spending a day you hated could be in public, surrounded by drones who seemed to mimick the Godlessness of such a person i wish i never would have known, and although perhaps the heavenly gesture was the day we had been married was the day i gave him any power he had, including his power to attempt to destroy me. It was still an irritant to say the least, that not only my train was out of service, and I only wanted to go one place, anyway (specifically to get sticker paper, on that day, for my project, actually) only to find that it was a difficult and confusing mess to find that station on any other train without going out of my way, which didn't matter. I was spat out somewhere downtown, actually, near One World Trade, which I had only ever visited once, and though I hated it—how capitalism had turned a literal graveyard into a tourist attraction, though I did like graveyards myself enough to have also happened by St. Paul's cemetery, to happily find that it was open rather than closed, but there was something else drawing me towards the center, perhaps a radio signal of some sort, which almost seemed to pull me closer and forward towards one world trade, and my inability to stay long within the droves of cellphones and robotic animal like people creatures, drew me up onto a staircase to discover a preforming arts center, although its name I hated, with constant reminders of meeting my untimely end in front of my two children with a bloody winding and blinding of my ex husbands fists, to which I dismissed anything and anyone who would support such an awful creature in anyway, though the name had become common enough that it happened often—often enough that I hated anything public, and had mostly felt safer in isolation. After circling one World Trade Center, counting the cameras to surmise that I had always been caught and captured to have been in those moments and actions, most probably stored somewhere in some place which held all of the world's recorded history, and I wondered exactly which era I might actually belong to—some sort of invinite vision, or a recollection of a person having already lived and recorded, a mere mirror of the person I was having already somehow been, which I already knew, and the person I was indeed had been sent on some kind of mission with divine purpose, though in this day, all that I really wanted was to not ever be reminded of what day it was, or who I had been before, or who I might be at all—and seeking asylum and escape from the center of it all, I crossed the walk and carried along the bike path, in the opposite direction, so that I had less humans around at all, out of sight, out of mind, with some restoration of comfort—then suddenly, I was drawn to a particularly lovely building, and myself an admirer of architecture, couldn't help but to go to it to collect the address, so that I could later research who had designed the building—along the way drawn to a sticker which read Rom Com Tom, that was so literally and figuratively reflective, I could not help but pick it up. The building seemed to be new, or even unoccupied, at least from street view, though its mirrored iridescent kept me from peering inside, I crept up the perimeter to see if there was a way around off the street level; there wasn't, but I did find something odd, and sort of interesting—a universal remote, or, rather, a remote control that could have been for anything, which I picked up, deciding that it had been some kind of writing prompt, after all, thinking ‘hm, that's odd, I was just thinking about Adam Sandler a lot recently' or more specifically, ‘thinking about that one movie where he has a remote that runs the world', and I had been, very recently, thinking of Adam Sandler enough that I had decided to slip the remote into my pocket, careful enough not to press any buttons, just in case some kind of higher ups were watching—a paranoia of sorts, but at the very least, I had counted almost a hundred cameras on my walk, and even If I wasn't being actually followed, (which I somehow sort of knew I was) I wouldn't want to be caught in the plot of somehow longing even more bizzare than I actually was, harem pants and all, to no suprise that the day had gone not at all as I had hoped, but at least I wasn't in my apartment sulkling. ESHA MCGUENNES (I thought I figured out how to spell that…. My left side's off I guess I got Stuck in the love of the art I was writing that part When the life of my love Fell over me A lover, huh. I'm so confused. I'm sorry bro, But if you're morbidly obese, But your feet are like a size 6– You are not BIG BONED. My doctor said I have a small frame, my feet are size 9, I went from a 10 to an 8.5-9 after losing 200 hundred pounds, I'm like “goddamn! Even my feet were fat! Fuck” But if you're fat like I was, and your feet are size 6, your feet might be like a size 4! You're a fat fucking pixie that fucked around and can't do little pixie shit now, cause you like pixie sticks —Too much! I'm just the rat in the dumpster I made this whole world up I swallowed the doctor I hearted the surgeon I locked up the dog catcher; I cauldron'd the Mormons I called it a sermon, but He called them all — Wait, who is Herman?! I don't know! Some black guy on that show I'm writing! what. I don't know. You're writing a show?! I'm on it! Ugh, I don't know. No fair, You really know how to make me cry When you give me those ocean eyes Those ocean eyes Good looking people In good looking places Doing good things; I just want to be Good today Good looking people Good looking people Bye, bye little bird, Think of the dreams we made Think of the drummer boy, Your lover boy, Then, the other boy There we go again, With the drums we played And the love we made It just won't make it Oh I Just Can't take it Can I come back yet? SHUT UP, GAYBRAHAM LINCOLN. I'm having breakfast at 10 am Thinking damn this depression is just setting in There's a chest on my elephant Chester drawer with hand carved elements Elephant ok my chest, Closets with hangers and button ups I haven't won't yet What FOR WHAT FOR. MY EYES. For the sake of the art, I heart ya. For perhaps if I love, That's how I lost ya. So I keep all my love close, The brothers have found the fountain How many dollars do tootsie pops cost For one Jimmy Fallon? return to the blacklist. Great. Now I'm Jimmy Fallon. Well what's fucked up! What happened! FUCK! I hate being Jimmy Fallon! Whose dick swings to the right like that?! Ow. FUCK. Fuck this guy. GODDAMMIT. -_- Let me in. Or I could just leave you out. No, don't do that. WHY. Ahh. Shhhhhh!!! What if someone sees me. Hmm, let's see. [rings neighbors doorbell, shuts door] No! The neighbor opens the door; now gifted with the ability to see demons, after merging with— Fast forward Oh no, when did that thing come into play? (When this happened) Liz lemon lives on the ground floor It don't matter cause she ain't never home l She's at the rock That's all the way up Good talk, Donaghey, Good, Good Talk Good people Good show Good good times It's good to be long gone from home Go to work at the plaza That ones Conan. Oh, Why?! Why not, though. (I swear to God all the late night dudes are like the same guy.) OH, you mean— Katt. What up Snoop. Ahh, Look what the pimp limped in. You think you're clever. You think you're at least 5 foot—but you're 4 foot 9 I'm STILL WINNING [CHARLIE SHEEN relapses on the dance floor.] Oh shit. Relapses to which habit? All of them! 10-4. CALL RUSSEL BRAND. Csnt. Why not. He's blacked out. What? Another relapse?! No, he just— passed out KABLAM. “The Cockney Thug” He's just like that now. God What is it. Can I have ham in my spam samwhiches. —you want ham in your spam sandwhich. Yes. Roasted cantaloupe with Put your notebook On my throat-Scrotum I like your poems So I wrote you this one Oh. That's. Welcome—to the' creepy shit fans have done for u's backlogs. “Backlogs” Well, I have millions of fans, It would take me years to look at all this. [the festival project] Woah. Woah. Ok. Yo. Have you seen this. What is it. I don't know. Hm. Look. Woah: Yeah, it's— Wow Ok. It just goes on like this— For how long— For like GOH GOH l GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO CUT TO: Latest — 1:04 WHAT? MEANWHILE ….IS THAT A JIMMY FALLON? LOOKS LIKE ONE. SHOOT THAT MOTHERFUCKER. ok , boss. I told you, He would play The Devil's Advocate, If need be [JIMMY FALLON is shot mercilessly in the shoulder in broad daylight.] YO. THEY SHOT ME. He'll be okay. He's Jimmy Fallon. [LIKE 90,000 Ambulances and a SWAT team roll up.] See. DEADMAU5 charges himself in a high speed chamber—a tech-driven coffin via a USB port in his neck. Lol. Ok. (PDA) Public Displays of Affliction I've never even see. A. Aston Martin Sometimes it's worth it, Getting lost in Manhattan I just saw the sign I wouldn't dare entering, anyhow Not in this outfit Not in this predicament (I just left the Whole Foods market) I got lost and god was happy Motor cars for music Force a figure ibto music Forgive Annie, Run a mile what's a california smile In New York What a garden Oh, what a garden Double back. For a second glance Oh, don't we all want second chances Now I've been an Aston Martin Motorists dot muses now u want her What a party I just saw the sign Now I've been an Aston Martin All by design Companion passing through KAWS I just bought a Ferrari I said, Where the roof is?! Where the roof is?! Blū electrico Roof finished in Nero Just a hit of magic A menacing, incredibly ambedextrous submissive One time I played God, I was hanging as the sun in Toronto In my third eye was a camera lense; My baby daddy, Lover and my best friend My husband My lover and My best friend My brother And my father Were my best friends Once upon a time I never had friends Now I remember sitting in the backseat, Has been I remember when I never had ribs I remember when I never had meat Nice to meet you I already had a coffee I remember sitting in the front seat Once upon a time I was anno one Once upon a dollar, Jimmy Fallon Once upon a dollar, Jimmy Fallon Once a bunch of Pennies, lady Gaga I'm a baby, haha Once upon a time, I was a no one A nobody Once upon a dollar, Jimmy Fallon I remember penny was a virgin I remember when you were the third one, l Once upon a time I was the first one Once upon a time, I thirst my quench with Coffee Body guard! I remember going on a long run I remember once there was a Knock on my door Now I quench my thirst with smart water With a hard on Never was a smart one Just an artist I was no one Once upon a dollar Jimmy Fallon Once upon a nothing, there was no one Now I take my coffee on a long ride No fun Once upon a dollar, Jimmy Fallon Amen I wish for every dollar I ever had, back Jimmy Fallon I wish it was 11:11, every Dillon Francis I wish for sandwhiches on leavened bread at Passover I wish this whole world would Passover, With the the stories in my home And in my notebook I wish for the fame and wealth with it, Jimmy Fallon I wish I never laughed at Dillon Francis I wish Skrillex was never a demon, I take it back I want the wealth And not the fame Just the freedom, Jimmy Fallon What do you mean by that? A dad, an actor An attack, The press is back and asking questions I can't handle that I can't. I just can't with that Abandon the matrix Go back to What's his name But I can't Cause I made him up Call my mother begging to drop the charges Called my God Just asking what the pocket watch does What's an engagement ring like that coat How much to rug the cameras up Inside my home So I don't know about em That shit's priceless Like the 9 Dollar's I've got Marked up, but not to spend them at the Market Jimmy Fallon I pray for your family But not as hard as I pray For my son Or God To take this fat off So I can look like Jennifer Aniston Cause that's God to em, 22 year old Adam Sandler At a brunch A talk show with my Least favorite host of all time Jimmy Fallon But I love to laugh, huh I just got back, God My house is a mess I want meth like AshGod If Method man was drinking up the water Would there be backwash It's a horrible, windfall This awesome art project My broken heart The coughing stalkers Whatever the fuck is going on in New York I love New York But not New Yorkers It hurts to be the worst person The first person to put reverse curses On shamans from the 3rd world And I'm living in the first world, But I just learned that Underneath the surface Is the fourth world That's some dichotomy Huh That's some diabolical plot The cosmic avenger is stuck in a dimension Of white pocket tenses And white bitches who get offended With this scripture But listen I just got up And I've been privy to Never sleeping again Norman Needs you, Mrs. Hotch But I was never Mrs. Roberts With all of the hearts and crosses , stars I give up on love Where's DimlonnFrancis at That's a man without a mask, That's a mannequin m. Just got up And I still want breakfast All I got is Stuff that's leavening A hand in my pocket Just for God to show me Nobody I want wants me Jimmy Fallon has a family That's a tragedy, that But I laughed so hard in the bathtub I still haven't come back from that I feel bad for em, actually All the husbands Cause I was the wife that sucks And he hated me so much I got punched in the— Doesn't matter Stuck in the telling it over and over Nobody loves me My new password is Fuckit I'm gone galloping horses, And hornets, I'm just a furniture Probably should have aborted me, mother Just like you wanted to But I'm still in the hospital On the honor roll Cause I had them all lined up The prophets of the “Impossible, could not be my God!” That's what they all said, But they dressed me up like Some sort of messiah, So I was, then It wasn't right, no That was malpractice But now I've got Camping in Malibu Crossed off my list forever Shit It's some dichotomy Just hold onto me I'm the rock, You're the kite now, Jimmy Fallon I was just better off dead, You know Better off stuck in my head, you know. I read your messages, every one of them Every one of the drugs in my bucket I threw up from the fan club Impossible, Could not have been at that clown JIMMY FALLON - THE COSMIC AVENGER JIMMY FALLON THE COSMIC AVENGER is levitating in a hyper-meditative state. UH – “hehe” …I beg your pardon. “Hehe” Um… Fuck. Or “haha” “haha” … Just admit it. … Admit it already! –haha. Admit WHAT. This gets Levels. Nobody thought Patrice O Neal was a woman! I thought Patrice O Neal Was a Woman. Ah, fuck, I'm nobody. “Nobody” Is that Bob Saget? I swiped right on this dude, just cause he looked exactly like Bob Saget. Omg. Bob Saget! Fuck, that's right. EXT. THE W HOTEL, BEVERLY HILLS, DAY/ EXT . PODSHARE WESTWOOD ROOFTOP, DAY OH MY GOD, GUYS, LOOK: IT'S BOB SAGET. No it's not! Oh My God! Yeah IT IS! Fuck, really?! Bob Saget?! BOB SAGET! YO GUYS, IT'S BOB SAGET. It was, in fact, Bob Saget. Bob Saget's dead, right? Oh yeah, bud. That's it guys! No more dead celebrities! I'm coming with you! NO MORE GHOSTS. Look, I have something to tell you. UGH. COME ON. This is a weird superpower. EXT. GRAVEYARD, QUEENS, NY. DAY … … … Having fun yet? Alright! I have a question! What? When do I get to– Get to what? You know. Luckily, I die long beore Jimmy Fallon, and as my time approached, I took all i could absorb from the world within, and without, almost as if any and all of my deathwish had been satiated with the gentle ease, the notion of knowing my imminent death would come long before what those surrounding me would consider my time, and therefore would not be made to lose anymore than I already had–but at least, I did have th strength in knowing, not only would i never grow so old as to see for show most of what I had done, but that I had done most of what I would have at all, and not much longer than my words would form into all that would come to be known as my full body of work, I would perish, even before–long before– those I had studied, admired, and known to love–if only through the fourth wall, at all. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

