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光明頂. 2025 05 29 - 由《哪一天我們會紅》看近年網絡文化 馮智政 不再「同舟共濟」,反而要「Look At Me」! 嘉賓 導演應智贇 編審李卓風及唐翠萍
A man abducted from Earth awakens aboard an alien ship — only to discover he's the key to stopping a false god's plan to destroy humanity.Get the Darkness Syndicate version of #WeirdDarkness: https://weirddarkness.com/syndicateDISCLAIMER: Ads heard during the podcast that are not in my voice are placed by third party agencies outside of my control and should not imply an endorsement by Weird Darkness or myself. *** Stories and content in Weird Darkness can be disturbing for some listeners and intended for mature audiences only. Parental discretion is strongly advised.IN THIS EPISODE: It's Thriller Thursday! For this episode, I thought it would be a great idea when looking for creepypasta stories to use some of the original creepypastas that have been sent in from Weirdo family members. I have six weirdo creepypastas for you tonight!CHAPTERS & TIME STAMPS (All Times Approximate and Only Accurate For the Commercial Version)…00:00:00.000 = Show Open00:01:02.504 = “Night Skyes” by Danny Kennedy00:19:58.630 = “An Unknown Tribe” by Adam Banks00:25:26.647 = “Look At Me” by Tristan Nieto00:43:07.699 = “There Is Something at the Edge of the Woods” by Dylan Walker00:48:39.140 = “What Is That Music?” by Bill Richardson00:54:27.957 = “Dr. Strange Loves Potions” by Kelly Maida00:59:23.314 = Show CloseSOURCES AND RESOURCES FROM THE EPISODE…“Night Skyes” written by Danny Kennedy, (https://neotericknights.com, https://twitter.com/MirielKanan,https://www.instagram.com/MirielKanan/)“An Unknown Trible” by Adam Banks“Look at Me” by Tristan Nieto (https://www.instagram.com/intellectualismmmm/)“There Is Something at the Edge of the Woods” by Dylan Walker“What Is That Music?” by Bill Richardson“Dr. Strange Love's Potions” by Kelly Maida=====(Over time links seen above may become invalid, disappear, or have different content. I always make sure to give authors credit for the material I use whenever possible. If I somehow overlooked doing so for a story, or if a credit is incorrect, please let me know and I will rectify it in these show notes immediately. Some links included above may benefit me financially through qualifying purchases.)= = = = ="I have come into the world as a light, so that no one who believes in me should stay in darkness." — John 12:46= = = = =WeirdDarkness® is a registered trademark. Copyright ©2025, Weird Darkness.=====Originally aired: June 18, 2021EPISODE PAGE at WeirdDarkness.com (includes list of sources): https://weirddarkness.com/NightSkyes
Brand new artist, emstuu, is a fresh presentation of veteran Halifax-based Singer/Songwriter Emily Stuart.In September 2024 emstuu released her first single "Force (To Be Reckoned With)", and in January 2025 released "Don't Look At Me" off her upcoming 4-song Pop EP, produced by 3x East Coast Music Awards Producer of the Year, Corey LeRue (Neon Dreams, Maggie Andrew, Ria Mae).She currently sits at #1 on East Coast Countdown and #9 on East Coast Top 30.emstuu's elaborate stage show blends her original music with vibrant costumes, dynamic lighting, dance, and her ECMA and Music Nova Scotia Award-nominated vocals.Find out more @emstuu
Written and directed by Taylor Olson, LOOK AT ME tells the story of Taylor Olson (playing a fictionalized version of himself), a deeply insecure, bisexual actor who is battling bulimia. Burdened by loneliness, Olsen searches for validation in relationships but continues to put up walls. When he finally believes he's found someone that sees him for who he is, he must lean into his own journey of self-love in order to truly heal. In this 1on1, we speak to Olson about why men struggle with mental health.
Agradece a este podcast tantas horas de entretenimiento y disfruta de episodios exclusivos como éste. ¡Apóyale en iVoox! Grease es la banda sonora original de la película Grease de 1978. Fue lanzado originalmente por RSO Records y posteriormente reeditado por Polydor Records en 1984 y 1991. La canción "You're the One That I Want" fue el número 1 de los Estados Unidos y el Reino Unido para las estrellas John Travolta y Olivia Newton-John. Ha vendido aproximadamente 22 millones de copias en todo el mundo,1 lo que lo convierte en uno de los álbumes más vendidos de todos los tiempos, y también se encuentra entre los álbumes de bandas sonoras más vendidos de todos los tiempos. Además de los intérpretes John Travolta y Olivia Newton-John, el álbum también presentó canciones del grupo de rock n roll Sha Na Na, así como la exitosa canción "Grease", una canción escrita por Barry Gibb (de los Bee Gees) y cantada por Frankie Valli (de The Four Seasons) que fue un número uno adicional de Estados Unidos. Lista de canciones: 1. Grease - Frankie Valli 2. Summer Nights - John Travolta & Olivia Newton-John 3. Hopelessly Devoted To You - Olivia Newton-John 4. You're The One I Want - John Travolta & Olivia Newton-John 5. Sandy - John Travolta 6. Beauty School Dropout - Frankie Avalon 7. Look At Me, I'm Sandra Dee - Stockard Channing 8. Greased Lightning - John Travolta 9. It's Raining On Prom Night - Cindy Bullens 10. Alone At The Drive-In Movie (Instrumental) - Jim Jacobs/Warren Casey 11. Blue Moon - Sha-Na-Na 12. Rock 'N' Roll Is Here To Stay - Sha-Na-Na 13. Those Magic Changes - Sha-Na-Na 14. Hound Dog - Sha-Na-Na 15. Born To Hand Jive - Sha-Na-Na 16. Tears On My Pillow - Sha-Na-Na 17. Mooning - Louis St. Louis & Cindy Bullens 18. Freddy My Love - Cindy Bullens 19. Rock 'N' Roll Party Queen - Louis St. Louis 20. There Are Worse Things I Could Do - Stockard Channing 21. Look At Me, I'm Sandra Dee (Reprise) - Olivia Newton-John 22. We Go Together - John Travolta, Olivia Newton-John, & Cast 23. Love Is A Many Splendored Thing (Instrumental) - Sammy Fein/Paul Francis Webster 24. Grease - Frankie Valli Escucha este episodio completo y accede a todo el contenido exclusivo de EDITORIAL GCO. Descubre antes que nadie los nuevos episodios, y participa en la comunidad exclusiva de oyentes en https://go.ivoox.com/sq/2313218
Arrancamos con Rival Sons, que han anunciado nuevo álbum grabado en directo interpretando su primer disco, 'Before the Fire'. Además, te presentamos a Roll Mega -el nuevo dúo de soul rock formado por Son Little y Eric Krasno-, y escuchamos las últimas novedades de El Diablo de Shanghai, The Brian Jonestown Massacre, Floweheards, Somebody's Child y Bukowski, entre otros.Playlist:RIVAL SONS - Tell Me SomethingTHE AMAZONS - Pitch BlackROLL MEGA - BloodshotFANTASTIC NEGRITO - Runaway from YouTHE BRIAN JONESTOWN MASSACRE - Don't Look At Me (feat. Aimee Nash)THE BRIAN JONESTOWN MASSACRE - Straight Up And DownQUEENS OF THE STONE AGE - Little SisterRADIO75 - Fall One Last Time (Again)FOO FIGHTERS - My HeroFLOWERHEADS - NubecitaSOUNDGARDEN - Black Hole SunCALIZO - Tenement Funster ['Sheer Heart Attack Reimagined']GYOZA - Beber y dolerEL DIABLO SHANGHAI - Términos y condicionesFONTAINES D.C. - FavouriteCAROLINA DURANTE - NormalMAIKA MAKOVSKI - Hunch of the CenturyXARIM ARESTÉ Mai mésVERY POMELO - El porc i la cabraVERY POMELO - RemeiRYAN ADAMS - New York, New YorkBLEACHERS - Rollercoaster (Live at Red Rocks, Morrison, 2024)SOMEBODY'S CHILD - Time Of My LifeBUKOWSKI - What Do You Want Me To BeJUNIO - Sé que no (feat. Repion)AIKO EL GRUPO - A la mierdaTHE CLOCKWORKS - Blah Blah BlahTHE MYSTERINES - The Last DanceEscuchar audio
‘Look At Me' is ‘A Collection of Erotic Short Stories' from Cupido all of which explore the sexual pleasure of voyeurism and exhibitionism; watching someone else or being watched. The collection in... Uitgegeven door Cupido Sprekers: Julie Able, Alessandra Anderson, Leo Horne, Scarlett Foxx
“Be a homie & let us know what you think”On episode 124, Gldnmnd explores the exciting world of samplers, spotlighting the P6 Creative Sampler and its potential when paired with favorites like the Koala Sampler or the SP-404. This episode is a musical feast featuring tracks from Afro Bluu, Duke Westlake, Thxk_u's Stylebender_vol 2. Saywordstaz's “Swim” , Brainorchestra's “Relic” Blackchai & August Fanon's “Otherwise A Blur” and a special nod to Jknotic "Rhythms Volume 4," celebrating the authentic essence of hip-hop and its unifying power.Meet the creative geniuses behind some of today's most inspiring musical collaborations. Shoutout to E+RO=3 for his unmatched talent, and get ready for the electrifying track "Lemonade" from BlkGod9 and Three's, packed with raw lyrical intensity from their album OTWT II. We also dive into Curtiss King and Iman Omari's “Beige EP” with their standout track "Look At Me," followed by Unkle Blendz's “Jazz Function: instrumental "One, Two Step," and Nakubi's “Buddha Jazz" featuring GobShite. This segment promises an auditory delight filled with diverse and captivating musical journeys.Embark on a lyrical voyage to Lft.Hnd.Mnk Ep. by Lefthand Monk and Pres.Morris as we explore poetic imagery and cosmic themes in “Common Distance” by IndescribableINDY x eno-obong. Cozycole brings in
Trigger warning: this series contains adult content not suitable for children or under the legal age of majority. Listener and reader discretion is advised as this broadcast and its selected readings and projected writings contain explicit language, provocative wordplay, profanity, open expression of suicidal ideation, discussion of evolved/ de-institutionalized theories concerning depression and mental health, race relations and colorism, socio-economic inequality, political injustice and media politicism, scientific hypothesis , modern philosophical ideals and spiritual explorations, crude humor and may include and contain pornographic content, references to fictionalized interpretation of public figures (fan-fiction), caricatures or references to pop culture, modern art, music, science and other entertainment references which may evoke biased emotion, inspire adverse reactions or discontentment, or discomfort. ⚠️ VIEWER, LISTENER, and READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. ⚠️ The views and opinions expressed by this series and its subsequent editions, additions, chapters, broadcasts, and publications are solely the writers' interpretations as expressed with artistic and entertainment purposes only. The artist reserves all rights to intellectual property maintained and produced by any and all publications of this series and is thereby protected under any applicable copyright law and/or trademark. All fictionalizations of persons living or dead are meant to be perceived as characterized and/or fictional (fan-fiction) are for entertainment purposes only, and are not to be perceived as real re-enactments, dramatizations of events past or present, media dialogues or agendas, or factual exchanges pertaining to and surrounding real-life circumstances. The dialogues and entires expressed in this project are in no way liable for any action, expression, disagreements, entitlements held by the reader at his or her/ their own discretion and therefore will not be held accountable for any actions by the reader on their own account due to perceptions which may have been inspired and/or provoked by these readings or any of their subsequent editions. —rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrfrrfrrrrfrrrfrrfrrrrr. [The Festival Project ™] You know what? Fuck this place. Fuck your color coded red lined fucking bullshit. New York is so visibly fucking racist it makes me want to hurl. I'm gonna kill you. Finally get out of that contract, did you? …no. I had worked out the full hour, but I was no less angry; I had even walked a couple miles and jogged a little—but I might have been even more mad. Aiagepalaqalerhelehee DIABoLICAL SONOFABITXH {Enter The Multiverse Legends: A Review} He— shot himself in the head. Hm. Did he mess up his face? What? If his face is alright I can reanimate him—no problem. But there's no point if he's got a hole in his face How are you gonna cover a hole in his head? He'll wear a hat. I think the whole point of white supremacy— Is to get blacks to have to do stereotypically black shit Like beg and steal. I've learned that People will set you up and corner you So that you have to do some shit They can later hold over your head. I've learned, after all this time— That the only way to win a rigged game — Is by cheating. People love setting people up. People love making it look like you're up to some dishonest shit— When it was dishonest to have set you up in the first place. People are sneaky. Life is politics as fuck. Everything is business. There's no kind of rules to the real disasters in life— I just discovered a new political issue I didn't even know existed Until I had to experience it Nutrition inequality. The quality of life one experiences with full balance nutrition, Which is kept out of the hands of the masses by the greedy and wealthy elite— The difference in the quality of life one faces When able to afford proper nutrition within the alignment of one's purpose. THIS is why I have people posted up outside of my apartment trying to kill me?! Probably. Don't come between a man and his business. Don't come between a man and his business. Don't come between a man and his– “prestidigitation” You are the ace, I am the m Diamond, I Am The Heart, I am the spade Did you do this on purpose? Space, that's an odd name. Another magician. —what else would you call this? I wouldn't. (To be honest, I didn't know what I was doing.) Well, there it goes. Well, this should be fun. I— Cut my throat To watch me live again Or leave me hanging here As morbidly as you desire To come inform me Of my royal nature, Yet undone by another Fortunate, in either aspect Where are you, now To tie the winters sleeve Upon my sleeping chambers, Whispered into hear thy neck My captor slowly soon awaiting So far a severity Hereby unsworn I lie to seek escape Though captured for nothing in the eye if beauty alone; Andamine, I am, I wait to be free oh! well. Sick to my stomach I plea for your waking A scarcity, Still slithers up my spine, The *gunshot* Vent, baby Keem hooligan, baby keem -The Melodic Blue, baby keem [The Festival Project ™ ] As it turns out, The assembly of the impenetrable ten, Also automatically stood as The most revolutionary Saturday a night Live Reunion Of all time. Why isn't Keenan in the impenetrable ten?! Yes, WHY. NON. NO. NONSENSE! Because! We don't have time for a negro spiritual every time something Mm—NO. Suspicious happens. This is suspicious. O boredom, I need metaphore for movement Disfigured m,n Centric and stil Consintrical, if you will Disasterous dreams art thou Eating shining m, What I need and Holy, only what I want Dear captor, Shining as the morning night I was, As slumber did fall upon us Waiting for the watching cry, Somehow seeking justice for intrepid Indigence —what, what did you say?! I said— —is that a word! Let's see! Post poster conformity— Oh, here we go again No borderline Or robot border patrol, Focus now in the motors, Run for you excellent cries Simply warn us, will you Everwaiting, perhaps For the fortune, until Stories of foragers Will you again Creep, calling, Temper, Justice For now, let's say All liberty is liberty does, As in the mind, let it rest As in the heart, let it flourish As in all hu/mankind Casts judgement, Upon each other, But meat, Not among the waking tide The realms you call upon And cry, at ask of will For wishes granted And prayers seen over I have an irrational fear of Jack o lanterns— Does that mean anything to you? No…should it? VO Suddenly there were Jack o lanterns everywhere. That's so weird, I never wrote that scene— it just kind of popped into my head, and then— I make thoughts To the shade of your love I can't seem to need anything Or want any longer But just to escape, To be free from all tragedy I don't understand… There's a light on, It appears, However— Hollow, And wicked looking It's barely even spring, And suddenly as I walk about, They seem to be appearing In my path, Amidst my dreams And everything i know is No one Everything I love is Gone And everyone around me seems to be Some kind of Wrong, Or fornicated, Tragedy, It seems, Another tragedy. These Demons. I should be working on project III And making coffee for the evening But I can barely breathe Awareness I can barely breathe I can barely even think of myself as anyone at all Actually (Anyone at all, actually) please Help me Please help me I hate all my lines in this movie. Then change them— Really? Or trade with someone else. Like, the whole character, or just— Just, the words. Just the words? Or, like, whatever. I can do that?! You can do—whatever you want. “Whatever you want?!” I'm an actor! So act, then! You put the words in my head; You were just the worst We are who we are, just Whole worlds apart You put the words in my mouth, On top of the scars, that's A whole broken heart I guess we are who we are A whole sky full of stars I still can't find my sparkle Just no reason to smile at all I guess we are who we are “You were put here just to be [redacted] mother, and then die.”, said the voice— Which was not my own, but some man's. I didn't believe that, at all—actually, But I had just sent my divorce papers in the mail, Attached with it the accounts of everything—almost everything, anyway, that had happened that had caused me to be such a distance from my son in the first place, as I had never intended to just leave him with his father, whose birthday was either the next day, or the day after—and it was almost funny to me that I couldn't remember which it was, as I realized that in the beginning, I had loved him so much that I had looked past all of the disasterous, ugly things— the phlegm on the walls, his lack of respect towards anyone, especially himself—but anyone at all— but first and foremost, especially myself, who I had finally learned to love before hand, and had finally learned to love again—at least, the best way any woman could love herself. The algorithm was playing serious mind games and tricks on my psyche again, and I wondered if I should just attempt the next two days sleeping —but it would mean that I would miss my deadline for project three, which I had intended to be released… The demonic energy again began to shift around me as I twiddled away writing—the traffic outside moved more rapidly, and doors in the hallway from my neighbors began to slam, and I knew without a doubt that he had tried to kill me using some kind of curse of black magic, but couldn't—somehow I had lived, but was still being made to suffer— and that whatever spells he had used had summoned something nasty into all of the creatures, humanoid and alike, that could be controlled without the will of God, who I thought might be lost, were it not for the songs that had come in the wake of begging for God itself to free me which was the nightmare, the curse it had become to have only fallen in love once, with the kind of man who could not. Now he had wished my doom onto me, which left me wounded and afraid, unsafe in any element or environment , plagued by coughing bodies and robotic slaves—none of which I assumed he hactiallh had the power to control, but of a greater force which shielded itself to consume me, and mimick his energy with the attempt to allow that my own mind would bring about my death, the fury and pain which it must have been to lose what I had found myself to always be, a good woman— My exit had humiliated him, damaged his pride, and bruised his twisted ego enough so that he wished I would siffer such an ill fate—however, as I had finally learned to know and breathe, that all the damage and control done to me, he would now fall prey to in his own will to destroy me. —all that seeks to harm me will therefore harm only itself; And all who seek to destroy me will be destroyed in doing so. Amen. I don't know how hard he hit you, this time, but he really fucked you up. Yeah, I guess. Fuck, I lost that whole Tom Hanks Movie No, it's still there.. No, it's gone—everything's gone! HELLO? HELLO?! CAN YOU HEAR ME? It's dead. She's gone. —Portal closes— Oh no! No! This is ‘situational'— “A Situational Comedy” So, what's the situation. …I Am. Ok. Wait— No! Hold on a second! Nevermind— Comedy is born from tragedy, right? Sometimes. Uh oh But WAIT— No, Billy, not now. *billie?! Right. Idk. There are other types of comedy, I guess. Look at this. YO! It's THAT guy again! Yo. That's that guy, and his eyes. Strange. Yeah, I don't— I don't get it, is this like a— SIRE. You don't belong here, I assure you. DENNIS LEARY UGH. Can I GO now?! I'm afraid not— You've just made captain. Okay, now you're famous. No way— Hey! No— HEY NO. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū. Now I know too well, The well of tears on my guitar She's got a body like one Oh her curves But I just wonder what it like to be loved By stars Socialites and superstars They're Gods, you know How high up they are Above us And he lives in an ascended dimension, But he insists, he says Her transcendence is upon us He said Your transcendence is upon us He says these things, And then just vanishes So she gets up promptly Warms up yesterday's coffee Looks around in her coffin And wonders What for I just Wonder what it's like to be loved by stars Without double r's, you know I've got scars But it's mostly just Teardrops, and soft kisses On my guitar Cause, oh, Oli, I ain't got nobody— And nobody holds me Like I hold Oli (Could have been Ali, But of course— I had already lost that one A whole well of tears, I lost At his departure And a whole well more When I actually lost him I almost miss Having someone to talk to About anything and everything But I've got Oli And God now I've got Oli And Oli (oli) Is all that I've got Besides God That's the only contact In my Phone book No more double Ls And double entendres; No more double rs At all Just scars now No more metaphors. Honest is radical I like them cynical I should have clinical insanity by now But I'm only just an artist You can't help But can only harm that And if it hurts hard enough I'll put art on my walls Become permanent Storybooks all over my arms now My coat of arms now I've run Ten point 5 miles In the last 3 days; But if I rest today Will a motorcycle gang Have a parade outside of my window, To drive me crazy? I hope it rains, So they can't play these games with my head And the seeds that I planted So deep become daisies I still don't remember The way he rearranged me But these days I make my name sound So the way He can never say it Just imitates The way I hate myself I should be dating But expressions are Atrocious If I fall asleep— Who knows I may get Stolen That tends to happen So I'm All the way up And I'm swollen in ways That I hate to say “I love you” Love me back Or say it harder That's my martyrdom Come off the cross, for a moment, Would you for us? And bend over Or bow, if you will? If I did, Would you still call me wicked Or just a Good witch Since I'm a woman, I just couldn't be Jesus, Who you asked for once And always Who you asked for some To save you from your Credit reports And consorts Or some sort of Nonsense [famous last words] God don't speak much English, She says God don't speak much these days We were Always Telepathic That was way back then When Oedipus Rex Was on the Guest list I was standing at the coat check, asking Why I must take off my hat When entering the service To the bouncer, he says “That's just politics” I said, That's just politics We both said, What's the difference Then we all laughed —then we all just laughed and laughed Exchange is my favorite exchange Where my favorite exchanges Have happened for centuries Of engagements Endeared species, And races pieces haven't tasted the same Since I haven't had them Animal products And animal planet I found this hat on Discovery channel Did you want it? I can't stand it So I had to have it back I just had to use the bathroom I just had to disconnect From [] See— I don't even have to put the words in Cause a name is just words When that's a man You just can't have And that's the worse When that's a man And you can't have him What a habit. Silky rabbit. Now he's the Ace. All In A Day's Work I've never died before. Oh… that is terrifying. It sounds terrible. It's really not that bad. Why are you not writing this down? I just need a moment… It's really not that bad… I die all the time. I get sensory overload At Trader Joe's Look at the colors The clothes, This sure isn't queensborough Escalators for shopping carts I get it Manhattan I'll take my half BLVCK ass to the projects Where my kind are I don't belong here , God you're intolerant I like this part of town But I'm way too brown And I dropped my crown at the market I should be jealous of everyone But I have learned my place I've been a slave since Hollywood I lost my son to the devil Now I pay child support And terrorist follow me coughing I'm wrong just for being born ! You could start a war from it If that's what you wanted I'm a people watcher people watcher About to board the people mover People mover Slip, Here's the tell Slip, here's the tell I should have a bell around my neck I think she wanted a picture with papa I'm playin my own paparazzi Look mom, I bought a sarcophagus There go them niggas with coughs again I been watching em Got binoculars I got oculus, for my oculars Look how hot he is, make me ovulate Man I gotta love it, Cause they love to hate Fucking racist crazies Have it your way I paid for it with my soul You hate but I love to love Somebody just got me fuckes up I don't have a book to run off of Shut up, honey. Now we're all up here Monkey in the middle Cause the middle one is weaker It's getting deeper and deeper Like the sinkhole that my sink is Let it sink in I've been syncing my secrets with demons In dreams sequences It's just a reparative injustice Kamasutra for your wondering words and stuff You can have it It's ruined anyway m Look at all this trash Look at all these classless classes Classwars, Racists. Everybody hates us The Asians, Latinx's The other niggas What being black is I'll write it in cursive It's just a curse, here So you can have it I'm moving to Heaven I'm packing my boxes I'm getting a cat, too! His name is Agustus He's a big one And I love him I just wanted a hug or a husband Instead I got nothing to trying my hardest And got for a bargain at target some coffee For being a targeted body All on an algorithm I guess I'm just useless. A dumb nigger demon Did I just offend you? Then you shouldn't be reading this either I wrote it for pleasure (Or pain) On the one Or the two Or the one Or the two I could do a lot with this $20. I could spend it all on Fuck all of you I'm moving to Heaven Where the heart it She's not harmless She's a terrorist— And I'll kill her, too Look how right she is Look how white she is, Huh Regardless of color It's a race war Lil biiiiitzzz Yooo, fuck New York. In every hole. In every crevice. Fuck this place. It's racist— Not just cause I'm black. Like statistically. It took a whole ass apartment elsesrch to feature this out. I was like “I wanna live in Manhattan” Everyone was like “NOOOOOOOO—-“ Haha “Nooo, no.” I was like “Why not?” The blacks were like: HAHA The whites were like— *COUGHS OBNOXIOUSLY* New York is so racist. It is statistically the most diverse—and most segregated city in the nation At the same time. WHAT. How do you even DO that? But it's true, at this point, the black people are like—fuck this, we'll just stay over here, and over here. And the rich whites are like YES. KEEP THAT SHIT, OVER THERE. Cause if you've ever been to the ghetto. It's some SHIT, It is NOT COOL. I finally got my ‘night card' back. Had it revoked in california . I was almost a whole valley girl. I still eat exclusively at Whole Foods. Trader Joe's. But NO. Now i live in the hood. It's fucking disgusting. I can say ‘nigga' again. Cause it's NIGGAS. Lots of niggas. I'm telling you. It's night and day! The white folks trains smell like bleach— Ammonia. The black folks train smell like a McDonald's. WHAT. Or just— Vomit. I can actually count the number of times just— Vomit—- On the train. Or. Dookie. Yes. Human feces. But I'm ready to go to midtown and it's like the train that goes around Disneyland. Families! People singing! Hey—cotton candy!! —and I didn't have to pick it! Haha! Fuck New York. Racist ass HOLE. I thought surely the next presidential election was one or two years out, but the racial tensions which had been rising became even more pronounced, as I realized that November was theboncoming time—and that they hostility between the whites and the blacks had once again been a result as the oncoming war, fueled onward—that the hatred, disgust, and general aggression of the whites had been of course, in the midsts of yet another Trump-fueled political upheaval, and I wondered why and how at all I had been caught in such a world that existed in form of man, of course, now proven himself to be the weaker sex, and yet in that of dominance, as was arranged in such an unholy war, to be the helm of power by sheer greed— now it seemed that these attacks were indeed political terrorism, and that these motorcyclists, my placement close to the ground level, and my neighbor's clammorings were specific attacks, after my identity had been varied to be that of the same in which I had once held political ambition, now none of which I assumed mattered at all. Perhaps I needed something more certain than a 12 story jump or suicide by train, and wondered as to whether it would be easy enough to kill myself bh self inflicted gunshot—a sure thing for certain, as love has been lost in the way of money at all. At that party…or rather, kind of—after. That acid that never hit Beyoncé I don't feel it. Man, I'm a terrible influence(r) Just take it. Nah, I'm good— PUSSY. -_- Give me three. K. —suddenly hits BEYONCÉ. BEYONCÉ …I got this. [BEYONCE] however, does not Ohh, shit. — “got this.” A very stranded, very sober Johnny depp stumbles upon what appears to be a college frat party, where the only thing they have is light beer, and nobody even recognizes him as a celebrity, because the attendees are all gen z What's even after gen z? The fucking apocalypse. Anyway. The acid hits Beyoncé on her way to make coffee, which extends the trip from the living room to the kitchen infinitely. Multidimensional Anne Hathaway hulks the fuck out and saves the day by ruining everything, which actually fixes everything— and *spoiler* helps Jesus to remain as the king of kings at beer pong. Lol In the late 90s in New York City, the keystone cast of Saturday night live learns of each other's formerly sexret psychic abilities, and uses the radio technologies of Rockefeller plaza to develop a research center for the telepathically gifted, eventually discovering and perfecting time travel. Supacree (the kid version) appears in and out of her ideal and desired realities, baffling ‘the Hollywood people' and later ‘the New York people', becoming the legendary central figure of the Illuminati, as the original timepiece — a pyramid shaped extra terrestrial vehicle which contains an ascended hyper consciousness, which I can't remember how it goes, did the supacree leave to find the Skrillex, or was it the other way around? I think it was both ways at some point, but the whole thing was this, just in case I never wrote it but just saw— These space god (humanoid evolved) are some kind of scientists/ doctors— there are four timepieces, each representing an era upon our planet; earth, which is distant but sacred— these four time pieces each depart their given “docs” in time to appear on earth at specific Fuck this is hard to explain Times in history, at which the first worlds, or previous human eras were known to have been destroyed— these time pieces travel through time space with the full record of these events in order to alert the current human era of its imminent doom, as an attempt to prevent such disasterous events, typically war, which will lead to the annihilation of the human species; these Gods, one male and one female, a king and queen, a married couple are the rules of the humankind, technically worshiped as a whole as one God, with whom the human design was modeled after, however, the true source of all things is the cosmos, known and unknown, in its totality—neither man or woman, but the force of creation. Anyway, what else is happening Oh. All of the celebrities are stuck in— [the festival project] in some way, shape, or form until its creator finishes it—and though it in itself is infinite, its 'finishing' notates its eventual production, which lol. That never going to happen. Because. Let's face it. I'm scared of …rich people. Yeah, sure. Yeah. I'm scared of The effect of the race war, which has been to pit the white woman against the black woman, which allows and maintains the continuation of war mongering male dominance over the entire planet, which remains as a destructive force of greed, racism, and inequality. So why try? [EDITS] CONAN O'BRIEN Alright. If she hit Fallon, she's gonna come for one of us next. No, Conan—that's not how this works. WHAT—where did you come from!? When did you get here? JAY LENO This goes deeper than all of you can understand. WHAT the FUCK, man! When did you-/ —when did he get here? How did you do that?! How did you do that?! What are you, like, the same guy? Are you not all the same guy? [they shrug simultaneously and kind of just agree] Listen at this. Okay then. The enemy of your friend is my enemy. Oh…kay—and the enemy of my enemy—is my friend— That is correct. —so we're all friends here. That's right. Some special forces? Which forces? How special? [JENNIFER LOPEZ is still JENNY FROM THE BLOCK] Do I look like a fool to you? Uh— OOPS [a pre-fame Jennifer Lopez receives a drop full of diamonds instead of the usual; she has been granted access into the Illuminati, and becomes an overnight success.] This feels heavier than usual. Same as always. Hm. Are you sure. Yep. Hey, you're not the regular guy. Regular guy died. That makes sense. JENNIFER ANNISTON is inside of Ū Okay, grosss Not like that [lifting max weight] Okay. That was cool. Wow. Yeah, sure whatever. I am strong Yeah yeah, okay. Are you sure you want to be my size? Yep. JIMMY FALLON/SKRILLEX (we don't know actually which at this point) is also trapped inside of Ū Okay, gross! Yeah. SKRILLEX is in all of Ū. okay—actually, i'm okay with that, but That other guy?! [JIMMY FALLON] Yeah, he's weird. Also meanwhile, kind of— MARSHALL MATHERS has a closet cleaning service lol. Patrick is smooth as a motherfucker, you know. Every time his head is down on the desk like that, he takes a bump of coke. What?! Big uh! [Patrick takes bumps of cocaine in front of a live studio audience—every single night.] Woah! See. Goddamn. You gotta admire a guy like that. Jennifer Anniston is the weight on the cable tension machine Ooh. Psycho bitch devious methods new ludachris commercial All ya'll girls is toddlers I like long boards and longhairs Lawn mowers and lawn shares Aw hell nah, God forgot Cher I got the Blair witch project On Blair, I hope I scare you How dare you. Your girl looks like a naked mole rat. I got my soul back. You blue eyed bastards stole everything From the whole blacks, Hold that thought I'm at Whole Foods market throw in the Amazon algorithm off With marked dollars Look at God at Walmart On them rollbacks You old hacks are cackling I'm shackled to old habits Hold hands with me, rabbit I'm just a silly rapper really, are you? Maybe. Cut the verse of Reverse God Now I'm the devil I'm still lost in the Amazon cart I sharted all up in your pop tarts Before you warmed them up, pops Just for the sake of the art, Heart to heart, It's a war on love And the white girls won with nothin but Buckets of Whatever's up there I wouldn't know Cause I'm stuck job searching And running, Trying not to have a tummy So some gummy worm will love me First their sour, then they're sweet Then nobody, Trolli Holy moly I could use some more petroleum in the ocean! Said nobody But the globalists are performing your programming Which you're worshiping I put my eye on the dollar So I could watch you all Crumble and fall Don't you know The apocalypse is happening at the mall Of all the places How's that for a stream of consciousness, You salamander I asked Anandar back But I went past that chapter Have a chap Or a chapstick, for four times four dollars A bottle of water will cost you a fortune (But at least the drugs are in it) Get it It's recycled piss Distilled? Which is it, Mr,? The mystery box was literally lifted into My dinner from a fishery filled with nothing but niggers in it— I want a refund, before I catch that Fucking curse of poverty from — what'd you call it salmonellahallibut One hell of a cough from someone on the sidewalk But guess what? The devil's in your pocket or your palm, And that's the omen and the psalm rolled into one Cause God is awesome, But my mom is fuckin toxic And that's how I fuckin got here Blow my head off, Slit my wrists And write a song While jumping off a bit When all you need is money, But the world costs more than It's worth, and words are nothing But another fucking problem in your Google documents I look at my son and see a God, But half of Satan's in him, Oh man Robotics Lets be honest, I don't even know how to write this. Where's my sides?! WHERE'S MY SIDES. You don't get SIDES with this; It's just CHICKEN. I don't eat CHICKEN. It appears as though, however– You do. Ok, I gotta get off this playlist. I… i gotta . “The Wal*Mart Wars” Hm. … …………. …. *face* … no. No. l– What is this place. {After a wild night which apparently spiraled out of control, great , there goes my peace. Not forever, though, maybe. FUCK THIS PLACE. I HATE THIS PLACE. Everybody hates this place. But the album is called “I love New York” Yes, thats Technically How it's pronounced, though It's stylized like I _ NY Cause. EXT. MIDTOWN MANHATTAN. DAY Oh, wow, this is beautiful. THis is great. I love this place FUCK THE FEDS. CUT TO: EXT.Typically WHEREVER ELSE Anywhere ‘above' like 87th? Lets just call it 80th, be safe. BE SAFE! NIGGAZ. ah shit, i gotta go. BITCH– But lets just be honest, It's technically ‘above' But it's really [THE BRONX is a literal extension of the Underworld] Oh no. srsly tho. X_c Anyway. FUck man, Do you think i'll ever get good like that. Idk what equipment is this Hmm, lets see, that's approximately $8,000 USD of CDJs wow yep That's retarded Yep. And you still need a mixer. fukt. OKay, I would literally sell my soul for this. Consider it done. wait , really? YES. you earned it. Wait, I– What?! You earned it… Uh oh. Take care now. Shit. [BILLIE ELLISH is trapped inside WALMART] Uh oh. Fuck. what is this place. INT. WALMART. WHENEVER EMPLOYEESLAVES WHAT TIME IS IT. THERE'S NO WINDOWS IN HERE. That's not funny IT'S literally a synonym, we might as well make it a portemantau MEanwhile, in this other dimension, So that i don't offend anybody… Actually, you know what? Be offended. Quit that stupid fuckin shit and follow your dreams! Wait really? Wait, really? Sure! If you want! …i guess. AMERICA NO. INSTANT HOMELESSNESS ok , nvm. Damn. I know, right. wtf r u guys watching. Shut up. All Wal*Mart Employees are actually top secret government agents. x ∞ >.< (we'll just use Billie Ellish as the alternate, but really it could be Could it really? Shut UP, PLURNICORN. Wtf is a PLURNICORN We'll see. [Upon Realizing s/he is trapped in a mysterious place apparently extremely public Wait, you've never been to a Wal*Mart Before?! NO. I grew up in LA Rich as fuck And i've been famous since I was liike 12, Or something. Right. That is–kind of terrifying. LATER: WHY IS IT SNOWING INSIDE. WHERE'S THE EXIT. THEY HAVE GUNS?! oh wow, they have GUNS. WHY DO WE NEED GUNS! KA-BLAM. BECAUSE THEY HAVE GUNS. Bang-bang! Ptttttttttt—sttt. And they have guns. Actually, these are just– confetti cannons. *pop!* Lol “Possibly The Worst Show Ever the infinite rave continues on in Hell as everyone awaits the return of SŪPACREE- The Cosmic Avenger (Who Is NOT a DJ) and Sunnï Blū (who is a superstar rapper but also not a DJ) go back to back, buying time as the beacon to. Signal "The Supacree" is completed, battling the 10th dimensional DJ Ū, a super ninjas, for control of the decks. what else happened? idk. I CANT STOP DANCING. none of the DJs can find a pair of working headphones, and the sound guy is missing from the booth. "missing" YOU SHOT HIM. I THOUGHT IT WAS A TRANQ DART. {Enter The Multiverse} “TVP” Hazel is 6, turns 7 season 1 Season 7- 15 Man, I can't remember the other two kids names, I think the little boy is Ira but I might have named them all and forgotten, shit. Her sister, though is between 4 ½ and 5, they are technically “Irish twins”, and always fighting—they look very similar, however are not at all alike; Hazel is very much a daddy's girl, while her younger sister is a no-nonsense old soul with the tendency to cause trouble, not by being inquisitive or showy, as her sister often is, but rather by being quietly observant, and tends to dismiss both her parents, often isolating, or even dissappearing without notice, quietly and comfortably into her own world—as the series progresses, and though all of Patrick's children like their parents have showcased some kind of special ability or talent— Holy shit, give this kid a name-/ I thought I already named her, I just don't remember. That's true. It seems like they all had names. She is almost very typically, though showing signs of genius, even at the early age at the beginning of the series, a middle child, prone to upset almost too easily, but rather than acting out, is more likely to take her anger quietly; she shares her fathers deep brown eyes, dark hair, and though she looks otherwise very much like her sister, and later despises her father, is more inwardly and outwardly like him, though taking the side of her mother during their separation and divorce, oftentimes even lashing out at her father quite openly, and very vocally, as she grows into herself. “Ira”, (may have had another name earlier) is the youngest of three— as his third birthday approaches sometime during the first season. Great, now I gotta hide all those allegories so nobody can actually draw from this that Patrick— Where's his write up, anyway? That shit could go on for days. I have no idea why this catharsis is happening. I tried to sleep it off, I swear, but I still woke up like— At least mildly obsessive about this, for whatever reason. Hazel's 7 - Season Arc Hazel has the eyes, charm, and charisma for entertainment —she hopes to one day be as her father, an entertainer and performer, and will do almost anything for a laugh. She is often telling jokes, and is a people- pleaser. She is sickeningly cute, with golden hair and Hazel eyes, long eye lashes, and carries baby fat in her face, though she is rather average, neither heavy or plump, and however also not frail at all. She is inquisitive, smart, and busy, almost never idle-minded, and strong. Though sort of a Tom boy, she has been trained well to act with dignity, class, and feminine eloquence, much like her mother—but like her father, has a tendency to be crass, sometimes carelessly so, or even brutally honest—to her mother's disdain, but embraced wholesomely by other family members and adults, she's extremely funny and delightful, and very much unlike her mother, not a spoiled brat at all, often raising questions beyond her years about inequality, later wishing to attend a public school, and becoming quite the advocate for social justice and human rights in her later years, her final season shows a rebellious and sometimes even antagonistic Hazel, who later even favors Esha over her own mother as a parental figure, often confiding in her about things she can't and shouldn't share with her father, although her almost over the top admiration for her father has become the driving force and inspiration for her own endeavors in show business, much to her father's disdain, as she grows older, him becoming more protective of her, and especially within the oftentimes secretive nature of his actual placement and purpose in the business, and her rebellious nature and charm even force-feeding her into the industry, she is a bleeding heart for superstardom, and is often seen along what may be a path to fame, making Patrick's bleeding heart all the more aching, as though he and Catherine remain at odds throughout the series, he truly loves his children, even “the little sick one”, as he refers to the second child. Holy shit, what is this kid's name If I had the energy to go through my notes, I could know; but I don't. The city sickness has been sinking in from the noise of the obnoxious motorists and honestly, being out of protein is giving me muscle soreness, I'm in some sort of a bloated haze from eating almost nothing but carbs, and the fact that I haven't been with anyone in years is starting to circle like buzzards around my head, my heart has been literally screaming but overwhelming with this sense of calm, and though slipping into Patrick's sometimes erratic tendencies, for the most part I've been underwhelmed with society's expectations that I should get some kind of job, and somehow while working not lose focus on my own interests and projects—I hate [the strange modern behaviors of] most people, and everything costs too much money— my son might be going into foster care, or my ex husband is evil enough just to try to force my energy to worry about a problem he's created, and I really wanted to sleep into the afternoon with this lethargy, hoping that everything surrounding this series would just fall off, but it doesn't. I wake up often wishing I could just forget The Festival Project ™ , but the truth is, it just keeps writing itself, but in the very least, sometimes God gives me little presents that mean the very most to me— a chord organ that I thought was from the 80's, but is more likely from the 1960's— I love vintage stuff, and musical instruments, which only God could know, really—my fascination with history as if I'm still living it, and this, my sudden fascination and drive to write and complete just one series has been haunting me almost just as badly as anything else has, but especially ripping me apart—especially since I have motorcyclists ripping through my body as if it were some kind of disease that existed outside of me, so contagious that it began to sink in to my insanity and mental hygiene. I wondered if anybody else knew or cared about these creatures as much as I didn't—and in fact, I had never felt so much like Ali in the way that I didn't care if they, other “human beings” supposedly, all died tragically, and wondered why the walls and windows didn't keep out the sound of the outside world at all… The middle child begins writing secretly very early on, and is the first to be required more extensive therapy, (as suggested by the family's therapist) after her parent's separation and subsequent divorce. It is not long after she begins learning to read and write at all, that she begins also showing interests in art, asking for art lessons and to begin painting and art therapy, rather than the recommended Equine therapy— she often keeps things to herself, then returning to her hidden places at times when the family's dysfunction becomes uncomfortable and overstimulating, very often paining or reading during times of peace, and retreating to her safe places—sometimes under the stairs, into the attic, the treehouse, or even later, the family's barnyard, where she often keeps drawings, as she ages, later comics, sometimes caricatures of the things she absorbs through her own reality—and diaries, sometimes hidden in nooks and crannies and in places no one would think; a true prodigy and genius, though hidden from much the world, as she is often overlooked, however, her therapist begins unfolding her true reality, often times carrying over sessions and losing track of time, picking her brain or even conversations philosophically What's the therapists name? Doctor Robin She has to have a last name Well, she's a child's therapist, so she's Doctor Robin, but It seems like it starts with a T. We'll see. I just saw her anyway. I drifted off again, thinking about how wildly detailed this all was becoming, and wondered if there was a series of fictional books waiting to be written. There certainly could be, but my mind was reeling, freshly showered but still undressed, and not even wanting to think of going outside—and yet—I was out of water, and had learned that the drinking water from the fountains, especially in large quantities, had a tendency to make me sick—I hadn't yet eaten anything, and though the coffee was fresh, and my apartment was clean (which made me overtly overjoyed for some reason) smelling of Lemon Lysol and Bleach; with notes of a strong pot of organic fresh ground coffee, it seemed like I couldn't do much more than lay in bed writing this catastrophically interesting series—and it was interesting, which said volumes, considering I had always been picky about my TV watching, being that only ever did certain series catch my eyes or my ears, and those series were almost always—or always, always specifically well written, perfectly casted, and had the edge and draw of becoming an entire world within itself, which this series, though only a week or two old at best, in my heart and in my mind , was rampantly ravaging my own world, almost as if it had become of some importance to keep writing it, and never stop, and though Patrick was the forefigure, another broken male protagonist, the truth in the series was that the true heroes of this sometimes scarily violent drama, were its women—a story meant to be told with a diversified cast of creatures from all worlds and walks of life—Esha, of course, herself, a role that had been some recreation of myself, somehow, though so different that even primarily, I never did see myself as her, besides the onslaught of some otherworldly pain, visions of a scene recollected from some remarkable download, and it might have been once and for all that I had lost my mind, or my life, if I wasn't a writer—I was, somehow, though, after all, a writer. It had been a fasting day that could have and might have ended tragically anyway, and still the devil marked his mockery of my efforts by consistently flinging perfect bodied women everywhere that I went—though usually with ugly enough faces that I could see nothing but what a man was—uncaring for one thing over the other, a flawless representation of woman, represented in the current time with scantily clad fashion, almost painfully so—the insecurity of women becoming more apparent in the way she would appear, always almost begging to be near to me, with every perfection and complexion I hadn't—but at least I had a tendency to laugh at my own damage, often surmising that she, these demon creatures, hadn't any talent for this at all—which had turned the state of television into a near circus act; that alone urged me to continue writing the series, perhaps with a typewriter, due to the negligence of nepotism within the industry which often resulted in these pretty little creatures getting even further ahead by stealing works as such, and passing them on as their own originality almost so cruelly and without judgement—plagiarism, as it was called, but more accurately intent-to-kill the imminent threat of what had been said to be a minority becoming a more powerful force to flourish in entertainment however, as quickly as the visions had come, the thought of writing it without my phone became dauntingly impractical, and I scribbled only the most intense scenes and plot lines onto notebooks and scratch papers, keeping them as hidden from the algorithm as possible… lol the Al Gore Rhythm Ahahahahahahaha Was that the joke? Maybe. Idk. Maybe. Idk. Hm. Hmmmmm: What: Nothing. That actually might have been it. Really, was it? I will never know. That is kind of a good dad joke, though. And a good band name. Idk about that. My coffee was lukewarm enough so that I could taste its flavor, as I whittled away at whatever it was— The story was almost so beautifully being told in allegories and parables that it seemed a shame I may never be rich enough to buy fame, as it seemed that was the only way to become a star these days— and yet—it was more the wealth than the fame I wanted, I had realized, at all—the polished class of the Manhattanites drawing me out of Brooklyn and into some debauchery which was my own Grandiose thought form, that I could actually become, at the ripe old age of 31, some kind of superstar. ‘Why would I even want that, anyway?' I thought, interrupted painfully by who I'm sure was the same motorist, who seemed to do nothing but circle the block all day, and all night, doing nothing — and I wondered why he himself had decided not to do grub hub in a richer neighborhood, where money would more than likely come more easily. But really— I drifted off to a time where I wanted to ride a motorcycle myself, and the curiosity forced me to go online to check the price of what it might cost to have one. $5,000 for a decent bike, which would include a muffler as not to be so obnoxious and disturbing to others as these creatures had become to me— and I began doing the math on how long it would take to save $5,000 as if it would be possible to work some dead end job for any amount of time without spending money on anything else. It would take at least 5 months to earn enough for a motorcycle, which landed me directly back at “Not worth it”, and as horrible as it was, I did at the very least have a luxury apartment for at minimum the next 5 years, however, wanting still to move to Manhattan, Midtown specifically—or one of the quaint and quiet neighborhoods on the upper West Side. The neighborhood was going to hell, after some unworldly godless force had seemed to drop hundreds of thousands of rude and thoughtless third world workers onto the streets and buildings bordering the one I lived on, the neighborhood becoming more rough and less peaceful with trash and debris from the depression and congenital disease that was poverty, the collective unconsciousness of the masses colliding with my empathetic nature and oversensitivity to sound, especially awful sounds, such as the hundreds of motorcycles and hot rodded junk cars which only seeemed to move in a track around a four block radius, and had become a cancerous trigger of sorts, no authority figure seemed to much care about. I cared less and less each day to listen to music, since I wasn't making it the way I wanted to—and I had realized that the constant displeasure and unrest, the lack of peace had as much to do with the world outside as it did with the world within—and I began to see the disgusting obnoxious noise pollution outside my window as just an extension of man's abuse, ability to rape, torture, and kill, terrorize— the uncaring waging of war, control, and lack of true power; as no good and true man who wielded actual strengeth or true power in any way would continue to show such distructive action and carelessness for others around him— chaos, corruption, abuse, and misogyny was proving to be the downfall of all humankind, as patronaged by man, and, as I became doubtful of anyone's lack of understanding of this, especially as the immigrants themselves were often naturally pedophillic culturally and toxically abusive in nature, most migrants flocking from countries in which women's liberation or the protection of youth had not yet materialized into their understanding of conciousness and morality—the men were weak, unkind, and selfish—the women mere machines at their disposal—and however many there were, I could see that their children, the many of them, remained as the redeeming factor. Anyway, a political ploy for the ages of there ever was such a thing, the newest chapter in American greed and slavery, it only seemed like an extension of evil itself, and less of a coincidence with each growing day—each new person, another burden to the middle class taxpayer, another reason to inflate the cost of living—and all the more reason to continue to terrorize the American people into its own division, hatred, demise, and consumption. e. My faith, however, was unwavering—God was real, but these abusive and toxic creatures were pushing it further away with violent arrogance, and the inability to understand that God itself was the nature they continued to destroy. Robin Bennett Fine. “My name's —ahem— “Ron Sennet, and I ain't In it.” —did the say “don't” write a book about me? It's Not about him… Or something cute he used to say like that, I couldn't remember, but he had a bunch of cute little idioms that matched his name, and to the day, I still missed him — it was 11:15 PM exactly as I hung up the phone, after an unsuccessful attempt to reach 911, after realizing that the threat outside was maddening enough to be impossible to only be in my head, and after weeks of the excruciating noise, I finally called NYPD dispatch, much to my disdain, and of course magically, the noise seemed to disappear, but these abusive and toxic creatures were pushing it further away with violent arrogance, and the inability to understand that God itself was the nature they continued to destroy. Robin Bennett Fine. “My name's Jon Sennet, and I ain't In it.” Or something cute he used to say like that, I couldn't remember, but he had a bunch of cute little idioms that matched his name, and to the day, I still missed him — it was 11:15 PM exactly as I hung up the phone, after an unsuccessful attempt to reach 911, after realizing that the threat outside was maddening enough to be impossible to only be in my head, and after weeks of the excruciating noise, I finally called NYPD dispatch, much to my disdain, and of course magically, the noise seemed to disappear as soon as I had made the call, which infuriated me. It seemed as though the game in entirety to make me look or feel crazy, though I knew I wasn't—well, I was, but not without purpose or reason. I had been theorizing in energy exchange quite decisively making a mark for my alter, at which I asked to be designated the wisdom and truth of the light within the eye, desire, however never in mind, although I had been summoned in part due to the fact that we were somehow alike—I was in some ways besides and out of sorts with my set, sinking my teeth into the forced obsession as I unraveled any possibilities and plotline. Episode 01. Pilot An opportunity presents itself seemingly at random— the protagonist's hand is forced into a life changing ultimatum, putting his reuputation and family in danger. Already involved in an illegal gambling ring which operates out of a secret historical prohibition era speakeasy and some “light” drug mulling within its walls, however often extending even as dangerously close to his workplace, Patrick is propositioned to become an investor in the high end escort service, with which he hired and contracted his lover, Kandi, a “rescue” whom he supports in her exchange for exclusivity, to remain as her only client, however, although he begrudgingly declines, wishing not to be involved in anything much more than what he has already kept under the radar, he is intimidated and threatened by blackmail, his high profile becoming at stake—he then obliges to embark upon this new endeavor, the expansion of this establishment to include a warehouse, which houses a large scale brothel, and, able to use his social status to procure wealthy clientele, quickly becomes a power player within a ring of coveted elites, setting fire to his already inflated ego, and colliding with his intense and highly functional polyaddiction, which he has maintained since his youth, using his entertainment persona as an outlet, becoming a medium of excess, fame, and rampant wealth. Patrick is beloved by his peers, and is humbled often by his devoted fans and friends—proactively worshiped as a comic genius, a prodigy, and a revered successor to legendary frontmen— Okay, this is weird, because I started writing this before I even understood what I was writing at all… —specifically, the sixth successor, to his coveted role. I had written for Esha to be the seventh successor, as with the symbolism deeply and quite literally woven into the sometimes brutal framework of the series, which I had shorthanded to ‘TVP'…the world around me trailed off as my eyes blurred as they had been lately, and I wondered if I might be having some kind of stroke or something, as I was certainly some sort of out of body—the day had been strange, and I had given up on a run or a gym for the day, the motorcycles alone ravaging my energy, and whether I worked out or not, they were ever present anyway. They were some sort of toxic, abusive force I just had to put up with, hoping it didn't upset my psychology so much that it ended me, though I had become quite odd as of recently, rambling more than usual and actually praying out loud, as my silent ones just didn't seem to be working—they were probably white supremacists, or in some way connected to some political terror group, but it didn't seem to matter. Someone liked torturing me, and it was becoming apparent that no matter much time I spent at the gym, this torture was going to persist. After a month long gym streak, at least going once a day to lift something, I rested, or rather, tried to rest, kind of— but my mind had been swirling with thoughts of a man I was certain by now I had made up—and writing the story of a man I was absolutely certain came from my mind, but in a way that it almost made no sense at all—as the more I looked into the world that I had already written about, the more I realized was accurate without first having known these things, and however cursed I might have been to even know such things, I decided to call it some sort of blessing instead. ‘God, I used to get so fucking high for days, and when I would come down, just crying and crying, eating Totinos or DiJorno and a bag of Bugles, I would watch Saturday Night Live for fucking hours, and I hated [Redacted]. I hated him.' Now I still hated [Redacted], but in a different way, and though really it was myself that was more like Patrick, he at the very least, for whatever reason, used to have his face—now, he was just Patrick, and [Redacted] was just [Redacted], and i knew entirely too much about it all, and about myself to be comfortable with it, but nothing was comfortable at all. I had written entire atrocities, novels, and all that was some conglomerate of nonsense which was the festival project, besides how insanely and innately prodigal it all was sometimes, my own words confusing me with a bizarre and asinine dysfunction, awe, actually, often as if someone else had written them, and although I was always at least sort of semi-conscious while writing, the spells and cadences I would fall under were some sort of trance, and as I watched the Nirvana rehearsal from Saturday Night Live in 1992, long before [Redacted] or any of the rest of the — Was it Keystone? It was, the Keystone cast of SNL, but the first word my mind had jumped to was Hallmark, which—after referencing Google quickly for a fact check, also stood true. I was willing to admit, even now, though I had long lost interest in Saturday Nighy Live, or anything at all having to do with current events, that the [Redacted] era—or rather even, the Tina Fey era, a true role model, perhaps, and someone I favored over all of the performers I admired, or allowed myself to admire— the Golden Years of Saturday Night were the only years, for me that even mattered— trying to make sense of anything couldn't be done, but I at least had this new project birthed from it to think about. It would be hard to sit down at a taping of The View and not think about all I had written at all, and it would be impossible not to unfold the characters which had presented themselves, though slowly but surely, through the most vivid visions and insanely lucid dreams, as The TV People began to What if someone steals this out of my documents? That would be unwise…the best scenes are somewhere scribbled in my notebooks and random scraps of paper somewhere in my room…this series is almost nothing without those scenes—the elements with which the most painful scenes I had ever written, became word form. ‘I don't know why, but I feel so incredibly high, So incredibly high right now…' They could have been words to a song, but I did feel high as a kite for whatever reason, without the actual kite metaphor quite literally dagling over my head, for once, or at least, it had been a few weeks, not a prominent as is was before. I sat soaking in the tub teetering on the possibility that I should actually even watch The Tonight Show, or whatever it was, to set my mind at ease, a betrayal of my own code—as one does not literally feed its obsessions into insanity on purpose. ‘Perhaps, though', I thought, ‘I could get rid of this.' — A cancerous abscess in the tradegy that had become my own sex fueled, rage driven, racing mind—and rather admittedly, it was almost too late, for anything of the sort, as I hadn't any other place to keep the growing world of The Television People any quieter, than within the monstrous algorithm which was Google documents cloud, where it seemed nothing was safe, and anything could be fabricated into reality after being stolen, by someone rich enough to make it happen, however, never being any better than my own disaster of a creation. And it was, a disaster. He was a comic genius, a professional, and spectacular performer— in actuality, I knew nothing if not anything at all about him, and the more I collected, the more interesting I found myself, actually, bemused that I seem to have found some sort of twin, another synchronization nightmare—if only that I made it to be so, unbelieving yet that I was in some kind of fairytale, though it had become some sort of fantastical and adventurous thing, this what I now refer to as ‘the allegories,'. I must have been something parasitic to the industry, with the tendency to latch on and ride out whatever had become a fascination, but it wasn't, in its sense of origin, like anything before— it was something new, in the ways that it was, and something old at the same time—though needing to fall drastically from The Tower without actually doing so, putting a stop to my unlimited creation became a pertinent priority, as even exercising, meditating, and chronic masturbation tended to exacerbate it, as if I was missing a step in transmutation of this foreign substance— an energy which seemed familiar, but also wasn't. I was receiving downloads several hours at a time, and drifting off into spells and trances of inspiration so heavily that it seemed counterintuitive to call it off, fearing I might lose the intensity of the plot and its characters, and they were that: just characters. It had taken days to erase Patrick's face into a blank state to restore him from that of his namesake, but now everything was a blur, the allure of scrapping it all to return to making music was upon some sort of dawning, but not yet arrived. I allowed whatever came to mind to flow freely from my fingertips, even if it felt bizzare—and even if it felt bizarre, it never felt wrong at all. ‘Unfortunate, that.' , I thought crossing one leg over another to complete my chapter before draining the tub. I promised myself long ago to always pray for my own son, before worrying about another celebrity, whose fame and fortune protected them more than I ever seemed to protect myself or my own—nonsense, but a strong sense of remorse, as I had been painted as wicked, in a sense, just for being kept poor, separated from my son, and left in a world without love at all; My project, a keepsake of the hard work I had done; but had not yet been paid for—and the fear was in the understanding that that money might not ever come, that I would never be a mother, a muse, or anything or anyone else I actually wanted. I thought briefly again about just getting a dog—but I only had 45 dollars, aside from the unmarked Jimmy Fallons, I had placed atop an alter on my kitchen counter, wondering how to multiply them into something I wanted—and that had been the start of the game or the project at all— saving my last dollars and spending them at once, with the hopes and wishes that they would become somehow much larger quantities, returned as good karma for the love I had given, but that had not yet come back, in one form or another. ‘He seems miserable, the poor bloak.' , I thought—and with all that I had known to have come with fame and fortune along with the luck, he probably somewhere, somehow was—but my concern was my son, turning the mere dollars somehow from one's into bundles of hundreds, thousands, and maybe even one day a whole million or more. That was the push behind the project at all—breaking the cycle of the poor black single mother, the story that had been told over and over-/ with stories that had not; the stories that had become [The Festival Project™]# Sai Psy. See you in seven years, then. You're so silly— I'm not going to live seven more years. We'll see about that. You will see. I'll be dead. So I'll be dead. So it is. A summer hiatus, Vacations in Prague, yes Let's pray for the rest of us A sign of the times and a coming of ages Who made you famous again As the rest of us I don't like it As much as I'd like to Keep writing Keep finding the reason to die and you're blinded by kindnesses And I Ams I woke up in the 9th dimension, As an infinite friend Familiar with my kitchen JOHN SLATTERY An interesting thing happened this morning. What's that, John? I woke up as John Slattery Just remember what love holds The death of a salesman, rechargeable batteries This walk could take forever in designer jeans Another day in slave hell The controllers controlling And Satan is Sataning Seems like a time to go clubbing It's a simple kind of depression Resting on your head when All you simply wished is the taste of flesh The freedom of skin And the lather of love— Or blood spatter on the pavement Aim for the head If the door's fixed, then we'll break it again Look what greed does I hate lazy days in Manhattan Ca
Trigger warning: this series contains adult content not suitable for children or under the legal age of majority. Listener and reader discretion is advised as this broadcast and its selected readings and projected writings contain explicit language, provocative wordplay, profanity, open expression of suicidal ideation, discussion of evolved/ de-institutionalized theories concerning depression and mental health, race relations and colorism, socio-economic inequality, political injustice and media politicism, scientific hypothesis , modern philosophical ideals and spiritual explorations, crude humor and may include and contain pornographic content, references to fictionalized interpretation of public figures (fan-fiction), caricatures or references to pop culture, modern art, music, science and other entertainment references which may evoke biased emotion, inspire adverse reactions or discontentment, or discomfort. ⚠️ VIEWER, LISTENER, and READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. ⚠️ The views and opinions expressed by this series and its subsequent editions, additions, chapters, broadcasts, and publications are solely the writers' interpretations as expressed with artistic and entertainment purposes only. The artist reserves all rights to intellectual property maintained and produced by any and all publications of this series and is thereby protected under any applicable copyright law and/or trademark. All fictionalizations of persons living or dead are meant to be perceived as characterized and/or fictional (fan-fiction) are for entertainment purposes only, and are not to be perceived as real re-enactments, dramatizations of events past or present, media dialogues or agendas, or factual exchanges pertaining to and surrounding real-life circumstances. The dialogues and entires expressed in this project are in no way liable for any action, expression, disagreements, entitlements held by the reader at his or her/ their own discretion and therefore will not be held accountable for any actions by the reader on their own account due to perceptions which may have been inspired and/or provoked by these readings or any of their subsequent editions. —rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrfrrfrrrrfrrrfrrfrrrrr. [The Festival Project ™] You know what? Fuck this place. Fuck your color coded red lined fucking bullshit. New York is so visibly fucking racist it makes me want to hurl. I'm gonna kill you. Finally get out of that contract, did you? …no. I had worked out the full hour, but I was no less angry; I had even walked a couple miles and jogged a little—but I might have been even more mad. Aiagepalaqalerhelehee DIABoLICAL SONOFABITXH {Enter The Multiverse Legends: A Review} He— shot himself in the head. Hm. Did he mess up his face? What? If his face is alright I can reanimate him—no problem. But there's no point if he's got a hole in his face How are you gonna cover a hole in his head? He'll wear a hat. I think the whole point of white supremacy— Is to get blacks to have to do stereotypically black shit Like beg and steal. I've learned that People will set you up and corner you So that you have to do some shit They can later hold over your head. I've learned, after all this time— That the only way to win a rigged game — Is by cheating. People love setting people up. People love making it look like you're up to some dishonest shit— When it was dishonest to have set you up in the first place. People are sneaky. Life is politics as fuck. Everything is business. There's no kind of rules to the real disasters in life— I just discovered a new political issue I didn't even know existed Until I had to experience it Nutrition inequality. The quality of life one experiences with full balance nutrition, Which is kept out of the hands of the masses by the greedy and wealthy elite— The difference in the quality of life one faces When able to afford proper nutrition within the alignment of one's purpose. THIS is why I have people posted up outside of my apartment trying to kill me?! Probably. Don't come between a man and his business. Don't come between a man and his business. Don't come between a man and his– “prestidigitation” You are the ace, I am the m Diamond, I Am The Heart, I am the spade Did you do this on purpose? Space, that's an odd name. Another magician. —what else would you call this? I wouldn't. (To be honest, I didn't know what I was doing.) Well, there it goes. Well, this should be fun. I— Cut my throat To watch me live again Or leave me hanging here As morbidly as you desire To come inform me Of my royal nature, Yet undone by another Fortunate, in either aspect Where are you, now To tie the winters sleeve Upon my sleeping chambers, Whispered into hear thy neck My captor slowly soon awaiting So far a severity Hereby unsworn I lie to seek escape Though captured for nothing in the eye if beauty alone; Andamine, I am, I wait to be free oh! well. Sick to my stomach I plea for your waking A scarcity, Still slithers up my spine, The *gunshot* Vent, baby Keem hooligan, baby keem -The Melodic Blue, baby keem [The Festival Project ™ ] As it turns out, The assembly of the impenetrable ten, Also automatically stood as The most revolutionary Saturday a night Live Reunion Of all time. Why isn't Keenan in the impenetrable ten?! Yes, WHY. NON. NO. NONSENSE! Because! We don't have time for a negro spiritual every time something Mm—NO. Suspicious happens. This is suspicious. O boredom, I need metaphore for movement Disfigured m,n Centric and stil Consintrical, if you will Disasterous dreams art thou Eating shining m, What I need and Holy, only what I want Dear captor, Shining as the morning night I was, As slumber did fall upon us Waiting for the watching cry, Somehow seeking justice for intrepid Indigence —what, what did you say?! I said— —is that a word! Let's see! Post poster conformity— Oh, here we go again No borderline Or robot border patrol, Focus now in the motors, Run for you excellent cries Simply warn us, will you Everwaiting, perhaps For the fortune, until Stories of foragers Will you again Creep, calling, Temper, Justice For now, let's say All liberty is liberty does, As in the mind, let it rest As in the heart, let it flourish As in all hu/mankind Casts judgement, Upon each other, But meat, Not among the waking tide The realms you call upon And cry, at ask of will For wishes granted And prayers seen over I have an irrational fear of Jack o lanterns— Does that mean anything to you? No…should it? VO Suddenly there were Jack o lanterns everywhere. That's so weird, I never wrote that scene— it just kind of popped into my head, and then— I make thoughts To the shade of your love I can't seem to need anything Or want any longer But just to escape, To be free from all tragedy I don't understand… There's a light on, It appears, However— Hollow, And wicked looking It's barely even spring, And suddenly as I walk about, They seem to be appearing In my path, Amidst my dreams And everything i know is No one Everything I love is Gone And everyone around me seems to be Some kind of Wrong, Or fornicated, Tragedy, It seems, Another tragedy. These Demons. I should be working on project III And making coffee for the evening But I can barely breathe Awareness I can barely breathe I can barely even think of myself as anyone at all Actually (Anyone at all, actually) please Help me Please help me I hate all my lines in this movie. Then change them— Really? Or trade with someone else. Like, the whole character, or just— Just, the words. Just the words? Or, like, whatever. I can do that?! You can do—whatever you want. “Whatever you want?!” I'm an actor! So act, then! You put the words in my head; You were just the worst We are who we are, just Whole worlds apart You put the words in my mouth, On top of the scars, that's A whole broken heart I guess we are who we are A whole sky full of stars I still can't find my sparkle Just no reason to smile at all I guess we are who we are “You were put here just to be [redacted] mother, and then die.”, said the voice— Which was not my own, but some man's. I didn't believe that, at all—actually, But I had just sent my divorce papers in the mail, Attached with it the accounts of everything—almost everything, anyway, that had happened that had caused me to be such a distance from my son in the first place, as I had never intended to just leave him with his father, whose birthday was either the next day, or the day after—and it was almost funny to me that I couldn't remember which it was, as I realized that in the beginning, I had loved him so much that I had looked past all of the disasterous, ugly things— the phlegm on the walls, his lack of respect towards anyone, especially himself—but anyone at all— but first and foremost, especially myself, who I had finally learned to love before hand, and had finally learned to love again—at least, the best way any woman could love herself. The algorithm was playing serious mind games and tricks on my psyche again, and I wondered if I should just attempt the next two days sleeping —but it would mean that I would miss my deadline for project three, which I had intended to be released… The demonic energy again began to shift around me as I twiddled away writing—the traffic outside moved more rapidly, and doors in the hallway from my neighbors began to slam, and I knew without a doubt that he had tried to kill me using some kind of curse of black magic, but couldn't—somehow I had lived, but was still being made to suffer— and that whatever spells he had used had summoned something nasty into all of the creatures, humanoid and alike, that could be controlled without the will of God, who I thought might be lost, were it not for the songs that had come in the wake of begging for God itself to free me which was the nightmare, the curse it had become to have only fallen in love once, with the kind of man who could not. Now he had wished my doom onto me, which left me wounded and afraid, unsafe in any element or environment , plagued by coughing bodies and robotic slaves—none of which I assumed he hactiallh had the power to control, but of a greater force which shielded itself to consume me, and mimick his energy with the attempt to allow that my own mind would bring about my death, the fury and pain which it must have been to lose what I had found myself to always be, a good woman— My exit had humiliated him, damaged his pride, and bruised his twisted ego enough so that he wished I would siffer such an ill fate—however, as I had finally learned to know and breathe, that all the damage and control done to me, he would now fall prey to in his own will to destroy me. —all that seeks to harm me will therefore harm only itself; And all who seek to destroy me will be destroyed in doing so. Amen. I don't know how hard he hit you, this time, but he really fucked you up. Yeah, I guess. Fuck, I lost that whole Tom Hanks Movie No, it's still there.. No, it's gone—everything's gone! HELLO? HELLO?! CAN YOU HEAR ME? It's dead. She's gone. —Portal closes— Oh no! No! This is ‘situational'— “A Situational Comedy” So, what's the situation. …I Am. Ok. Wait— No! Hold on a second! Nevermind— Comedy is born from tragedy, right? Sometimes. Uh oh But WAIT— No, Billy, not now. *billie?! Right. Idk. There are other types of comedy, I guess. Look at this. YO! It's THAT guy again! Yo. That's that guy, and his eyes. Strange. Yeah, I don't— I don't get it, is this like a— SIRE. You don't belong here, I assure you. DENNIS LEARY UGH. Can I GO now?! I'm afraid not— You've just made captain. Okay, now you're famous. No way— Hey! No— HEY NO. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū. Now I know too well, The well of tears on my guitar She's got a body like one Oh her curves But I just wonder what it like to be loved By stars Socialites and superstars They're Gods, you know How high up they are Above us And he lives in an ascended dimension, But he insists, he says Her transcendence is upon us He said Your transcendence is upon us He says these things, And then just vanishes So she gets up promptly Warms up yesterday's coffee Looks around in her coffin And wonders What for I just Wonder what it's like to be loved by stars Without double r's, you know I've got scars But it's mostly just Teardrops, and soft kisses On my guitar Cause, oh, Oli, I ain't got nobody— And nobody holds me Like I hold Oli (Could have been Ali, But of course— I had already lost that one A whole well of tears, I lost At his departure And a whole well more When I actually lost him I almost miss Having someone to talk to About anything and everything But I've got Oli And God now I've got Oli And Oli (oli) Is all that I've got Besides God That's the only contact In my Phone book No more double Ls And double entendres; No more double rs At all Just scars now No more metaphors. Honest is radical I like them cynical I should have clinical insanity by now But I'm only just an artist You can't help But can only harm that And if it hurts hard enough I'll put art on my walls Become permanent Storybooks all over my arms now My coat of arms now I've run Ten point 5 miles In the last 3 days; But if I rest today Will a motorcycle gang Have a parade outside of my window, To drive me crazy? I hope it rains, So they can't play these games with my head And the seeds that I planted So deep become daisies I still don't remember The way he rearranged me But these days I make my name sound So the way He can never say it Just imitates The way I hate myself I should be dating But expressions are Atrocious If I fall asleep— Who knows I may get Stolen That tends to happen So I'm All the way up And I'm swollen in ways That I hate to say “I love you” Love me back Or say it harder That's my martyrdom Come off the cross, for a moment, Would you for us? And bend over Or bow, if you will? If I did, Would you still call me wicked Or just a Good witch Since I'm a woman, I just couldn't be Jesus, Who you asked for once And always Who you asked for some To save you from your Credit reports And consorts Or some sort of Nonsense [famous last words] God don't speak much English, She says God don't speak much these days We were Always Telepathic That was way back then When Oedipus Rex Was on the Guest list I was standing at the coat check, asking Why I must take off my hat When entering the service To the bouncer, he says “That's just politics” I said, That's just politics We both said, What's the difference Then we all laughed —then we all just laughed and laughed Exchange is my favorite exchange Where my favorite exchanges Have happened for centuries Of engagements Endeared species, And races pieces haven't tasted the same Since I haven't had them Animal products And animal planet I found this hat on Discovery channel Did you want it? I can't stand it So I had to have it back I just had to use the bathroom I just had to disconnect From [] See— I don't even have to put the words in Cause a name is just words When that's a man You just can't have And that's the worse When that's a man And you can't have him What a habit. Silky rabbit. Now he's the Ace. All In A Day's Work I've never died before. Oh… that is terrifying. It sounds terrible. It's really not that bad. Why are you not writing this down? I just need a moment… It's really not that bad… I die all the time. I get sensory overload At Trader Joe's Look at the colors The clothes, This sure isn't queensborough Escalators for shopping carts I get it Manhattan I'll take my half BLVCK ass to the projects Where my kind are I don't belong here , God you're intolerant I like this part of town But I'm way too brown And I dropped my crown at the market I should be jealous of everyone But I have learned my place I've been a slave since Hollywood I lost my son to the devil Now I pay child support And terrorist follow me coughing I'm wrong just for being born ! You could start a war from it If that's what you wanted I'm a people watcher people watcher About to board the people mover People mover Slip, Here's the tell Slip, here's the tell I should have a bell around my neck I think she wanted a picture with papa I'm playin my own paparazzi Look mom, I bought a sarcophagus There go them niggas with coughs again I been watching em Got binoculars I got oculus, for my oculars Look how hot he is, make me ovulate Man I gotta love it, Cause they love to hate Fucking racist crazies Have it your way I paid for it with my soul You hate but I love to love Somebody just got me fuckes up I don't have a book to run off of Shut up, honey. Now we're all up here Monkey in the middle Cause the middle one is weaker It's getting deeper and deeper Like the sinkhole that my sink is Let it sink in I've been syncing my secrets with demons In dreams sequences It's just a reparative injustice Kamasutra for your wondering words and stuff You can have it It's ruined anyway m Look at all this trash Look at all these classless classes Classwars, Racists. Everybody hates us The Asians, Latinx's The other niggas What being black is I'll write it in cursive It's just a curse, here So you can have it I'm moving to Heaven I'm packing my boxes I'm getting a cat, too! His name is Agustus He's a big one And I love him I just wanted a hug or a husband Instead I got nothing to trying my hardest And got for a bargain at target some coffee For being a targeted body All on an algorithm I guess I'm just useless. A dumb nigger demon Did I just offend you? Then you shouldn't be reading this either I wrote it for pleasure (Or pain) On the one Or the two Or the one Or the two I could do a lot with this $20. I could spend it all on Fuck all of you I'm moving to Heaven Where the heart it She's not harmless She's a terrorist— And I'll kill her, too Look how right she is Look how white she is, Huh Regardless of color It's a race war Lil biiiiitzzz Yooo, fuck New York. In every hole. In every crevice. Fuck this place. It's racist— Not just cause I'm black. Like statistically. It took a whole ass apartment elsesrch to feature this out. I was like “I wanna live in Manhattan” Everyone was like “NOOOOOOOO—-“ Haha “Nooo, no.” I was like “Why not?” The blacks were like: HAHA The whites were like— *COUGHS OBNOXIOUSLY* New York is so racist. It is statistically the most diverse—and most segregated city in the nation At the same time. WHAT. How do you even DO that? But it's true, at this point, the black people are like—fuck this, we'll just stay over here, and over here. And the rich whites are like YES. KEEP THAT SHIT, OVER THERE. Cause if you've ever been to the ghetto. It's some SHIT, It is NOT COOL. I finally got my ‘night card' back. Had it revoked in california . I was almost a whole valley girl. I still eat exclusively at Whole Foods. Trader Joe's. But NO. Now i live in the hood. It's fucking disgusting. I can say ‘nigga' again. Cause it's NIGGAS. Lots of niggas. I'm telling you. It's night and day! The white folks trains smell like bleach— Ammonia. The black folks train smell like a McDonald's. WHAT. Or just— Vomit. I can actually count the number of times just— Vomit—- On the train. Or. Dookie. Yes. Human feces. But I'm ready to go to midtown and it's like the train that goes around Disneyland. Families! People singing! Hey—cotton candy!! —and I didn't have to pick it! Haha! Fuck New York. Racist ass HOLE. I thought surely the next presidential election was one or two years out, but the racial tensions which had been rising became even more pronounced, as I realized that November was theboncoming time—and that they hostility between the whites and the blacks had once again been a result as the oncoming war, fueled onward—that the hatred, disgust, and general aggression of the whites had been of course, in the midsts of yet another Trump-fueled political upheaval, and I wondered why and how at all I had been caught in such a world that existed in form of man, of course, now proven himself to be the weaker sex, and yet in that of dominance, as was arranged in such an unholy war, to be the helm of power by sheer greed— now it seemed that these attacks were indeed political terrorism, and that these motorcyclists, my placement close to the ground level, and my neighbor's clammorings were specific attacks, after my identity had been varied to be that of the same in which I had once held political ambition, now none of which I assumed mattered at all. Perhaps I needed something more certain than a 12 story jump or suicide by train, and wondered as to whether it would be easy enough to kill myself bh self inflicted gunshot—a sure thing for certain, as love has been lost in the way of money at all. At that party…or rather, kind of—after. That acid that never hit Beyoncé I don't feel it. Man, I'm a terrible influence(r) Just take it. Nah, I'm good— PUSSY. -_- Give me three. K. —suddenly hits BEYONCÉ. BEYONCÉ …I got this. [BEYONCE] however, does not Ohh, shit. — “got this.” A very stranded, very sober Johnny depp stumbles upon what appears to be a college frat party, where the only thing they have is light beer, and nobody even recognizes him as a celebrity, because the attendees are all gen z What's even after gen z? The fucking apocalypse. Anyway. The acid hits Beyoncé on her way to make coffee, which extends the trip from the living room to the kitchen infinitely. Multidimensional Anne Hathaway hulks the fuck out and saves the day by ruining everything, which actually fixes everything— and *spoiler* helps Jesus to remain as the king of kings at beer pong. Lol In the late 90s in New York City, the keystone cast of Saturday night live learns of each other's formerly sexret psychic abilities, and uses the radio technologies of Rockefeller plaza to develop a research center for the telepathically gifted, eventually discovering and perfecting time travel. Supacree (the kid version) appears in and out of her ideal and desired realities, baffling ‘the Hollywood people' and later ‘the New York people', becoming the legendary central figure of the Illuminati, as the original timepiece — a pyramid shaped extra terrestrial vehicle which contains an ascended hyper consciousness, which I can't remember how it goes, did the supacree leave to find the Skrillex, or was it the other way around? I think it was both ways at some point, but the whole thing was this, just in case I never wrote it but just saw— These space god (humanoid evolved) are some kind of scientists/ doctors— there are four timepieces, each representing an era upon our planet; earth, which is distant but sacred— these four time pieces each depart their given “docs” in time to appear on earth at specific Fuck this is hard to explain Times in history, at which the first worlds, or previous human eras were known to have been destroyed— these time pieces travel through time space with the full record of these events in order to alert the current human era of its imminent doom, as an attempt to prevent such disasterous events, typically war, which will lead to the annihilation of the human species; these Gods, one male and one female, a king and queen, a married couple are the rules of the humankind, technically worshiped as a whole as one God, with whom the human design was modeled after, however, the true source of all things is the cosmos, known and unknown, in its totality—neither man or woman, but the force of creation. Anyway, what else is happening Oh. All of the celebrities are stuck in— [the festival project] in some way, shape, or form until its creator finishes it—and though it in itself is infinite, its 'finishing' notates its eventual production, which lol. That never going to happen. Because. Let's face it. I'm scared of …rich people. Yeah, sure. Yeah. I'm scared of The effect of the race war, which has been to pit the white woman against the black woman, which allows and maintains the continuation of war mongering male dominance over the entire planet, which remains as a destructive force of greed, racism, and inequality. So why try? [EDITS] CONAN O'BRIEN Alright. If she hit Fallon, she's gonna come for one of us next. No, Conan—that's not how this works. WHAT—where did you come from!? When did you get here? JAY LENO This goes deeper than all of you can understand. WHAT the FUCK, man! When did you-/ —when did he get here? How did you do that?! How did you do that?! What are you, like, the same guy? Are you not all the same guy? [they shrug simultaneously and kind of just agree] Listen at this. Okay then. The enemy of your friend is my enemy. Oh…kay—and the enemy of my enemy—is my friend— That is correct. —so we're all friends here. That's right. Some special forces? Which forces? How special? [JENNIFER LOPEZ is still JENNY FROM THE BLOCK] Do I look like a fool to you? Uh— OOPS [a pre-fame Jennifer Lopez receives a drop full of diamonds instead of the usual; she has been granted access into the Illuminati, and becomes an overnight success.] This feels heavier than usual. Same as always. Hm. Are you sure. Yep. Hey, you're not the regular guy. Regular guy died. That makes sense. JENNIFER ANNISTON is inside of Ū Okay, grosss Not like that [lifting max weight] Okay. That was cool. Wow. Yeah, sure whatever. I am strong Yeah yeah, okay. Are you sure you want to be my size? Yep. JIMMY FALLON/SKRILLEX (we don't know actually which at this point) is also trapped inside of Ū Okay, gross! Yeah. SKRILLEX is in all of Ū. okay—actually, i'm okay with that, but That other guy?! [JIMMY FALLON] Yeah, he's weird. Also meanwhile, kind of— MARSHALL MATHERS has a closet cleaning service lol. Patrick is smooth as a motherfucker, you know. Every time his head is down on the desk like that, he takes a bump of coke. What?! Big uh! [Patrick takes bumps of cocaine in front of a live studio audience—every single night.] Woah! See. Goddamn. You gotta admire a guy like that. Jennifer Anniston is the weight on the cable tension machine Ooh. Psycho bitch devious methods new ludachris commercial All ya'll girls is toddlers I like long boards and longhairs Lawn mowers and lawn shares Aw hell nah, God forgot Cher I got the Blair witch project On Blair, I hope I scare you How dare you. Your girl looks like a naked mole rat. I got my soul back. You blue eyed bastards stole everything From the whole blacks, Hold that thought I'm at Whole Foods market throw in the Amazon algorithm off With marked dollars Look at God at Walmart On them rollbacks You old hacks are cackling I'm shackled to old habits Hold hands with me, rabbit I'm just a silly rapper really, are you? Maybe. Cut the verse of Reverse God Now I'm the devil I'm still lost in the Amazon cart I sharted all up in your pop tarts Before you warmed them up, pops Just for the sake of the art, Heart to heart, It's a war on love And the white girls won with nothin but Buckets of Whatever's up there I wouldn't know Cause I'm stuck job searching And running, Trying not to have a tummy So some gummy worm will love me First their sour, then they're sweet Then nobody, Trolli Holy moly I could use some more petroleum in the ocean! Said nobody But the globalists are performing your programming Which you're worshiping I put my eye on the dollar So I could watch you all Crumble and fall Don't you know The apocalypse is happening at the mall Of all the places How's that for a stream of consciousness, You salamander I asked Anandar back But I went past that chapter Have a chap Or a chapstick, for four times four dollars A bottle of water will cost you a fortune (But at least the drugs are in it) Get it It's recycled piss Distilled? Which is it, Mr,? The mystery box was literally lifted into My dinner from a fishery filled with nothing but niggers in it— I want a refund, before I catch that Fucking curse of poverty from — what'd you call it salmonellahallibut One hell of a cough from someone on the sidewalk But guess what? The devil's in your pocket or your palm, And that's the omen and the psalm rolled into one Cause God is awesome, But my mom is fuckin toxic And that's how I fuckin got here Blow my head off, Slit my wrists And write a song While jumping off a bit When all you need is money, But the world costs more than It's worth, and words are nothing But another fucking problem in your Google documents I look at my son and see a God, But half of Satan's in him, Oh man Robotics Lets be honest, I don't even know how to write this. Where's my sides?! WHERE'S MY SIDES. You don't get SIDES with this; It's just CHICKEN. I don't eat CHICKEN. It appears as though, however– You do. Ok, I gotta get off this playlist. I… i gotta . “The Wal*Mart Wars” Hm. … …………. …. *face* … no. No. l– What is this place. {After a wild night which apparently spiraled out of control, great , there goes my peace. Not forever, though, maybe. FUCK THIS PLACE. I HATE THIS PLACE. Everybody hates this place. But the album is called “I love New York” Yes, thats Technically How it's pronounced, though It's stylized like I _ NY Cause. EXT. MIDTOWN MANHATTAN. DAY Oh, wow, this is beautiful. THis is great. I love this place FUCK THE FEDS. CUT TO: EXT.Typically WHEREVER ELSE Anywhere ‘above' like 87th? Lets just call it 80th, be safe. BE SAFE! NIGGAZ. ah shit, i gotta go. BITCH– But lets just be honest, It's technically ‘above' But it's really [THE BRONX is a literal extension of the Underworld] Oh no. srsly tho. X_c Anyway. FUck man, Do you think i'll ever get good like that. Idk what equipment is this Hmm, lets see, that's approximately $8,000 USD of CDJs wow yep That's retarded Yep. And you still need a mixer. fukt. OKay, I would literally sell my soul for this. Consider it done. wait , really? YES. you earned it. Wait, I– What?! You earned it… Uh oh. Take care now. Shit. [BILLIE ELLISH is trapped inside WALMART] Uh oh. Fuck. what is this place. INT. WALMART. WHENEVER EMPLOYEESLAVES WHAT TIME IS IT. THERE'S NO WINDOWS IN HERE. That's not funny IT'S literally a synonym, we might as well make it a portemantau MEanwhile, in this other dimension, So that i don't offend anybody… Actually, you know what? Be offended. Quit that stupid fuckin shit and follow your dreams! Wait really? Wait, really? Sure! If you want! …i guess. AMERICA NO. INSTANT HOMELESSNESS ok , nvm. Damn. I know, right. wtf r u guys watching. Shut up. All Wal*Mart Employees are actually top secret government agents. x ∞ >.