Podcasts about mocking

In today's episode, Logan addresses crypto scam allegations, apologizes to George for mocking faith, gets emotional about a touching note, talks 2023 resolutions & more…   Wear Maverick Clothing ► https://maverickclothing.com SUBSCRIBE TO THE PODCAST ► https://www.youtube.com/impaulsive   Watch Previous (IMPAULSIVE'S TOP 22 MOMENTS OF 2022) ► https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a2u8qQbf6kA   ADD US ON: INSTAGRAM: https://www.instagram.com/impaulsiveshow/   Timestamps: 0:00 Intro 1:02 Recap Of Coffeezilla Allegations & George's Religion 3:28 CryptoZoo Scam Allegations (Coffeezilla) 33:50 Logan Apologizes To George 1:08:31 Logan's Emotional Note 1:14:33 New Years Resolutions 1:18:07 PRIME Energy!   ***PLEASE NOTE*** Impaulsive is a significant break from the typical content viewers have come to expect from the vlog channel & we could not be more proud and excited to watch this unfold and grow. Please be advised that we will be exploring a wide variety of topics (some adult-themed) and our younger viewers (and their parents) should be advised that some topics will be for mature audiences only. ⚠ NO FINANCIAL ADVICE / DISCLAIMER ⚠ The Information discussed and shared on Impaulsive and related content is provided for educational, informational, and entertainment purposes only, without any express or implied warranty of any kind, including warranties of accuracy, completeness, or success for any particular purpose, and is an opinion only. The Information contained in or provided from or through this content is not intended to be and does not constitute financial advice, investment advice, trading advice, or any other advice. The Information in this podcast and provided from or through our content is general in nature and is not specific to you the user or anyone else. You should not make any decision, financial, investment, trading or otherwise, based on any of the information presented on this podcast without undertaking independent due diligence and consultation with a professional, professional broker or financial advisory. Understand that you are using any and all Information available on or through this platform and content at your own risk. RISK STATEMENT– The trading of Bitcoins, alternative cryptocurrencies, NFTs, etc. has potential rewards, and it also has potential risks involved. Trading may not be suitable for all people. Anyone wishing to invest should seek his or her own independent financial or professional advice. Individuals involved may have financial interests in what is being discussed, which in no way should be considered an advertisement.See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Topics Include: 1)Former UK champion kickboxer and social media influenced Andrew Tate, has been arrested. Carl breaks down the latest; 2) Transportation Secretary, Pete Buttigieg was warned about airline travel chaos several months ago and failed to act, and3) Carl recalls several of Biden's worst moments in 2022. More: www.TheCarljacksonshow.com Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/carljacksonradio Twitter: https://twitter.com/carljacksonshow Parler: https://parler.com/carljacksonshow http://www.TheCarlJacksonPodcast.comSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Topics Include: 1)Former UK champion kickboxer and social media influenced Andrew Tate, has been arrested. Carl breaks down the latest; 2) Transportation Secretary, Pete Buttigieg was warned about airline travel chaos several months ago and failed to act, and3) Carl recalls several of Biden's worst moments in 2022. More: www.TheCarljacksonshow.com Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/carljacksonradio Twitter: https://twitter.com/carljacksonshow Parler: https://parler.com/carljacksonshow http://www.TheCarlJacksonPodcast.comSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

[The LA Standard] Oh, You're on my mind Your on my mind My mind My, my You're on my mind You're on my— My, my— You're on my— You're in my My—mind You're on my mind You're in my mind You're on my Thought I should say That I just like the way you Say my name Then you walk away— Thought I should say Oh baby You really drive me crazy Thought I should seize the day But now I can't escape Now at night I lay away and think of you (Think of you) Now I know there's nothing else left to do Why'd you have to all in With that look on your face That you always had Goddamn, had to laugh It has been a long time “The Dead Mouse” As I trailed behind -king, silently waking in synchronicity and cadence in a triangular formation with his friend, not really a musician but more of a third wheel, the squirming of a small creature under the sole of my special edition Air Force One's which I could only feel, and not hear sent shivers rom up the base of my foot into the bottom of my spine. I thought to myself , “that's a dead mouse.” Not even realizing the semi-humor in it; I was running at full speed away from anything I had thought to love, but honestly God had been working on it's sense of humor in almost-delectable ways. “Oh, I get it .”, i thought to myself once more, before piping out into the silence of the Long Beach air, “You picked the wrong day, Mr. Mouse,” chucking, but under my breath for some reason worried that Deadmau5, or Joel, whichever thing, seemed to be foraging its way deeper into my conscious mind, and further out of my subconscious, where I kept almost everything, especially after Dillon Francis. I hate him. Okay. i guess we hate him. I hate all of them. What? no… I HATE MEN. But that–wasn't true. I loved men—I just hated that they all seemed to need so many women–or plain and simply just one, but that ‘one' was never me, unfortunately, either in their mind, or mine; like -king; Entering his dilapidated apartment, I of course had the urge to clean and remedy it, Egyptian hymns scryed into the walls and the cosmic lights of the universe cast into the ceilings–but, the space was in desperate need of a feminine touch–one I knew not to give to just anyone anymore, as I had done with my first love and all the others, becoming entangled more in the needs of man than my own; Then, I was, as Nick said, a true submissive, and I had been given specific instructions to be weary of the darkness that would result from submitting to the wrong kind–and-while in my mind All Is One, I was all in-and-nothing in love with whatever I had created in my own mind with lust, sapiosexuality, and the love of creativity and imagination all rolled into the goulish overkill of what might have been with any or all of them, had I been born with the right skin tone, the right figure–and of course, the right connections. I woke up the next morning–Saturday morning, Christmas Eve, pissed as all get