Track 01. OXYGEN Music VIdeo: The Leveling Up from Hotel Concierge to Superstar Sensation I'mma just like– Take one of those luggage carts and prolly dance with it, Like i used to. That shit is not gonna work. You were like It'll work. You were like mad fat, back then. SO. So it; luggage carts shouldn't spin like that; They don't just move like that. It's just centrifugal force. Watch. Alright, if you say so. Watch. Lol Runaway luggage cart. Fine. That's the video. All ya'll bitches gossiping I just can't do nothing right I should put some vocals in Channel surf from side to side I just got another job Concierge from 9-5 I just need some oxygen Channel surf side to side I get paid to go to work This shit hurts from 9-5 This shit hurts from 9-5 I just got another job— Concierge from 9-5 I get paid to go to work This shit hurt from Out of sight and out of mind; You are nothing but a problem I'm a prophet I'm a God Channel surf and then I prosper You just talk and gossip Photoshop and scrolling on your socials Mind my business, do my job, but On those eggshells I am walkin I get paid to go to work Paperwork from 9-5 I just need some oxygen -channel surf from 9-5 I been making profit Turning hours into dollars Went no drama I'm on oxygen While all you do is gossip You just clocked in— but my shift is fucking over Peace! All y'all bitches gossiping I m in another life Making money count it up Paperwork from 9-5 I just need some oxygen I just can't do nothin right I just need some oxygen Channel surf from side to side All ya'll bitches gossipin, I am not about that life! Now I'm doing vocals in the studio From 9-5 Package came from Amazon Guess I'm doing something right Now I'm in the studio, MTV from 9-5 Mind my business, do my job My shift done, but, You just clocked in K no non N—- Katt. What up Snoop . Ahh, Look what the pimp limped in. You think you're clever. You think you're at least 5 foot—but you're 4 foot 9 I'm STILL WINNING CHARLIE SHEEN relapses on the dance floor Oh shit. Relapses to which habit? All of them! 10-4 CALL RUSSEL BRAND. Csnt. Why not. He's blacked out. What? Another relapse?! No, he just— passed out KABLAM. “The Cockney Thug” He's just like that now. God What is it. Can I have ham in my spam samwhiches. —you want ham in your spam sandwhich. Yes. Roasted cantaloupe with Put your notebook On my throat-Scrotum I like your poems So I wrote you this one Oh. That's. Welcome—to the' creepy shit fans have done for u's backlogs. “Backlogs” Well, I have millions of fans, It would take me years to look at all this. [the festival project] Woah. Woah. Ok. Yo. Have you seen this. What is it. I don't know. Hm. Look. Woah: Yeah, it's— Wow Ok. It just goes on like this— For how long— For like GOH GOH GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO [Tales of a Superstar DJ] Six hours should have been enough sleep, but now I was feeling strange, almost as if I had woken up into a world where I didn't belong—not that I had ever felt I belonged anywhere before so much, but this world seemed strange and twisted, I woke up in a cold sweat, and although I had been struggling with a full bladder for sometime, at least semi- conscious enough to point my foot in the direction of the door, still dressed—or rather, almost dressed— well, dressed, by skinny girl standards, in shorts I wore as underwear, but smaller girls would wear for running, the only acceptable crop top I ever owned, a white top with black Chinese dragons, and athletic compression socks—best yet, I still had on my DJ hat, and things had been so outrageous lately that I always felt like I needed some kind of head covering, anyway—it was atrang how suddenly I noticed the difference with and without, but lately anyway had been sleeping strangely, usually dressed and atop the bed, rather than in it, or under the covers. I had been working tirelessly towards my albums, and had just finished an EP—well( the instrumentals; anyway, and had gone to bed in the early evening frustrated that suddenly, my microphone seemed not to be working—and though I often struggled with the interface, it had simply just stopped picking up audio, though I had been successful in at least doing the preliminary tracks, (before breaking to workout) after a mandatory rest and some obligatory indulgence—I always ate more than usual when producing heavily, or producing at all, at least music which was more complex, than just a simple beat or some kind of improvised work; If it was intentional at all that I should focus on music, I was always overeating—but, I had become quite small, running at least a mile a day for some time, and didn't nessesarily find the extra weight too bothersome… though I loved being skinny— and it became oddly difficult to sing and dance well when I was smaller, almost like I was living in a different body at that weight— like I was detached from myself and my voice, and also strangely, the ability to dance as fantastically as I wish I could ever do while recording myself or being recorded came with a couple extra pounds and some limited indulgence—very limited… —But, I did like being skinny. I awoke in a cold sweat, the lights still on—the dream hadn't altogether been a disaster or a nightmare, but strange enough to wake me, and vivid enough that I had become lucid, that talking to and looking at Dillon had made me realize I should wake up, especially given what he was saying and doing—in short, he was being a douchebag, which I nearly always expected of him, anyway, but somehow, within the dream, still felt close enough to him that I wasn't upset. Somehow, though, I had let him go entirely in the waking world, at all, actually—almost never even writing about him anymore, giving myself the time to grow and the space I needed to shake off whatever had been such a weird curse that had even lead me to think we could be an item; now, in the waking world, I was grounded in reality—I no longer fawned after celebrities really, although average men never piqued my interest or fancy at all—actually, no man in any way was quite piquing my interest indeed, and I had even stopped masturbating, after a particularly strong orgasm which had emerged from what seemed like a random vision of Sonny, not soon before that, maybe a week or so ago at best—and what had come thereafter had squashed any kind of sexuality I might have pondered or summoned up—the coughing people instantly returned after that orgasm, as if it were a direct attack on my soul to even think of him in such a way, which had however been by complete accident, in the final moments before release— and I realized it was probably some kind of magical protection, or hex from coughs, who might still, or in some girlish way be in love with him—Perhaps, even his own magical shield—and I could not anymore give my ex the power or ability to have maneuvered such a trick, that an orgasm would bring about such cruelties… as I realized that there were almost always present, as well as the coughing people, women who were petite and pretty—the kind actually suited for Sonny, would appear in my midsts, having anywhere to go, or anything to do—petite, blonde haired, blue eyed women—or just, white women in general, almost seemingly out of nowhere—And, to remain that I stay unchanged from my lack of violence towards the matter, I had left any man that wasn't mine entirely alone, even in my mind, but especially in my heart and soul. I had let everything and everyone go—which included Dillon Francis, who's apparent relationship, though no sign of such in the actual media, I had decided to overall respect; I always respected the woman or wife of a man, especially those that I admired—especially those who I was extremely attracted to, and especially those of whom I became bonded in some way, through my writing or otherwise, completely by accident and never intentional—and to that, I had moved into entire celibacy… though, it began to be a painful knot in the bottom of my back and at my spine, in my hips and even in my kneecaps, especially the weak one—after an outing full of coughing bodies and petite looking girls, I had thought it best to never even think of Sonny again, and had locked my obsidian protection stone out of my presence entirely—I wished not to know or think of a man who knew no bounds, and relinquished his spirit, if not for my own safety. It had been months since dreaming about Dillon Francis at all, and perhaps I was just sexually frustrated, however the dream in itself wasn't sexual in nature—just, informative. He was wearing a white t-shirt with a pretty brunette on it—with blue eyes, of course, and clad in a bikini—which I told him was the most beautiful woman in the world—he agreed, and strangely was able to zoom in the picture on his shirt, as if it were some kind of screen, focusing on her bosom and saying something along the lines of “yep, she's all mine—and no portal [to the underworld]!”, and though he hadn't said the part about the underworld, I figured and sort of agreed that his suggestion was, that my vagina had some kind of curse on it—which was probably true, anyway, and the reason I never even masturbated anymore. I responded by telling him that I was happy he had someone, that I was happy he was in love and that that's what I had wanted, but suddenly became filled with sadness—it seemed I still did have feelings somewhere for him after all, though I was dreaming, and he began to torment me with the words that made me decide that I had to wake up to escape the horrid feelings that came along with them. He said “you know when I first met you I really wanted you; I just wanted you.” And in the insinuating that there might have ever been some kind of chance between us, if I had only done something different, though— during my time being homeless everything had become out of control, it angered me that he suggested that I could have worked harder or tried harder and things might have been different—they weren't, and I decided that though it had been good to see him, and it would be hard to wake up, that I needed to wake up now, before I could cry inside my own dream, lighting an incense in the dream