< (we'll just use Billie Ellish as the alternate, but really it could be Could it really? Shut UP, PLURNICORN. Wtf is a PLURNICORN We'll see. [Upon Realizing s/he is trapped in a mysterious place apparently extremely public Wait, you've never been to a Wal*Mart Before?! NO. I grew up in LA Rich as fuck And i've been famous since I was liike 12, Or something. Right. That is–kind of terrifying. LATER: WHY IS IT SNOWING INSIDE. WHERE'S THE EXIT. THEY HAVE GUNS?! oh wow, they have GUNS. WHY DO WE NEED GUNS! KA-BLAM. BECAUSE THEY HAVE GUNS. Bang-bang! Ptttttttttt—sttt. And they have guns. Actually, these are just– confetti cannons. *pop!* Lol “Possibly The Worst Show Ever the infinite rave continues on in Hell as everyone awaits the return of SŪPACREE- The Cosmic Avenger (Who Is NOT a DJ) and Sunnï Blū (who is a superstar rapper but also not a DJ) go back to back, buying time as the beacon to. Signal "The Supacree" is completed, battling the 10th dimensional DJ Ū, a super ninjas, for control of the decks. what else happened? idk. I CANT STOP DANCING. none of the DJs can find a pair of working headphones, and the sound guy is missing from the booth. "missing" YOU SHOT HIM. I THOUGHT IT WAS A TRANQ DART. {Enter The Multiverse} “TVP” Hazel is 6, turns 7 season 1 Season 7- 15 Man, I can't remember the other two kids names, I think the little boy is Ira but I might have named them all and forgotten, shit. Her sister, though is between 4 ½ and 5, they are technically “Irish twins”, and always fighting—they look very similar, however are not at all alike; Hazel is very much a daddy's girl, while her younger sister is a no-nonsense old soul with the tendency to cause trouble, not by being inquisitive or showy, as her sister often is, but rather by being quietly observant, and tends to dismiss both her parents, often isolating, or even dissappearing without notice, quietly and comfortably into her own world—as the series progresses, and though all of Patrick's children like their parents have showcased some kind of special ability or talent— Holy shit, give this kid a name-/ I thought I already named her, I just don't remember. That's true. It seems like they all had names. She is almost very typically, though showing signs of genius, even at the early age at the beginning of the series, a middle child, prone to upset almost too easily, but rather than acting out, is more likely to take her anger quietly; she shares her fathers deep brown eyes, dark hair, and though she looks otherwise very much like her sister, and later despises her father, is more inwardly and outwardly like him, though taking the side of her mother during their separation and divorce, oftentimes even lashing out at her father quite openly, and very vocally, as she grows into herself. “Ira”, (may have had another name earlier) is the youngest of three— as his third birthday approaches sometime during the first season. Great, now I gotta hide all those allegories so nobody can actually draw from this that Patrick— Where's his write up, anyway? That shit could go on for days. I have no idea why this catharsis is happening. I tried to sleep it off, I swear, but I still woke up like— At least mildly obsessive about this, for whatever reason. Hazel's 7 - Season Arc Hazel has the eyes, charm, and charisma for entertainment —she hopes to one day be as her father, an entertainer and performer, and will do almost anything for a laugh. She is often telling jokes, and is a people- pleaser. She is sickeningly cute, with golden hair and Hazel eyes, long eye lashes, and carries baby fat in her face, though she is rather average, neither heavy or plump, and however also not frail at all. She is inquisitive, smart, and busy, almost never idle-minded, and strong. Though sort of a Tom boy, she has been trained well to act with dignity, class, and feminine eloquence, much like her mother—but like her father, has a tendency to be crass, sometimes carelessly so, or even brutally honest—to her mother's disdain, but embraced wholesomely by other family members and adults, she's extremely funny and delightful, and very much unlike her mother, not a spoiled brat at all, often raising questions beyond her years about inequality, later wishing to attend a public school, and becoming quite the advocate for social justice and human rights in her later years, her final season shows a rebellious and sometimes even antagonistic Hazel, who later even favors Esha over her own mother as a parental figure, often confiding in her about things she can't and shouldn't share with her father, although her almost over the top admiration for her father has become the driving force and inspiration for her own endeavors in show business, much to her father's disdain, as she grows older, him becoming more protective of her, and especially within the oftentimes secretive nature of his actual placement and purpose in the business, and her rebellious nature and charm even force-feeding her into the industry, she is a bleeding heart for superstardom, and is often seen along what may be a path to fame, making Patrick's bleeding heart all the more aching, as though he and Catherine remain at odds throughout the series, he truly loves his children, even “the little sick one”, as he refers to the second child. Holy shit, what is this kid's name If I had the energy to go through my notes, I could know; but I don't. The city sickness has been sinking in from the noise of the obnoxious motorists and honestly, being out of protein is giving me muscle soreness, I'm in some sort of a bloated haze from eating almost nothing but carbs, and the fact that I haven't been with anyone in years is starting to circle like buzzards around my head, my heart has been literally screaming but overwhelming with this sense of calm, and though slipping into Patrick's sometimes erratic tendencies, for the most part I've been underwhelmed with society's expectations that I should get some kind of job, and somehow while working not lose focus on my own interests and projects—I hate [the strange modern behaviors of] most people, and everything costs too much money— my son might be going into foster care, or my ex husband is evil enough just to try to force my energy to worry about a problem he's created, and I really wanted to sleep into the afternoon with this lethargy, hoping that everything surrounding this series would just fall off, but it doesn't. I wake up often wishing I could just forget The Festival Project ™ , but the truth is, it just keeps writing itself, but in the very least, sometimes God gives me little presents that mean the very most to me— a chord organ that I thought was from the 80's, but is more likely from the 1960's— I love vintage stuff, and musical instruments, which only God could know, really—my fascination with history as if I'm still living it, and this, my sudden fascination and drive to write and complete just one series has been haunting me almost just as badly as anything else has, but especially ripping me apart—especially since I have motorcyclists ripping through my body as if it were some kind of disease that existed outside of me, so contagious that it began to sink in to my insanity and mental hygiene. I wondered if anybody else knew or cared about these creatures as much as I didn't—and in fact, I had never felt so much like Ali in the way that I didn't care if they, other “human beings” supposedly, all died tragically, and wondered why the walls and windows didn't keep out the sound of the outside world at all… The middle child begins writing secretly very early on, and is the first to be required more extensive therapy, (as suggested by the family's therapist) after her parent's separation and subsequent divorce. It is not long after she begins learning to read and write at all, that she begins also showing interests in art, asking for art lessons and to begin painting and art therapy, rather than the recommended Equine therapy— she often keeps things to herself, then returning to her hidden places at times when the family's dysfunction becomes uncomfortable and overstimulating, very often paining or reading during times of peace, and retreating to her safe places—sometimes under the stairs, into the attic, the treehouse, or even later, the family's barnyard, where she often keeps drawings, as she ages, later comics, sometimes caricatures of the things she absorbs through her own reality—and diaries, sometimes hidden in nooks and crannies and in places no one would think; a true prodigy and genius, though hidden from much the world, as she is often overlooked, however, her therapist begins unfolding her true reality, often times carrying over sessions and losing track of time, picking her brain or even conversations philosophically What's the therapists name? Doctor Robin She has to have a last name Well, she's a child's therapist, so she's Doctor Robin, but It seems like it starts with a T. We'll see. I just saw her anyway. I drifted off again, thinking about how wildly detailed this all was becoming, and wondered if there was a series of fictional books waiting to be written. There certainly could be, but my mind was reeling, freshly showered but still undressed, and not even wanting to think of going outside—and yet—I was out of water, and had learned that the drinking water from the fountains, especially in large quantities, had a tendency to make me sick—I hadn't yet eaten anything, and though the coffee was fresh, and my apartment was clean (which made me overtly overjoyed for some reason) smelling of Lemon Lysol and Bleach; with notes of a strong pot of organic fresh ground coffee, it seemed like I couldn't do much more than lay in bed writing this catastrophically interesting series—and it was interesting, which said volumes, considering I had always been picky about my TV watching, being that only ever did certain series catch my eyes or my ears, and those series were almost always—or always, always specifically well written, perfectly casted, and had the edge and draw of becoming an entire world within itself, which this series, though only a week or two old at best, in my heart and in my mind , was rampantly ravaging my own world, almost as if it had become of some importance to keep writing it, and never stop, and though Patrick was the forefigure, another broken male protagonist, the truth in the series was that the true heroes of this sometimes scarily violent drama, were its women—a story meant to be told with a diversified cast of creatures from all worlds and walks of life—Esha, of course, herself, a role that had been some recreation of myself, somehow, though so different that even primarily, I never did see myself as her, besides the onslaught of some otherworldly pain, visions of a scene recollected from some remarkable download, and it might have been once and for all that I had lost my mind, or my life, if I wasn't a writer—I was, somehow, though, after all, a writer. It had been a fasting day that could have and might have ended tragically anyway, and still the devil marked his mockery of my efforts by consistently flinging perfect bodied women everywhere that I went—though usually with ugly enough faces that I could see nothing but what a man was—uncaring for one thing over the other, a flawless representation of woman, represented in the current time with scantily clad fashion, almost painfully so—the insecurity of women becoming more apparent in the way she would appear, always almost begging to be near to me, with every perfection and complexion I hadn't—but at least I had a tendency to laugh at my own damage, often surmising that she, these demon creatures, hadn't any talent for this at all—which had turned the state of television into a near circus act; that alone urged me to continue writing the series, perhaps with a typewriter, due to the negligence of nepotism within the industry which often resulted in these pretty little creatures getting even further ahead by stealing works as such, and passing them on as their own originality almost so cruelly and without judgement—plagiarism, as it was called, but more accurately intent-to-kill the imminent threat of what had been said to be a minority becoming a more powerful force to flourish in entertainment however, as quickly as the visions had come, the thought of writing it without my phone became dauntingly impractical, and I scribbled only the most intense scenes and plot lines onto notebooks and scratch papers, keeping them as hidden from the algorithm as possible… lol the Al Gore Rhythm Ahahahahahahaha Was that the joke? Maybe. Idk. Maybe. Idk. Hm. Hmmmmm: What: Nothing. That actually might have been it. Really, was it? I will never know. That is kind of a good dad joke, though. And a good band name. Idk about that. My coffee was lukewarm enough so that I could taste its flavor, as I whittled away at whatever it was— The story was almost so beautifully being told in allegories and parables that it seemed a shame I may never be rich enough to buy fame, as it seemed that was the only way to become a star these days— and yet—it was more the wealth than the fame I wanted, I had realized, at all—the polished class of the Manhattanites drawing me out of Brooklyn and into some debauchery which was my own Grandiose thought form, that I could actually become, at the ripe old age of 31, some kind of superstar. ‘Why would I even want that, anyway?' I thought, interrupted painfully by who I'm sure was the same motorist, who seemed to do nothing but circle the block all day, and all night, doing nothing — and I wondered why he himself had decided not to do grub hub in a richer neighborhood, where money would more than likely come more easily. But really— I drifted off to a time where I wanted to ride a motorcycle myself, and the curiosity forced me to go online to check the price of what it might cost to have one. $5,000 for a decent bike, which would include a muffler as not to be so obnoxious and disturbing to others as these creatures had become to me— and I began doing the math on how long it would take to save $5,000 as if it would be possible to work some dead end job for any amount of time without spending money on anything else. It would take at least 5 months to earn enough for a motorcycle, which landed me directly back at “Not worth it”, and as horrible as it was, I did at the very least have a luxury apartment for at minimum the next 5 years, however, wanting still to move to Manhattan, Midtown specifically—or one of the quaint and quiet neighborhoods on the upper West Side. The neighborhood was going to hell, after some unworldly godless force had seemed to drop hundreds of thousands of rude and thoughtless third world workers onto the streets and buildings bordering the one I lived on, the neighborhood becoming more rough and less peaceful with trash and debris from the depression and congenital disease that was poverty, the collective unconsciousness of the masses colliding with my empathetic nature and oversensitivity to sound, especially awful sounds, such as the hundreds of motorcycles and hot rodded junk cars which only seeemed to move in a track around a four block radius, and had become a cancerous trigger of sorts, no authority figure seemed to much care about. I cared less and less each day to listen to music, since I wasn't making it the way I wanted to—and I had realized that the constant displeasure and unrest, the lack of peace had as much to do with the world outside as it did with the world within—and I began to see the disgusting obnoxious noise pollution outside my window as just an extension of man's abuse, ability to rape, torture, and kill, terrorize— the uncaring waging of war, control, and lack of true power; as no good and true man who wielded actual strengeth or true power in any way would continue to show such distructive action and carelessness for others around him— chaos, corruption, abuse, and misogyny was proving to be the downfall of all humankind, as patronaged by man, and, as I became doubtful of anyone's lack of understanding of this, especially as the immigrants themselves were often naturally pedophillic culturally and toxically abusive in nature, most migrants flocking from countries in which women's liberation or the protection of youth had not yet materialized into their understanding of conciousness and morality—the men were weak, unkind, and selfish—the women mere machines at their disposal—and however many there were, I could see that their children, the many of them, remained as the redeeming factor. Anyway, a political ploy for the ages of there ever was such a thing, the newest chapter in American greed and slavery, it only seemed like an extension of evil itself, and less of a coincidence with each growing day—each new person, another burden to the middle class taxpayer, another reason to inflate the cost of living—and all the more reason to continue to terrorize the American people into its own division, hatred, demise, and consumption. e. My faith, however, was unwavering—God was real, but these abusive and toxic creatures were pushing it further away with violent arrogance, and the inability to understand that God itself was the nature they continued to destroy. Robin Bennett Fine. “My name's —ahem— “Ron Sennet, and I ain't In it.” —did the say “don't” write a book about me? It's Not about him… Or something cute he used to say like that, I couldn't remember, but he had a bunch of cute little idioms that matched his name, and to the day, I still missed him — it was 11:15 PM exactly as I hung up the phone, after an unsuccessful attempt to reach 911, after realizing that the threat outside was maddening enough to be impossible to only be in my head, and after weeks of the excruciating noise, I finally called NYPD dispatch, much to my disdain, and of course magically, the noise seemed to disappear, but these abusive and toxic creatures were pushing it further away with violent arrogance, and the inability to understand that God itself was the nature they continued to destroy. Robin Bennett Fine. “My name's Jon Sennet, and I ain't In it.” Or something cute he used to say like that, I couldn't remember, but he had a bunch of cute little idioms that matched his name, and to the day, I still missed him — it was 11:15 PM exactly as I hung up the phone, after an unsuccessful attempt to reach 911, after realizing that the threat outside was maddening enough to be impossible to only be in my head, and after weeks of the excruciating noise, I finally called NYPD dispatch, much to my disdain, and of course magically, the noise seemed to disappear as soon as I had made the call, which infuriated me. It seemed as though the game in entirety to make me look or feel crazy, though I knew I wasn't—well, I was, but not without purpose or reason. I had been theorizing in energy exchange quite decisively making a mark for my alter, at which I asked to be designated the wisdom and truth of the light within the eye, desire, however never in mind, although I had been summoned in part due to the fact that we were somehow alike—I was in some ways besides and out of sorts with my set, sinking my teeth into the forced obsession as I unraveled any possibilities and plotline. Episode 01. Pilot An opportunity presents itself seemingly at random— the protagonist's hand is forced into a life changing ultimatum, putting his reuputation and family in danger. Already involved in an illegal gambling ring which operates out of a secret historical prohibition era speakeasy and some “light” drug mulling within its walls, however often extending even as dangerously close to his workplace, Patrick is propositioned to become an investor in the high end escort service, with which he hired and contracted his lover, Kandi, a “rescue” whom he supports in her exchange for exclusivity, to remain as her only client, however, although he begrudgingly declines, wishing not to be involved in anything much more than what he has already kept under the radar, he is intimidated and threatened by blackmail, his high profile becoming at stake—he then obliges to embark upon this new endeavor, the expansion of this establishment to include a warehouse, which houses a large scale brothel, and, able to use his social status to procure wealthy clientele, quickly becomes a power player within a ring of coveted elites, setting fire to his already inflated ego, and colliding with his intense and highly functional polyaddiction, which he has maintained since his youth, using his entertainment persona as an outlet, becoming a medium of excess, fame, and rampant wealth. Patrick is beloved by his peers, and is humbled often by his devoted fans and friends—proactively worshiped as a comic genius, a prodigy, and a revered successor to legendary frontmen— Okay, this is weird, because I started writing this before I even understood what I was writing at all… —specifically, the sixth successor, to his coveted role. I had written for Esha to be the seventh successor, as with the symbolism deeply and quite literally woven into the sometimes brutal framework of the series, which I had shorthanded to ‘TVP'…the world around me trailed off as my eyes blurred as they had been lately, and I wondered if I might be having some kind of stroke or something, as I was certainly some sort of out of body—the day had been strange, and I had given up on a run or a gym for the day, the motorcycles alone ravaging my energy, and whether I worked out or not, they were ever present anyway. They were some sort of toxic, abusive force I just had to put up with, hoping it didn't upset my psychology so much that it ended me, though I had become quite odd as of recently, rambling more than usual and actually praying out loud, as my silent ones just didn't seem to be working—they were probably white supremacists, or in some way connected to some political terror group, but it didn't seem to matter. Someone liked torturing me, and it was becoming apparent that no matter much time I spent at the gym, this torture was going to persist. After a month long gym streak, at least going once a day to lift something, I rested, or rather, tried to rest, kind of— but my mind had been swirling with thoughts of a man I was certain by now I had made up—and writing the story of a man I was absolutely certain came from my mind, but in a way that it almost made no sense at all—as the more I looked into the world that I had already written about, the more I realized was accurate without first having known these things, and however cursed I might have been to even know such things, I decided to call it some sort of blessing instead. ‘God, I used to get so fucking high for days, and when I would come down, just crying and crying, eating Totinos or DiJorno and a bag of Bugles, I would watch Saturday Night Live for fucking hours, and I hated [Redacted]. I hated him.' Now I still hated [Redacted], but in a different way, and though really it was myself that was more like Patrick, he at the very least, for whatever reason, used to have his face—now, he was just Patrick, and [Redacted] was just [Redacted], and i knew entirely too much about it all, and about myself to be comfortable with it, but nothing was comfortable at all. I had written entire atrocities, novels, and all that was some conglomerate of nonsense which was the festival project, besides how insanely and innately prodigal it all was sometimes, my own words confusing me with a bizarre and asinine dysfunction, awe, actually, often as if someone else had written them, and although I was always at least sort of semi-conscious while writing, the spells and cadences I would fall under were some sort of trance, and as I watched the Nirvana rehearsal from Saturday Night Live in 1992, long before [Redacted] or any of the rest of the — Was it Keystone? It was, the Keystone cast of SNL, but the first word my mind had jumped to was Hallmark, which—after referencing Google quickly for a fact check, also stood true. I was willing to admit, even now, though I had long lost interest in Saturday Nighy Live, or anything at all having to do with current events, that the [Redacted] era—or rather even, the Tina Fey era, a true role model, perhaps, and someone I favored over all of the performers I admired, or allowed myself to admire— the Golden Years of Saturday Night were the only years, for me that even mattered— trying to make sense of anything couldn't be done, but I at least had this new project birthed from it to think about. It would be hard to sit down at a taping of The View and not think about all I had written at all, and it would be impossible not to unfold the characters which had presented themselves, though slowly but surely, through the most vivid visions and insanely lucid dreams, as The TV People began to What if someone steals this out of my documents? That would be unwise…the best scenes are somewhere scribbled in my notebooks and random scraps of paper somewhere in my room…this series is almost nothing without those scenes—the elements with which the most painful scenes I had ever written, became word form. ‘I don't know why, but I feel so incredibly high, So incredibly high right now…' They could have been words to a song, but I did feel high as a kite for whatever reason, without the actual kite metaphor quite literally dagling over my head, for once, or at least, it had been a few weeks, not a prominent as is was before. I sat soaking in the tub teetering on the possibility that I should actually even watch The Tonight Show, or whatever it was, to set my mind at ease, a betrayal of my own code—as one does not literally feed its obsessions into insanity on purpose. ‘Perhaps, though', I thought, ‘I could get rid of this.' — A cancerous abscess in the tradegy that had become my own sex fueled, rage driven, racing mind—and rather admittedly, it was almost too late, for anything of the sort, as I hadn't any other place to keep the growing world of The Television People any quieter, than within the monstrous algorithm which was Google documents cloud, where it seemed nothing was safe, and anything could be fabricated into reality after being stolen, by someone rich enough to make it happen, however, never being any better than my own disaster of a creation. And it was, a disaster. He was a comic genius, a professional, and spectacular performer— in actuality, I knew nothing if not anything at all about him, and the more I collected, the more interesting I found myself, actually, bemused that I seem to have found some sort of twin, another synchronization nightmare—if only that I made it to be so, unbelieving yet that I was in some kind of fairytale, though it had become some sort of fantastical and adventurous thing, this what I now refer to as ‘the allegories,'. I must have been something parasitic to the industry, with the tendency to latch on and ride out whatever had become a fascination, but it wasn't, in its sense of origin, like anything before— it was something new, in the ways that it was, and something old at the same time—though needing to fall drastically from The Tower without actually doing so, putting a stop to my unlimited creation became a pertinent priority, as even exercising, meditating, and chronic masturbation tended to exacerbate it, as if I was missing a step in transmutation of this foreign substance— an energy which seemed familiar, but also wasn't. I was receiving downloads several hours at a time, and drifting off into spells and trances of inspiration so heavily that it seemed counterintuitive to call it off, fearing I might lose the intensity of the plot and its characters, and they were that: just characters. It had taken days to erase Patrick's face into a blank state to restore him from that of his namesake, but now everything was a blur, the allure of scrapping it all to return to making music was upon some sort of dawning, but not yet arrived. I allowed whatever came to mind to flow freely from my fingertips, even if it felt bizzare—and even if it felt bizarre, it never felt wrong at all. ‘Unfortunate, that.' , I thought crossing one leg over another to complete my chapter before draining the tub. I promised myself long ago to always pray for my own son, before worrying about another celebrity, whose fame and fortune protected them more than I ever seemed to protect myself or my own—nonsense, but a strong sense of remorse, as I had been painted as wicked, in a sense, just for being kept poor, separated from my son, and left in a world without love at all; My project, a keepsake of the hard work I had done; but had not yet been paid for—and the fear was in the understanding that that money might not ever come, that I would never be a mother, a muse, or anything or anyone else I actually wanted. I thought briefly again about just getting a dog—but I only had 45 dollars, aside from the unmarked Jimmy Fallons, I had placed atop an alter on my kitchen counter, wondering how to multiply them into something I wanted—and that had been the start of the game or the project at all— saving my last dollars and spending them at once, with the hopes and wishes that they would become somehow much larger quantities, returned as good karma for the love I had given, but that had not yet come back, in one form or another. ‘He seems miserable, the poor bloak.' , I thought—and with all that I had known to have come with fame and fortune along with the luck, he probably somewhere, somehow was—but my concern was my son, turning the mere dollars somehow from one's into bundles of hundreds, thousands, and maybe even one day a whole million or more. That was the push behind the project at all—breaking the cycle of the poor black single mother, the story that had been told over and over-/ with stories that had not; the stories that had become [The Festival Project™]# Sai Psy. See you in seven years, then. You're so silly— I'm not going to live seven more years. We'll see about that. You will see. I'll be dead. So I'll be dead. So it is. A summer hiatus, Vacations in Prague, yes Let's pray for the rest of us A sign of the times and a coming of ages Who made you famous again As the rest of us I don't like it As much as I'd like to Keep writing Keep finding the reason to die and you're blinded by kindnesses And I Ams I woke up in the 9th dimension, As an infinite friend Familiar with my kitchen JOHN SLATTERY An interesting thing happened this morning. What's that, John? I woke up as John Slattery Just remember what love holds The death of a salesman, rechargeable batteries This walk could take forever in designer jeans Another day in slave hell The controllers controlling And Satan is Sataning Seems like a time to go clubbing It's a simple kind of depression Resting on your head when All you simply wished is the taste of flesh The freedom of skin And the lather of love— Or blood spatter on the pavement Aim for the head If the door's fixed, then we'll break it again Look what greed does I hate lazy days in Manhattan Ca
Trigger warning: this series contains adult content not suitable for children or under the legal age of majority. Listener and reader discretion is advised as this broadcast and its selected readings and projected writings contain explicit language, provocative wordplay, profanity, open expression of suicidal ideation, discussion of evolved/ de-institutionalized theories concerning depression and mental health, race relations and colorism, socio-economic inequality, political injustice and media politicism, scientific hypothesis , modern philosophical ideals and spiritual explorations, crude humor and may include and contain pornographic content, references to fictionalized interpretation of public figures (fan-fiction), caricatures or references to pop culture, modern art, music, science and other entertainment references which may evoke biased emotion, inspire adverse reactions or discontentment, or discomfort. ⚠️ VIEWER, LISTENER, and READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. ⚠️ The views and opinions expressed by this series and its subsequent editions, additions, chapters, broadcasts, and publications are solely the writers' interpretations as expressed with artistic and entertainment purposes only. The artist reserves all rights to intellectual property maintained and produced by any and all publications of this series and is thereby protected under any applicable copyright law and/or trademark. All fictionalizations of persons living or dead are meant to be perceived as characterized and/or fictional (fan-fiction) are for entertainment purposes only, and are not to be perceived as real re-enactments, dramatizations of events past or present, media dialogues or agendas, or factual exchanges pertaining to and surrounding real-life circumstances. The dialogues and entires expressed in this project are in no way liable for any action, expression, disagreements, entitlements held by the reader at his or her/ their own discretion and therefore will not be held accountable for any actions by the reader on their own account due to perceptions which may have been inspired and/or provoked by these readings or any of their subsequent editions. —rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrfrrfrrrrfrrrfrrfrrrrr. [The Festival Project ™] You know what? Fuck this place. Fuck your color coded red lined fucking bullshit. New York is so visibly fucking racist it makes me want to hurl. I'm gonna kill you. Finally get out of that contract, did you? …no. I had worked out the full hour, but I was no less angry; I had even walked a couple miles and jogged a little—but I might have been even more mad. Aiagepalaqalerhelehee DIABoLICAL SONOFABITXH {Enter The Multiverse Legends: A Review} He— shot himself in the head. Hm. Did he mess up his face? What? If his face is alright I can reanimate him—no problem. But there's no point if he's got a hole in his face How are you gonna cover a hole in his head? He'll wear a hat. I think the whole point of white supremacy— Is to get blacks to have to do stereotypically black shit Like beg and steal. I've learned that People will set you up and corner you So that you have to do some shit They can later hold over your head. I've learned, after all this time— That the only way to win a rigged game — Is by cheating. People love setting people up. People love making it look like you're up to some dishonest shit— When it was dishonest to have set you up in the first place. People are sneaky. Life is politics as fuck. Everything is business. There's no kind of rules to the real disasters in life— I just discovered a new political issue I didn't even know existed Until I had to experience it Nutrition inequality. The quality of life one experiences with full balance nutrition, Which is kept out of the hands of the masses by the greedy and wealthy elite— The difference in the quality of life one faces When able to afford proper nutrition within the alignment of one's purpose. THIS is why I have people posted up outside of my apartment trying to kill me?! Probably. Don't come between a man and his business. Don't come between a man and his business. Don't come between a man and his– “prestidigitation” You are the ace, I am the m Diamond, I Am The Heart, I am the spade Did you do this on purpose? Space, that's an odd name. Another magician. —what else would you call this? I wouldn't. (To be honest, I didn't know what I was doing.) Well, there it goes. Well, this should be fun. I— Cut my throat To watch me live again Or leave me hanging here As morbidly as you desire To come inform me Of my royal nature, Yet undone by another Fortunate, in either aspect Where are you, now To tie the winters sleeve Upon my sleeping chambers, Whispered into hear thy neck My captor slowly soon awaiting So far a severity Hereby unsworn I lie to seek escape Though captured for nothing in the eye if beauty alone; Andamine, I am, I wait to be free oh! well. Sick to my stomach I plea for your waking A scarcity, Still slithers up my spine, The *gunshot* Vent, baby Keem hooligan, baby keem -The Melodic Blue, baby keem [The Festival Project ™ ] As it turns out, The assembly of the impenetrable ten, Also automatically stood as The most revolutionary Saturday a night Live Reunion Of all time. Why isn't Keenan in the impenetrable ten?! Yes, WHY. NON. NO. NONSENSE! Because! We don't have time for a negro spiritual every time something Mm—NO. Suspicious happens. This is suspicious. O boredom, I need metaphore for movement Disfigured m,n Centric and stil Consintrical, if you will Disasterous dreams art thou Eating shining m, What I need and Holy, only what I want Dear captor, Shining as the morning night I was, As slumber did fall upon us Waiting for the watching cry, Somehow seeking justice for intrepid Indigence —what, what did you say?! I said— —is that a word! Let's see! Post poster conformity— Oh, here we go again No borderline Or robot border patrol, Focus now in the motors, Run for you excellent cries Simply warn us, will you Everwaiting, perhaps For the fortune, until Stories of foragers Will you again Creep, calling, Temper, Justice For now, let's say All liberty is liberty does, As in the mind, let it rest As in the heart, let it flourish As in all hu/mankind Casts judgement, Upon each other, But meat, Not among the waking tide The realms you call upon And cry, at ask of will For wishes granted And prayers seen over I have an irrational fear of Jack o lanterns— Does that mean anything to you? No…should it? VO Suddenly there were Jack o lanterns everywhere. That's so weird, I never wrote that scene— it just kind of popped into my head, and then— I make thoughts To the shade of your love I can't seem to need anything Or want any longer But just to escape, To be free from all tragedy I don't understand… There's a light on, It appears, However— Hollow, And wicked looking It's barely even spring, And suddenly as I walk about, They seem to be appearing In my path, Amidst my dreams And everything i know is No one Everything I love is Gone And everyone around me seems to be Some kind of Wrong, Or fornicated, Tragedy, It seems, Another tragedy. These Demons. I should be working on project III And making coffee for the evening But I can barely breathe Awareness I can barely breathe I can barely even think of myself as anyone at all Actually (Anyone at all, actually) please Help me Please help me I hate all my lines in this movie. Then change them— Really? Or trade with someone else. Like, the whole character, or just— Just, the words. Just the words? Or, like, whatever. I can do that?! You can do—whatever you want. “Whatever you want?!” I'm an actor! So act, then! You put the words in my head; You were just the worst We are who we are, just Whole worlds apart You put the words in my mouth, On top of the scars, that's A whole broken heart I guess we are who we are A whole sky full of stars I still can't find my sparkle Just no reason to smile at all I guess we are who we are “You were put here just to be [redacted] mother, and then die.”, said the voice— Which was not my own, but some man's. I didn't believe that, at all—actually, But I had just sent my divorce papers in the mail, Attached with it the accounts of everything—almost everything, anyway, that had happened that had caused me to be such a distance from my son in the first place, as I had never intended to just leave him with his father, whose birthday was either the next day, or the day after—and it was almost funny to me that I couldn't remember which it was, as I realized that in the beginning, I had loved him so much that I had looked past all of the disasterous, ugly things— the phlegm on the walls, his lack of respect towards anyone, especially himself—but anyone at all— but first and foremost, especially myself, who I had finally learned to love before hand, and had finally learned to love again—at least, the best way any woman could love herself. The algorithm was playing serious mind games and tricks on my psyche again, and I wondered if I should just attempt the next two days sleeping —but it would mean that I would miss my deadline for project three, which I had intended to be released… The demonic energy again began to shift around me as I twiddled away writing—the traffic outside moved more rapidly, and doors in the hallway from my neighbors began to slam, and I knew without a doubt that he had tried to kill me using some kind of curse of black magic, but couldn't—somehow I had lived, but was still being made to suffer— and that whatever spells he had used had summoned something nasty into all of the creatures, humanoid and alike, that could be controlled without the will of God, who I thought might be lost, were it not for the songs that had come in the wake of begging for God itself to free me which was the nightmare, the curse it had become to have only fallen in love once, with the kind of man who could not. Now he had wished my doom onto me, which left me wounded and afraid, unsafe in any element or environment , plagued by coughing bodies and robotic slaves—none of which I assumed he hactiallh had the power to control, but of a greater force which shielded itself to consume me, and mimick his energy with the attempt to allow that my own mind would bring about my death, the fury and pain which it must have been to lose what I had found myself to always be, a good woman— My exit had humiliated him, damaged his pride, and bruised his twisted ego enough so that he wished I would siffer such an ill fate—however, as I had finally learned to know and breathe, that all the damage and control done to me, he would now fall prey to in his own will to destroy me. —all that seeks to harm me will therefore harm only itself; And all who seek to destroy me will be destroyed in doing so. Amen. I don't know how hard he hit you, this time, but he really fucked you up. Yeah, I guess. Fuck, I lost that whole Tom Hanks Movie No, it's still there.. No, it's gone—everything's gone! HELLO? HELLO?! CAN YOU HEAR ME? It's dead. She's gone. —Portal closes— Oh no! No! This is ‘situational'— “A Situational Comedy” So, what's the situation. …I Am. Ok. Wait— No! Hold on a second! Nevermind— Comedy is born from tragedy, right? Sometimes. Uh oh But WAIT— No, Billy, not now. *billie?! Right. Idk. There are other types of comedy, I guess. Look at this. YO! It's THAT guy again! Yo. That's that guy, and his eyes. Strange. Yeah, I don't— I don't get it, is this like a— SIRE. You don't belong here, I assure you. DENNIS LEARY UGH. Can I GO now?! I'm afraid not— You've just made captain. Okay, now you're famous. No way— Hey! No— HEY NO. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū. Now I know too well, The well of tears on my guitar She's got a body like one Oh her curves But I just wonder what it like to be loved By stars Socialites and superstars They're Gods, you know How high up they are Above us And he lives in an ascended dimension, But he insists, he says Her transcendence is upon us He said Your transcendence is upon us He says these things, And then just vanishes So she gets up promptly Warms up yesterday's coffee Looks around in her coffin And wonders What for I just Wonder what it's like to be loved by stars Without double r's, you know I've got scars But it's mostly just Teardrops, and soft kisses On my guitar Cause, oh, Oli, I ain't got nobody— And nobody holds me Like I hold Oli (Could have been Ali, But of course— I had already lost that one A whole well of tears, I lost At his departure And a whole well more When I actually lost him I almost miss Having someone to talk to About anything and everything But I've got Oli And God now I've got Oli And Oli (oli) Is all that I've got Besides God That's the only contact In my Phone book No more double Ls And double entendres; No more double rs At all Just scars now No more metaphors. Honest is radical I like them cynical I should have clinical insanity by now But I'm only just an artist You can't help But can only harm that And if it hurts hard enough I'll put art on my walls Become permanent Storybooks all over my arms now My coat of arms now I've run Ten point 5 miles In the last 3 days; But if I rest today Will a motorcycle gang Have a parade outside of my window, To drive me crazy? I hope it rains, So they can't play these games with my head And the seeds that I planted So deep become daisies I still don't remember The way he rearranged me But these days I make my name sound So the way He can never say it Just imitates The way I hate myself I should be dating But expressions are Atrocious If I fall asleep— Who knows I may get Stolen That tends to happen So I'm All the way up And I'm swollen in ways That I hate to say “I love you” Love me back Or say it harder That's my martyrdom Come off the cross, for a moment, Would you for us? And bend over Or bow, if you will? If I did, Would you still call me wicked Or just a Good witch Since I'm a woman, I just couldn't be Jesus, Who you asked for once And always Who you asked for some To save you from your Credit reports And consorts Or some sort of Nonsense [famous last words] God don't speak much English, She says God don't speak much these days We were Always Telepathic That was way back then When Oedipus Rex Was on the Guest list I was standing at the coat check, asking Why I must take off my hat When entering the service To the bouncer, he says “That's just politics” I said, That's just politics We both said, What's the difference Then we all laughed —then we all just laughed and laughed Exchange is my favorite exchange Where my favorite exchanges Have happened for centuries Of engagements Endeared species, And races pieces haven't tasted the same Since I haven't had them Animal products And animal planet I found this hat on Discovery channel Did you want it? I can't stand it So I had to have it back I just had to use the bathroom I just had to disconnect From [] See— I don't even have to put the words in Cause a name is just words When that's a man You just can't have And that's the worse When that's a man And you can't have him What a habit. Silky rabbit. Now he's the Ace. All In A Day's Work I've never died before. Oh… that is terrifying. It sounds terrible. It's really not that bad. Why are you not writing this down? I just need a moment… It's really not that bad… I die all the time. I get sensory overload At Trader Joe's Look at the colors The clothes, This sure isn't queensborough Escalators for shopping carts I get it Manhattan I'll take my half BLVCK ass to the projects Where my kind are I don't belong here , God you're intolerant I like this part of town But I'm way too brown And I dropped my crown at the market I should be jealous of everyone But I have learned my place I've been a slave since Hollywood I lost my son to the devil Now I pay child support And terrorist follow me coughing I'm wrong just for being born ! You could start a war from it If that's what you wanted I'm a people watcher people watcher About to board the people mover People mover Slip, Here's the tell Slip, here's the tell I should have a bell around my neck I think she wanted a picture with papa I'm playin my own paparazzi Look mom, I bought a sarcophagus There go them niggas with coughs again I been watching em Got binoculars I got oculus, for my oculars Look how hot he is, make me ovulate Man I gotta love it, Cause they love to hate Fucking racist crazies Have it your way I paid for it with my soul You hate but I love to love Somebody just got me fuckes up I don't have a book to run off of Shut up, honey. Now we're all up here Monkey in the middle Cause the middle one is weaker It's getting deeper and deeper Like the sinkhole that my sink is Let it sink in I've been syncing my secrets with demons In dreams sequences It's just a reparative injustice Kamasutra for your wondering words and stuff You can have it It's ruined anyway m Look at all this trash Look at all these classless classes Classwars, Racists. Everybody hates us The Asians, Latinx's The other niggas What being black is I'll write it in cursive It's just a curse, here So you can have it I'm moving to Heaven I'm packing my boxes I'm getting a cat, too! His name is Agustus He's a big one And I love him I just wanted a hug or a husband Instead I got nothing to trying my hardest And got for a bargain at target some coffee For being a targeted body All on an algorithm I guess I'm just useless. A dumb nigger demon Did I just offend you? Then you shouldn't be reading this either I wrote it for pleasure (Or pain) On the one Or the two Or the one Or the two I could do a lot with this $20. I could spend it all on Fuck all of you I'm moving to Heaven Where the heart it She's not harmless She's a terrorist— And I'll kill her, too Look how right she is Look how white she is, Huh Regardless of color It's a race war Lil biiiiitzzz Yooo, fuck New York. In every hole. In every crevice. Fuck this place. It's racist— Not just cause I'm black. Like statistically. It took a whole ass apartment elsesrch to feature this out. I was like “I wanna live in Manhattan” Everyone was like “NOOOOOOOO—-“ Haha “Nooo, no.” I was like “Why not?” The blacks were like: HAHA The whites were like— *COUGHS OBNOXIOUSLY* New York is so racist. It is statistically the most diverse—and most segregated city in the nation At the same time. WHAT. How do you even DO that? But it's true, at this point, the black people are like—fuck this, we'll just stay over here, and over here. And the rich whites are like YES. KEEP THAT SHIT, OVER THERE. Cause if you've ever been to the ghetto. It's some SHIT, It is NOT COOL. I finally got my ‘night card' back. Had it revoked in california . I was almost a whole valley girl. I still eat exclusively at Whole Foods. Trader Joe's. But NO. Now i live in the hood. It's fucking disgusting. I can say ‘nigga' again. Cause it's NIGGAS. Lots of niggas. I'm telling you. It's night and day! The white folks trains smell like bleach— Ammonia. The black folks train smell like a McDonald's. WHAT. Or just— Vomit. I can actually count the number of times just— Vomit—- On the train. Or. Dookie. Yes. Human feces. But I'm ready to go to midtown and it's like the train that goes around Disneyland. Families! People singing! Hey—cotton candy!! —and I didn't have to pick it! Haha! Fuck New York. Racist ass HOLE. I thought surely the next presidential election was one or two years out, but the racial tensions which had been rising became even more pronounced, as I realized that November was theboncoming time—and that they hostility between the whites and the blacks had once again been a result as the oncoming war, fueled onward—that the hatred, disgust, and general aggression of the whites had been of course, in the midsts of yet another Trump-fueled political upheaval, and I wondered why and how at all I had been caught in such a world that existed in form of man, of course, now proven himself to be the weaker sex, and yet in that of dominance, as was arranged in such an unholy war, to be the helm of power by sheer greed— now it seemed that these attacks were indeed political terrorism, and that these motorcyclists, my placement close to the ground level, and my neighbor's clammorings were specific attacks, after my identity had been varied to be that of the same in which I had once held political ambition, now none of which I assumed mattered at all. Perhaps I needed something more certain than a 12 story jump or suicide by train, and wondered as to whether it would be easy enough to kill myself bh self inflicted gunshot—a sure thing for certain, as love has been lost in the way of money at all. At that party…or rather, kind of—after. That acid that never hit Beyoncé I don't feel it. Man, I'm a terrible influence(r) Just take it. Nah, I'm good— PUSSY. -_- Give me three. K. —suddenly hits BEYONCÉ. BEYONCÉ …I got this. [BEYONCE] however, does not Ohh, shit. — “got this.” A very stranded, very sober Johnny depp stumbles upon what appears to be a college frat party, where the only thing they have is light beer, and nobody even recognizes him as a celebrity, because the attendees are all gen z What's even after gen z? The fucking apocalypse. Anyway. The acid hits Beyoncé on her way to make coffee, which extends the trip from the living room to the kitchen infinitely. Multidimensional Anne Hathaway hulks the fuck out and saves the day by ruining everything, which actually fixes everything— and *spoiler* helps Jesus to remain as the king of kings at beer pong. Lol In the late 90s in New York City, the keystone cast of Saturday night live learns of each other's formerly sexret psychic abilities, and uses the radio technologies of Rockefeller plaza to develop a research center for the telepathically gifted, eventually discovering and perfecting time travel. Supacree (the kid version) appears in and out of her ideal and desired realities, baffling ‘the Hollywood people' and later ‘the New York people', becoming the legendary central figure of the Illuminati, as the original timepiece — a pyramid shaped extra terrestrial vehicle which contains an ascended hyper consciousness, which I can't remember how it goes, did the supacree leave to find the Skrillex, or was it the other way around? I think it was both ways at some point, but the whole thing was this, just in case I never wrote it but just saw— These space god (humanoid evolved) are some kind of scientists/ doctors— there are four timepieces, each representing an era upon our planet; earth, which is distant but sacred— these four time pieces each depart their given “docs” in time to appear on earth at specific Fuck this is hard to explain Times in history, at which the first worlds, or previous human eras were known to have been destroyed— these time pieces travel through time space with the full record of these events in order to alert the current human era of its imminent doom, as an attempt to prevent such disasterous events, typically war, which will lead to the annihilation of the human species; these Gods, one male and one female, a king and queen, a married couple are the rules of the humankind, technically worshiped as a whole as one God, with whom the human design was modeled after, however, the true source of all things is the cosmos, known and unknown, in its totality—neither man or woman, but the force of creation. Anyway, what else is happening Oh. All of the celebrities are stuck in— [the festival project] in some way, shape, or form until its creator finishes it—and though it in itself is infinite, its 'finishing' notates its eventual production, which lol. That never going to happen. Because. Let's face it. I'm scared of …rich people. Yeah, sure. Yeah. I'm scared of The effect of the race war, which has been to pit the white woman against the black woman, which allows and maintains the continuation of war mongering male dominance over the entire planet, which remains as a destructive force of greed, racism, and inequality. So why try? [EDITS] CONAN O'BRIEN Alright. If she hit Fallon, she's gonna come for one of us next. No, Conan—that's not how this works. WHAT—where did you come from!? When did you get here? JAY LENO This goes deeper than all of you can understand. WHAT the FUCK, man! When did you-/ —when did he get here? How did you do that?! How did you do that?! What are you, like, the same guy? Are you not all the same guy? [they shrug simultaneously and kind of just agree] Listen at this. Okay then. The enemy of your friend is my enemy. Oh…kay—and the enemy of my enemy—is my friend— That is correct. —so we're all friends here. That's right. Some special forces? Which forces? How special? [JENNIFER LOPEZ is still JENNY FROM THE BLOCK] Do I look like a fool to you? Uh— OOPS [a pre-fame Jennifer Lopez receives a drop full of diamonds instead of the usual; she has been granted access into the Illuminati, and becomes an overnight success.] This feels heavier than usual. Same as always. Hm. Are you sure. Yep. Hey, you're not the regular guy. Regular guy died. That makes sense. JENNIFER ANNISTON is inside of Ū Okay, grosss Not like that [lifting max weight] Okay. That was cool. Wow. Yeah, sure whatever. I am strong Yeah yeah, okay. Are you sure you want to be my size? Yep. JIMMY FALLON/SKRILLEX (we don't know actually which at this point) is also trapped inside of Ū Okay, gross! Yeah. SKRILLEX is in all of Ū. okay—actually, i'm okay with that, but That other guy?! [JIMMY FALLON] Yeah, he's weird. Also meanwhile, kind of— MARSHALL MATHERS has a closet cleaning service lol. Patrick is smooth as a motherfucker, you know. Every time his head is down on the desk like that, he takes a bump of coke. What?! Big uh! [Patrick takes bumps of cocaine in front of a live studio audience—every single night.] Woah! See. Goddamn. You gotta admire a guy like that. Jennifer Anniston is the weight on the cable tension machine Ooh. Psycho bitch devious methods new ludachris commercial All ya'll girls is toddlers I like long boards and longhairs Lawn mowers and lawn shares Aw hell nah, God forgot Cher I got the Blair witch project On Blair, I hope I scare you How dare you. Your girl looks like a naked mole rat. I got my soul back. You blue eyed bastards stole everything From the whole blacks, Hold that thought I'm at Whole Foods market throw in the Amazon algorithm off With marked dollars Look at God at Walmart On them rollbacks You old hacks are cackling I'm shackled to old habits Hold hands with me, rabbit I'm just a silly rapper really, are you? Maybe. Cut the verse of Reverse God Now I'm the devil I'm still lost in the Amazon cart I sharted all up in your pop tarts Before you warmed them up, pops Just for the sake of the art, Heart to heart, It's a war on love And the white girls won with nothin but Buckets of Whatever's up there I wouldn't know Cause I'm stuck job searching And running, Trying not to have a tummy So some gummy worm will love me First their sour, then they're sweet Then nobody, Trolli Holy moly I could use some more petroleum in the ocean! Said nobody But the globalists are performing your programming Which you're worshiping I put my eye on the dollar So I could watch you all Crumble and fall Don't you know The apocalypse is happening at the mall Of all the places How's that for a stream of consciousness, You salamander I asked Anandar back But I went past that chapter Have a chap Or a chapstick, for four times four dollars A bottle of water will cost you a fortune (But at least the drugs are in it) Get it It's recycled piss Distilled? Which is it, Mr,? The mystery box was literally lifted into My dinner from a fishery filled with nothing but niggers in it— I want a refund, before I catch that Fucking curse of poverty from — what'd you call it salmonellahallibut One hell of a cough from someone on the sidewalk But guess what? The devil's in your pocket or your palm, And that's the omen and the psalm rolled into one Cause God is awesome, But my mom is fuckin toxic And that's how I fuckin got here Blow my head off, Slit my wrists And write a song While jumping off a bit When all you need is money, But the world costs more than It's worth, and words are nothing But another fucking problem in your Google documents I look at my son and see a God, But half of Satan's in him, Oh man Robotics Lets be honest, I don't even know how to write this. Where's my sides?! WHERE'S MY SIDES. You don't get SIDES with this; It's just CHICKEN. I don't eat CHICKEN. It appears as though, however– You do. Ok, I gotta get off this playlist. I… i gotta . “The Wal*Mart Wars” Hm. … …………. …. *face* … no. No. l– What is this place. {After a wild night which apparently spiraled out of control, great , there goes my peace. Not forever, though, maybe. FUCK THIS PLACE. I HATE THIS PLACE. Everybody hates this place. But the album is called “I love New York” Yes, thats Technically How it's pronounced, though It's stylized like I _ NY Cause. EXT. MIDTOWN MANHATTAN. DAY Oh, wow, this is beautiful. THis is great. I love this place FUCK THE FEDS. CUT TO: EXT.Typically WHEREVER ELSE Anywhere ‘above' like 87th? Lets just call it 80th, be safe. BE SAFE! NIGGAZ. ah shit, i gotta go. BITCH– But lets just be honest, It's technically ‘above' But it's really [THE BRONX is a literal extension of the Underworld] Oh no. srsly tho. X_c Anyway. FUck man, Do you think i'll ever get good like that. Idk what equipment is this Hmm, lets see, that's approximately $8,000 USD of CDJs wow yep That's retarded Yep. And you still need a mixer. fukt. OKay, I would literally sell my soul for this. Consider it done. wait , really? YES. you earned it. Wait, I– What?! You earned it… Uh oh. Take care now. Shit. [BILLIE ELLISH is trapped inside WALMART] Uh oh. Fuck. what is this place. INT. WALMART. WHENEVER EMPLOYEESLAVES WHAT TIME IS IT. THERE'S NO WINDOWS IN HERE. That's not funny IT'S literally a synonym, we might as well make it a portemantau MEanwhile, in this other dimension, So that i don't offend anybody… Actually, you know what? Be offended. Quit that stupid fuckin shit and follow your dreams! Wait really? Wait, really? Sure! If you want! …i guess. AMERICA NO. INSTANT HOMELESSNESS ok , nvm. Damn. I know, right. wtf r u guys watching. Shut up. All Wal*Mart Employees are actually top secret government agents. x ∞ >.< (we'll just use Billie Ellish as the alternate, but really it could be Could it really? Shut UP, PLURNICORN. Wtf is a PLURNICORN We'll see. [Upon Realizing s/he is trapped in a mysterious place apparently extremely public Wait, you've never been to a Wal*Mart Before?! NO. I grew up in LA Rich as fuck And i've been famous since I was liike 12, Or something. Right. That is–kind of terrifying. LATER: WHY IS IT SNOWING INSIDE. WHERE'S THE EXIT. THEY HAVE GUNS?! oh wow, they have GUNS. WHY DO WE NEED GUNS! KA-BLAM. BECAUSE THEY HAVE GUNS. Bang-bang! Ptttttttttt—sttt. And they have guns. Actually, these are just– confetti cannons. *pop!* Lol “Possibly The Worst Show Ever the infinite rave continues on in Hell as everyone awaits the return of SŪPACREE- The Cosmic Avenger (Who Is NOT a DJ) and Sunnï Blū (who is a superstar rapper but also not a DJ) go back to back, buying time as the beacon to. Signal "The Supacree" is completed, battling the 10th dimensional DJ Ū, a super ninjas, for control of the decks. what else happened? idk. I CANT STOP DANCING. none of the DJs can find a pair of working headphones, and the sound guy is missing from the booth. "missing" YOU SHOT HIM. I THOUGHT IT WAS A TRANQ DART. {Enter The Multiverse} “TVP” Hazel is 6, turns 7 season 1 Season 7- 15 Man, I can't remember the other two kids names, I think the little boy is Ira but I might have named them all and forgotten, shit. Her sister, though is between 4 ½ and 5, they are technically “Irish twins”, and always fighting—they look very similar, however are not at all alike; Hazel is very much a daddy's girl, while her younger sister is a no-nonsense old soul with the tendency to cause trouble, not by being inquisitive or showy, as her sister often is, but rather by being quietly observant, and tends to dismiss both her parents, often isolating, or even dissappearing without notice, quietly and comfortably into her own world—as the series progresses, and though all of Patrick's children like their parents have showcased some kind of special ability or talent— Holy shit, give this kid a name-/ I thought I already named her, I just don't remember. That's true. It seems like they all had names. She is almost very typically, though showing signs of genius, even at the early age at the beginning of the series, a middle child, prone to upset almost too easily, but rather than acting out, is more likely to take her anger quietly; she shares her fathers deep brown eyes, dark hair, and though she looks otherwise very much like her sister, and later despises her father, is more inwardly and outwardly like him, though taking the side of her mother during their separation and divorce, oftentimes even lashing out at her father quite openly, and very vocally, as she grows into herself. “Ira”, (may have had another name earlier) is the youngest of three— as his third birthday approaches sometime during the first season. Great, now I gotta hide all those allegories so nobody can actually draw from this that Patrick— Where's his write up, anyway? That shit could go on for days. I have no idea why this catharsis is happening. I tried to sleep it off, I swear, but I still woke up like— At least mildly obsessive about this, for whatever reason. Hazel's 7 - Season Arc Hazel has the eyes, charm, and charisma for entertainment —she hopes to one day be as her father, an entertainer and performer, and will do almost anything for a laugh. She is often telling jokes, and is a people- pleaser. She is sickeningly cute, with golden hair and Hazel eyes, long eye lashes, and carries baby fat in her face, though she is rather average, neither heavy or plump, and however also not frail at all. She is inquisitive, smart, and busy, almost never idle-minded, and strong. Though sort of a Tom boy, she has been trained well to act with dignity, class, and feminine eloquence, much like her mother—but like her father, has a tendency to be crass, sometimes carelessly so, or even brutally honest—to her mother's disdain, but embraced wholesomely by other family members and adults, she's extremely funny and delightful, and very much unlike her mother, not a spoiled brat at all, often raising questions beyond her years about inequality, later wishing to attend a public school, and becoming quite the advocate for social justice and human rights in her later years, her final season shows a rebellious and sometimes even antagonistic Hazel, who later even favors Esha over her own mother as a parental figure, often confiding in her about things she can't and shouldn't share with her father, although her almost over the top admiration for her father has become the driving force and inspiration for her own endeavors in show business, much to her father's disdain, as she grows older, him becoming more protective of her, and especially within the oftentimes secretive nature of his actual placement and purpose in the business, and her rebellious nature and charm even force-feeding her into the industry, she is a bleeding heart for superstardom, and is often seen along what may be a path to fame, making Patrick's bleeding heart all the more aching, as though he and Catherine remain at odds throughout the series, he truly loves his children, even “the little sick one”, as he refers to the second child. Holy shit, what is this kid's name If I had the energy to go through my notes, I could know; but I don't. The city sickness has been sinking in from the noise of the obnoxious motorists and honestly, being out of protein is giving me muscle soreness, I'm in some sort of a bloated haze from eating almost nothing but carbs, and the fact that I haven't been with anyone in years is starting to circle like buzzards around my head, my heart has been literally screaming but overwhelming with this sense of calm, and though slipping into Patrick's sometimes erratic tendencies, for the most part I've been underwhelmed with society's expectations that I should get some kind of job, and somehow while working not lose focus on my own interests and projects—I hate [the strange modern behaviors of] most people, and everything costs too much money— my son might be going into foster care, or my ex husband is evil enough just to try to force my energy to worry about a problem he's created, and I really wanted to sleep into the afternoon with this lethargy, hoping that everything surrounding this series would just fall off, but it doesn't. I wake up often wishing I could just forget The Festival Project ™ , but the truth is, it just keeps writing itself, but in the very least, sometimes God gives me little presents that mean the very most to me— a chord organ that I thought was from the 80's, but is more likely from the 1960's— I love vintage stuff, and musical instruments, which only God could know, really—my fascination with history as if I'm still living it, and this, my sudden fascination and drive to write and complete just one series has been haunting me almost just as badly as anything else has, but especially ripping me apart—especially since I have motorcyclists ripping through my body as if it were some kind of disease that existed outside of me, so contagious that it began to sink in to my insanity and mental hygiene. I wondered if anybody else knew or cared about these creatures as much as I didn't—and in fact, I had never felt so much like Ali in the way that I didn't care if they, other “human beings” supposedly, all died tragically, and wondered why the walls and windows didn't keep out the sound of the outside world at all… The middle child begins writing secretly very early on, and is the first to be required more extensive therapy, (as suggested by the family's therapist) after her parent's separation and subsequent divorce. It is not long after she begins learning to read and write at all, that she begins also showing interests in art, asking for art lessons and to begin painting and art therapy, rather than the recommended Equine therapy— she often keeps things to herself, then returning to her hidden places at times when the family's dysfunction becomes uncomfortable and overstimulating, very often paining or reading during times of peace, and retreating to her safe places—sometimes under the stairs, into the attic, the treehouse, or even later, the family's barnyard, where she often keeps drawings, as she ages, later comics, sometimes caricatures of the things she absorbs through her own reality—and diaries, sometimes hidden in nooks and crannies and in places no one would think; a true prodigy and genius, though hidden from much the world, as she is often overlooked, however, her therapist begins unfolding her true reality, often times carrying over sessions and losing track of time, picking her brain or even conversations philosophically What's the therapists name? Doctor Robin She has to have a last name Well, she's a child's therapist, so she's Doctor Robin, but It seems like it starts with a T. We'll see. I just saw her anyway. I drifted off again, thinking about how wildly detailed this all was becoming, and wondered if there was a series of fictional books waiting to be written. There certainly could be, but my mind was reeling, freshly showered but still undressed, and not even wanting to think of going outside—and yet—I was out of water, and had learned that the drinking water from the fountains, especially in large quantities, had a tendency to make me sick—I hadn't yet eaten anything, and though the coffee was fresh, and my apartment was clean (which made me overtly overjoyed for some reason) smelling of Lemon Lysol and Bleach; with notes of a strong pot of organic fresh ground coffee, it seemed like I couldn't do much more than lay in bed writing this catastrophically interesting series—and it was interesting, which said volumes, considering I had always been picky about my TV watching, being that only ever did certain series catch my eyes or my ears, and those series were almost always—or always, always specifically well written, perfectly casted, and had the edge and draw of becoming an entire world within itself, which this series, though only a week or two old at best, in my heart and in my mind , was rampantly ravaging my own world, almost as if it had become of some importance to keep writing it, and never stop, and though Patrick was the forefigure, another broken male protagonist, the truth in the series was that the true heroes of this sometimes scarily violent drama, were its women—a story meant to be told with a diversified cast of creatures from all worlds and walks of life—Esha, of course, herself, a role that had been some recreation of myself, somehow, though so different that even primarily, I never did see myself as her, besides the onslaught of some otherworldly pain, visions of a scene recollected from some remarkable download, and it might have been once and for all that I had lost my mind, or my life, if I wasn't a writer—I was, somehow, though, after all, a writer. It had been a fasting day that could have and might have ended tragically anyway, and still the devil marked his mockery of my efforts by consistently flinging perfect bodied women everywhere that I went—though usually with ugly enough faces that I could see nothing but what a man was—uncaring for one thing over the other, a flawless representation of woman, represented in the current time with scantily clad fashion, almost painfully so—the insecurity of women becoming more apparent in the way she would appear, always almost begging to be near to me, with every perfection and complexion I hadn't—but at least I had a tendency to laugh at my own damage, often surmising that she, these demon creatures, hadn't any talent for this at all—which had turned the state of television into a near circus act; that alone urged me to continue writing the series, perhaps with a typewriter, due to the negligence of nepotism within the industry which often resulted in these pretty little creatures getting even further ahead by stealing works as such, and passing them on as their own originality almost so cruelly and without judgement—plagiarism, as it was called, but more accurately intent-to-kill the imminent threat of what had been said to be a minority becoming a more powerful force to flourish in entertainment however, as quickly as the visions had come, the thought of writing it without my phone became dauntingly impractical, and I scribbled only the most intense scenes and plot lines onto notebooks and scratch papers, keeping them as hidden from the algorithm as possible… lol the Al Gore Rhythm Ahahahahahahaha Was that the joke? Maybe. Idk. Maybe. Idk. Hm. Hmmmmm: What: Nothing. That actually might have been it. Really, was it? I will never know. That is kind of a good dad joke, though. And a good band name. Idk about that. My coffee was lukewarm enough so that I could taste its flavor, as I whittled away at whatever it was— The story was almost so beautifully being told in allegories and parables that it seemed a shame I may never be rich enough to buy fame, as it seemed that was the only way to become a star these days— and yet—it was more the wealth than the fame I wanted, I had realized, at all—the polished class of the Manhattanites drawing me out of Brooklyn and into some debauchery which was my own Grandiose thought form, that I could actually become, at the ripe old age of 31, some kind of superstar. ‘Why would I even want that, anyway?' I thought, interrupted painfully by who I'm sure was the same motorist, who seemed to do nothing but circle the block all day, and all night, doing nothing — and I wondered why he himself had decided not to do grub hub in a richer neighborhood, where money would more than likely come more easily. But really— I drifted off to a time where I wanted to ride a motorcycle myself, and the curiosity forced me to go online to check the price of what it might cost to have one. $5,000 for a decent bike, which would include a muffler as not to be so obnoxious and disturbing to others as these creatures had become to me— and I began doing the math on how long it would take to save $5,000 as if it would be possible to work some dead end job for any amount of time without spending money on anything else. It would take at least 5 months to earn enough for a motorcycle, which landed me directly back at “Not worth it”, and as horrible as it was, I did at the very least have a luxury apartment for at minimum the next 5 years, however, wanting still to move to Manhattan, Midtown specifically—or one of the quaint and quiet neighborhoods on the upper West Side. The neighborhood was going to hell, after some unworldly godless force had seemed to drop hundreds of thousands of rude and thoughtless third world workers onto the streets and buildings bordering the one I lived on, the neighborhood becoming more rough and less peaceful with trash and debris from the depression and congenital disease that was poverty, the collective unconsciousness of the masses colliding with my empathetic nature and oversensitivity to sound, especially awful sounds, such as the hundreds of motorcycles and hot rodded junk cars which only seeemed to move in a track around a four block radius, and had become a cancerous trigger of sorts, no authority figure seemed to much care about. I cared less and less each day to listen to music, since I wasn't making it the way I wanted to—and I had realized that the constant displeasure and unrest, the lack of peace had as much to do with the world outside as it did with the world within—and I began to see the disgusting obnoxious noise pollution outside my window as just an extension of man's abuse, ability to rape, torture, and kill, terrorize— the uncaring waging of war, control, and lack of true power; as no good and true man who wielded actual strengeth or true power in any way would continue to show such distructive action and carelessness for others around him— chaos, corruption, abuse, and misogyny was proving to be the downfall of all humankind, as patronaged by man, and, as I became doubtful of anyone's lack of understanding of this, especially as the immigrants themselves were often naturally pedophillic culturally and toxically abusive in nature, most migrants flocking from countries in which women's liberation or the protection of youth had not yet materialized into their understanding of conciousness and morality—the men were weak, unkind, and selfish—the women mere machines at their disposal—and however many there were, I could see that their children, the many of them, remained as the redeeming factor. Anyway, a political ploy for the ages of there ever was such a thing, the newest chapter in American greed and slavery, it only seemed like an extension of evil itself, and less of a coincidence with each growing day—each new person, another burden to the middle class taxpayer, another reason to inflate the cost of living—and all the more reason to continue to terrorize the American people into its own division, hatred, demise, and consumption. e. My faith, however, was unwavering—God was real, but these abusive and toxic creatures were pushing it further away with violent arrogance, and the inability to understand that God itself was the nature they continued to destroy. Robin Bennett Fine. “My name's —ahem— “Ron Sennet, and I ain't In it.” —did the say “don't” write a book about me? It's Not about him… Or something cute he used to say like that, I couldn't remember, but he had a bunch of cute little idioms that matched his name, and to the day, I still missed him — it was 11:15 PM exactly as I hung up the phone, after an unsuccessful attempt to reach 911, after realizing that the threat outside was maddening enough to be impossible to only be in my head, and after weeks of the excruciating noise, I finally called NYPD dispatch, much to my disdain, and of course magically, the noise seemed to disappear, but these abusive and toxic creatures were pushing it further away with violent arrogance, and the inability to understand that God itself was the nature they continued to destroy. Robin Bennett Fine. “My name's Jon Sennet, and I ain't In it.” Or something cute he used to say like that, I couldn't remember, but he had a bunch of cute little idioms that matched his name, and to the day, I still missed him — it was 11:15 PM exactly as I hung up the phone, after an unsuccessful attempt to reach 911, after realizing that the threat outside was maddening enough to be impossible to only be in my head, and after weeks of the excruciating noise, I finally called NYPD dispatch, much to my disdain, and of course magically, the noise seemed to disappear as soon as I had made the call, which infuriated me. It seemed as though the game in entirety to make me look or feel crazy, though I knew I wasn't—well, I was, but not without purpose or reason. I had been theorizing in energy exchange quite decisively making a mark for my alter, at which I asked to be designated the wisdom and truth of the light within the eye, desire, however never in mind, although I had been summoned in part due to the fact that we were somehow alike—I was in some ways besides and out of sorts with my set, sinking my teeth into the forced obsession as I unraveled any possibilities and plotline. Episode 01. Pilot An opportunity presents itself seemingly at random— the protagonist's hand is forced into a life changing ultimatum, putting his reuputation and family in danger. Already involved in an illegal gambling ring which operates out of a secret historical prohibition era speakeasy and some “light” drug mulling within its walls, however often extending even as dangerously close to his workplace, Patrick is propositioned to become an investor in the high end escort service, with which he hired and contracted his lover, Kandi, a “rescue” whom he supports in her exchange for exclusivity, to remain as her only client, however, although he begrudgingly declines, wishing not to be involved in anything much more than what he has already kept under the radar, he is intimidated and threatened by blackmail, his high profile becoming at stake—he then obliges to embark upon this new endeavor, the expansion of this establishment to include a warehouse, which houses a large scale brothel, and, able to use his social status to procure wealthy clientele, quickly becomes a power player within a ring of coveted elites, setting fire to his already inflated ego, and colliding with his intense and highly functional polyaddiction, which he has maintained since his youth, using his entertainment persona as an outlet, becoming a medium of excess, fame, and rampant wealth. Patrick is beloved by his peers, and is humbled often by his devoted fans and friends—proactively worshiped as a comic genius, a prodigy, and a revered successor to legendary frontmen— Okay, this is weird, because I started writing this before I even understood what I was writing at all… —specifically, the sixth successor, to his coveted role. I had written for Esha to be the seventh successor, as with the symbolism deeply and quite literally woven into the sometimes brutal framework of the series, which I had shorthanded to ‘TVP'…the world around me trailed off as my eyes blurred as they had been lately, and I wondered if I might be having some kind of stroke or something, as I was certainly some sort of out of body—the day had been strange, and I had given up on a run or a gym for the day, the motorcycles alone ravaging my energy, and whether I worked out or not, they were ever present anyway. They were some sort of toxic, abusive force I just had to put up with, hoping it didn't upset my psychology so much that it ended me, though I had become quite odd as of recently, rambling more than usual and actually praying out loud, as my silent ones just didn't seem to be working—they were probably white supremacists, or in some way connected to some political terror group, but it didn't seem to matter. Someone liked torturing me, and it was becoming apparent that no matter much time I spent at the gym, this torture was going to persist. After a month long gym streak, at least going once a day to lift something, I rested, or rather, tried to rest, kind of— but my mind had been swirling with thoughts of a man I was certain by now I had made up—and writing the story of a man I was absolutely certain came from my mind, but in a way that it almost made no sense at all—as the more I looked into the world that I had already written about, the more I realized was accurate without first having known these things, and however cursed I might have been to even know such things, I decided to call it some sort of blessing instead. ‘God, I used to get so fucking high for days, and when I would come down, just crying and crying, eating Totinos or DiJorno and a bag of Bugles, I would watch Saturday Night Live for fucking hours, and I hated [Redacted]. I hated him.' Now I still hated [Redacted], but in a different way, and though really it was myself that was more like Patrick, he at the very least, for whatever reason, used to have his face—now, he was just Patrick, and [Redacted] was just [Redacted], and i knew entirely too much about it all, and about myself to be comfortable with it, but nothing was comfortable at all. I had written entire atrocities, novels, and all that was some conglomerate of nonsense which was the festival project, besides how insanely and innately prodigal it all was sometimes, my own words confusing me with a bizarre and asinine dysfunction, awe, actually, often as if someone else had written them, and although I was always at least sort of semi-conscious while writing, the spells and cadences I would fall under were some sort of trance, and as I watched the Nirvana rehearsal from Saturday Night Live in 1992, long before [Redacted] or any of the rest of the — Was it Keystone? It was, the Keystone cast of SNL, but the first word my mind had jumped to was Hallmark, which—after referencing Google quickly for a fact check, also stood true. I was willing to admit, even now, though I had long lost interest in Saturday Nighy Live, or anything at all having to do with current events, that the [Redacted] era—or rather even, the Tina Fey era, a true role model, perhaps, and someone I favored over all of the performers I admired, or allowed myself to admire— the Golden Years of Saturday Night were the only years, for me that even mattered— trying to make sense of anything couldn't be done, but I at least had this new project birthed from it to think about. It would be hard to sit down at a taping of The View and not think about all I had written at all, and it would be impossible not to unfold the characters which had presented themselves, though slowly but surely, through the most vivid visions and insanely lucid dreams, as The TV People began to What if someone steals this out of my documents? That would be unwise…the best scenes are somewhere scribbled in my notebooks and random scraps of paper somewhere in my room…this series is almost nothing without those scenes—the elements with which the most painful scenes I had ever written, became word form. ‘I don't know why, but I feel so incredibly high, So incredibly high right now…' They could have been words to a song, but I did feel high as a kite for whatever reason, without the actual kite metaphor quite literally dagling over my head, for once, or at least, it had been a few weeks, not a prominent as is was before. I sat soaking in the tub teetering on the possibility that I should actually even watch The Tonight Show, or whatever it was, to set my mind at ease, a betrayal of my own code—as one does not literally feed its obsessions into insanity on purpose. ‘Perhaps, though', I thought, ‘I could get rid of this.' — A cancerous abscess in the tradegy that had become my own sex fueled, rage driven, racing mind—and rather admittedly, it was almost too late, for anything of the sort, as I hadn't any other place to keep the growing world of The Television People any quieter, than within the monstrous algorithm which was Google documents cloud, where it seemed nothing was safe, and anything could be fabricated into reality after being stolen, by someone rich enough to make it happen, however, never being any better than my own disaster of a creation. And it was, a disaster. He was a comic genius, a professional, and spectacular performer— in actuality, I knew nothing if not anything at all about him, and the more I collected, the more interesting I found myself, actually, bemused that I seem to have found some sort of twin, another synchronization nightmare—if only that I made it to be so, unbelieving yet that I was in some kind of fairytale, though it had become some sort of fantastical and adventurous thing, this what I now refer to as ‘the allegories,'. I must have been something parasitic to the industry, with the tendency to latch on and ride out whatever had become a fascination, but it wasn't, in its sense of origin, like anything before— it was something new, in the ways that it was, and something old at the same time—though needing to fall drastically from The Tower without actually doing so, putting a stop to my unlimited creation became a pertinent priority, as even exercising, meditating, and chronic masturbation tended to exacerbate it, as if I was missing a step in transmutation of this foreign substance— an energy which seemed familiar, but also wasn't. I was receiving downloads several hours at a time, and drifting off into spells and trances of inspiration so heavily that it seemed counterintuitive to call it off, fearing I might lose the intensity of the plot and its characters, and they were that: just characters. It had taken days to erase Patrick's face into a blank state to restore him from that of his namesake, but now everything was a blur, the allure of scrapping it all to return to making music was upon some sort of dawning, but not yet arrived. I allowed whatever came to mind to flow freely from my fingertips, even if it felt bizzare—and even if it felt bizarre, it never felt wrong at all. ‘Unfortunate, that.' , I thought crossing one leg over another to complete my chapter before draining the tub. I promised myself long ago to always pray for my own son, before worrying about another celebrity, whose fame and fortune protected them more than I ever seemed to protect myself or my own—nonsense, but a strong sense of remorse, as I had been painted as wicked, in a sense, just for being kept poor, separated from my son, and left in a world without love at all; My project, a keepsake of the hard work I had done; but had not yet been paid for—and the fear was in the understanding that that money might not ever come, that I would never be a mother, a muse, or anything or anyone else I actually wanted. I thought briefly again about just getting a dog—but I only had 45 dollars, aside from the unmarked Jimmy Fallons, I had placed atop an alter on my kitchen counter, wondering how to multiply them into something I wanted—and that had been the start of the game or the project at all— saving my last dollars and spending them at once, with the hopes and wishes that they would become somehow much larger quantities, returned as good karma for the love I had given, but that had not yet come back, in one form or another. ‘He seems miserable, the poor bloak.' , I thought—and with all that I had known to have come with fame and fortune along with the luck, he probably somewhere, somehow was—but my concern was my son, turning the mere dollars somehow from one's into bundles of hundreds, thousands, and maybe even one day a whole million or more. That was the push behind the project at all—breaking the cycle of the poor black single mother, the story that had been told over and over-/ with stories that had not; the stories that had become [The Festival Project™]# Sai Psy. See you in seven years, then. You're so silly— I'm not going to live seven more years. We'll see about that. You will see. I'll be dead. So I'll be dead. So it is. A summer hiatus, Vacations in Prague, yes Let's pray for the rest of us A sign of the times and a coming of ages Who made you famous again As the rest of us I don't like it As much as I'd like to Keep writing Keep finding the reason to die and you're blinded by kindnesses And I Ams I woke up in the 9th dimension, As an infinite friend Familiar with my kitchen JOHN SLATTERY An interesting thing happened this morning. What's that, John? I woke up as John Slattery Just remember what love holds The death of a salesman, rechargeable batteries This walk could take forever in designer jeans Another day in slave hell The controllers controlling And Satan is Sataning Seems like a time to go clubbing It's a simple kind of depression Resting on your head when All you simply wished is the taste of flesh The freedom of skin And the lather of love— Or blood spatter on the pavement Aim for the head If the door's fixed, then we'll break it again Look what greed does I hate lazy days in Manhattan Ca
Blake/Ryan: Beginning RHOC: ~38 min markBack to Blake/Ryan/Taylor Swift ~1hr 37min 15 sec markDeepti has Dina in the house for this LIVELY episode (bad pun I know I know). Deepti explains the whole Blake & Ryan/It Ends With Us controversy and is met with some roadblocks from Dina! Who seemingly at [many] times could not understand why we all need to care about this [HUGE] pop culture disaster! But in the end, Dina in fact gets extraordinarily vested in how this may or may not affect Blake's friendship with Taylor Swift. Then they go on to analyze the first 5 eps of Season 18 of Real Housewives of Orange County. Jen is dimwitted for sure...but does that justify Gina being SO awful to her!? Dina explains in great detail why she canNOT deal with Heather Dubrow on any level. Emily looks fantastic but is she being mean overall? Sutton makes a grand "LOOK AT ME, YOU PLEBEAINS" entrance on RHOC. Tamra has no plotline. And Shannon...oh jeez just what a mess. Blake/Ryan/Taylor thoughts emerge in the beginning and throughout the ep b/c it's just what's on our minds now.