out–all of my roommates were scrolling drones–room dwellers with less to do than just sit on their phones in bed, not moving much and taking up way too much of my precious alone time, which was rare; I had been given a bunch of particularly annoying roommates; One, a 22-year-old from New York who liked to talk on the phone and drink too much–who apparently had a boyfriend kind enough to pay for her room, but was nowhere to be found, and just-as-well was probably getting along with someone else, as she seemed to need more male attention than I could even stand. I thought, “Maybe some Techno music will make her leave.” “Earplugs still firmly planted in my brain, I queued up ‘Techno House Elephant”, probably opting for something even harder–something like ‘The Shell', by Snails, if she decided to stay around beyond the 30 or 40 minute playtime of the EP- but then again, I myself might just leave by then, as it was reaching towards noon, and, after a disappointing Acai bowl just the night before, I was craving a more put-together one–and though my aversion to the Whole Foods across the way which I still loved, I was growing tired of the place, and probably of all y surroundings–I was stuck with too many people who I didn't like, with no other choice at all really but to just sit through it, unable to afford more privacy and my body unable to work two full time minimum wage jobs. I was horny, hair disheveled, and in bad need of a manicure and pedicure, which I could afford, but hadn't the energy to pursue; It had been a long week, and I was haunted by my failed dreams of becoming someone, anyone other than who I was -likable, of course, but not pretty enough to have any real fun in the city, and of course, anything I was attracted to at all only reminded me of y awful placement as a black girl in a white girl's world. I hadn't thought to be jealous, at least, of jy roommate , which seemed to be her placement in the Matrix: making me jealous that she was beyond petite, toting a child's figure, which of course men seemed to adore – the notion of pedophelia being a blurred line between attraction and sexuality I still had yet to understand. The men I seemed to find myself particularly attracted to were of course out of my league, my sapiosexuality of course always getting the better of me– and now, a new tipping point in the alt-right insanity that had to have been the confines of my inner mind itself. It shouldn't have been bothering me as much as it was, but it was–and there was going to have to be an elemental change in my coping mechanisms, before I altogether dropped off into an intricate world that seemed to be designed to torment me with remnants from an old world; though I was no longer married, it seemed as though there was nothing else really in the world left for me It wasn't working. My roommate had asked very nicely twice for me to turn down my music, but I just wanted her to leave. I needed a moment of calm and clarity to myself, after a week of too much nonsense at all to make anything worth it, I wasn't making any real music, and my mixtape series had come to a plateau, after posting [The Next Level] and feeling that the energy of that mix couldn't be topped– if I was going to be a real DJ, I knew I needed to play that way every time, but it seemed that day that a new energy entirely had taken over for exactly 1 hour 8 minutes, and had resulted in the perfect mix. Now my other callings were beckoning–remembering that I was, in fact, a gifted writer, having just the day before publisted a telling entry based on my surreality, merged with my sexuality coming to a peak and noone to be found in my realm worth breaking my celibacy for; It wasn't fair at all that Drake Bell had to buy his own whippets–nor that I had to be the reciprocate, working at the smokeshop with just enough time to be reminded of my own failures, my childhood dreams, or what seemed to be the curse of a body literally not even a mother could love. I wasn't pretty or well to do enough for anyone I actually liked, and though I could have at any point easily gone to the dark side for what may have been decent dick, It wouldn't have been worth it in any effect to lay down with anyone who actually wanted to lay down with me–or at least who had made it apparent, of course–black dudes I would have been happy to keep just as friends, as if there ever was such a thing between myself, apparently in a body attractive to black men, and repellant to my type “Goddammit” I thought. Drake Bell looked good: too good, actually– the reason I had ignored him intentionally the first time he came into the store, and before I had realized who he was; not that I would have believed Nick if he hadn't come back a couple nights later. “Fuck this.” What's a girl to do in the midsts of being reminded of What? Nevermind. What. I don't know how to word this. Well, try. ‘Nick' Get it? Very funny, God. But God is Funny, Undoubtedly. WHY. Why what? WHY would you do this? By the end of The Shell, I was ready to leave myself; I wanted an acai bowl, and had no intentions of heading towards the gym, but needed to– I was, at least for the moment, okay with my figure–though something about the experience had pissed me off just enough to know that I needed to return to ‘The Hollywood Diet' ; there seemed to be an attraction to the vibration of fame and fortune that was ever fleeting, and with a plethora of one-dimentional fuck-boxes that paraded around in model hot bodies, spending upwards of thousands in whippets – of course, there were the upper echelon women, too– the high bar, classy and well-achieving type I knew I wouldn't see any time between the Graveyard hours of tomfuckery at which I was posted in this Downtown Los Angeles Smokeshop–and it was surprising even to me that I had chosen this employer over Aziz, who had insulted my intelligence enough that I felt no need to explain my disappearance–but now God was playing tricks with my mind. WHY GOD. Because. WHY. Because. IT ISN'T REAL. A strange thing was happening inside my sick and twisted mind ; Repressed sexuality collided with rage in the seat of my soul, and there could be only one thing left to blame for any of it. Hollywood. It's always Hollywood. And it was–always Hollywood. They know how to pick ‘em. That's the point. The miniature pinata, my only real prize from having worked at Higher Livin, for all and none of what it was worth; I felt myself sinking into an abyss of carelessness, on the verge of a bender of sorts, sexual or otherwise–I had again fallen victim to the cruelty of Hollywood's chaotic clammerings of magic and insensible display of wonder, and what could be. Now I had an array of men I desired ranging in a spectrum, not all together alike, but not altogether separate: I did