world, and making the wish to exit the dream; I immediately did, returning into my room, alit with blue, at around the time I had intended to wake up to presume making music, which now seemed futile—suddenly I didn't want to even try, realizing it had less to do with Dillon Francis than it did with the world in general. in fact, upon waking, I thought to myself that no matter the situation, it had been a relief to see Dillon, who I thought of as a kind stranger, an imaginary friend now, who had guided me through rough waters with laughter and the pleasure of music—who in my waking life had fallen back into the category of just another famous person, with no delusion of a romance between one another, no matter how much I had wanted it once. I had left it alone, out of respect to his own conscious, and out of respect to myself—who had fangirled enough that I had become damaged from it, deciding ultimately to just ‘leave the men alone', and wondered what kind of monster I might have been that I really only was ever interested anymore in someone if they were not only handsome, but talented, intelligent, and also somewhat famous. The auras of even the most beautiful common man, even the classy, well dressed and assuming well-to-do men of Manhattan just didn't shine the way the others did—and I could never see myself shine in a way that would make me like them—famous—though I had been working hard on my music, dangerously hard, actually—so much that I feared my ex's Jealousy and intent to kill had plagued and cursed now my machinery—I just couldn't at all get my microphone or to work and had forced myself to sleep—it had been over 24 hours that I had been awake with the focus to work anyway, and I needed to rest, but was mere hours away from the completion of another project, and suddenly, the ability to record vocals has just stopped. Now, upon waking, I clutched my chest, drenched in sweat realizing that I had fallen asleep with some stones tucked into my bra, which I never did anymore as the stones and crystals had been enchanted with intentions, and had become quite strong, each of them on their own, but particularly together in the way that some of them even clashed, and that I could not carry them all, or just didn't, out of caution—I assumed the one over my heart to be the Amethyst, which I very specifically never ever slept with or even clutched anymore—the stone was strange, and had began to vibrate in a way that I was unsure of, and so with that I alluded it to the probability that because its intention had always been set to be given as a gift to Dillon, no matter the stuatus of our actual relationship to one another, that it in some way had been bonded to his energy—and with respect to the presumption that he was taken, of course by some pretty, very skinny, perfectly capable white girl—perfectly capable of being functional in all the ways I was not, by circumstances of privelege and wealth, probably extremely well cared for and perfect in every way—I respected the dynamics of white world, in that it made more sense for him to always love someone like her, if not just her forever—if he truly had fallen in love and planned to make this woman his wife, which I had wanted alon learning that he was with someone—the notion which would have freed me from his grip, a still quite devastating attraction— And it was devastating, The loop which was so simple and certainly evident now, that it was an inevitable lust and infatuation that had drawn me to the conclusion that you just can't want a man like that. You have no business falling in love with a man like Sonny Moore, Dillon Francis—or anyone alike them, in that it would all be the same, tragic, eye opening experience of uselessness, disappointment, and the constant reminder that because of who they are, and because of who you are, you would never, ever be good enough for them—and even in a professional setting, had a long way to go up the ladder before a collaboration with Skrillex, Dillon Francis, or deadmau5 would make any kind of literal sense, but especially monetary, I was simply not rich enough yet for the music industry—and I was certainly not woman enough for any of them. It wasn't the amethyst at all, I realized upon returning from the restroom, that had been inside my brazier as I slept, but The Illuminati Stone, which had no incantation besides the explicit desire for wealth, knowledge, and skill within my given right to exist outside of the “underworld”, “the blackness” or the plague of poverty—the amethyst, with my other musical incantations had been left atop my drum machine, as they usually always were, next to my drum sticks and whatever mess I had abandoned in the studio before falling asleep, and though now I was quite awake, smudging with sage to break the feeling of helplessness and bitter sadness, slight sexual frustration which I had fallen asleep with, and of course now waken up with, quich had nothing to do with Dillon, thankfully—and at the very least I knew better than to think of him in anyway on purpose at all—or any man in anyway on purpose at all—as it was concluded I just simply could not be loved at all, and that if there were any curse at all placed on me, it was with that purpose—that I would never love or be loved again. I never slept with all my stones, but now I wanted to; I should have been working on music, but wasn't even moderately moved to do so—it was like I had lost the desire, and reminded me that perhaps my ex had become Dillon Francis after all, just to torture me, just as he had seemed to turn into Sonny before. Perhaps he would just turn into anyone I loved just to try to kill me kn the way that j could never be without him, no matter how much I wanted to, and would always have to suffer being reminded of him, his habits, and the horrible things he used to do to me; and for some reason, the scar on the inside of my lip, where my teeth had punctured entirely through from one side to the other, began to swell and throb, which almost never happened, but sometimes did, especially when k was upset or had flashbacks of the initial beating which had left me wounded in many more ways than i could ever count or imagine, but especially damaged—he had ruined my face that day, and suddenly I remembered it, the gash that had left it impossible to eat for sometimes, as even applesauce would sting, and stuck to the wound inside my mouth—and it was hard to imagine how I ever recovered from that.::or maybe I hadn't. Either way, there had been a strong, male voice lately which had been tormenting me with especially masculine, toxic and invasive thoughts, a voice which reminded me of a man who called himself Big O, who had once ruined my day by offering me a ride,'picking me up at a bus stop in front of the shelter—whom I assumed was doing so out of the kindness of his heart, of course, but was either some fed doing intel on the bizzare was surrounding my imminitely divine and extra terrestrial podcast series, or just some strange man attempting to illicit sexual favors in exchange for drugs, which I politely declined, however, he had spent my time, which was supposed to be a direct ride from queens into Manhattan, driving in circles, running errands, and asking questions about me, my past, and my own habits—all of which had been extinguished, and though I just wanted to go to the gym, he had kept driving in circles around queens, even stopping at what seemed like some kind of doctors office, his office, where he said he had some mushrooms “just lying around” and would give me for free—which I never believed anyway, but went along with it—as the bus almost never came when scheduled and on time and I had been at the stop nearly too long; and he had hovered in front of me long enough to realize that he was trying to get my attention. I had nothing to lose in the shelter anyway, and had been making a point to spend as much time at equinox as possible—and was still somehow naive enough at this point to actually believe that someone would actually just do such a thing—give someone a ride out of the kindness of their heart. But I paid for that ride, in unwanted touches, coughing, and the reminder that there was some demonic force which only ever wanted to hurt me, drive around in circles, and waste my time, just as my ex had— that just wanted to blow smoke in my face and remind me that I wasn't a beautiful woman, but just a woman—and that there were so many other to choose from that I should be so lucky just to have been offered a ride. It was this voice that had been torturing me lately, calling me a horrible mother, an ugly fat woman—unworthy of success. It was this voice that had been burgeoning me with reminders of what I had been before, almost enough to overlook what I had become—and though it was with some stroke of genius that I had done all that I had, it didn't seem to matter without the actual success or wealth, or any money at all to show for it—and so far, there wasn't any: I was literally down to my last dollar, once again— unmarked, albeit, with such a formidable respect to Jimmy Fallon and his family, besides the strangeness that had been surrounding the inspiration to suddenly begin to write from his essence characters I had never known or thought of, but had suddenly somehow been brought to life— I was too broke now even to get business cards, and though I had invested into a beautiful studio, the struggles with my interface altered me to the fact that all of my equipment was becoming rapidly obsolete, and that alone gave me a limited ability to create, let alone to make quality music which was good enough to compete with the likes of even the lower ranks at Insomniac , but especially far from a signature label, like Epic or Columbia, which I needed more than wanted—a record deal; my living room was still empty, and the only furniture was my studio equipment, which was at least a comfortable and beautifully well lit space, with a cheap full sized mattress on the floor—but it was everything in the world to be grateful for, to have an unshared space—which might have been perfect a couple floors higher up and without the