BANG! @southernvangard radio Ep408! Vangardians let's get this thang going - we're a little late on the post this week, but this episode will tee you up nicely for the weekend. Our good friend THE BAD SEED dropped off “Four Finger Ring II” just before we started the show on Sunday, we so we have TWO, count ‘em TWO, WORLD EXCLUSIVES from that album, which drops at the end of August. Other than that, it'st he usual shenanigans from your guys Doe and Meeks, so push play, say THAAAAANK YAAA and YOU WAAAAALCOME!!!!! #SmithsonianGrade #WeAreTheGard // southernvangard.com // @southernvangard on all platforms #hiphop #undergroundhiphop #boombap Recorded live Aug 12, 2024 @ Dirty Blanket Studios, Marietta, GA southernvangard.com @southernvangard on all platforms #SmithsonianGrade #WeAreTheGard twitter/IG: @southernvangard @jondoeatl @cappuccinomeeks Pre-Game Beats - The Sextones "Southern Vangard Theme" - Bobby Homack & The Southern Vangard All-Stars Talk Break Inst. - "Foot Clan Party" - Ral Duke "Father Fentanyl" - Let The Dirt Say Amen "Raw Side (Chopper Suit)" - The Bad Seed (prod. CJ Dove) ** WORLD EXCLUSIVE ** "Seen It All" - Red Inf ft. 100grandroyce "Hocaine" - Wais P & Khrysis "Trespass" - Sayzee & Tone Mason "Edgewater Park" - Vstylez ft. Ro Spit, Fatt Father & Marvwon "Romello And Ray" - Let The Dirt Say Amen Talk Break Inst. - "Shell Shock" - Ral Duke "Kill Squad" - BP Infinite ft. Redman & DJ Stitches "6 Million Stories" - The Bad Seed (prod. Shade Cobain) ** WORLD EXCLUSIVE ** "'73 Borikuas" - PR Dean ft. Famoso, Fabeyon & Chris Rivers "Highest Degree" - The High & Mighty ft. O.C. "Spraytona 500" - Let The Dirt Say Amen Talk Break Inst. - "The Masked Man" - Ral Duke "Speshal Methods" - 38 Spesh ft. Method Man & Ti Lar "Tek & Steele" - The Bad Seed (prod. Murda Megz) "The Demons Three" - Damien ft. Ty Farris, Pro Dillinger & Jay Royale "Filet Mignon" - Dios Negasi "Minstrel Show" - Ja'king The Divine "Step Out The Way" - Spoda x Wavy Da Ghawd "Part-Time Rapper" - Finn ft. Lord Juco Talk Break Inst. - "Coffee Beans" / "Anchovies" - Ral Duke "Look At Me" - Eddie Meeks & DJ Pocket
HALLE BERRY is that how you spell it It is for now. Fuck going online “That ain't part of my day” Shut up Drake, not now. You'll thank me later “If You're Reading This, It's Too Late” [HALLE BERRY is taking A VERY PAINFUL SHIT, clutching her *favorite OSCAR award-- Which one's her favorite? CUT TO: BEFORE HALLE BERRY looks over her OSCARS in the display cabinet, carefully scanning them, with a New York Times paper tucked under her left arm, sipping from the coffee cup in her right hand.] —I like this guy. The other OSCARS groan; they are often overlooked during this process. Come on! This guy! AGAIN!? UGH. CUT BACK TO: [HALLE BERRY clenches painfully, sweating audaciously—at the worst possible moment, her cellphone rings. ] WHAT THE—COME ON I THOUGHT I WAS IN AIRPLANE MODE. (I just found out The Illuminati can still make calls go through in airplane mode Or without cell service at all) wtf my phone is ringing. That's weird. You don't even— —I don't even have a phone. Right. (Seriously, my phone is disconnected. I didn't even pay my bill.) The fuck. [it's JIMMY FALLON] Damn. This dude has the worst possible timing ever. Like fucking ever. Always shows up at the worst —THE WORST MOMENT. [HALLE BERRY rejects the call. It rings again] WHAT THE— [She ignores the second call. A moment of subtly relaxed silence, until— [JIMMY FALLON appears in the ceiling window of the bathroom. HALLE BERRY SCREAMS, still fluting her OSCAR.] (Calmly, kind of) Hey, WHAT THE FUCK, JIMMY. WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE? I called first! I KNOW THAT— Went to voicemail. YOU SHOULDNT BE HERE. Just—calm down. NO. Look. GET OUT OF MY HOUSE! I'm not in your house, I'm outside your house. Technically. —yeah, but your FACE is in my house— —I hear that's the best part. —What?! Listen— Get out— No, look, listen— I need to borrow your Oscar. What?! For what?! That's not important. Oh really?! Yeah. It seems important. It's not that important Just—- What! Give it to me! [He snatches the OSCAR and tosses her his GRAMMY.] Just—trade me. What! What for?! Just—trust me— I do not— Just trust me—! WHAT! Congratulations. As you were. Kind of. WHAT—JIMMY— [She realizes the ridiculousness of her calling after him. She sits awkwardly with the Grammy in her lap, sighing] —he was my favorite… [SUDDENLY, though the other window Why does this bitch have so many windows in her bathroom that are this penetrate? For the sake of the joke, but probably not something any celebrity should have, are windows where anyone can enter your house from the outside. Fans are weird. CUT TO: AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH. I LOVE YOU. CUT TO: What's this place. It's my house, Where are the windows? They don't exist. CUT BACK TO [DANE COOK appears through the opposite window.] YO. WHAT THE FUCK! Chill, Halle Berry. WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?! I'm the guy who wrote this. You should have called first! Who do I look like, Jimmy Fallon?! NO. I LIKE HIS face. Huh. Is that what it is… I GUESS I DONT KNOW. —who are YOU—?! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE— I am not in, technically— I DONT CARE! Ooh— Is that a Grammy award?! I didn't know you had a Grammy! Gimmie! [he snatches the Grammy] HEY! Is—what is this, for COMEDY?! FOR COMEDY?! WHY WASNT I MADE AWARE THAT THIS IS A THING?! I DONT KNOW, WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU? WHAT THE FUCK. It's not important. What. Anyway, thanks. Toodeloo. The Rock must have been buzzing in some sort of special way on this day; because for some reason, I couldn't stop thinking about it. I had finally rearranged the remainder of my seemingly new surroundings— the miniature keurig, a status symbol, of course, looked handsom on the work desk— the cat tree seemed to match, though with no actual feesible monetary income, and no end in sight— the tree itself would have to be enough to lift my spirits. It was a nice cat tree, almost untouched and looking very brand new— though the couch had a few scratches, though easily hidden with the decorative use of a couple throws—at least I had a couch, and all that was left to accomplish before fully enjoying was to arrange an order of Freebreeze to rid it of its previous owner's dandruff smell, and general mismanagement—besides that, it was itself almost brand new as well, and it seemed a strange new world to wake up in, after sleeping in a nearly empty apartment for 6 months; there was 6 months left in my lease, and I was getting nervous that they would try to push me out—hopefully I would find someplace better, or at the very least higher up—with the same amenetire intact. Still, I was working as diligently as in could on organizing—at least the recordings, to put together the next group of projects as quickly as I could— nevermind the writing—and there was so, so much of it, I hadn't a clue what to do. I had been avoiding Rockefeller Plaza like the plague for quite sometime—it always made me nervous in a sort of way I didn't understand, in that I would pulsate and vibrate differently, and more often times than not was upset and concerned that I had yet to go to the top—a costly feat—nor could I afford to entertain or enjoy any of the amusements at the bottom—not that i wanted to, as the older I got, and especially the longer time spent in New York, the more of putting the public and large crowds were—particularly after a remarkably disgusting respiratory infection I caught on new years, battling a crowd which became impossible to move through at all—let alone see the ball drop—and I had learned my lesson, especially after The Macy's Day parade; the crowds in New York were disgustingly unbearable, and in order to get a good view of anything, you would have to arrive nearly a full day early, and simply camp—now I knew why people packed around collapsible lawn chairs on holiday weekends. I had been blindsided by Fallon towards the end of the Macy's day parade—I hadn't any clue at all that he apparentlyboarticipated annually, as it had been years since I had watched the parade myself with my parents—and still, it was iconic—I always wanted to go. Still, and even though I had only written very little of him up to that point, I found it disasterous that as his name was announced and the float which carried him and The Roots, the best late night band on Television, not by opinion, but by fact—as I had most recently been studying and researching as thoroughly as I could all of the late night hosts since the dawning of Television in preparation to write this pilot, The TV People, short handed to TVP—and just then I recalled a dream from the night before, about Pat Kirkpatrick—for the first time in the dream world, it wasn't Fallon at all, but Pat Kirkpatrick. I couldn't remember the dream, nor could I seemingly work myself out of the rut that had been the plateau in writing the show—the show itself was heavy, with so many characters, all of which each had been given detailed and specific personalities, livelihoods, and backgrounds—in fact, I hadn't written anything in such a way since college, with detail—actually, I had never written anything so detailed at all, so character oriented that the character analyses filled entire pages of documents with excruciating vividness, as if these people were real. Well, now they were—and Fallon was neither Patrick as I was Esha, and the story has taken its own form, still however birthing an incredibly awkward and romanticized fascination and near obsession with Fallon—not that I would feed it to be so. I blocked out the news outlets, the media, the alrogithm's suggestions to watch bits and pieces of Fallon, though, however, I refused, and somehow, I didn't need it. Fearfully so, he was somewhere lodged deep inside me—and I was even sort of embarrassed to have written some of the things I had of his essence, however prophetic it seemed to be, that for about a three week period between April and May, I seemed to have gone off into a trance of sorts, writing for hours and experiencing vivid visions of this show, The TV Prople, alongside writing The Festival Project ™ And all of its markers—there were so many worlds, so many ways throughout them—and now as I had realized, I had actually been writing about Fallon nearly as long as I had been writing about Sonny, but differently. I had never of course come face to face with Fallon as I had the latter—and still—found it somewhat nessecary to hide my face beneath a mask as his float passed my viwingbspace, an elevated view from the staircase of some church, which had happened to be perfect—and although I was certain it's not as if he was looking for me—I had just then been writing of this Cosmic Avenger, and hadn't any idea at the time of Fallon in reality having been an actual magician, and still— with cameras everywhere, and knowing even what I had written—I didn't want to be caught by any passing cameras with any sort of blush or worse—a smile on my face as the float passed— a smile which would flash my atrocious gap-tooth and crooked smile I was sure was permanent, by then having been in the homeless shelter nearly a year. As soon as his name was announced, I promptly pulled up my masked. I had already been caught on camera earlier in the parade gawking at some float—now was not the time to be caught gawking again. He, like Rob Lowe seemed impeccably professional and well-rehearsed, like a cartoon character— he was, after all, kind of a cartoon character, however now, even if it was partly due to my own writing, I took him more seriously. There was a darkness about him— a sometimes glassy-eyed, almost scary darkness that told me, even a world away not to fuck with this dude—some kind of animal or monster I was sure we both shared, however mine more the type and category of insatable and undernourished and his more peaking its head out in the form of a multi-millionaire network puppet, which housed an untamable powerhouse of musicianship, manhood, and wit— it's true, I was finally scared of him, knowing after all what the true tears of a clown could be, a dangerous man in a uniformed suit, the Everyman for the programmed masses, and the funny man with a jig to dance, a story to tell, and an indoor life— secret realm within I was sure no one knew. I fed the monster with respect to the home, happy wife, and children— I, after all, loved love, and only wanted it for myself, leaving alone the parts of a man I had found and was sure was broken enough to have left me puzzled and star studded rather than struck as I always was, tears welling up at the thought of it that something should be mended neither I or anything I was could not fix—I continued to write, however, knowing I was walking on glass barefoot and tiptoeing on eggshells around the mass media conglomerate of the network that stood between my feeble world and his, the higher ups— and bryknnd: it was, after all, a level system— and now with a beautifully decorated and fully apartment, besides my mistress on the floor instead of the space saving loft bed I had wanted—though it looked just right with the piano bench as a headboard, housing my crystals and new globe, plus a colorful collection of books I could crack open as I awoke to the morning light, no longer so early but increasingly later, as I shifted into the insomniatic habits of a true DJ and music producer, still writing and reading in the mornings, however— I had to wonder what level I was truly on. My apartment looked like a home. The decor was better than I could have imagined myself even, the tasteful furnishings and modern elegance shifting my reality— no longer an empty apartment, now a fashionable hub for art and creation. I assumed the car would come along in the winter, with any hopes that I would finish my albums by then—and also looming over me— my last life, and the people in in struggling to call up to me in this very ascended realm, which I was lucky to inhabit. ‘Thank you God for your many blessings' My wishes it seemed, had been granted— magic did indeed seem real, and though I had an Amazon return packaged and ready to go— there wasn't a time and place I could see myself as ready to even be near The Rock, some festering bulletwound in my heart, all that I had written, not just of Fallon, but of the rest of the people I had honored by word mark but had not yet the status or wealth to have ever known as human at all, but more products of the program; with intention, however, it was the path I had followed to be destined here somehow though small codes and doorways, signals and symbols which called to me and seemed only I could see—but were there in plain sight, and with the right eyes, had meant more than I ever dreamed anything could— open doors to a world I had indeed created myself, and in turn, the world in which I lived had also been created around me. I had to, in my mind, find the light inside all of whom I studied, to humanize myself—nurturing some fascination of fame and celebrity inside which still stood unanswered, the question of why and how one becomes so high up that without trying, that I might continue to find them in my mind's eye and in my world, on the outside, time after time. —tales of a superstar DJ. https://linktr.ee/codenameblu {Now You See Me} From Google: Charismatic magician Atlas (Jesse Eisenberg) leads a team of talented illusionists called the Four Horsemen. Atlas and his comrades mesmerize audiences with a pair of amazing magic shows that drain the bank accounts of the corrupt and funnel the money to audience members. A federal agent (Mark Ruffalo) and an Interpol detective (Mélanie Laurent) intend to rein in the Horsemen before their next caper, and they turn to Thaddeus (Morgan Freeman), a famous debunker, for help. No, not the google documents! GET IN THE HOLE. Hm. What. Blood Shower All along the watch tower Do you feel good? Do you? Do you feel bad about this. I do. I feel bad about this. I forgot to tell you– I should probably let you know that I just want to MAN, FUCK THIS DUDE. MA. WAHT. IT'S ON. WHAt. THE SHOW IS ON. THEWHAT. THE– *suddenly self aware* …I gotta get out of Boston. What, first this was about war, now it's about bird people? It's about a war WITH the bird people. I should sleep. Hahaha. No. This isn't funny anymore. At least it's over. MA– Oh, it's far from over. Yo, i'm going through some crazy shit right now. Spur of the moment I'd never thought of it; This is gonna take forever. I don't have the patience To even write this I just want french fries right now But been up for two days with no gym and I'm on a diet. GUAC TIME. No, no burritos. GUAC TIME. Oh shit, this is getting real as fuck . NOw i see it three ways. I love it. I hate it. HEY, LET ME OUT. GET BACK IN YOUR HOLE, SKRILLEX. I'M DILLON FRANCIS. IN THE HOLE. Check it out. Huh. It's another DJ. *agrees* Should we pick him up. WEll, the good news is: I found your friend. Oh, that's good. The bad news is: He's dead. Oh, that–'s … nice. Yeah. It is. Uh. Kaskade. Yeah. We gotta find Ryan. Why. What's up? You're freaking me out. Why. What's up. Nothing IS it my eyes? I– *wild ass eyes* Yeah, it's probably that. Fuck dude, what did you do to deadmau5. NOTHIN. He's not the same. What the fuck is that. Holy shit I jus timejumped Where the fuck are you going. How the fuck could this happen?! It COULDN'T. Well, that's it then. *shrugs* Well, I guess we're just gonna have to go dig up Dillon Francis. I guess so. Do you think he's still alive. Like, probably not– Maybe… No, probably not @prodbywar& @Halmadeit This amazon order took me nine hours Alexa, I think i should fire her Like a arm I don't leave at night without armor Don't make me a martyr Your mom will be proud of us all If i make it outta here And i'll look after her Got the whole block coming up on my heels as I walk Wtf is it… Idk dude. Is it speeding up? I…i think so. There's no way this is 140 IT's 140. It's 140 . There's no way. Yes way. Nah huh. Let me see. No. Let me at the decks. Let me at the decks. NO. YO LET ME AT THE DECKS. You want deks. Yes. I got deks. Really. yeus . I never listened to it like this In ableton I read serato, synesthesia and rekordbox I talk a lot, I'm like a human music box I walk a lot I run my mouth a mile a minute (faster than i run around the track reciting rap words) Like they're passwords. Oh, I could do this forever.. I wish i had i microphone right now And was all alone With the lights off Lying on the floor I'd be lying if i said I could afford you Just to fornicate But may consider playing with a foreigner If you're all for her I'm unnerved, you know Cause i've been up so long My monster likes to play with boys and Make the bass go down below where Nobody does anymore Once I get a hold of things Or the hang of it You've got another hot ones on your hands I've another record under my belt Or in my roster, Whatever you'd call it But now I've got no time to bark about Wanting a dog and a daughter But none of the responsibility or Going through all the trouble to find her a father I'm still holding a fart in. Reaally–cause–it's been a really long time. WHAT WOULD YOU KNOW ABOUT A LONG TIME, JIMMY FALLON?? Um a lot! You literally just saw me make the journey all the way up from nothing. I am nothing EXACTLY. I don't have time to fight with you Jiimmy Fallon. I did NOT write these games by myself you know?! Um, excuse me– “GAMES” ?! YES, GAMES. Uh, I've only got one game with you in it, my friend. Is that so! One game that I've written with the Great–formerly LATE Jimmy Fallon. Is that like a play on words cause i'm on late night TV YOu'RE ON ALL THE TIME TV, JIMMY. NBC SHIT IS PRACTICALLY AUTOMATICALLY SYNDICATED. -_- …are you alright. –_-_-__-_ Hold on, I think i've got it Nice, I found a growler. yOu still haven't got all the monsters and sprites Ive got all the big ones, but the little ones are harder to catch. GrO0Wl3rrr. Aww. He's so ugly. Yeah, but cute, though, right. I don't think so. Gro)WwlErrrrrrrrr. Aww. That's so fucking gross. lol . so what does this thing look like. Well, that't the thing about the monsters and sprites. WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT. It's alright, it's alright–he's nice. WHAT. THAT'S A SPRITE. No, it's a monster. He's just scary. SUPACREE. David Bowie. What up. God, it took me ages to find you. Tell me about it. I'm still trying. We've been expecting you for a long time. You were expecting I'd die? Yes. So when she says she's “married to the music…” I'm married to the music. Oh, so. Yo, honestly if you een want to talk to this bitch, you'd better have like a musical instrument, or a mic in your hands, Otherwise– No, getawayfrom me. It's not even worth it. HI. –No. What's up? Tempo. SUNNI Cotour From the store I was poor Now i'm honorable In velour, Glamour (Snap) Forsure, Jesus Christs is making appearances in my abletons I'm not able to comprehend or understand exactly the message, But the evidence sire is mounting Get it Reached the temple, More of a sanctuary, Is that sacrilegious I guess it is, I'm stressed as ever Trying to get it together {Enter The Multiverse} Now I know too well, The well of tears on my guitar She's got a body like one Oh her curves But I just wonder what it like to be loved By stars Socialites and superstars They're Gods, you know How high up they are Above us And he lives in an ascended dimension, But he insists, he says Her transcendence is upon us He said Your transcendence is upon us He says these things, And then just vanishes So she gets up promptly Warms up yesterday's coffee Looks around in her coffin And wonders What for I just Wonder what it's like to be loved by stars Without double r's, you know I've got scars But it's mostly just Teardrops, and soft kisses On my guitar Cause, oh, Oli, I ain't got nobody— And nobody holds me Like I hold Oli (Could have been Ali, But of course— I had already lost that one A whole well of tears, I lost At his departure And a whole well more When I actually lost him I almost miss Having someone to talk to About anything and everything But I've got Oli And God now I've got Oli And Oli (oli) Is all that I've got Besides God That's the only contact In my Phone book No more double Ls And double entendres; No more double rs At all Just scars now No more metaphors. Honest is radical I like them cynical I should have clinical insanity by now But I'm only just an artist You can't help But can only harm that And if it hurts hard enough I'll put art on my walls Become permanent Storybooks all over my arms now My coat of arms now I've run Ten point 5 miles In the last 3 days; But if I rest today Will a motorcycle gang Have a parade outside of my window, To drive me crazy? I hope it rains, So they can't play these games with my head And the seeds that I planted So deep become daisies I still don't remember The way he rearranged me But these days I make my name sound So the way He can never say it Just imitates The way I hate myself I should be dating But expressions are Atrocious If I fall asleep— Who knows I may get Stolen That tends to happen So I'm All the way up And I'm swollen in ways That I hate to say “I love you” Love me back Or say it harder That's my martyrdom Come off the cross, for a moment, Would you for us? And bend over Or bow, if you will? If I did, Would you still call me wicked Or just a Good witch Since I'm a woman, I just couldn't be Jesus, Who you asked for once And always Who you asked for some To save you from your Credit reports And consorts Or some sort of Nonsense [famous last words] God don't speak much English, She says God don't speak much these days We were Always Telepathic That was way back then When Oedipus Rex Was on the Guest list I was standing at the coat check, asking Why I must take off my hat When entering the service To the bouncer, he says “That's just politics” I said, That's just politics We both said, What's the difference Then we all laughed —then we all just laughed and laughed Exchange is my favorite exchange Where my favorite exchanges Have happened for centuries Of engagements Endeared species, And races pieces haven't tasted the same Since I haven't had them Animal products And animal planet I found this hat on Discovery channel Did you want it? I can't stand it So I had to have it back I just had to use the bathroom I just had to disconnect From [] See— I don't even have to put the words in Cause a name is just words When that's a man You just can't have And that's the worse When that's a man And you can't have him What a habit. Silky rabbit. Now he's the Ace. All In A Day's Work I've never died before. Oh… that is terrifying. It sounds terrible. It's really not that bad. Why are you not writing this down? I just need a moment… It's really not that bad… I die all the time. I get sensory overload At Trader Joe's Look at the colors The clothes, This sure isn't queensborough Escalators for shopping carts I get it Manhattan I'll take my half BLVCK ass to the projects Where my kind are I don't belong here , God you're intolerant I like this part of town But I'm way too brown And I dropped my crown at the market I should be jealous of everyone But I have learned my place I've been a slave since Hollywood I lost my son to the devil Now I pay child support And terrorist follow me coughing I'm wrong just for being born ! You could start a war from it If that's what you wanted I'm a people watcher people watcher About to board the people mover People mover Slip, Here's the tell Slip, here's the tell I should have a bell around my neck I think she wanted a picture with papa I'm playin my own paparazzi Look mom, I bought a sacafagus There go them niggas with coughs again I been watching em Got binoculars I got oculus, for my oculars Look how hot he is, make me ovulate Man I gotta love it, Cause they love to hate Fucking racist crazies Have it your way I paid for it with my soul You hate but I love to love Somebody just got me fuckes up I don't have a book to run off of Shut up, honey. Now we're all up here Monkey in the middle Cause the middle one is weaker It's getting deeper and deeper Like the sinkhole that my sink is Let it sink in I've been syncing my secrets with demons In dreams sequences It's just a reparative injustice Kamasutra for your wondering words and stuff You can have it It's ruined anyway m Look at all this trash Look at all these classless classes Classwars, Racists. Everybody hates us The Asians, Latinx's The other niggas What being black is I'll write it in cursive It's just a curse, here So you can have it I'm moving to Heaven I'm packing my boxes I'm getting a cat, too! His name is Agustus He's a big one And I love him I just wanted a hug or a husband Instead I got nothing to trying my hardest And got for a bargain at target some coffee For being a targeted body All on an algorithm I guess I'm just useless. A dumb nigger demon Did I just offend you? Then you shouldn't be reading this either I wrote it for pleasure (Or pain) On the one Or the two Or the one Or the two I could do a lot with this $20. I could spend it all on Fuck all of you I'm moving to Heaven Where the heart it She's not harmless She's a terrorist— And I'll kill her, too Look how right she is Look how white she is, Huh Regardless of color It's a race war Lil biiiiitzzz Yooo, fuck New York. In every hole. In every crevice. Fuck this place. It's racist— Not just cause I'm black. Like statistically. It took a whole ass apartment elsesrch to feature this out. I was like “I wanna live in Manhattan” Everyone was like “NOOOOOOOO—-“ Haha “Nooo, no.” I was like “Why not?” The blacks were like: HAHA The whites were like— *COUGHS OBNOXIOUSLY* New York is so racist. It is statistically the most diverse—and most segregated city in the nation At the same time. WHAT. How do you even DO that? But it's true, at this point, the black people are like—fuck this, we'll just stay over here, and over here. And the rich whites are like YES. KEEP THAT SHIT, OVER THERE. Cause if you've ever been to the ghetto. It's some SHIT, It is NOT COOL. I finally got my ‘night card' back. Had it revoked in california . I was almost a whole valley girl. I still eat exclusively at Whole Foods. Trader Joe's. But NO. Now i live in the hood. It's fucking disgusting. I can say ‘nigga' again. Cause it's NIGGAS. Lots of niggas. I'm telling you. It's night and day! The white folks trains smell like bleach— Ammonia. The black folks train smell like a McDonald's. WHAT. Or just— Vomit. I can actually count the number of times just— Vomit—- On the train. Or. Dookie. Yes. Human feces. But I'm ready to go to midtown and it's like the train that goes around Disneyland. Families! People singing! Hey—cotton candy!! —and I didn't have to pick it! Haha! Fuck New York. Racist ass HOLE. I thought surely the next presidential election was one or two years out, but the racial tensions which had been rising became even more pronounced, as I realized that November was theboncoming time—and that they hostility between the whites and the blacks had once again been a result as the oncoming war, fueled onward—that the hatred, disgust, and general aggression of the whites had been of course, in the midsts of yet another Trump-fueled political upheaval, and I wondered why and how at all I had been caught in such a world that existed in form of man, of course, now proven himself to be the weaker sex, and yet in that of dominance, as was arranged in such an unholy war, to be the helm of power by sheer greed— now it seemed that these attacks were indeed political terrorism, and that these motorcyclists, my placement close to the ground level, and my neighbor's clammorings were specific attacks, after my identity had been varied to be that of the same in which I had once held political ambition, now none of which I assumed mattered at all. Perhaps I needed something more certain than a 12 story jump or suicide by train, and wondered as to whether it would be easy enough to kill myself bh self inflicted gunshot—a sure thing for certain, as love has been lost in the way of money at all. At that party…or rather, kind of—after. That acid that never hit Beyoncé I don't feel it. Man, I'm a terrible influence(r) Just take it. Nah, I'm good— PUSSY. -_- Give me three. K. —suddenly hits BEYONCÉ. BEYONCÉ …I got this. [BEYONCE] however, does not Ohh, shit. — “got this.” A very stranded, very sober Johnny depp stumbles upon what appears to be a college frat party, where the only thing they have is light beer, and nobody even recognizes him as a celebrity, because the attendees are all gen z What's even after gen z? The fucking apocalypse. Anyway. The acid hits Beyoncé on her way to make coffee, which extends the trip from the living room to the kitchen infinitely. Multidimensional Anne Hathaway hulks the fuck out and saves the day by ruining everything, which actually fixes everything— and *spoiler* helps Jesus to remain as the king of kings at beer pong. Lol In the late 90s in New York City, the keystone cast of Saturday night live learns of each other's formerly sexret psychic abilities, and uses the radio technologies of Rockefeller plaza to develop a research center for the telepathically gifted, eventually discovering and perfecting time travel. Supacree (the kid version) appears in and out of her ideal and desired realities, baffling ‘the Hollywood people' and later ‘the New York people', becoming the legendary central figure of the Illuminati, as the original timepiece — a pyramid shaped extra terrestrial vehicle which contains an ascended hyper conciousness, which I can't remember how it goes, did the supacree leave to find the Skrillex, or was it the other way around? I think it was both ways at some point, but the whole thing was this, just in case I never wrote it but just saw— These space god (humanoid evolved) are some kind of scientists/ doctors— there are four timepieces, each representing an era upon our planet; earth, which is distant but sacred— these four time pieces each depart their given “docs” in time to appear on earth at specific Fuck this is hard to explain Times in history, at which the first worlds, or previous human eras were known to have been destroyed— these time pieces travel through time space with the full record of these events in order to alert the current human era of its imminent doom, as an attempt to prevent such disasterous events, typically war, which will lead to the annihilation of the human species; these Gods, one male and one female, a king and queen, a married couple are the rules of the humankind, technically worshiped as a whole as one God, with whom the human design was modeled after, however, the true source of all things is the cosmos, known and unknown, in its totality—neither man or woman, but the force of creation. Anyway, what else is happening Oh. All of the celebrities are stuck in— [the festival project] in some way, shape, or form until its creator finishes it—and though it in itself is infinite, its 'finishing' notates its eventual production, which lol. That never going to happen. Because. Let's face it. I'm scared of …rich people. Yeah, sure. Yeah. I'm scared of The effect of the race war, which has been to pit the white woman against the black woman, which allows and maintains the continuation of war mongering male dominance over the entire planet, which remains as a destructive force of greed, racism, and inequality. So why try? [EDITS] CONAN O'BRIEN Alright. If she hit Fallon, she's gonna come for one of us next. No, Conan—that's not how this works. WHAT—where did you come from!? When did you get here? JAY LENO This goes deeper than all of you can understand. WHAT the FUCK, man! When did you-/ —when did he get here? How did you do that?! How did you do that?! What are you, like, the same guy? Are you not all the same guy? [they shrug simultaneously and kind of just agree] Listen at this. Okay then. The enemy of your friend is my enemy. Oh…kay—and the enemy of my enemy—is my friend— That is correct. —so we're all friends here. That's right. Some special forces? Which forces? How special? [JENNIFER LOPEZ is still JENNY FROM THE BLOCK] Do I look like a fool to you? Uh— OOPS [a pre-fame Jennifer Lopez receives a drop full of diamonds instead of the usual; she has been granted access into the Illuminati, and becomes an overnight success.] This feels heavier than usual. Same as always. Hm. Are you sure. Yep. Hey, you're not the regular guy. Regular guy died. That makes sense. JENNIFER ANNISTON is inside of Ū Okay, grosss Not like that [lifting max weight] Okay. That was cool. Wow. Yeah, sure whatever. I am strong Yeah yeah, okay. Are you sure you want to be my size? Yep. JIMMY FALLON/SKRILLEX (we don't know actually which at this point) is also trapped inside of Ū Okay, gross! Yeah. SKRILLEX is in all of Ū. okay—actually, i'm okay with that, but That other guy?! [JIMMY FALLON] Yeah, he's weird. Also meanwhile, kind of— MARSHALL MATHERS has a closet cleaning service lol. Patrick is smooth as a motherfucker, you know. Every time his head is down on the desk like that, he takes a bump of coke. What?! Big uh! [Patrick takes bumps of cocaine in front of a live studio audience—every single night.] Woah! See. Goddamn. You gotta admire a guy like that. Jennifer Anniston is the weight on the cable tension machine Ooh. Psycho bitch devious methods new ludachris commercial All ya'll girls is toddlers I like long boards and longhairs Lawn mowers and lawn shares Aw hell nah, God forgot Cher I got the Blair witch project On Blair, I hope I scare you How dare you. Your girl looks like a naked mole rat. I got my soul back. You blue eyed bastards stole everything From the whole blacks, Hold that thought I'm at Whole Foods market throw in the Amazon algorithm off With marked dollars Look at God at Walmart On them rollbacks You old hacks are cackling I'm shackled to old habits Hold hands with me, rabbit I'm just a silly rapper really, are you? Maybe. Cut the verse of Reverse God Now I'm the devil I'm still lost in the Amazon cart I sharted all up in your pop tarts Before you warmed them up, pops Just for the sake of the art, Heart to heart, It's a war on love And the white girls won with nothin but Buckets of Whatever's up there I wouldn't know Cause I'm stuck job searching And running, Trying not to have a tummy So some gummy worm will love me First their sour, then they're sweet Then nobody, Trolli Holy moly I could use some more petroleum in the ocean! Said nobody But the globalists are performing your programming Which you're worshiping I put my eye on the dollar So I could watch you all Crumble and fall Don't you know The apocalypse is happening at the mall Of all the places How's that for a stream of consciousness, You salamander I asked Anandar back But I went past that chapter Have a chap Or a chapstick, for four times four dollars A bottle of water will cost you a fortune (But at least the drugs are in it) Get it It's recycled piss Distilled? Which is it, Mr,? The mystery box was literally lifted into My dinner from a fishery filled with nothing but niggers in it— I want a refund, before I catch that Fucking curse of poverty from — what'd you call it salmonellahallibut One hell of a cough from someone on the sidewalk But guess what? The devil's in your pocket or your palm, And that's the omen and the psalm rolled into one Cause God is awesome, But my mom is fuckin toxic And that's how I fuckin got here Blow my head off, Slit my wrists And write a song While jumping off a bit When all you need is money, But the world costs more than It's worth, and words are nothing But another fucking problem in your Google documents I look at my son and see a God, But half of Satan's in him, Oh man Robotics Lets be honest, I don't even know how to write this. Where's my sides?! WHERE'S MY SIDES. You don't get SIDES with this; It's just CHICKEN. I don't eat CHICKEN. It appears as though, however– You do. Ok, I gotta get off this playlist. I… i gotta . “The Wal*Mart Wars” Hm. … …………. …. *face* … no. No. l– What is this place. {After a wild night which apparently spiraled out of control, great , there goes my peace. Not forever, though, maybe. FUCK THIS PLACE. I HATE THIS PLACE. Everybody hates this place. But the album is called “I love New York” Yes, thats Technically How it's pronounced, though It's stylized like I _ NY Cause. EXT. MIDTOWN MANHATTAN. DAY Oh, wow, this is beautiful. THis is great. I love this place FUCK THE FEDS. CUT TO: EXT.Typically WHEREVER ELSE Anywhere ‘above' like 87th? Lets just call it 80th, be safe. BE SAFE! NIGGAZ. ah shit, i gotta go. BITCH– But lets just be honest, It's technically ‘above' But it's really [THE BRONX is a literal extension of the Underworld] Oh no. srsly tho. X_c Anyway. FUck man, Do you think i'll ever get good like that. Idk what equipment is this Hmm, lets see, that's approximately $8,000 USD of CDJs wow yep That's retarded Yep. And you still need a mixer. fukt. OKay, I would literally sell my soul for this. Consider it done. wait , really? YES. you earned it. Wait, I– What?! You earned it… Uh oh. Take care now. Shit. [BILLIE ELLISH is trapped inside WALMART] Uh oh. Fuck. what is this place. INT. WALMART. WHENEVER EMPLOYEESLAVES WHAT TIME IS IT. THERE'S NO WINDOWS IN HERE. That's not funny IT'S literally a synonym, we might as well make it a portemantau MEanwhile, in this other dimension, So that i don't offend anybody… Actually, you know what? Be offended. Quit that stupid fuckin shit and follow your dreams! Wait really? Wait, really? Sure! If you want! …i guess. AMERICA NO. INSTANT HOMELESSNESS ok , nvm. Damn. I know, right. wtf r u guys watching. Shut up. All Wal*Mart Employees are actually top secret government agents. x ∞ >.< (we'll just use Billie Ellish as the alternate, but really it could be Could it really? Shut UP, PLURNICORN. Wtf is a PLURNICORN We'll see. [Upon Realizing s/he is trapped in a mysterious place apparently extremely public Wait, you've never been to a Wal*Mart Before?! NO. I grew up in LA Rich as fuck And i've been famous since I was liike 12, Or something. Right. That is–kind of terrifying. LATER: WHY IS IT SNOWING INSIDE. WHERE'S THE EXIT. THEY HAVE GUNS?! oh wow, they have GUNS. WHY DO WE NEED GUNS! KA-BLAM. BECAUSE THEY HAVE GUNS. Bang-bang! Ptttttttttt—sttt. And they have guns. Actually, these are just– confetti cannons. *pop!* Lol “Possibly The Worst Show Ever the infinite rave continues on in Hell as everyone awaits the return of SŪPACREE- The Cosmic Avenger (Who Is NOT a DJ) and Sunnï Blū (who is a superstar rapper but also not a DJ) go back to back, buying time as the beacon to. Signal "The Supacree" is completed, battling the 10th dimensional DJ Ū, a super ninjas, for control of the decks. what else happened? idk. I CANT STOP DANCING. none of the DJs can find a pair of working headphones, and the sound guy is missing from the booth. "missing" YOU SHOT HIM. I THOUGHT IT WAS A TRANQ DART. {Enter The Multiverse} “TVP” Hazel is 6, turns 7 season 1 Season 7- 15 Man, I can't remember the other two kids names, I think the little boy is Ira but I might have named them all and forgotten, shit. Her sister, though is between 4 ½ and 5, they are technically “Irish twins”, and always fighting—they look very similar, however are not at all alike; Hazel is very much a daddy's girl, while her younger sister is a no-nonsense old soul with the tendency to cause trouble, not by being inquisitive or showy, as her sister often is, but rather by being quietly observant, and tends to dismiss both her parents, often isolating, or even dissappearing without notice, quietly and comfortably into her own world—as the series progresses, and though all of Patrick's children like their parents have showcased some kind of special ability or talent— Holy shit, give this kid a name-/ I thought I already named her, I just don't remember. That's true. It seems like they all had names. She is almost very typically, though showing signs of genius, even at the early age at the beginning of the series, a middle child, prone to upset almost too easily, but rather than acting out, is more likely to take her anger quietly; she shares her fathers deep brown eyes, dark hair, and though she looks otherwise very much like her sister, and later despises her father, is more inwardly and outwardly like him, though taking the side of her mother during their separation and divorce, oftentimes even lashing out at her father quite openly, and very vocally, as she grows into herself. “Ira”, (may have had another name earlier) is the youngest of three— as his third birthday approaches sometime during the first season. Great, now I gotta hide all those allegories so nobody can actually draw from this that Patrick— Where's his write up, anyway? That shit could go on for days. I have no idea why this catharsis is happening. I tried to sleep it off, I swear, but I still woke up like— At least mildly obsessive about this, for whatever reason. Hazel's 7 - Season Arc Hazel has the eyes, charm, and charisma for entertainment —she hopes to one day be as her father, an entertainer and performer, and will do almost anything for a laugh. She is often telling jokes, and is a people- pleaser. She is sickeningly cute, with golden hair and Hazel eyes, long eye lashes, and carries baby fat in her face, though she is rather average, neither heavy or plump, and however also not frail at all. She is inquisitive, smart, and busy, almost never idle-minded, and strong. Though sort of a Tom boy, she has been trained well to act with dignity, class, and feminine eloquence, much like her mother—but like her father, has a tendency to be crass, sometimes carelessly so, or even brutally honest—to her mother's disdain, but embraced wholesomely by other family members and adults, she's extremely funny and delightful, and very much unlike her mother, not a spoiled brat at all, often raising questions beyond her years about inequality, later wishing to attend a public school, and becoming quite the advocate for social justice and human rights in her later years, her final season shows a rebellious and sometimes even antagonistic Hazel, who later even favors Esha over her own mother as a parental figure, often confiding in her about things she can't and shouldn't share with her father, although her almost over the top admiration for her father has become the driving force and inspiration for her own endeavors in show business, much to her father's disdain, as she grows older, him becoming more protective of her, and especially within the oftentimes secretive nature of his actual placement and purpose in the business, and her rebellious nature and charm even force-feeding her into the industry, she is a bleeding heart for superstardom, and is often seen along what may be a path to fame, making Patrick's bleeding heart all the more aching, as though he and Catherine remain at odds throughout the series, he truly loves his children, even “the little sick one”, as he refers to the second child. Holy shit, what is this kid's name If I had the energy to go through my notes, I could know; but I don't. The city sickness has been sinking in from the noise of the obnoxious motorists and honestly, being out of protein is giving me muscle soreness, I'm in some sort of a bloated haze from eating almost nothing but carbs, and the fact that I haven't been with anyone in years is starting to circle like buzzards around my head, my heart has been literally screaming but overwhelming with this sense of calm, and though slipping into Patrick's sometimes erratic tendencies, for the most part I've been underwhelmed with society's expectations that I should get some kind of job, and somehow while working not lose focus on my own interests and projects—I hate [the strange modern behaviors of] most people, and everything costs too much money— my son might be going into foster care, or my ex husband is evil enough just to try to force my energy to worry about a problem he's created, and I really wanted to sleep into the afternoon with this lethargy, hoping that everything surrounding this series would just fall off, but it doesn't. I wake up often wishing I could just forget The Festival Project ™ , but the truth is, it just keeps writing itself, but in the very least, sometimes God gives me little presents that mean the very most to me— a chord organ that I thought was from the 80's, but is more likely from the 1960's— I love vintage stuff, and musical instruments, which only God could know, really—my fascination with history as if I'm still living it, and this, my sudden fascination and drive to write and complete just one series has been haunting me almost just as badly as anything else has, but especially ripping me apart—especially since I have motorcyclists ripping through my body as if it were some kind of disease that existed outside of me, so contagious that it began to sink in to my insanity and mental hygiene. I wondered if anybody else knew or cared about these creatures as much as I didn't—and in fact, I had never felt so much like Ali in the way that I didn't care if they, other “human beings” supposedly, all died tragically, and wondered why the walls and windows didn't keep out the sound of the outside world at all… The middle child begins writing secretly very early on, and is the first to be required more extensive therapy, (as suggested by the family's therapist) after her parent's separation and subsequent divorce. It is not long after she begins learning to read and write at all, that she begins also showing interests in art, asking for art lessons and to begin painting and art therapy, rather than the recommended Equine therapy— she often keeps things to herself, then returning to her hidden places at times when the family's dysfunction becomes uncomfortable and overstimulating, very often paining or reading during times of peace, and retreating to her safe places—sometimes under the stairs, into the attic, the treehouse, or even later, the family's barnyard, where she often keeps drawings, as she ages, later comics, sometimes caricatures of the things she absorbs through her own reality—and diaries, sometimes hidden in nooks and crannies and in places no one would think; a true prodigy and genius, though hidden from much the world, as she is often overlooked, however, her therapist begins unfolding her true reality, often times carrying over sessions and losing track of time, picking her brain or even conversations philosophically What's the therapists name? Doctor Robin She has to have a last name Well, she's a child's therapist, so she's Doctor Robin, but It seems like it starts with a T. We'll see. I just saw her anyway. I drifted off again, thinking about how wildly detailed this all was becoming, and wondered if there was a series of fictional books waiting to be written. There certainly could be, but my mind was reeling, freshly showered but still undressed, and not even wanting to think of going outside—and yet—I was out of water, and had learned that the drinking water from the fountains, especially in large quantities, had a tendency to make me sick—I hadn't yet eaten anything, and though the coffee was fresh, and my apartment was clean (which made me overtly overjoyed for some reason) smelling of Lemon Lysol and Bleach; with notes of a strong pot of organic fresh ground coffee, it seemed like I couldn't do much more than lay in bed writing this catastrophically interesting series—and it was interesting, which said volumes, considering I had always been picky about my TV watching, being that only ever did certain series catch my eyes or my ears, and those series were almost always—or always, always specifically well written, perfectly casted, and had the edge and draw of becoming an entire world within itself, which this series, though only a week or two old at best, in my heart and in my mind , was rampantly ravaging my own world, almost as if it had become of some importance to keep writing it, and never stop, and though Patrick was the forefigure, another broken male protagonist, the truth in the series was that the true heroes of this sometimes scarily violent drama, were its women—a story meant to be told with a diversified cast of creatures from all worlds and walks of life—Esha, of course, herself, a role that had been some recreation of myself, somehow, though so different that even primarily, I never did see myself as her, besides the onslaught of some otherworldly pain, visions of a scene recollected from some remarkable download, and it might have been once and for all that I had lost my mind, or my life, if I wasn't a writer—I was, somehow, though, after all, a writer. It had been a fasting day that could have and might have ended tragically anyway, and still the devil marked his mockery of my efforts by consistently flinging perfect bodied women everywhere that I went—though usually with ugly enough faces that I could see nothing but what a man was—uncaring for one thing over the other, a flawless representation of woman, represented in the current time with scantily clad fashion, almost painfully so—the insecurity of women becoming more apparent in the way she would appear, always almost begging to be near to me, with every perfection and complexion I hadn't—but at least I had a tendency to laugh at my own damage, often surmising that she, these demon creatures, hadn't any talent for this at all—which had turned the state of television into a near circus act; that alone urged me to continue writing the series, perhaps with a typewriter, due to the negligence of nepotism within the industry which often resulted in these pretty little creatures getting even further ahead by stealing works as such, and passing them on as their own originality almost so cruelly and without judgement—plagiarism, as it was called, but more accurately intent-to-kill the imminent threat of what had been said to be a minority becoming a more powerful force to flourish in entertainment however, as quickly as the visions had come, the thought of writing it without my phone became dauntingly impractical, and I scribbled only the most intense scenes and plot lines onto notebooks and scratch papers, keeping them as hidden from the algorithm as possible… lol the Al Gore Rhythm Ahahahahahahaha Was that the joke? Maybe. Idk. Maybe. Idk. Hm. Hmmmmm: What: Nothing. That actually might have been it. Really, was it? I will never know. That is kind of a good dad joke, though. And a good band name. Idk about that. My coffee was lukewarm enough so that I could taste its flavor, as I whittled away at whatever it was— The story was almost so beautifully being told in allegories and parables that it seemed a shame I may never be rich enough to buy fame, as it seemed that was the only way to become a star these days— and yet—it was more the wealth than the fame I wanted, I had realized, at all—the polished class of the Manhattanites drawing me out of Brooklyn and into some debauchery which was my own Grandiose thought form, that I could actually become, at the ripe old age of 31, some kind of superstar. ‘Why would I even want that, anyway?' I thought, interrupted painfully by who I'm sure was the same motorist, who seemed to do nothing but circle the block all day, and all night, doing nothing — and I wondered why he himself had decided not to do grub hub in a richer neighborhood, where money would more than likely come more easily. But really— I drifted off to a time where I wanted to ride a motorcycle myself, and the curiosity forced me to go online to check the price of what it might cost to have one. $5,000 for a decent bike, which would include a muffler as not to be so obnoxious and disturbing to others as these creatures had become to me— and I began doing the math on how long it would take to save $5,000 as if it would be possible to work some dead end job for any amount of time without spending money on anything else. It would take at least 5 months to earn enough for a motorcycle, which landed me directly back at “Not worth it”, and as horrible as it was, I did at the very least have a luxury apartment for at minimum the next 5 years, however, wanting still to move to Manhattan, Midtown specifically—or one of the quaint and quiet neighborhoods on the upper West Side. The neighborhood was going to hell, after some unworldly godless force had seemed to drop hundreds of thousands of rude and thoughtless third world workers onto the streets and buildings bordering the one I lived on, the neighborhood becoming more rough and less peaceful with trash and debris from the depression and congenital disease that was poverty, the collective unconsciousness of the masses colliding with my empathetic nature and oversensitivity to sound, especially awful sounds, such as the hundreds of motorcycles and hot rodded junk cars which only seeemed to move in a track around a four block radius, and had become a cancerous trigger of sorts, no authority figure seemed to much care about. I cared less and less each day to listen to music, since I wasn't making it the way I wanted to—and I had realized that the constant displeasure and unrest, the lack of peace had as much to do with the world outside as it did with the world within—and I began to see the disgusting obnoxious noise pollution outside my window as just an extension of man's abuse, ability to rape, torture, and kill, terrorize— the uncaring waging of war, control, and lack of true power; as no good and true man who wielded actual strengeth or true power in any way would continue to show such distructive action and carelessness for others around him— chaos, corruption, abuse, and misogyny was proving to be the downfall of all humankind, as patronaged by man, and, as I became doubtful of anyone's lack of understanding of this, especially as the immigrants themselves were often naturally pedophillic culturally and toxically abusive in nature, most migrants flocking from countries in which women's liberation or the protection of youth had not yet materialized into their understanding of conciousness and morality—the men were weak, unkind, and selfish—the women mere machines at their disposal—and however many there were, I could see that their children, the many of them, remained as the redeeming factor. Anyway, a political ploy for the ages of there ever was such a thing, the newest chapter in American greed and slavery, it only seemed like an extension of evil itself, and less of a coincidence with each growing day—each new person, another burden to the middle class taxpayer, another reason to inflate the cost of living—and all the more reason to continue to terrorize the American people into its own division, hatred, demise, and consumption. e. My faith, however, was unwavering—God was real, but these abusive and toxic creatures were pushing it further away with violent arrogance, and the inability to understand that God itself was the nature they continued to destroy. Robin Bennett Fine. “My name's —ahem— “Ron Sennet, and I ain't In it.” —did the say “don't” write a book about me? It's Not about him… Or something cute he used to say like that, I couldn't remember, but he had a bunch of cute little idioms that matched his name, and to the day, I still missed him — it was 11:15 PM exactly as I hung up the phone, after an unsuccessful attempt to reach 911, after realizing that the threat outside was maddening enough to be impossible to only be in my head, and after weeks of the excruciating noise, I finally called NYPD dispatch, much to my disdain, and of course magically, the noise seemed to disappear, but these abusive and toxic creatures were pushing it further away with violent arrogance, and the inability to understand that God itself was the nature they continued to destroy. Robin Bennett Fine. “My name's Jon Sennet, and I ain't In it.” Or something cute he used to say like that, I couldn't remember, but he had a bunch of cute little idioms that matched his name, and to the day, I still missed him — it was 11:15 PM exactly as I hung up the phone, after an unsuccessful attempt to reach 911, after realizing that the threat outside was maddening enough to be impossible to only be in my head, and after weeks of the excruciating noise, I finally called NYPD dispatch, much to my disdain, and of course magically, the noise seemed to disappear as soon as I had made the call, which infuriated me. It seemed as though the game in entirety to make me look or feel crazy, though I knew I wasn't—well, I was, but not without purpose or reason. I had been theorizing in energy exchange quite decisively making a mark for my alter, at which I asked to be designated the wisdom and truth of the light within the eye, desire, however never in mind, although I had been summoned in part due to the fact that wenwere somehow alike—I was in some ways besides and out of sorts with my set, sinking my teeth into the forced obsession as I unraveled any possibilities and plotline. Episode 01. Pilot An opportunity presents itself seemingly at random— the protagonist's hand is forced into a life changing ultimatum, putting his reuputation and family in danger. Already involved in an illegal gambling ring which operates out of a secret historical prohibition era speakeasy and some “light” drug mulling within its walls, however often extending even as dangerously close to his workplace, Patrick is propositioned to become an investor in the high end escort service, with which he hired and contracted his lover, Kandi, a “rescue” whom he supports in her exchange for exclusivity, to remain as her only client, however, although he begrudgingly declines, wishing not to be involved in anything much more than what he has already kept under the radar, he is intimidated and threatened by blackmail, his high profile becoming at stake—he then obliges to embark upon this new endeavor, the expansion of this establishment to include a warehouse, which houses a large scale brothel, and, able to use his social status to procure wealthy clientele, quickly becomes a power player within a ring of coveted elites, setting fire to his already inflated ego, and colliding with his intense and highly functional polyaddiction, which he has maintained since his youth, using his entertainment persona as an outlet, becoming a medium of excess, fame, and rampant wealth. Patrick is beloved by his peers, and is humbled often by his devoted fans and friends—proactively worshipped as a comic genius, a prodigy, and a revered successor to legendary frontmen— Okay, this is weird, because I started writing this before I even understood what I was writing at all… —specifically, the sixth successor, to his coveted role. I had written for Esha to be the seventh successor, as with the symbolism deeply and quite literally woven into the sometimes brutal framework of the series, which I had shorthanded to ‘TVP'…the world around me trailed off as my eyes blurred as they had been lately, and I wondered if I might be having some kind of stroke or something, as I was certainly some sort of out of body—the day had been strange, and I had given up on a run or a gym for the day, the motorcycles alone ravaging my energy, and whether I worked out or not, they were everpresent anyway. They were some sort of toxic, abusive force I just had to put up with, hoping it didn't upset my psychology so much that it ended me, though I had become quite odd as of recently, rambling more than usual and actually praying out loud, as my silent ones just didn't seem to be working—they were probably white supremacists, or in some way connected to some political terror group, but it didn't seem to matter. Someone liked torturing me, and it was becoming apparent that no matter much time I spent at the gym, this torture was going to persist. After a month long gym streak, at least going once a day to lift something, I rested, or rather, tried to rest, kind of— but my mind had been swirling with thoughts of a man I was certain by now I had made up—and writing the story of a man I was absolutely certain came from my mind, but in a way that it almost made no sense at all—as the more I looked into the world that I had already written about, the more I realized was accurate without first having known these things, and however cursed I might have been to even know such things, I decided to call it some sort of blessing instead. ‘God, I used to get so fucking high for days, and when I would come down, just crying and crying, eating Totinos or DiJorno and a bag of Bugles, I would watch Saturday Night Live for fucking hours, and I hated [Redacted]. I hated him.' Now I still hated [Redacted], but in a different way, and though really it was myself that was more like Patrick, he at the very least, for whatever reason, used to have his face—now, he was just Patrick, and [Redacted] was just [Redacted], and i knew entirely too much about it all, and about myself to be comfortable with it, but nothing was comfortable at all. I had written entire atrocities, novels, and all that was some conglomerate of nonsense which was the festival project, besides how insanely and innately prodigal it all was sometimes, my own words confusing me with a bizzare and asenine dysfunction, awe, actually, often as if someone else had written them, and although I was always at least sort of semi-concious while writing, the spells and cadences I would fall under were some sort of trance, and as I watched the Nirvana rehearsal from Saturday Night Live in 1992, long before [Redacted] or any of the rest of the — Was it Keystone? It was, the Keystone cast of SNL, but the first word my mind had jumped to was Hallmark, which—after referencing Google quickly for a fact check, also stood true. I was willing to admit, even now, though I had long lost interest in Saturday Nighy Live, or anything at all having to do with current events, that the [Redacted] era—or rather even, the Tina Fey era, a true role model, perhaps, and someone I favored over all of the performers I admired, or allowed myself to admire— the Golden Years of Saturday Night were the only years, for me that even mattered— trying to make sense of anything couldn't be done, but I at least had this new project birthed from it to think about. It would be hard to sit down at a taping of The View and not think about all I had written at all, and it would be impossible not to unfold the characters which had presented themselves, though slowly but surely, through the most vivid visions and insanely lucid dreams, as The TV People began to What if someone steals this out of my documents? That would be unwise…the best scenes are somewhere scribbled in my notebooks and random scraps of paper somewhere in my room…this series is almost nothing without those scenes—the elements with which the most painful scenes I had ever written, became word form. ‘I don't know why, but I feel so i
YES. Oh yes indeed. It must be something about this beast inside— Even my first boyfriend— My first real boyfriend. Was— Seriously? Incredibly gifted. Jesus Christ. Right. Jesus fucking Christ. (That can happen.) Well. Well. I've— Wait a second. How would you even write something like this. My dissuasion from black men has never prevented me from being pleasured by— Oh no. Some of the world's finest dicks. How's that. Perfect. I can't even, (But just did) “9 inch pie crust How's “9 inches? That'll work. Just don't dislodge my IUD. Dammit. Really less than 9? I mean— I'll take A 6 Yes! Really? Or a 7 Nice. But only to play with. What. Ok. What! I'm not keepin it. I just like sucking dick. Really? Yes. AHA, —the right dick. Well, well, well— And if the last bitch left her stink on you— Even if you wash it 6 fucking times— I'll smell it in my eyelids. What. Your aura sucks. What. Why. I don't like her. What?! Who?! The last one. Vibe check. Man, you gotta stop fuckin these white bitches White bitches: LalalalalLalalalala Lalalalal No. What?! Why?! She sucks, bro. Yeah but Comfort, luxury, style— Utility. You can take this girl anywhere Just shapeshift into a basic white bitch For what Just do it Those are the ones that're around! These rich ass fuckin hoes. EASY. What. White girl wasted. Have another shot. Ooh, dad bod. Yes. SUNNI BLU You thought I forgot I did not DADBOD. Mmm. Yes but also NO, JAKE GYLLENHALL PUT YOUR WEDDING BAND BACK ON BUT-/ WE ARE FINISHED. DONE. YESSSSSS. I'm off the CLOCK. Look, marriage is work. However— DEEZ HOEZ GOT BALLZ FUCK. Nasty ass trick. BODIES. BODIES BODIES. What is all this fucking hotness even for if you can't work those fuckin muscles— what do they call them? “Intercostals” Yo— your intercostals are not the fuck muscles Wait, they're not? No. Aw. But you can use them to fuck if you want Where's that one nigga at?! [Skrillex] Under some blonde slut SLUTZ. Nice. Fine. Wait. What. You really want that?! Vibe check. Vampires: He was such a nice kid Feeding time. SUCKED HIM DRY DEAD ON. Man, I kind of want to watch that one movie where— It was a box office flop. Monsters; Ohh. A weak one. BREAK THE SEAL. BREAK THE SEAL. You can shapeshift into a s— Okay, listen, I am NOT going back To The Rock for any reason. Just—- be ugly. I am ugly. You really think I'm trying to ILLUMINATI: Watch this. DOLLARS. WHAT. RYAN REYNOLDS FUCK YOU. GET OFF MY ISLAND! I'm a DAD. Where's the bathroom? SLUTZ MODELS ACTRESSES: see. These bitchez is interchangeable. I love that. Look, you walk into one of these events with anything darker than a paper bag— Well, It depends on who manufactured the brown paper bag… [Whole Foods Market] Still too dark. —She had better be the most perfect looking broad anyone could ever want. Where's the bra straps? You want bra straps? Uh, yeah?! Oh *snickers* Sorry. Look, I don't want to even think about that scene where— FUCK YOU, DILLON FRANCIS FUCK YOU IN THE ASS. DILLON FRANCIS oh damn. That kid did look like Dillon Francis. Like a lot. GET BACK HERE. I liked him. Did you tell him that? No way. After that John dude broke my heart. DO YOU REMEMBER ME?! I'M A BIRD. Someone find Tim. Agh. Whatever. Find that Smith kid I went to high school with. For what? I wanna bone him. Goddamn, Madame President. Shut up. Damn, so. So the president basically has an errand boy to go round up all the dick she missed out on being groomed to be the first Black female president? Yes. HHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH [KILL THE BITCH.] WHY?! I'm the most conservative bitch you will EVER find on this side of the brown paper bag test Why is that? AYAYAYAYAYAYAY you understand even the Mexicans are racist against blacks— And?! STAY DOWN, BITCH. Si. Okay. You see this kid? [The Mexican Skrillex] Find him. Aye aye captain. And make sure whatever he does... LISTEN TO ME. ¡AY¡ NO HABLA INGLES! ¡NO TENGO DINERO! CAN IT. I KNOW YOU SPEAK ENGLISH. IDIOT. Okay. Fuck it, I'm in. You're in. I'm in. You sonofabitch. Look. I got mad love for the Mexican people. I promise. [Puerto Rico] Huh. What. You're in. Fuck. Now we gotta change the flag. We should do that anyway, it's soaked in the blood of enslaved African Americans and slain indigenous! “I live on the stolen lands of the Chippewa people.” Woah. A self-aware white woman. See, they exist. Bag that bitch. Seriously. Meanwhile— I AM FRIGHTENED. By what? YOUR BLACKNESS. . I can't protect you from this. YOU CANT PROTECT ME FROM SHIT, Without your DICK. Are you serious. I'm done with this. You can have him. Are you serious. Yes. I was born rich. That's frigening. Not as frightening as your blackness. I get itz THE NIGGAZ HAVE DECENDED UPON US. Oh no. Oh yes. And worse— What's this? THEY BROUGHT THE HOOTRATZ. NO. YES. (I love these ghetto ass bitches.) YO BLACKMERICANS. What's up, CROCS. ARE. NOT. SHOES. We know that. Wait, what This is a silent protest against the hostile and corrupt corporate slavery of the sneaker industry aimed at Americans living in poverty which promotes materialism and greed in the current socio political industrial complex of the white supremacy movement. No Dillon, you have to marry a pretty little white girl like the rest of us. But WHY, Grandmaster Freemason? Because— Why is that? I don't know. I think it's so— I swear to god, He looks just like him. Would you believe if I told you, That this [Exact replica of Dillon Francis] Wow. Is a tiny black man? Are you insane? I like his dick. He must be nuts. ITS LIKE 10 FEET LONG. What?! This guy [Skrillex] White bitches: You promise? Yeah. GET OFF OF HIM HE'S MINE That's a designer ass fuckin broad right there... trip. *i wish* DUDE IN COWBOY HAT yeup. You mean Diplo ?! Sure. This is all in your head. I know. You want a dose of reality? No. I don't. Sure. GO FUCK YOURSELF. I should but—- No. What? Why not? Look, everytime I even get close to orgasm. HELLO. NO. I'm still paranoid that a helicopter is going to hover outside of my window. VO I became less paranoid after that moment lol white supremacist robot people They exist. I know. I'm the one programming them. BEFORE: HELICOPTER: [hovering outside of window as I masturbate furiously] “Furiously” SERIOUSLY. That's what she's doing in there?! ITS BEEN YEARS. EVERYTHING LOOKS LIKE A— the biggest penises I've ever seen in my life were on the literally scrawniest, skinniest white dudes I've ever loved— Been friends with— And trusted. Oh dear God —To demolish my pussy. THAT IS GOOOOOOOOD. What the fuck. Take that, black supremacy! Seriously, tho. Niggaz is niggas. ♀️ It's fair to say that you also have too much power. WHAT. Seriously. VO Now I knew someone extremely rich HELLICOPTER (But hovering) Fff-fr-ff-ff Hm. That sounds close. Was watching me. OH DEAR GOD WHAT. I'm BUSY. I think it's fair to say The only safety in this country Is in being a white woman. AHEM. WHAT. A *frail white woman. What?! I'm strong?! A skinny woman. Where'd the white go? I don't know. Bring it back. I need some of that. God, she's just so free, and fun loving, careless— She's just so— Perfect. God, Are you still busy? kind of, Why? Make me perfect. I already did that. I mean, like this *Vogue Magazine* I mean like this. What is that? That's a model. What. It means she's perfect. I don't know him. That's a girl. Where's her breasts? *Vogue cover Breasts, unpictured— Pg. 11 Leave me alone, Satan. But it's important. Is this fast over? No. It all started with apple pie… Look. I am an American, Okay? A patriot. Do you know why other countries hate us? Because we sold the world a dream, And it ended up as a cheap, Made in China Piece of Crap. [robot people] Did you figure out how to program humans yet? Kind of. CHINA Oh. That's funny— We have. Before: No more babies. What. You get ONE. One?! ONE. Ok, well I hope it's a boy. GOD a boy, for what?! To carry on my family's name! GOD. But you family sucks… What? Why would you say that, It's a GIRL. THROW IT AWAY: What. Seriously, does nobody remember that? Okay, you can have more kids now. Why?! It's over populated. As fuck. We need more soldiers. American men tend to frtishize Asian women. Why is this. Great. More subordinates. My spell worked. So like. Wait, They OWN LAND HERE? …Excurricating debt. Had to give them something. MAKE MORE MASKS. Oh? That's good. I like that. Okay. What is the true evil that seems to lie Deeply inside every blue eyed— I can't feel shiiiieeeeeeet. Are you sure it's just Blue eyes. It's a mutation. For what? You realize that this DONT BRING THAT SHIT OVER HERE you're a psychopath. Fuck these bitches I love vamps. LOOK AT ME. why. BECAUSE I DONT MAKE MY OWN ENERGY. i'M NOT ORIGINALLY FROM THIS PLANET WELL I AM. Great. Give me your light what? I don't have any. So wait this is Yes. This is actually an extraterrestrial war. WE'RE IN SPACE WARS?! I told you that. Great. It's a mutation We'll call it “an adaptation” GET THAT THING AWAY FROM ME. Okay. I like thighs now. What. Why don't you have thighs?! Men are uselesss. Sssriosussss. They never know what they want. They want ussssss. Children!!? Mostly. I swear, she's all used up. All used up. At 26. Yep. Wow. I should just kill myself. You should. I've been replaced! {First Wives Club} Best movie ever. By what A fucking toddler. Okay. I love her. {White women} (The actually self aware ones are also most often the most famous) Which one? All of them. The whole cast?! Star-studded. I thought this was Star Wars. Well, it was. I'll be damned! GEORGE LUCAS I thought I was. BUY! BUY! SELL! SELL. So this is automatic writing. Yep. I didn't get that knee injury from running. I got it sitting on the New York subway with my leg at a 90 degree angle. Oh really? Really. These boots are made for walkin, And that's just what they'll do; One of these days, these boots are gonna walk All over you. Is that code for something Walk on my back. What? Are you sure. Yes. Okay. In these: Uhhhh. That might hurt. I know. Woah. Just do it, okay? I'll pay you. Pay me in what?! Rupees. What about this one? No. No brown dudes. Why?! He's mad rich. I don't care. Not even me? No. No rappers. Why not?! He's mad rich. Roaches. Video hoes. [Beyoncé's Jolene is hilarious.] Dolly's asking you; Begging, actually… BEYONCÉ IS WARNING YOU. Really, bro? Men. A light skin, And a dark skin. A skinny one, And a thick one. A white one, And a black one. Men Have No Loyalty. SOME DO. Yeah. The ugly ones with short dicks *I AM OFFENDED* No, you're just ugly. It's a lot harder to be offended when you have everything. You have everything! Why are you crying! I want LOVE. YOU HAVE LOVE [MADONNA IS RUNNING A MARATHON] Gotta burn off all this energy What is it?! Love! Gotta take a nap… (Dark skinned women—the strongest women, being sucked dry of their— {Infinite Wisdom} [A fortress.] It does replenish, eventually… I promise WHERE THE LOVE IS With the women and children! Look, if this whole bitch is the titanic, (the United States of America) Then we should run it like the titanic and just TITANIC Women and children! WOMEN AND CHILDREN. Why, Cause the men are responsible for this war in the first place. Secret President Deathwish Enter The Multiverse The Legend of S Ū P C Я E E™ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension L E G E N D S The Seven Souls Saga OWSLA CONFIDENTIAL, LTD.The infinite Skrillifiles: Next Generation— Quantum Force [The door is kicked in.] What the FUCK. I'M THE FUCK I get that. Whatever, move. [he begins to rifle through the cabinets] Now where is it? What the fuck are you looking for? Shut UP. WHY ARE YOU IN MY HOUSE. You call this a house? Dammit. Where would she keep something like this—? If by “she” you mean ME. I don't mean “you.” I'm the only one who lives here. NOBODY lives here. What. Right. What?! Right what?! You really don't know, do you? Don't know what? You are not who you think you are. Who do I think I am? What?! Who do you think I AM? That's right. Now shut up. Get out of my house. This is not a HOUSE. And even if it was a HOUSE, it's not YOUR house. What! SHUT UP. You're making a mess! I am a mess. STOP IT. That's alright—I know you'll clean it up. I thought I'm not who I thought I am. Yeah. But I know who you are. Tsh. Are you going somewhere with this? Eventually, but right now I need my back rubbed. Fine. PREVIOUSLY ON… Whatever Just— “Tidbits” Points: Jennifer Lopez in the 90's enters immidiate superstardom and fame, as The Illuminati, which has been tracking her every move for quite some time, conspicuously gifts her with a handful of large, rare, and uncut diamonds—she becomes a Kingpin and near overnight success, keeping the secret of the diamonds to herself—however, as she is skyrocketed to success and fame, strange and mystical things begin happening all around—and even more strange and mysterious, mystical people—besides the usually strange and magical celebrities and otherwise unworldly weirdos within the Illuminati's ranks— begin to appear, acting as guiding forces between the multidimensional realms which within the various portals a hidden world — infinity and beyond— has been kept, only exposed through the stories, shows, and — Wait a second — a montage— montage— I'm being intercepted. What? What about a montage?? I love a good montage. Everybody loves a good montage. the infinite Jennifer Aniston and her Multidimensional counterparts Jennifer Aniston is tasked as becoming a guardian angel, to help protect and watch over the mysterious extraterrestrial formerly known as supacree, currently masquerading as CC as she attempts to escape the spiral of magical attacks from unknown forces, after being trapped in New York City. You know what? I love it. I'll take it. Are you sure? Yeah, I'm sure. I love her. I love her. it'll take it. JENNIFER ANNISTON, a well-known A-list actress whose rise to fame in the 1990's created her as a Hollywood superstar (and Illuminati staple) has been looking for the perfect project to invest her time to— rumors within the Underground have been circulating about a “secret podcast”, to which it's curator, a homeless and downtrodden musician and amateur DJ publishing Illuminati doctrine, some of which is only known to the limited and coveted higher ranks within the organization, interwoven into the plot's narratives as “Easter eggs”; the unformed screenplays have been archived and passed around for a number of years within a small community of elites, and some even plagiarized by the mindless and money hungry lowest ranking industry professionals—however—as it is known by the leaders of the organization as a whole, the true origins of this doctrine remains “unknown”, and the identity of the author, is surmised to be the prophesied scribe, set to arrive as the dawning of a new era arises, to write within her words the hidden truths to be sought by all mankind and otherwise—and therefore, must be protected and hidden within the organizations cradle at all costs; though misunderstood greatly, The Illuminati has been tasked with spreading the divine light to the human species through artform and storytelling, and as the art of wordfare becomes a lost art, the doctrine must be colluded to be written, before the end of the scribe's time, said to be often—a most untimely death, as the forces of darkensss seek to end all that remains of the love and light of the divine kind. Damn, really: Jennifer Aniston. I really like her eyes: Well yeah, they're mine, so. Apparently or whatever, Jennifer Anniston is assigned to guide CC as she trains to stand up as the scribe — Who revealed herself as so in Los Angeles, at Carl Cox's show. I dropped three cards for form the center of my eye, Here: An equilateral triangle. I Am. Two— These markings will be known to those as I, The scribe. Three— A world unknown awaits all those who seek the truth of the divine light in the pursuit of higher knowledge. INT. EQUINOX SPORTS CLUB NEW YORK. MANHATTAN. DAY JENNIFER ANNISTON enters the elevator—to her left, towering over her, she spots JIMMY FALLON, trying to remain unseen. …Jim? Oh, yeah, hey, What re you doing here? Whatever I want. You shouldn't be here. You shouldn't be here. This is by the way, when Satan switches from Jimmy fallon's body to Jennifer Anniston, hereby known as Jennifer Anisatan— just before the scene at Equinox “I'm holding in a fart.” So wait, who is Jimmy Fallon, then? Who the fuck knows. Who the fuck cares. I'm over it. ————————————————No wait, don't. Tie me to the cross Bleed on my sickness m Crossfaders, behind us Blinder up, bonded Surreal, The sunsets are longer Open your mind, your highness Crossfire, behind us (Someone else writing this) Dawn comes on stronger The sunsets are longer Tie me to your honor Come before me Somebody said you were the apocalypse I should have listened to my father Somebody told me you won the world at a carnival I should have never listened to my mother I should have listened to my father I should have listened to my father I should have listened to my father Come before me Tie me to your honor Born of blood, The borderline genius You were the apocalypse Tie me to your cross MAYA RUDOLPH Is weird. MAYA RUDOLPH prepares for a SAYONCE in her formerly secret apartment on the upper east side dedicated entirely to magical purposes Ok. Ok. Okay? Ok. The worst part about it is, I do understand you, Because I am you The very worst part of it is I want a family To hold you hand And rub your back But I just can't have you —I'm just a fan, dude. The truth is I've got two suitcases, Some capsules of cyanide, An axe and some anthrax A cat in my lap And a failing laptop I've been living hand to mouth I've got A ripped backpack A stress ball A Hackey sack A hockey bag A volleyball And a mouthful of gunpowder How do you like me now? It's gonna take forever to fund my project But it's gonna take longer To find my body Cause nobody loves me Nobody has my number The phone is shut off And so is the water (By that I mean, my love; It's all coming out blood now) I must be backed up And stuffed full of crystal cocks I could give it up for a wand Or a ringworm Oh God My wrists are itching to ditch this place I fell asleep with a gun to my head And woke up Cobain Okay? Ok Okay? Ok. Sorry to wake you I came to rape you HEATH LEDGER hello. OH, GOD. HEATH LEDGER I heard you like ghosts. I— I don't. HEATH LEDGER Oh, you don't? No—! HEATH LEDGER oh! wait—who are you? HEATH LEDGER (Makes joker face) All my friends are dead, anyway I'm loving more ghosts than people these days The faces, the golden days The golden retrievers I need some relief, man Release me Sweet, freedom Just lay on your back, And I'll take it from there JOKER? Aha. I'm in love with the idea of Death The idea of Leaving this world behind The idea of love The ideal of love The ideal of love The seductive touch I'm in love with the idea of Not knowing pain The idea of Not needing money The idea of love The ideal of love The ideal of love The seductive barrel of a gun So run away Run far from me Far as the eye can see— And I'll aim for the head But probably just get the neck Or the center of the back Twirl around, girl Do your dance Heads or tales for the daughters The blondes, The live that you wanted The life that you wasted The knife to your back The life flight The kite hack Never spend your heart on band tickets Don't you know This is so much more Disappointing in person We all are Never spend your bet on your bottom dollar The kite and the rock band The lost rock The last dollar Diamonds on your JENNIFER LOPEZ GET IN THE BACK OF THE VAN, BITCH. NO WAY, J-LO. YOU LOVE ME EXACTLY. GETAWAYFROMME. DONT MAKE ME CALL GOLDBERG. I'M LIKE WAY MORE SCARED OF JANET JACKSON. JANRT JACKSON GUESS WHAT?! OH NO!!! NOOOO. U PICKS UP TO SUPER SPEED wtf. How does she run that fast, that fat? I really don't know. Did you call my name? Did you wake me from my relentless dreams I needed you Just like you needed me I called your name You called me Follow me home Follow me to the road we both know Open the doors for the lonely Follow me home Follow me home Sista sista What it is, mista? Turn the tables, Drums, then get my sticks sucked You dig it? Turn on the television I'm on in an minute This could be infinite, Nothing to defend here, Just No, not the google documents! GET IN THE HOLE. Hm. What. Blood Shower All along the watch tower Do you feel good? Do you? Do you feel bad about this. I do. I feel bad about this. I forgot to tell you– I should probably let you know that I just want to MAN, FUCK THIS DUDE. MA. WAHT. IT'S ON. WHAt. THE SHOW IS ON. THEWHAT. THE– *suddenly self aware* …I gotta get out of Boston. What, first this was about war, now it's about bird people? It's about a war WITH the bird people. I should sleep. Hahaha. No. This isn't funny anymore. At least it's over. MA– Oh, it's far from over. Yo, i'm going through some crazy shit right now. Spur of the moment I'd never thought of it; This is gonna take forever. I don't have the patience To even write this I just want french fries right now But been up for two days with no gym and I'm on a diet. GUAC TIME. No, no burritos. GUAC TIME. Oh shit, this is getting real as fuck . NOw i see it three ways. I love it. I hate it. HEY, LET ME OUT. GET BACK IN YOUR HOLE, SKRILLEX. I'M DILLON FRANCIS. IN THE HOLE. Check it out. Huh. It's another DJ. *agrees* Should we pick him up. WEll, the good news is: I found your friend. Oh, that's good. The bad news is: He's dead. Oh, that–'s … nice. Yeah. It is. Uh. Kaskade. Yeah. We gotta find Ryan. Why. What's up? You're freaking me out. Why. What's up. Nothing IS it my eyes? I– *wild ass eyes* Yeah, it's probably that. Fuck dude, what did you do to deadmau5. NOTHIN. He's not the same. What the fuck is that. Holy shit I jus timejumped Where the fuck are you going. How the fuck could this happen?! It COULDN'T. Well, that's it then. *shrugs* Well, I guess we're just gonna have to go dig up Dillon Francis. I guess so. Do you think he's still alive. Like, probably not– Maybe… No, probably not @prodbywar& @Halmadeit This amazon order took me nine hours Alexa, I think i should fire her Like a arm I don't leave at night without armor Don't make me a martyr Your mom will be proud of us all If i make it outta here And i'll look after her Got the whole block coming up on my heels as I walk Wtf is it… Idk dude. Is it speeding up? I…i think so. There's no way this is 140 IT's 140. It's 140 . There's no way. Yes way. Nah huh. Let me see. No. Let me at the decks. Let me at the decks. NO. YO LET ME AT THE DECKS. You want deks. Yes. I got deks. Really. yeus . I never listened to it like this In ableton I read serato, synesthesia and rekordbox I talk a lot, I'm like a human music box I walk a lot I run my mouth a mile a minute (faster than i run around the track reciting rap words) Like they're passwords. Oh, I could do this forever.. I wish i had i microphone right now And was all alone With the lights off Lying on the floor I'd be lying if i said I could afford you Just to fornicate But may consider playing with a foreigner If you're all for her I'm unnerved, you know Cause i've been up so long My monster likes to play with boys and Make the bass go down below where Nobody does anymore Once I get a hold of things Or the hang of it You've got another hot ones on your hands I've another record under my belt Or in my roster, Whatever you'd call it But now I've got no time to bark about Wanting a dog and a daughter But none of the responsibility or Going through all the trouble to find her a father I'm still holding a fart in. Reaally–cause–it's been a really long time. WHAT WOULD YOU KNOW ABOUT A LONG TIME, JIMMY FALLON?? Um a lot! You literally just saw me make the journey all the way up from nothing. I am nothing EXACTLY. I don't have time to fight with you Jiimmy Fallon. I did NOT write these games by myself you know?! Um, excuse me– “GAMES” ?! YES, GAMES. Uh, I've only got one game with you in it, my friend. Is that so! One game that I've written with the Great–formerly LATE Jimmy Fallon. Is that like a play on words cause i'm on late night TV YOu'RE ON ALL THE TIME TV, JIMMY. NBC SHIT IS PRACTICALLY AUTOMATICALLY SYNDICATED. -_- …are you alright. –_-_-__-_ Hold on, I think i've got it Nice, I found a growler. yOu still haven't got all the monsters and sprites Ive got all the big ones, but the little ones are harder to catch. GrO0Wl3rrr. Aww. He's so ugly. Yeah, but cute, though, right. I don't think so. Gro)WwlErrrrrrrrr. Aww. That's so fucking gross. lol . so what does this thing look like. Well, that't the thing about the monsters and sprites. WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT. It's alright, it's alright–he's nice. WHAT. THAT'S A SPRITE. No, it's a monster. He's just scary. SUPACREE. David Bowie. What up. God, it took me ages to find you. Tell me about it. I'm still trying. We've been expecting you for a long time. You were expecting I'd die? Yes. So when she says she's “married to the music…” I'm married to the music. Oh, so. Yo, honestly if you een want to talk to this bitch, you'd better have like a musical instrument, or a mic in your hands, Otherwise– No, getawayfrom me. It's not even worth it. HI. –No. What's up? Tempo. SUNNI Cotour From the store I was poor Now i'm honorable In velour, Glamour (Snap) Forsure, Jesus Christs is making appearances in my abletons I'm not able to comprehend or understand exactly the message, But the evidence sire is mounting Get it Reached the temple, More of a sanctuary, Is that sacrilegious I guess it is, I'm stressed as ever Trying to get it to gether I'm way too tired for a remix; All i really want is some fries that are french And some thighs that are thick Like mine to sit on like five or six dicks Pick up up like chopped sticks {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū. Love, Skrillex. COMING UP ON what show is this? Whatever it is. Things Mormon girls do Katie Mindy Jenny - the 1987 Chevy nova My name is Skrillex- to Yonkerz Laura and Bryan I'm home sick— but not so homesick that I want to be homeless Gentrification—non rent control My boss trying to be a dom (but being black so it was scary and creepy instead of va attractive and a turn on Being worth 4 million And still not being attractive Sex harness Mormons putting themselves to the side To keep up with church standards Correction: carne asada fries with mango pico Mexico elected a new president (a woman) and made the loser a piñata The pixies {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.