seem to have a type, and a tendency to be attracted to what was clearly out of my league, at least for the moment I knew that Hollywood had had it's cyclops eye on me since my early years, and perhaps even at birth– but I was unaware of how to break the barrier between this– poverty and mediocrity–, and the limelight of success in the entertainment industry. For some or any reason, Drake Bell and his Whippets had caused a flat-out degradation of my exterior and formerly safe reality; My multidimensional world was blending together almost harshly with the taste of reality that I was still working an almost-dead-end job, which required too much of me. I was a easy egg to crack: my attraction to anything could be calculated in an algorithmic cocktail of 1 + 2 = 3. Hollywood could do anything. After throwing Skrillex in my tent of course, there was absolutely no denying how easily I could be manipulated with the wrong type of attention: not to ever think I would be lucky enough to get any dick out of it, but at least I was writing; First about Jon, Then about Sonny, Then About Dillon Francis –Sometimes about Joel, And now about Drake Bell, Who, to be fair, I had begun writing about some time ago in Mexico, when I had decided that all of the characters and personalities of the fourth dimension were still alive out there somewhere, and the only way tha SUPACREE could ever exist is if they did too. I wanted to cry. I felt I was being tormented, played with–and of course, rather than to act in rebellion, I submitted, as probably at least somewhat expected, still upset at any of the aforementioned for living my dream life, or probably just as jealous of the innumerous women that they had their pick of at any moment because of it, my ugly, too-blacl-too-fat self included from anything I might have once wanted, besides a peaceful and restful peace of death, suicide once again in my mind's eye and in my grips. “Maybe I should just do some whippets,” SUPACREE was nowhere to be found, really–but Sunni Blu was making the rounds in another word away, just a parallel and a stones throw from mine. “Fuck it.” –And, I'm not into you, I'm just that miserable I ain't got much to do But think about my every move And every movie I've seen you in, For the moment. At least this Flum gives me a headrush, And just enough Remove my trust, Perhaps, move from this gloomy room I just assume that this is what you do To keep me moving So much for an encore So much in store; A bargain for a robbery, A sob story on your arms; An informant, A mormon, an adorable girl, an honorable martyr, a star, A scar across my heart, For all you are, And all I wanted, Too far gone, But not quite yet forgotten On my awful God: A mockery, we all are Aren't we? Stop. I just can't go on any longer, I– I can't go on anymore. It's just a storefront, it's , It's just a front, or something What do you want from me? What more than just a start, To stop working too hard, At the corner market, (and more on my art) I'm up in arms, And out of armor, All at once “What did you do this for?” –I asked my God, And now, she won't respond, She just laughs harder and harder. Do I scare you? Only a little. Huh. What? Nothing.. I hate you. ihateyou. Eventually, The Ascended Masters will intervene. They already have. Oh, Christ Almighty. He's not coming. JESUS CHRIST ALMIGHTY [Answering Phone] Jesus Christ Almighty –WHERERU? JESUS CHRIST ALMIGHTY I TOLD YOU I'D GET THERE GODDAMNIT. Fascinating. Do my eyes deceive me, Or Is there a secret between us: A secret illusion; Should I bury it, Or keep it neatly And unseen, Between my knees, And where you need me? Is there a thing that I should need, But never speak– I'll keep it in my sweet release To dream beliefs of evil Seen, aquamarine revines, And pulsing veins, –and stolen hearts, Not passing judgment, But just passing by To hide, to pass the time To find a high, Align in color Fly, Write another rhyme, Or wire fireflies a transfer of light, Like blue eyes reflect to mine. WHY would you write this? WHY. I hate blue eyes. That's racist. No it isn't. Congratulations on making it into my aerospace, unscathed. A coincidence, this is not. I have something for you. I don't need anything from you. That's because I gave you everything you need. Right. I have everything. RIght. So you should know whatever you need comes at a high price. What makes you think I need something? You said you have something for me? Yes I do. You don't seem the gift giving type. I'm not. So, what do you want from me? WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME? Oh. it's another one. What's he need? Probably nothin, really Oh, it's something. This shouldn't be happening. I agree. why is this bothering me. Google it's self had deleted half my entry, which was admittedly sloppily thrown together, at nearly a full episode's length; probably for the best, as I was becoming more intolerant of my societal responsibility by the moment, and increasingly self destructive asa result. It was stil chaotic; fame kept coming closer towards me and then leaping away, but not out of reach or out of sight, but rather than chase it, I merely calmly strode forward in a never-changing pace, not rushing and always careful to remain calm, even when filled with fury. I had become unrecognizably fit, chaste, and a remarkably healthy eater; I was all together well, besides in the areas of romance and sexuality of course. I was ready to pounce, but timing would be key, and patience the virtue; Man, the Illuminati is high-key hilarious. The first time he wandered into the storefront, I of course immediately avoided any direct eye contact, as I typically did with any attractive Caucasian male, especially in thick glasses—not that I noticed who he was at all before Nick mentioned it—and not that I actually did believe Nick at all when he did; I had immediately looked away, anyhow, and rightly so. “You remember that show Drake & Josh?” , asked Nick coyly, as the man exited “What about it?” , I asked unassumingly “That's that nigga Josh Bell”, he nodded— “Oh”, I bawked, thinking twice to correct him, but instead opting to seem unaffected—mostly I thought he was lying, but it at least had sparked my imiagination enough to remember I had begun writing about Cosmo and Wanda's life after the conclusion of Fairly Oddparents, not yet having returned until now to inspiration—suddenly I was flooded with the remnants of a song I had once loved enough to keep on repeat, which I was of course prompted to listen to as soon as possible, and with which a story unfolded in front of my eyes and beneath my feet, as I left to work the next day with my then-newest mix ringing in my ears—and an actual narrative for Timmy Turner himself, now reaching middle age, as I was— and, to my