distraction of either of my neighbors, both white women who seemed to act in demonic ways at random times, but especially in times were I wanted to relax, or be at peace—and though for at least a week or so they had been particularly calm, and I had been putting in overtime with heavy prayer work in order to protect myself and be rid of such a demonic energy, a force which seemed to intend to kill me and used other people as it's way to find me—there was still this voice, who had taken the voice of big o, who I hated for not only touching me, but wasting my time—I had missed equinox that day after a streak, arriving hours after he had picked me up in Manhattan, his attempts to lure me into some kind of party girl state failed; he dropped me off at 66th, Columbus circle, for my “gig”; I wasn't letting him know my true destination for any reason, and unstead bluffed that I had been hired as a musician to preform at this address, which happened to be, without my knowing, the Trump hotel, It was his voice that called me a liar and a thief, a horrible mother, a fat, ugly useless woman. It was his voice that told me to get a “real” job, that was useless in music at all—that I could not compete with the little girls which the music industry had pumped out on pure sexual appeal, rather than talent—girls like Tyla, who I knew were planted and selected with financial backing to be “successful”, not on hard work or determination, but by the looks of it, some kind of sick game—the body game, which the whole world had become, and I had lost long before I had become aware of it. Though beautiful in its way, my body was broken, hard, and tired— I drifted in and out of an altered consciousness, knowing my time had come to do or die, but unlikely to try my hand at anything that might become what the regular workforce always was—a hellscape of more reminders of my ex, of Sonny, the petite women suited for him— reminded of a Dillon , and his super white girlfriend—and the overriding factor that I was supposed to be focusing fully on music; and shouldn't be working some dead end job at all— Fuck this. I thought, placing the amethyst on my inter thigh. Fuck music. There was no way to let music go, but the possibility of actual success was dwindling—anything I loved became evil, and in the shattering of doing everything alone, I just wanted it to be over. Maybe if he didn't want to be a parent alone and be constantly reminded of me, He shouldn't have cheated But especially shouldn't have beat me He certainly had no right to take the rest of my life away just because I had walked out of his—he had ruined my baby to look and sound just like him; to act like him, and though I couldn't ever hate my boy I would never love his father again, or any man like him. Or maybe, any man at all. What is a man, but that, anyway? Destroyers of worlds, wasters of times Vengeful, pitiful, needy creatures— And though I thought also that woman might be worse… The worst of all things was that I had become neither at all, And therefore devoid of the ability to love or be loved, in the world which had become nothing but money, bodies, and material consumption. Suicide reared its head in a different way than usual—not with the burning sensation of absolute pain and destruction, but instead with a calm intent to not attach, to not conform, to not bond to anything, which might prove in itself be just another illusion: It was nice seeing Dillon. It was strange that in all of the horrible feelings that had come from waking back into the nightmare of my own existence—a nightmare which was at least now pretty, and sheltered properly, but still miserably alone—and I neither wanted nor needed friends, really. Who could you trust in such a material world, to have your best interests at hand! Who could you trust in man's world, if not man itself. His body was tall and strong, and felt safe— But nothing was safe about Dillon Francis, or his world. Nothing is safe in a man's world. Aristide o I am the god, if you want it The devil if you need it To be that Another Dillon Francis dream I had fallen asleep just to again dream of Dillon Francis—perhaps I knew I wouldn't be seeing him in waking life again, and took my chances, attacking him as he slept peacefully, or at least laid down. I knew he had a girlfriend and didn't care; I had my way with him anyway, though not going al the way—his penis was very tiny, which made the blowjob all the more enjoyable—he ejaculated quickly, and I was satisfied—at least his penis was small enough that it wouldn't have brought me too much pleasure anyway. I was pretty happy about it, but he felt bad and kind of freaked out. I pretended nothing happened and we stayed friends—I think we worked together or something so we were still around each other a lot—he made it a point to suppose his girlfriend with a $67,000 engagement ring, which for whatever made me jealous. It didn't matter kept my own secret, but he still seemed kind of mad or disappointed in himself. Then I got a new man—he wasn't my ideal, but at least I had somebody. I laid with him on the beach and for some reason Dillon's girl was there—she was so pretty. This version of his girlfriend was blonde—but of course still had blue eyes. Duh. She seemed to know that I had made Dillon cheat on her as I looked into her eyes, but it didn't matter anyway. The past was the past, I guess. My new man didn't seem to matter. He was like a faceless body and insignificant, but something went down and we were to run away to a cabin in the woods somewhere to hide. What a weird fucking dude. I wondered why he had begun again to appear in my dreams—and it wasn't as if I'd forgotten about, at all, but just hadn't been thinking about him, almost not at all, actually: I wondered what a $67,000 engagement ring would look like and figured that might be the actual case, so to just leave him or anything to do with him alone—especially doing something retarded like googling or looking him up, which would only hurt me. I was nice to have a penis in my mouth though—I missed penis a lot…felt bad for kind of mouth taping him but whatever. I had fun. I woke up in the morning with all the energy I had lost from staying up trying to push out my project by 4/20 or 4/23, hoping that constantly being reminded of my abuser would stop, but it seemed he wanted me dead and to suffer with the memory of him forever; I had missed my deadline, not out of laziness, but because of the unsurmounting amount of bullshit which seemed to come between me being able to actually do anything right in music, and I thought surely soon enough the EDM industry would find their own Tyla, hiring some black looking girl to make—or at least play dubstep, pretending to make it— realness didn't seem to matter to anyone at all anymore— And my passion for music became jaded as my body and mind were, in the money that it would take to become noticed. Sure, of course, I would still try but probably not as hard — the whites —or rather just—the heads of the entertainment industry as a whole, but especially music, seemed to have enough interest in me that maybe it did matter, but I would have to be groomed for their world, who they obviously didn't want penetrated by too much blackness—which was understandable; race aside, or at least the black culture was hard to stand in many aspects—though of course, rap, as any other genre, had become so horrible that I knew my music would excel— It was insane that the music industry had ruined music enough that even new music from my favorite artists began to sound robotic—and it must have been that the audiences were so brainwashed themselves that it didn't matter to the festival world—everyone just wanted to party to escape the clutches of capitalism and corporate slavery, which made sense. Of all the days to dream about Dillon stupid fucking Francis, it's the day of the eclipse, and I wondered whether I should even waste my time starting up at the sky like everyone else in the world would be, or if I was just better off hiding away, keeping safe from the disgusting, coughing, robotic demon people—- and just working on music, fighting this invisible monster who wanted nothing but my defeat— However—the more it pushed me to excel in anything besides music-my writing, which came naturally but second, as even that world had been washed with nepotism and unoriginality that had been hard to palette—it would be even harder to make it as a writer, as white woman always dominated white works, and I could bear to stand the thought of bowing to her. Racism is simply a game of control—to make the other party understand that they are in some or any way inferior to another, genetically, peofessionally, or otherwise. Not only had I come now to entirely fear the white woman, the face of white dominance and supremacy by proxy—that the world had come to worship as the most capable, attractive, and worthy of love and success, especially in dance culture, but just in the media in totality, anyway, and certainly in any workplace I had ever known, which drew me back to the story which my now-late 3-track EP, a teaser for my upcoming album— a story which told of the days I spent my time working at the Eureka Casino Resort, as part time deal person, and part time concierge-which was actually a hubrif position betwrrnbellhop and housekeeper, the job at which I had discovered my all time guilty pleasure, Bad Girls club, on a network oxygen— a tv channel which played lol sorts of reality shows, but of course—happened to be usually playing Bad girls club during my shifts, which made the shitty job a little less shitty, and maybe even worth it a little, to finish my work as quickly as possible, and hide away in one of the resort's rooms, clever enough to choose a ro still marked as dirty-/but was clean enough to enjoy an episode or two of what some might have called trash TV, but presented itself as high quality entertainment, for a 21 year old would-be housewife—or, yet-to-be. Or would have been, if the money had permitted, but of course, it never did— or, it never had— At least—not yet. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