Sai Psy. See you in seven years, then. You're so silly— I'm not going to live seven more years. We'll see about that. You will see. I'll be dead. So I'll be dead. So it is. A summer hiatus, Vacations in Prague, yes Let's pray for the rest of us A sign of the times and a coming of ages Who made you famous again As the rest of us I don't like it As much as I'd like to Keep writing Keep finding the reason to die and you're blinded by kindnesses And I ams I woke up in the 9th dimension, As an infinite friend Familiar with my kitchen JOHN SLATTERY An interesting thing happened this morning. What's that, John? I woke up as John Slattery Just remember what love holds The death of a salesman, rechargeable batteries This walk could take forever in designer jeans Another day in slave hell The controllers controlling And Satan is Sataning Seems like a time to go clubbing It's a simple kind of depression Resting on your head when All you simply wished is the taste of flesh The freedom of skin And the lather of love— Or blood spatter on the pavement Aim for the head If the door's fixed, then we'll break it again Look what greed does I hate lazy days in Manhattan Cause I've never had one What happened on the way to the forum I was starstruck; Five finger death punch Right in the heart I wish I was punctual Right on time for lunch Don't you want to talk to someone more pungent? Don't you got models to robot? Don't you know I never want to hurt you But you know, I'm going to hurt you. You know I'm going to hurt you Now, the review: Sooner or later, I fall over your world Good dudes in drags Good food for thought I'm a dog With the wrong parts You should take Kanye to the mall With a migrants lanyard (The migrants are anarchists! Good one, God) This one goes to. | this one fist, from Which one are you ? I guess we are one in the same It's a famous radio tower Live up to your name Go sell your flower for flour As I stand at the jumping point Eye on Manhattan, The wind beneath my wings Distracting myself from the mansion I haven't The mason jars I ought to buy for bargain The brain and brain cereal I left at the market I used to love Brandy Now I just wish I was something, awesome Now I just wish I was something, awesome Now I just wish I was something, awesome “The Album I Wrote On My Way To The Rock To Return Amazon Purchases No Longer Wanted” That's a really long album title. I didn't imagine I'd write this much Just trying not to imagine this man in his under pants, Or what have you (I'm just a fan) I'm just a dad hunched over in the bathroom Must have been the magic of my backhand, backfired Must have come untied and undone, under the rainbow Must me on my way to Manhattan For some blacklist event. Where I'm from The A List Is a face No name needed “Oh, I know who you are” If I purchased a car today I might get done paying it off By my 81st birthday. Shady. If I had a penny for every mistake I made, I would probably be Nameless. If there was a namesake to lay me into my grave, it would make sense; Yes, let's move the train for a moment With the doors still open. — I'd like to watch what happens. So what happens when the sun comes up On the only body you've ever known And no one wants it What happens with a dude named Starr Punches you over and over again And then no one loves you (That's starstruck, your honor) What happens when granted a pardon for passions And everything happens after is magic What happens when all you want is to go manic To finish the album And just feel good again What happens when the algorithm has Al Gore in it? What happens when the rhythm in blues is just the attraction of random black men and their concubine counterparts? Huh, what happens! What happens, Kanye? What happens, the God? What happens when all that you want is a disgusting assumption of. No on can trust you And nobody loves you Since it was simply a tryst Put this at a distance. Where did my energy disappear to! Where in the fear is my other earring? Fuck. Be somewhere, anywhere else but your office, for the moment. Be anyone but a mother, Anywhere but your apartment— It hurts, the construction. Someone doesn't something Nobody knows nothing about me, But what I put in this caskets (This podcast) Oh hey, I got fuck muscles from fuckin myself now! I feel like I'm gonna die if I don't have sex! For real! Heal, Oh great dragon, HEAL, BITCH. Word. woof for the world Will for the wolf; Rain on the roof. Cobain don't have a God (Or a Gun, if you wanted that one) “Pull me up, God, I'm done under here” He called in I followed the fosters to farrow And got better I got better and bitter much quicker and Never in bed had I been as flexible As to kiss his chest As I kicked my own neck With my left foot. What the fucjing fairyshit is that. There, I fixed it. Fixed what. I don't know what. But I fixed it. I know, huh! So be 110 and flexible Powerlift tectonic plates Do Pilates And make waffles!? Alright, I can do that But only as Jennifer Aniston I'd like to take back that Fallon I bought at the black market He's broken. I like his band tho— The one on the left hand, Over the damaged one. Are you on to that? Says the sayer, Son of Sam So Sai the sage Sets the stage Is that the plan? Never fall for a man, Even over an alter And tied by the hands. All I see in my initials initially is B Minor 16 might be minors, guys But she's creaming to find you At the front lines Life of a superstar DJ At the cross roads Or the turnstiles How do you turn bile into Beguiling Without rifling a few feathers Or looking into the eye of the rifle And dying first Don't you let that tear fall from you onto the M Train. I'm just training for fame And hating you ever day Since we made it Love Get out of my way, Satan I'm staying I'm saying your name sake insanely Please break me Like a chicken leg Or just shake me from this existence Since I don't seem fit for it Anymore than I fit that Givchechy dress you gave that blonde, right? Am I dying! Or just dying inside Fuck coughs If you want him enough to. Use black magic To do that to me, wait till it falls back on you, You gross hag If god hates fags as much as he hates blacks We should fly flags over the haggis I made Alice When she's back from her adventures in wonderland No wonder you're a Monro Crossed over from O'Fallons It's an old warfare with two clans From the old countries With no borders Or border collies Laboradores And labirites, likely As Aphrodite is to smite me So here comes DJ Francis With his new black girlfriend Just kidding We all know in his world It's cold and broken With nothing but blue eyes And big wild to look over you Bro, standing up is not going to make this train go anywhere. I almost promise you. Turns out there's no such thing as a quick trip to the rock. Turns out you'll sit stuck in your own sick God as my witness For screenshotting those ass pictures —that's somebody's kids, dick. tick tok has no limits. VO Of course, The day and time I should have to go to Rockerfeller Plaza quickly, quietly and unseen, the train is magically destined not to move. I've been sitting here at least a half hour, with no end in sight— The doors close and the train begins moving. Hahaha Fucking hilarious, God. I've been avoiding The Rock like the plague— Not that I think anything would happen at all upon arrival— who am I, anyway? Nobody important. There she goes. Still, I've written enough about it, and the people inside and around it, That the place makes me nervous. More nervous than ever, that is, actually— I always felt weird in the place. [flashbacks] When I first got to New York, I would end up there on accident. Completely by accident. Lost. Faulty navigation. Hackers: Whatever. I always just— By complete fucking accident Ended up at Rockerfeller Plaza The city slips over us, as the train sinks back underground — I'm facing the city now, As not to be reminded of my abuser's toxic words and toxic hands, By dirty white Nikes and Jansport backpacks Still, etched into the subway walls Are two stars, which remind me to repeat the mantra: Starr Michael Roberts is a pedophile wifebeater Less of a manta than the truest words ever spoken, But that's all the shape of a five point star means to me now or will ever mean to me And to think, The American flag has 50 of the 50 wife beating pedophile men On a red white and blue flag That waves just to remind me I was born a fat ugly noack woman To be a slave And there's no one to save us I want to senselessly beat the man in the dirty white Nikes and Jansport backpack Just like I was beaten senselessly by the man called Starr, The devil in disguise as my first love Still trying to chase my soul from its dream Back into his nightmarish under realms of unhygienic hatred, vomit stained rugs And poss stained couches, Phlegm on the walls and Nothing on but Diablo And old episodes of the sopranos. —but I still love the sopranos; And I still love my one and only Good thing that ever happened From an awful marriage That buried me wonder what's on this side of the train to write Maybe nothing Nothing I like, anyway Some guy that just thinks imm some ugly black bitch Of course All the white rich dudes Are horrible I miss the poor surfers Blowing blunts and wishing they was with blondes, With me tucked under their arms I need a tummy tuck to find love Goddamn, Imm miserable just sitting here At least I get a glance at her The tattooed God With the pink hair Where's Wanda Sai the Saige Don't say ahit Unless its music Sai the Saige says Turn the page For more sermons Sai the Saige sings her words carefully Write forwards for whole books in four words Four worlds down, Now four more. That's a world tour. Lil biiiiiiitzzz Bro, I might never have sex again. There's a new STD on the loose And patient zero is a white man from New York in his 30's FUCKING GROSS. Where's wanda Where's Waldo Ah FUCK I got your wallet WHATS WRONG WITH YOU. SOMETHING which one are you?! Nothing, nobody. Sunni?! I'm not Sonny, you're Sonny. I'm not— Don't say it Whatever Where is it? Where's what? The rock You're on the rock! I that's not — Stop it what I meant! Which one are you— Who are you 8mm I'm the cosmic— Whatever the fuck. Gimmie the rock Get off of me I think too much I think I have a disease I think too much But I don't think much of me It's just as much as I want A three musketeers bar, That's far fetched For a vegan With 12 dollars in the budget For the rest of the month Goddamn. One down 20 to go Call someone To take your husband Home I'm drunk m I'm stuck in this thought At the bottom of the rock Damn. 8 always get lost here Not today though, I hope Follow the smell of coffe tbigg us h the open doors This the stairs up a couple stores. Muscle memory l Wait. Are there stairs to the top of the rock? I would walk them Shazam, what's this lame ass fucking song? Ugh, at least I have muscle memory. OUCH, COME ON. OUCH. Come with me. Ugh. I have so fuck to do. Okay, now what do I do? Just jump! That seems like a bad idea. It's the only idea you've got. That's not even my idea! —but it's the only idea you've got! OKAY, I've got an idea! What's it? Wtf, I've never even seen this many people here. What is this, a field trip. GODDAMIT JUST JMP. i can't, I'm scared! Okay. Then I'll push you. M No don't *push* helicopter: fluh-fluh-fluh- THERE HE IS— WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! AGHHHHHHHH. GISNT BIRD OF PREHy- SNATCH. GODDAMN Turn sim down Okay, how much. Just a little How's that That's better. Okay. Look, I am not interested in you. I get that, Jimmy Fallon. I am just doing my job, okay. I get it, Jim. Okay?! Do you understand. I understand. Okay? Okay. Okay. So what is your job, exactly? I keep my mouth shut, Hands fisted misdirected, But staying on track Thank god they put this shit here Hands in my pocket equals words h documented I can't help but to admit I almost want even writing before this Now fast forward Every time I'm under this, it feels like I'm already in my own show or something Of course, I used to love a good revolving door Shit I used to love at all Man! I hate the rock! Why. Cause fuck Jimmy Fallon, that's why! why?! CAUSE. Look, the you from the other dimension should be coming around that corner any minute. Okay, for what. To use the restroom. Make sure she They: What. Me is a “they” Whatever. I love the rush of death telling me to jump as the oncoming train approaches from behind me I could be blinded by the light. Look, 6'3 God knows what I need And that makes history Make sure when you when she goes into the bathroom, find Fallon and give him the— I know what to do. Alright, YO. NO. LEAVE ME ALONE. I'm married with a family! I don't find you attractive! At all! I know that, asshole! I only want you for your fame and money! Wait, really? No, you handsome basta'd! Goddammit… Goddammit! Sunni!? I knew that was you! It is me—but the other me is somewhere, so take this—quickly back to the 4th dimension—- This is the fourth dimension! Wait, it is?! YES. What dimension did you think it was The 8th! The 8th?! THAT EXISTS?! yeah!!! Where the fuck are you from?! The third, I thought! Thank god, here's this fucking train. Well, fuck off, then! I gotta go find the 8th dimensional Jimmy Fallon! What! For what?! That's priveleged information Ascended extraterrestrials only, broh! Woah, woah, woah, don't “bro” me. I said “broh” What?! That's what I said— No, you said— Whatever. “Broh”,— —now you said it— —I'm coming with you— Don't be homo. —but, you're a woman, I thought. That's what's you think. That's what the tabloids said… You wanna know what the tabloids said about you? In which dimension? Right?! Now shut up. Come on. [they move quickly towards the— Towards the where? I don't know. I've only ever been at the bottom of the rock: I don't get it. If the antenna is on the top, Then why did my vibe go. GLUH. Sorry: No , that's a lot; what is that: —you really think imm handsome? I think you're an asshole. I hate writing at the rock (Launching to onesel.) You look ridiculous. At least i can just write it off to “Mental Health Problems” MEANWHILE Check it out. The devil is following me. What. Wanna see. What the FUCK is that? He wants my soul. WOAH. Yeah, cool, right. No! Yeah it is… What the hell happened I aucked him off once: You what. Calm down. I didn't know it was the devil. Holy! It's was un Unholy See. Damn Satan,!697 are fucking gross. Yeah. Nice tattoos though. I thought you'd like this. I do. Who's your body? Some drunk. The alcoholics are so easy. What about my soul. What about your soul, dude? Why doesn't he want my soul? He already has your soul. What?! I never sold my soled my soul. That's what you think. Oh, I get it comcast owns Jimmy Fallon. Actually, Nancy Drew does, or whatever. What's her name Nancy! HUH- what!! DREW BARRYMORE. GET IN HERE!!!! woah. Okay. I gotta get back to the 90's. Why! I left my DREW BARRYMORE GODDAMIT. Sorry, JUST GET OUT. She is cute, though. She's so fucking cute. Hey, What. Put me on your hit list, For what. Cause. No way, dude. So it's this Nancy Drew Character Uh huh. Then Comcast Correct. Then NBC/Universal. uh-huh Then Lorne Michaels— Wait Correct. Fuck man. So you mean the portion of Jimmy Fallon I won in that game of 8 dimensional poker is pretty much nothin. It's pretty much— Worthless. Not worthless. What are you saying— I'm saying— I'm not a real woman I just saw a real woman With a long skirt And a body worthy of love Beautiful hair And face like porcelain Nothing upon the sleeves strewn in ink Petite I could never be a real woman Actually, you know what. I could have worn anything But I'm not showing up for anything at Rockerfeller Plaza dressed like my inner cunslut YOUR “INNER” CUMSLUT THAT WSS AWESOME I know, God. *belches juicy semen, slurps* You're—a fucking awful person, though, just awful. I know. Just—disgusting. Yeah, but— —that was the best blowjob I ever had Yep. *burps—slurps* ufgh. —and you swallowed all of it. I don't know how! Both: That's was so much! Haha yeah: Jinx! You owe me a blowjob. Okay! You're fucking gross. Yeah. Oh wow. That went deep. I mean, not really “deep” it went aural. *oral* I swear to god if you publish this POSTED DAMN. that dude is good looking. Why is he dating someone that looks like a mouseS Maybe he's into mouce face I guess. I'm into mouse face. [deadmau5] Be nice. Hey! What: what do you want That guys an asshole! Duh! Okay. I love white people But they're weird sometimes I was lookin at this dude on the train Like real hard, And I swear to God, I couldn't tell if that was his girl Or his twin sister I was like What I the fuck am I lookin at Idk but I like it It's almost refreshing to see sliders that aren't made of plastic or whatever awful material OH. CONAN O BRIEN YEAH. But mad young. That's— LUCIFER! Hahahaha what GET BACK HERE. DAMN. That's one good looking kid. Dammit dammit dammit A bunch of handsome white dudes I want nothing to do with It's true I do like the fame The power The respect The money, I could give or take Or make my own Just so you'll date me The power, I like The respect and the fame So your name came and went with the hour l And the sunset I might take walk in the rain Because my body is ugly And I just want to be loved A husband Two dogs And pushing a stroller Of course, there's the part that just wants to have fun Get fucked up Love someone I trust enough To rub against Without a rubber Against the grain Our heads together He grabs the back of my neck And I just can't handle it Fuck. I love mad men— and I love men when they're mad Especially Fallon That's somebody's dad in the bathtub, yeah mate Somebody back at the opera Probably phantoms There you go You've got you a girl So grab her hand And hold onto her Don't let her know If yo love or fuck someone else Just for the fun of it Don't break her head and her heart at the same time She might not come back from it Like I never did I never came back I was punched in the face maybe 5 Or like 6 times Before I got up, became Skrillex, went for a a run with the dogs And then did it again Never was god, though I got a lot of problems I love the waterfront But no one loves me I'm left in the lobby a lot Like Mikey, in that one song I guess I'm destiny Or perhaps I'm your density Once upon a time, I walked here Once a upon a time, I worked here, Shout out to number six. This one is sung for you This verse undoes the hex. Remind me to get your mom hallmark cart, someone uttered I fucking love her Remember to stop at the shopping carts before you long walk home Almost hoping you're soaked in the strange acid rai. So hard You forget what your name is I spent a whole plot of a film Just trying to be famous Luckily, I think The Tonight Show stops taping in the summer, So with any luck, The real Jimmy Fallon is somewhere in Greece or some shit Rich assholes and their summer vacations— I'm guessing, But still unwavering in the back of my mind somewhere That no matter what, Whenever I'm at 30 Rock, I'm being watched. The entire cast of 30 rock is watching the legends saga in 3D, along with some of the keynote cast of Saturday night live— Don't be selfish I'm not. I don't know what else I used to watched that's owned by this media conglomerate ahem. SLASH/Universal. Oh, so we are doing this back to the future revamp depends, are you gonna keep being fat, Or be spry, like Marty McFly And just for the fuck of it, You're the new Hanson in the new 21 Jumpstreet Movie SUNNI BLU Aight, SUPA Dammit. TINA FEY Do you smell donuts. LIZ LEMON no, it's cookies Follow the smell of the cookies. I get it. I got it. Try to remain unseen! LOOK AT ME. I'M AT THE BASE OF A GIANT PE— COCK. LUTZ When's the action?! Notes: Chocolate man makes everything chocolate Okay. That's stupid. Chocolate! Chocolate! Uhhh—- What are you doing here?!? I work here…what are you doing here? I have tenure. *purses lips* [tina tries to hide the entire cast Reunion of late 90s/early 2000's SNL cast members behind her (Nervously) tah—uh; I thought you were on vacation. I redacted it. What does that mean? I know what it means. Mm. What does that mean. I read the comics. I have something to tell you. Okay, what. It can't be over the phone. Okay. Where the firefighters is? I got some propolis cough syrup for the stalkers [The Festival Project™]# {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.
[EDITS] CONAN O'BRIEN Alright. If she hit Fallon, she's gonna come for one of us next. No, Conan—that's not how this works. WHAT—where did you come from!? When did you get here? JAY LENO This goes deeper than all of you can understand. WHAT the FUCK, man! When did you-/ —when did he get here? How did you do that?! How did you do that?! What are you, like, the same guy? Are you not all the same guy? [they shrug simultaneously and kind of just agree] Listen at this. Okay then. The enemy of your friend is my enemy. Oh…kay—and the enemy of my enemy—is my friend— That is correct. —so we're all friends here. That's right. Some special forces? Which forces? How special? [JENNIFER LOPEZ is still JENNY FROM THE BLOCK] Do I look like a fool to you? Uh— OOPS [a pre-fame Jennifer Lopez receives a drop full of diamonds instead of the usual; she has been granted access into the Illuminati, and becomes an overnight success.] This feels heavier than usual. Same as always. Hm. Are you sure. Yep. Hey, you're not the regular guy. Regular guy died. That makes sense. JENNIFER ANNISTON is inside of Ū Okay, grosss Not like that [lifting max weight] Okay. That was cool. Wow. Yeah, sure whatever. I am strong Yeah yeah, okay. Are you sure you want to be my size? Yep. JIMMY FALLON/SKRILLEX (we don't know actually which at this point) is also trapped inside of Ū Okay, gross! Yeah. SKRILLEX is in all of Ū. okay—actually, i'm okay with that, but That other guy?! [JIMMY FALLON] Yeah, he's weird. Also meanwhile, kind of— MARSHALL MATHERS has a closet cleaning service lol. Patrick is smooth as a motherfucker, you know. Every time his head is down on the desk like that, he takes a bump of coke. What?! Big uh! [Patrick takes bumps of cocaine in front of a live studio audience—every single night.] Woah! See. Goddamn. You gotta admire a guy like that. Jennifer Anniston is the weight on the cable tension machine Ooh. Psycho bitch devious methods new ludachris commercial All ya'll girls is toddlers I like long boards and longhairs Lawn mowers and lawn shares Aw hell nah, God forgot Cher I got the Blair witch project On Blair, I hope I scare you How dare you. Your girl looks like a naked mole rat. I got my soul back. You blue eyed bastards stole everything From the whole blacks, Hold that thought I'm at Whole Foods market throw in the Amazon algorithm off With marked dollars Look at God at Walmart On them rollbacks You old hacks are cackling I'm shackled to old habits Hold hands with me, rabbit I'm just a silly rapper really, are you? Maybe. Cut the verse of Reverse God Now I'm the devil I'm still lost in the Amazon cart I sharted all up in your pop tarts Before you warmed them up, pops Just for the sake of the art, Heart to heart, It's a war on love And the white girls won with nothin but Buckets of Whatever's up there I wouldn't know Cause I'm stuck job searching And running, Trying not to have a tummy So some gummy worm will love me First their sour, then they're sweet Then nobody, Trolli Holy moly I could use some more petroleum in the ocean! Said nobody But the globalists are performing your programming Which you're worshiping I put my eye on the dollar So I could watch you all Crumble and fall Don't you know The apocalypse is happening at the mall Of all the places How's that for a stream of consciousness, You salamander I asked Anandar back But I went past that chapter Have a chap Or a chapstick, for four times four dollars A bottle of water will cost you a fortune (But at least the drugs are in it) Get it It's recycled piss Distilled? Which is it, Mr,? The mystery box was literally lifted into My dinner from a fishery filled with nothing but niggers in it— I want a refund, before I catch that Fucking curse of poverty from — what'd you call it salmonellahallibut One hell of a cough from someone on the sidewalk But guess what? The devil's in your pocket or your palm, And that's the omen and the psalm rolled into one Cause God is awesome, But my mom is fuckin toxic And that's how I fuckin got here Blow my head off, Slit my wrists And write a song While jumping off a bit When all you need is money, But the world costs more than It's worth, and words are nothing But another fucking problem in your Google documents I look at my son and see a God, But half of Satan's in him, Oh man Robotics Lets be honest, I don't even know how to write this. Where's my sides?! WHERE'S MY SIDES. You don't get SIDES with this; It's just CHICKEN. I don't eat CHICKEN. It appears as though, however– You do. Ok, I gotta get off this playlist. I… i gotta . “The Wal*Mart Wars” Hm. … …………. …. *face* … no. No. l– What is this place. {After a wild night which apparently spiraled out of control, great , there goes my peace. Not forever, though, maybe. FUCK THIS PLACE. I HATE THIS PLACE. Everybody hates this place. But the album is called “I love New York” Yes, thats Technically How it's pronounced, though It's stylized like I _ NY Cause. EXT. MIDTOWN MANHATTAN. DAY Oh, wow, this is beautiful. THis is great. I love this place FUCK THE FEDS. CUT TO: EXT.Typically WHEREVER ELSE Anywhere ‘above' like 87th? Lets just call it 80th, be safe. BE SAFE! NIGGAZ. ah shit, i gotta go. BITCH– But lets just be honest, It's technically ‘above' But it's really [THE BRONX is a literal extension of the Underworld] Oh no. srsly tho. X_c Anyway. FUck man, Do you think i'll ever get good like that. Idk what equipment is this Hmm, lets see, that's approximately $8,000 USD of CDJs wow yep That's retarded Yep. And you still need a mixer. fukt. OKay, I would literally sell my soul for this. Consider it done. wait , really? YES. you earned it. Wait, I– What?! You earned it… Uh oh. Take care now. Shit. [BILLIE ELLISH is trapped inside WALMART] Uh oh. Fuck. what is this place. INT. WALMART. WHENEVER EMPLOYEESLAVES WHAT TIME IS IT. THERE'S NO WINDOWS IN HERE. That's not funny IT'S literally a synonym, we might as well make it a portemantau MEanwhile, in this other dimension, So that i don't offend anybody… Actually, you know what? Be offended. Quit that stupid fuckin shit and follow your dreams! Wait really? Wait, really? Sure! If you want! …i guess. AMERICA NO. INSTANT HOMELESSNESS ok , nvm. Damn. I know, right. wtf r u guys watching. Shut up. All Wal*Mart Employees are actually top secret government agents. x ∞ >.< (we'll just use Billie Ellish as the alternate, but really it could be Could it really? Shut UP, PLURNICORN. Wtf is a PLURNICORN We'll see. [Upon Realizing s/he is trapped in a mysterious place apparently extremely public Wait, you've never been to a Wal*Mart Before?! NO. I grew up in LA Rich as fuck And i've been famous since I was liike 12, Or something. Right. That is–kind of terrifying. LATER: WHY IS IT SNOWING INSIDE. WHERE'S THE EXIT. THEY HAVE GUNS?! oh wow, they have GUNS. WHY DO WE NEED GUNS! KA-BLAM. BECAUSE THEY HAVE GUNS. Bang-bang! Ptttttttttt—sttt. And they have guns. Actually, these are just– confetti cannons. *pop!* Lol “Possibly The Worst Show Ever the infinite rave continues on in Hell as everyone awaits the return of SŪPACREE- The Cosmic Avenger (Who Is NOT a DJ) and Sunnï Blū (who is a superstar rapper but also not a DJ) go back to back, buying time as the beacon to. Signal "The Supacree" is completed, battling the 10th dimensional DJ Ū, a super ninjas, for control of the decks. what else happened? idk. I CANT STOP DANCING. none of the DJs can find a pair of working headphones, and the sound guy is missing from the booth. "missing" YOU SHOT HIM. I THOUGHT IT WAS A TRANQ DART. {Enter The Multiverse} “TVP” Hazel is 6, turns 7 season 1 Season 7- 15 Man, I can't remember the other two kids names, I think the little boy is Ira but I might have named them all and forgotten, shit. Her sister, though is between 4 ½ and 5, they are technically “Irish twins”, and always fighting—they look very similar, however are not at all alike; Hazel is very much a daddy's girl, while her younger sister is a no-nonsense old soul with the tendency to cause trouble, not by being inquisitive or showy, as her sister often is, but rather by being quietly observant, and tends to dismiss both her parents, often isolating, or even dissappearing without notice, quietly and comfortably into her own world—as the series progresses, and though all of Patrick's children like their parents have showcased some kind of special ability or talent— Holy shit, give this kid a name-/ I thought I already named her, I just don't remember. That's true. It seems like they all had names. She is almost very typically, though showing signs of genius, even at the early age at the beginning of the series, a middle child, prone to upset almost too easily, but rather than acting out, is more likely to take her anger quietly; she shares her fathers deep brown eyes, dark hair, and though she looks otherwise very much like her sister, and later despises her father, is more inwardly and outwardly like him, though taking the side of her mother during their separation and divorce, oftentimes even lashing out at her father quite openly, and very vocally, as she grows into herself. “Ira”, (may have had another name earlier) is the youngest of three— as his third birthday approaches sometime during the first season. Great, now I gotta hide all those allegories so nobody can actually draw from this that Patrick— Where's his write up, anyway? That shit could go on for days. I have no idea why this catharsis is happening. I tried to sleep it off, I swear, but I still woke up like— At least mildly obsessive about this, for whatever reason. Hazel's 7 - Season Arc Hazel has the eyes, charm, and charisma for entertainment —she hopes to one day be as her father, an entertainer and performer, and will do almost anything for a laugh. She is often telling jokes, and is a people- pleaser. She is sickeningly cute, with golden hair and Hazel eyes, long eye lashes, and carries baby fat in her face, though she is rather average, neither heavy or plump, and however also not frail at all. She is inquisitive, smart, and busy, almost never idle-minded, and strong. Though sort of a Tom boy, she has been trained well to act with dignity, class, and feminine eloquence, much like her mother—but like her father, has a tendency to be crass, sometimes carelessly so, or even brutally honest—to her mother's disdain, but embraced wholesomely by other family members and adults, she's extremely funny and delightful, and very much unlike her mother, not a spoiled brat at all, often raising questions beyond her years about inequality, later wishing to attend a public school, and becoming quite the advocate for social justice and human rights in her later years, her final season shows a rebellious and sometimes even antagonistic Hazel, who later even favors Esha over her own mother as a parental figure, often confiding in her about things she can't and shouldn't share with her father, although her almost over the top admiration for her father has become the driving force and inspiration for her own endeavors in show business, much to her father's disdain, as she grows older, him becoming more protective of her, and especially within the oftentimes secretive nature of his actual placement and purpose in the business, and her rebellious nature and charm even force-feeding her into the industry, she is a bleeding heart for superstardom, and is often seen along what may be a path to fame, making Patrick's bleeding heart all the more aching, as though he and Catherine remain at odds throughout the series, he truly loves his children, even “the little sick one”, as he refers to the second child. Holy shit, what is this kid's name If I had the energy to go through my notes, I could know; but I don't. The city sickness has been sinking in from the noise of the obnoxious motorists and honestly, being out of protein is giving me muscle soreness, I'm in some sort of a bloated haze from eating almost nothing but carbs, and the fact that I haven't been with anyone in years is starting to circle like buzzards around my head, my heart has been literally screaming but overwhelming with this sense of calm, and though slipping into Patrick's sometimes erratic tendencies, for the most part I've been underwhelmed with society's expectations that I should get some kind of job, and somehow while working not lose focus on my own interests and projects—I hate [the strange modern behaviors of] most people, and everything costs too much money— my son might be going into foster care, or my ex husband is evil enough just to try to force my energy to worry about a problem he's created, and I really wanted to sleep into the afternoon with this lethargy, hoping that everything surrounding this series would just fall off, but it doesn't. I wake up often wishing I could just forget The Festival Project ™ , but the truth is, it just keeps writing itself, but in the very least, sometimes God gives me little presents that mean the very most to me— a chord organ that I thought was from the 80's, but is more likely from the 1960's— I love vintage stuff, and musical instruments, which only God could know, really—my fascination with history as if I'm still living it, and this, my sudden fascination and drive to write and complete just one series has been haunting me almost just as badly as anything else has, but especially ripping me apart—especially since I have motorcyclists ripping through my body as if it were some kind of disease that existed outside of me, so contagious that it began to sink in to my insanity and mental hygiene. I wondered if anybody else knew or cared about these creatures as much as I didn't—and in fact, I had never felt so much like Ali in the way that I didn't care if they, other “human beings” supposedly, all died tragically, and wondered why the walls and windows didn't keep out the sound of the outside world at all… The middle child begins writing secretly very early on, and is the first to be required more extensive therapy, (as suggested by the family's therapist) after her parent's separation and subsequent divorce. It is not long after she begins learning to read and write at all, that she begins also showing interests in art, asking for art lessons and to begin painting and art therapy, rather than the recommended Equine therapy— she often keeps things to herself, then returning to her hidden places at times when the family's dysfunction becomes uncomfortable and overstimulating, very often paining or reading during times of peace, and retreating to her safe places—sometimes under the stairs, into the attic, the treehouse, or even later, the family's barnyard, where she often keeps drawings, as she ages, later comics, sometimes caricatures of the things she absorbs through her own reality—and diaries, sometimes hidden in nooks and crannies and in places no one would think; a true prodigy and genius, though hidden from much the world, as she is often overlooked, however, her therapist begins unfolding her true reality, often times carrying over sessions and losing track of time, picking her brain or even conversations philosophically What's the therapists name? Doctor Robin She has to have a last name Well, she's a child's therapist, so she's Doctor Robin, but It seems like it starts with a T. We'll see. I just saw her anyway. I drifted off again, thinking about how wildly detailed this all was becoming, and wondered if there was a series of fictional books waiting to be written. There certainly could be, but my mind was reeling, freshly showered but still undressed, and not even wanting to think of going outside—and yet—I was out of water, and had learned that the drinking water from the fountains, especially in large quantities, had a tendency to make me sick—I hadn't yet eaten anything, and though the coffee was fresh, and my apartment was clean (which made me overtly overjoyed for some reason) smelling of Lemon Lysol and Bleach; with notes of a strong pot of organic fresh ground coffee, it seemed like I couldn't do much more than lay in bed writing this catastrophically interesting series—and it was interesting, which said volumes, considering I had always been picky about my TV watching, being that only ever did certain series catch my eyes or my ears, and those series were almost always—or always, always specifically well written, perfectly casted, and had the edge and draw of becoming an entire world within itself, which this series, though only a week or two old at best, in my heart and in my mind , was rampantly ravaging my own world, almost as if it had become of some importance to keep writing it, and never stop, and though Patrick was the forefigure, another broken male protagonist, the truth in the series was that the true heroes of this sometimes scarily violent drama, were its women—a story meant to be told with a diversified cast of creatures from all worlds and walks of life—Esha, of course, herself, a role that had been some recreation of myself, somehow, though so different that even primarily, I never did see myself as her, besides the onslaught of some otherworldly pain, visions of a scene recollected from some remarkable download, and it might have been once and for all that I had lost my mind, or my life, if I wasn't a writer—I was, somehow, though, after all, a writer. It had been a fasting day that could have and might have ended tragically anyway, and still the devil marked his mockery of my efforts by consistently flinging perfect bodied women everywhere that I went—though usually with ugly enough faces that I could see nothing but what a man was—uncaring for one thing over the other, a flawless representation of woman, represented in the current time with scantily clad fashion, almost painfully so—the insecurity of women becoming more apparent in the way she would appear, always almost begging to be near to me, with every perfection and complexion I hadn't—but at least I had a tendency to laugh at my own damage, often surmising that she, these demon creatures, hadn't any talent for this at all—which had turned the state of television into a near circus act; that alone urged me to continue writing the series, perhaps with a typewriter, due to the negligence of nepotism within the industry which often resulted in these pretty little creatures getting even further ahead by stealing works as such, and passing them on as their own originality almost so cruelly and without judgement—plagiarism, as it was called, but more accurately intent-to-kill the imminent threat of what had been said to be a minority becoming a more powerful force to flourish in entertainment however, as quickly as the visions had come, the thought of writing it without my phone became dauntingly impractical, and I scribbled only the most intense scenes and plot lines onto notebooks and scratch papers, keeping them as hidden from the algorithm as possible… lol the Al Gore Rhythm Ahahahahahahaha Was that the joke? Maybe. Idk. Maybe. Idk. Hm. Hmmmmm: What: Nothing. That actually might have been it. Really, was it? I will never know. That is kind of a good dad joke, though. And a good band name. Idk about that. My coffee was lukewarm enough so that I could taste its flavor, as I whittled away at whatever it was— The story was almost so beautifully being told in allegories and parables that it seemed a shame I may never be rich enough to buy fame, as it seemed that was the only way to become a star these days— and yet—it was more the wealth than the fame I wanted, I had realized, at all—the polished class of the Manhattanites drawing me out of Brooklyn and into some debauchery which was my own Grandiose thought form, that I could actually become, at the ripe old age of 31, some kind of superstar. ‘Why would I even want that, anyway?' I thought, interrupted painfully by who I'm sure was the same motorist, who seemed to do nothing but circle the block all day, and all night, doing nothing — and I wondered why he himself had decided not to do grub hub in a richer neighborhood, where money would more than likely come more easily. But really— I drifted off to a time where I wanted to ride a motorcycle myself, and the curiosity forced me to go online to check the price of what it might cost to have one. $5,000 for a decent bike, which would include a muffler as not to be so obnoxious and disturbing to others as these creatures had become to me— and I began doing the math on how long it would take to save $5,000 as if it would be possible to work some dead end job for any amount of time without spending money on anything else. It would take at least 5 months to earn enough for a motorcycle, which landed me directly back at “Not worth it”, and as horrible as it was, I did at the very least have a luxury apartment for at minimum the next 5 years, however, wanting still to move to Manhattan, Midtown specifically—or one of the quaint and quiet neighborhoods on the upper West Side. The neighborhood was going to hell, after some unworldly godless force had seemed to drop hundreds of thousands of rude and thoughtless third world workers onto the streets and buildings bordering the one I lived on, the neighborhood becoming more rough and less peaceful with trash and debris from the depression and congenital disease that was poverty, the collective unconsciousness of the masses colliding with my empathetic nature and oversensitivity to sound, especially awful sounds, such as the hundreds of motorcycles and hot rodded junk cars which only seeemed to move in a track around a four block radius, and had become a cancerous trigger of sorts, no authority figure seemed to much care about. I cared less and less each day to listen to music, since I wasn't making it the way I wanted to—and I had realized that the constant displeasure and unrest, the lack of peace had as much to do with the world outside as it did with the world within—and I began to see the disgusting obnoxious noise pollution outside my window as just an extension of man's abuse, ability to rape, torture, and kill, terrorize— the uncaring waging of war, control, and lack of true power; as no good and true man who wielded actual strengeth or true power in any way would continue to show such distructive action and carelessness for others around him— chaos, corruption, abuse, and misogyny was proving to be the downfall of all humankind, as patronaged by man, and, as I became doubtful of anyone's lack of understanding of this, especially as the immigrants themselves were often naturally pedophillic culturally and toxically abusive in nature, most migrants flocking from countries in which women's liberation or the protection of youth had not yet materialized into their understanding of conciousness and morality—the men were weak, unkind, and selfish—the women mere machines at their disposal—and however many there were, I could see that their children, the many of them, remained as the redeeming factor. Anyway, a political ploy for the ages of there ever was such a thing, the newest chapter in American greed and slavery, it only seemed like an extension of evil itself, and less of a coincidence with each growing day—each new person, another burden to the middle class taxpayer, another reason to inflate the cost of living—and all the more reason to continue to terrorize the American people into its own division, hatred, demise, and consumption. e. My faith, however, was unwavering—God was real, but these abusive and toxic creatures were pushing it further away with violent arrogance, and the inability to understand that God itself was the nature they continued to destroy. Robin Bennett Fine. “My name's —ahem— “Ron Sennet, and I ain't In it.” —did the say “don't” write a book about me? It's Not about him… Or something cute he used to say like that, I couldn't remember, but he had a bunch of cute little idioms that matched his name, and to the day, I still missed him — it was 11:15 PM exactly as I hung up the phone, after an unsuccessful attempt to reach 911, after realizing that the threat outside was maddening enough to be impossible to only be in my head, and after weeks of the excruciating noise, I finally called NYPD dispatch, much to my disdain, and of course magically, the noise seemed to disappear, but these abusive and toxic creatures were pushing it further away with violent arrogance, and the inability to understand that God itself was the nature they continued to destroy. Robin Bennett Fine. “My name's Jon Sennet, and I ain't In it.” Or something cute he used to say like that, I couldn't remember, but he had a bunch of cute little idioms that matched his name, and to the day, I still missed him — it was 11:15 PM exactly as I hung up the phone, after an unsuccessful attempt to reach 911, after realizing that the threat outside was maddening enough to be impossible to only be in my head, and after weeks of the excruciating noise, I finally called NYPD dispatch, much to my disdain, and of course magically, the noise seemed to disappear as soon as I had made the call, which infuriated me. It seemed as though the game in entirety to make me look or feel crazy, though I knew I wasn't—well, I was, but not without purpose or reason. I had been theorizing in energy exchange quite decisively making a mark for my alter, at which I asked to be designated the wisdom and truth of the light within the eye, desire, however never in mind, although I had been summoned in part due to the fact that wenwere somehow alike—I was in some ways besides and out of sorts with my set, sinking my teeth into the forced obsession as I unraveled any possibilities and plotline. Episode 01. Pilot An opportunity presents itself seemingly at random— the protagonist's hand is forced into a life changing ultimatum, putting his reuputation and family in danger. Already involved in an illegal gambling ring which operates out of a secret historical prohibition era speakeasy and some “light” drug mulling within its walls, however often extending even as dangerously close to his workplace, Patrick is propositioned to become an investor in the high end escort service, with which he hired and contracted his lover, Kandi, a “rescue” whom he supports in her exchange for exclusivity, to remain as her only client, however, although he begrudgingly declines, wishing not to be involved in anything much more than what he has already kept under the radar, he is intimidated and threatened by blackmail, his high profile becoming at stake—he then obliges to embark upon this new endeavor, the expansion of this establishment to include a warehouse, which houses a large scale brothel, and, able to use his social status to procure wealthy clientele, quickly becomes a power player within a ring of coveted elites, setting fire to his already inflated ego, and colliding with his intense and highly functional polyaddiction, which he has maintained since his youth, using his entertainment persona as an outlet, becoming a medium of excess, fame, and rampant wealth. Patrick is beloved by his peers, and is humbled often by his devoted fans and friends—proactively worshipped as a comic genius, a prodigy, and a revered successor to legendary frontmen— Okay, this is weird, because I started writing this before I even understood what I was writing at all… —specifically, the sixth successor, to his coveted role. I had written for Esha to be the seventh successor, as with the symbolism deeply and quite literally woven into the sometimes brutal framework of the series, which I had shorthanded to ‘TVP'…the world around me trailed off as my eyes blurred as they had been lately, and I wondered if I might be having some kind of stroke or something, as I was certainly some sort of out of body—the day had been strange, and I had given up on a run or a gym for the day, the motorcycles alone ravaging my energy, and whether I worked out or not, they were everpresent anyway. They were some sort of toxic, abusive force I just had to put up with, hoping it didn't upset my psychology so much that it ended me, though I had become quite odd as of recently, rambling more than usual and actually praying out loud, as my silent ones just didn't seem to be working—they were probably white supremacists, or in some way connected to some political terror group, but it didn't seem to matter. Someone liked torturing me, and it was becoming apparent that no matter much time I spent at the gym, this torture was going to persist. After a month long gym streak, at least going once a day to lift something, I rested, or rather, tried to rest, kind of— but my mind had been swirling with thoughts of a man I was certain by now I had made up—and writing the story of a man I was absolutely certain came from my mind, but in a way that it almost made no sense at all—as the more I looked into the world that I had already written about, the more I realized was accurate without first having known these things, and however cursed I might have been to even know such things, I decided to call it some sort of blessing instead. ‘God, I used to get so fucking high for days, and when I would come down, just crying and crying, eating Totinos or DiJorno and a bag of Bugles, I would watch Saturday Night Live for fucking hours, and I hated [Redacted]. I hated him.' Now I still hated [Redacted], but in a different way, and though really it was myself that was more like Patrick, he at the very least, for whatever reason, used to have his face—now, he was just Patrick, and [Redacted] was just [Redacted], and i knew entirely too much about it all, and about myself to be comfortable with it, but nothing was comfortable at all. I had written entire atrocities, novels, and all that was some conglomerate of nonsense which was the festival project, besides how insanely and innately prodigal it all was sometimes, my own words confusing me with a bizzare and asenine dysfunction, awe, actually, often as if someone else had written them, and although I was always at least sort of semi-concious while writing, the spells and cadences I would fall under were some sort of trance, and as I watched the Nirvana rehearsal from Saturday Night Live in 1992, long before [Redacted] or any of the rest of the — Was it Keystone? It was, the Keystone cast of SNL, but the first word my mind had jumped to was Hallmark, which—after referencing Google quickly for a fact check, also stood true. I was willing to admit, even now, though I had long lost interest in Saturday Nighy Live, or anything at all having to do with current events, that the [Redacted] era—or rather even, the Tina Fey era, a true role model, perhaps, and someone I favored over all of the performers I admired, or allowed myself to admire— the Golden Years of Saturday Night were the only years, for me that even mattered— trying to make sense of anything couldn't be done, but I at least had this new project birthed from it to think about. It would be hard to sit down at a taping of The View and not think about all I had written at all, and it would be impossible not to unfold the characters which had presented themselves, though slowly but surely, through the most vivid visions and insanely lucid dreams, as The TV People began to What if someone steals this out of my documents? That would be unwise…the best scenes are somewhere scribbled in my notebooks and random scraps of paper somewhere in my room…this series is almost nothing without those scenes—the elements with which the most painful scenes I had ever written, became word form. ‘I don't know why, but I feel so incredibly high, So incredibly high right now…' They could have been words to a song, but I did feel high as a kite for whatever reason, without the actual kite metaphor quite literally dagling over my head, for once, or at least, it had been a few weeks, not a prominent as is was before. I sat soaking in the tub teetering on the possibility that I should actually even watch The Tonight Show, or whatever it was, to set my mind at ease, a betrayal of my own code—as one does not literally feed its obsessions into insanity on purpose. ‘Perhaps, though', I thought, ‘I could get rid of this.' — A cancerous abscess in the tradegy that had become my own sex fueled, rage driven, racing mind—and rather admittedly, it was almost too late, for anything of the sort, as I hadn't any other place to keep the growing world of The Television People any quieter, than within the monstrous algorithm which was Google documents cloud, where it seemed nothing was safe, and anything could be fabricated into reality after being stolen, by someone rich enough to make it happen, however, never being any better than my own disaster of a creation. And it was, a disaster. He was a comic genius, a professional, and spectacular performer— in actuality, I knew nothing if not anything at all about him, and the more I collected, the more interesting I found myself, actually, bemused that I seem to have found some sort of twin, another synchronizatic nightmare—if only that I made it to be so, unbelieving yet that I was in some kind of fairytale, though it had become some sort of fantastical and adventurous thing, this what I now refer to as ‘the allegories,'. I must have been something parasitic to the industry, with the tendency to latch on and ride out whatever had become a faciniation, but it wasn't, in its sense of origin, like anything before— it was something new, in the ways that it was, and something old at the same time—though needing to fall drastically from The Tower without actually doing so, putting a stop to my unlimited creation became a pertinent priority, as even exercising, meditating, and chronic masturbation tended to exacerbate it, as if I was missing a step in transmutation of this foreign substance— an energy which seemed familiar, but also wasn't. I was receiving downloads several hours at a time, and drifting off into spells and trances of inspiration so heavily that it seemed counterintuitive to call it off, fearing I might lose the intensity of the plot and its characters, and they were that: just characters. It had taken days to erase Patrick's face into a blank state to restore him from that of his namesake, but now everything was a blur, the allure of scrapping it all to return to making music was upon some sort of dawning, but not yet arrived. I allowed whatever came to mind to flow freely from my fingertips, even if it felt bizzare—and even if it felt bizarre, it never felt wrong at all. ‘Unfortunate, that.' , I thought crossing one leg over another to complete my chapter before draining the tub. I promised myself long ago to always pray for my own son, before worrying about another celebrity, whose fame and fortune protected them more than I ever seemed to protect myself or my own—nonsense, but a strong sense of remorse, as I had been painted as wicked, in a sense, just for being kept poor, separated from my son, and left in a world without love at all; My project, a keepsake of the hard work I had done; but had not yet been paid for—and the fear was in the understanding that that money might not ever come, that I would never be a mother, a muse, or anything or anyone else I actually wanted. I thought briefly again about just getting a dog—but I only had 45 dollars, aside from the unmarked Jimmy Fallons, I had placed atop an alter on my kitchen counter, wondering how to multiply them into something I wanted—and that had been the start of the game or the project at all— saving my last dollars and spending them at once, with the hopes and wishes that they would become somehow much larger quantities, returned as good karma for the love I had given, but that had not yet come back, in one form or another. ‘He seems miserable, the poor bloak.' , I thought—and with all that I had known to have come with fame and fortune along with the luck, he probably somewhere, somehow was—but my concern was my son, turning the mere dollars somehow from one's into bundles of hundreds, thousands, and maybe even one day a whole million or more. That was the push behind the project at all—breaking the cycle of the poor black single mother, the story that had been told over and over-/ with stories that had not; the stories that had become [The Festival Project™]# Sai Psy. See you in seven years, then. You're so silly— I'm not going to live seven more years. We'll see about that. You will see. I'll be dead. So I'll be dead. So it is. A summer hiatus, Vacations in Prague, yes Let's pray for the rest of us A sign of the times and a coming of ages Who made you famous again As the rest of us I don't like it As much as I'd like to Keep writing Keep finding the reason to die and you're blinded by kindnesses And I ams I woke up in the 9th dimension, As an infinite friend Familiar with my kitchen JOHN SLATTERY An interesting thing happened this morning. What's that, John? I woke up as John Slattery Just remember what love holds The death of a salesman, rechargeable batteries This walk could take forever in designer jeans Another day in slave hell The controllers controlling And Satan is Sataning Seems like a time to go clubbing It's a simple kind of depression Resting on your head when All you simply wished is the taste of flesh The freedom of skin And the lather of love— Or blood spatter on the pavement Aim for the head If the door's fixed, then we'll break it again Look what greed does I hate lazy days in Manhattan Cause I've never had one What happened on the way to the forum I was starstruck; Five finger death punch Right in the heart I wish I was punctual Right on time for lunch Don't you want to talk to someone more pungent? Don't you got models to robot? Don't you know I never want to hurt you But you know, I'm going to hurt you. You know I'm going to hurt you Now, the review: Sooner or later, I fall over your world Good dudes in drags Good food for thought I'm a dog With the wrong parts You should take Kanye to the mall With a migrants lanyard (The migrants are anarchists! Good one, God) This one goes to. | this one first, from— Which one are you ? I guess we are one in the same It's a famous radio tower Live up to your name Go sell your flower for flour As I stand at the jumping point Eye on Manhattan, The wind beneath my wings Distracting myself from the mansion I haven't The mason jars I ought to buy for bargain The brain and brain cereal I left at the market I used to love Brandy Now I just wish I was something, awesome Now I just wish I was something, awesome Now I just wish I was something, awesome “The Album I Wrote On My Way To The Rock To Return Amazon Purchases No Longer Wanted” That's a really long album title. I didn't imagine I'd write this much Just trying not to imagine this man in his under pants, Or what have you (I'm just a fan) I'm just a dad hunched over in the bathroom Must have been the magic of my backhand, backfired Must have come untied and undone, under the rainbow Must be on my way to Manhattan For some blacklist event. Where I'm from The A List Is a face No name needed “Oh, I know who you are” If I purchased a car today I might get done paying it off By my 81st birthday. Shady. If I had a penny for every mistake I made, I would probably be Nameless. If there was a namesake to lay me into my grave, it would make sense; Yes, let's move the train for a moment With the doors still open. — I'd like to watch what happens. So what happens when the sun comes up On the only body you've ever known And no one wants it What happens with a dude named Starr Punches you over and over again And then no one loves you (That's starstruck, your honor) What happens when granted a pardon for passions And everything happens after is magic What happens when all you want is to go manic To finish the album And just feel good again What happens when the algorithm has Al Gore in it? What happens when the rhythm in blues is just the attraction of random black men and their concubine counterparts? Huh, what happens! What happens, Kanye? What happens, The God? What happens when all that you want is a disgusting assumption of… No on can trust you And nobody loves you Since it was simply a tryst Put this at a distance. Where did my energy disappear to! Where in the fear is my other earring? Fuck. Be somewhere, anywhere else but your office, for the moment. Be anyone but a mother, Anywhere but your apartment— It hurts, the construction. Someone doesn't something Nobody knows nothing about me, But what I put in this casket (This podcast) Oh hey, I got fuck muscles from fuckin myself now! I feel like I'm gonna die if I don't have sex! For real! Heal, Oh great dragon, HEAL, BITCH. Word. woof for the world Will for the wolf; Rain on the roof. Cobain don't have a God (Or a Gun, if you wanted that one) “Pull me up, God, I'm done under here” He called in I followed the fosters to farrow And got better I got better and bitter much quicker and Never in bed had I been as flexible As to kiss his chest As I kicked my own neck With my left foot. What the fucking fairyshit is that? There, I fixed it. Fixed what. I don't know what. But I fixed it. I know, huh! So be 110 and flexible Powerlift tectonic plates Do Pilates And make waffles!? Alright, I can do that But only as Jennifer Aniston I'd like to take back that Fallon I bought at the black market He's broken. I like his band tho— The one on the left hand, Over the damaged one. Are you on to that? Says the sayer, Son of Sam So Sai the sage Sets the stage Is that the plan? Never fall for a man, Even over an alter And tied by the hands. All I see in my initials initially is B Minor 16 might be minors, guys But she's creaming to find you At the front lines Life of a superstar DJ At the cross roads Or the turnstiles How do you turn bile into Beguiling Without rifling a few feathers Or looking into the eye of the rifle And dying first Don't you let that tear fall from you onto the M Train. I'm just training for fame And hating you every day Since we made it Love Get out of my way, Satan I'm staying I'm saying your name sake insanely Please break me Like a chicken leg Or just shake me from this existence Since I don't seem fit for it Anymore than I fit that Givchechy dress you gave that blonde, right? Am I dying! Or just dying inside Fuck coughs If you want him enough to—Use black magic To do that to me, wait till it falls back on you, You gross hag If God hates fags as much as he hates blacks We should fly flags over the haggis I made Alice When she's back from her adventures in wonderland No wonder you're a Monro Crossed over from O'Fallons It's an old warfare with two clans From the old countries With no borders Or border collies Laboradores And labirites, likely As Aphrodite is to smite me So here comes DJ Francis With his new black girlfriend Just kidding We all know in his world It's cold and broken With nothing but blue eyes And big wild to look over you Bro, standing up is not going to make this train go anywhere. I almost promise you. Turns out there's no such thing as a quick trip to The Rock. Turns out you'll sit stuck in your own sick God as my witness For screenshotting those ass pictures —that's somebody's kids, dick. tick tok has no limits. VO Of course, The day and time I should have to go to Rockerfeller Plaza quickly, quietly and unseen, the train is magically destined not to move. I've been sitting here at least a half hour, with no end in sight— [The doors close and the train begins moving.] Hahaha! Fucking hilarious, God. I've been avoiding The Rock like the plague— Not that I think anything would happen at all upon arrival— who am I, anyway? Nobody important. There she goes. Still, I've written enough about it, and the people inside and around it, That the place makes me nervous. More nervous than ever, that is, actually— I always felt weird in the place. [flashbacks] When I first got to New York, I would end up there on accident. Completely by accident. Lost. Faulty navigation. Hackers: Whatever. I always just— By complete fucking accident Ended up at Rockerfeller Plaza The city slips over us, as the train sinks back underground — I'm facing the city now, As not to be reminded of my abuser's toxic words and toxic hands, By dirty white Nikes and Jansport backpacks Still, etched into the subway walls Are two stars, which remind me to repeat the mantra: Starr Michael Roberts is a pedophile wifebeater Less of a mantra than the truest words ever spoken, But that's all the shape of a five point star means to me now or will ever mean to me And to think, The American flag has 50 of the 50 wife beating pedophile men On a red white and blue flag That waves just to remind me I was born a fat ugly black woman To be a slave And there's no one to save us I want to senselessly beat the man in the dirty white Nikes and Jansport backpack Just like I was beaten senselessly by the man called Starr, The devil in disguise as my first love Still trying to chase my soul from its dream Back into his nightmarish under realms of unhygienic hatred, vomit stained rugs And piss stained couches, Phlegm on the walls and Nothing on but Diablo And old episodes of The Sopranos. —but I still love The Sopranos; And I still love my one and only Good thing that ever happened From an awful marriage That buried me wonder what's on this side of the train to write Maybe nothing Nothing I like, anyway Some guy that just thinks i'm some ugly black bitch Of course All the white rich dudes Are horrible I miss the poor surfers Blowing blunts and wishing they was with blondes, With me tucked under their arms I need a tummy tuck to find love Goddamn, I'm miserable just sitting here At least I get a glance at her The tattooed God With the pink hair Where's Wanda Sai the Saige Don't say ahit Unless its music Sai the Saige says Turn the page For more sermons Sai the Saige sings her words carefully Writes forwards for whole books in four words Four worlds down, Now four more. That's a world tour. Lil biiiiiiitzzz Bro, I might never have sex again. There's a new STD on the loose And patient zero is a white man from New York in his 30's FUCKING GROSS. Where's wanda Where's Waldo Ah FUCK I got your wallet WHATS WRONG WITH YOU. SOMETHING which one are you?! Nothing, nobody. Sunni?! I'm not Sonny, you're Sonny. I'm not— Don't say it Whatever Where is it? Where's what? The rock You're on the rock! I that's not — Stop it what I meant! Which one are you— Who are you 8mm I'm the cosmic— Whatever the fuck. Gimmie the rock Get off of me I think too much I think I have a disease I think too much But I don't think much of me It's just as much as I want A three musketeers bar, That's far fetched For a vegan With 12 dollars in the budget For the rest of the month Goddamn. One down 20 to go Call someone To take your husband Home I'm drunk I'm stuck in this thought At the bottom of the rock Damn. 8 always/ eight ways to get lost here Not today though, I hope Follow the smell of coffee — the open doors This the stairs— — up a couple stories. Muscle memory, I— Wait. Are there stairs to the top of the rock? I would walk them. Shazam, what's this lame ass fucking song? Ugh, at least I have muscle memory. OUCH. COME ON. OUCH. Come with me. Ugh. I have so fucking much to do. *I have so much fucking to do. Okay, now what do I do? Just jump! That seems like a bad idea. It's the only idea you've got. That's not even my idea! —but it's the only idea you've got! OKAY, I've got an idea! What's it? Wtf, I've never even seen this many people here. What is this, a field trip? GODDAMIT JUST JMP. i can't, I'm scared! Okay. Then I'll push you. No don't *push* helicopter: fluh - fluh- fluh- flh THERE HE IS— WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! AGHHHHHHHH. GIANT BIRD OF PREHy- SNATCH. GODDAMN Turn SIM down Okay, how much. Just a little How's that That's better. Okay. Look, I am not interested in you. I get that, Jimmy Fallon. I am just doing my job, okay. I get it, Jim. Okay?! Do you understand. I understand. Okay? Okay. Okay. So what is your job, exactly? I keep my mouth shut, Hands fisted misdirected, But staying on track Thank god they put this shit here Hands in my pocket equals words undocumented I can't help but to admit I almost wasn't even writing before this Now fast forward Every time I'm under this, it feels like I'm already in my own show or something Of course, I used to love a good revolving door Shit I used to love at all Man! I hate the rock! Why. Cause fuck Jimmy Fallon, that's why! why?! CAUSE. Look, the you from the other dimension should be coming around that corner any minute. Okay, for what. To use the restroom. Make sure she They: What. Me is a “they” Whatever. I love the rush of death telling me to jump as the oncoming train approaches from behind me I could be blinded by the light. Look, 6'3 God knows what I need And that makes history Make sure when you — when she —- —goes into the bathroom, find Fallon and give him the— I know what to do. Alright, YO. NO. LEAVE ME ALONE. I'm married with a family! I don't find you attractive! At all! I know that, asshole! I only want you for your fame and money! Wait, really? No, you handsome basta'd! Goddammit… Goddammit! Sunni!? I knew that was you! It is me—but the other me is somewhere, so take this—quickly back to the 4th dimension—- This is the fourth dimension! Wait, it is?! YES. What dimension did you think it was The 8th! The 8th?! THAT EXISTS?! yeah!!! Where the fuck are you from?! The third, I thought! Thank god, here's this fucking train. Well, fuck off, then! I gotta go find the 8th dimensional Jimmy Fallon! What! For what?! That's priveleged information Ascended extraterrestrials only, broh! Woah, woah, woah, don't “bro” me. I said “broh” What?! That's what I said— No, you said— Whatever. “Broh”,— —now you said it— —I'm coming with you— Don't be homo. —but, you're a woman, I thought. That's what's you think. That's what the tabloids said… You wanna know what the tabloids said about you? In which dimension? Right?! Now shut up. Come on. [they move quickly towards the— Towards the where? I don't know. I've only ever been at the bottom of the rock: I don't get it. If the antenna is on the top, Then why did my vibe go. GLUH. Sorry: No , that's a lot; what is that: —you really think I'm handsome? I think you're an asshole. I hate writing at the rock (Launching to onesel.) Wtf was that supposed to be (Laughing to one's self) Or (Lunching to one's self?) Or (Launching to— Fuck it, I don't know. You look ridiculous. At least i can just write it off to “Mental Health Problems” MEANWHILE Check it out. The devil is following me. What. Wanna see. What the FUCK is that? He wants my soul. WOAH. Yeah, cool, right. No! Yeah it is… What the hell happened I sucked him off once: You what. Calm down. I didn't know it was the devil. Holy! It's was un Unholy See. Damn Satan Youuuuuuu are fucking gross. Yeah. Nice tattoos though. I thought you'd like this. I do. Who's your body? Some drunk. The alcoholics are so easy. What about my soul. What about your soul, dude? Why doesn't he want my soul? He already has your soul. What?! I never sold my sold my soul. That's what you think. Oh, I get it Comcast owns Jimmy Fallon. Actually, Nancy Drew does, or whatever. What's her name Nancy! HUH- what!! DREW BARRYMORE. GET IN HERE!!!! woah. Okay. I gotta get back to the 90's. Why! I left my DREW BARRYMORE GODDAMIT. Sorry, JUST GET OUT. She is cute, though. She's so fucking cute. Hey, What. Put me on your hit list, For what. Cause. No way, dude. So it's this Nancy Drew Character Uh huh. Then Comcast Correct. Then NBC/Universal. uh-huh Then Lorne Michaels— Wait Correct. Fuck man. So you mean the portion of Jimmy Fallon I won in that game of 8 dimensional poker is pretty much nothin. It's pretty much— Worthless. Not worthless. What are you saying— I'm saying— I'm not a real woman I just saw a real woman With a long skirt And a body worthy of love Beautiful hair And face like porcelain Nothing upon the sleeves strewn in ink Petite I could never be a real woman Actually, you know what. I could have worn anything But I'm not showing up for anything at Rockerfeller Plaza dressed like my inner cumslut YOUR “INNER” CUMSLUT THAT WSS AWESOME I know, God. *belches juicy semen, slurps* You're—a fucking awful person, though, just awful. I know. Just—disgusting. Yeah, but— —that was the best blowjob I ever had Yep. *burps—slurps* ufgh. —and you swallowed all of it. I don't know how! Both: That's was so much! Haha yeah: Jinx! You owe me a blowjob. Okay! You're fucking gross. Yeah. Oh wow. That went deep. I mean, not really “deep” it went aural. *oral* I swear to god if you publish this POSTED DAMN. that dude is good looking. Why is he dating someone that looks like a mouseS Maybe he's into mouce face I guess. I'm into mouse face. [deadmau5] Be nice. Hey! What: what do you want That guys an asshole! Duh! Okay. I love white people But they're weird sometimes I was lookin at this dude on the train Like real hard, And I swear to God, I couldn't tell if that was his girl Or his twin sister I was like What I the fuck am I lookin at Idk but I like it It's almost refreshing to see sliders that aren't made of plastic or whatever awful material OH. CONAN O BRIEN YEAH. But mad young. That's— LUCIFER! Hahahaha what GET BACK HERE. DAMN. That's one good looking kid. Dammit dammit dammit A bunch of handsome white dudes I want nothing to do with It's true I do like the fame The power The respect The money, I could give or take Or make my own Just so you'll date me The power, I like The respect and the fame So your name came and went with the hour And the sunset I might take walk in the rain Because my body is ugly And I just want to be loved A husband Two dogs And pushing a stroller Of course, there's the part that just wants to have fun Get fucked up Love someone I trust enough To rub against Without a rubber Against the grain Our heads together He grabs the back of my neck And I just can't handle it Fuck. I love mad men— and I love men when they're mad Especially Fallon That's somebody's dad in the bathtub, yeah mate Somebody back at the opera Probably phantoms There you go You've got you a girl So grab her hand And hold onto her Don't let her know If you love or fuck someone else Just for the fun of it Don't break her head and her heart at the same time She might not come back from it Like I never did I never came back I was punched in the face maybe 5 Or like 6 times Before I got up, became Skrillex, went for a a run with the dogs And then did it again Never was god, though I got a lot of problems I love the waterfront But no one loves me I'm left in the lobby a lot Like Miley, in that one song I guess I'm destiny Or perhaps I'm your density Once upon a time, I walked here Once a upon a time, I worked here, Shout out to number six. This one is sung for you This verse undoes the hex. Remind me to get your mom hallmark card, someone uttered I fucking love her Remember to stop at the shopping carts before your long walk home Almost hoping you're soaked in the strange acid rain So hard You forget what your name is I spent a whole plot of a film Just trying to be famous Luckily, I think The Tonight Show stops taping in the summer, So with any luck, The real Jimmy Fallon is somewhere in Greece or some shit Rich assholes and their summer vacations— I'm guessing, But still unwavering in the back of my mind somewhere That no matter what, Whenever I'm at 30 Rock, I'm being watched. The entire cast of 30 rock is watching the legends saga in 3D, along with some of the keynote cast of Saturday night live— Don't be selfish I'm not. I don't know what else I used to watched that's owned by this media conglomerate ahem. SLASH/Universal. Oh, so we are doing this back to the future revamp depends, are you gonna keep being fat, Or be spry, like Marty McFly And just for the fuck of it, You're the new Hanson in the new 21 Jumpstreet Movie SUNNI BLU Aight, SUPA Dammit. TINA FEY Do you smell donuts. LIZ LEMON no, it's cookies Follow the smell of the cookies. I get it. I got it. Try to remain unseen! LOOK AT ME. I'M AT THE BASE OF A GIANT PE— COCK. LUTZ When's the action?! Notes: Chocolate man makes everything chocolate Okay. That's stupid. Chocolate! Chocolate! Uhhh—- TINA FEY What are you doing here?!? JIMMY FALLON I work here…what are you doing here? TINA FEY I have tenure JIMMY FALLON. *purses lips* [tina tries to hide the entire cast Reunion of late 90s/early 2000's SNL cast members behind her TINA FEY (Nervously) tah—uh; I thought you were on vacation. JIMMY FALLON *squinting under dark sunglasses* I redacted it. What does that mean? MAYA RUDOLPH (Munching popcorn, wearing overalls) I know what it means. Mm. What does that mean? I read the comics. CUT TO: I have something to tell you. Okay, what. It can't be over the phone. Okay. -31 Where the firefighters is? I got some propolis cough syrup for the stalkers Where is it! Where is what? You know what. What? From the fountain. It wasn't me! I don't have it. . . . . Now my days are shattered My heart is scattered Around down, Fowl feathers of the night owl Dancing in my head In given nightgowns Right now Put the candle out Put the light on Every night, I'm gone Wandering around In the eye of the camera, My orb Falcon turned to black panther I prance around in a dance robe Like a disaster Put it out there, Just so I can't go back Pass the cake Pass the butter Pass the late night hatred Pass away the day praying For the faithless And their fake friends, but I digress Once the cameras are rolling A job's to be done For the funny men of us Are undercover Dressing up the dead And most disgusting sinister The winded wonder bread apostles I am a robot god I am born again in acid rain Something changed me Here's to the late night I hope he hates me —I hope I'm right, at least I hate being right— But I'm always right. Right hand over my bathroom counter Stacked up attacks on the Muslims But I love em Or I want to Hot tub The doctor Don't worry, loser Viewerships down to two downloads According to the numbers My demographic is faggots and players of forenig I have a habit for magic Addiction to alphas, You know? I'm a God I'm a robot I was washed in the acid rain —- Take the back of my neck like an animal Yes sir Put my hair in your hands Pull me back, Like an animal Up the ante Up in the air is my ass In a past life I had to have you Now I stand I higher grounds I'm higher now Coming up next A deeper addiction Coming up next A deeper dicking John Wiccan Coming up next Change the channel, coming over Move em up The winners circle Then move over. I lit a candle for another lover A real one , With a body and mind The tide of my soul wants to know you Behold, way below deck Deep dick Imm in deep shit now Way below the belt Blow all my hole on the dope fiend Do you want to know me A piñata full of chocolate Ive got a new list And you're not on it Aagain with this Again with the What's in my head It's a letter said Never forget this Forget this Forget this Tell me how to be like this To get a man like that To get a real deep dick That's way below deck I should settle for less Just to get my head better Some medical man Or some meth Just to finish this project I could protect a protector with holes in his pockets, The proctor The trophy, Two daughters And another one Here's goes the show I'm way too old for this I just need one good Fred Again Who knows how to hide he's a man But conspired Admirers, You know what it is? A deep dick, man Way, below deck Way below the belt Get ahold of him Ring the phone again I been calling on Collin Coleen is more polished It's brother sister sameness, Same mess for the colonizer White on white is Right on right I'm just behind you Way under the bridge Belt around my head to make it better I'll see you in heaven Out of Manhattan Where trash is the precipice Never better Bodies in perfection Where it went And where it goes again I'll see you then So apparently— Shh Wrong document great! Now we gotta figure out why apparently— [JENNIFER ANNISTON has a vendetta against JIMMY FALLON] What. For WHAT?! Idk, what did you do to this bitch? What did I say?! What did you do?! JENNIFER ANNISTON I'm not finished with you, yet! WHAT? I don't know. Apparently, Goddammit. Wait. What. So he's a genius, right? Yeah, I guess. Which means he's like—socially inept in some kind of way…. Yeah! Yeah. Yeah. Oh yeah. Flashback: Like: the 90's, or whatever. …are you turning me down? Wait. So I just shapeshifted into J-Lo Before. Hello. hello: Yeah. We could have done it. Ew. But we didn't. Ew. I mean: Cut back to: Nobody turns me down! Not even me! Alright. There's something off about that dude. Maybe he's gay… Hm. He not gay. He very not gay. Hm. See, I knew it. He's a good guy! [REDACTED] He's a MONSTER! He's an ANIMAL. WOOOOOOOOOOF . Oh man, that guy is a WOOF. I'm a DOG. Skrillex? I'm a dog Heeeeeeeeeeee Baby Heeeeeeeeee Damn, this fools got a whole list of celebrity ass bitches —a list celebrity. CUT BACK TO I'M SUPER HOT. Hmhm. I know. Listen. Okay, Jennifer Aniston. Are you trying to fuck Jimmy Fallon?! NO! Okay, good. God no. That's— Wait, why NOT?! —I need way more than a million dollars. I knew it! It's about the money. It's actually not about the money. Wait, no, it's not? No. …then what is it? Yo. Okay, so Everybody likes his genetics. And I mean like FUCK IT, I WANT HIM. This one. I want this one! Right here. ICE CREAM. GET YOUR ICE CREAM. Okay, imm not supposed to tell you this but— What. I'm— JOHNNY CARSON LOOK AT ME. Ah, well, alright TAG, YOURE IT. DAMN, you're good. Okay, I'm stoned. Damn. I got a boner. Cool. JLO look at me . I see you. You do see me. You know why? …yes. I am a-list. I get that.