suprise, a couple nights and a million lifetimes later, when the well-dressed man caught my eye again, after having resisted the urge to waste a Google just to verify what may well have been a farse—God took the liberty of playing show-and-tell—and for some reason, it was his voice, along with a quick and striking once-over, that it was in fact once more as Nick said he was—and rather than his stardom that made me nervous, it was perhaps more so that he was, in fact, extremely attractive, especially my type—and actually, probably at most—the overflow of things I had written and already published about him in my imaginary world—the place where I lived, but wasn't entirely sure anyone else was aware of. His pink sweatshirt and ball cap tempted me to Google exactly what it was Timmy Turner used to wear—in my creative headspace, I thought to myself, blushing a little as he walked away, still swinging to the Detroit Drill music in the background “What's Timmy Turner up to tonight?” Perhaps it was my sex drive getting the better of me—I had wholeheartedly been indulging in the tater tots at the hot bar for three nights exactly—but at least I was back in the gym, where I listened over my mixes, playing over Timmy Turner by Desiigner, envisioning the Fairyless Timmy's trials, intermingling the fictional trademark into my multidimensional science fiction fantasy-action world—and somewhat hoping the real-life Drake has no way to creep into my ultra-conscience hyper sexual fantasies, disallowing my mind to run too wildly. It was late at night, or rather, early in the morning—and I was just the girl at the smokeshop—meanwhile, in the fourth dimension, Timmy Turner was more than likely.. TIMMY TURNER open the registers. CASHIERS Fuck that, bro— —no, way, man —on God— TIMMY TURNER produces a Glock. OH SHIT —OH HELL NAW. The cashiers raise their arms in surrender. TIMMY TURNER Now open the register. —Alright man, ok Oh, fuck, man— [The cashiers obey his command—the registers spring open, clinging.] TIMMY TURNER Cool, now—in the bag. CASHIERS All of it?! Come on, man. TIMMY TURNER Oh yeah, I want all that shit! [He leaves, palming a soda on the way out.] TIMMY TURNER Suckas. Timmy Turner- Acoustic Version, Various Artists BLŪ / SUPACREE skates to work in the heart of downtown Los Angeles 3 weeks later: Cosmo. What. Get up. What. What do you want. Get up. Stop touching me! No! Get up! What?! —just get up. What is it? It's Timmy. TIMMY. TIMMY WHAT. He made a wish. He—he did?! YES. WHERE IS HE? —I don't know. INT/EXT. SMOKESHOP - 5:50 AM GET LOW It's too early for this. Can I get some whippets? Yes. LEGENDS: EPISODE 3 “Hoes Love Whippets” Timmy, what happened? ...I don't remember. The True Origins of the Bampheramphs are Unknown. I know what they are. No you don't--nobody knows. Yah. I'm nobody. *Running at exactly 140 BPM* SAMMI! SAMMI! SAMMI!! WHAT? Listen to me! I'm—listening to something else— What is it? Something more important. That cannot be! Why?! LISTEN TO ME: What?! Something very strange is about to happen to you. To me? Yes, to you— I just said that. Just making sure. LISTEN TO ME: I've been listening… Bampheramph Camp Welcome to your dwelling. This is disgusting. I don't care. I'm beat! Yeah, me too. Dibs on top!!! Aw, no fair! [he jumps onto the top bunk; amattress spring quickly protrudes from the top of the bed] Oh, well, never mind. [another camper opens the bathroom door, to find only the foundation of plumbing for a toilet] Uhhh… where's the toilet? (From afar) It's...over here. What. You're welcome. You're welcome?! For what! Not all the cabins even have toilets. That's seriously disturbing. It's supposed to be— And why is the bathtub separate from the toilet— —or where the toilet should be— Right— Because— there are 43 of us in this quadrant; some of you are gonna have to shit and shower at the same time. What! 43 of us?! Are you blind? There's like 16 of us! I'm pretty sure there's only 9; we lost those guys. [a group of dilapidated campers huddled in a pile] Nah, they're alive… well, maybe like five of them. [immediately, the front door swings open— a drove of campers come pouring in] Alright guys, single file lines. [not even close] Perfect. What the fuck. Who are they?! Who are you? What the fuck! There's 10 beds! Learn to share. Get off me! GET OFF THE FLOOR. Mm—no, probably not… Ughuhhhuhhh—- [blows gym whistle] OH MY GOD! THEN GET UP. I'm so drunk. I've been drunk for three days. Flicker the lights. I WANT MY MOM. Too bad—she's with me! Noooo! The rise free your mind>< I still care Cosmo and Wanda share stories of their lives as Fairies (before becoming Godparents) with their androgynous offspring. Poof, this is reckless. You can't just go granting every wish he makes-- Why not? One, It's dangerou-- He isn't evil. Secondly, it's irresponsible. SUPACREE TURN UP, TURN UPPPPPPP!!! DRAKE BELL Goddamn, girl. SUPACREE SHUT UP, DRAKE— DRAKE (THE SINGER) WHAT I DO?! SUPACREE attempts a whippet—but the can is empty. SUPACREE not you, dumbass. DRAKE continues dusting. DRAKE BELL enters the suite. CONT'D This dumbass. She attempts another huff from the empty can. SUPACREE this shits out. DRAKE BELL Jesus Christ. JESUS CHRIST WHAT? BOTH NOT YOU. SUPACREE CONT'D —you get my whippets? Okay, this is bothering me too much. Okay. Okay. A man in colored graphic motorcycle helmet popped up on a wheelie, aligning with and then passing by me, reminding me of something that had not quite left my mind since the time of its reentry. Come on, Don't let me take this on Come on, I'm unremarkable, Honored, but on one Come on, I'm tired I'm on one You're ok one Come on! Are you alright, my guy? It's gonna kill me inside Kill me inside Just one look in your eyes It's gonna kill me inside Kill me inside Kill me inside Now, my idol— Rest your eyes and Set your mind on Fire On fire Come on! I can shrug it right off, If I want I can rub it right off on the morning With soap Are you suffering? What! Have you lost God? God, this is awful, God, I don't want it no more And I'm on one Gotta be on love Gotta be on something Watching the stars Coming on as I follow, They fall in my honor And I'm not a God— Come on, I'm just watching it all From my awesome apartment Or loft, Turn it off, though, I'm done with it God, this is awful You turn me on And the world keeps on turning I'm falling apart In the heart of Los Angeles Honestly, God, You're a Dog, (And adorable) I should be jotting my thoughts, But I'm lost in a document, Mocking my mantras And talking to God, All in awe with the colors of Love Come on. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2022 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