Will went to school for illustration. After many plot twists—including a bike accident, leading a team of animators, and climbing mountains in Alaska—he ended up working in games. Now, he's a design director and creative consultant, working on games that aim to make the world a better place. This week, Will joins us in the clubhouse to discuss how he's made decisions about his creative career and where those decisions have taken him. New gamedevs and creative folks, you might find inspiration in Will's story. Experienced gamedevs, you might be reminded to think about where you've been and where to find meaning in the next chapter of your career.Creative Career PathsArtGame DesignIRLMisc.Kablam! - IMDBHeadkicker II - Arcade HistoryU.B. Funkeys - WikipediaMicrosoft Solitaire turns 30 years old today and still has 35 million monthly p… - The VergeNYT Connections Game - The New York TimesTraveling While Black - Felix and PaulEverFiBuild Your Stax (game)Will BredbeckGuestWilliam Bredbeck lives in Milford, CT and is the father of two amazing little girls. He has had a show of oil paintings in Alaska, worked on a 160-foot schooner, is reading through all of the Pulitzer Prize winning novels in order, and climbed to the highest points in many states. He is passionate about understanding the creative process, mentoring designers, and making great things!External linkhttps://www.williambredbeck.com/Will on Instagram

Text us and say hello!This week, we interrupt your regularly scheduled broadcast of Generation 'S' for a good ole' fashioned CROSSOVER episode!  A few weeks back, I had the privelege of joining Sean and Ty on the Whiskeylodeon podcast, which combines two of my favorite things on this planet: booze and cartoons. You may in fact remember Ty from some previous episodes of this podcast, and so I finally had the chance to return the favor, and talk some old school Nickelodeon.  This time around, we covered one of my favorite episodes of Are You Afraid of the Dark, as well as the pilot episode of a COMPLETELY forgotten gem from the early 2000s, The Journey of Allen Strange.  It's a bit of longer episode, but it's because we had SO MUCH FUN.  Hopefully it comes through in our episode, so kick back and enjoy!  Support the Show.We've got merch!Check out the site for some awesome Gen 'S' swag :)