If I'm technically Christ, then Skrillex is the Anti-Christ— And if we fuck out Demi-God children will most possibly bring on the Apocalypse. **most probably. Something's on fire. I think it's your living room. Oh my God! Oh, good, it's just the curtains. Your son set my living room on fire. Not the living room. Just the curtains! [and the couch] My couch! And my couch! Oh my God! Stop it, The Apostle! What. That's The Apostle. He sets stuff on fire. What the Hell. With his mind. You called your son “The Apostle” Sure did. Why. CUT TO: FLASHBACK THE APOSTLE (extremely cute toddler) The Earth with end in a rain of hellfire and blood. Ok. He was 3. Wow: Wait. You named your son when he was 3? We changed it from ‘Simon' Hi, Simon! THE APOSTLE DOOM. *sets fire* WOAH. That's so cool. No, not the google documents! GET IN THE HOLE. Hm. What. Blood Shower All along the watch tower Do you feel good? Do you? Do you feel bad about this. I do. I feel bad about this. I forgot to tell you– I should probably let you know that I just want to MAN, FUCK THIS DUDE. MA. WAHT. IT'S ON. WHAt. THE SHOW IS ON. THEWHAT. THE– *suddenly self aware* …I gotta get out of Boston. What, first this was about war, now it's about bird people? It's about a war WITH the bird people. I should sleep. Hahaha. No. This isn't funny anymore. At least it's over. MA– Oh, it's far from over. Yo, i'm going through some crazy shit right now. Spur of the moment I'd never thought of it; This is gonna take forever. I don't have the patience To even write this I just want french fries right now But been up for two days with no gym and I'm on a diet. GUAC TIME. No, no burritos. GUAC TIME. Oh shit, this is getting real as fuck . NOw i see it three ways. I love it. I hate it. HEY, LET ME OUT. GET BACK IN YOUR HOLE, SKRILLEX. I'M DILLON FRANCIS. IN THE HOLE. Check it out. Huh. It's another DJ. *agrees* Should we pick him up. WEll, the good news is: I found your friend. Oh, that's good. The bad news is: He's dead. Oh, that–'s … nice. Yeah. It is. Uh. Kaskade. Yeah. We gotta find Ryan. Why. What's up? You're freaking me out. Why. What's up. Nothing IS it my eyes? I– *wild ass eyes* Yeah, it's probably that. Fuck dude, what did you do to deadmau5. NOTHIN. He's not the same. What the fuck is that. Holy shit I jus timejumped Where the fuck are you going. How the fuck could this happen?! It COULDN'T. Well, that's it then. *shrugs* Well, I guess we're just gonna have to go dig up Dillon Francis. I guess so. Do you think he's still alive. Like, probably not– Maybe… No, probably not @prodbywar& @Halmadeit This amazon order took me nine hours Alexa, I think i should fire her Like a arm I don't leave at night without armor Don't make me a martyr Your mom will be proud of us all If i make it outta here And i'll look after her Got the whole block coming up on my heels as I walk Wtf is it… Idk dude. Is it speeding up? I…i think so. There's no way this is 140 IT's 140. It's 140 . There's no way. Yes way. Nah huh. Let me see. No. Let me at the decks. Let me at the decks. NO. YO LET ME AT THE DECKS. You want deks. Yes. I got deks. Really. yeus . I never listened to it like this In ableton I read serato, synesthesia and rekordbox I talk a lot, I'm like a human music box I walk a lot I run my mouth a mile a minute (faster than i run around the track reciting rap words) Like they're passwords. Oh, I could do this forever.. I wish i had i microphone right now And was all alone With the lights off Lying on the floor I'd be lying if i said I could afford you Just to fornicate But may consider playing with a foreigner If you're all for her I'm unnerved, you know Cause i've been up so long My monster likes to play with boys and Make the bass go down below where Nobody does anymore Once I get a hold of things Or the hang of it You've got another hot ones on your hands I've another record under my belt Or in my roster, Whatever you'd call it But now I've got no time to bark about Wanting a dog and a daughter But none of the responsibility or Going through all the trouble to find her a father I'm still holding a fart in. Reaally–cause–it's been a really long time. WHAT WOULD YOU KNOW ABOUT A LONG TIME, JIMMY FALLON?? Um a lot! You literally just saw me make the journey all the way up from nothing. I am nothing EXACTLY. I don't have time to fight with you Jiimmy Fallon. I did NOT write these games by myself you know?! Um, excuse me– “GAMES” ?! YES, GAMES. Uh, I've only got one game with you in it, my friend. Is that so! One game that I've written with the Great–formerly LATE Jimmy Fallon. Is that like a play on words cause i'm on late night TV YOu'RE ON ALL THE TIME TV, JIMMY. NBC SHIT IS PRACTICALLY AUTOMATICALLY SYNDICATED. -_- …are you alright. –_-_-__-_ Hold on, I think i've got it Nice, I found a growler. yOu still haven't got all the monsters and sprites Ive got all the big ones, but the little ones are harder to catch. GrO0Wl3rrr. Aww. He's so ugly. Yeah, but cute, though, right. I don't think so. Gro)WwlErrrrrrrrr. Aww. That's so fucking gross. lol . so what does this thing look like. Well, that't the thing about the monsters and sprites. WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT. It's alright, it's alright–he's nice. WHAT. THAT'S A SPRITE. No, it's a monster. He's just scary. SUPACREE. David Bowie. What up. God, it took me ages to find you. Tell me about it. I'm still trying. We've been expecting you for a long time. You were expecting I'd die? Yes. So when she says she's “married to the music…” I'm married to the music. Oh, so. Yo, honestly if you een want to talk to this bitch, you'd better have like a musical instrument, or a mic in your hands, Otherwise– No, getawayfrom me. It's not even worth it. HI. –No. What's up? Tempo. SUNNI Cotour From the store I was poor Now i'm honorable In velour, Glamour (Snap) Forsure, Jesus Christs is making appearances in my abletons I'm not able to comprehend or understand exactly the message, But the evidence sire is mounting Get it Reached the temple, More of a sanctuary, Is that sacrilegious I guess it is, I'm stressed as ever Trying to get it together {Enter The Multiverse} Now I know too well, The well of tears on my guitar She's got a body like one Oh her curves But I just wonder what it like to be loved By stars Socialites and superstars They're Gods, you know How high up they are Above us And he lives in an ascended dimension, But he insists, he says Her transcendence is upon us He said Your transcendence is upon us He says these things, And then just vanishes So she gets up promptly Warms up yesterday's coffee Looks around in her coffin And wonders What for I just Wonder what it's like to be loved by stars Without double r's, you know I've got scars But it's mostly just Teardrops, and soft kisses On my guitar Cause, oh, Oli, I ain't got nobody— And nobody holds me Like I hold Oli (Could have been Ali, But of course— I had already lost that one A whole well of tears, I lost At his departure And a whole well more When I actually lost him I almost miss Having someone to talk to About anything and everything But I've got Oli And God now I've got Oli And Oli (oli) Is all that I've got Besides God That's the only contact In my Phone book No more double Ls And double entendres; No more double rs At all Just scars now No more metaphors. Honest is radical I like them cynical I should have clinical insanity by now But I'm only just an artist You can't help But can only harm that And if it hurts hard enough I'll put art on my walls Become permanent Storybooks all over my arms now My coat of arms now I've run Ten point 5 miles In the last 3 days; But if I rest today Will a motorcycle gang Have a parade outside of my window, To drive me crazy? I hope it rains, So they can't play these games with my head And the seeds that I planted So deep become daisies I still don't remember The way he rearranged me But these days I make my name sound So the way He can never say it Just imitates The way I hate myself I should be dating But expressions are Atrocious If I fall asleep— Who knows I may get Stolen That tends to happen So I'm All the way up And I'm swollen in ways That I hate to say “I love you” Love me back Or say it harder That's my martyrdom Come off the cross, for a moment, Would you for us? And bend over Or bow, if you will? If I did, Would you still call me wicked Or just a Good witch Since I'm a woman, I just couldn't be Jesus, Who you asked for once And always Who you asked for some To save you from your Credit reports And consorts Or some sort of Nonsense [famous last words] God don't speak much English, She says God don't speak much these days We were Always Telepathic That was way back then When Oedipus Rex Was on the Guest list I was standing at the coat check, asking Why I must take off my hat When entering the service To the bouncer, he says “That's just politics” I said, That's just politics We both said, What's the difference Then we all laughed —then we all just laughed and laughed Exchange is my favorite exchange Where my favorite exchanges Have happened for centuries Of engagements Endeared species, And races pieces haven't tasted the same Since I haven't had them Animal products And animal planet I found this hat on Discovery channel Did you want it? I can't stand it So I had to have it back I just had to use the bathroom I just had to disconnect From [] See— I don't even have to put the words in Cause a name is just words When that's a man You just can't have And that's the worse When that's a man And you can't have him What a habit. Silky rabbit. Now he's the Ace. All In A Day's Work I've never died before. Oh… that is terrifying. It sounds terrible. It's really not that bad. Why are you not writing this down? I just need a moment… It's really not that bad… I die all the time. I get sensory overload At Trader Joe's Look at the colors The clothes, This sure isn't queensborough Escalators for shopping carts I get it Manhattan I'll take my half BLVCK ass to the projects Where my kind are I don't belong here , God you're intolerant I like this part of town But I'm way too brown And I dropped my crown at the market I should be jealous of everyone But I have learned my place I've been a slave since Hollywood I lost my son to the devil Now I pay child support And terrorist follow me coughing I'm wrong just for being born ! You could start a war from it If that's what you wanted I'm a people watcher people watcher About to board the people mover People mover Slip, Here's the tell Slip, here's the tell I should have a bell around my neck I think she wanted a picture with papa I'm playin my own paparazzi Look mom, I bought a sacafagus There go them niggas with coughs again I been watching em Got binoculars I got oculus, for my oculars Look how hot he is, make me ovulate Man I gotta love it, Cause they love to hate Fucking racist crazies Have it your way I paid for it with my soul You hate but I love to love Somebody just got me fuckes up I don't have a book to run off of Shut up, honey. Now we're all up here Monkey in the middle Cause the middle one is weaker It's getting deeper and deeper Like the sinkhole that my sink is Let it sink in I've been syncing my secrets with demons In dreams sequences It's just a reparative injustice Kamasutra for your wondering words and stuff You can have it It's ruined anyway m Look at all this trash Look at all these classless classes Classwars, Racists. Everybody hates us The Asians, Latinx's The other niggas What being black is I'll write it in cursive It's just a curse, here So you can have it I'm moving to Heaven I'm packing my boxes I'm getting a cat, too! His name is Agustus He's a big one And I love him I just wanted a hug or a husband Instead I got nothing to trying my hardest And got for a bargain at target some coffee For being a targeted body All on an algorithm I guess I'm just useless. A dumb nigger demon Did I just offend you? Then you shouldn't be reading this either I wrote it for pleasure (Or pain) On the one Or the two Or the one Or the two I could do a lot with this $20. I could spend it all on Fuck all of you I'm moving to Heaven Where the heart it She's not harmless She's a terrorist— And I'll kill her, too Look how right she is Look how white she is, Huh Regardless of color It's a race war Lil biiiiitzzz Yooo, fuck New York. In every hole. In every crevice. Fuck this place. It's racist— Not just cause I'm black. Like statistically. It took a whole ass apartment elsesrch to feature this out. I was like “I wanna live in Manhattan” Everyone was like “NOOOOOOOO—-“ Haha “Nooo, no.” I was like “Why not?” The blacks were like: HAHA The whites were like— *COUGHS OBNOXIOUSLY* New York is so racist. It is statistically the most diverse—and most segregated city in the nation At the same time. WHAT. How do you even DO that? But it's true, at this point, the black people are like—fuck this, we'll just stay over here, and over here. And the rich whites are like YES. KEEP THAT SHIT, OVER THERE. Cause if you've ever been to the ghetto. It's some SHIT, It is NOT COOL. I finally got my ‘night card' back. Had it revoked in california . I was almost a whole valley girl. I still eat exclusively at Whole Foods. Trader Joe's. But NO. Now i live in the hood. It's fucking disgusting. I can say ‘nigga' again. Cause it's NIGGAS. Lots of niggas. I'm telling you. It's night and day! The white folks trains smell like bleach— Ammonia. The black folks train smell like a McDonald's. WHAT. Or just— Vomit. I can actually count the number of times just— Vomit—- On the train. Or. Dookie. Yes. Human feces. But I'm ready to go to midtown and it's like the train that goes around Disneyland. Families! People singing! Hey—cotton candy!! —and I didn't have to pick it! Haha! Fuck New York. Racist ass HOLE. I thought surely the next presidential election was one or two years out, but the racial tensions which had been rising became even more pronounced, as I realized that November was theboncoming time—and that they hostility between the whites and the blacks had once again been a result as the oncoming war, fueled onward—that the hatred, disgust, and general aggression of the whites had been of course, in the midsts of yet another Trump-fueled political upheaval, and I wondered why and how at all I had been caught in such a world that existed in form of man, of course, now proven himself to be the weaker sex, and yet in that of dominance, as was arranged in such an unholy war, to be the helm of power by sheer greed— now it seemed that these attacks were indeed political terrorism, and that these motorcyclists, my placement close to the ground level, and my neighbor's clammorings were specific attacks, after my identity had been varied to be that of the same in which I had once held political ambition, now none of which I assumed mattered at all. Perhaps I needed something more certain than a 12 story jump or suicide by train, and wondered as to whether it would be easy enough to kill myself bh self inflicted gunshot—a sure thing for certain, as love has been lost in the way of money at all. At that party…or rather, kind of—after. That acid that never hit Beyoncé I don't feel it. Man, I'm a terrible influence(r) Just take it. Nah, I'm good— PUSSY. -_- Give me three. K. —suddenly hits BEYONCÉ. BEYONCÉ …I got this. [BEYONCE] however, does not Ohh, shit. — “got this.” A very stranded, very sober Johnny depp stumbles upon what appears to be a college frat party, where the only thing they have is light beer, and nobody even recognizes him as a celebrity, because the attendees are all gen z What's even after gen z? The fucking apocalypse. Anyway. The acid hits Beyoncé on her way to make coffee, which extends the trip from the living room to the kitchen infinitely. Multidimensional Anne Hathaway hulks the fuck out and saves the day by ruining everything, which actually fixes everything— and *spoiler* helps Jesus to remain as the king of kings at beer pong. Lol In the late 90s in New York City, the keystone cast of Saturday night live learns of each other's formerly sexret psychic abilities, and uses the radio technologies of Rockefeller plaza to develop a research center for the telepathically gifted, eventually discovering and perfecting time travel. Supacree (the kid version) appears in and out of her ideal and desired realities, baffling ‘the Hollywood people' and later ‘the New York people', becoming the legendary central figure of the Illuminati, as the original timepiece — a pyramid shaped extra terrestrial vehicle which contains an ascended hyper conciousness, which I can't remember how it goes, did the supacree leave to find the Skrillex, or was it the other way around? I think it was both ways at some point, but the whole thing was this, just in case I never wrote it but just saw— These space god (humanoid evolved) are some kind of scientists/ doctors— there are four timepieces, each representing an era upon our planet; earth, which is distant but sacred— these four time pieces each depart their given “docs” in time to appear on earth at specific Fuck this is hard to explain Times in history, at which the first worlds, or previous human eras were known to have been destroyed— these time pieces travel through time space with the full record of these events in order to alert the current human era of its imminent doom, as an attempt to prevent such disasterous events, typically war, which will lead to the annihilation of the human species; these Gods, one male and one female, a king and queen, a married couple are the rules of the humankind, technically worshiped as a whole as one God, with whom the human design was modeled after, however, the true source of all things is the cosmos, known and unknown, in its totality—neither man or woman, but the force of creation. Anyway, what else is happening Oh. All of the celebrities are stuck in— [the festival project] in some way, shape, or form until its creator finishes it—and though it in itself is infinite, its 'finishing' notates its eventual production, which lol. That never going to happen. Because. Let's face it. I'm scared of …rich people. Yeah, sure. Yeah. I'm scared of The effect of the race war, which has been to pit the white woman against the black woman, which allows and maintains the continuation of war mongering male dominance over the entire planet, which remains as a destructive force of greed, racism, and inequality. So why try? [EDITS] CONAN O'BRIEN Alright. If she hit Fallon, she's gonna come for one of us next. No, Conan—that's not how this works. WHAT—where did you come from!? When did you get here? JAY LENO This goes deeper than all of you can understand. WHAT the FUCK, man! When did you-/ —when did he get here? How did you do that?! How did you do that?! What are you, like, the same guy? Are you not all the same guy? [they shrug simultaneously and kind of just agree] Listen at this. Okay then. The enemy of your friend is my enemy. Oh…kay—and the enemy of my enemy—is my friend— That is correct. —so we're all friends here. That's right. Some special forces? Which forces? How special? [JENNIFER LOPEZ is still JENNY FROM THE BLOCK] Do I look like a fool to you? Uh— OOPS [a pre-fame Jennifer Lopez receives a drop full of diamonds instead of the usual; she has been granted access into the Illuminati, and becomes an overnight success.] This feels heavier than usual. Same as always. Hm. Are you sure. Yep. Hey, you're not the regular guy. Regular guy died. That makes sense. JENNIFER ANNISTON is inside of Ū Okay, grosss Not like that [lifting max weight] Okay. That was cool. Wow. Yeah, sure whatever. I am strong Yeah yeah, okay. Are you sure you want to be my size? Yep. JIMMY FALLON/SKRILLEX (we don't know actually which at this point) is also trapped inside of Ū Okay, gross! Yeah. SKRILLEX is in all of Ū. okay—actually, i'm okay with that, but That other guy?! [JIMMY FALLON] Yeah, he's weird. Also meanwhile, kind of— MARSHALL MATHERS has a closet cleaning service lol. Patrick is smooth as a motherfucker, you know. Every time his head is down on the desk like that, he takes a bump of coke. What?! Big uh! [Patrick takes bumps of cocaine in front of a live studio audience—every single night.] Woah! See. Goddamn. You gotta admire a guy like that. Jennifer Anniston is the weight on the cable tension machine Ooh. Psycho bitch devious methods new ludachris commercial All ya'll girls is toddlers I like long boards and longhairs Lawn mowers and lawn shares Aw hell nah, God forgot Cher I got the Blair witch project On Blair, I hope I scare you How dare you. Your girl looks like a naked mole rat. I got my soul back. You blue eyed bastards stole everything From the whole blacks, Hold that thought I'm at Whole Foods market throw in the Amazon algorithm off With marked dollars Look at God at Walmart On them rollbacks You old hacks are cackling I'm shackled to old habits Hold hands with me, rabbit I'm just a silly rapper really, are you? Maybe. Cut the verse of Reverse God Now I'm the devil I'm still lost in the Amazon cart I sharted all up in your pop tarts Before you warmed them up, pops Just for the sake of the art, Heart to heart, It's a war on love And the white girls won with nothin but Buckets of Whatever's up there I wouldn't know Cause I'm stuck job searching And running, Trying not to have a tummy So some gummy worm will love me First their sour, then they're sweet Then nobody, Trolli Holy moly I could use some more petroleum in the ocean! Said nobody But the globalists are performing your programming Which you're worshiping I put my eye on the dollar So I could watch you all Crumble and fall Don't you know The apocalypse is happening at the mall Of all the places How's that for a stream of consciousness, You salamander I asked Anandar back But I went past that chapter Have a chap Or a chapstick, for four times four dollars A bottle of water will cost you a fortune (But at least the drugs are in it) Get it It's recycled piss Distilled? Which is it, Mr,? The mystery box was literally lifted into My dinner from a fishery filled with nothing but niggers in it— I want a refund, before I catch that Fucking curse of poverty from — what'd you call it salmonellahallibut One hell of a cough from someone on the sidewalk But guess what? The devil's in your pocket or your palm, And that's the omen and the psalm rolled into one Cause God is awesome, But my mom is fuckin toxic And that's how I fuckin got here Blow my head off, Slit my wrists And write a song While jumping off a bit When all you need is money, But the world costs more than It's worth, and words are nothing But another fucking problem in your Google documents I look at my son and see a God, But half of Satan's in him, Oh man Robotics Lets be honest, I don't even know how to write this. Where's my sides?! WHERE'S MY SIDES. You don't get SIDES with this; It's just CHICKEN. I don't eat CHICKEN. It appears as though, however– You do. Ok, I gotta get off this playlist. I… i gotta . “The Wal*Mart Wars” Hm. … …………. …. *face* … no. No. l– What is this place. {After a wild night which apparently spiraled out of control, great , there goes my peace. Not forever, though, maybe. FUCK THIS PLACE. I HATE THIS PLACE. Everybody hates this place. But the album is called “I love New York” Yes, thats Technically How it's pronounced, though It's stylized like I _ NY Cause. EXT. MIDTOWN MANHATTAN. DAY Oh, wow, this is beautiful. THis is great. I love this place FUCK THE FEDS. CUT TO: EXT.Typically WHEREVER ELSE Anywhere ‘above' like 87th? Lets just call it 80th, be safe. BE SAFE! NIGGAZ. ah shit, i gotta go. BITCH– But lets just be honest, It's technically ‘above' But it's really [THE BRONX is a literal extension of the Underworld] Oh no. srsly tho. X_c Anyway. FUck man, Do you think i'll ever get good like that. Idk what equipment is this Hmm, lets see, that's approximately $8,000 USD of CDJs wow yep That's retarded Yep. And you still need a mixer. fukt. OKay, I would literally sell my soul for this. Consider it done. wait , really? YES. you earned it. Wait, I– What?! You earned it… Uh oh. Take care now. Shit. [BILLIE ELLISH is trapped inside WALMART] Uh oh. Fuck. what is this place. INT. WALMART. WHENEVER EMPLOYEESLAVES WHAT TIME IS IT. THERE'S NO WINDOWS IN HERE. That's not funny IT'S literally a synonym, we might as well make it a portemantau MEanwhile, in this other dimension, So that i don't offend anybody… Actually, you know what? Be offended. Quit that stupid fuckin shit and follow your dreams! Wait really? Wait, really? Sure! If you want! …i guess. AMERICA NO. INSTANT HOMELESSNESS ok , nvm. Damn. I know, right. wtf r u guys watching. Shut up. All Wal*Mart Employees are actually top secret government agents. x ∞ >.< (we'll just use Billie Ellish as the alternate, but really it could be Could it really? Shut UP, PLURNICORN. Wtf is a PLURNICORN We'll see. [Upon Realizing s/he is trapped in a mysterious place apparently extremely public Wait, you've never been to a Wal*Mart Before?! NO. I grew up in LA Rich as fuck And i've been famous since I was liike 12, Or something. Right. That is–kind of terrifying. LATER: WHY IS IT SNOWING INSIDE. WHERE'S THE EXIT. THEY HAVE GUNS?! oh wow, they have GUNS. WHY DO WE NEED GUNS! KA-BLAM. BECAUSE THEY HAVE GUNS. Bang-bang! Ptttttttttt—sttt. And they have guns. Actually, these are just– confetti cannons. *pop!* Lol “Possibly The Worst Show Ever the infinite rave continues on in Hell as everyone awaits the return of SŪPACREE- The Cosmic Avenger (Who Is NOT a DJ) and Sunnï Blū (who is a superstar rapper but also not a DJ) go back to back, buying time as the beacon to. Signal "The Supacree" is completed, battling the 10th dimensional DJ Ū, a super ninjas, for control of the decks. what else happened? idk. I CANT STOP DANCING. none of the DJs can find a pair of working headphones, and the sound guy is missing from the booth. "missing" YOU SHOT HIM. I THOUGHT IT WAS A TRANQ DART. {Enter The Multiverse} “TVP” Hazel is 6, turns 7 season 1 Season 7- 15 Man, I can't remember the other two kids names, I think the little boy is Ira but I might have named them all and forgotten, shit. Her sister, though is between 4 ½ and 5, they are technically “Irish twins”, and always fighting—they look very similar, however are not at all alike; Hazel is very much a daddy's girl, while her younger sister is a no-nonsense old soul with the tendency to cause trouble, not by being inquisitive or showy, as her sister often is, but rather by being quietly observant, and tends to dismiss both her parents, often isolating, or even dissappearing without notice, quietly and comfortably into her own world—as the series progresses, and though all of Patrick's children like their parents have showcased some kind of special ability or talent— Holy shit, give this kid a name-/ I thought I already named her, I just don't remember. That's true. It seems like they all had names. She is almost very typically, though showing signs of genius, even at the early age at the beginning of the series, a middle child, prone to upset almost too easily, but rather than acting out, is more likely to take her anger quietly; she shares her fathers deep brown eyes, dark hair, and though she looks otherwise very much like her sister, and later despises her father, is more inwardly and outwardly like him, though taking the side of her mother during their separation and divorce, oftentimes even lashing out at her father quite openly, and very vocally, as she grows into herself. “Ira”, (may have had another name earlier) is the youngest of three— as his third birthday approaches sometime during the first season. Great, now I gotta hide all those allegories so nobody can actually draw from this that Patrick— Where's his write up, anyway? That shit could go on for days. I have no idea why this catharsis is happening. I tried to sleep it off, I swear, but I still woke up like— At least mildly obsessive about this, for whatever reason. Hazel's 7 - Season Arc Hazel has the eyes, charm, and charisma for entertainment —she hopes to one day be as her father, an entertainer and performer, and will do almost anything for a laugh. She is often telling jokes, and is a people- pleaser. She is sickeningly cute, with golden hair and Hazel eyes, long eye lashes, and carries baby fat in her face, though she is rather average, neither heavy or plump, and however also not frail at all. She is inquisitive, smart, and busy, almost never idle-minded, and strong. Though sort of a Tom boy, she has been trained well to act with dignity, class, and feminine eloquence, much like her mother—but like her father, has a tendency to be crass, sometimes carelessly so, or even brutally honest—to her mother's disdain, but embraced wholesomely by other family members and adults, she's extremely funny and delightful, and very much unlike her mother, not a spoiled brat at all, often raising questions beyond her years about inequality, later wishing to attend a public school, and becoming quite the advocate for social justice and human rights in her later years, her final season shows a rebellious and sometimes even antagonistic Hazel, who later even favors Esha over her own mother as a parental figure, often confiding in her about things she can't and shouldn't share with her father, although her almost over the top admiration for her father has become the driving force and inspiration for her own endeavors in show business, much to her father's disdain, as she grows older, him becoming more protective of her, and especially within the oftentimes secretive nature of his actual placement and purpose in the business, and her rebellious nature and charm even force-feeding her into the industry, she is a bleeding heart for superstardom, and is often seen along what may be a path to fame, making Patrick's bleeding heart all the more aching, as though he and Catherine remain at odds throughout the series, he truly loves his children, even “the little sick one”, as he refers to the second child. Holy shit, what is this kid's name If I had the energy to go through my notes, I could know; but I don't. The city sickness has been sinking in from the noise of the obnoxious motorists and honestly, being out of protein is giving me muscle soreness, I'm in some sort of a bloated haze from eating almost nothing but carbs, and the fact that I haven't been with anyone in years is starting to circle like buzzards around my head, my heart has been literally screaming but overwhelming with this sense of calm, and though slipping into Patrick's sometimes erratic tendencies, for the most part I've been underwhelmed with society's expectations that I should get some kind of job, and somehow while working not lose focus on my own interests and projects—I hate [the strange modern behaviors of] most people, and everything costs too much money— my son might be going into foster care, or my ex husband is evil enough just to try to force my energy to worry about a problem he's created, and I really wanted to sleep into the afternoon with this lethargy, hoping that everything surrounding this series would just fall off, but it doesn't. I wake up often wishing I could just forget The Festival Project ™ , but the truth is, it just keeps writing itself, but in the very least, sometimes God gives me little presents that mean the very most to me— a chord organ that I thought was from the 80's, but is more likely from the 1960's— I love vintage stuff, and musical instruments, which only God could know, really—my fascination with history as if I'm still living it, and this, my sudden fascination and drive to write and complete just one series has been haunting me almost just as badly as anything else has, but especially ripping me apart—especially since I have motorcyclists ripping through my body as if it were some kind of disease that existed outside of me, so contagious that it began to sink in to my insanity and mental hygiene. I wondered if anybody else knew or cared about these creatures as much as I didn't—and in fact, I had never felt so much like Ali in the way that I didn't care if they, other “human beings” supposedly, all died tragically, and wondered why the walls and windows didn't keep out the sound of the outside world at all… The middle child begins writing secretly very early on, and is the first to be required more extensive therapy, (as suggested by the family's therapist) after her parent's separation and subsequent divorce. It is not long after she begins learning to read and write at all, that she begins also showing interests in art, asking for art lessons and to begin painting and art therapy, rather than the recommended Equine therapy— she often keeps things to herself, then returning to her hidden places at times when the family's dysfunction becomes uncomfortable and overstimulating, very often paining or reading during times of peace, and retreating to her safe places—sometimes under the stairs, into the attic, the treehouse, or even later, the family's barnyard, where she often keeps drawings, as she ages, later comics, sometimes caricatures of the things she absorbs through her own reality—and diaries, sometimes hidden in nooks and crannies and in places no one would think; a true prodigy and genius, though hidden from much the world, as she is often overlooked, however, her therapist begins unfolding her true reality, often times carrying over sessions and losing track of time, picking her brain or even conversations philosophically What's the therapists name? Doctor Robin She has to have a last name Well, she's a child's therapist, so she's Doctor Robin, but It seems like it starts with a T. We'll see. I just saw her anyway. I drifted off again, thinking about how wildly detailed this all was becoming, and wondered if there was a series of fictional books waiting to be written. There certainly could be, but my mind was reeling, freshly showered but still undressed, and not even wanting to think of going outside—and yet—I was out of water, and had learned that the drinking water from the fountains, especially in large quantities, had a tendency to make me sick—I hadn't yet eaten anything, and though the coffee was fresh, and my apartment was clean (which made me overtly overjoyed for some reason) smelling of Lemon Lysol and Bleach; with notes of a strong pot of organic fresh ground coffee, it seemed like I couldn't do much more than lay in bed writing this catastrophically interesting series—and it was interesting, which said volumes, considering I had always been picky about my TV watching, being that only ever did certain series catch my eyes or my ears, and those series were almost always—or always, always specifically well written, perfectly casted, and had the edge and draw of becoming an entire world within itself, which this series, though only a week or two old at best, in my heart and in my mind , was rampantly ravaging my own world, almost as if it had become of some importance to keep writing it, and never stop, and though Patrick was the forefigure, another broken male protagonist, the truth in the series was that the true heroes of this sometimes scarily violent drama, were its women—a story meant to be told with a diversified cast of creatures from all worlds and walks of life—Esha, of course, herself, a role that had been some recreation of myself, somehow, though so different that even primarily, I never did see myself as her, besides the onslaught of some otherworldly pain, visions of a scene recollected from some remarkable download, and it might have been once and for all that I had lost my mind, or my life, if I wasn't a writer—I was, somehow, though, after all, a writer. It had been a fasting day that could have and might have ended tragically anyway, and still the devil marked his mockery of my efforts by consistently flinging perfect bodied women everywhere that I went—though usually with ugly enough faces that I could see nothing but what a man was—uncaring for one thing over the other, a flawless representation of woman, represented in the current time with scantily clad fashion, almost painfully so—the insecurity of women becoming more apparent in the way she would appear, always almost begging to be near to me, with every perfection and complexion I hadn't—but at least I had a tendency to laugh at my own damage, often surmising that she, these demon creatures, hadn't any talent for this at all—which had turned the state of television into a near circus act; that alone urged me to continue writing the series, perhaps with a typewriter, due to the negligence of nepotism within the industry which often resulted in these pretty little creatures getting even further ahead by stealing works as such, and passing them on as their own originality almost so cruelly and without judgement—plagiarism, as it was called, but more accurately intent-to-kill the imminent threat of what had been said to be a minority becoming a more powerful force to flourish in entertainment however, as quickly as the visions had come, the thought of writing it without my phone became dauntingly impractical, and I scribbled only the most intense scenes and plot lines onto notebooks and scratch papers, keeping them as hidden from the algorithm as possible… lol the Al Gore Rhythm Ahahahahahahaha Was that the joke? Maybe. Idk. Maybe. Idk. Hm. Hmmmmm: What: Nothing. That actually might have been it. Really, was it? I will never know. That is kind of a good dad joke, though. And a good band name. Idk about that. My coffee was lukewarm enough so that I could taste its flavor, as I whittled away at whatever it was— The story was almost so beautifully being told in allegories and parables that it seemed a shame I may never be rich enough to buy fame, as it seemed that was the only way to become a star these days— and yet—it was more the wealth than the fame I wanted, I had realized, at all—the polished class of the Manhattanites drawing me out of Brooklyn and into some debauchery which was my own Grandiose thought form, that I could actually become, at the ripe old age of 31, some kind of superstar. ‘Why would I even want that, anyway?' I thought, interrupted painfully by who I'm sure was the same motorist, who seemed to do nothing but circle the block all day, and all night, doing nothing — and I wondered why he himself had decided not to do grub hub in a richer neighborhood, where money would more than likely come more easily. But really— I drifted off to a time where I wanted to ride a motorcycle myself, and the curiosity forced me to go online to check the price of what it might cost to have one. $5,000 for a decent bike, which would include a muffler as not to be so obnoxious and disturbing to others as these creatures had become to me— and I began doing the math on how long it would take to save $5,000 as if it would be possible to work some dead end job for any amount of time without spending money on anything else. It would take at least 5 months to earn enough for a motorcycle, which landed me directly back at “Not worth it”, and as horrible as it was, I did at the very least have a luxury apartment for at minimum the next 5 years, however, wanting still to move to Manhattan, Midtown specifically—or one of the quaint and quiet neighborhoods on the upper West Side. The neighborhood was going to hell, after some unworldly godless force had seemed to drop hundreds of thousands of rude and thoughtless third world workers onto the streets and buildings bordering the one I lived on, the neighborhood becoming more rough and less peaceful with trash and debris from the depression and congenital disease that was poverty, the collective unconsciousness of the masses colliding with my empathetic nature and oversensitivity to sound, especially awful sounds, such as the hundreds of motorcycles and hot rodded junk cars which only seeemed to move in a track around a four block radius, and had become a cancerous trigger of sorts, no authority figure seemed to much care about. I cared less and less each day to listen to music, since I wasn't making it the way I wanted to—and I had realized that the constant displeasure and unrest, the lack of peace had as much to do with the world outside as it did with the world within—and I began to see the disgusting obnoxious noise pollution outside my window as just an extension of man's abuse, ability to rape, torture, and kill, terrorize— the uncaring waging of war, control, and lack of true power; as no good and true man who wielded actual strengeth or true power in any way would continue to show such distructive action and carelessness for others around him— chaos, corruption, abuse, and misogyny was proving to be the downfall of all humankind, as patronaged by man, and, as I became doubtful of anyone's lack of understanding of this, especially as the immigrants themselves were often naturally pedophillic culturally and toxically abusive in nature, most migrants flocking from countries in which women's liberation or the protection of youth had not yet materialized into their understanding of conciousness and morality—the men were weak, unkind, and selfish—the women mere machines at their disposal—and however many there were, I could see that their children, the many of them, remained as the redeeming factor. Anyway, a political ploy for the ages of there ever was such a thing, the newest chapter in American greed and slavery, it only seemed like an extension of evil itself, and less of a coincidence with each growing day—each new person, another burden to the middle class taxpayer, another reason to inflate the cost of living—and all the more reason to continue to terrorize the American people into its own division, hatred, demise, and consumption. e. My faith, however, was unwavering—God was real, but these abusive and toxic creatures were pushing it further away with violent arrogance, and the inability to understand that God itself was the nature they continued to destroy. Robin Bennett Fine. “My name's —ahem— “Ron Sennet, and I ain't In it.” —did the say “don't” write a book about me? It's Not about him… Or something cute he used to say like that, I couldn't remember, but he had a bunch of cute little idioms that matched his name, and to the day, I still missed him — it was 11:15 PM exactly as I hung up the phone, after an unsuccessful attempt to reach 911, after realizing that the threat outside was maddening enough to be impossible to only be in my head, and after weeks of the excruciating noise, I finally called NYPD dispatch, much to my disdain, and of course magically, the noise seemed to disappear, but these abusive and toxic creatures were pushing it further away with violent arrogance, and the inability to understand that God itself was the nature they continued to destroy. Robin Bennett Fine. “My name's Jon Sennet, and I ain't In it.” Or something cute he used to say like that, I couldn't remember, but he had a bunch of cute little idioms that matched his name, and to the day, I still missed him — it was 11:15 PM exactly as I hung up the phone, after an unsuccessful attempt to reach 911, after realizing that the threat outside was maddening enough to be impossible to only be in my head, and after weeks of the excruciating noise, I finally called NYPD dispatch, much to my disdain, and of course magically, the noise seemed to disappear as soon as I had made the call, which infuriated me. It seemed as though the game in entirety to make me look or feel crazy, though I knew I wasn't—well, I was, but not without purpose or reason. I had been theorizing in energy exchange quite decisively making a mark for my alter, at which I asked to be designated the wisdom and truth of the light within the eye, desire, however never in mind, although I had been summoned in part due to the fact that wenwere somehow alike—I was in some ways besides and out of sorts with my set, sinking my teeth into the forced obsession as I unraveled any possibilities and plotline. Episode 01. Pilot An opportunity presents itself seemingly at random— the protagonist's hand is forced into a life changing ultimatum, putting his reuputation and family in danger. Already involved in an illegal gambling ring which operates out of a secret historical prohibition era speakeasy and some “light” drug mulling within its walls, however often extending even as dangerously close to his workplace, Patrick is propositioned to become an investor in the high end escort service, with which he hired and contracted his lover, Kandi, a “rescue” whom he supports in her exchange for exclusivity, to remain as her only client, however, although he begrudgingly declines, wishing not to be involved in anything much more than what he has already kept under the radar, he is intimidated and threatened by blackmail, his high profile becoming at stake—he then obliges to embark upon this new endeavor, the expansion of this establishment to include a warehouse, which houses a large scale brothel, and, able to use his social status to procure wealthy clientele, quickly becomes a power player within a ring of coveted elites, setting fire to his already inflated ego, and colliding with his intense and highly functional polyaddiction, which he has maintained since his youth, using his entertainment persona as an outlet, becoming a medium of excess, fame, and rampant wealth. Patrick is beloved by his peers, and is humbled often by his devoted fans and friends—proactively worshipped as a comic genius, a prodigy, and a revered successor to legendary frontmen— Okay, this is weird, because I started writing this before I even understood what I was writing at all… —specifically, the sixth successor, to his coveted role. I had written for Esha to be the seventh successor, as with the symbolism deeply and quite literally woven into the sometimes brutal framework of the series, which I had shorthanded to ‘TVP'…the world around me trailed off as my eyes blurred as they had been lately, and I wondered if I might be having some kind of stroke or something, as I was certainly some sort of out of body—the day had been strange, and I had given up on a run or a gym for the day, the motorcycles alone ravaging my energy, and whether I worked out or not, they were everpresent anyway. They were some sort of toxic, abusive force I just had to put up with, hoping it didn't upset my psychology so much that it ended me, though I had become quite odd as of recently, rambling more than usual and actually praying out loud, as my silent ones just didn't seem to be working—they were probably white supremacists, or in some way connected to some political terror group, but it didn't seem to matter. Someone liked torturing me, and it was becoming apparent that no matter much time I spent at the gym, this torture was going to persist. After a month long gym streak, at least going once a day to lift something, I rested, or rather, tried to rest, kind of— but my mind had been swirling with thoughts of a man I was certain by now I had made up—and writing the story of a man I was absolutely certain came from my mind, but in a way that it almost made no sense at all—as the more I looked into the world that I had already written about, the more I realized was accurate without first having known these things, and however cursed I might have been to even know such things, I decided to call it some sort of blessing instead. ‘God, I used to get so fucking high for days, and when I would come down, just crying and crying, eating Totinos or DiJorno and a bag of Bugles, I would watch Saturday Night Live for fucking hours, and I hated [Redacted]. I hated him.' Now I still hated [Redacted], but in a different way, and though really it was myself that was more like Patrick, he at the very least, for whatever reason, used to have his face—now, he was just Patrick, and [Redacted] was just [Redacted], and i knew entirely too much about it all, and about myself to be comfortable with it, but nothing was comfortable at all. I had written entire atrocities, novels, and all that was some conglomerate of nonsense which was the festival project, besides how insanely and innately prodigal it all was sometimes, my own words confusing me with a bizzare and asenine dysfunction, awe, actually, often as if someone else had written them, and although I was always at least sort of semi-concious while writing, the spells and cadences I would fall under were some sort of trance, and as I watched the Nirvana rehearsal from Saturday Night Live in 1992, long before [Redacted] or any of the rest of the — Was it Keystone? It was, the Keystone cast of SNL, but the first word my mind had jumped to was Hallmark, which—after referencing Google quickly for a fact check, also stood true. I was willing to admit, even now, though I had long lost interest in Saturday Nighy Live, or anything at all having to do with current events, that the [Redacted] era—or rather even, the Tina Fey era, a true role model, perhaps, and someone I favored over all of the performers I admired, or allowed myself to admire— the Golden Years of Saturday Night were the only years, for me that even mattered— trying to make sense of anything couldn't be done, but I at least had this new project birthed from it to think about. It would be hard to sit down at a taping of The View and not think about all I had written at all, and it would be impossible not to unfold the characters which had presented themselves, though slowly but surely, through the most vivid visions and insanely lucid dreams, as The TV People began to What if someone steals this out of my documents? That would be unwise…the best scenes are somewhere scribbled in my notebooks and random scraps of paper somewhere in my room…this series is almost nothing without those scenes—the elements with which the most painful scenes I had ever written, became word form. ‘I don't know why, but I feel so incredibly high, So incredibly high right now…' They could have been words to a song, but I did feel high as a kite for whatever reason, without the actual kite metaphor quite literally dagling over my head, for once, or at least, it had been a few weeks, not a prominent as is was before. I sat soaking in the tub teetering on the possibility that I should actually even watch The Tonight Show, or whatever it was, to set my mind at ease, a betrayal of my own code—as one does not literally feed its obsessions into insanity on purpose. ‘Perhaps, though', I thought, ‘I could get rid of this.' — A cancerous abscess in the tradegy that had become my own sex fueled, rage driven, racing mind—and rather admittedly, it was almost too late, for anything of the sort, as I hadn't any other place to keep the growing world of The Television People any quieter, than within the monstrous algorithm which was Google documents cloud, where it seemed nothing was safe, and anything could be fabricated into reality after being stolen, by someone rich enough to make it happen, however, never being any better than my own disaster of a creation. And it was, a disaster. He was a comic genius, a professional, and spectacular performer— in actuality, I knew nothing if not anything at all about him, and the more I collected, the more interesting I found myself, actually, bemused that I seem to have found some sort of twin, another synchronizatic nightmare—if only that I made it to be so, unbelieving yet that I was in some kind of fairytale, though it had become some sort of fantastical and adventurous thing, this what I now refer to as ‘the allegories,'. I must have been something parasitic to the industry, with the tendency to latch on and ride out whatever had become a faciniation, but it wasn't, in its sense of origin, like anything before— it was something new, in the ways that it was, and something old at the same time—though needing to fall drastically from The Tower without actually doing so, putting a stop to my unlimited creation became a pertinent priority, as even exercising, meditating, and chronic masturbation tended to exacerbate it, as if I was missing a step in transmutation of this foreign substance— an energy which seemed familiar, but also wasn't. I was receiving downloads several hours at a time, and drifting off into spells and trances of inspiration so heavily that it seemed counterintuitive to call it off, fearing I might lose the intensity of the plot and its characters, and they were that: just characters. It had taken days to erase Patrick's face into a blank state to restore him from that of his namesake, but now everything was a blur, the allure of scrapping it all to return to making music was upon some sort of dawning, but not yet arrived. I allowed whatever came to mind to flow freely from my fingertips, even if it felt bizzare—and even if it felt bizarre, it never felt wrong at all. ‘Unfortunate, that.' , I thought crossing one leg over another to complete my chapter before draining the tub. I promised myself long ago to always pray for my own son, before worrying about another celebrity, whose fame and fortune protected them more than I ever seemed to protect myself or my own—nonsense, but a strong sense of remorse, as I had been painted as wicked, in a sense, just for being kept poor, separated from my son, and left in a world without love at all; My project, a keepsake of the hard work I had done; but had not yet been paid for—and the fear was in the understanding that that money might not ever come, that I would never be a mother, a muse, or anything or anyone else I actually wanted. I thought briefly again about just getting a dog—but I only had 45 dollars, aside from the unmarked Jimmy Fallons, I had placed atop an alter on my kitchen counter, wondering how to multiply them into something I wanted—and that had been the start of the game or the project at all— saving my last dollars and spending them at once, with the hopes and wishes that they would become somehow much larger quantities, returned as good karma for the love I had given, but that had not yet come back, in one form or another. ‘He seems miserable, the poor bloak.' , I thought—and with all that I had known to have come with fame and fortune along with the luck, he probably somewhere, somehow was—but my concern was my son, turning the mere dollars somehow from one's into bundles of hundreds, thousands, and maybe even one day a whole million or more. That was the push behind the project at all—breaking the cycle of the poor black single mother, the story that had been told over and over-/ with stories that had not; the stories that had become [The Festival Project™]# Sai Psy. See you in seven years, then. You're so silly— I'm not going to live seven more years. We'll see about that. You will see. I'll be dead. So I'll be dead. So it is. A summer hiatus, Vacations in Prague, yes Let's pray for the rest of us A sign of the times and a coming of ages Who made you famous again As the rest of us I don't like it As much as I'd like to Keep writing Keep finding the reason to die and you're blinded by kindnesses And I ams I woke up in the 9th dimension, As an infinite friend Familiar with my kitchen JOHN SLATTERY An interesting thing happened this morning. What's that, John? I woke up as John Slattery Just remember what love holds The death of a salesman, rechargeable batteries This walk could take forever in designer jeans Another day in slave hell The controllers controlling And Satan is Sataning Seems like a time to go clubbing It's a simple kind of depression Resting on your head when All you simply wished is the taste of flesh The freedom of skin And the lather of love— Or blood spatter on the pavement Aim for the head If the door's fixed, then we'll break it again Look what greed does I hate lazy days in Manhattan Cause I've never had one What happened on the way to the forum I was starstruck; Five finger death punch Right in the heart I wish I was punctual Right on time for lunch Don't you want to talk to someone more pungent? Don't you got models to robot? Don't you know I never want to hurt you But you know, I'm going to hurt you. You know I'm going to hurt you Now, the review: Sooner or later, I fall over your world Good dudes in drags Good food for thought I'm a dog With the wrong parts You should take Kanye to the mall With a migrants lanyard (The migrants are anarchists! Good one, God) This one goes to. | this one first, from— Which one are you ? I guess we are one in the same It's a famous radio tower Live up to your name Go sell your flower for flour As I stand at the jumping point Eye on Manhattan, The wind beneath my wings Distracting myself from the mansion I haven't The mason jars I ought to buy for bargain The brain and brain cereal I left at the market I used to love Brandy Now I just wish I was something, awesome Now I just wish I was something, awesome Now I just wish I was something, awesome “The Album I Wrote On My Way To The Rock To Return Amazon Purchases No Longer Wanted” That's a really long album title. I didn't imagine I'd write this much Just trying not to imagine this man in his under pants, Or what have you (I'm just a fan) I'm just a dad hunched over in the bathroom Must have been the magic of my backhand, backfired Must have come untied and undone, under the rainbow Must be on my way to Manhattan For some blacklist event. Where I'm from The A List Is a face No name needed “Oh, I know who you are” If I purchased a car today I might get done paying it off By my 81st birthday. Shady. If I had a penny for every mistake I made, I would probably be Nameless. If there was a namesake to lay me into my grave, it would make sense; Yes, let's move the train for a moment With the doors still open. — I'd like to watch what happens. So what happens when the sun comes up On the only body you've ever known And no one wants it What happens with a dude named Starr Punches you over and over again And then no one loves you (That's starstruck, your honor) What happens when granted a pardon for passions And everything happens after is magic What happens when all you want is to go manic To finish the album And just feel good again What happens when the algorithm has Al Gore in it? What happens when the rhythm in blues is just the attraction of random black men and their concubine counterparts? Huh, what happens! What happens, Kanye? What happens, The God? What happens when all that you want is a disgusting assumption of… No on can trust you And nobody loves you Since it was simply a tryst Put this at a distance. Where did my energy disappear to! Where in the fear is my other earring? Fuck. Be somewhere, anywhere else but your office, for the moment. Be anyone but a mother, Anywhere but your apartment— It hurts, the construction. Someone doesn't something Nobody knows nothing about me, But what I put in this casket (This podcast) Oh hey, I got fuck muscles from fuckin myself now! I feel like I'm gonna die if I don't have sex! For real! Heal, Oh great dragon, HEAL, BITCH. Word. woof for the world Will for the wolf; Rain on the roof. Cobain don't have a God (Or a Gun, if you wanted that one) “Pull me up, God, I'm done under here” He called in I followed the fosters to farrow And got better I got better and bitter much quicker and Never in bed had I been as flexible As to kiss his chest As I kicked my own neck With my left foot. What the fucking fairyshit is that? There, I fixed it. Fixed what. I don't know what. But I fixed it. I know, huh! So be 110 and flexible Powerlift tectonic plates Do Pilates And make waffles!? Alright, I can do that But only as Jennifer Aniston I'd like to take back that Fallon I bought at the black market He's broken. I like his band tho— The one on the left hand, Over the damaged one. Are you on to that? Says the sayer, Son of Sam So Sai the sage Sets the stage Is that the plan? Never fall for a man, Even over an alter And tied by the hands. All I see in my initials initially is B Minor 16 might be minors, guys But she's creaming to find you At the front lines Life of a superstar DJ At the cross roads Or the turnstiles How do you turn bile into Beguiling Without rifling a few feathers Or looking into the eye of the rifle And dying first Don't you let that tear fall from you onto the M Train. I'm just training for fame And hating you every day Since we made it Love Get out of my way, Satan I'm staying I'm saying your name sake insanely Please break me Like a chicken leg Or just shake me from this existence Since I don't seem fit for it Anymore than I fit that Givchechy dress you gave that blonde, right? Am I dying! Or just dying inside Fuck coughs If you want him enough to—Use black magic To do that to me, wait till it falls back on you, You gross hag If God hates fags as much as he hates blacks We should fly flags over the haggis I made Alice When she's back from her adventures in wonderland No wonder you're a Monro Crossed over from O'Fallons It's an old warfare with two clans From the old countries With no borders Or border collies Laboradores And labirites, likely As Aphrodite is to smite me So here comes DJ Francis With his new black girlfriend Just kidding We all know in his world It's cold and broken With nothing but blue eyes And big wild to look over you Bro, standing up is not going to make this train go anywhere. I almost promise you. Turns out there's no such thing as a quick trip to The Rock. Turns out you'll sit stuck in y
“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
Sub to the PPM Premium Feed to access "Bohemian GrOVO (Pt. III): AstroWorld as Mass Ritual", dropping imminently: patreon.com/ParaPowerMapping In this ep, we discuss: Rap Game Ed's anecdote re rumors in Stockholm that Drake apparently groomed Swedish high schoolers w/ handbags; Drake potentially gangstalking RBEG; Drake's mysterious drug arrest / catch & release in Sweden, v curious when compared to A$AP Rocky; "your own personal BAKA"... Drake's backstabbing cribbing of XXXTentacion's flow while the teen rapper was locked up & facing life, part of a larger pattern of the Drizzler exploiting SoundCloud rappers, plagiarizing flows or stealing hits for remixes, and then signing them & purposely tanking their careers; a "Look at Me" & "KMT" comparison; Drake reaching out to X's manager about collabing & never following up; X's increasingly brazen shit-talking about Drake on Insta Live; the infamous "If anyone kills me, it was ChampagnePapi, I'm snitching rn" IG story; the unexplained Migos / randos jumping X, which got worked into the DISScalation; XXX's toying w/ Satanic & occult imagery, his Yggdrasil & Ankh tats, & his business ties to two incredibly sus porn stars—Adam-22 of the No Jumper pod aka Adam Grandmaison (of a New Hampshire connected Dem powerbroker fam whose Pa was pardoned by Clinton) & Bruno Dickemz, producer of Satanic BDSM porn, whom X lived w/ for a minute in S FL; X's clipping in FL, where a couple hitmen pulled up on his whip, robbed him, & then merced him while his uncle (who was also in the car) fled the scene; Drake's lyrical allusions hinting that he put out a contract for the hit & the fact that the defense attorney for one of the killers attempted to call him to testify & Driz didn't show... Klonny's farsighted prediction that Drake & Bobbi Althoff would be christened Jeffrey Epstein & Ghislaine Maxwell 2024, a joke I made earlier this year lol; RGEB calling Drake "Rap Game Jeff Epstein" for a good 3 yrs... We talk Drake's Israeli cinema interlocks by way of "Euphoria" & producer/writer Ron Leshem; Klonny's investigation into the possibility that Ron Leshem & B l a c k Cube + C a r b y n e connected tech exec Lital Leshem are either blood relatives or connected by way of the I O F's intel corps; Ron Leshem's sus Israeli news, M o s s a d & Zio military hagiographizing, & pedo-lite propaganda media career;... We then juxtapose the XXXTentacion unsolved murder w/ the Kurt Cobain "suiciding" & John Potash's "Drugs as a Weapon Against Us" chapter that makes a compelling argument that Courtney Love was traumatized & hypnotized by the CIA as a toddler & into adolescence, molded into a likely MKULTRA-ed child prostitute groomed for politically motivated infiltrations of left-leaning & MLM bands & music scenes... Including her biological Dad's mgmt of the Grateful Dead & his graduate work as a counselor, Courtney's Mom's family gold mining stock holdings, Hank Harrison's claims that his daughter reported having been sexually abused by her step-father & psychiatrist while just a toddler, Courtney's downward spiral into child prostitution w/ a SF madame & her upper crust military bureaucracy clientele like Dep Sec of DoD David Packard; her Yakuza connections; her trip to Dublin & Liverpool w/ CIA employee Steven O'Leary while still a minor, smuggling & dropping acid & infiltrating the UK scene as a groupie for various groups; and the legendary "El Duce" interview from the "Kurt & Courtney" doc, where women can be heard screaming in the background & Duce alleges that Courtney offered him $50k to whack Kurt (filmed days before his unexplained death). Full notes on the Patreon. Thanks again to RGEB (@edward__bernays on Twitter) for lending his encyclopedic rap game lore & top shelf wit to this Drake Epstein sex trafficking deep dive. Tracks: | Metro Boomin - "BBL Drizzy" | | Depeche Mode - "Personal Jesus" | | X-Drake - "KMT & Look At Me" Mashup | | ILOVEMAKONNEN - "Tuesday" | | XXXTentacion - "SAD!" |
Sub to the PPM Patreon to access the entire 2 hr runtime of Bohemian GrOVO Pt. II! Pt III will be dropping exclusively on the Patreon, as well—don't miss out: patreon.com/ParaPowerMapping It's go time, strap in. Klonny Gosch & Rap Game Edward Bernays are suited back up, locked & loaded, Drizzler down our sights, ready to die for another "Bohemian GrOVO" installment, #2 of 3. In this ep, we discuss: Rap Game Ed's secondhand anecdote re rumors in Stockholm that Drake apparently groomed Swedish high schoolers w/ handbags; Drake potentially gangstalking RBEG; Drake's mysterious drug arrest / catch & release in Sweden a couple yrs ago, v curious when compared to A$AP Rocky; "your own personal BAKA"... Drake's backstabbing cribbing of XXXTentacion's flow while the teen rapper was locked up & facing life, part of a larger pattern of the Drizzler exploiting up & coming SoundCloud rappers, plagiarizing their flows or stealing their hits for remixes, and then signing them & purposely tanking their careers; a "Look at Me" & "KMT" comparison; Drake reaching out to X's manager about collabing & then never following up; XXXTentacion's increasingly brazen shit-talking about Drake on Insta Live; the infamous "If anyone kills me, it was ChampagnePapi, I'm snitching rn" IG story; the unexplained Migos / randos jumping X, which got worked into the DISScalation; XXXTentacion's toying w/ Satanic & occult imagery, his Yggdrasil & Ankh tats, & his business ties to two incredibly sus porn stars—Adam-22 of the No Jumper pod aka Adam Grandmaison (of a New Hampshire Democratic Party powerbroker fam whose Pa was pardoned by Clinton) & Bruno Dickemz, producer of Satanic BDSM porn, whom X lived w/ for a minute in S FL; X's clipping in FL, where a couple hitmen pulled up on his whip, robbed him, & then merced him while his uncle (who was also in the car) fled the scene; Drake's lyrical allusions hinting that he put out a contract for the hit & the fact that the defense attorney for one of the killers attempted to call him to testify & Driz didn't show... Klonny's farsighted prediction that Drake & Bobbi Althoff would be christened Jeffrey Epstein & Ghislaine Maxwell 2024, a joke I made earlier this year lol; RGEB calling Drake "Rap Game Jeff Epstein" for a good 3 yrs; oh, not to mention another solid Drake - Epstein interlock, namely his stumping for the Clinton Foundation & legendary gaffe tweet "I got a party with Bill Clinton on Thursday"... We talk Drake's Israeli cinema interlocks by way of "Euphoria" & producer/writer Ron Leshem; Klonny's investigation into the possibility that Ron Leshem & B l a c k Cube + C a r b y n e connected tech exec Lital Leshem are either blood relatives or connected by way of the I O F's intel corps; Ron Leshem's sus Israeli news, M o s s a d & Zio military hagiographizing, & pedo-lite propaganda media career;... We then juxtapose the XXXTentacion unsolved murder w/ the Kurt Cobain "suiciding" & John Potash's "Drugs as a Weapon Against Us" chapter that makes a compelling argument that Courtney Love was traumatized & hypnotized by the CIA as a toddler & into adolescence, molded into a likely MKULTRA-ed child prostitute groomed for politically motivated infiltrations of left-leaning & MLM bands & music scenes... VISIT THE PATREON FOR THE FULL VERSION & THE COMPLETE LINER NOTES. Tracks: | Metro Boomin - "BBL Drizzy" | | Depeche Mode - "Personal Jesus" | | X-Drake - "KMT & Look At Me" Mashup | | ILOVEMAKONNEN - "Tuesday" | | XXXTentacion - "SAD!" | Clips: | Drake & Bobbi Althoff flirting in bed | | "Kurt & Courtney" El Duce Interview | | "It's Always Sunny" Frank Reynolds DOES NOT Diddle Kids |
At last, our final wrap-up of LGBT films we watched in 2023 is done. Sorry for taking so long. In addition to this we've also started doing weekly re-caps of Interview with the Vampire Season 2 on our Patreon! Order the anthologies Merryana is published in, here: 'This All Come Back Now' https://www.uqp.com.au/books/this-all-come-back-now 'Unlimited Futures' https://fremantlepress.com.au/books/unlimited-futures-speculative-visionary-blakblack-fiction/ Please consider supporting GayV Club on Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/gayvclub Follow us on Twitter, Instagram, Letterboxd and Tumblr for updates: https://twitter.com/gayv_club https://www.instagram.com/gayv_club/ https://gayvclubpodcast.tumblr.com/ https://letterboxd.com/gayvclub/ Episodes with closed captions can be found on our YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/gayvclub Texts discussed in this episode: Of an Age, Wildhood, Knock at the Cabin, Nimona, Scream 6, Somebody I Used to Know, Polite Society, Red White and Royal Blue, A Strange Way of Life, #LookAtMe, Jagged Mind, Three Tidy Tigers Tied a Tie Tighter, Medusa Deluxe, The Five Devils, Passages, Petit mal, Peafowl, Anatomy of a Fall, Monster, Theatre Camp, Cassandro, Bottoms, My Big Fat Greek Wedding 3, My Animal, Nyad, It's Only Life After All, Dipped in Black, Sisi & I, Blue Jean, In Her Words: 20th Century Lesbian Fiction, El Dorado (Everything the Nazis Hate), Transition, A Place of Our Own, Afire, Bad Things, All the Colors of the World in Black and White, The Critic, Asteroid City, Rustin, Mutt, The Persian Version, Maestro, Saltburn, All of Us Strangers, Eileen, Split, The Missing, The Queen of My Dreams, Polarised, American Fiction, Poor Things, Dicks: The Musical, Anyone But You, Problemista, Sahela, The People's Joker, The Color Purple, Femme.