[The LA Standard] Oh, You're on my mind Your on my mind My mind My, my You're on my mind You're on my— My, my— You're on my— You're in my My—mind You're on my mind You're in my mind You're on my Thought I should say That I just like the way you Say my name Then you walk away— Thought I should say Oh baby You really drive me crazy Thought I should seize the day But now I can't escape Now at night I lay away and think of you (Think of you) Now I know there's nothing else left to do Why'd you have to all in With that look on your face That you always had Goddamn, had to laugh It has been a long time “The Dead Mouse” As I trailed behind -king, silently waking in synchronicity and cadence in a triangular formation with his friend, not really a musician but more of a third wheel, the squirming of a small creature under the sole of my special edition Air Force One's which I could only feel, and not hear sent shivers rom up the base of my foot into the bottom of my spine. I thought to myself , “that's a dead mouse.” Not even realizing the semi-humor in it; I was running at full speed away from anything I had thought to love, but honestly God had been working on it's sense of humor in almost-delectable ways. “Oh, I get it .”, i thought to myself once more, before piping out into the silence of the Long Beach air, “You picked the wrong day, Mr. Mouse,” chucking, but under my breath for some reason worried that Deadmau5, or Joel, whichever thing, seemed to be foraging its way deeper into my conscious mind, and further out of my subconscious, where I kept almost everything, especially after Dillon Francis. I hate him. Okay. i guess we hate him. I hate all of them. What? no… I HATE MEN. But that–wasn't true. I loved men—I just hated that they all seemed to need so many women–or plain and simply just one, but that ‘one' was never me, unfortunately, either in their mind, or mine; like -king; Entering his dilapidated apartment, I of course had the urge to clean and remedy it, Egyptian hymns scryed into the walls and the cosmic lights of the universe cast into the ceilings–but, the space was in desperate need of a feminine touch–one I knew not to give to just anyone anymore, as I had done with my first love and all the others, becoming entangled more in the needs of man than my own; Then, I was, as Nick said, a true submissive, and I had been given specific instructions to be weary of the darkness that would result from submitting to the wrong kind–and-while in my mind All Is One, I was all in-and-nothing in love with whatever I had created in my own mind with lust, sapiosexuality, and the love of creativity and imagination all rolled into the goulish overkill of what might have been with any or all of them, had I been born with the right skin tone, the right figure–and of course, the right connections. I woke up the next morning–Saturday morning, Christmas Eve, pissed as all get out–all of my roommates were scrolling drones–room dwellers with less to do than just sit on their phones in bed, not moving much and taking up way too much of my precious alone time, which was rare; I had been given a bunch of particularly annoying roommates; One, a 22-year-old from New York who liked to talk on the phone and drink too much–who apparently had a boyfriend kind enough to pay for her room, but was nowhere to be found, and just-as-well was probably getting along with someone else, as she seemed to need more male attention than I could even stand. I thought, “Maybe some Techno music will make her leave.” “Earplugs still firmly planted in my brain, I queued up ‘Techno House Elephant”, probably opting for something even harder–something like ‘The Shell', by Snails, if she decided to stay around beyond the 30 or 40 minute playtime of the EP- but then again, I myself might just leave by then, as it was reaching towards noon, and, after a disappointing Acai bowl just the night before, I was craving a more put-together one–and though my aversion to the Whole Foods across the way which I still loved, I was growing tired of the place, and probably of all y surroundings–I was stuck with too many people who I didn't like, with no other choice at all really but to just sit through it, unable to afford more privacy and my body unable to work two full time minimum wage jobs. I was horny, hair disheveled, and in bad need of a manicure and pedicure, which I could afford, but hadn't the energy to pursue; It had been a long week, and I was haunted by my failed dreams of becoming someone, anyone other than who I was -likable, of course, but not pretty enough to have any real fun in the city, and of course, anything I was attracted to at all only reminded me of y awful placement as a black girl in a white girl's world. I hadn't thought to be jealous, at least, of jy roommate , which seemed to be her placement in the Matrix: making me jealous that she was beyond petite, toting a child's figure, which of course men seemed to adore – the notion of pedophelia being a blurred line between attraction and sexuality I still had yet to understand. The men I seemed to find myself particularly attracted to were of course out of my league, my sapiosexuality of course always getting the better of me– and now, a new tipping point in the alt-right insanity that had to have been the confines of my inner mind itself. It shouldn't have been bothering me as much as it was, but it was–and there was going to have to be an elemental change in my coping mechanisms, before I altogether dropped off into an intricate world that seemed to be designed to torment me with remnants from an old world; though I was no longer married, it seemed as though there was nothing else really in the world left for me It wasn't working. My roommate had asked very nicely twice for me to turn down my music, but I just wanted her to leave. I needed a moment of calm and clarity to myself, after a week of too much nonsense at all to make anything worth it, I wasn't making any real music, and my mixtape series had come to a plateau, after posting [The Next Level] and feeling that the energy of that mix couldn't be topped– if I was going to be a real DJ, I knew I needed to play that way every time, but it seemed that day that a new energy entirely had taken over for exactly 1 hour 8 minutes, and had resulted in the perfect mix. Now my other callings were beckoning–remembering that I was, in fact, a gifted writer, having just the day before publisted a telling entry based on my surreality, merged with my sexuality coming to a peak and noone to be found in my realm worth breaking my celibacy for; It wasn't fair at all that Drake Bell had to buy his own whippets–nor that I had to be the reciprocate, working at the smokeshop with just enough time to be reminded of my own failures, my childhood dreams, or what seemed to be the curse of a body literally not even a mother could love. I wasn't pretty