Welcome KaBlamsters...I mean, Slimesters! This episode is Ka-filled to the brim with KaBlam-tastic comical entertainment! Okay, enough Ka-fuddling about. For this episode we dive into an animated comic book that was hosted by the widely expressive, Henry and June. Joining us is returning guest Zac Fieldend as discuss the immensely varied shorts of this overlooked Nicktoon and share our favorite picks. What is your favorite KaBlam short? Make sure to give Zac a follow on Instagram : https://www.instagram.com/zacfieldsend/ Unlock Bonus Content on Patreon Shop at our Splat Attack Merch Store Email Us: SplatAttack2021@gmail.com   YouTube: Splat Attack! Podcast Instagram: @SplatAttackPodcast Reddit: SplatAttack2021 TikTok: @splatattack2021 Rate us 5 Stars on Apple Podcasts to help us reach more 90s Nick Fans.

[scene: studio execs at Touchstone Pictures talking to director Michael Bay] Execs: So, Mr. Bay, we're looking for a major summer tentpole movie for 1998. Any ideas? Michael Bay: BOOM! KABLAM! KABLOOIE! SKADAM!! Execs: An asteroid, you say? Love it! So, we get some big stars in a disaster movie . . . what else? … Continue reading "Episode 256 – Armageddon (1998)"