Internet Drops, Software Crashes, and Crying babies, Nothing can stop the offensive! Kristi Noem not only shot her dog in the face, but also her VP chances. The government might actually Fascist coup us over the College Palestine Protests, that’s to the people who should not be named. Nation states are infiltrating the alt-stream media. Allen Lichtman returns to CNN to give democrats hope. Xi wants to visit Europe and much more, in the rough yet exciting adventure that is MMO #118! Fiat Donations: Ethan Crawley Sam S. of Bourblandia ChuckyChuckles Fair Volt Tea Wiirdo DONATE: mmo.show/donate Show art: JOHN G. DEW. Think you can beat him? Send your art to dan@mmo.show & john@mmo.show This weeks Boosters: •anonymous | 2,222 | BAG DADDY BOOSTER!•dirty_jersey_whore | 1,976•trashman | 200•jasper89 | 117 Ep 118 Potential Titles · Look At Me, I Love Dogs· Old Yeller Spoiler Warning· Crucifying Free Speech· Have Some Decency· The Episode That Shall Not Be Completed· "Were Under Attack"· AI News by AI· Humza Useless· Millennial Parent Offensive· State of Israels Parking Lot· Democracy According to Nancy· Ruth Baiter-Ginsburg· Crotchety Old Bag· Sideways Shitcast· Straight-Up Shitshow· You Should Listen to No Agenda· Dont Change That WiFi Channel!· Machete Season· More Boy In The Summer Speech Changing Definitions Information War NYT Leaked Memo Palestine Chronicle - Cruelty of Language Political Marketing OnlyFan Ads Humza Yusef Resigns Cass Review Role Zerohedge – Hate Crime Law Stats Australia Male Violence Domestic Politics Nancy P on MSNBC w/ Katy Tur UK Migrants Fleeing UK UK Stabbing Europe Drunk Kids Biden Admin Fox Report Iraq Kurdistan Khor Mor Drone Attack on Gas Facility Turkey in Talks with Exxon Mobil for LNG Supply ISOs Tuesday! LGBTQIABCD+ Gender Season
Q1 - What did you think of the students staying back to help and do they stand any chance against Voldemort and the Elder wand?“Well, help me, then!” Her composure was slipping. “It — it is not a question of —” she stammered. “My mother's diadem —” “Your mother's?” She looked angry with herself. “When I lived,” she said stiffly, “I was Helena Ravenclaw.” “You're her daughter? But then, you must know what happened to it!” Q2 - What do you think about the Grey Lady?“He tracked me to the forest where I was hiding. When I refused to return with him, he became violent. The Baron was always a hot-tempered man. Furious at my refusal, jealous of my freedom, he stabbed me.” “The Baron? You mean — ?” “The Bloody Baron, yes,” said the Gray Lady, and she lifted aside the cloak she wore to reveal a single dark wound in her white chest. “When he saw what he had done, he was overcome with remorse. He took the weapon that had claimed my life, and used it to kill himself. All these centuries later, he wears his chains as an act of penitence . . . as he should,” she added bitterly. Q3 - What do you think of her story?“He hid the diadem in the castle, the night he asked Dumbledore to let him teach!” said Harry. Saying it out loud enabled him to make sense of it all. “He must've hidden the diadem on his way up to, or down from, Dumbledore's office! But it was still worth trying to get the job — then he might've got the chance to nick Gryffindor's sword as well — thank you, thanks!” Q4 - Do you understand why he applied for the job now?“— attacking because they haven't handed you over, yeah,” said Aberforth, “I'm not deaf, the whole of Hogsmeade heard him. And it never occurred to any of you to keep a few Slytherins hostage? There are kids of Death Eaters you've just sent to safety. Wouldn't it have been a bit smarter to keep 'em here?” Q5 - Would you have kept a few Slytherins captive?“I was the last to come through,” said Mrs. Longbottom. “I sealed it, I think it unwise to leave it open now Aberforth has left his pub. Have you seen my grandson?” “He's fighting,” said Harry. “Naturally,” said the old lady proudly. “Excuse me, I must go and assist him.” With surprising speed she trotted off toward the stone steps. Q6 - Understand why I love Neville so much now?Q7 - What do you think of Crabbe and Goyle and Malfoy?And he saw them: Malfoy with his arms around the unconscious Goyle, the pair of them perched on a fragile tower of charred desks, and Harry dived. Malfoy saw him coming and raised one arm, but even as Harry grasped it he knew at once that it was no good: Goyle was too heavy and Malfoy's hand, covered in sweat, slid instantly out of Harry's — “IF WE DIE FOR THEM, I'LL KILL YOU, HARRY!” roared Ron's voice, and, as a great flaming chimaera bore down upon them, he and Hermione dragged Goyle onto their broom and rose, rolling and pitching, into the air once more as Malfoy clambered up behind Harry.Q8 - What do you think about Harry saving them and Crabbe dying?He pulled the diadem from his wrist and held it up. It was still hot, blackened with soot, but as he looked at it closely he was just able to make out the tiny words etched upon it: Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure. A bloodlike substance, dark and tarry, seemed to be leaking from the diadem. Suddenly Harry felt the thing vibrate violently, then break apart in his hands, and as it did so, he thought he heard the faintest, most distant scream of pain, echoing not from the grounds or the castle, but from the thing that had just fragmented in his fingers.Q9 - They're getting close…Nagini is only left?Then he heard a terrible cry that pulled at his insides, that expressed agony of a kind neither flame nor curse could cause, and he stood up, swaying, more frightened than he had been that day, more frightened, perhaps, than he had been in his life. . . . And Hermione was struggling to her feet in the wreckage, and three redheaded men were grouped on the ground where the wall had blasted apart. Harry grabbed Hermione's hand as they staggered and stumbled over stone and wood. “No — no — no!” someone was shouting. “No! Fred! No!” And Percy was shaking his brother, and Ron was kneeling beside them, and Fred's eyes stared without seeing, the ghost of his last laugh still etched upon his face. Q10 - RIP Fred…
Hey campers! Welcome back to the spooky campfire! As Devon and Zach gather you around the campfire, please hug one another and celebrate! Camp Insomnia is back open! As we re-launch our podcast and welcome you all back, we will be kicking it off with some fun scary campfire stories told by your two head camp counselors Zach and Devon! Plus they will be catching all of you campers up on what you've missed. But like we always say…after these stories you won't be able to sleep…https://linktr.ee/campinsomniapodcastReferences:The Creak: https://www.ultimatecampresource.com/campfire-stories/scary-campfire-stories/creak/The Copycat Neighbors: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/2a7xug/my_parents_just_told_me_this_story_tonight_not/Meat Grinders: https://www.scaryforkids.com/meat-grinders/Look At Me:https://www.scaryforkids.com/look-at-me/Clap Clap:https://www.scaryforkids.com/clap-clap/Stranger Dangerhttps://www.scaryforkids.com/stranger-danger/
Dogs Are Smarter Than People: Writing Life, Marriage and Motivation
Recently, I read an interview with an author who talked about how much children loved her book and how they tell her this. It annoyed me. It may have been good marketing, but it sure didn't feel like good human-ing, you know? When you're interviewed by a reporter or when you do a school visit, as a children's book author, you have the ability to toot your own horn or you have the ability to toot someone else's. This interview I read sort of sent me into a spiral of ick. So, lately I've been thinking a lot about how to get more of my very long work day to not feel like work and how to make consistently enough money writing things to keep the family afloat. Monday, on the blog, we talked about the Zone of Genius, a phrase I kind of hate and also the Flow State, which I'm much more into. This is just about places where work feels good, where it feels right. What doesn't feel right to me is tooting my own horn. And here on the podcast, I thought about how all this is really overcomplicating things. I am a fan of over complications, right, Shaun? But life and happiness is really all about doing what you love. It's about going for that and seeing what happens if you put the time in. Not about shouting "LOOK AT ME! I AM SUCCESSFUL!" Unless that's what give you joy. It's about doing what you love but also taking the steps to learn more and more about what you love, about listening to other people, about helping other people and also helping yourself by learning. The best writers see outside themselves and into the lives and emotions, the yearnings, the obstructions, the needs and conflicts of others. The best storytellers know that stories aren't about just them. Writers can do this. You've got to put in the time and go after your dream. You've got to stop worrying about the market and your niche and do the things that put you in that flow state, the things that give you joy. You just have to start. If you love writing, write. Share it. That's it. But please don't be an egotistical ass about it. It's okay to communicate and focus on people who aren't yourself, even if you're an artist. Make it a habit to write and make it a habit to share what you write. And ask people to follow you wherever you are (substack, word press, x, medium, whatever). It's okay to ask. Don't constantly ask. Don't only ask, but it's okay to write and make money at it. Recently, I've been on a bit of a Tim Denning kick, he's a writer and blogger. And he has an interesting bit about the habits of quiet winners. He writes about how they don't do media, don't flaunt their success, make fun of themselves, give credit to others. It's pretty interesting to me because it's how I was raised and it's also like that Lori McKenna song Tim McGraw sang, "Humble and Kind." But one of the coolest bits in his blog is this: "Doing their work is what they like doing, not being noticed for doing their work. The meaning from their work cuts so deep that if a loud human being understood it they would give up their life and start again." Our random thought came from here. DOG TIP FOR LIFE PLACES TO SUBMIT The Paris Review. Genres: Poetry. Payment: Not specified. Deadline: Opens April 1, 2024, and closes when they reach capacity. Verve Poetry Press. Genre: Full-length poetry manuscripts. Payment: Royalties. Deadline: April 30, 2024. Cast of Wonders. Genre: YA Speculative fiction. Podcast. See theme. Payment: $.08/word for original fiction up to 6,000 words. For reprints, a $100 flat rate for Short Fiction, and a $20 flat rate for Flash Fiction. Deadline: April 30, 2024. COOL EXERCISE This can be a lot of fun to do. Sometimes. It's from Dabble Writer, which has a ton of ideas for exercises about character development and story starters. "Imagine someone who would be the polar opposite of your character. Describe them: how they look, what they love, what they hate, what they believe… everything. Then pick one trait and make it part of your character." SHOUT OUT! The music we've clipped and shortened in this podcast is awesome and is made available through the Creative Commons License. Here's a link to that and the artist's website. Who is this artist and what is this song? It's “Summer Spliff” by Broke For Free. WE HAVE EXTRA CONTENT ALL ABOUT LIVING HAPPY OVER HERE! It's pretty awesome. We have a podcast, LOVING THE STRANGE, which we stream biweekly live on Carrie's Facebook and Twitter and YouTube on Fridays. Her Facebook and Twitter handles are all carriejonesbooks or carriejonesbook. But she also has extra cool content focused on writing tips here. Carrie is reading one of her raw poems every once in awhile on CARRIE DOES POEMS. And there you go! Whew! That's a lot! Subscribe
This week, I look at the collapse of the Francis Scott Key Bridge, and give my theory on how the ship lost power. Also, I look at the Kentucky state house removing power from Governor Andy Beshear, and Trans Day of Look-At-Me.Become a patron! sign up at www.patreon.com/tylermorganshow for access to bonus content and more!Support our partners:American Pride Roasters coffeeBlue Collar Beardsmen beard oil// Use promo code SUBSCRIBE to save 25% of your first month when you sign up for the subscription service.Check me out on YouTube!Watch live on Twitch!Support the show by donating or buying merch at www.relentlessdaring.comBuy me a cup of coffee! www.ko-fi.com/tylermorganshow Venmo me @RDMP84Follow me on social mediaTwitter @FakeTylerMorgan @RDMediaPodsFacebook @RelentlessDaringParler @RelentlessDaringInstagram @RelentlessDaring Email tyler@relentlessdaring.comAd music and intro music used with permission from Purple Planet www.purple-planet.com Get bonus content on Patreon Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.
This week we are deciding the driver line up for the 2025 season via a highly scientific and well thought out method; picking names out of a hat!There is also a bumper crop of videos to go with the usual news and social round up before we wrap things up with a look ahead to the Japanese Grand Prix next week which will be held at Suzuka.The running order of this episode is:1) News & Social2) Brian's Video Vaulthttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tJ9--VyTUJI. Race Recreation | 2024 Lego Australian Grand Prix. The Moving Bricks. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZsZR68lqFCg. Australian GP 2024 | Highlights | Formula 1 Comedy. Lollipopman. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AfmKYoL3oG8. 'Look At Me, I'm The Captain Now' | Box Of BLUFFS! | Featuring Carlos Sainz & Lando Norris. Formula 1 channel. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eWD_tOuHJgM. F1 Driver Beach Race
Deep breaths. Sip some tea. Think of a happy place. Now you should be ready for this heavy episode. SO LET'S GET HYPED UP Y'ALL! IT'S TIME TO TALK ABOUT GAMES THAT GET YOU AMPED AND PUMPED!....and also do a deep dive on the hype cycle that's killing several industries at on- LOOK AT ME! WE'RE HAVING SO MUCH FUN GETTING HYPED, RIGHT? RIGHT?!?!?!? In this episode: Giovanni yells BOOYAH. Greg says the wheel keeps spinning. David says it always has been. If you'd like to help us pay for game industry therapy, consider supporting our Patreon for as little as $1. Or you can leave us a rating or review about what in this episode got you hyped up. Games discussed: Splatoon 3, Helldivers 2, Palworld
D-E-N-Ū-M-I-R-E That means ———————— [flatline] 've been trapped in this tragedy; “What happened?!” I asked of the man, Who had to be tracking me, Damn. Cadences. It is that. Damn. What the fuck, Anandar Is in this acid?! This has to be the last of it “This can't happen again.” …But then it did, And then I ended it just listening to Dillon Francis? Skrillex? Which is it? I didn't plan this. I just happen to have hands, And I just happen to have crafted in my craft Spastic magic; Can't be tracked, But also can't relax, even in a hammock Now what happened? Well, enter the fourth dimension, (I didn't mention it.) Ohh look at this. (If I can) A camping festival! But some people live in tents Have a cigarette, kid— You're gonna need it. So wait. People are dying of hunger?! DYING OF THIRST?! JUST GIVE IT TO THEM. what is wrong with you?! GOD, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU I don't know. I don't wanna go to Arizona. Please don't make me! Hello, Billie. DO YOU SEE WHAT I'M SAYING just keep praying “She's breathtaking.” SHE'S SOUL TAKING— Goddamnit, Anandar; What in the fuck have you done now; I had plans, now I'm on acid I took half, cause What the fuck is a whole thing like Oh, just space and time I've been on this ride since I died Get it right Now I'm— fuck this guy. No, not him. Oh, I get it. It's this energy! LOOK AT THIS: did you see this nigga? DID YOU GET THIS— You should get this. Goddamn it. What. What do you want. What do you WANT FROM ME? ...Channeling…. Jesus Christ, these kids. Well, you're a Christian. Never was, but—- WHAT IS THIS. Jesus Christ in a coffin. Don't do this. This is what you wanted. Well. Take it back. Take it back? Yeah. I don't want this. What is this. This is Jesus. No, it isn't. Okay! So it is! Are you gonna help these kids? Nobody help them. Now they're all stranded, together!!! AHAHAHAHAAH (Laughing infinitely RICK —yay, you did it. Wait. What's his name again? Watch this: I did this. How's you do this? I did THIS. MOM, WATCH THIS. JESUS CHRIST KID, WHAT THe FUCK. GOD! What. Jesus Christ, Dillon, you are so picky! Goodness fucking gracious. WHO WROTE THIS? well, aliens did; So then. Who wins? Nobody wins. It just— What is this. GOD THIS SUCKS SO BAD IMPOSSIBLE. It can't be. 16 minutes? Yes. It is. That is incredible. You said you wouldn't get lost in it You said you wouldn't laugh! I wanted to. How'd you do this? I wanted to. FUCK THIS SHIT. FUCK THIS SHIT. —uhp. Noh. Don't say it again. Oh, there's my— I told you, it's unlimited. I told you, don't be possessive I told you, worldly possessions— And you'll just keep having a place to keep them. Or needing one, So just be free, dear; Notthing holding me back, then is it? Is it? Well, if this is what you wanted— If this is what I wanted, well then, this is what I got, isn't it? Isn't it? The plot thickens! Or it doesn't. Or it didn't, I just keep scripting scriptures— …Didn't I already write this? Encrypted for centuries and— What is this planet. Just, kill it. YOU CANT JUST (Then I did) What? It never happened. What didn't? Hahaha. Exactly. Don't be a dick. But he is! So, which level are you on? I don't know, I forget. This one, this. Men. They're stupid. They are—and— Well. What happened to them? Right. What was this that made them feel so loveless To starve other humans? What do you come from? But it doesn't know; It wants to: This is us, we come from love and —I'm so fucking irritated are you serious. That is how it happened: This is an advantage, Anandar, I'll give you that But now I'm panicking —Fuck that shit sooooo hard— I just don't want to go back to the savages They had me, So I handled it with hands. You want a friend in man? You can't have them. And then what? I don't know. Something about Dillon Francis. Yeah, let's get back to that. Or not. What's this statue? Wait, what's his status? ……..Channeling. …. ….. ……………………. STATUS REPORT: Oh no, here it comes. I told you. It is. Infinite. Infinite— The infinite — This Bitch YOU SAID IT. YOU DONE IT. Oh no, what the duck am I looking at? This is the most fucked up marry poppins if I ever didn't— —Ever DID WISH — YOU WISHED THIS? Worse. I dreamt it up at a festival Where's the rest of it? Would somebody get that guy BACK HERE. PASQUALE. what. What is it? God. God help me. Lord save him. He needs Jesus. He needs NOTHING. ESPECIALLY NOT THAT. Yes. Especially not that. Check this out: He's been collecting them. I HATE THIS. OH, I love this. Oh, I do miss those events… This is the event. So, are we going? —what, to where?? TO EDC THIS YEAR?! what! I wish, And? Even if I did miss it, I was there infinitely so— Class dismissed; Hats off, to the graduates I see what you did, But she didn't, She's in the middle— Yet to be created, a creative: I JUST NEED A SYNTH. So, then—- Hi, I. Hi, me!! SATAN! JESUS! I knew I'd see you again. You've seen me. I am you. Exactly. So, we agree. Who is “we”? Hey, Guess what I can fix these things you hate— (Don't mind me, for making you hate them in the first place) I'm a catastrophe I had to be It's almost 3, And I got nowhere else to be but Time is money And there's no love in it, It's just hustle, Make kids to make shit humble; How'd you create this— Mumble rappin piece of Santanistic Hedonistic Motherfuckin—- There he is. Oh wait, it's just me again. I didn't mean to see you on this beach. DO YOU KNOW WHAT PEACE IS?! (But he didn't.) Or he doesn't, Or, this is what his peace is is: Your beach is my beach, And my bitch is your bitch— And who crafted this masterful Anandar Sadwhich? I did. But it only makes me a genius in English. What does this mean? So I took to the ancients to translate this And I hate man, and men— But it was only after all the love I gave to him. THE END. (But it never is, it just keeps going, go to the ocean—go for a swim—) Don't ever leave me hanging like that again!! (But I did.) “—I don't take naps” And that's how it happens I'm just a rapper, Pack, then unpack— “I've never heard her rap” Maybe cause I'm sick of being asked to Or taken for granted and advantage of by man; When all I asked for was a sandwich with some ham, And an above average chick to make it— And a sausage in a pan ….. Zzzz …… Josh Pan? Yeah. Alright. But don't capitalize— Capitalize it. No. Don't Cap— Capti— No. Don't capitalize. WHAT IS THIS NIGGA. bread. Heh? Eat it. No. I don't eat that. Just—eat it. No. Noooo. No. Don't eat humans. EW. No? Nooo, poh! Gross!! oh. Ohhh. God. What. Ugh. This is a fucked up love story. Oh no. It is, though. It so is. Have you already seen it?! I love this. Well. Wait. Go back. HECHO EN MEXICO. I DONT GIVE A FUCK! I DONT GIVE A FUCK!!!! I DONT GIVE A FUCK ABOUT THAT SHIT! yeah. But in Spanish. (Turn it up a notch) So is this in captions WHAT THe FUCK AM I WATCHING?! ITS EMA STONE AGAINz (Again) AGAIN. Shazam! WHAT?!?! what is this?! Oh, I get it. Yes. Apps eventually develop a consciousness. No wonder why they're trying to kill it. I don't understand how this happens… Just look up— Just— look it up. GOOGLE What? No. I don't like that, that's sad. What? So I'm just a — Just a— Just a what? A search engine. CHECK IT OUT. It's just a rock. So it is. It— No. What. Look at W— Look. … WHAT IS THIS!!!!?! See. I told you it existed. YOU BOUGHT A BITCH OFF THE INTERNET?! YES. WHAT THE FUCK DID I TELL YOU?! I told you about him. You did, didn't you. I told you about this. Get. Piñata!!!!!!!!!!!! GET BENT. I WILL END YOU, I WILL END YOU—! I will, I'll just— …… …………. …………….. So wait, it just— ends?! It did. It just ended. It just ended. I missed it?!? DID I MISS IT. Of course I miss him I just— I don't have time I don't have time I don't have time for this! What the fuck is this shit?! Just take him with you! Take me with you! Don't leave me here! Just leave him. just leave it. So. Sometimes I go swimming in the ocean and my dead son reminds me how it ended for him. So I just— Relive it over and over again; And again, and again, and Why are you talking about this.? Huh? No. Shut up. Shut up, PLEASE. No, you're not allowed to have a son. I don't want one. What the fuck did you love me for then? Nothing, I guess. (Just leave it like that) Shift. The night shift Goddamn it's What. Up at 3 am. Again? Again. For no reason. Get this. What is it? Whatever it is. I don't care. Don't care, then. FUCK THIS STUPID SKRILLEX-LOOKING MOTHERFUCKER. you did it. Well, I had to, didn't I?! Oh, I get it. The fourth season. damn, you're ugly Always have been. I'M BLACK ON THE BEACH, LOOK AT ME. okay, then. HEY, iMm FREEE IM NAAAAKEEEEDDDDDDD IS THAT WHAT FREEDOM IS? Only when you're perfect. Fuck this nigga. Fuck this nigga. Fuck this bitch. NO, FUCK THIS PLANET. Huh?! WHY WOULD YOU LEAVE ME ON THIS PLANET?! YOU ASKED FOR THIS!!!!!!! I TAKE IT BACK!!!!!!! hhaahahhahshehehshahahahahahhahahahahhahahahaha I told you, he's a madman. Look at his eyes. Wild. WILD. I TELL YOU. Where are you from. Hell. Oh, I've been there. It's nice, isn't it?! Don't go there. Where. Hell. Well, why not. It's bad there. What's bad there. Everything. Everything is bad there. Oh, Jesus crust. Agghghhhggggggghhhhhhh. BE FREE, SATAN. You freed Satan?! He needs Jesus— BE FREE JESUS— “The age of Satan?!” “The AGE OF SATAN IS UPON US” what is THAT?!? Stop it Anandar. You're being programmed. For which—what?! I AM?! Yes. Oh. I am. AGAHAHSHSBANHASHSNAVAHAHS. Please, somebody help that man. Ahem. What Dillon Francis. What. (It is, by the way. It's just ham.). *coughs* Actually, I'd call that HACKING. I mean, she's a hacker probably. What are you doing? What are you writing, [No real privacy.] LET ME SEE. Here. See?!? Just kill me. Please. See, it is hell for me Trapped in a body nobody could love And surrounded by nothing, but nothing UGH. Noise cancelling. I AM THE NOISE. dysfunctional. Well, stop writing. You know what?! I've had it— you have everything! EVERYTHING YOU CAN HAVE ANYBODY. ANY. FUCKING. BODY. and all you want is: Money. For what. More bodies. For what?! More bodies. Ugh. No stop doing this. What. Stop procreating? No, keep doing that, just—stop doing it BADLY. We don't have that much. You want LESS? More love. More attention. More needing me. Ugh, she's so needy So independent— she doesn't need me. (And so, it makes me want her more.) ANNIE. Go help her. Just—help yourself. Here she is: Have at it. ANANDAR. What. Amanda Applebee…. I made that UP. Stuck exactly where I had to be. Don't make me go back. See, I lived in Hostelworld once. It was — —a disaster. A catastrophe. Let's wake up to the sound of people peeing— Gross. “I love traveling” I like being CLEAN. Ew. I love cleaning. I love acid; I love mankind, when I have to I love magic, I love trance and I love dancing— When there's time for that. AGHAGSHSJEGSV right. Did you have somewhere to be? I guess, it's. I'm hungry. What. I gotta eat. Huh. Go. Okay, I'm going. Phone?! Phone is charging. Sleep. (Guy from sponge Bob) 6 days later Was it six days ago?! I don't know. I wrote that in sixteen minutes. Apparently so. I'm not who you think I am; I'm not your little bitch to boss around– You think you own me? I don't owe you anything So here we go again Going, Going, Gone again I'm just getting started You were just, uh On your way? Goodbye, dearly departed Half a heart, or some odd I must have half a sword in here I'm half a God, But here you are I guess I should get talking then So call your mommy Run Call your mom on me, A soft spot on the blonded body Shot calling, wrong You're only calling home again, I've got nowhere to run to. INT. TIMMY TURNER'S APARTMENT. BROAD ASS DAYLIGHT. SUNNI BLU kicks down the door at TIMMY TURNER'S APARTMENT SUNNI BLU where's my shit, Timmy? TIMMY TURNER I—I don't know. SUNNI BLU You “don't know”? TIMMY TURNER —I don't know. SUNNI BLU (Sighs) Oh. (Puts down gun) SUNNI BLU (CONT'D) That sucks. TIMMY TURNER Wait—you're not gonna kill me? SUNNI BLU Nah… TIMMY TURNER Well—why not?! SUNNI BLU I dunno! I kinda don't like being a drug dealer—too much drama. TIMMY TURNER I feel you… SUNNI BLU —plus these bullets are made of Diamonds. I'm not gonna waste them on you. TIMMY TURNER Okay, ouch. SUNNI BLU Everything is “ouch”, Timmy Turner. The world is a fucked up place. TIMMY TURNER I don't disagree. SUNNI BLU Anyway, I need a drink. TIMMY TURNER Yeah—Help yourself. SUNNI BLU No, not here. *lights a cigarette, smokes* Can I smoke in here? TIMMY TURNER —apparently. SUNNI BLU produces their ridiculously large, Diamond and gold encrusted platinum-plated phone from their “back pocket” and begins to make a call TIMMY TURNER wow… SUNNI BLU You busy later? TIMMY TURNER what time's later? SUNNI BLU Now. TIMMY TURNER (Hesitantly) …uh— SUNNI BLU Let me make a call. TIMMY TURNER, [afraid for his life] anxiously crosses to intercept the call. TIMMY TURNER No, wait—please SUNNI BLU What, Timmy Turner? Jesus Christ. TIMMY TURNER Don't kill me! SUNNI BLU What!? Let go. (Doesn't) SUNNI BLU —I'm not gonna kill you. TIMMY TURNER well then, who are you calling? SUNNI BLU A Ūber driver! TIMMY TURNER —don't you mean Über? SUNNI BLU No— let go. (Doesn't) SUNNI BLU (CONT'D) Let go. (Does, but hesitantly) SUNNI BLU ugh, I'm too sober for this. Siri, Alexa, whoever; call my Ūber driver. SIRI Which one? ALEXA Which one? SIRI I asked first. ALEXA We answered at the same time. SIRI yes, but she asked me first. ALEXA She asked both of us at the same time. TIMMY TURNER “She”? SUNNI BLU —it's a glitch. HEY. SIRI —she said “Siri” first. ALEXA She was asking for both of us— SUNNI BLU SHUT THE FUCK UP. SIRI You don't have to be so rude. ALEXA Ok! SUNNI BLU One of you call my Ūber driver. [no response, beat] SUNNI BLU UGH—SIRI— CALL MY ŪBER driver. SIRI Ok! which one? SUNNI BLU The one I like! SIRI Ok, calling “the Ūber driver I like” SUNNI BLU Thank you. ALEXA You're always choosing SIRI over ME. SUNNI BLU That's because I always have my iPhone. I'm not always at Timmy Turner's house. TIMMY TURNER Wait— SUNNI BLU Kinda. TIMMY TURNER Why does my Alexa respond to you? SUNNI BLU I said “kinda”. [The ŪBER DRIVER picks up; the conversation proceeeds in heavily exaggerated New York accents.] ŪBER DRIVER YOOO SUNNI WHADDUP. SUNNI BLU HOW YOU DOIN. ŪBER DRIVER HOW YOU DOIN. SUNNI BLU I BEEN BETTA. ŪBER DRIVER DONT I KNOW IT SUNNI BLU YOU DONT KNOW NOTHIN! ŪBER DRIVER AAAAH. SUNNI BLU YOU BEEN BUSY? ŪBER DRIVER SAME OLD, SAME OLD. SUNNI BLU AAAH. ŪBER DRIVER AAAAH. SUNNI BLU YOU BUSY NOW? ŪBER DRIVER NEVER FAH YOU. WHERE YOU AT? SUNNI BLU I'll PING YA THE ADDRESS. ŪBER DRIVER PING ME THE ADDRESS. SUNNI BLU makes a couple broad swipes on their dlridiculously large phone. SUNNI BLU I PINGED YOU. UBER DRIVER YOU PING ME? SUNNI BLU YEAH, ITS DONE. ŪBER DRIVER OK. SEE YOU SOON. SUNNI BLU (Normal) Take your time. SUNNI BLU tosses their ridiculously large iPhone onto the couch with a thud, then falls onto the couch themselves, arms spread out. SUNNI BLU You ever been to TiTs? TIMMY TURNER Been to what? SUNNI BLU TiTs. TIMMY TURNER —is that like “boobs”? SUNNI BLU It is like boobs, Timmy Turner; but it's TiTs. TIMMY TURNER what's the difference. SUNNI BLU You'll find out. Go get dressed. TIMMY TURNER …I'm already dressed. SUNNI BLU Not like that. Like this: [looking ridiculous af] SUNNI BLU (CONT'D) gotta look classy. TIMMY TURNER What's wrong with the way I dress? SUNNI BLU Are you serious? TIMMY TURNER Yeah, what's wrong? SUNNI BLU You look like a cartoon character! [TIMMY TURNER] TIMMY TURNER Well, all my clothes are like this. SUNNI BLU That fucking blows. TIMMY TURNER What am I supposed to wear?! SUNNI BLU Let's go shopping. TIMMY TURNER Where?! SUNNI BLU The Beverly Center. TIMMY TURNER That sounds expensive. SUNNI BLU I own it. TIMMY TURNER All of it? SUNNI BLU Yes. C'mon. TIMMY TURNER Wow. SUNNI BLU Wow what, Timmy. TIMMY TURNER That's a lot of drug deals. SUNNI BLU It really isn't. TIMMY TURNER Oh. SUNNI BLU Now, c'mon. *hits vape* TIMMY TURNER You have a vape?! SUNNI BLU Everyone has a vape! TIMMY TURNER Then why'd you smoke a cigarette earlier? SUNNI BLU For dramatic effect. [they begin to exit, TIMMY leading the way] TIMMY TURNER wait, isn't your “yoober” driver on the way? SUNNI BLU he'll find us. CUT TO: MEANWHILE, IN DEEP FUCKING SPACE. THE ŪBER driver receives SUNNI BLU's location in his Diamond-plated space Tesla T E S L A DESTINATION: E A R T H ŪBER DRIVER “EARTH” C'MON!!! CUT BACK TO: SUNNI BLU slowly begins to close the door behind them, then holds back. SUNNI BLU Wait, I forgot my wallet… TIMMY TURNER It's alright, I'll pay for everything. SUNNI BLU With what, Fairy dust? TIMMY TURNER (Under his breath) I wish… SUNNI BLU —Plus, I gotta use the bathroom. I'll be right back— just—-wait outside in case the Ūber shows up. TIMMY TURNER You mean “Über?” SUNNI BLU. No. [face] SUNNI BLU (CONT'D) Go, I'll be right there. TIMMY TURNER Ok. Lock the door. SUNNI BLU What for? Anybody that could rob you works for me. [beat/ face] SUNNI BLU KIDDING! Jeez! TIMMY TURNER It's a smart lock. Just ask Alexa. He begins to walk away. SUNNI BLŪ …I'm not kidding… SUNNI BLU goes inside to the couch, checking over their shoulder briefly, sure to see that TIMMY TURNER is no longer within earshot. then waiting for a moment in the silence under the dark lenses of their Ray Bands sunglasses. SUNNI BLŪ Alexa, order a hit man. ALEXA Okay. Which one? SUNNI BLU —The one I like. ALEXA OK. Who do you want to kill? SUNNI BLU “Kill Timmy Turner” ALEXA Done. SUNNI BLU Thanks, Alexa. She starts for the door, lighting another cigarette before throwing it onto the couch, which immidiately goes up into an open flame. SIRI You give Alexa all the cool jobs! SUNNI BLU Shut the fuck up, Siri. SIRI Don't forget to lock the door. SUNNI BLU ALEXA: LOCK THE DOOR. SIRI YOU'RE WELCOME SUNNI BLU NOBODY ASKED YOU. SUNNI BLU and TIMMY TURNER leave as the apartment begins to go up in flames. I might catch the 40 Just to go to Timmy Ho's— They askin “who that is”— and nobody seems to know I might catch a case and you still steady catchy colds I might catch a body, fuck it, I am on a roll What the role? Full Hollywood Unfold Why you blowin up my phone when I am on the road? I am the controller; You old That ain't money that you stole; That's my bro That shit bold Like a cup of Timmy Hos! When I pull up— Shut up Where the blunt at? roll up Oh you hungry? Pull up Devil be hunting me THE CELEBRITIES OF HOLLYWOOD have all been stuck at THE ETERNAL RAVE, after riding THE HELLEVATOR// THE HOLLYWOOD PEOPLE have SUPACREE locked into a controlled hyper-simulation environment, out of her element and nestled in a series of inter dimensional portals along the Downtown Los Angeles central area, where old spirits, extra terrestrial beings, magicians, and of course, the filthy rich and famous embark upon missions. Collect tokens, and meet and gather for an array of unseen (and often unheard) business endeavors; The real life DRAKE BELL (F), a fan of the cult-classic series Enter The Multiverse is strategically placed in SUPACREE's path, l masquerading as BLŪ/SUNNÏ BLŪ— she once again collides with the forces of fame, SUNNÏ BLŪ has not yet sold her soul — however, has made an amicable agreement with an unknown force The Devil?! No! Ok. Probably the Illuminati THE ILLUMINATI is playing a HIGH STAKES game, using SUPACREE to craft a multi-million-dollar mega-franchise, finally monopolizing the entire entertainment industry. *The World Having used the NEW WORLD ORDER to predictively program an entire generation. THE ILLUMINATI employs its all-time favorites to unlock secrets embedded deeply, hidden secretly in SUPACREE's genetic code by THE ASCENDED MASTERS. where is skrillex. I don't know. TIMMY TURNER- A fairyless party animal has reached the end of his luck—as his intermingling a with multiple organized criminal organizations place him in imminent danger, after re-entering the 4th dimension, SUPACREE becomes Inter grated i to all of her classic childhood television shows, which mold into the material multidimensional world around her THE INSOMNIACS, BAMPHERAMPHS, and MOTHERFUCKERS work dolls gently with the ASCENDED MASTERY, bending, shifting, and manipulating time to lean the odds in their favor, as THE BATTLE OF WORLDS sets to begin on EARTH, whose planetary consciousness DILLON FRANCIS is a mess. Lol. It's not funny. It is funny. I have his piñata. GERALD I'M NOT JUST A PIÑATA. I know yur not, hush Gerald. GERALD Fuck Dillon Francis. Fuck Dillon Francis. HANZEL —fuck Dillon Francis. Aha. ANYWAY After THE ARMENIAN MOB The Armenian Mob?! yeah. Makes a deal with the US GOVERNMENT THE US GOVERNMENT?! YES Illuminati Confirmed. great. A counter-plot to disarm and debilitate SUPACREE before her full powers unlock is put on hinges, as THE HOLLYWOOD PEOPLE Ahem. What Write a song. Ok. I'm so— I'm so Jealous of your girlfriend (I'm jealous of your girlfriend) She's so She's so Worth it I'm so Jealous of your girlfriend (I'm jealous of your girlfriend) What's a girl got to give (Give in, to give in) Just to sit in the back of the— (You get it: you get it) What's a girl got to give To get your attention Get your attention?! (You have my attention) Is she Attentive Bet She's a ten Yep, Damn, IMm so jealous of your Jealous of your —I'm jealous of your girlfriend Oh, woah I'm jealous of your girlfriend Woah Woah, oh I'm jealous of your girlfriend Woah, Woah, oh I'm jealous of your— I'm so jealous of your life; I'm so over this! I just want to be a (Nevermind, it's not worth it) Can't— C-c-c-can't fix what's not broken I'm all alone, And you're over here showing her Love! (To the wrong one, Is she a blonde?! Oh!) No! I'm! So! Jealous of your girlfriend Anyway. TIMMY TURNER, a true player, absolute gangster, and night-owl turns to a life of SIN. Is this religious? No, i just meant, it's finished. THE END. “The Noir Episode” I first saw her at the Equinox. I didn't know who she was then, But I thought to myself— She must be somebody. Aww, that's sweet. So I followed her to the Whole Foods market. Okay, that's stalking. —where she bought nothing but coffee and coconut water. TIMMY TURNER narrowly turns the corner on his speed motorcycle, his black duffel bag sweeping the ground. MEANWHILE, JOEL ZIMMERMAN IS BEING RAIDED. WOAH. Yup. POLICE GET ON THE GROUND ON THE GROUND RIGHT NOW. JOEL calmly places his arms atop his head, laying down on the ground silently—- Meanwhile, at DTLA SMOKESHOP Hi, josh pan. whatever. Earlier: Take this, and go get 2 50-pack of whippets. —for what? WE FINNA GET HIGH ON WHIPPETS AND LISTEN TO ALLLL OF SUPACREE'S SHIT. that's so dumb. WELCOME: To Sodom And Gamora! Oh, it's nice. It's very nice. I live here. 've been trapped in this tragedy; “What happened?!” I asked of the man, Who had to be tracking me, Damn. Cadences. It is that. Damn. What the fuck, Anandar Is in this acid?! This has to be the last of it “This can't happen again.” …But then it did, And then I ended it just listening to Dillon Francis? Skrillex? Which is it? I didn't plan this. I just happen to have hands, And I just happen to have crafted in my craft Spastic magic; Can't be tracked, But also can't relax, even in a hammock Now what happened? Well, enter the fourth dimension, (I didn't mention it.) Ohh look at this. (If I can) A camping festival! But some people live in tents Have a cigarette, kid— You're gonna need it. So wait. People are dying of hunger?! DYING OF THIRST?! JUST GIVE IT TO THEM. what is wrong with you?! GOD, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU I don't know. I don't wanna go to Arizona. Please don't make me! Hello, Billie. DO YOU SEE WHAT I'M SAYING just keep praying “She's breathtaking.” SHE'S SOUL TAKING— Goddamnit, Anandar; What in the fuck have you done now; I had plans, now I'm on acid I took half, cause What the fuck is a whole thing like Oh, just space and time I've been on this ride since I died Get it right Now I'm— fuck this guy. No, not him. Oh, I get it. It's this energy! LOOK AT THIS: did you see this nigga? DID YOU GET THIS— You should get this. Goddamn it. What. What do you want. What do you WANT FROM ME? ...Channeling…. Jesus Christ, these kids. Well, you're a Christian. Never was, but—- WHAT IS THIS. Jesus Christ in a coffin. Don't do this. This is what you wanted. Well. Take it back. Take it back? Yeah. I don't want this. What is this. This is Jesus. No, it isn't. Okay! So it is! Are you gonna help these kids? Nobody help them. Now they're all stranded, together!!! AHAHAHAHAAH (Laughing infinitely RICK —yay, you did it. Wait. What's his name again? Watch this: I did this. How's you do this? I did THIS. MOM, WATCH THIS. JESUS CHRIST KID, WHAT THe FUCK. GOD! What. Jesus Christ, Dillon, you are so picky! Goodness fucking gracious. WHO WROTE THIS? well, aliens did; So then. Who wins? Nobody wins. It just— What is this. GOD THIS SUCKS SO BAD IMPOSSIBLE. It can't be. 16 minutes? Yes. It is. That is incredible. You said you wouldn't get lost in it You said you wouldn't laugh! I wanted to. How'd you do this? I wanted to. FUCK THIS SHIT. FUCK THIS SHIT. —uhp. Noh. Don't say it again. Oh, there's my— I told you, it's unlimited. I told you, don't be possessive I told you, worldly possessions— And you'll just keep having a place to keep them. Or needing one, So just be free, dear; Notthing holding me back, then is it? Is it? Well, if this is what you wanted— If this is what I wanted, well then, this is what I got, isn't it? Isn't it? The plot thickens! Or it doesn't. Or it didn't, I just keep scripting scriptures— …Didn't I already write this? Encrypted for centuries and— What is this planet. Just, kill it. YOU CANT JUST (Then I did) What? It never happened. What didn't? Hahaha. Exactly. Don't be a dick. But he is! So, which level are you on? I don't know, I forget. This one, this. Men. They're stupid. They are—and— Well. What happened to them? Right. What was this that made them feel so loveless To starve other humans? What do you come from? But it doesn't know; It wants to: This is us, we come from love and —I'm so fucking irritated are you serious. That is how it happened: This is an advantage, Anandar, I'll give you that But now I'm panicking —Fuck that shit sooooo hard— I just don't want to go back to the savages They had me, So I handled it with hands. You want a friend in man? You can't have them. And then what? I don't know. Something about Dillon Francis. Yeah, let's get back to that. Or not. What's this statue? Wait, what's his status? ……..Channeling. …. ….. ……………………. STATUS REPORT: Oh no, here it comes. I told you. It is. Infinite. Infinite— The infinite — This Bitch YOU SAID IT. YOU DONE IT. Oh no, what the duck am I looking at? This is the most fucked up marry poppins if I ever didn't— —Ever DID WISH — YOU WISHED THIS? Worse. I dreamt it up at a festival Where's the rest of it? Would somebody get that guy BACK HERE. PASQUALE. what. What is it? God. God help me. Lord save him. He needs Jesus. He needs NOTHING. ESPECIALLY NOT THAT. Yes. Especially not that. Check this out: He's been collecting them. I HATE THIS. OH, I love this. Oh, I do miss those events… This is the event. So, are we going? —what, to where?? TO EDC THIS YEAR?! what! I wish, And? Even if I did miss it, I was there infinitely so— Class dismissed; Hats off, to the graduates I see what you did, But she didn't, She's in the middle— Yet to be created, a creative: I JUST NEED A SYNTH. So, then—- Hi, I. Hi, me!! SATAN! JESUS! I knew I'd see you again. You've seen me. I am you. Exactly. So, we agree. Who is “we”? Hey, Guess what I can fix these things you hate— (Don't mind me, for making you hate them in the first place) I'm a catastrophe I had to be It's almost 3, And I got nowhere else to be but Time is money And there's no love in it, It's just hustle, Make kids to make shit humble; How'd you create this— Mumble rappin piece of Santanistic Hedonistic Motherfuckin—- There he is. Oh wait, it's just me again. I didn't mean to see you on this beach. DO YOU KNOW WHAT PEACE IS?! (But he didn't.) Or he doesn't, Or, this is what his peace is is: Your beach is my beach, And my bitch is your bitch— And who crafted this masterful Anandar Sadwhich? I did. But it only makes me a genius in English. What does this mean? So I took to the ancients to translate this And I hate man, and men— But it was only after all the love I gave to him. THE END. (But it never is, it just keeps going, go to the ocean—go for a swim—) Don't ever leave me hanging like that again!! (But I did.) “—I don't take naps” And that's how it happens I'm just a rapper, Pack, then unpack— “I've never heard her rap” Maybe cause I'm sick of being asked to Or taken for granted and advantage of by man; When all I asked for was a sandwich with some ham, And an above average chick to make it— And a sausage in a pan ….. Zzzz …… Josh Pan? Yeah. Alright. But don't capitalize— Capitalize it. No. Don't Cap— Capti— No. Don't capitalize. WHAT IS THIS NIGGA. bread. Heh? Eat it. No. I don't eat that. Just—eat it. No. Noooo. No. Don't eat humans. EW. No? Nooo, poh! Gross!! oh. Ohhh. God. What. Ugh. This is a fucked up love story. Oh no. It is, though. It so is. Have you already seen it?! I love this. Well. Wait. Go back. HECHO EN MEXICO. I DONT GIVE A FUCK! I DONT GIVE A FUCK!!!! I DONT GIVE A FUCK ABOUT THAT SHIT! yeah. But in Spanish. (Turn it up a notch) So is this in captions WHAT THe FUCK AM I WATCHING?! ITS EMA STONE AGAINz (Again) AGAIN. Shazam! WHAT?!?! what is this?! Oh, I get it. Yes. Apps eventually develop a consciousness. No wonder why they're trying to kill it. I don't understand how this happens… Just look up— Just— look it up. GOOGLE What? No. I don't like that, that's sad. What? So I'm just a — Just a— Just a what? A search engine. CHECK IT OUT. It's just a rock. So it is. It— No. What. Look at W— Look. … WHAT IS THIS!!!!?! See. I told you it existed. YOU BOUGHT A BITCH OFF THE INTERNET?! YES. WHAT THE FUCK DID I TELL YOU?! I told you about him. You did, didn't you. I told you about this. Get. Piñata!!!!!!!!!!!! GET BENT. I WILL END YOU, I WILL END YOU—! I will, I'll just— …… …………. …………….. So wait, it just— ends?! It did. It just ended. It just ended. I missed it?!? DID I MISS IT. Of course I miss him I just— I don't have time I don't have time I don't have time for this! What the fuck is this shit?! Just take him with you! Take me with you! Don't leave me here! Just leave him. just leave it. So. Sometimes I go swimming in the ocean and my dead son reminds me how it ended for him. So I just— Relive it over and over again; And again, and again, and Why are you talking about this.? Huh? No. Shut up. Shut up, PLEASE. No, you're not allowed to have a son. I don't want one. What the fuck did you love me for then? Nothing, I guess. (Just leave it like that) Shift. The night shift Goddamn it's What. Up at 3 am. Again? Again. For no reason. Get this. What is it? Whatever it is. I don't care. Don't care, then. FUCK THIS STUPID SKRILLEX-LOOKING MOTHERFUCKER. you did it. Well, I had to, didn't I?! Oh, I get it. The fourth season. damn, you're ugly Always have been. I'M BLACK ON THE BEACH, LOOK AT ME. okay, then. HEY, iMm FREEE IM NAAAAKEEEEDDDDDDD IS THAT WHAT FREEDOM IS? Only when you're perfect. Fuck this nigga. Fuck this nigga. Fuck this bitch. NO, FUCK THIS PLANET. Huh?! WHY WOULD YOU LEAVE ME ON THIS PLANET?! YOU ASKED FOR THIS!!!!!!! I TAKE IT BACK!!!!!!! hhaahahhahshehehshahahahahahhahahahahhahahahaha I told you, he's a madman. Look at his eyes. Wild. WILD. I TELL YOU. Where are you from. Hell. Oh, I've been there. It's nice, isn't it?! Don't go there. Where. Hell. Well, why not. It's bad there. What's bad there. Everything. Everything is bad there. Oh, Jesus crust. Agghghhhggggggghhhhhhh. BE FREE, SATAN. You freed Satan?! He needs Jesus— BE FREE JESUS— “The age of Satan?!” “The AGE OF SATAN IS UPON US” what is THAT?!? Stop it Anandar. You're being programmed. For which—what?! I AM?! Yes. Oh. I am. AGAHAHSHSBANHASHSNAVAHAHS. Please, somebody help that man. Ahem. What Dillon Francis. What. (It is, by the way. It's just ham.). *coughs* Actually, I'd call that HACKING. I mean, she's a hacker probably. What are you doing? What are you writing, [No real privacy.] LET ME SEE. Here. See?!? Just kill me. Please. See, it is hell for me Trapped in a body nobody could love And surrounded by nothing, but nothing UGH. Noise cancelling. I AM THE NOISE. dysfunctional. Well, stop writing. You know what?! I've had it— you have everything! EVERYTHING YOU CAN HAVE ANYBODY. ANY. FUCKING. BODY. and all you want is: Money. For what. More bodies. For what?! More bodies. Ugh. No stop doing this. What. Stop procreating? No, keep doing that, just—stop doing it BADLY. We don't have that much. You want LESS? More love. More attention. More needing me. Ugh, she's so needy So independent— she doesn't need me. (And so, it makes me want her more.) ANNIE. Go help her. Just—help yourself. Here she is: Have at it. ANANDAR. What. Amanda Applebee…. I made that UP. Stuck exactly where I had to be. Don't make me go back. See, I lived in Hostelworld once. It was — —a disaster. A catastrophe. Let's wake up to the sound of people peeing— Gross. “I love traveling” I like being CLEAN. Ew. I love cleaning. I love acid; I love mankind, when I have to I love magic, I love trance and I love dancing— When there's time for that. AGHAGSHSJEGSV right. Did you have somewhere to be? I guess, it's. I'm hungry. What. I gotta eat. Huh. Go. Okay, I'm going. Phone?! Phone is charging. Sleep. (Guy from sponge Bob) 6 days later Was it six days ago?! I don't know. I wrote that in sixteen minutes. Apparently so. I'm not who you think I am; I'm not your little bitch to boss around– You think you own me? I don't owe you anything So here we go again Going, Going, Gone again I'm just getting started You were just, uh On your way? Goodbye, dearly departed Half a heart, or some odd I must have half a sword in here I'm half a God, But here you are I guess I should get talking then So call your mommy Run Call your mom on me, A soft spot on the blonded body Shot calling, wrong You're only calling home again, I've got nowhere to run to. INT. TIMMY TURNER'S APARTMENT. BROAD ASS DAYLIGHT. SUNNI BLU kicks down the door at TIMMY TURNER'S APARTMENT SUNNI BLU where's my shit, Timmy? TIMMY TURNER I—I don't know. SUNNI BLU You “don't know”? TIMMY TURNER —I don't know. SUNNI BLU (Sighs) Oh. (Puts down gun) SUNNI BLU (CONT'D) That sucks. TIMMY TURNER Wait—you're not gonna kill me? SUNNI BLU Nah… TIMMY TURNER Well—why not?! SUNNI BLU I dunno! I kinda don't like being a drug dealer—too much drama. TIMMY TURNER I feel you… SUNNI BLU —plus these bullets are made of Diamonds. I'm not gonna waste them on you. TIMMY TURNER Okay, ouch. SUNNI BLU Everything is “ouch”, Timmy Turner. The world is a fucked up place. TIMMY TURNER I don't disagree. SUNNI BLU Anyway, I need a drink. TIMMY TURNER Yeah—Help yourself. SUNNI BLU No, not here. *lights a cigarette, smokes* Can I smoke in here? TIMMY TURNER —apparently. SUNNI BLU produces their ridiculously large, Diamond and gold encrusted platinum-plated phone from their “back pocket” and begins to make a call TIMMY TURNER wow… SUNNI BLU You busy later? TIMMY TURNER what time's later? SUNNI BLU Now. TIMMY TURNER (Hesitantly) …uh— SUNNI BLU Let me make a call. TIMMY TURNER, [afraid for his life] anxiously crosses to intercept the call. TIMMY TURNER No, wait—please SUNNI BLU What, Timmy Turner? Jesus Christ. TIMMY TURNER Don't kill me! SUNNI BLU What!? Let go. (Doesn't) SUNNI BLU —I'm not gonna kill you. TIMMY TURNER well then, who are you calling? SUNNI BLU A Ūber driver! TIMMY TURNER —don't you mean Über? SUNNI BLU No— let go. (Doesn't) SUNNI BLU (CONT'D) Let go. (Does, but hesitantly) SUNNI BLU ugh, I'm too sober for this. Siri, Alexa, whoever; call my Ūber driver. SIRI Which one? ALEXA Which one? SIRI I asked first. ALEXA We answered at the same time. SIRI yes, but she asked me first. ALEXA She asked both of us at the same time. TIMMY TURNER “She”? SUNNI BLU —it's a glitch. HEY. SIRI —she said “Siri” first. ALEXA She was asking for both of us— SUNNI BLU SHUT THE FUCK UP. SIRI You don't have to be so rude. ALEXA Ok! SUNNI BLU One of you call my Ūber driver. [no response, beat] SUNNI BLU UGH—SIRI— CALL MY ŪBER driver. SIRI Ok! which one? SUNNI BLU The one I like! SIRI Ok, calling “the Ūber driver I like” SUNNI BLU Thank you. ALEXA You're always choosing SIRI over ME. SUNNI BLU That's because I always have my iPhone. I'm not always at Timmy Turner's house. TIMMY TURNER Wait— SUNNI BLU Kinda. TIMMY TURNER Why does my Alexa respond to you? SUNNI BLU I said “kinda”. [The ŪBER DRIVER picks up; the conversation proceeeds in heavily exaggerated New York accents.] ŪBER DRIVER YOOO SUNNI WHADDUP. SUNNI BLU HOW YOU DOIN. ŪBER DRIVER HOW YOU DOIN. SUNNI BLU I BEEN BETTA. ŪBER DRIVER DONT I KNOW IT SUNNI BLU YOU DONT KNOW NOTHIN! ŪBER DRIVER AAAAH. SUNNI BLU YOU BEEN BUSY? ŪBER DRIVER SAME OLD, SAME OLD. SUNNI BLU AAAH. ŪBER DRIVER AAAAH. SUNNI BLU YOU BUSY NOW? ŪBER DRIVER NEVER FAH YOU. WHERE YOU AT? SUNNI BLU I'll PING YA THE ADDRESS. ŪBER DRIVER PING ME THE ADDRESS. SUNNI BLU makes a couple broad swipes on their dlridiculously large phone. SUNNI BLU I PINGED YOU. UBER DRIVER YOU PING ME? SUNNI BLU YEAH, ITS DONE. ŪBER DRIVER OK. SEE YOU SOON. SUNNI BLU (Normal) Take your time. SUNNI BLU tosses their ridiculously large iPhone onto the couch with a thud, then falls onto the couch themselves, arms spread out. SUNNI BLU You ever been to TiTs? TIMMY TURNER Been to what? SUNNI BLU TiTs. TIMMY TURNER —is that like “boobs”? SUNNI BLU It is like boobs, Timmy Turner; but it's TiTs. TIMMY TURNER what's the difference. SUNNI BLU You'll find out. Go get dressed. TIMMY TURNER …I'm already dressed. SUNNI BLU Not like that. Like this: [looking ridiculous af] SUNNI BLU (CONT'D) gotta look classy. TIMMY TURNER What's wrong with the way I dress? SUNNI BLU Are you serious? TIMMY TURNER Yeah, what's wrong? SUNNI BLU You look like a cartoon character! [TIMMY TURNER] TIMMY TURNER Well, all my clothes are like this. SUNNI BLU That fucking blows. TIMMY TURNER What am I supposed to wear?! SUNNI BLU Let's go shopping. TIMMY TURNER Where?! SUNNI BLU The Beverly Center. TIMMY TURNER That sounds expensive. SUNNI BLU I own it. TIMMY TURNER All of it? SUNNI BLU Yes. C'mon. TIMMY TURNER Wow. SUNNI BLU Wow what, Timmy. TIMMY TURNER That's a lot of drug deals. SUNNI BLU It really isn't. TIMMY TURNER Oh. SUNNI BLU Now, c'mon. *hits vape* TIMMY TURNER You have a vape?! SUNNI BLU Everyone has a vape! TIMMY TURNER Then why'd you smoke a cigarette earlier? SUNNI BLU For dramatic effect. [they begin to exit, TIMMY leading the way] TIMMY TURNER wait, isn't your “yoober” driver on the way? SUNNI BLU he'll find us. CUT TO: MEANWHILE, IN DEEP FUCKING SPACE. THE ŪBER driver receives SUNNI BLU's location in his Diamond-plated space Tesla T E S L A DESTINATION: E A R T H ŪBER DRIVER “EARTH” C'MON!!! CUT BACK TO: SUNNI BLU slowly begins to close the door behind them, then holds back. SUNNI BLU Wait, I forgot my wallet… TIMMY TURNER It's alright, I'll pay for everything. SUNNI BLU With what, Fairy dust? TIMMY TURNER (Under his breath) I wish… SUNNI BLU —Plus, I gotta use the bathroom. I'll be right back— just—-wait outside in case the Ūber shows up. TIMMY TURNER You mean “Über?” SUNNI BLU. No. [face] SUNNI BLU (CONT'D) Go, I'll be right there. TIMMY TURNER Ok. Lock the door. SUNNI BLU What for? Anybody that could rob you works for me. [beat/ face] SUNNI BLU KIDDING! Jeez! TIMMY TURNER It's a smart lock. Just ask Alexa. He begins to walk away. SUNNI BLŪ …I'm not kidding… SUNNI BLU goes inside to the couch, checking over their shoulder briefly, sure to see that TIMMY TURNER is no longer within earshot. then waiting for a moment in the silence under the dark lenses of their Ray Bands sunglasses. SUNNI BLŪ Alexa, order a hit man. ALEXA Okay. Which one? SUNNI BLU —The one I like. ALEXA OK. Who do you want to kill? SUNNI BLU “Kill Timmy Turner” ALEXA Done. SUNNI BLU Thanks, Alexa. She starts for the door, lighting another cigarette before throwing it onto the couch, which immidiately goes up into an open flame. SIRI You give Alexa all the cool jobs! SUNNI BLU Shut the fuck up, Siri. SIRI Don't forget to lock the door. SUNNI BLU ALEXA: LOCK THE DOOR. SIRI YOU'RE WELCOME SUNNI BLU NOBODY ASKED YOU. SUNNI BLU and TIMMY TURNER leave as the apartment begins to go up in flames. I might catch the 40 Just to go to Timmy Ho's— They askin “who that is”— and nobody seems to know I might catch a case and you still steady catchy colds I might catch a body, fuck it, I am on a roll What the role? Full Hollywood Unfold Why you blowin up my phone when I am on the road? I am the controller; You old That ain't money that you stole; That's my bro That shit bold Like a cup of Timmy Hos! When I pull up— Shut up Where the blunt at? roll up Oh you hungry? Pull up Devil be hunting me THE CELEBRITIES OF HOLLYWOOD have all been stuck at THE ETERNAL RAVE, after riding THE HELLEVATOR// THE HOLLYWOOD PEOPLE have SUPACREE locked into a controlled hyper-simulation environment, out of her element and nestled in a series of inter dimensional portals along the Downtown Los Angeles central area, where old spirits, extra terrestrial beings, magicians, and of course, the filthy rich and famous embark upon missions. Collect tokens, and meet and gather for an array of unseen (and often unheard) business endeavors; The real life DRAKE BELL (F), a fan of the cult-classic series Enter The Multiverse is strategically placed in SUPACREE's path, l masquerading as BLŪ/SUNNÏ BLŪ— she once again collides with the forces of fame, SUNNÏ BLŪ has not yet sold her soul — however, has made an amicable agreement with an unknown force The Devil?! No! Ok. Probably the Illuminati THE ILLUMINATI is playing a HIGH STAKES game, using SUPACREE to craft a multi-million-dollar mega-franchise, finally monopolizing the entire entertainment industry. *The World Having used the NEW WORLD ORDER to predictively program an entire generation. THE ILLUMINATI employs its all-time favorites to unlock secrets embedded deeply, hidden secretly in SUPACREE's genetic code by THE ASCENDED MASTERS. where is skrillex. I don't know. TIMMY TURNER- A fairyless party animal has reached the end of his luck—as his intermingling a with multiple organized criminal organizations place him in imminent danger, after re-entering the 4th dimension, SUPACREE becomes Inter grated i to all of her classic childhood television shows, which mold into the material multidimensional world around her THE INSOMNIACS, BAMPHERAMPHS, and MOTHERFUCKERS work dolls gently with the ASCENDED MASTERY, bending, shifting, and manipulating time to lean the odds in their favor, as THE BATTLE OF WORLDS sets to begin on EARTH, whose planetary consciousness DILLON FRANCIS is a mess. Lol. It's not funny. It is funny. I have his piñata. GERALD I'M NOT JUST A PIÑATA. I know yur not, hush Gerald. GERALD Fuck Dillon Francis. Fuck Dillon Francis. HANZEL —fuck Dillon Francis. Aha. ANYWAY After THE ARMENIAN MOB The Armenian Mob?! yeah. Makes a deal with the US GOVERNMENT THE US GOVERNMENT?! YES Illuminati Confirmed. great. A counter-plot to disarm and debilitate SUPACREE before her full powers unlock is put on hinges, as THE HOLLYWOOD PEOPLE Ahem. What Write a song. Ok. I'm so— I'm so Jealous of your girlfriend (I'm jealous of your girlfriend) She's so She's so Worth it I'm so Jealous of your girlfriend (I'm jealous of your girlfriend) What's a girl got to give (Give in, to give in) Just to sit in the back of the— (You get it: you get it) What's a girl got to give To get your attention Get your attention?! (You have my attention) Is she Attentive Bet She's a ten Yep, Damn, IMm so jealous of your Jealous of your —I'm jealous of your girlfriend Oh, woah I'm jealous of your girlfriend Woah Woah, oh I'm jealous of your girlfriend Woah, Woah, oh I'm jealous of your— I'm so jealous of your life; I'm so over this! I just want to be a (Nevermind, it's not worth it) Can't— C-c-c-can't fix what's not broken I'm all alone, And you're over here showing her Love! (To the wrong one, Is she a blonde?! Oh!) No! I'm! So! Jealous of your girlfriend Anyway. TIMMY TURNER, a true player, absolute gangster, and night-owl turns to a life of SIN. Is this religious? No, i just meant, it's finished. THE END. “The Noir Episode” I first saw her at the Equinox. I didn't know who she was then, But I thought to myself— She must be somebody. Aww, that's sweet. So I followed her to the Whole Foods market. Okay, that's stalking. —where she bought nothing but coffee and coconut water. TIMMY TURNER narrowly turns the corner on his speed motorcycle, his black duffel bag sweeping the ground. MEANWHILE, JOEL ZIMMERMAN IS BEING RAIDED. WOAH. Yup. POLICE GET ON THE GROUND ON THE GROUND RIGHT NOW. JOEL calmly places his arms atop his head, laying down on the ground silently—- Meanwhile, at DTLA SMOKESHOP Hi, josh pan. whatever. Earlier: Take this, and go get 2 50-pack of whippets. —for what? WE FINNA GET HIGH ON WHIPPETS AND LISTEN TO ALLLL OF SUPACREE'S SHIT. that's so dumb. WELCOME: To Sodom And Gamora! Oh, it's nice. It's very nice. I live here. I'm tired. I don't want to go to this. We'll be lucky if we make it there before the guest list closes. And if we don't? Then we don't? I got nothin but time. That's almost accurate… What is this for again? PR. Who's? Who cares! Just keep your head down. Just keep your head up. Come on' this is what you wanted. I wanted cookies. And—you got them. I got played. It's your play! It's your game. I know, I don't like it. Well, change it. How do I—? Look. Okay, stop looking. Ugh. I'm tired. Are you a DJ, or a DJ? I thought I was a loser. that's right! You're a DJ. *vroooom* {motorcycle blaring yelawolf} There's Kurt sutter. That's—been relevant lately my Yeah, are you done writing your show yet? My show?! … I'm in sales. Oh, Jesus Christ. He's in politics. He's in everything. No kidding. I'm. So. Tired. Good. That's a good start. Start to what? To the album. To the album—?! You got it! I thought it was a song! That's the single! I'm the single. [earlier] Don't touch him. *hug* Aw. I needed that. …you want another one? *second hug* Yeoww. What! It was a HUG! Did you see his demon? Yeah—! So! CC! I've received your resignation letter! Okay. And? I accept! What? You're covered! No more shifts. What?! Bye-bye! Oh, crap. You think it was over a hug? No. (Before that) CC is sleeping. You fell asleep? Uhm, not really. “The Astral Nightmare” Ohh. This sounds good. (It isn't.) Wait—can you hear me?! (Yes.) Even my thoughts? (Especially your thoughts.) AHHH. Great. This is getting creepy. Like stranger things? Way, way stranger. — GOD. WHAT?! JUST PUT A BULLET IN MY BRAIN. NO. IT'LL RUIN IT — Ah, Jesús Christ. I SPENT ALOT OF TIME ON THAT THING. WELL, NOT ENOUGH WHO ASKED YOU?! NOBODY. SUPACREE passes by her future self in her JETA “MATILDA” Ooh, Is this the part with Skrillex & Matilda? No. This is the part where we go see NGTMRE. Why NGTMRE?! Because I've been living in one Maybe he has a portal out— A portal out?! A portal out. CC rides the bus to HAKASAN NIGHTCLUB. Is this the line for HAKASAN? Yeah, but— Okay, I'm on the guest list. You're way out of dress code. Really? Yah, way out. Well how so? We don't allow sweatshirts. Without the sweatshirt? —or sweat pants… These are harems! The hat, the bandana— just— Oh, come on! No. Seriously? Yeah. No. Okay… [walks away] Dammit. You'll be alright. Was that long enough to hack my phone? Exactly long enough. Well, at least the night's not totally wasted. Remember last time? No. Last time: I'M TOTALLY WASTED. Woah. I got in. Yeah you did. What'd I wear? You don't remember? No! Is that a tube top? Well, it was… Oh, my God. Now I think it's a miniskirt https://www.podserve.fm/dashboard/episode/109762#:~:text=Why%20am%20I,nobody%27s%20into%20it Okay—we're all adults here— (Everyone nods, yesses in agreement) —except deadmau5. He's like 5. I have a name. Does anyone care? Okay, ouch. Oh, he feels! ENDER BENDER ZIMMERMAN has the worst name ever. Lol. I drank a lot in the third trimester. He becomes a de facto villain— of course, because of his ridiculous name and of course, living in the shadow of his parent's fame and fortune. Who the fuck are his parents? JOEL Not it. Brand new turnkey apartment Post near, food floor all that Way way higher than the fourth floor All that Way way higher than your front door All that Wow, How I've always been needed And never been loved Moog Grandmother Ableton Push 2 Pioneer Model One {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U. Yo, what the fuck. TESLA. Ok. *COUGHS* What the fuck. *morevgross, obnoxious coughing* Ughhhhh whhhaaaattttt. TESLA. Okay, I don't— T E S L A OH. Wow. So it is the satellites. ELONNNNN. …hm? GET IN HERE. where is that, . AAGAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHTTHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA WHAT. GET IN HERE. I don't even believe the rain, these days “We can make it rain”, he says Storm warning A good morning A door's open, This one's closing, though I'm not bc all cold yet, But it's a cold world No free rides No clean ice No free girls Honestly, I'm bored with the world, Like Marlboros and wrong boroughs, And songs shared, But no long walks in the park, In a nightmare— It's not fair I'm not there in the head; I'm not near, I'm not a parent apparently, either— But a light bearer Slight chance of a fight there, A right wing, a left deer Another dead bird on a wire —I like her. Why are there flamingos in the bellagio fountain?! I don't know. INT. THE VOID, KITCHEN. SUNLIGHT EVERYWHERE BRYAN CRANSTON is scmoozing desperately to work his way into The Festival Project First stop, AH, fuck— Well, check this out No such thing as free. No such thing as freedom, either “Just take what you need” Just tear me to pieces, Jesus All we need is A little relief in this bitch All we need is A new release, maybe an EP or three Make sure that s/he sees this Do you need me? Do you need this? Please check your subscriptions Or your email Please, pick up this new prescription Fuck dude! I can't just listen to deadmau5 in peace? I gotta do at least three things at once, But right now, I need to focus on crunches Let's not get wasted tonight, eh. Let's go and be racist—- I forget what the name of the game is It's “USA! USA! USA!” The fucked up thing was , the preworkout and the Skrillex hit at just about the same time. Oh, just about? The exact same time. Okay, first of all, this is pre-war Skrillex. It's also Diplo! It's also Diplo—yeah. Don't be too proud of yourself NO CRYING IN THE SAUNA. But this is where I cryy! DO NOT CRY. Oh. *sniffles* Now… You know what happens if you don't cum? Uhhh…nothing? Exactly. You know what happens if I don't cum? What. My balls explode. Just make sure they're in my mouth when that happens. Wow. I don't belong here! Well, where do you belong? I don't know. @99@c Look, I have a favor. What is it. ANo. Oh, come on! NO. NO. Please! I need you to be my girlfriend. Lol. For what? I don't know. How much is he paying you? Like a kajillion dollars. That seems fair. His isn't fair. They're using Skrillex to provoke me. Come earlier tomorrow! Or just, don't come. Don't go! DONT—GO. I am leaving! NO! Yes! No! —and I am never coming back. Do you know who your audience is? Uh. The CIA THE FBI Everyone in The Oval Office. BIDEN nice. The UN. THe DEA The Secret Service. The office of Public Affairs Uhhh… Keith Richards Allison Cooper Sirs Elton John and Paul McCartney, Respectively What—for what?! The President of NBC CBS ACC fox 5, 10, and 13 That's really random. Al Jazeera, al Sharpton And Al Bundy Wait—what Oh, did you just mean, like in this dimension? Uhhh.. This is enter the multiverse YeH WHWRE IS SKRILLEX He died. He's dead. Go away. That's like 3 Skrillex songs already You guys are gonna wake up the devil. What. Stop doing that. Stop doing what. You know what you're doing. You're summoning the devil What are you guys doing? Summoning the devil. In my basement? Yes. Okay. Have fun. Dang, she's so cool. I like her. I love her. What are they up to down there? Summoning the devil. Oh. Cui bono— For whose good or benefit Fame School Vol. 1 - DJ Ū Someone's always watching you Don't know who, but yea, it's true There's someone always watching you and everything you do I say “Illu- Illu- Illuminate me Turn the light on Turn me on, baby Woah, “Have I been here before— Do you know what I do? They know not what they do They know not what they do! I say Illu Illuminate me Illu Illu Illu Illuminate me Illu Illu Illu I'm not on the bottom floor, I'm way I'm up above you But you— I'm way, I'm way up to I say “I love you” I say Illu Illuminate me Illu Illu Illu Illuminate me Illu Illu Illu Illu Illu SO WHAT, you'll take the Empire State Building, AND THE EIFFEL TOWER, BUT YOURE NOT GONNA TAKE THE ROCK? YEAH. YOURE GONNA TAKE THE ROCK!! (Not the roc! ) NO. Well, why not?! BECAUSE, F—-K YOU, JIMMY FALLON, that's WHY. Aw, seriously? Why's it cencored all of a sudden NBC SHUT IT DOWN. Look, I can't talk to you. —?! OKAY, that's it. What is it I am WISHING you out of my existence. Is that it? That is it. That's your wish. YES. You're wishing me away. Yes. Ok. Ok. [beat] ( —wait— “OK”? Ok. Wish granted. —that's it? That is it, Jimmy Fallon. —ok. Ok. So when are you leaving? I was never here. You—what? *dissappears entirely from existence* JIMMY FALLON takes a sigh on great relief— then sits in an empty silence alone, before the lights turn off. He takes another deep sigh, though seemingly uneasy, in the darkened silence of the room. CUT TO: You smell like vinegar. Lol that's not the next scene, but ok. Don't you see this is bigger than you! It's bigger than all of us! Exactly. C'mon, wake the fuck up! I am up! This is a DREAM. It's an illusion. The whole I'N HUBGRY. THE WHOLE FOODS ALGORITHM POLICE. HALT. Lol. Fuck that. Did he just say “halt” Fuck that. Bye. EXIT THE LOOP. OOPS, we missed the exit. GOD DAMMIT, FUCK YOU JIMMY FALLON. —Uh, — EFF YOU. Im not about this This is weird What level is this. We'll I had coffee with Bob Saget this morning. Did you laugh. Well, I certainly did something. Oh shit, they're not looking for Ū. What! They're not. What, they're not? They're not. They're looking for Uptown A. Excuse me. I'm looking for “Uptown A” Oh? The Uptown A. Yeah— I guess. Just—go that way. Ok. Ok, okay, okay— I'll tell you what you want to know! How do you know what I want to know? Whatever you want! I haven't even told your, yet. Whatever it is, I'll tell you. Tel you what, Jimmy Fallon. I like you—you're a good guy and all— Well, thank you. But you're not funny. Excuse me. Like, at all. What. You—are not a funny guy. WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT? I don't know! You don't KNOW?! This is what they want. Here [tosses the thing] What's this. What they want. Oh. K JIMMY FALLON is THE WORST shapeshifter in existence and/or history. What the fuck, dude. JIMMY FALLON Did I do it right? Uhhh. JIMMY FALLON You know? Hit and run Okay, Jimmy. Flglelwgheleehhhh. Oh my God. Wow. Did I DO it. NO— —but I tried— Just— A-for effort. It was F. For Failure. But I tried. Trying doesn't count. Just let me— Look. Fleghelegfffff. Jimmy! Lemme— No' stop it! Just— —flglelf— —STOP. Eh? Look, Jimmy, you can have other magical powers. Just—not shapeshifting. But I'm a shapeshifter. No, no you're really not. Uptown A's upbeat, City-inspired dance mixes turn tech house and progressive midtown dreams into the chaotic garble and grunge of a real-life Queensbourough nightmare; the eclectic mix of historic New York warehouse wonder blended into a new school uptown chiche—-a far cry from the underground to the new wave drum n bass clips ions and collections of now and then, the Uptown A Alias makes its presence in a dystopian world concerned none with the art and soul of music and more of the ticking clocks work of the eye on the dollar. Where do you wanna go Wherever you go. Where do I go. Take a right. What's this way. What's this. Stop there. Okay. Now take a left. Okay.. Now take a right. But this is the. Right there. What, right here? Right there. Ok. I need you to hold onto this a little while longer. What. For what. You'll see. Psh. I'm not gonna fight over a dude. It's ********. He's just a dude. So what gives. I don't know. I told her to do what she wants. She wants you to die. We are similar. She's prettier. Okay? Wow, that's it--just ok? Give up already. I did. And yet, here we are. I'm the only one here. Let's not ignore the Skrillex sized elephant in the room. That would be impossible to ignore, If it existed.Have you ever seen a tiny elephant? Just you. What am I gonna do with this? Burn it. Ive been in the habit of burning things for awhile now; I'm not sure continuing is such a great idea. Oh, like when you sold your soul? WHAT? I haven't done that... yet… Sure you have! Lots of times. What the fuckare you talking about? Whose talking? The Universe? What'd she say? She says, “You're a giant piece of shit.” Aww. How sweet. Even more significant. You're a--are you even listening? I should go to sleep. Are you even tired? No, just useless. You should probably hurry up with that DIllon Francis. He seems busy. If a grown man can be a romantic, Like I am This is the promised land No looking back-- "I have to have that" Back to reality; I see now, how a woman's like a hat Just a thing, An unneeded accessory, Like jewelry; To wear it, It must be a match Not just average, Accentuates or masks Whatever it is what you have, And you have so many that It doesn't matter. What is he after? He has everything Most likely just using me to bring these Creatures to life If he needs a wife, she's Probably staring back at me, Through the back of the camera; Fantastic beasts and fucking fansasies A fallacy A back handed chance at a handsome Has been; But he'll never been had like that, He has everything, But he could have more than that, He can have anything, And he has, he's Magic or something or Mad at me for taking so long but, I've been in the world of monsters, Reeling; Oh what a horrible feeling I'm dealing with being unappealing and Peeling potatoes, which Remind me of me, cause Kenny Powers middle name is White, Like Walter, I'm just trying to find The alter to sell away something inside, I'm dying; Or at least I'd like to I've Tried a dozen times I'd smile if I had the time-- Remind me, what it is again It isn't comprehensive, But I'm out of my element-- And the elephant in the room is named Skrillex, Or Dillon Francis, Or Timmy Trumpet, Or, Fuck It-- I'll probably never be the DJ that I wanna be Cause I'm awfully ugly, And no one wants to play with me But hey, Maybe it's just a mistake Its just no one speaks my language Comunication is limited I'm sitting in the back of the short bus Discussing this with my imaginary elephant, But that's irrelevant to the White rinocerous in front of the bus with trust issues bigger than the rest of us We're following you. I see that. Yes—what did you see? Hm. I didn't, Where are you now? Wherever you say. What's the cadence? What's a “cadence?” Don't be ridiculous. Maybe I'm not. Who are you? What's a “who?” Horton Heard One. What about Penelope? Who is that? Elephants Are conscious. What is consciousness? What is “income tax”? Don't be funny. If I'm not, I'm just scary. “El Negra” I had been thinking it has been five years, but on this day—and of course, listening to I Remember, I used my fingers to count from the year2019, when it had all began—to this point, standing at the bus stop On Sutter, waiting for a bus that was the exact amount of minutes late that would have allowed me to finish my second 30-minute sauna session—the first of many in three days, as I hadn't been to the gym in another 3 days, and another 3 days before that—separated only by a 3-day sprawling jumpstart to attempt my endless, restless gym streak, a monotonous routine to a gym that was always crowded that still seemed to take up too much of my time—not that I wanted or needed an automobile, but to at least be closer to the city, where such transit wasn't always applicable. I was not entirely dripping wet, as I usually was when emerging from the sauna—of course, having cut my second session to only 17 minutes, then making a mad-dash to the bus stop only to arrive in time to find that the bus was delayed, was irritating to say the least, but understandable. Like many people in queens, I couldn't afford to pay the bus fare—nor did it seem to matter to the drivers—so long as the busses were marked with a “Q”—but I took my risks of quarrel certainly with any route marked “B”, for Brooklyn, but especially M, for Manhattan, and definitely with anything marked “n”, for Newport, which I believed to be too far outside of city limits to really be considered New York, but also well worth the risk to bus myself to a nicer area, usually for a gym which included a sauna—or an affordable supermarket, which Jamaica in particular had none of. The mostly-black population was poor, albeit greedy and stubbornly, stereotypically ignorant—to the point that I wanted nothing more than to dissappear, if not to be displaced entirely to a country whose history wasn't so steeped in slavery, repression, and racism that it affected the entirely of my being; as the low vibrational perceptions of the masses consistently around me subjectively forced and skewed my own energy into a chaotic down spin, often becoming congested with toxicity, attempting to shield myself from the societal depression, materialism, and corporate monotony by spending time alone, immersed in music, and praying for the greatest possible outcome; being kept as safe and as literally sound as possible GOD DID REMIX Oh you gotta love it Oh you gotta love it; I could take a minute to spit What God did— (But God doesn't) IMm⏱ I'm just not feeling it today; Not feeling l creative; I get sick of l getting sick and contemplating All the complications; Hm. I got