or well to do enough for anyone I actually liked, and though I could have at any point easily gone to the dark side for what may have been decent dick, It wouldn't have been worth it in any effect to lay down with anyone who actually wanted to lay down with me–or at least who had made it apparent, of course–black dudes I would have been happy to keep just as friends, as if there ever was such a thing between myself, apparently in a body attractive to black men, and repellant to my type “Goddammit” I thought. Drake Bell looked good: too good, actually– the reason I had ignored him intentionally the first time he came into the store, and before I had realized who he was; not that I would have believed Nick if he hadn't come back a couple nights later. “Fuck this.” What's a girl to do in the midsts of being reminded of What? Nevermind. What. I don't know how to word this. Well, try. ‘Nick' Get it? Very funny, God. But God is Funny, Undoubtedly. WHY. Why what? WHY would you do this? By the end of The Shell, I was ready to leave myself; I wanted an acai bowl, and had no intentions of heading towards the gym, but needed to– I was, at least for the moment, okay with my figure–though something about the experience had pissed me off just enough to know that I needed to return to ‘The Hollywood Diet' ; there seemed to be an attraction to the vibration of fame and fortune that was ever fleeting, and with a plethora of one-dimentional fuck-boxes that paraded around in model hot bodies, spending upwards of thousands in whippets – of course, there were the upper echelon women, too– the high bar, classy and well-achieving type I knew I wouldn't see any time between the Graveyard hours of tomfuckery at which I was posted in this Downtown Los Angeles Smokeshop–and it was surprising even to me that I had chosen this employer over Aziz, who had insulted my intelligence enough that I felt no need to explain my disappearance–but now God was playing tricks with my mind. WHY GOD. Because. WHY. Because. IT ISN'T REAL. A strange thing was happening inside my sick and twisted mind ; Repressed sexuality collided with rage in the seat of my soul, and there could be only one thing left to blame for any of it. Hollywood. It's always Hollywood. And it was–always Hollywood. They know how to pick ‘em. That's the point. The miniature pinata, my only real prize from having worked at Higher Livin, for all and none of what it was worth; I felt myself sinking into an abyss of carelessness, on the verge of a bender of sorts, sexual or otherwise–I had again fallen victim to the cruelty of Hollywood's chaotic clammerings of magic and insensible display of wonder, and what could be. Now I had an array of men I desired ranging in a spectrum, not all together alike, but not altogether separate: I did seem to have a type, and a tendency to be attracted to what was clearly out of my league, at least for the moment I knew that Hollywood had had it's cyclops eye on me since my early years, and perhaps even at birth– but I was unaware of how to break the barrier between this– poverty and mediocrity–, and the limelight of success in the entertainment industry. For some or any reason, Drake Bell and his Whippets had caused a flat-out degradation of my exterior and formerly safe reality; My multidimensional world was blending together almost harshly with the taste of reality that I was still working an almost-dead-end job, which required too much of me. I was a easy egg to crack: my attraction to anything could be calculated in an algorithmic cocktail of 1 + 2 = 3. Hollywood could do anything. After throwing Skrillex in my tent of course, there was absolutely no denying how easily I could be manipulated with the wrong type of attention: not to ever think I would be lucky enough to get any dick out of it, but at least I was writing; First about Jon, Then about Sonny, Then About Dillon Francis –Sometimes about Joel, And now about Drake Bell, Who, to be fair, I had begun writing about some time ago in Mexico, when I had decided that all of the characters and personalities of the fourth dimension were still alive out there somewhere, and the only way tha SUPACREE could ever exist is if they did too. I wanted to cry. I felt I was being tormented, played with–and of course, rather than to act in rebellion, I submitted, as probably at least somewhat expected, still upset at any of the aforementioned for living my dream life, or probably just as jealous of the innumerous women that they had their pick of at any moment because of it, my ugly, too-blacl-too-fat self included from anything I might have once wanted, besides a peaceful and restful peace of death, suicide once again in my mind's eye and in my grips. “Maybe I should just do some whippets,” SUPACREE was nowhere to be found, really–but Sunni Blu was making the rounds in another word away, just a parallel and a stones throw from mine. “Fuck it.” –And, I'm not into you, I'm just that miserable I ain't got much to do But think about my every move And every movie I've seen you in, For the moment. At least this Flum gives me a headrush, And just enough Remove my trust, Perhaps, move from this gloomy room I just assume that this is what you do To keep me moving So much for an encore So much in store; A bargain for a robbery, A sob story on your arms; An informant, A mormon, an adorable girl, an honorable martyr, a star, A scar across my heart, For all you are, And all I wanted, Too far gone, But not quite yet forgotten On my awful God: A mockery, we all are Aren't we? Stop. I just can't go on any longer, I– I can't go on anymore. It's just a storefront, it's , It's just a front, or something What do you want from me? What more than just a start, To stop working too hard, At the corner market, (and more on my art) I'm up in arms, And out of armor, All at once “What did you do this for?” –I asked my God, And now, she won't respond, She just laughs harder and harder. Do I scare you? Only a little. Huh. What? Nothing.. I hate you. ihateyou. Eventually, The Ascended Masters will intervene. They already have. Oh, Christ Almighty. He's not coming. JESUS CHRIST ALMIGHTY [Answering Phone] Jesus Christ Almighty –WHERERU? JESUS CHRIST ALMIGHTY I TOLD YOU I'D GET THERE GODDAMNIT. Fascinating. Do my eyes deceive me, Or Is there a secret between us: A secret illusion; Should I bury it, Or keep it neatly And unseen, Between my knees, And where you need me? Is there a thing that I should need, But never speak– I'll keep it in my sweet release To dream beliefs of evil Seen, aquamarine revines, And pulsing veins, –and stolen hearts, Not passing judgment, But just passing by To hide, to pass the time To find a high, Align in color Fly, Write another rhyme, Or wire fireflies a transfer of light, Like blue eyes