Text us and say hello!Hey guys!  So in a bit of a change for this week, I wanted to share a recent podcast episode I did with fellow 90s podcaster Amy Lewis from the Pop Culture Retrospective Podcast.  We talked all about Nickelodeon game shows from the 90s (which we 100% covered here on the Generation 'S' Podcast about 6 months ago, so make sure to go check it out!) Amy is a wonderful person, and I highly recommend you check out her show.  Her story and motivations behind reminiscing about the 90s are so true and sincere, and her show reflects that through and through. We'll be back next week with your regularly scheduled programming, but please check out this great episode in the meantime! Support the Show.We've got merch!Check out the site for some awesome Gen 'S' swag :)

Breeding, Boob Slapping, and Kablam!  Of all the ancient Roman Goddesses I titty-slapped at an orgy, Juno is probably my favorite.  (hiccup)  We chat about bukkakes, dominatrixes (hiccup), overcoming sexual trauma, lawn geese (hiccup), Igbo people, Futurama, motorbutting (hiccup), and more subjects than Juno what to do with!Also I spank her with ridiculous objects, because why not.(hiccup!)patreon.com/sexieshowCashApp: $SexieShow

January 23-29, 1999 This week Ken welcomes comedian and actor India Pearl. Ken and India discuss India's mom, Worcester Mass, The Paris of the 80s, Mt. Auburn Cemetery, Central Park, selling things in the room, where the most ice cream in the world is consumed, being excluded from post Prom parties, being in the band, being a theater kid, The Spice Girls, Scary Spice, Ken playing six degrees, Velveeta, The 50 Funniest Moments on Television, Jack Johannsn, stand up specials, Jim Carey, Buffalo Bill, Phil Silvers, monkeys, a woman's potato chip collection on Johnny Carson being the funniest thing ever, The Count of Monte Cristo, Wishbone, $100 for a Biker Baby Doll, The Franklin Mint, refurbishing Barbie Dolls, Hocus Pocus, celebrity parties, busting Michael Rosenbaum's balls, Napoleon Dynamite, That 70s Show, going over your head, Selma Blair, Zoey Duncan Jack and Jane, being forbidden from watching Sliders, banning Buffy, cocaine fueled Mummies, Hyperion Bay, becoming a defacto only child, Angel, Beverly Hills 90210, Cop Rock, High School Musical, Glee, a double dose of Hyperion Bay, complicated family ties, Dirty Dancing, Kablam!, Brimstone, Millennium, The X-Files, Zoom, and lying as a kid, a lot. 

Join the gang of lovable losers as we talk about KABLAM! Watch the live stream every week, Youtube.com/@totallytoonular Join the conversation! Email us at totally.toonular@gmail.com. Send us recommendations or tell your feelings on any cartoon we've talked about. We will read your email live on air! And Subscribe to our YouTube @Totallytoonular Follow @Fantasyshed @feijaumvfx @yarn_yeti @_nicolematarese

Text us and say hello!Happy New Year!  Can you believe we made it 2023? I hope you've got a great year planned, but we certainly do, here on the podcast, and we're kicking off the year with something very special, something very near and dear to my heart, a TRUE pillar of my childhood, and probably yours too.   That's right, I'm talking about Nickelodeon.  Each episode this month will cover a different area of the Big Orange, in what we're calling the New Year's Nonstop Nickelodeon Extravaganza.  So kick back, relax, and enjoy, as my buddy Derek and I talk all about Nicktoons in the 90s.  Support the Show.We've got merch!Check out the site for some awesome Gen 'S' swag :)

Woohoo, keep an eye on the oven of this episode, we don't want to burn the house down! Today comedian and social media wizard Nicole Villela stops by to discuss her time with the first in the iconic The Sims (2000) franchise. On this one Nicole discusses finding old Kablam toys from McDonalds, reminisces bringing CD-Rom games to play at her dad's work as a kid, and sharing the experience of The Sims alongside her sister.   Show Notes   Nicole Villela - Tiktok - Instagram Conner McCabe – Twitter – twitch.tv/conziscool69 Produced by Jeremy Schmidt – Video Games: a Comedy Show - Twitter Call Me By Your Game – Instagram – Twitter – YouTube Super NPC Radio – Patreon – Twitter – Instagram – Twitch

Kablam! Nos acompaña Antonio Hernández para nuestro episodio 41. Hablamos de sus experiencias como comediante, actor y estudios universitarios. Degustamos la Berry Noir de Boulevard Brewery y nos damos una Guinness para terminar con nuestro juegos y preguntas. Subscríbete a GW5 Network https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC_IW8iAm6gBBVVLbqSWsgrA Busca tu pinta en nuestra tienda https://teespring.com/es/stores/the-birra-lounge En todas las plataformas de podcast 'The Birra Lounge' Buscamos en IG y FB @thebirralounge y a Mr. Birra en @onixortiz #birra #cerveza #podcast #thebirralounge #gw5network #gw5studios #entrevista

Hey everybody and welcome to episode 87 of ItsNotTheWorstMovieEver podcast!! We are bringing you this episode on another lovely Monday morning. This weeks movie was another Sterling classic 80s pick a little known gem "Grease 2". Will Lee being singing Grease 2s praise or wishing for some ear plugs. Listen to this weeks episode to find out! As always please rat, review and share the podcast it helps us out immensely. Also please follow us on instagram @itsnottheworstmovieeverpod 

Justin brings in a bottle of Redbreast 12 Year Single Pot Still Irish Whiskey and discusses Irish Whiskey. Nate discusses his new "conflict resolution" method for resolving disputes at work. The guys also discuss the dust up in Taiwan over Pelosi's visit, finding a sandwich in NYC for under $10, tipping culture, and a new "Scam, Wham, Kablam!" involving tax scams by churches and religious organizations. This Week in Furniture is the "Bent Nail Cabinet". 