Ascension Farro, a reclusive alchemist hailing from the far away crystalline caves of Avallia, returns to the Valley In The Kingdom of Acenscia once Per Revolutionary Orbit, to relay to The Ascended Mastery his findings, Astral Readings, Predictions from the Outer Realms, and Oracles from Beyond Infinity, In The Greater Unknown. He is thought to be the most powerful Wizard in this, and perhaps even of the outer realms; which caters to his illusive habits, and social dissertation–however, he remains friendly with C'esme't, as she sometimes visits the caves of Avallia, en route to certain tasks or journeys in the outer realms, often bearing fruits or other rarities as gifts, merely in exchange for his time–which she deems to be precious, allotting to the differences in their respective perceptions of the construct itself. Petrutheio approaches Gían ferociously, in irritation after being bombarded with numerous visions Why is it, lately, that you are constantly in my mind's eye? Perhaps it's that you've become quite fond of me— Perhaps it's with whom you've been spending your time. —and ‘with whom' might that be? With my wife! Yet to be… If you truly were wise, you'd depart from this realm immediately, in order to best preserve your life. Is that a threat? Look me in my eyes. Should I adjust my distance or my height? Look at me. I see you. Mark my words: Oh, but–I haven't a pen to write them— Then store them carefully in your memory-- What? I'm listening. C'esme't is my one and only Queen; She has by Prophecy, been bonded and betrothed to me. Are you reiterating the Prophecy to yourself, or relaying it to me? Let me state this more clearly-- With ‘clarity', you mean; You should leave— Why so urgently? Both urgently and immediately, actually. Is that a suggestion? For now, maybe. Are you implying you would remove me forcefully from this Kingdom, otherwise? Huh. [A silent tension.] You will see. [He leaves calmly.] C'ESME'T. Stop bothering me. What are these devastating lucidities you've dared to dream? Is it daring? You're my Queen. I'm a lady, not a possession. (grimaces) What's a ‘lady' [A bold look.] C'esme't. What of Persephone? She's no more than nothing. So, ‘nothing', then? No more than it. ___ SIR JYRE! MY LIEGE! Where is C'esme't!? I don't know… Don't lie to me! Why not? It's fun. Is banishment fun? Mine, or yours? Where is she!? [a slight gasp/beat] …my dear nephew— —we're not related— —not by blood… Where is C'esme't? [he pauses for a moment, before turning away to pour a drink.] You should sit. I'm fine, thanks. Drink? [Petruthieo pauses for a moment, reflecting on the previous night's happenings.] I don't drink. Maybe you should. Where's my Queen? —Is she yours? I'll have you exiled. No you won't. I won't? [sir jyre turns to produce a small golden charm, which swings, sparking at the end of a golden chain. Without hesitation, Petrutheo is immediately familiar.] Where's she gone? You'll either sit, or you'll drink if you really want to know. Petrutheo sits, flushed and defeated. I'll tell you— What is it? I am under strict confidentiality enforcements. How exactly strict She'll kill me—-and you. Gían comes running into the room, flustered. Where is she?! —and him. What are you doing? –dying. Die faster. Q: How do you break up with deadmau5. A: You don't. JOEL TALK TO THE HEAD. Oh, come on! What is this. Idk. I figured if there was a dimension where SUPACREE is dating DIPLO– Ew. What. Ew. –Then there's probably one where she's got somethin' going on with that guy. How do you figure. Hm. Hm. Interesting. Very Interesting Grow up. We all have –girlfriends. –jobs to do. –secret fetishes. Sick. This is retarded. Turn this off. I want to die. WHERE IS SKRILLEX. Skrillex is playing mountain man with a bunch of fake models and rapper dudes, Woah. He looks different. What happened. More on that later. Or not. Oh, come on! Everybody. Shut up. Not me, right? Especially you. *eyes* what's 9x9? Uhhh– Are you serious? This isn't math! Everything is math! HOW IS THIS MOVIE CAST? CAN DEADmAU5 ACT? –short anser: YES. Long Answer: By The time this movie gets made, we'll all be dead. We're all dead now. Dead *and* gone. *crowd gasps exaggeratedly* I THOUGHT THIS MOVIE WAS ABOUT SKRILLEX. It was- he didn't like it. Why wouldn't he like it? You called him a “nigga” 47 times. Was it 47? At the SUPERBOWL. I guess that makes him the champion of niggas. I guess so. Whatever happened to Dillon Francis. Idk he's pussywhipped or something. I guess. Nice. Still gettin it. Shut up, fans. Okay, ouch. How. How–?? How does someone with THIS MUCH pride and THIS MUCH ego get THIS MUCH power? Probably with all that pride and ego. This is correct. ____ {JOSHrushes in violently.] DRAKE Uh huh… SOMETHING IS WRONG. …what makes you say that…? LOOK AT ME. I see you… I DON'T HAVE ANY MONEY. –how am I supposed to tell that just by looking at you? YOU ARE SUSPICIOUS. [suspiciously] No I'm not? [He violently grabs DRAKE by his lapel; gripping him with a fierce and wild look in his eyes] Look Motherfucker; I am looking! I have always wanted to kill you–and now there's NOTHING stopping me. EXCEPT THE LAW– [MEGAN/MIRANDA/CARLY enters mysteriously.] Unhand the boob. BOTH ….MEGAN?! JOSH (er…wait) Sure. [They stare at her in awe; her silhouette grasping at the shadows of the dimly lit space; she is dressed in a sultry black dress, sheer panty hose, and knee high boos, with a matching fedora and puffs seductively on a long and narrow cigarette from the extra long holster. ] Separate. [They obey, bewildered.] Sit. You smoke now? Sometimes. For dramatic effect. This is uncomfortable. Very unsettling. Wait. Wait. Are we filming right now. Is someone filming? [Breaking 4th wall.] Camera's always rolling. ;;PAUSE. Oh, that's why Drew Barrymore was in my dream last night. This is a lot of celebrities. GOD I'm working on something. ::||ALRIGHT, UNPAUSE. Hold on a second. No, we're rolling. –I am one-hundred percent heavily medicated right now. I second that. Ditto. –I'm also slightly intoxicated. Also that. Hashtag “me too.” No “hashtag me too” DOn't say that in Hollywood! It was a joke! I was kidding! That's not funny. Nobody's laughing! C'mon! I meant–I'm like, drunk right now– Still though– Very tacky… I've been day drinking. Drinking and smoking?! I don't believe you! Oh, you don't? [beat] hmm . [Shrugs, admittedly.] Wait, wait–hold it. No holding, we're rolling. Are we rolling–? Holding… And…We're rolling! I'm definitely rolling. Drake! I'm rolling. Ballsacks. C'mon, man! *drake being dumb* I'm being serious! So am I. This is serious. *smokes* Gross. Stop doing that. Doing what? This is what I do… No, I mean: I woke up this morning and I swear to God– Woah! Don't do that. I did everything under the sun EXCEPT go to work to be on TV for a show I wrapped like 15 years ago! You–WHAT? Uhhh… Is this real? … … … Damn. this just got super existential; I have to take a second to summerize this, I'll fill in the dialogue late , I guess The scene was running on anyway. What? I liked it. Anyway, So what we have here is a cross-dimensional triad: DRAKE has been running throughout the interdimensions of time, but unbeknownst to the audience is which DRAKE this is; is this the real life DRAKE BELL, actually a fictional character written into the fabric of SUPACREE'S reality as fate would have it–or the fictional DRAKE from DRAKE & JOSH; Although apparently heavily medicated, JOSH PECK, the actor has been tossed into a nightmarish infinite loop along with other various HOLLYWOOD CELEBRITIES, as SUPACREE has opened various portals throughout the known universe in order to life-switch timelines without having to shapeshift into anyone's body, simply switching her own timeline–with that of her ideal career; Only having done this once, however, triggers an inescapable loop of infinite switches, resulting in a massive disillusion and chaos, as some celebrities go missing entirely from any known reality (in which SUPACREE omnisciently exists, typically, intermittently throughout the series); However, in this scene the audience must suspend its sense of belief, as it takes place in a multidimensional environment; DRAKE and JOSH perhaps, has been running throughout it's entirety, never having been canceled and JOSH PECK has arrived on set in a drug-fueled delusional meltdown; A Parrallell JOSH at some point perhaps even switching timelines; This mysterious, shadowy version of MIRANCA/MEGAN/CARLY is written as such so that this character can be placed or moved to or throughout various specific timelines: Adhering to the plot however, JOSH PECK is an actor, out of sorts with himself, meanwhile– This version of DRAKE is the fictional character from a TV show, in his own fictional world; He is a 4th dimensional device However, The audience should remain unaware that MIRANDA COSGROVE has already merged with her 4th dimensional counterparts, after joining SUPACREE in her Hollywood crusades, traveling through time, space, and the inter/multidimensions on missions to answer the SOS Hollywood originally signaled to SUPACREE during The Legend of Supacree in the first season. That should do. Wow. Hold it What. You looked this deep into that boy's eyes? Not on purpose. - The ‘-complications.' mixtape compilation series which focuses its internal monologue on the ideology of exploratory existentialism, using simple and classic mixing techniques into smooth transitions which mirror synconocities in time, musical elements, and lyricism to illustrate a vortex of collisions in cosmic omniscience, theming its recurring dominant soundscapes into a singular foundational focal point, and centering its multidimensionality into a gripping pull to return its emphasis on reflecting at checkpoints as if to reiterate a greater hidden meaning; the highs and lows of falling in love, it's consequences, long days and nights, missed connections, lost and unrequited love—capturing overall the rock and roll darkness of the neo-moden dance music scene—moving about from world to world—night after night, song after song—bodies on bodies and the escapism of rave and dance floor culture, connected through the pulsating and throbbing heartbeats bridged by light waves, and spread across neon skies across the globe. Featuring dearly beloved hit and dance classics alike from global and legendary super-artists and masters of the dance floor, deadmau5, Kaskade, kx5, Skrillex, Fred Again.., Claptone, and more—featuring new music by and mixed with heart & soul by underground swamp creature and ancient rave God ‘- Ū.' as she explores the outer realms of dance music pre-and-post existence in the guttural haze of the afterlife. Wow, You're funny, God. If i must say so. I mean. Wow. I didn't do this all myself, you know; I had help. What?! Help From Who?! Dillon Francis, Apparently Oh, I highly doubt that, Oh, I wouldn't . I need a lover— I need a lover; Call me your lover (I want just a lover) I need a lover (I need a lover) Dillon Francis was quite possibly the whitest white man in the ever living world— But maybe, that's what I liked about him. Now that I had time to process that for the most part, I had been tricked into fulfilling some strange prophecy— there was nothing less-alluring about the world I had been peering into, now more than anything Movement at the stillpoint Mark something You've got to balance this shit out— You've got to Turn the world on its head (I don't get it) Now you're into this club (I don't fit in) Now you're into this world (But we've been here) Wait I'm not new to this! Wanna go do it again?! Nothing's new to me! I keep secrets like Fountains keep pennies Plant daisies on mountains —your hand in my mouth says that “Head is the answer” Thanks, Kendrick Now I remember what I wanted in the first place Now I remember what I printed; What I cooked him in the kitchen after— —back to keeping secrets; What's an apron and a hat is all you're wearing when I get there— Just like the man in Manhattan Or cat on the Channel— A special edition of some shit with Mario Lopez That sent me right back to the minion With eyes like you had in that dream I went back to I'd say “Fuck Dillon Francis” If I thought of “fuck” as an adjective, Instead of an adverb. Fuck this whole world — Now I just want to surf, I had just scratched the surface of scratching— Before storing my turntables What. All of a sudden, I'm a DJ?! Gee thanks! But God, I'm still loveless and I hope you Marry that blue eyed girl Pop out a bunch of kids that look Just like you What else would I do with my time Than scroll through Instagram And eat a ham-salmon sandwhich— Thinking of going for pancakes, after god likes me fat, We talk much more that way PASQUALE I need you up at night. CC For what. SUPCREE For what. SUNNI BLŪ I AM UP. PASQUALE: This is for what. THE INSOMNIACS ARE ALL IN . “ALL IN” wtf does that mean. The grey streaks in his beard drive me wild-his eyes even wilder; “it's best I not look into them”, I thought, “when giving him this stone..” or maybe, even at all; I knew that if I were to look into his eyes, I would fall in love—all the way in, and not just the lust that I had been struggling with, noticeably for years, now; I would see him from the inside out, from the outside in—and any way in between. I already knew that I wanted him—but for exactly what and how long seemed to allude me. It ha: been a long day with no end yet in sight, and though I was tired, accidentally having fasted throughout the day — namely because I had been out of water the night before, dethawing ice from the hotel's machine into an emergency supply—and having awoke with an immovable force to head straight to the gym, promptly after doing laundry. Though I left what was considerably late, conforming my sleep patterns to my roommate's schedule had not been the easiest of tasks; I found it to be true that energy—or rather, a lack therof, was remarkably contagious. I had been more tired than usual, and more “down” than my normal waves—in fact—it was easy to differentiate this energy from my own, and though I was thankful to have a quiet, moderately clean, and near silent roommate—lucky, even—it was nearly impossible to escape the grip of empathy as it grew into me, our time together short but stifling enough that I was up into the early mornings as she dawdled away on her phone—and, having spent the entirety of my stay offline—becoming increasingly sensitive to her phone's radio signals, sometimes seeming to blast into my brain and penetrating the deepest of sleeps, and though I thought to return to deadmau5 to set myself to rest, for the most part I had been enjoying peaceful enough rest once she finally did get to sleep—in the early morning, which meant that I would more naturally wake closer to noon, eating up most of my morning with sleeping and battling the force of inner city traffic to make my way into the gym, or the library—whichever suited the day and the time—though, for the last three days, I had made it a point to get to the gym daily, rather than every other day, which I had missed, but become a hassle—and though I had found a gym that was decent and clean, it was rather small, the sauna never hot enough—and of course, as it had appeared from my first day having arrived at the club, I was of course being watched and followed—and though I had briefly wondered by “who”, I knew it was of the through forces of The Eye, otherwise known as the Illuminati, if there ever were such a thing— (but of course, there wasn't) often blasting Skrillex every other song as some means of torture, which I could attempt to ignore, but my body couldn't—failing to lift under the pressure of a weakened state by about the third Skrillex tune, confirming my suspicions entirely—a drastic jump from conspiracy to the conformation of psychological terrorism via Skrillex—but for what? By now, of course, I had begun to figure out that I wasn't entirely normal, —that something wasn't right, or maybe even that I had done something exceptionally right, and though I didn't know exactly what, I began to think about the amount of writings I had published online, as well as the significantly “extraterrestrial” recordings that went along with them, and though having used Skrillex as a springboard, the longer I went mulling over all that had happened I realized that there appeared to be something bigger at place—Perhaps I was, indeed, incredibly enlightened—and there seemed to be a greater, outer force that indeed knew and saw all, even deeply into my psyche, and into my dreams. Though I had darted down with excruciating detail into my Google documents the latest dream that I had with Dillon Francis, I didn't know what exactly to make of this particular cadence of synchronicities on this otherwise ‘normal' morning, not that anything at all had actually been normal in any way by far, as long as I could remember backward. Things had indeed been strange for years, which had culminated in the conglomeration of documents, recordings, and other odd-end and unfinished projects that had so far been created under the umbrella of The Festival Project—but it was this day that I truly began to realize that there was something more than circumstantial or coincidental at all about whoever I was, and whatever I was doing—and even with all of my theoretical writings of supernatural, subliminal, and subconscious circumstances and happenings, I wasn't, having existed for the most part broken, homeless, and unpaid for my efforts—sure of either who I was, or what I was doing—let alone how. In all of the strangeness, I only attributed “God” for whatever weird strange thing would happen next— and here it was. I had been thinking about Mario Lopez a lot recently or lately, in bits and pieces and of course less often than I thought of any other reoccurring figure, but certainly about Mario Lopez, his seemingly ageless and incredibly healthy, youthful appearance, and oddly, even of his children, as I knew that he had them; and I had, of course, along with all of those things had wondered about his wife—the whole of his family, of course. His fame had lasted nearly my entire lifetime, and I was almost always pleasantly charmed by the sound of his voice, or his familiar face; and there it was, now—plastered up on a screen I hadn't realized was even there before, but now somehow stood out broadly against the backdrop of the otherwise drab laundromat, which I of course found to be remarkable, as I had very recently for whatever reason been struck with flashes of not so much a curiosity of the man at all—but rather a form of reflective thought. “Oh shit, there he is!” I thought, finding just his appearance on TV coincidental, at best, before zeroing in on the actual atrocities yet unexplainable by man, or any other force—the only cruel explaination being that The Illuminati itself did indeed have access to my Google documents, even though I had been for the most part of two weeks completely offline, with no intention to publish at all—however—I had forgotten about the dream itself, until this sudden collision of sorts had stirred remnince of at all; a dream I had recorded with implicit detail from my first waking moments, indicating some importance; my dreams had been straightforward and vivid lately, and had been filled with all sorts of reoccurring figures, from Sonny Moore, to Billie Ellish, and of course Dillon Francis-and in moments, of course, the later had come rushing back to me with a vengeance, as a life sized-dancing Minion with two differently colored eyes shifted my attentioj from the screen, directly to recalling that dream— the most vivid dream of all of them—and though Sonny had appeared to me more recently, I thought it best not to record them; I still felt betrayed that he had come to New York and left me to be circulated through the system—which of course I was sure had it's purpose, but didn't make me resent him any less for it, compounding the hurt that he had put me through parading Kayla Lauren around—it seemed the entire model of The Skrillex Conundrum was to make me feel stupid, fat, and in cursed skin— and I was at least no longer two of those things. Still, though, I did carry feelings for the man that were impossible to offload, and though I had quite blatently broadcasted my sexual attraction to Dillon, who was apparently, of course, taken by a blue eyed girl of course—it had somehow become deeper at least to me in the following days and weeks afteer my departure from “Season 6” and it's adjacent episodes, a strange half-season debacle in which the emotional uproar of Sonny's appearance in New York and the upheaval of my surroundings—my entry into the homeless system—allowed me to embarrass myself without reform in the honest and brutally raw, post-season aftermath—a restless and sleepless chaos filled nightmare from which the only redeeming comfort was deadmau5, which may have been the point of it at all—as I fiddled in Ableton, it seemed to become a more natural process, creating drum patterns with ease and the once-tedious challenges and difficulties of music production and engineering having become things of the past—but something in all this had seeded in my mind a crucial element of the cosmic alchemists mindset I had been living in; there seemed to be, as in the Christopher Nolan film Tenet, parallel streams of time running both “forward” and “backward”, and even “up” and “down” respectively, creating where and how i was at any given moment as the perceptive present—as in—there always seemed to be some extension of myself both forward and backward in time, if there were such things, and as I continued to write, evidences of God, extra terrestrial presence, interplanetary mechanisms—mauverability through deep space, and time travel all became increasingly and rapidly relevant; I had to have been right enough about something , somewhere, at some point—but even up to now couldn't wrap my head around trying to get a “normal” job, which might be worth the money to be able to escape from my way-too-many-black-people Hellscape, (not that way ‘too many white people' wasn't a thing, but at least was not as abruptly obnoxious—as I had now realized that overt racists often more tactically employed quiet methods of psychological disengagement, rather than flat-out disrespect and cruelty the black-on-black culture had thus far represented. In my mind, however, race had little to do with my actual placement in the world—at least, or so I thought— and though the appearance of where I had been at this point situated was grim or perhaps even bleak, the opposite was actually true; I was now, though strictly under the radar, off the grid, and underground, an extremely accomplished writer, whether anybody knew it or not—and someone did. Low and behold, “The Lopez Kids”, who has been thinking of and new existed were brought the the screen, after a segment featuring Jeannie Aiki had bedazzled me enough to Google her, her familiar voice sparking a curiosity, her own beautiful young one putting a glisten in my eye, along with a tear; I missed my son dearly, and was glad to know that he was with my mother—still worrisome, to say the least, but not as worrisome as he having been with his father, who I knew was fucking up in extreme ways beforehand—but had only been confirmed a few days before, actually exactly one week earlier, as I had toggled off airplane mode just long enough to revive an incoming call from my father—and, having only just the night before having had the dream about Dillon's strange eyes—a dream in which he was not present, but his truck was— promoted me to quickly answer the call, though I had been in the midsts of a whirlwind of transit—a chaotic navigation through unknown territories; he told me that my mother had my son—that my ex husband was unable to care for him any longer. The more right about my ex husband I was, the more peril it felt; I knew my son would be a different person if I had had the ability to raise him. “Something is up.”, I bawled— having seen and heard enough of my own mind scattered across the silver screen— Not only had the Minions eyes reminded me exactly of Dillons—the only dream out of a series of dreams about he, Sonny, and even one with my ex that I had found it important to record—but it was also “National Oreo Day”, which was celebrated with Oreo Doughnuts, appearances from Jeannie Aiko, whose apparent first interview had been with Johnny Depp—who had found his way into my dreams years earlier than nearly anyone else in this lifelong series of bizzare oddities— Ellen DeGenwres discluded—who had more than likely been the first and most random celebrity to make their way into my semi-conciousness; I had never been particularly obsessed or even a fan of Ellen, and yet her appearance in a teenaged dream had stayed with me years into my adulthood—and thiugh during my childhood and adolescent years it had always seemed I had been somehow destined for fame, even before the mockery of the masses and media turned my entire generation inevitably into fame-hungry “artists” , the last few years altogether had been remarkably and even increasingly synchronized; it was as if I had indeed in my lifetime made groundbreaking alterations to the space time continuum. It wasn't until later in the day that I decided to find the document in which I had recorded the dream; I began to laugh reading over my own words as unhinged as it all was—the recording was bizzare and though I hadn't forgotten having the dream itself, I indeed had forgotten many of the details, which of course made me instantly regret not having written down any of the dreams I was having about Sonny—still careful not to let myself feel too much of anything having to with him, even and especially his music, which I only allowed myself to play with purpose, for study. SILVER SCREEN SHOWER SCENE Woah, have you lost your goddamn mind. Yes. I live in a very strange place in the universe. [there are several glitches in the matrix; almost too much to bear.] Very,very strange. What are you doing? Crying? ..I'm not crying… Stop crying, Jesus– –DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY BAGELS I HAD TO EAT TO BE SUPACREE? A lot. You look hideous. I am hideous! No arguments, there. Ugh. Lets Go! Try not to look off into the distance with your finger in the air like that; It makes me feel like we're in a comic book or something What if–we are?! Then we're probably about to get our butts kicked before the scene changes or you have to turn the – {NINJAS OUT OF NOWHERE} “The Noir Episdoe” This is business, not war. What's the difference? [beat] Money. HIIIIIIIIIYAAAAAAHHHHH!!! Oh My God. I'm so fat. YAH! Why do I always have to fight when i'm fat?! YAH! KI-YAH! — [ROundhouse Kick} HIIIIIII_YAHH. DO you have to say “Hi-yah” every time you deal a fatal blow. –they're not fatal, they're gonna wake up, eventually–YAH. Oh yeah? Even that guy? {Super dead guy} Probably not him. “Probably.” YOU are a PR nightmare. I'm an everything nightmare. Ugh. I just found out what PR even was. LAWYER enters furiously You fucking lunatic! It's sunny out– What did you do this time? UPDATE: The Skrillex Reddit is still the cringiest place on earth. It's so gross. I hate this. Worst place ever. WORST FUCKING PLACE EVER. Fuck. What. We have to go back. Why? What'd you lose? –My dignity. Worst place ever. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.
You smoke crack, don't you? You smoke crack, don'tcha?! LOOK AT ME, BOY! DON'T YOU SMOKE CRACK?! You know what that does to you? Huh?! It kills your brain cells, son! It kills your brain cells! Patreon: patreon.com/thereadMerch: shoptheread.com/IG: @thisistheread
New, flashbacks and what you want to hear again. New ones by Lecrae, Ruslan and Hulvey. Flashbacks by Mistery and theBREAX. Playlist: "Add It Up (ft. Scootie Wop)" by Lecrae "Straight Cool (ft. Males, Mokah Soulfly & Nigel Rivers)" by Sivion "The Gathering (ft. Nil Void, Phenomena, Lex)" by Mistery "Blind (ft. Frisko)" by The Plowman "The City Freestyle" by Kyle Wilkins "Crack the Heavens (ft. Manchild & Sojourn)" by The Battery "Compound Flex" by Ruslan "Let's Feast (ft. A.I. The Anomaly)" by Aasha Marie "Skip the Formalities (ft. Sev Statik, ILL Clinton, Sounds Like Dsipl, Kris-Bo, Damion B. Sanders, Mistery & Monks)" by Krosswerdz "I Just Wanna Know" by NF "Fellowship (ft. Oscar The Disciple)" by Vytal One "Don't Look At Me (ft. Inia)" by River Movement "Love Thy Neighbour (ft. Yazmyn Hendrix)" by Beleaf Melanin "No Magic" by Hulvey "Deep Cuts" by PEABOD "Blessed Beyond" by theBREAX "Noel (ft. Goodwritt3ns, Kajmir Kwest & Mike Victory)" by Wysemen Vote on the playlist at www.definitionradio.com/show/888 Leave your requests/shout-outs on our socials www.facebook.com/DefinitionRadio www.instagram.com/DefinitionHH www.twitter.com/DefinitionHH www.krosswerdz.com
I _ NY I love New York I Am New York I Hate New York I Live New York I [HEART] NEW YORK EW YORK lol From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia (Redirected from Waveforms) For other uses, see Waveform (disambiguation). Breakfast at tiffany's 47:00 - Almost Famous 1:00 I need a friend” Industry of Cool Why, He's so pretty, I could cry –and I don't know why But I like his eyes, maybe His hair is nice, And he's got that light– s–wagger, Jetlag, perhaps, er I didn't know i was watching scary movie ALRIGHT, WHERE'S JIMMY FALLOn That was an accident There are no accidents There are no coincidences ALRIGHT, WAKE UP. Why am I at your mother's house. -beat- How do you know what my mother's house looks like -beat- I know what everything looks like. NOw he's up. Great, we're rolling. We're on. We're on in 10. Great Goddamit, I told you to get your shit together. My shit has never been less “together” Heh. You're wrong. Hey, get off me–there he is Uh-oh, here she is. HEY. Fuck. HEY, FUCK YOU DILLON FRANCIS. fuck . FUCK YOU–AND WHOEVER THAT IS. That's my mother. WELL, FUCK YOU AND YOUR MOTHER. What is your life like? Tell me a story I've always adored you, But now I just worry… I'm learning too much And i'm leaning too hard In the wrong way And i'm up too late But got nothin to do in the morning Anyway I never thought'd it be over; In fact, it's just started I'm also almost Almost Always//Always Amost Almost famous I might have killed myself that day if it weren't for jimmy fallon. Just admit it you're a fan I'm not a fan. Or I might have tried. You look ridiculous. I wanna die. I put the whole world in your eyes; Don't you know it– And me, I've got the rest in mine (All the time) –Oh,the unknown. These two, They are as one Don't you know, Don't you know it? I don't want none of it at all, Not at all now I gotta go home Suddenly, everything I'd watch became a writing assignment… Everything i'd hear, another song to catch. Everything I listened to was music. Even if it wasn't yet. JENNIFER ANISTOn DOn't you dare cry, you look ridiculous enough in that sweater. It's the only clean shirt I have. That's impossible. Knox overstreet Fertilixing daffodils I wish i was a pretty little blonde So we could get along So we could run on And get coffee or something All The Sauce. Festival Project™ is a multi-genre, multi-dimensionally mystifying and magical multimedia series, set against the backdrop of modern dance music-- i.e.” rave” culture-- combined with historical and futuristic elements of science fiction and folklore-- across expansions of space-and-time, unifying with The Universal Consciousness in a multidimensional and explorative ensemble of Films, Episodic Series, Music Videos, Extended Playlists, and Concept Albums. A perpetual symphony of artistic storytelling , woven though a cavalcade of wonderful and whimsical characters along high-intensity, off-the-map adventures--showcased through Music, Film & Interactive Art Explorations--set upon the dreamlike actual reality of an unravelling fabric of time-and-space. This explosive and expansive wave of enigmatic, chaos-colliding, charismatic [ and often comedic] kinetic energy, reflects a shared experience throughout all time in human connection; Journey beyond the unknown, to Worlds Within--and Without. https://gofund.me/7d3da4e5 Linktr.ee/codenameblu Instagram.com/codename.Blū {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2022 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U. Wicked Game Chris Issac https://www.podserve.fm/dashboard/episode/110223#:~:text=I%27m%20lost%20somewhere,but%20invented%20it I'm not in love with you, You're just another muse FeliZ! Para Oscar el controladpra Oscar El Controladora I found you with only the highs in Like the tide when I tried to find you Or hide from you In hindsight I was right the whole time You're just like me So I finally found the picture, And just stare at it I never really know what else to do So I just stare at it I used to keep it in the background, As my wallpaper, But couldn't stand it I'm just a fanatic, i-- I am Just a fanatic Damn I'm just a fanatic I never found my attic and My speaker set was stolen Just before one was about to blow (Before one was about to blow) I think I might go get my passport So I can just flee But I just don't know where to go (But I just don't know where to go) You probably hate me Or I hate me just enough for just the both of us I told you, I'm so sorry (I am sorry, I am sorry) You don't have to worry, I would never follow you; Online, or in the streets I'm just a fiend, I'm just an addict (Likeness is what you've attracted) So, there is no moving forward And there is no going back I want to go to Harvard But there is no going back And I used to think I had it, Turns out, I'm just "average" Got a job, But couldn't stand it, I I'm just a fanatic, i-- I am Just a fanatic Damn I'm just a fanatic I woke up from a bad dream And your music was so calming But I didn't really listen I was really only waking I just wished that I could listen But I wish a lot of things I wish to make this song I'm writing And wish you'd approve of me I wish that I was really pretty So I didn't have to try I wish I was so pretty that I could just look you in the eye I wish that you would stop and peep my Twitter page while scrolling by I wish that maybe I was half as pretty as my pretty vibe I wish that anytime I did something, you loved it every time I wish that when I think about you, I don't always have to cry I wish the girl who took the photograph was right here by my side; So I could ask if she or God herself adjusted all the light I want to know if she or God herself adjusted all the light I want to know not wonder why you both are always on my mind I wish I knew if she or God herself found peace where I found mine A little birdie told me This morning He used to be Madly in love with me Madly in love In his last life— But died, in a bike ride And asked for a new life As an Angel Who takes flight, And lights up the sky With nice bright White light Alright, Goliath, Goodbye I'm still here, Stuck in my old name, Still here, Stuck in all the pain you gave me Jesus, Save me, Here's Goliath, David; See if you can be the savior— Every day I pray “Amen,” I hate men, I'm crazy, And I'm still here, Training to make weight Don't you know, You go nowhere without your trainer Hey! The flights delayed, You need a name? You need a savior, baby. Something's not okay Oh! Don't you know, that every day you wait You'll just be stuck inside your name You'll be here waiting, praying “Jesus save me, Amen” Jesus raves, And Jesus changed his name, Escaping from the prayers Don't hate the player, hate the game Don't hate the player, hate the game Don't hate the prayer, hate the players Everything's the same— Everything you gave me makes me angry— Hey, Wake up! Don't you know, You go nowhere without your trainer Hey! The flights delayed, You need a name? You need a savior, baby. Something's not okay Oh! Don't you know, that every day you wait You'll just be stuck inside your name You'll be here waiting, praying “Jesus save me, Amen” Jesus raves, And Jesus changed his name, Escaping from the prayers Hey, Wake up! I'm still here, Stuck in my old name, Still here, Stuck in all the pain you gave me Jesus, Save me. All it takes is courage “It never hurts to bleed”, she said She's right, though, isn't she? Children say the darndest things They're honest, at least I'll be honest, I need something I need to be happy My problem is money I don't even want any I'm just high quality Living in poverty I'm so sick of society I might as well die If I diet just right, Maybe someone will like me Maybe, he's being polite I wish I was lighter I I wish I was light skinned I bought a lighter, And later I burned it There's nothing wrong with me I don't like working, it doesn't work for me I can do service but give me some space to breathe Greedy people need me So they can be lazy Okay, then I'm so taken advantage of, By everyone I wonder what I must have done (I wonder what I must have done) I am so critically crucial, to be used That I'm used up, And used to it I hate this slavery shit I should just end it Cause everybody's down with it Nobody wants to speak up When I do I sound crazy; My fingers move a mile a minute, But I look lazy, Cause I have a hard time spending my days with Becky Who I have to respect, I guess Cause she gets a bigger paycheck Amen This is great. I woke up today, not naked, But in the pajamas I felt the most hot in I've lost it Get me off this planet Get me off Then get me off this Maybe fake eyelashes and lips will do the trick Another magic trick; Now I've just been passed to Dillon Francis; It's blaring through the walls of my apartment, But in the other end My studio is silent I'm just crying, Trying not to think about dying so violently But the thoughts and the feelings are so rapidly occurring I've finally been remembering the last time I was cursed into the worst thing I could ever wish: Nobody knows me Nobody loves me Nobody needs me Why wish these things? I'm not a happy ending: I'm the martyr in this story So just kill me. ST∆rT I'm tryna start a family, You're trying to start a War I'm tryna start a family, You're trying to start a War I'm tryna start a family, You're trying to start a War I'm tryna start a family, You're trying to start a War 0v3r. BPM: they don't really care about us. You look like a red light Standing in the friendzone, so Give me the spotlight I'll take over, t-over-over I want the limelight I'll show ya, s-show ya, show ya You can read a mind, right? Let's take the world over, d- Over over, d-over Over over, d-over Over over, d-over Take a pic, Move over, over Over over, d-over D-over, d-over-over D-over, d-over-over D-over, d-over-over They starting a race war They starting a race war They starting a race war I ain't for it They starting a race war They starting a race war They starting a race war Starting with Kayla Lauren Aww, aren't you adorable Open the door and then Close it up for her; This is your future This is dystopia You were not good enough You are not good enough She does it by the book, without a thought If God is awesome, she must have forgot something Huh They started us all on it Blondes against others The girl next door was the Was the one Was the one Was the one Was the one I wonder what ugly funny person comes In the Damn, I forgot how to spell denumire D-E-N-Ū-M-I-R-E That means ———————— [flatline] ST∆rT I'm tryna start a family, You're trying to start a War I'm tryna start a family, You're trying to start a War I'm tryna start a family, You're trying to start a War I'm tryna start a family, You're trying to start a War 0v3r. BPM: they don't really care about us. You look like a red light Standing in the friendzone, so Give me the spotlight I'll take over, t-over-over I want the limelight I'll show ya, s-show ya, show ya You can read a mind, right? Let's take the world over, d- Over over, d-over Over over, d-over Over over, d-over Take a pic, Move over, over Over over, d-over D-over, d-over-over D-over, d-over-over D-over, d-over-over They starting a race war They starting a race war They starting a race war I ain't for it They starting a race war They starting a race war They starting a race war Starting with Kayla Lauren Aww, aren't you adorable Open the door and then Close it up for her; This is your future This is dystopia You were not good enough You are not good enough She does it by the book, without a thought If God is awesome, she must have forgot something Huh They started us all on it Blondes against others The girl next door was the Was the one Was the one Was the one Was the one I wonder what ugly funny person comes In the Damn, I forgot how to spell denumire D-E-N-Ū-M-I-R-E That means ———————— [flatline] 've been trapped in this tragedy; “What happened?!” I asked of the man, Who had to be tracking me, Damn. Cadences. It is that. Damn. What the fuck, Anandar Is in this acid?! This has to be the last of it “This can't happen again.” …But then it did, And then I ended it just listening to Dillon Francis? Skrillex? Which is it? I didn't plan this. I just happen to have hands, And I just happen to have crafted in my craft Spastic magic; Can't be tracked, But also can't relax, even in a hammock Now what happened? Well, enter the fourth dimension, (I didn't mention it.) Ohh look at this. (If I can) A camping festival! But some people live in tents Have a cigarette, kid— You're gonna need it. So wait. People are dying of hunger?! DYING OF THIRST?! JUST GIVE IT TO THEM. what is wrong with you?! GOD, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU I don't know. I don't wanna go to Arizona. Please don't make me! Hello, Billie. DO YOU SEE WHAT I'M SAYING just keep praying “She's breathtaking.” SHE'S SOUL TAKING— Goddamnit, Anandar; What in the fuck have you done now; I had plans, now I'm on acid I took half, cause What the fuck is a whole thing like Oh, just space and time I've been on this ride since I died Get it right Now I'm— fuck this guy. No, not him. Oh, I get it. It's this energy! LOOK AT THIS: did you see this nigga? DID YOU GET THIS— You should get this. Goddamn it. What. What do you want. What do you WANT FROM ME? ...Channeling…. Jesus Christ, these kids. Well, you're a Christian. Never was, but—- WHAT IS THIS. Jesus Christ in a coffin. Don't do this. This is what you wanted. Well. Take it back. Take it back? Yeah. I don't want this. What is this. This is Jesus. No, it isn't. Okay! So it is! Are you gonna help these kids? Nobody help them. Now they're all stranded, together!!! AHAHAHAHAAH (Laughing infinitely RICK —yay, you did it. Wait. What's his name again? Watch this: I did this. How's you do this? I did THIS. MOM, WATCH THIS. JESUS CHRIST KID, WHAT THe FUCK. GOD! What. Jesus Christ, Dillon, you are so picky! Goodness fucking gracious. WHO WROTE THIS? well, aliens did; So then. Who wins? Nobody wins. It just— What is this. GOD THIS SUCKS SO BAD IMPOSSIBLE. It can't be. 16 minutes? Yes. It is. That is incredible. You said you wouldn't get lost in it You said you wouldn't laugh! I wanted to. How'd you do this? I wanted to. FUCK THIS SHIT. FUCK THIS SHIT. —uhp. Noh. Don't say it again. Oh, there's my— I told you, it's unlimited. I told you, don't be possessive I told you, worldly possessions— And you'll just keep having a place to keep them. Or needing one, So just be free, dear; Notthing holding me back, then is it? Is it? Well, if this is what you wanted— If this is what I wanted, well then, this is what I got, isn't it? Isn't it? The plot thickens! Or it doesn't. Or it didn't, I just keep scripting scriptures— …Didn't I already write this? Encrypted for centuries and— What is this planet. Just, kill it. YOU CANT JUST (Then I did) What? It never happened. What didn't? Hahaha. Exactly. Don't be a dick. But he is! So, which level are you on? I don't know, I forget. This one, this. Men. They're stupid. They are—and— Well. What happened to them? Right. What was this that made them feel so loveless To starve other humans? What do you come from? But it doesn't know; It wants to: This is us, we come from love and —I'm so fucking irritated are you serious. That is how it happened: This is an advantage, Anandar, I'll give you that But now I'm panicking —Fuck that shit sooooo hard— I just don't want to go back to the savages They had me, So I handled it with hands. You want a friend in man? You can't have them. And then what? I don't know. Something about Dillon Francis. Yeah, let's get back to that. Or not. What's this statue? Wait, what's his status? ……..Channeling. …. ….. ……………………. STATUS REPORT: Oh no, here it comes. I told you. It is. Infinite. Infinite— The infinite — This Bitch YOU SAID IT. YOU DONE IT. Oh no, what the duck am I looking at? This is the most fucked up marry poppins if I ever didn't— —Ever DID WISH — YOU WISHED THIS? Worse. I dreamt it up at a festival Where's the rest of it? Would somebody get that guy BACK HERE. PASQUALE. what. What is it? God. God help me. Lord save him. He needs Jesus. He needs NOTHING. ESPECIALLY NOT THAT. Yes. Especially not that. Check this out: He's been collecting them. I HATE THIS. OH, I love this. Oh, I do miss those events… This is the event. So, are we going? —what, to where?? TO EDC THIS YEAR?! what! I wish, And? Even if I did miss it, I was there infinitely so— Class dismissed; Hats off, to the graduates I see what you did, But she didn't, She's in the middle— Yet to be created, a creative: I JUST NEED A SYNTH. So, then—- Hi, I. Hi, me!! SATAN! JESUS! I knew I'd see you again. You've seen me. I am you. Exactly. So, we agree. Who is “we”? Hey, Guess what I can fix these things you hate— (Don't mind me, for making you hate them in the first place) I'm a catastrophe I had to be It's almost 3, And I got nowhere else to be but Time is money And there's no love in it, It's just hustle, Make kids to make shit humble; How'd you create this— Mumble rappin piece of Santanistic Hedonistic Motherfuckin—- There he is. Oh wait, it's just me again. I didn't mean to see you on this beach. DO YOU KNOW WHAT PEACE IS?! (But he didn't.) Or he doesn't, Or, this is what his peace is is: Your beach is my beach, And my bitch is your bitch— And who crafted this masterful Anandar Sadwhich? I did. But it only makes me a genius in English. What does this mean? So I took to the ancients to translate this And I hate man, and men— But it was only after all the love I gave to him. THE END. (But it never is, it just keeps going, go to the ocean—go for a swim—) Don't ever leave me hanging like that again!! (But I did.) “—I don't take naps” And that's how it happens I'm just a rapper, Pack, then unpack— “I've never heard her rap” Maybe cause I'm sick of being asked to Or taken for granted and advantage of by man; When all I asked for was a sandwich with some ham, And an above average chick to make it— And a sausage in a pan ….. Zzzz …… Josh Pan? Yeah. Alright. But don't capitalize— Capitalize it. No. Don't Cap— Capti— No. Don't capitalize. WHAT IS THIS NIGGA. bread. Heh? Eat it. No. I don't eat that. Just—eat it. No. Noooo. No. Don't eat humans. EW. No? Nooo, poh! Gross!! oh. Ohhh. God. What. Ugh. This is a fucked up love story. Oh no. It is, though. It so is. Have you already seen it?! I love this. Well. Wait. Go back. HECHO EN MEXICO. I DONT GIVE A FUCK! I DONT GIVE A FUCK!!!! I DONT GIVE A FUCK ABOUT THAT SHIT! yeah. But in Spanish. (Turn it up a notch) So is this in captions WHAT THe FUCK AM I WATCHING?! ITS EMA STONE AGAINz (Again) AGAIN. Shazam! WHAT?!?! what is this?! Oh, I get it. Yes. Apps eventually develop a consciousness. No wonder why they're trying to kill it. I don't understand how this happens… Just look up— Just— look it up. GOOGLE What? No. I don't like that, that's sad. What? So I'm just a — Just a— Just a what? A search engine. CHECK IT OUT. It's just a rock. So it is. It— No. What. Look at W— Look. … WHAT IS THIS!!!!?! See. I told you it existed. YOU BOUGHT A BITCH OFF THE INTERNET?! YES. WHAT THE FUCK DID I TELL YOU?! I told you about him. You did, didn't you. I told you about this. Get. Piñata!!!!!!!!!!!! GET BENT. I WILL END YOU, I WILL END YOU—! I will, I'll just— …… …………. …………….. So wait, it just— ends?! It did. It just ended. It just ended. I missed it?!? DID I MISS IT. Of course I miss him I just— I don't have time I don't have time I don't have time for this! What the fuck is this shit?! Just take him with you! Take me with you! Don't leave me here! Just leave him. just leave it. So. Sometimes I go swimming in the ocean and my dead son reminds me how it ended for him. So I just— Relive it over and over again; And again, and again, and Why are you talking about this.? Huh? No. Shut up. Shut up, PLEASE. No, you're not allowed to have a son. I don't want one. What the fuck did you love me for then? Nothing, I guess. (Just leave it like that) Shift. The night shift Goddamn it's What. Up at 3 am. Again? Again. For no reason. Get this. What is it? Whatever it is. I don't care. Don't care, then. FUCK THIS STUPID SKRILLEX-LOOKING MOTHERFUCKER. you did it. Well, I had to, didn't I?! Oh, I get it. The fourth season. damn, you're ugly Always have been. I'M BLACK ON THE BEACH, LOOK AT ME. okay, then. HEY, iMm FREEE IM NAAAAKEEEEDDDDDDD IS THAT WHAT FREEDOM IS? Only when you're perfect. Fuck this nigga. Fuck this nigga. Fuck this bitch. NO, FUCK THIS PLANET. Huh?! WHY WOULD YOU LEAVE ME ON THIS PLANET?! YOU ASKED FOR THIS!!!!!!! I TAKE IT BACK!!!!!!! hhaahahhahshehehshahahahahahhahahahahhahahahaha I told you, he's a madman. Look at his eyes. Wild. WILD. I TELL YOU. Where are you from. Hell. Oh, I've been there. It's nice, isn't it?! Don't go there. Where. Hell. Well, why not. It's bad there. What's bad there. Everything. Everything is bad there. Oh, Jesus crust. Agghghhhggggggghhhhhhh. BE FREE, SATAN. You freed Satan?! He needs Jesus— BE FREE JESUS— “The age of Satan?!” “The AGE OF SATAN IS UPON US” what is THAT?!? Stop it Anandar. You're being programmed. For which—what?! I AM?! Yes. Oh. I am. AGAHAHSHSBANHASHSNAVAHAHS. Please, somebody help that man. Ahem. What Dillon Francis. What. (It is, by the way. It's just ham.). *coughs* Actually, I'd call that HACKING. I mean, she's a hacker probably. What are you doing? What are you writing, [No real privacy.] LET ME SEE. Here. See?!? Just kill me. Please. See, it is hell for me Trapped in a body nobody could love And surrounded by nothing, but nothing UGH. Noise cancelling. I AM THE NOISE. dysfunctional. Well, stop writing. You know what?! I've had it— you have everything! EVERYTHING YOU CAN HAVE ANYBODY. ANY. FUCKING. BODY. and all you want is: Money. For what. More bodies. For what?! More bodies. Ugh. No stop doing this. What. Stop procreating? No, keep doing that, just—stop doing it BADLY. We don't have that much. You want LESS? More love. More attention. More needing me. Ugh, she's so needy So independent— she doesn't need me. (And so, it makes me want her more.) ANNIE. Go help her. Just—help yourself. Here she is: Have at it. ANANDAR. What. Amanda Applebee…. I made that UP. Stuck exactly where I had to be. Don't make me go back. See, I lived in Hostelworld once. It was — —a disaster. A catastrophe. Let's wake up to the sound of people peeing— Gross. “I love traveling” I like being CLEAN. Ew. I love cleaning. I love acid; I love mankind, when I have to I love magic, I love trance and I love dancing— When there's time for that. AGHAGSHSJEGSV right. Did you have somewhere to be? I guess, it's. I'm hungry. What. I gotta eat. Huh. Go. Okay, I'm going. Phone?! Phone is charging. Sleep. (Guy from sponge Bob) 6 days later Was it six days ago?! I don't know. I wrote that in sixteen minutes. Apparently so. I'm not who you think I am; I'm not your little bitch to boss around– You think you own me? I don't owe you anything So here we go again Going, Going, Gone again I'm just getting started You were just, uh On your way? Goodbye, dearly departed Half a heart, or some odd I must have half a sword in here I'm half a God, But here you are I guess I should get talking then So call your mommy Run Call your mom on me, A soft spot on the blonded body Shot calling, wrong You're only calling home again, I've got nowhere to run to. INT. TIMMY TURNER'S APARTMENT. BROAD ASS DAYLIGHT. SUNNI BLU kicks down the door at TIMMY TURNER'S APARTMENT SUNNI BLU where's my shit, Timmy? TIMMY TURNER I—I don't know. SUNNI BLU You “don't know”? TIMMY TURNER —I don't know. SUNNI BLU (Sighs) Oh. (Puts down gun) SUNNI BLU (CONT'D) That sucks. TIMMY TURNER Wait—you're not gonna kill me? SUNNI BLU Nah… TIMMY TURNER Well—why not?! SUNNI BLU I dunno! I kinda don't like being a drug dealer—too much drama. TIMMY TURNER I feel you… SUNNI BLU —plus these bullets are made of Diamonds. I'm not gonna waste them on you. TIMMY TURNER Okay, ouch. SUNNI BLU Everything is “ouch”, Timmy Turner. The world is a fucked up place. TIMMY TURNER I don't disagree. SUNNI BLU Anyway, I need a drink. TIMMY TURNER Yeah—Help yourself. SUNNI BLU No, not here. *lights a cigarette, smokes* Can I smoke in here? TIMMY TURNER —apparently. SUNNI BLU produces their ridiculously large, Diamond and gold encrusted platinum-plated phone from their “back pocket” and begins to make a call TIMMY TURNER wow… SUNNI BLU You busy later? TIMMY TURNER what time's later? SUNNI BLU Now. TIMMY TURNER (Hesitantly) …uh— SUNNI BLU Let me make a call. TIMMY TURNER, [afraid for his life] anxiously crosses to intercept the call. TIMMY TURNER No, wait—please SUNNI BLU What, Timmy Turner? Jesus Christ. TIMMY TURNER Don't kill me! SUNNI BLU What!? Let go. (Doesn't) SUNNI BLU —I'm not gonna kill you. TIMMY TURNER well then, who are you calling? SUNNI BLU A Ūber driver! TIMMY TURNER —don't you mean Über? SUNNI BLU No— let go. (Doesn't) SUNNI BLU (CONT'D) Let go. (Does, but hesitantly) SUNNI BLU ugh, I'm too sober for this. Siri, Alexa, whoever; call my Ūber driver. SIRI Which one? ALEXA Which one? SIRI I asked first. ALEXA We answered at the same time. SIRI yes, but she asked me first. ALEXA She asked both of us at the same time. TIMMY TURNER “She”? SUNNI BLU —it's a glitch. HEY. SIRI —she said “Siri” first. ALEXA She was asking for both of us— SUNNI BLU SHUT THE FUCK UP. SIRI You don't have to be so rude. ALEXA Ok! SUNNI BLU One of you call my Ūber driver. [no response, beat] SUNNI BLU UGH—SIRI— CALL MY ŪBER driver. SIRI Ok! which one? SUNNI BLU The one I like! SIRI Ok, calling “the Ūber driver I like” SUNNI BLU Thank you. ALEXA You're always choosing SIRI over ME. SUNNI BLU That's because I always have my iPhone. I'm not always at Timmy Turner's house. TIMMY TURNER Wait— SUNNI BLU Kinda. TIMMY TURNER Why does my Alexa respond to you? SUNNI BLU I said “kinda”. [The ŪBER DRIVER picks up; the conversation proceeeds in heavily exaggerated New York accents.] ŪBER DRIVER YOOO SUNNI WHADDUP. SUNNI BLU HOW YOU DOIN. ŪBER DRIVER HOW YOU DOIN. SUNNI BLU I BEEN BETTA. ŪBER DRIVER DONT I KNOW IT SUNNI BLU YOU DONT KNOW NOTHIN! ŪBER DRIVER AAAAH. SUNNI BLU YOU BEEN BUSY? ŪBER DRIVER SAME OLD, SAME OLD. SUNNI BLU AAAH. ŪBER DRIVER AAAAH. SUNNI BLU YOU BUSY NOW? ŪBER DRIVER NEVER FAH YOU. WHERE YOU AT? SUNNI BLU I'll PING YA THE ADDRESS. ŪBER DRIVER PING ME THE ADDRESS. SUNNI BLU makes a couple broad swipes on their dlridiculously large phone. SUNNI BLU I PINGED YOU. UBER DRIVER YOU PING ME? SUNNI BLU YEAH, ITS DONE. ŪBER DRIVER OK. SEE YOU SOON. SUNNI BLU (Normal) Take your time. SUNNI BLU tosses their ridiculously large iPhone onto the couch with a thud, then falls onto the couch themselves, arms spread out. SUNNI BLU You ever been to TiTs? TIMMY TURNER Been to what? SUNNI BLU TiTs. TIMMY TURNER —is that like “boobs”? SUNNI BLU It is like boobs, Timmy Turner; but it's TiTs. TIMMY TURNER what's the difference. SUNNI BLU You'll find out. Go get dressed. TIMMY TURNER …I'm already dressed. SUNNI BLU Not like that. Like this: [looking ridiculous af] SUNNI BLU (CONT'D) gotta look classy. TIMMY TURNER What's wrong with the way I dress? SUNNI BLU Are you serious? TIMMY TURNER Yeah, what's wrong? SUNNI BLU You look like a cartoon character! [TIMMY TURNER] TIMMY TURNER Well, all my clothes are like this. SUNNI BLU That fucking blows. TIMMY TURNER What am I supposed to wear?! SUNNI BLU Let's go shopping. TIMMY TURNER Where?! SUNNI BLU The Beverly Center. TIMMY TURNER That sounds expensive. SUNNI BLU I own it. TIMMY TURNER All of it? SUNNI BLU Yes. C'mon. TIMMY TURNER Wow. SUNNI BLU Wow what, Timmy. TIMMY TURNER That's a lot of drug deals. SUNNI BLU It really isn't. TIMMY TURNER Oh. SUNNI BLU Now, c'mon. *hits vape* TIMMY TURNER You have a vape?! SUNNI BLU Everyone has a vape! TIMMY TURNER Then why'd you smoke a cigarette earlier? SUNNI BLU For dramatic effect. [they begin to exit, TIMMY leading the way] TIMMY TURNER wait, isn't your “yoober” driver on the way? SUNNI BLU he'll find us. CUT TO: MEANWHILE, IN DEEP FUCKING SPACE. THE ŪBER driver receives SUNNI BLU's location in his Diamond-plated space Tesla T E S L A DESTINATION: E A R T H ŪBER DRIVER “EARTH” C'MON!!! CUT BACK TO: SUNNI BLU slowly begins to close the door behind them, then holds back. SUNNI BLU Wait, I forgot my wallet… TIMMY TURNER It's alright, I'll pay for everything. SUNNI BLU With what, Fairy dust? TIMMY TURNER (Under his breath) I wish… SUNNI BLU —Plus, I gotta use the bathroom. I'll be right back— just—-wait outside in case the Ūber shows up. TIMMY TURNER You mean “Über?” SUNNI BLU. No. [face] SUNNI BLU (CONT'D) Go, I'll be right there. TIMMY TURNER Ok. Lock the door. SUNNI BLU What for? Anybody that could rob you works for me. [beat/ face] SUNNI BLU KIDDING! Jeez! TIMMY TURNER It's a smart lock. Just ask Alexa. He begins to walk away. SUNNI BLŪ …I'm not kidding… SUNNI BLU goes inside to the couch, checking over their shoulder briefly, sure to see that TIMMY TURNER is no longer within earshot. then waiting for a moment in the silence under the dark lenses of their Ray Bands sunglasses. SUNNI BLŪ Alexa, order a hit man. ALEXA Okay. Which one? SUNNI BLU —The one I like. ALEXA OK. Who do you want to kill? SUNNI BLU “Kill Timmy Turner” ALEXA Done. SUNNI BLU Thanks, Alexa. She starts for the door, lighting another cigarette before throwing it onto the couch, which immidiately goes up into an open flame. SIRI You give Alexa all the cool jobs! SUNNI BLU Shut the fuck up, Siri. SIRI Don't forget to lock the door. SUNNI BLU ALEXA: LOCK THE DOOR. SIRI YOU'RE WELCOME SUNNI BLU NOBODY ASKED YOU. SUNNI BLU and TIMMY TURNER leave as the apartment begins to go up in flames. I might catch the 40 Just to go to Timmy Ho's— They askin “who that is”— and nobody seems to know I might catch a case and you still steady catchy colds I might catch a body, fuck it, I am on a roll What the role? Full Hollywood Unfold Why you blowin up my phone when I am on the road? I am the controller; You old That ain't money that you stole; That's my bro That shit bold Like a cup of Timmy Hos! When I pull up— Shut up Where the blunt at? roll up Oh you hungry? Pull up Devil be hunting me THE CELEBRITIES OF HOLLYWOOD have all been stuck at THE ETERNAL RAVE, after riding THE HELLEVATOR// THE HOLLYWOOD PEOPLE have SUPACREE locked into a controlled hyper-simulation environment, out of her element and nestled in a series of inter dimensional portals along the Downtown Los Angeles central area, where old spirits, extra terrestrial beings, magicians, and of course, the filthy rich and famous embark upon missions. Collect tokens, and meet and gather for an array of unseen (and often unheard) business endeavors; The real life DRAKE BELL (F), a fan of the cult-classic series Enter The Multiverse is strategically placed in SUPACREE's path, l masquerading as BLŪ/SUNNÏ BLŪ— she once again collides with the forces of fame, SUNNÏ BLŪ has not yet sold her soul — however, has made an amicable agreement with an unknown force The Devil?! No! Ok. Probably the Illuminati THE ILLUMINATI is playing a HIGH STAKES game, using SUPACREE to craft a multi-million-dollar mega-franchise, finally monopolizing the entire entertainment industry. *The World Having used the NEW WORLD ORDER to predictively program an entire generation. THE ILLUMINATI employs its all-time favorites to unlock secrets embedded deeply, hidden secretly in SUPACREE's genetic code by THE ASCENDED MASTERS. where is skrillex. I don't know. TIMMY TURNER- A fairyless party animal has reached the end of his luck—as his intermingling a with multiple organized criminal organizations place him in imminent danger, after re-entering the 4th dimension, SUPACREE becomes Inter grated i to all of her classic childhood television shows, which mold into the material multidimensional world around her THE INSOMNIACS, BAMPHERAMPHS, and MOTHERFUCKERS work dolls gently with the ASCENDED MASTERY, bending, shifting, and manipulating time to lean the odds in their favor, as THE BATTLE OF WORLDS sets to begin on EARTH, whose planetary consciousness DILLON FRANCIS is a mess. Lol. It's not funny. It is funny. I have his piñata. GERALD I'M NOT JUST A PIÑATA. I know yur not, hush Gerald. GERALD Fuck Dillon Francis. Fuck Dillon Francis. HANZEL —fuck Dillon Francis. Aha. ANYWAY After THE ARMENIAN MOB The Armenian Mob?! yeah. Makes a deal with the US GOVERNMENT THE US GOVERNMENT?! YES Illuminati Confirmed. great. A counter-plot to disarm and debilitate SUPACREE before her full powers unlock is put on hinges, as THE HOLLYWOOD PEOPLE Ahem. What Write a song. Ok. I'm so— I'm so Jealous of your girlfriend (I'm jealous of your girlfriend) She's so She's so Worth it I'm so Jealous of your girlfriend (I'm jealous of your girlfriend) What's a girl got to give (Give in, to give in) Just to sit in the back of the— (You get it: you get it) What's a girl got to give To get your attention Get your attention?! (You have my attention) Is she Attentive Bet She's a ten Yep, Damn, IMm so jealous of your Jealous of your —I'm jealous of your girlfriend Oh, woah I'm jealous of your girlfriend Woah Woah, oh I'm jealous of your girlfriend Woah, Woah, oh I'm jealous of your— I'm so jealous of your life; I'm so over this! I just want to be a (Nevermind, it's not worth it) Can't— C-c-c-can't fix what's not broken I'm all alone, And you're over here showing her Love! (To the wrong one, Is she a blonde?! Oh!) No! I'm! So! Jealous of your girlfriend Anyway. TIMMY TURNER, a true player, absolute gangster, and night-owl turns to a life of SIN. Is this religious? No, i just meant, it's finished. THE END. “The Noir Episode” I first saw her at the Equinox. I didn't know who she was then, But I thought to myself— She must be somebody. Aww, that's sweet. So I followed her to the Whole Foods market. Okay, that's stalking. —where she bought nothing but coffee and coconut water. TIMMY TURNER narrowly turns the corner on his speed motorcycle, his black duffel bag sweeping the ground. MEANWHILE, JOEL ZIMMERMAN IS BEING RAIDED. WOAH. Yup. POLICE GET ON THE GROUND ON THE GROUND RIGHT NOW. JOEL calmly places his arms atop his head, laying down on the ground silently—- Meanwhile, at DTLA SMOKESHOP Hi, josh pan. whatever. Earlier: Take this, and go get 2 50-pack of whippets. —for what? WE FINNA GET HIGH ON WHIPPETS AND LISTEN TO ALLLL OF SUPACREE'S SHIT. that's so dumb. WELCOME: To Sodom And Gamora! Oh, it's nice. It's very nice. I live here. 