reflect to mine. WHY would you write this? WHY. I hate blue eyes. That's racist. No it isn't. Congratulations on making it into my aerospace, unscathed. A coincidence, this is not. I have something for you. I don't need anything from you. That's because I gave you everything you need. Right. I have everything. RIght. So you should know whatever you need comes at a high price. What makes you think I need something? You said you have something for me? Yes I do. You don't seem the gift giving type. I'm not. So, what do you want from me? WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME? Oh. it's another one. What's he need? Probably nothin, really Oh, it's something. This shouldn't be happening. I agree. why is this bothering me. Google it's self had deleted half my entry, which was admittedly sloppily thrown together, at nearly a full episode's length; probably for the best, as I was becoming more intolerant of my societal responsibility by the moment, and increasingly self destructive asa result. It was stil chaotic; fame kept coming closer towards me and then leaping away, but not out of reach or out of sight, but rather than chase it, I merely calmly strode forward in a never-changing pace, not rushing and always careful to remain calm, even when filled with fury. I had become unrecognizably fit, chaste, and a remarkably healthy eater; I was all together well, besides in the areas of romance and sexuality of course. I was ready to pounce, but timing would be key, and patience the virtue; Man, the Illuminati is high-key hilarious. The first time he wandered into the storefront, I of course immediately avoided any direct eye contact, as I typically did with any attractive Caucasian male, especially in thick glasses—not that I noticed who he was at all before Nick mentioned it—and not that I actually did believe Nick at all when he did; I had immediately looked away, anyhow, and rightly so. “You remember that show Drake & Josh?” , asked Nick coyly, as the man exited “What about it?” , I asked unassumingly “That's that nigga Josh Bell”, he nodded— “Oh”, I bawked, thinking twice to correct him, but instead opting to seem unaffected—mostly I thought he was lying, but it at least had sparked my imiagination enough to remember I had begun writing about Cosmo and Wanda's life after the conclusion of Fairly Oddparents, not yet having returned until now to inspiration—suddenly I was flooded with the remnants of a song I had once loved enough to keep on repeat, which I was of course prompted to listen to as soon as possible, and with which a story unfolded in front of my eyes and beneath my feet, as I left to work the next day with my then-newest mix ringing in my ears—and an actual narrative for Timmy Turner himself, now reaching middle age, as I was— and, to my suprise, a couple nights and a million lifetimes later, when the well-dressed man caught my eye again, after having resisted the urge to waste a Google just to verify what may well have been a farse—God took the liberty of playing show-and-tell—and for some reason, it was his voice, along with a quick and striking once-over, that it was in fact once more as Nick said he was—and rather than his stardom that made me nervous, it was perhaps more so that he was, in fact, extremely attractive, especially my type—and actually, probably at most—the overflow of things I had written and already published about him in my imaginary world—the place where I lived, but wasn't entirely sure anyone else was aware of. His pink sweatshirt and ball cap tempted me to Google exactly what it was Timmy Turner used to wear—in my creative headspace, I thought to myself, blushing a little as he walked away, still swinging to the Detroit Drill music in the background “What's Timmy Turner up to tonight?” Perhaps it was my sex drive getting the better of me—I had wholeheartedly been indulging in the tater tots at the hot bar for three nights exactly—but at least I was back in the gym, where I listened over my mixes, playing over Timmy Turner by Desiigner, envisioning the Fairyless Timmy's trials, intermingling the fictional trademark into my multidimensional science fiction fantasy-action world—and somewhat hoping the real-life Drake has no way to creep into my ultra-conscience hyper sexual fantasies, disallowing my mind to run too wildly. It was late at night, or rather, early in the morning—and I was just the girl at the smokeshop—meanwhile, in the fourth dimension, Timmy Turner was more than likely.. TIMMY TURNER open the registers. CASHIERS Fuck that, bro— —no, way, man —on God— TIMMY TURNER produces a Glock. OH SHIT —OH HELL NAW. The cashiers raise their arms in surrender. TIMMY TURNER Now open the register. —Alright man, ok Oh, fuck, man— [The cashiers obey his command—the registers spring open, clinging.] TIMMY TURNER Cool, now—in the bag. CASHIERS All of it?! Come on, man. TIMMY TURNER Oh yeah, I want all that shit! [He leaves, palming a soda on the way out.] TIMMY TURNER Suckas. Timmy Turner- Acoustic Version, Various Artists BLŪ / SUPACREE skates to work in the heart of downtown Los Angeles 3 weeks later: Cosmo. What. Get up. What. What do you want. Get up. Stop touching me! No! Get up! What?! —just get up. What is it? It's Timmy. TIMMY. TIMMY WHAT. He made a wish. He—he did?! YES. WHERE IS HE? —I don't know. INT/EXT. SMOKESHOP - 5:50 AM GET LOW It's too early for this. Can I get some whippets? Yes. LEGENDS: EPISODE 3 “Hoes Love Whippets” Timmy, what happened? ...I don't remember. The True Origins of the Bampheramphs are Unknown. I know what they are. No you don't--nobody knows. Yah. I'm nobody. *Running at exactly 140 BPM* SAMMI! SAMMI! SAMMI!! WHAT? Listen to me! I'm—listening to something else— What is it? Something more important. That cannot be! Why?! LISTEN TO ME: What?! Something very strange is about to happen to you. To me? Yes, to you— I just said that. Just making sure. LISTEN TO ME: I've been listening… Bampheramph Camp Welcome to your dwelling. This is disgusting. I don't care. I'm beat! Yeah, me too. Dibs on top!!! Aw, no fair! [he jumps onto the top bunk; amattress spring quickly protrudes from the top of the bed] Oh, well, never mind. [another camper opens the bathroom door, to find only the foundation of plumbing for a toilet] Uhhh… where's the toilet? (From afar) It's...over here. What. You're welcome. You're welcome?! For what! Not all the cabins even have toilets. That's seriously disturbing. It's supposed to be— And why is the bathtub separate from the toilet— —or where the toilet should be— Right— Because— there are 43 of us in this quadrant; some of you are gonna have to shit and shower at the same time. What! 43 of us?! Are you blind? There's like 16 of us! I'm pretty sure there's only 9; we lost those guys. [a group of dilapidated