This Week: We are joined by Skillet! Dudes. Colon with an S. THREE YEAR ANNIVERSARY! Voyage Ohio article. Overhearing our Spelling Bee. Devil Drake. Not a serial killer. Carlos Mencia. Are you going with Aliens? Skinwalker Ranch. Dragon. Barrel Roll through a window. 50 Cent doesn't know how many times he got shot. Devils avocado. Fat Astronauts. Going to Mars. Space Noah's Arc. Pigs doing karate. Only trust Tik Tok. Light-Up Rims. Space lasers. Kablam. Hey Arnold! Warriors of Virtue. 3 Ninjas. Warriors and Pulp Fiction are overrated, and much much more! Check out the Voyage Ohio article here! https://voyageohio.com/interview/check-out-the-average-af-podcasts-story/ We're official part of the Off The Tongue Podcast Network! Follow Instagram.com/OffTheTongueNetwork for all updates!I If you're interested in supporting the podcast and/or need some new gear for the summer, please click the links below. If you choose to support us through Patreon, you will immediately get access to up to 80 exclusive posts and 12 hours of bonus content! There's no pressure by any means, but if you want more of the wild side of us, definitely check it out... We just appreciate you checking out the new episodes every week! Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/Averageafpodcast Merch Shop: https://www.bonfire.com/store/averageafpodcast Website: https://averageafpodcast.com/ We're trying to get to know our listeners more and would love to hear from you! If you want to send in a video, picture, audio recording, or just want us to talk about a certain topic, hit our DMs or send us an email to AverageAFPodcast@gmail.com and we will play it live on the show! These submissions can be (almost) anything you want! Let us know what's on your mind! A huuuuge shout out to our Small Business Sponsor, Nathan Collins! Make sure to go see him at Spitzer Motors right here in Mansfield for a new or used car! He is honestly one of the best men I've ever met, so he is going to be extremely fair. If you buy from him, he is throwing in FREE CARWASHES FOR LIFE! How can you pass that up? It's literally thousands of dollars! You can call or text at any time to discuss a deal! Call or Text: (419) 961-4581 Email: NCollins@Spitzer.com Inventory: https://www.drivespitzercdjr.com/ Patreon Producers: Joel Claypool Anthony Davis Jeremiah Johnson Sarah A Steve Bollinger Tony Means (Twitch.tv/EvilTony) Teach A Dummy Podcast Richard Barili --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/averageafpodcast/message

Justin brought The Balvenie double wood and Nate comes through with another "Scam, Wham, Kablam" in his continued efforts to anger the illuminati. Another Two Dry Guys for the ages. 

On this episode: Pratt v Ford: a battle for the ages, a Thor review dripping with maple syrup, and Cartoon Network royalty brings us a new animated movie. Plus! Listeners have seen it a thousand times, Shots fired at Baby Yoda, and a friendly Hawaiian alien gets a live action rebootIn news: Reincarnation, Gen Z meme humor, Boomer humor, natural disasters in movies, Titanic, tornado, Krakatoa, Yellowstone, Pitch Black, Chronicles of Riddick, California, Florida, air conditioning, freon, cruise ships, Bill Burr, SF Bay Area, Alameda, San Francisco Oakland, Battle of the Bay, Battle of the Bay, Oakland A's, The Day After Tomorrow, Mark Wahlberg, The Happening, Twister, Chris Pratt, Harrison Ford, Indiana Jones, Parks and Recreation, Guardians of the Galaxy, Lego Movie, Wanted, Elvis, Winnie the Pooh, Blood and Honey, Happy Sad Confused, Solo: A Star Wars Story, Alden Ehrenreich, Aaron A. Aaronson, Listener Stephen, The Maple Syrup Don, Montreal, Thor: Love and Thunder, Chris Hemsworth, Ghostbusters, Avengers: End game, Natalie Portman, Kat Dennings, Christian Bale, Guns and Roses, Thor: Ragnarok, Taika Waititi, Genndy Tartakovsky, Dexter's Laboratory, Powerpuff Girls, Cow and Chicken, Johnny Bravo, Fixed, Hotel Transylvania, Samurai Jack, Sausage Party, Phil Tippett, Jurassic Park, Star Wars, Mad God, Ren and Stimpy, The Tick, Freakazoid, Cartoon Network, Nickelodeon, Rocket Power, Rugrats, Doug, Ahh Real Monsters, Are you Afraid of the Dark, Catalog, Kablam, All That, Seen It A Million Times, Joel Shinneman, A Knight's Tale, Bruce Purkey, Joe vs the Volcano, Meet Joe Black, Get Out, Gremlins, Joe Dante, The Mandalorian, John Favreau, baby Yoda, Grogu, Gizmo & Grogu, Marcel the Shell with Shoes on, Lilo and Stitch, Disney, The Lion King, Aladdin, Sleeping Beauty, Snow White, Under Wraps, Bill Fagerbakke, Jungle Book, Christopher Walken, Bill Murray, Ben Kingsley, Idris Elba, Scarlett Johansson, Lupita Nyong'o, Giancarlo Esposito, Garry Shandling, Elf, Iron Man, M. Night Shyamalan, Dave Filoni, Tomcats, Top Gun, Liam Neeson, Mel Gibson, Mission Impossible, Hocus Pocus 2, Orphan: First Kill, Jamie Foxx, Snoop Dogg, The Day Shift, Luck, Amsterdam, Christian Bale, The Woman King, Clerks 3, See How They Run, The Reef: Stalked, #metoo, She Said, Pray For The Devil, Fall, David O Russell, Margot Robbie, Anya Taylor-Joy. Robert De Niro, Zoe Saldana, Timothy Olyphant, Andrea Riseborough, Rami Malek, Michael Shannon, Mike Myers, Taylor Swift, John David Washington, Chris Rockhttp://www.MCFCpodcast.comEmail us at MCFCpodcast@gmail.com    Leave us a voicemail (209) 730-6010Get some merch:https://middle-class-film-class.creator-spring.com/Joseph Navarro    Pete Abeytaand Tyler Noe    Streaming Picks:The Bear - HuluBob's Burgers Movie - Hulu, HBO MaxIncantation - NetflixUrban Legend - HuluThe Wedding Singer - HBO MaxSpeed - Amazon Prime