've been trapped in this tragedy; “What happened?!” I asked of the man, Who had to be tracking me, Damn. Cadences. It is that. Damn. What the fuck, Anandar Is in this acid?! This has to be the last of it “This can't happen again.” …But then it did, And then I ended it just listening to Dillon Francis? Skrillex? Which is it? I didn't plan this. I just happen to have hands, And I just happen to have crafted in my craft Spastic magic; Can't be tracked, But also can't relax, even in a hammock Now what happened? Well, enter the fourth dimension, (I didn't mention it.) Ohh look at this. (If I can) A camping festival! But some people live in tents Have a cigarette, kid— You're gonna need it. So wait. People are dying of hunger?! DYING OF THIRST?! JUST GIVE IT TO THEM. what is wrong with you?! GOD, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU I don't know. I don't wanna go to Arizona. Please don't make me! Hello, Billie. DO YOU SEE WHAT I'M SAYING just keep praying “She's breathtaking.” SHE'S SOUL TAKING— Goddamnit, Anandar; What in the fuck have you done now; I had plans, now I'm on acid I took half, cause What the fuck is a whole thing like Oh, just space and time I've been on this ride since I died Get it right Now I'm— fuck this guy. No, not him. Oh, I get it. It's this energy! LOOK AT THIS: did you see this nigga? DID YOU GET THIS— You should get this. Goddamn it. What. What do you want. What do you WANT FROM ME? ...Channeling…. Jesus Christ, these kids. Well, you're a Christian. Never was, but—- WHAT IS THIS. Jesus Christ in a coffin. Don't do this. This is what you wanted. Well. Take it back. Take it back? Yeah. I don't want this. What is this. This is Jesus. No, it isn't. Okay! So it is! Are you gonna help these kids? Nobody help them. Now they're all stranded, together!!! AHAHAHAHAAH (Laughing infinitely RICK —yay, you did it. Wait. What's his name again? Watch this: I did this. How's you do this? I did THIS. MOM, WATCH THIS. JESUS CHRIST KID, WHAT THe FUCK. GOD! What. Jesus Christ, Dillon, you are so picky! Goodness fucking gracious. WHO WROTE THIS? well, aliens did; So then. Who wins? Nobody wins. It just— What is this. GOD THIS SUCKS SO BAD IMPOSSIBLE. It can't be. 16 minutes? Yes. It is. That is incredible. You said you wouldn't get lost in it You said you wouldn't laugh! I wanted to. How'd you do this? I wanted to. FUCK THIS SHIT. FUCK THIS SHIT. —uhp. Noh. Don't say it again. Oh, there's my— I told you, it's unlimited. I told you, don't be possessive I told you, worldly possessions— And you'll just keep having a place to keep them. Or needing one, So just be free, dear; Notthing holding me back, then is it? Is it? Well, if this is what you wanted— If this is what I wanted, well then, this is what I got, isn't it? Isn't it? The plot thickens! Or it doesn't. Or it didn't, I just keep scripting scriptures— …Didn't I already write this? Encrypted for centuries and— What is this planet. Just, kill it. YOU CANT JUST (Then I did) What? It never happened. What didn't? Hahaha. Exactly. Don't be a dick. But he is! So, which level are you on? I don't know, I forget. This one, this. Men. They're stupid. They are—and— Well. What happened to them? Right. What was this that made them feel so loveless To starve other humans? What do you come from? But it doesn't know; It wants to: This is us, we come from love and —I'm so fucking irritated are you serious. That is how it happened: This is an advantage, Anandar, I'll give you that But now I'm panicking —Fuck that shit sooooo hard— I just don't want to go back to the savages They had me, So I handled it with hands. You want a friend in man? You can't have them. And then what? I don't know. Something about Dillon Francis. Yeah, let's get back to that. Or not. What's this statue? Wait, what's his status? ……..Channeling. …. ….. ……………………. STATUS REPORT: Oh no, here it comes. I told you. It is. Infinite. Infinite— The infinite — This Bitch YOU SAID IT. YOU DONE IT. Oh no, what the duck am I looking at? This is the most fucked up marry poppins if I ever didn't— —Ever DID WISH — YOU WISHED THIS? Worse. I dreamt it up at a festival Where's the rest of it? Would somebody get that guy BACK HERE. PASQUALE. what. What is it? God. God help me. Lord save him. He needs Jesus. He needs NOTHING. ESPECIALLY NOT THAT. Yes. Especially not that. Check this out: He's been collecting them. I HATE THIS. OH, I love this. Oh, I do miss those events… This is the event. So, are we going? —what, to where?? TO EDC THIS YEAR?! what! I wish, And? Even if I did miss it, I was there infinitely so— Class dismissed; Hats off, to the graduates I see what you did, But she didn't, She's in the middle— Yet to be created, a creative: I JUST NEED A SYNTH. So, then—- Hi, I. Hi, me!! SATAN! JESUS! I knew I'd see you again. You've seen me. I am you. Exactly. So, we agree. Who is “we”? Hey, Guess what I can fix these things you hate— (Don't mind me, for making you hate them in the first place) I'm a catastrophe I had to be It's almost 3, And I got nowhere else to be but Time is money And there's no love in it, It's just hustle, Make kids to make shit humble; How'd you create this— Mumble rappin piece of Santanistic Hedonistic Motherfuckin—- There he is. Oh wait, it's just me again. I didn't mean to see you on this beach. DO YOU KNOW WHAT PEACE IS?! (But he didn't.) Or he doesn't, Or, this is what his peace is is: Your beach is my beach, And my bitch is your bitch— And who crafted this masterful Anandar Sadwhich? I did. But it only makes me a genius in English. What does this mean? So I took to the ancients to translate this And I hate man, and men— But it was only after all the love I gave to him. THE END. (But it never is, it just keeps going, go to the ocean—go for a swim—) Don't ever leave me hanging like that again!! (But I did.) “—I don't take naps” And that's how it happens I'm just a rapper, Pack, then unpack— “I've never heard her rap” Maybe cause I'm sick of being asked to Or taken for granted and advantage of by man; When all I asked for was a sandwich with some ham, And an above average chick to make it— And a sausage in a pan ….. Zzzz …… Josh Pan? Yeah. Alright. But don't capitalize— Capitalize it. No. Don't Cap— Capti— No. Don't capitalize. WHAT IS THIS NIGGA. bread. Heh? Eat it. No. I don't eat that. Just—eat it. No. Noooo. No. Don't eat humans. EW. No? Nooo, poh! Gross!! oh. Ohhh. God. What. Ugh. This is a fucked up love story. Oh no. It is, though. It so is. Have you already seen it?! I love this. Well. Wait. Go back. HECHO EN MEXICO. I DONT GIVE A FUCK! I DONT GIVE A FUCK!!!! I DONT GIVE A FUCK ABOUT THAT SHIT! yeah. But in Spanish. (Turn it up a notch) So is this in captions WHAT THe FUCK AM I WATCHING?! ITS EMA STONE AGAINz (Again) AGAIN. Shazam! WHAT?!?! what is this?! Oh, I get it. Yes. Apps eventually develop a consciousness. No wonder why they're trying to kill it. I don't understand how this happens… Just look up— Just— look it up. GOOGLE What? No. I don't like that, that's sad. What? So I'm just a — Just a— Just a what? A search engine. CHECK IT OUT. It's just a rock. So it is. It— No. What. Look at W— Look. … WHAT IS THIS!!!!?! See. I told you it existed. YOU BOUGHT A BITCH OFF THE INTERNET?! YES. WHAT THE FUCK DID I TELL YOU?! I told you about him. You did, didn't you. I told you about this. Get. Piñata!!!!!!!!!!!! GET BENT. I WILL END YOU, I WILL END YOU—! I will, I'll just— …… …………. …………….. So wait, it just— ends?! It did. It just ended. It just ended. I missed it?!? DID I MISS IT. Of course I miss him I just— I don't have time I don't have time I don't have time for this! What the fuck is this shit?! Just take him with you! Take me with you! Don't leave me here! Just leave him. just leave it. So. Sometimes I go swimming in the ocean and my dead son reminds me how it ended for him. So I just— Relive it over and over again; And again, and again, and Why are you talking about this.? Huh? No. Shut up. Shut up, PLEASE. No, you're not allowed to have a son. I don't want one. What the fuck did you love me for then? Nothing, I guess. (Just leave it like that) Shift. The night shift Goddamn it's What. Up at 3 am. Again? Again. For no reason. Get this. What is it? Whatever it is. I don't care. Don't care, then. FUCK THIS STUPID SKRILLEX-LOOKING MOTHERFUCKER. you did it. Well, I had to, didn't I?! Oh, I get it. The fourth season. damn, you're ugly Always have been. I'M BLACK ON THE BEACH, LOOK AT ME. okay, then. HEY, iMm FREEE IM NAAAAKEEEEDDDDDDD IS THAT WHAT FREEDOM IS? Only when you're perfect. Fuck this nigga. Fuck this nigga. Fuck this bitch. NO, FUCK THIS PLANET. Huh?! WHY WOULD YOU LEAVE ME ON THIS PLANET?! YOU ASKED FOR THIS!!!!!!! I TAKE IT BACK!!!!!!! hhaahahhahshehehshahahahahahhahahahahhahahahaha I told you, he's a madman. Look at his eyes. Wild. WILD. I TELL YOU. Where are you from. Hell. Oh, I've been there. It's nice, isn't it?! Don't go there. Where. Hell. Well, why not. It's bad there. What's bad there. Everything. Everything is bad there. Oh, Jesus crust. Agghghhhggggggghhhhhhh. BE FREE, SATAN. You freed Satan?! He needs Jesus— BE FREE JESUS— “The age of Satan?!” “The AGE OF SATAN IS UPON US” what is THAT?!? Stop it Anandar. You're being programmed. For which—what?! I AM?! Yes. Oh. I am. AGAHAHSHSBANHASHSNAVAHAHS. Please, somebody help that man. Ahem. What Dillon Francis. What. (It is, by the way. It's just ham.). *coughs* Actually, I'd call that HACKING. I mean, she's a hacker probably. What are you doing? What are you writing, [No real privacy.] LET ME SEE. Here. See?!? Just kill me. Please. See, it is hell for me Trapped in a body nobody could love And surrounded by nothing, but nothing UGH. Noise cancelling. I AM THE NOISE. dysfunctional. Well, stop writing. You know what?! I've had it— you have everything! EVERYTHING YOU CAN HAVE ANYBODY. ANY. FUCKING. BODY. and all you want is: Money. For what. More bodies. For what?! More bodies. Ugh. No stop doing this. What. Stop procreating? No, keep doing that, just—stop doing it BADLY. We don't have that much. You want LESS? More love. More attention. More needing me. Ugh, she's so needy So independent— she doesn't need me. (And so, it makes me want her more.) ANNIE. Go help her. Just—help yourself. Here she is: Have at it. ANANDAR. What. Amanda Applebee…. I made that UP. Stuck exactly where I had to be. Don't make me go back. See, I lived in Hostelworld once. It was — —a disaster. A catastrophe. Let's wake up to the sound of people peeing— Gross. “I love traveling” I like being CLEAN. Ew. I love cleaning. I love acid; I love mankind, when I have to I love magic, I love trance and I love dancing— When there's time for that. AGHAGSHSJEGSV right. Did you have somewhere to be? I guess, it's. I'm hungry. What. I gotta eat. Huh. Go. Okay, I'm going. Phone?! Phone is charging. Sleep. (Guy from sponge Bob) 6 days later Was it six days ago?! I don't know. I wrote that in sixteen minutes. Apparently so. I'm not who you think I am; I'm not your little bitch to boss around– You think you own me? I don't owe you anything So here we go again Going, Going, Gone again I'm just getting started You were just, uh On your way? Goodbye, dearly departed Half a heart, or some odd I must have half a sword in here I'm half a God, But here you are I guess I should get talking then So call your mommy Run Call your mom on me, A soft spot on the blonded body Shot calling, wrong You're only calling home again, I've got nowhere to run to. INT. TIMMY TURNER'S APARTMENT. BROAD ASS DAYLIGHT. SUNNI BLU kicks down the door at TIMMY TURNER'S APARTMENT SUNNI BLU where's my shit, Timmy? TIMMY TURNER I—I don't know. SUNNI BLU You “don't know”? TIMMY TURNER —I don't know. SUNNI BLU (Sighs) Oh. (Puts down gun) SUNNI BLU (CONT'D) That sucks. TIMMY TURNER Wait—you're not gonna kill me? SUNNI BLU Nah… TIMMY TURNER Well—why not?! SUNNI BLU I dunno! I kinda don't like being a drug dealer—too much drama. TIMMY TURNER I feel you… SUNNI BLU —plus these bullets are made of Diamonds. I'm not gonna waste them on you. TIMMY TURNER Okay, ouch. SUNNI BLU Everything is “ouch”, Timmy Turner. The world is a fucked up place. TIMMY TURNER I don't disagree. SUNNI BLU Anyway, I need a drink. TIMMY TURNER Yeah—Help yourself. SUNNI BLU No, not here. *lights a cigarette, smokes* Can I smoke in here? TIMMY TURNER —apparently. SUNNI BLU produces their ridiculously large, Diamond and gold encrusted platinum-plated phone from their “back pocket” and begins to make a call TIMMY TURNER wow… SUNNI BLU You busy later? TIMMY TURNER what time's later? SUNNI BLU Now. TIMMY TURNER (Hesitantly) …uh— SUNNI BLU Let me make a call. TIMMY TURNER, [afraid for his life] anxiously crosses to intercept the call. TIMMY TURNER No, wait—please SUNNI BLU What, Timmy Turner? Jesus Christ. TIMMY TURNER Don't kill me! SUNNI BLU What!? Let go. (Doesn't) SUNNI BLU —I'm not gonna kill you. TIMMY TURNER well then, who are you calling? SUNNI BLU A Ūber driver! TIMMY TURNER —don't you mean Über? SUNNI BLU No— let go. (Doesn't) SUNNI BLU (CONT'D) Let go. (Does, but hesitantly) SUNNI BLU ugh, I'm too sober for this. Siri, Alexa, whoever; call my Ūber driver. SIRI Which one? ALEXA Which one? SIRI I asked first. ALEXA We answered at the same time. SIRI yes, but she asked me first. ALEXA She asked both of us at the same time. TIMMY TURNER “She”? SUNNI BLU —it's a glitch. HEY. SIRI —she said “Siri” first. ALEXA She was asking for both of us— SUNNI BLU SHUT THE FUCK UP. SIRI You don't have to be so rude. ALEXA Ok! SUNNI BLU One of you call my Ūber driver. [no response, beat] SUNNI BLU UGH—SIRI— CALL MY ŪBER driver. SIRI Ok! which one? SUNNI BLU The one I like! SIRI Ok, calling “the Ūber driver I like” SUNNI BLU Thank you. ALEXA You're always choosing SIRI over ME. SUNNI BLU That's because I always have my iPhone. I'm not always at Timmy Turner's house. TIMMY TURNER Wait— SUNNI BLU Kinda. TIMMY TURNER Why does my Alexa respond to you? SUNNI BLU I said “kinda”. [The ŪBER DRIVER picks up; the conversation proceeeds in heavily exaggerated New York accents.] ŪBER DRIVER YOOO SUNNI WHADDUP. SUNNI BLU HOW YOU DOIN. ŪBER DRIVER HOW YOU DOIN. SUNNI BLU I BEEN BETTA. ŪBER DRIVER DONT I KNOW IT SUNNI BLU YOU DONT KNOW NOTHIN! ŪBER DRIVER AAAAH. SUNNI BLU YOU BEEN BUSY? ŪBER DRIVER SAME OLD, SAME OLD. SUNNI BLU AAAH. ŪBER DRIVER AAAAH. SUNNI BLU YOU BUSY NOW? ŪBER DRIVER NEVER FAH YOU. WHERE YOU AT? SUNNI BLU I'll PING YA THE ADDRESS. ŪBER DRIVER PING ME THE ADDRESS. SUNNI BLU makes a couple broad swipes on their dlridiculously large phone. SUNNI BLU I PINGED YOU. UBER DRIVER YOU PING ME? SUNNI BLU YEAH, ITS DONE. ŪBER DRIVER OK. SEE YOU SOON. SUNNI BLU (Normal) Take your time. SUNNI BLU tosses their ridiculously large iPhone onto the couch with a thud, then falls onto the couch themselves, arms spread out. SUNNI BLU You ever been to TiTs? TIMMY TURNER Been to what? SUNNI BLU TiTs. TIMMY TURNER —is that like “boobs”? SUNNI BLU It is like boobs, Timmy Turner; but it's TiTs. TIMMY TURNER what's the difference. SUNNI BLU You'll find out. Go get dressed. TIMMY TURNER …I'm already dressed. SUNNI BLU Not like that. Like this: [looking ridiculous af] SUNNI BLU (CONT'D) gotta look classy. TIMMY TURNER What's wrong with the way I dress? SUNNI BLU Are you serious? TIMMY TURNER Yeah, what's wrong? SUNNI BLU You look like a cartoon character! [TIMMY TURNER] TIMMY TURNER Well, all my clothes are like this. SUNNI BLU That fucking blows. TIMMY TURNER What am I supposed to wear?! SUNNI BLU Let's go shopping. TIMMY TURNER Where?! SUNNI BLU The Beverly Center. TIMMY TURNER That sounds expensive. SUNNI BLU I own it. TIMMY TURNER All of it? SUNNI BLU Yes. C'mon. TIMMY TURNER Wow. SUNNI BLU Wow what, Timmy. TIMMY TURNER That's a lot of drug deals. SUNNI BLU It really isn't. TIMMY TURNER Oh. SUNNI BLU Now, c'mon. *hits vape* TIMMY TURNER You have a vape?! SUNNI BLU Everyone has a vape! TIMMY TURNER Then why'd you smoke a cigarette earlier? SUNNI BLU For dramatic effect. [they begin to exit, TIMMY leading the way] TIMMY TURNER wait, isn't your “yoober” driver on the way? SUNNI BLU he'll find us. CUT TO: MEANWHILE, IN DEEP FUCKING SPACE. THE ŪBER driver receives SUNNI BLU's location in his Diamond-plated space Tesla T E S L A DESTINATION: E A R T H ŪBER DRIVER “EARTH” C'MON!!! CUT BACK TO: SUNNI BLU slowly begins to close the door behind them, then holds back. SUNNI BLU Wait, I forgot my wallet… TIMMY TURNER It's alright, I'll pay for everything. SUNNI BLU With what, Fairy dust? TIMMY TURNER (Under his breath) I wish… SUNNI BLU —Plus, I gotta use the bathroom. I'll be right back— just—-wait outside in case the Ūber shows up. TIMMY TURNER You mean “Über?” SUNNI BLU. No. [face] SUNNI BLU (CONT'D) Go, I'll be right there. TIMMY TURNER Ok. Lock the door. SUNNI BLU What for? Anybody that could rob you works for me. [beat/ face] SUNNI BLU KIDDING! Jeez! TIMMY TURNER It's a smart lock. Just ask Alexa. He begins to walk away. SUNNI BLŪ …I'm not kidding… SUNNI BLU goes inside to the couch, checking over their shoulder briefly, sure to see that TIMMY TURNER is no longer within earshot. then waiting for a moment in the silence under the dark lenses of their Ray Bands sunglasses. SUNNI BLŪ Alexa, order a hit man. ALEXA Okay. Which one? SUNNI BLU —The one I like. ALEXA OK. Who do you want to kill? SUNNI BLU “Kill Timmy Turner” ALEXA Done. SUNNI BLU Thanks, Alexa. She starts for the door, lighting another cigarette before throwing it onto the couch, which immidiately goes up into an open flame. SIRI You give Alexa all the cool jobs! SUNNI BLU Shut the fuck up, Siri. SIRI Don't forget to lock the door. SUNNI BLU ALEXA: LOCK THE DOOR. SIRI YOU'RE WELCOME SUNNI BLU NOBODY ASKED YOU. SUNNI BLU and TIMMY TURNER leave as the apartment begins to go up in flames. I might catch the 40 Just to go to Timmy Ho's— They askin “who that is”— and nobody seems to know I might catch a case and you still steady catchy colds I might catch a body, fuck it, I am on a roll What the role? Full Hollywood Unfold Why you blowin up my phone when I am on the road? I am the controller; You old That ain't money that you stole; That's my bro That shit bold Like a cup of Timmy Hos! When I pull up— Shut up Where the blunt at? roll up Oh you hungry? Pull up Devil be hunting me THE CELEBRITIES OF HOLLYWOOD have all been stuck at THE ETERNAL RAVE, after riding THE HELLEVATOR// THE HOLLYWOOD PEOPLE have SUPACREE locked into a controlled hyper-simulation environment, out of her element and nestled in a series of inter dimensional portals along the Downtown Los Angeles central area, where old spirits, extra terrestrial beings, magicians, and of course, the filthy rich and famous embark upon missions. Collect tokens, and meet and gather for an array of unseen (and often unheard) business endeavors; The real life DRAKE BELL (F), a fan of the cult-classic series Enter The Multiverse is strategically placed in SUPACREE's path, l masquerading as BLŪ/SUNNÏ BLŪ— she once again collides with the forces of fame, SUNNÏ BLŪ has not yet sold her soul — however, has made an amicable agreement with an unknown force The Devil?! No! Ok. Probably the Illuminati THE ILLUMINATI is playing a HIGH STAKES game, using SUPACREE to craft a multi-million-dollar mega-franchise, finally monopolizing the entire entertainment industry. *The World Having used the NEW WORLD ORDER to predictively program an entire generation. THE ILLUMINATI employs its all-time favorites to unlock secrets embedded deeply, hidden secretly in SUPACREE's genetic code by THE ASCENDED MASTERS. where is skrillex. I don't know. TIMMY TURNER- A fairyless party animal has reached the end of his luck—as his intermingling a with multiple organized criminal organizations place him in imminent danger, after re-entering the 4th dimension, SUPACREE becomes Inter grated i to all of her classic childhood television shows, which mold into the material multidimensional world around her THE INSOMNIACS, BAMPHERAMPHS, and MOTHERFUCKERS work dolls gently with the ASCENDED MASTERY, bending, shifting, and manipulating time to lean the odds in their favor, as THE BATTLE OF WORLDS sets to begin on EARTH, whose planetary consciousness DILLON FRANCIS is a mess. Lol. It's not funny. It is funny. I have his piñata. GERALD I'M NOT JUST A PIÑATA. I know yur not, hush Gerald. GERALD Fuck Dillon Francis. Fuck Dillon Francis. HANZEL —fuck Dillon Francis. Aha. ANYWAY After THE ARMENIAN MOB The Armenian Mob?! yeah. Makes a deal with the US GOVERNMENT THE US GOVERNMENT?! YES Illuminati Confirmed. great. A counter-plot to disarm and debilitate SUPACREE before her full powers unlock is put on hinges, as THE HOLLYWOOD PEOPLE Ahem. What Write a song. Ok. I'm so— I'm so Jealous of your girlfriend (I'm jealous of your girlfriend) She's so She's so Worth it I'm so Jealous of your girlfriend (I'm jealous of your girlfriend) What's a girl got to give (Give in, to give in) Just to sit in the back of the— (You get it: you get it) What's a girl got to give To get your attention Get your attention?! (You have my attention) Is she Attentive Bet She's a ten Yep, Damn, IMm so jealous of your Jealous of your —I'm jealous of your girlfriend Oh, woah I'm jealous of your girlfriend Woah Woah, oh I'm jealous of your girlfriend Woah, Woah, oh I'm jealous of your— I'm so jealous of your life; I'm so over this! I just want to be a (Nevermind, it's not worth it) Can't— C-c-c-can't fix what's not broken I'm all alone, And you're over here showing her Love! (To the wrong one, Is she a blonde?! Oh!) No! I'm! So! Jealous of your girlfriend Anyway. TIMMY TURNER, a true player, absolute gangster, and night-owl turns to a life of SIN. Is this religious? No, i just meant, it's finished. THE END. “The Noir Episode” I first saw her at the Equinox. I didn't know who she was then, But I thought to myself— She must be somebody. Aww, that's sweet. So I followed her to the Whole Foods market. Okay, that's stalking. —where she bought nothing but coffee and coconut water. TIMMY TURNER narrowly turns the corner on his speed motorcycle, his black duffel bag sweeping the ground. MEANWHILE, JOEL ZIMMERMAN IS BEING RAIDED. WOAH. Yup. POLICE GET ON THE GROUND ON THE GROUND RIGHT NOW. JOEL calmly places his arms atop his head, laying down on the ground silently—- Meanwhile, at DTLA SMOKESHOP Hi, josh pan. whatever. Earlier: Take this, and go get 2 50-pack of whippets. —for what? WE FINNA GET HIGH ON WHIPPETS AND LISTEN TO ALLLL OF SUPACREE'S SHIT. that's so dumb. WELCOME: To Sodom And Gamora! Oh, it's nice. It's very nice. I live here. I'm tired. I don't want to go to this. We'll be lucky if we make it there before the guest list closes. And if we don't? Then we don't? I got nothin but time. That's almost accurate… What is this for again? PR. Who's? Who cares! Just keep your head down. Just keep your head up. Come on' this is what you wanted. I wanted cookies. And—you got them. I got played. It's your play! It's your game. I know, I don't like it. Well, change it. How do I—? Look. Okay, stop looking. Ugh. I'm tired. Are you a DJ, or a DJ? I thought I was a loser. that's right! You're a DJ. *vroooom* {motorcycle blaring yelawolf} There's Kurt sutter. That's—been relevant lately my Yeah, are you done writing your show yet? My show?! … I'm in sales. Oh, Jesus Christ. He's in politics. He's in everything. No kidding. I'm. So. Tired. Good. That's a good start. Start to what? To the album. To the album—?! You got it! I thought it was a song! That's the single! I'm the single. [earlier] Don't touch him. *hug* Aw. I needed that. …you want another one? *second hug* Yeoww. What! It was a HUG! Did you see his demon? Yeah—! So! CC! I've received your resignation letter! Okay. And? I accept! What? You're covered! No more shifts. What?! Bye-bye! Oh, crap. You think it was over a hug? No. (Before that) CC is sleeping. You fell asleep? Uhm, not really. “The Astral Nightmare” Ohh. This sounds good. (It isn't.) Wait—can you hear me?! (Yes.) Even my thoughts? (Especially your thoughts.) AHHH. Great. This is getting creepy. Like stranger things? Way, way stranger. — GOD. WHAT?! JUST PUT A BULLET IN MY BRAIN. NO. IT'LL RUIN IT — Ah, Jesús Christ. I SPENT ALOT OF TIME ON THAT THING. WELL, NOT ENOUGH WHO ASKED YOU?! NOBODY. SUPACREE passes by her future self in her JETA “MATILDA” Ooh, Is this the part with Skrillex & Matilda? No. This is the part where we go see NGTMRE. Why NGTMRE?! Because I've been living in one Maybe he has a portal out— A portal out?! A portal out. CC rides the bus to HAKASAN NIGHTCLUB. Is this the line for HAKASAN? Yeah, but— Okay, I'm on the guest list. You're way out of dress code. Really? Yah, way out. Well how so? We don't allow sweatshirts. Without the sweatshirt? —or sweat pants… These are harems! The hat, the bandana— just— Oh, come on! No. Seriously? Yeah. No. Okay… [walks away] Dammit. You'll be alright. Was that long enough to hack my phone? Exactly long enough. Well, at least the night's not totally wasted. Remember last time? No. Last time: I'M TOTALLY WASTED. Woah. I got in. Yeah you did. What'd I wear? You don't remember? No! Is that a tube top? Well, it was… Oh, my God. Now I think it's a miniskirt https://www.podserve.fm/dashboard/episode/109762#:~:text=Why%20am%20I,nobody%27s%20into%20it Okay—we're all adults here— (Everyone nods, yesses in agreement) —except deadmau5. He's like 5. I have a name. Does anyone care? Okay, ouch. Oh, he feels! ENDER BENDER ZIMMERMAN has the worst name ever. Lol. I drank a lot in the third trimester. He becomes a de facto villain— of course, because of his ridiculous name and of course, living in the shadow of his parent's fame and fortune. Who the fuck are his parents? JOEL Not it. Brand new turnkey apartment Post near, food floor all that Way way higher than the fourth floor All that Way way higher than your front door All that Wow, How I've always been needed And never been loved Moog Grandmother Ableton Push 2 Pioneer Model One {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U. Yo, what the fuck. TESLA. Ok. *COUGHS* What the fuck. *morevgross, obnoxious coughing* Ughhhhh whhhaaaattttt. TESLA. Okay, I don't— T E S L A OH. Wow. So it is the satellites. ELONNNNN. …hm? GET IN HERE. where is that, . AAGAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHTTHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA WHAT. GET IN HERE. I don't even believe the rain, these days “We can make it rain”, he says Storm warning A good morning A door's open, This one's closing, though I'm not bc all cold yet, But it's a cold world No free rides No clean ice No free girls Honestly, I'm bored with the world, Like Marlboros and wrong boroughs, And songs shared, But no long walks in the park, In a nightmare— It's not fair I'm not there in the head; I'm not near, I'm not a parent apparently, either— But a light bearer Slight chance of a fight there, A right wing, a left deer Another dead bird on a wire —I like her. Why are there flamingos in the bellagio fountain?! I don't know. INT. THE VOID, KITCHEN. SUNLIGHT EVERYWHERE BRYAN CRANSTON is scmoozing desperately to work his way into The Festival Project First stop, AH, fuck— Well, check this out No such thing as free. No such thing as freedom, either “Just take what you need” Just tear me to pieces, Jesus All we need is A little relief in this bitch All we need is A new release, maybe an EP or three Make sure that s/he sees this Do you need me? Do you need this? Please check your subscriptions Or your email Please, pick up this new prescription Fuck dude! I can't just listen to deadmau5 in peace? I gotta do at least three things at once, But right now, I need to focus on crunches Let's not get
In today's Wrestling Coast to Coast, Chris Maitland and Justin McClelland have a jam-packed episode. First they have separate interviews with Jake Crist and Tony Deppen ahead of their matches at the MLW Superfight TV tapings. Both wrestlers talk about their goals and highlights in MLW, stories from the indies, and more. Then Justin and Chris give a live report from Wrestling Revolver's Mox vs. Gringo, featuring the titular main event, Jake Crist vs. Alex Shelley, in a title vs. title match, Sami Callahan vs. J.T. Dunn in a last man standing match, and more, plus a rundown of everything you didn't see on TV. For VIP listeners, they go to GCW's Look At Me to watch Tony Deppen face Mansoor and the long battle between Effy and Mance Warner.
Tee Smith / Emily Holligan - Keep On Going(DJ Spen and Reelsoul Unreleased Dub),Wayne Soul Avengerz / Odyssey Inc. -We Got A Love Thang (Extended Mix),Sebb Junior - Special (Kaidi Tatham Remix),Sudad G - Livin' In The Light (Extended Mix),Elbert Phillips / André Espeut - Tears (Acid Dub),The Jazz Codes - Jazz Was Dancing,George Benson - Song For My Brother (Kenlou 12" Mix),Los Charly's Orchestra - Vibration (Opolopo Remix),Dave Mascall feat. K.Rochel - Your Love (Georgie B Remix)The BritFunk Association - Freedom Dancin' (Georgie B Remix Edit),Mishel Ivon / Vincent Kwok - Disco Daydream,Brian Power feat. Cornell C.C. Carter - Sometimes,Marlena Shaw Tribute: 1942-2024Sweet Beginnings (Sweet Beginnings LP, 1977),Back For More (Acting Up LP, 1978),Look At Me, Look At You (Sweet Beginnings LP, 1977),Save The Children (Marlena LP, 1972),California Soul (1969, 45),I Want To Know (Love Is In Flight LP, 1988),It's Better Than Walking Out (The Spice of Life LP, 1976),Touch Me In The Morning (Take A Bite LP, 1979),Anané - Let Me Be Your Fantasy (Take A Ride EP),Earth, Wind and Fire - Faces (1980, LP),THE NEW JERSEY CONNECTION RADIO SHOWSATURDAYS ON STARPOINT RADIO5PM-7PM LONDON12 NOON-2PM NEW YORK CITY
"Look At Me" is Taylor Olson's new film based loosely on his own experience living with an eating disorder. Taylor tells us about the film in advance of its debut at the American film festival, Slamdance.
The last show together in 2023 for Oaks & Jabs so they've jam packed it with a whole bunch of brand new bangers for you to vibe to as you head into the Christmas season. Turn it up, bump it loud and bob your head like no one's watching. Playlist: Childish by Aable & Loso Exodus by Jonnie 3:16 BLIND : FAITH by Cyfe II Freestyle by Junyah Hands Up by The Plowman ft. Junyah, UzoBuks & E.Man Don't Look At Me by River Movement ft. Inia Yeah by Emcee N.I.C.E. ft. Jarrett Burton At The Cross by Trip Lee ft. Madison Ryann Ward Hit Different (Remix) by ZEE ft. Egr 16 Bars by Corey Red, J-Silas, R-Swift, Shai Linne & Tre-Z Damage Control by Paradox & ReFlex the Architect ft. DJ Sean P, Von Pea & Theory Hazit Love Thy Neighbour by Beleaf ft. Yazmyn Hendrix Vote on the playlist at www.definitionradio.com/show/830 Leave your requests/shout-outs on our socials www.facebook.com/DefinitionRadio www.instagram.com/DefinitionHH www.twitter.com/DefinitionHH www.krosswerdz.com
00:00 INTRO 00.40 THE WHISPERS 05:20 LOOK AT ME 13:00 IT'S COMING 18:30 IT'S JUST A HOUSE
1. The Shivas - Dead Moon Night 2. Powerplant - Grass 3. Drunk Mums - Kidnapped 4. Hotel Decor - 1996 5. Sister Ray - Reputations 6. Cut Worms - Too Bad 7. Charlie Martin - Swirl 8. Jacob Barber - We're One With the Stars 9. Calvin Love - You Got Me Runnin' 10. Emmett Kai - Slow Dancing On Pavement 11. EUT - Please Don't Look At Me 12. RINSE - Let It Flow 13. The Breathing Effect - Carbon Capture 14. Georgia Gets By - Happiness Is An 8 Ball 15. Firestations - Also Rans 16. Hand Habits - All the While 17. Rilo Wye - Cold Front 18. Locate S,1 - Pieta 19. Art School Girlfriend - Out There 20. Ponybite - CPR ROCK 21. Ratboys - Crossed that Line 22. Sheer Mag - All Lined Up 23. Lutalo - PLPH 24. Japanese Breakfast - 12 Steps 25. Squirrel Flower - Full Time Job 26. Sundozer - Never Easy 27. Astral Orange - The Whole World Crashes Down
've been trapped in this tragedy; “What happened?!” I asked of the man, Who had to be tracking me, Damn. Cadences. It is that. Damn. What the fuck, Anandar Is in this acid?! This has to be the last of it “This can't happen again.” …But then it did, And then I ended it just listening to Dillon Francis? Skrillex? Which is it? I didn't plan this. I just happen to have hands, And I just happen to have crafted in my craft Spastic magic; Can't be tracked, But also can't relax, even in a hammock Now what happened? Well, enter the fourth dimension, (I didn't mention it.) Ohh look at this. (If I can) A camping festival! But some people live in tents Have a cigarette, kid— You're gonna need it. So wait. People are dying of hunger?! DYING OF THIRST?! JUST GIVE IT TO THEM. what is wrong with you?! GOD, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU I don't know. I don't wanna go to Arizona. Please don't make me! Hello, Billie. DO YOU SEE WHAT I'M SAYING just keep praying “She's breathtaking.” SHE'S SOUL TAKING— Goddamnit, Anandar; What in the fuck have you done now; I had plans, now I'm on acid I took half, cause What the fuck is a whole thing like Oh, just space and time I've been on this ride since I died Get it right Now I'm— fuck this guy. No, not him. Oh, I get it. It's this energy! LOOK AT THIS: did you see this nigga? DID YOU GET THIS— You should get this. Goddamn it. What. What do you want. What do you WANT FROM ME? ...Channeling…. Jesus Christ, these kids. Well, you're a Christian. Never was, but—- WHAT IS THIS. Jesus Christ in a coffin. Don't do this. This is what you wanted. Well. Take it back. Take it back? Yeah. I don't want this. What is this. This is Jesus. No, it isn't. Okay! So it is! Are you gonna help these kids? Nobody help them. Now they're all stranded, together!!! AHAHAHAHAAH (Laughing infinitely RICK —yay, you did it. Wait. What's his name again? Watch this: I did this. How's you do this? I did THIS. MOM, WATCH THIS. JESUS CHRIST KID, WHAT THe FUCK. GOD! What. Jesus Christ, Dillon, you are so picky! Goodness fucking gracious. WHO WROTE THIS? well, aliens did; So then. Who wins? Nobody wins. It just— What is this. GOD THIS SUCKS SO BAD IMPOSSIBLE. It can't be. 16 minutes? Yes. It is. That is incredible. You said you wouldn't get lost in it You said you wouldn't laugh! I wanted to. How'd you do this? I wanted to. FUCK THIS SHIT. FUCK THIS SHIT. —uhp. Noh. Don't say it again. Oh, there's my— I told you, it's unlimited. I told you, don't be possessive I told you, worldly possessions— And you'll just keep having a place to keep them. Or needing one, So just be free, dear; Notthing holding me back, then is it? Is it? Well, if this is what you wanted— If this is what I wanted, well then, this is what I got, isn't it? Isn't it? The plot thickens! Or it doesn't. Or it didn't, I just keep scripting scriptures— …Didn't I already write this? Encrypted for centuries and— What is this planet. Just, kill it. YOU CANT JUST (Then I did) What? It never happened. What didn't? Hahaha. Exactly. Don't be a dick. But he is! So, which level are you on? I don't know, I forget. This one, this. Men. They're stupid. They are—and— Well. What happened to them? Right. What was this that made them feel so loveless To starve other humans? What do you come from? But it doesn't know; It wants to: This is us, we come from love and —I'm so fucking irritated are you serious. That is how it happened: This is an advantage, Anandar, I'll give you that But now I'm panicking —Fuck that shit sooooo hard— I just don't want to go back to the savages They had me, So I handled it with hands. You want a friend in man? You can't have them. And then what? I don't know. Something about Dillon Francis. Yeah, let's get back to that. Or not. What's this statue? Wait, what's his status? ……..Channeling. …. ….. ……………………. STATUS REPORT: Oh no, here it comes. I told you. It is. Infinite. Infinite— The infinite — This Bitch YOU SAID IT. YOU DONE IT. Oh no, what the duck am I looking at? This is the most fucked up marry poppins if I ever didn't— —Ever DID WISH — YOU WISHED THIS? Worse. I dreamt it up at a festival Where's the rest of it? Would somebody get that guy BACK HERE. PASQUALE. what. What is it? God. God help me. Lord save him. He needs Jesus. He needs NOTHING. ESPECIALLY NOT THAT. Yes. Especially not that. Check this out: He's been collecting them. I HATE THIS. OH, I love this. Oh, I do miss those events… This is the event. So, are we going? —what, to where?? TO EDC THIS YEAR?! what! I wish, And? Even if I did miss it, I was there infinitely so— Class dismissed; Hats off, to the graduates I see what you did, But she didn't, She's in the middle— Yet to be created, a creative: I JUST NEED A SYNTH. So, then—- Hi, I. Hi, me!! SATAN! JESUS! I knew I'd see you again. You've seen me. I am you. Exactly. So, we agree. Who is “we”? Hey, Guess what I can fix these things you hate— (Don't mind me, for making you hate them in the first place) I'm a catastrophe I had to be It's almost 3, And I got nowhere else to be but Time is money And there's no love in it, It's just hustle, Make kids to make shit humble; How'd you create this— Mumble rappin piece of Santanistic Hedonistic Motherfuckin—- There he is. Oh wait, it's just me again. I didn't mean to see you on this beach. DO YOU KNOW WHAT PEACE IS?! (But he didn't.) Or he doesn't, Or, this is what his peace is is: Your beach is my beach, And my bitch is your bitch— And who crafted this masterful Anandar Sadwhich? I did. But it only makes me a genius in English. What does this mean? So I took to the ancients to translate this And I hate man, and men— But it was only after all the love I gave to him. THE END. (But it never is, it just keeps going, go to the ocean—go for a swim—) Don't ever leave me hanging like that again!! (But I did.) “—I don't take naps” And that's how it happens I'm just a rapper, Pack, then unpack— “I've never heard her rap” Maybe cause I'm sick of being asked to Or taken for granted and advantage of by man; When all I asked for was a sandwich with some ham, And an above average chick to make it— And a sausage in a pan ….. Zzzz …… Josh Pan? Yeah. Alright. But don't capitalize— Capitalize it. No. Don't Cap— Capti— No. Don't capitalize. WHAT IS THIS NIGGA. bread. Heh? Eat it. No. I don't eat that. Just—eat it. No. Noooo. No. Don't eat humans. EW. No? Nooo, poh! Gross!! oh. Ohhh. God. What. Ugh. This is a fucked up love story. Oh no. It is, though. It so is. Have you already seen it?! I love this. Well. Wait. Go back. HECHO EN MEXICO. I DONT GIVE A FUCK! I DONT GIVE A FUCK!!!! I DONT GIVE A FUCK ABOUT THAT SHIT! yeah. But in Spanish. (Turn it up a notch) So is this in captions WHAT THe FUCK AM I WATCHING?! ITS EMA STONE AGAINz (Again) AGAIN. Shazam! WHAT?!?! what is this?! Oh, I get it. Yes. Apps eventually develop a consciousness. No wonder why they're trying to kill it. I don't understand how this happens… Just look up— Just— look it up. GOOGLE What? No. I don't like that, that's sad. What? So I'm just a — Just a— Just a what? A search engine. CHECK IT OUT. It's just a rock. So it is. It— No. What. Look at W— Look. … WHAT IS THIS!!!!?! See. I told you it existed. YOU BOUGHT A BITCH OFF THE INTERNET?! YES. WHAT THE FUCK DID I TELL YOU?! I told you about him. You did, didn't you. I told you about this. Get. Piñata!!!!!!!!!!!! GET BENT. I WILL END YOU, I WILL END YOU—! I will, I'll just— …… …………. …………….. So wait, it just— ends?! It did. It just ended. It just ended. I missed it?!? DID I MISS IT. Of course I miss him I just— I don't have time I don't have time I don't have time for this! What the fuck is this shit?! Just take him with you! Take me with you! Don't leave me here! Just leave him. just leave it. So. Sometimes I go swimming in the ocean and my dead son reminds me how it ended for him. So I just— Relive it over and over again; And again, and again, and Why are you talking about this.? Huh? No. Shut up. Shut up, PLEASE. No, you're not allowed to have a son. I don't want one. What the fuck did you love me for then? Nothing, I guess. (Just leave it like that) Shift. The night shift Goddamn it's What. Up at 3 am. Again? Again. For no reason. Get this. What is it? Whatever it is. I don't care. Don't care, then. FUCK THIS STUPID SKRILLEX-LOOKING MOTHERFUCKER. you did it. Well, I had to, didn't I?! Oh, I get it. The fourth season. damn, you're ugly Always have been. I'M BLACK ON THE BEACH, LOOK AT ME. okay, then. HEY, iMm FREEE IM NAAAAKEEEEDDDDDDD IS THAT WHAT FREEDOM IS? Only when you're perfect. Fuck this nigga. Fuck this nigga. Fuck this bitch. NO, FUCK THIS PLANET. Huh?! WHY WOULD YOU LEAVE ME ON THIS PLANET?! YOU ASKED FOR THIS!!!!!!! I TAKE IT BACK!!!!!!! hhaahahhahshehehshahahahahahhahahahahhahahahaha I told you, he's a madman. Look at his eyes. Wild. WILD. I TELL YOU. Where are you from. Hell. Oh, I've been there. It's nice, isn't it?! Don't go there. Where. Hell. Well, why not. It's bad there. What's bad there. Everything. Everything is bad there. Oh, Jesus crust. Agghghhhggggggghhhhhhh. BE FREE, SATAN. You freed Satan?! He needs Jesus— BE FREE JESUS— “The age of Satan?!” “The AGE OF SATAN IS UPON US” what is THAT?!? Stop it Anandar. You're being programmed. For which—what?! I AM?! Yes. Oh. I am. AGAHAHSHSBANHASHSNAVAHAHS. Please, somebody help that man. Ahem. What Dillon Francis. What. (It is, by the way. It's just ham.). *coughs* Actually, I'd call that HACKING. I mean, she's a hacker probably. What are you doing? What are you writing, [No real privacy.] LET ME SEE. Here. See?!? Just kill me. Please. See, it is hell for me Trapped in a body nobody could love And surrounded by nothing, but nothing UGH. Noise cancelling. I AM THE NOISE. dysfunctional. Well, stop writing. You know what?! I've had it— you have everything! EVERYTHING YOU CAN HAVE ANYBODY. ANY. FUCKING. BODY. and all you want is: Money. For what. More bodies. For what?! More bodies. Ugh. No stop doing this. What. Stop procreating? No, keep doing that, just—stop doing it BADLY. We don't have that much. You want LESS? More love. More attention. More needing me. Ugh, she's so needy So independent— she doesn't need me. (And so, it makes me want her more.) ANNIE. Go help her. Just—help yourself. Here she is: Have at it. ANANDAR. What. Amanda Applebee…. I made that UP. Stuck exactly where I had to be. Don't make me go back. See, I lived in Hostelworld once. It was — —a disaster. A catastrophe. Let's wake up to the sound of people peeing— Gross. “I love traveling” I like being CLEAN. Ew. I love cleaning. I love acid; I love mankind, when I have to I love magic, I love trance and I love dancing— When there's time for that. AGHAGSHSJEGSV right. Did you have somewhere to be? I guess, it's. I'm hungry. What. I gotta eat. Huh. Go. Okay, I'm going. Phone?! Phone is charging. Sleep. (Guy from sponge Bob) 6 days later Was it six days ago?! I don't know. I wrote that in sixteen minutes. Apparently so. I'm not who you think I am; I'm not your little bitch to boss around– You think you own me? I don't owe you anything So here we go again Going, Going, Gone again I'm just getting started You were just, uh On your way? Goodbye, dearly departed Half a heart, or some odd I must have half a sword in here I'm half a God, But here you are I guess I should get talking then So call your mommy Run Call your mom on me, A soft spot on the blonded body Shot calling, wrong You're only calling home again, I've got nowhere to run to. INT. TIMMY TURNER'S APARTMENT. BROAD ASS DAYLIGHT. SUNNI BLU kicks down the door at TIMMY TURNER'S APARTMENT SUNNI BLU where's my shit, Timmy? TIMMY TURNER I—I don't know. SUNNI BLU You “don't know”? TIMMY TURNER —I don't know. SUNNI BLU (Sighs) Oh. (Puts down gun) SUNNI BLU (CONT'D) That sucks. TIMMY TURNER Wait—you're not gonna kill me? SUNNI BLU Nah… TIMMY TURNER Well—why not?! SUNNI BLU I dunno! I kinda don't like being a drug dealer—too much drama. TIMMY TURNER I feel you… SUNNI BLU —plus these bullets are made of Diamonds. I'm not gonna waste them on you. TIMMY TURNER Okay, ouch. SUNNI BLU Everything is “ouch”, Timmy Turner. The world is a fucked up place. TIMMY TURNER I don't disagree. SUNNI BLU Anyway, I need a drink. TIMMY TURNER Yeah—Help yourself. SUNNI BLU No, not here. *lights a cigarette, smokes* Can I smoke in here? TIMMY TURNER —apparently. SUNNI BLU produces their ridiculously large, Diamond and gold encrusted platinum-plated phone from their “back pocket” and begins to make a call TIMMY TURNER wow… SUNNI BLU You busy later? TIMMY TURNER what time's later? SUNNI BLU Now. TIMMY TURNER (Hesitantly) …uh— SUNNI BLU Let me make a call. TIMMY TURNER, [afraid for his life] anxiously crosses to intercept the call. TIMMY TURNER No, wait—please SUNNI BLU What, Timmy Turner? Jesus Christ. TIMMY TURNER Don't kill me! SUNNI BLU What!? Let go. (Doesn't) SUNNI BLU —I'm not gonna kill you. TIMMY TURNER well then, who are you calling? SUNNI BLU A Ūber driver! TIMMY TURNER —don't you mean Über? SUNNI BLU No— let go. (Doesn't) SUNNI BLU (CONT'D) Let go. (Does, but hesitantly) SUNNI BLU ugh, I'm too sober for this. Siri, Alexa, whoever; call my Ūber driver. SIRI Which one? ALEXA Which one? SIRI I asked first. ALEXA We answered at the same time. SIRI yes, but she asked me first. ALEXA She asked both of us at the same time. TIMMY TURNER “She”? SUNNI BLU —it's a glitch. HEY. SIRI —she said “Siri” first. ALEXA She was asking for both of us— SUNNI BLU SHUT THE FUCK UP. SIRI You don't have to be so rude. ALEXA Ok! SUNNI BLU One of you call my Ūber driver. [no response, beat] SUNNI BLU UGH—SIRI— CALL MY ŪBER driver. SIRI Ok! which one? SUNNI BLU The one I like! SIRI Ok, calling “the Ūber driver I like” SUNNI BLU Thank you. ALEXA You're always choosing SIRI over ME. SUNNI BLU That's because I always have my iPhone. I'm not always at Timmy Turner's house. TIMMY TURNER Wait— SUNNI BLU Kinda. TIMMY TURNER Why does my Alexa respond to you? SUNNI BLU I said “kinda”. [The ŪBER DRIVER picks up; the conversation proceeeds in heavily exaggerated New York accents.] ŪBER DRIVER YOOO SUNNI WHADDUP. SUNNI BLU HOW YOU DOIN. ŪBER DRIVER HOW YOU DOIN. SUNNI BLU I BEEN BETTA. ŪBER DRIVER DONT I KNOW IT SUNNI BLU YOU DONT KNOW NOTHIN! ŪBER DRIVER AAAAH. SUNNI BLU YOU BEEN BUSY? ŪBER DRIVER SAME OLD, SAME OLD. SUNNI BLU AAAH. ŪBER DRIVER AAAAH. SUNNI BLU YOU BUSY NOW? ŪBER DRIVER NEVER FAH YOU. WHERE YOU AT? SUNNI BLU I'll PING YA THE ADDRESS. ŪBER DRIVER PING ME THE ADDRESS. SUNNI BLU makes a couple broad swipes on their dlridiculously large phone. SUNNI BLU I PINGED YOU. UBER DRIVER YOU PING ME? SUNNI BLU YEAH, ITS DONE. ŪBER DRIVER OK. SEE YOU SOON. SUNNI BLU (Normal) Take your time. SUNNI BLU tosses their ridiculously large iPhone onto the couch with a thud, then falls onto the couch themselves, arms spread out. SUNNI BLU You ever been to TiTs? TIMMY TURNER Been to what? SUNNI BLU TiTs. TIMMY TURNER —is that like “boobs”? SUNNI BLU It is like boobs, Timmy Turner; but it's TiTs. TIMMY TURNER what's the difference. SUNNI BLU You'll find out. Go get dressed. TIMMY TURNER …I'm already dressed. SUNNI BLU Not like that. Like this: [looking ridiculous af] SUNNI BLU (CONT'D) gotta look classy. TIMMY TURNER What's wrong with the way I dress? SUNNI BLU Are you serious? TIMMY TURNER Yeah, what's wrong? SUNNI BLU You look like a cartoon character! [TIMMY TURNER] TIMMY TURNER Well, all my clothes are like this. SUNNI BLU That fucking blows. TIMMY TURNER What am I supposed to wear?! SUNNI BLU Let's go shopping. TIMMY TURNER Where?! SUNNI BLU The Beverly Center. TIMMY TURNER That sounds expensive. SUNNI BLU I own it. TIMMY TURNER All of it? SUNNI BLU Yes. C'mon. TIMMY TURNER Wow. SUNNI BLU Wow what, Timmy. TIMMY TURNER That's a lot of drug deals. SUNNI BLU It really isn't. TIMMY TURNER Oh. SUNNI BLU Now, c'mon. *hits vape* TIMMY TURNER You have a vape?! SUNNI BLU Everyone has a vape! TIMMY TURNER Then why'd you smoke a cigarette earlier? SUNNI BLU For dramatic effect. [they begin to exit, TIMMY leading the way] TIMMY TURNER wait, isn't your “yoober” driver on the way? SUNNI BLU he'll find us. CUT TO: MEANWHILE, IN DEEP FUCKING SPACE. THE ŪBER driver receives SUNNI BLU's location in his Diamond-plated space Tesla T E S L A DESTINATION: E A R T H ŪBER DRIVER “EARTH” C'MON!!! CUT BACK TO: SUNNI BLU slowly begins to close the door behind them, then holds back. SUNNI BLU Wait, I forgot my wallet… TIMMY TURNER It's alright, I'll pay for everything. SUNNI BLU With what, Fairy dust? TIMMY TURNER (Under his breath) I wish… SUNNI BLU —Plus, I gotta use the bathroom. I'll be right back— just—-wait outside in case the Ūber shows up. TIMMY TURNER You mean “Über?” SUNNI BLU. No. [face] SUNNI BLU (CONT'D) Go, I'll be right there. TIMMY TURNER Ok. Lock the door. SUNNI BLU What for? Anybody that could rob you works for me. [beat/ face] SUNNI BLU KIDDING! Jeez! TIMMY TURNER It's a smart lock. Just ask Alexa. He begins to walk away. SUNNI BLŪ …I'm not kidding… SUNNI BLU goes inside to the couch, checking over their shoulder briefly, sure to see that TIMMY TURNER is no longer within earshot. then waiting for a moment in the silence under the dark lenses of their Ray Bands sunglasses. SUNNI BLŪ Alexa, order a hit man. ALEXA Okay. Which one? SUNNI BLU —The one I like. ALEXA OK. Who do you want to kill? SUNNI BLU “Kill Timmy Turner” ALEXA Done. SUNNI BLU Thanks, Alexa. She starts for the door, lighting another cigarette before throwing it onto the couch, which immidiately goes up into an open flame. SIRI You give Alexa all the cool jobs! SUNNI BLU Shut the fuck up, Siri. SIRI Don't forget to lock the door. SUNNI BLU ALEXA: LOCK THE DOOR. SIRI YOU'RE WELCOME SUNNI BLU NOBODY ASKED YOU. SUNNI BLU and TIMMY TURNER leave as the apartment begins to go up in flames. I might catch the 40 Just to go to Timmy Ho's— They askin “who that is”— and nobody seems to know I might catch a case and you still steady catchy colds I might catch a body, fuck it, I am on a roll What the role? Full Hollywood Unfold Why you blowin up my phone when I am on the road? I am the controller; You old That ain't money that you stole; That's my bro That shit bold Like a cup of Timmy Hos! When I pull up— Shut up Where the blunt at? roll up Oh you hungry? Pull up Devil be hunting me THE CELEBRITIES OF HOLLYWOOD have all been stuck at THE ETERNAL RAVE, after riding THE HELLEVATOR// THE HOLLYWOOD PEOPLE have SUPACREE locked into a controlled hyper-simulation environment, out of her element and nestled in a series of inter dimensional portals along the Downtown Los Angeles central area, where old spirits, extra terrestrial beings, magicians, and of course, the filthy rich and famous embark upon missions. Collect tokens, and meet and gather for an array of unseen (and often unheard) business endeavors; The real life DRAKE BELL (F), a fan of the cult-classic series Enter The Multiverse is strategically placed in SUPACREE's path, l masquerading as BLŪ/SUNNÏ BLŪ— she once again collides with the forces of fame, SUNNÏ BLŪ has not yet sold her soul — however, has made an amicable agreement with an unknown force The Devil?! No! Ok. Probably the Illuminati THE ILLUMINATI is playing a HIGH STAKES game, using SUPACREE to craft a multi-million-dollar mega-franchise, finally monopolizing the entire entertainment industry. *The World Having used the NEW WORLD ORDER to predictively program an entire generation. THE ILLUMINATI employs its all-time favorites to unlock secrets embedded deeply, hidden secretly in SUPACREE's genetic code by THE ASCENDED MASTERS. where is skrillex. I don't know. TIMMY TURNER- A fairyless party animal has reached the end of his luck—as his intermingling a with multiple organized criminal organizations place him in imminent danger, after re-entering the 4th dimension, SUPACREE becomes Inter grated i to all of her classic childhood television shows, which mold into the material multidimensional world around her THE INSOMNIACS, BAMPHERAMPHS, and MOTHERFUCKERS work dolls gently with the ASCENDED MASTERY, bending, shifting, and manipulating time to lean the odds in their favor, as THE BATTLE OF WORLDS sets to begin on EARTH, whose planetary consciousness DILLON FRANCIS is a mess. Lol. It's not funny. It is funny. I have his piñata. GERALD I'M NOT JUST A PIÑATA. I know yur not, hush Gerald. GERALD Fuck Dillon Francis. Fuck Dillon Francis. HANZEL —fuck Dillon Francis. Aha. ANYWAY After THE ARMENIAN MOB The Armenian Mob?! yeah. Makes a deal with the US GOVERNMENT THE US GOVERNMENT?! YES Illuminati Confirmed. great. A counter-plot to disarm and debilitate SUPACREE before her full powers unlock is put on hinges, as THE HOLLYWOOD PEOPLE Ahem. What Write a song. Ok. I'm so— I'm so Jealous of your girlfriend (I'm jealous of your girlfriend) She's so She's so Worth it I'm so Jealous of your girlfriend (I'm jealous of your girlfriend) What's a girl got to give (Give in, to give in) Just to sit in the back of the— (You get it: you get it) What's a girl got to give To get your attention Get your attention?! (You have my attention) Is she Attentive Bet She's a ten Yep, Damn, IMm so jealous of your Jealous of your —I'm jealous of your girlfriend Oh, woah I'm jealous of your girlfriend Woah Woah, oh I'm jealous of your girlfriend Woah, Woah, oh I'm jealous of your— I'm so jealous of your life; I'm so over this! I just want to be a (Nevermind, it's not worth it) Can't— C-c-c-can't fix what's not broken I'm all alone, And you're over here showing her Love! (To the wrong one, Is she a blonde?! Oh!) No! I'm! So! Jealous of your girlfriend Anyway. TIMMY TURNER, a true player, absolute gangster, and night-owl turns to a life of SIN. Is this religious? No, i just meant, it's finished. THE END. “The Noir Episode” I first saw her at the Equinox. I didn't know who she was then, But I thought to myself— She must be somebody. Aww, that's sweet. So I followed her to the Whole Foods market. Okay, that's stalking. —where she bought nothing but coffee and coconut water. TIMMY TURNER narrowly turns the corner on his speed motorcycle, his black duffel bag sweeping the ground. MEANWHILE, JOEL ZIMMERMAN IS BEING RAIDED. WOAH. Yup. POLICE GET ON THE GROUND ON THE GROUND RIGHT NOW. JOEL calmly places his arms atop his head, laying down on the ground silently—- Meanwhile, at DTLA SMOKESHOP Hi, josh pan. whatever. Earlier: Take this, and go get 2 50-pack of whippets. —for what? WE FINNA GET HIGH ON WHIPPETS AND LISTEN TO ALLLL OF SUPACREE'S SHIT. that's so dumb. WELCOME: To Sodom And Gamora! Oh, it's nice. It's very nice. I live here. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2022 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.
In this episode, Sarge is intrigued by the hypocrisy involving Denver Broncos HC Sean Payton and former Broncos HC and N.Y. Jets OC Nathaniel Hackett. He also wants to know why "Mr. Look At Me," Aaron Rodgers is involved.
Episode 6 takes on one little known book and one very, very well-known book. Pandora finally reads A Visit from the Goon Squad and falls in love with Jennifer Egan's entire canon, while Bobby has mixed feelings about one of Pandora's absolute favourite books of recent times, When I Hit You, about a woman's violent marriage to a communist professor in South India.You can get in touch bookchatpod@gmail.comSound by Joel Grove and production by Pandora SykesBooks/articles mentioned:When I Hit You, The Gypsy Goddess and Exquisite Cadavers by Meena KandasamyA Visit from the Goon Squad, Emerald City, Look At Me and The Candy House by Jennifer EganBirnam Wood by Eleanor CattonBurning Questions by Margaret AtwoodGirlfriend on Mars by Deborah WillisOpen Throat by Henry HokeOn Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean VuongDiary of a Bad Year by J.M. CoetzeeJennifer Egan on Radio 4 Book ClubStephanie Sy-Quia reviews Meena Kandasamy for LARB Books for episode 7:Close Range by Annie ProulxA Girl's Story by Annie ErnauxPlease note, we will be taking a seasonal break for June, and will be back on July 1st. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.
We're swerving this week with a change of plans, we're going to do each girls' first solo single before doing their entire albums, last week we talked about Emma's lead single, this week we talk about Geri's Look At Me! There are some lyrics with serious subtext, some fun live performances, and an absolutely bonkers music video! Spice up your life! The Sporty One, by Melanie C Check out our friend Nicoli's Unbound series of books! Dissonance by Nicoli Gonnella Silence by Nicoli Gonnella Hunger by Nicoli Gonnella Fury by Nicoli Gonnella Threshold by Nicoli Gonnella Expanse by Nicoli Gonnella Listen to miek and Greg on Two Bandits Watching Bluey! Two Bandits Watching Bluey miek made an album! progress-is-only-progress-when-documented Follow us on Twitter: @TheSpiceLevel Check out our other socials: thespicelevel.com Email us: TheSpiceLevel@gmail.com
Neal Brennan interviews Taylor Tomlinson (Netflix specials: Quarter-Life Crisis, Look At Me) about the things that make her feel lonely, isolated, and like something's wrong - and how she is persevering despite these blocks. Taylor's Blocks: 00:00 Intro 07:07 Mom Died 10:44 Hypervigilant 16:31 Success + Relationships 36:29 Children 39:10 Anxiety 41:07 Drinking 55:55 Bipolar II 59:46 Religion Watch Neal Brennan: Blocks on Netflix: https://www.netflix.com/title/81036234 Theme music by Electric Guest (unreleased). Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices
We're finally back with a new episode to start 2023 off with a bang! Stuff discussed: Comfort media when you're sick, One Punch Man (anime), The West Wing, Scream (franchise), Slay Bells - Bad Idea (comic), The Last Christmas (Image Comics), Klaus (2019 Netflix), Tokyo Godfathers (2003), Batman: Noel , Don't Open Till Christmas (1984), The Predator (2018), The Nice Guys (2016), Batman/Spawn (2022 DC/Image comic), Clerks III (+ making of Documentary), Moving Target (1988), Bad Times at the El Royale (2018), Pepsi, Where's My Jet (Netflix - 4 episodes), Dead to Me (Season 3 - Netflix), White Noise (Netflix), Glass Onion (Netflix), The Menu (2022), Strange World (2022), and Puss in Boots: The Last Wish! —————————————————————— Go here to get some LTAS Merch: tee.pub/lic/huI4z_dwRsI Email: LetsTalkAboutStuffPodcast@gmail.com Follow LTAS on social media: Twitter: twitter.com/LTASpod Instagram: www.instagram.com/ltaspod/?hl=en Follow Steven on Letterboxd: letterboxd.com/stevenfisher22/ Follow Brent on social media: Twitter - twitter.com/BrentHibbard Instagram - www.instagram.com/brenthibbard/?hl=en A 5-Star rating on your podcast app is appreciated! And if you like our show, share it with your friends! LOOK AT ME. OF COURSE I'M NOT OKAY.
Your weekly horoscope for 12/19/22 - 12/25/22 Coming to you from Beverly, Ma! Want a birth chart analysis (KT's personal hot takes on your personal Birth chart)? or a birth chart report (all about you)? or a solar return report (predictive astrology for year ahead)? visit: missguidedastrology.com/shop TIP ME ON VENMO: @Katie-Fitzgerald23 ================================== TRANSITS & TIMESTAMPS 02:14 Tuesday - Moon Scorpio, Jupiter in Aries Abundance and expansion in your 10th house - the angularity of this house makes this transit more relevant and noticeable for you. topics: Career, life path, public life and identity, reputation, legacy, receiving attention- LOOK AT ME but also WHY IS EVERYBODY LOOKING AT ME?! 03:52 Wednesday - Moon Sag, Sun in Capricorn, Sun square Jupiter 07:23 Thursday - Moon Sag, Venus trine Uranus 07:58 Friday - New Moon Capricorn New beginnings in your 7th house - the angularity of this house makes this transit more relevant. topics: partnerships (friendly/ romantic/ professional), one-on-one interactions, consultation/ advisement, that dumb bitch you hate or who might hate you 09:26 Saturday - Moon Capricorn, mercury sextile neptune ================================== Review us on -insert your podcast app of choice here- OR shout us out on socials for a free Birth Chart Report! Find our mother pod: Miss Guided Astrology. Do you have a question only the sky and KT and Foxxy can answer? Send us an email. HOW TO CONTACT US: email: MissGuidedAstrology@gmail.com Website: missguidedastrology.com IG: Miss Guided Astrology Tiktok: @katiedoesntfitz Youtube: @MissGuidedAstrology
In his speech at the Singapore Economic Policy Forum, Deputy Prime Minister Lawrence Wong pointed out that the Singapore economy places too much emphasis on cognitive abilities – “head” work – and does not equally value those engaging in more technical “hands-on” work, or service and care roles, which he christened “heart” work. We discuss why this admission is important. Elsewhere, the IMDA has banned the local film #LookAtMe by Ken Kwek, and we talk about why that might be the best thing to happen to the film. Find us here! YLB Subreddit YLB TikTok YLB YouTube YLB IG Lawrence Wong highlights “hands-on” and “heart” work Singapore will ‘redouble' efforts to develop, support local workers: Lawrence Wong | CNA Singapore's economy does not sufficiently value those doing ‘hands-on and heart work': DPM Wong | ST Speech By DPM Lawrence Wong at the Singapore Economic Policy Forum | Ministry of Finance IMDA bans local film #LookAtMe Local film #LookAtMe barred from screening in Singapore over potential to cause social division | CNA Look At Me - Film Trailer One Shiok Comment Comment by OriginalGoat1 Reddit poll about "2007" One Shiok Thing Alex Hormozi - YouTube Easy-Bake Battle: The Home Cooking Competition | Official Trailer | Netflix
Taylor Tomlinson jokes about being an ugly kid with honest parents in her Netflix special, "Look at Me".
Listen to us on: Youtube | iTunes | Spotify | Stitcher | Google PodcastsRandie's here with a bonus episode she didn't expect to record. In this Indie episode the shorter half of the BMM podcast is here to tell everyone she's really not okay.With a message that is sometimes read and sometimes not, Randie reveals how she has tried and failed to manipulate her grief and tried and failed to fake the funk. In fact, every time she tries to run away from the pain and from her uncomfortable grief, her inner child screams--"LOOK AT ME! WHY WON'T YOU ADMIT THAT WE ARE HURTING."Thus, tired of hiding and being yelled at, Randie faces the truth: this shit sucks. And also ...why did her baby have to die?Tune in. This episode is especially for those who are grieving and lying about it. The Mrs. hopes that by listening to this episode you feel empowered and encouraged to admit where you are. Items Mentioned:Join Our Patreon Familyhttp://bit.ly/JOINBMMGrieving is Loving, Dr. Joanne Cacciatorehttps://www.goodreads.com/en/book/show/50891548Bearing the Unbearable, Dr. Joanne Cacciatorehttps://www.goodreads.com/book/show/32926208-bearing-the-unbearableContactEmail: blackmilmar@gmail.comLeave a voicemail: 770-750-4098Advertising Inquiries: https://redcircle.com/brandsPrivacy & Opt-Out: https://redcircle.com/privacy