campers huddled in a pile] Nah, they're alive… well, maybe like five of them. [immediately, the front door swings open— a drove of campers come pouring in] Alright guys, single file lines. [not even close] Perfect. What the fuck. Who are they?! Who are you? What the fuck! There's 10 beds! Learn to share. Get off me! GET OFF THE FLOOR. Mm—no, probably not… Ughuhhhuhhh—- [blows gym whistle] OH MY GOD! THEN GET UP. I'm so drunk. I've been drunk for three days. Flicker the lights. I WANT MY MOM. Too bad—she's with me! Noooo! The rise free your mind>< I still care Cosmo and Wanda share stories of their lives as Fairies (before becoming Godparents) with their androgynous offspring. Poof, this is reckless. You can't just go granting every wish he makes-- Why not? One, It's dangerou-- He isn't evil. Secondly, it's irresponsible. SUPACREE TURN UP, TURN UPPPPPPP!!! DRAKE BELL Goddamn, girl. SUPACREE SHUT UP, DRAKE— DRAKE (THE SINGER) WHAT I DO?! SUPACREE attempts a whippet—but the can is empty. SUPACREE not you, dumbass. DRAKE continues dusting. DRAKE BELL enters the suite. CONT'D This dumbass. She attempts another huff from the empty can. SUPACREE this shits out. DRAKE BELL Jesus Christ. JESUS CHRIST WHAT? BOTH NOT YOU. SUPACREE CONT'D —you get my whippets? Okay, this is bothering me too much. Okay. Okay. A man in colored graphic motorcycle helmet popped up on a wheelie, aligning with and then passing by me, reminding me of something that had not quite left my mind since the time of its reentry. Come on, Don't let me take this on Come on, I'm unremarkable, Honored, but on one Come on, I'm tired I'm on one You're ok one Come on! Are you alright, my guy? It's gonna kill me inside Kill me inside Just one look in your eyes It's gonna kill me inside Kill me inside Kill me inside Now, my idol— Rest your eyes and Set your mind on Fire On fire Come on! I can shrug it right off, If I want I can rub it right off on the morning With soap Are you suffering? What! Have you lost God? God, this is awful, God, I don't want it no more And I'm on one Gotta be on love Gotta be on something Watching the stars Coming on as I follow, They fall in my honor And I'm not a God— Come on, I'm just watching it all From my awesome apartment Or loft, Turn it off, though, I'm done with it God, this is awful You turn me on And the world keeps on turning I'm falling apart In the heart of Los Angeles Honestly, God, You're a Dog, (And adorable) I should be jotting my thoughts, But I'm lost in a document, Mocking my mantras And talking to God, All in awe with the colors of Love Come on. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2022 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

[The LA Standard] Oh, You're on my mind Your on my mind My mind My, my You're on my mind You're on my— My, my— You're on my— You're in my My—mind You're on my mind You're in my mind You're on my Thought I should say That I just like the way you Say my name Then you walk away— Thought I should say Oh baby You really drive me crazy Thought I should seize the day But now I can't escape Now at night I lay away and think of you (Think of you) Now I know there's nothing else left to do Why'd you have to all in With that look on your face That you always had Goddamn, had to laugh It has been a long time “The Dead Mouse” As I trailed behind -king, silently waking in synchronicity and cadence in a triangular formation with his friend, not really a musician but more of a third wheel, the squirming of a small creature under the sole of my special edition Air Force One's which I could only feel, and not hear sent shivers rom up the base of my foot into the bottom of my spine. I thought to myself , “that's a dead mouse.” Not even realizing the semi-humor in it; I was running at full speed away from anything I had thought to love, but honestly God had been working on it's sense of humor in almost-delectable ways. “Oh, I get it .”, i thought to myself once more, before piping out into the silence of the Long Beach air, “You picked the wrong day, Mr. Mouse,” chucking, but under my breath for some reason worried that Deadmau5, or Joel, whichever thing, seemed to be foraging its way deeper into my conscious mind, and further out of my subconscious, where I kept almost everything, especially after Dillon Francis. I hate him. Okay. i guess we hate him. I hate all of them. What? no… I HATE MEN. But that–wasn't true. I loved men—I just hated that they all seemed to need so many women–or plain and simply just one, but that ‘one' was never me, unfortunately, either in their mind, or mine; like -king; Entering his dilapidated apartment, I of course had the urge to clean and remedy it, Egyptian hymns scryed into the walls and the cosmic lights of the universe cast into the ceilings–but, the space was in desperate need of a feminine touch–one I knew not to give to just anyone anymore, as I had done with my first love and all the others, becoming entangled more in the needs of man than my own; Then, I was, as Nick said, a true submissive, and I had been given specific instructions to be weary of the darkness that would result from submitting to the wrong kind–and-while in my mind All Is One, I was all in-and-nothing in love with whatever I had created in my own mind with lust, sapiosexuality, and the love of creativity and imagination all rolled into the goulish overkill of what might have been with any or all of them, had I been born with the right skin tone, the right figure–and of course, the right connections. I woke up the next morning–Saturday morning, Christmas Eve, pissed as all get out–all of my roommates were scrolling drones–room dwellers with less to do than just sit on their phones in bed, not moving much and taking up way too much of my precious alone time, which was rare; I had been given a bunch of particularly annoying roommates; One, a 22-year-old from New York who liked to talk on the phone and drink too much–who apparently had a boyfriend kind enough to pay for her room, but was nowhere to be found, and just-as-well was probably getting along with someone else, as she seemed to need more male attention than I could even stand. I thought, “Maybe some Techno music will make her leave.” “Earplugs still firmly planted in my brain, I queued up ‘Techno House Elephant”, probably opting for something even harder–something like ‘The Shell', by Snails, if she decided to stay around beyond the 30 or 40 minute playtime of the EP- but then again, I myself might just leave by then, as it was reaching towards noon, and, after a disappointing Acai bowl just the night before, I was craving a more put-together one–and though my aversion to the Whole Foods across the way which I still loved, I was growing tired of the place, and probably of all y surroundings–I was stuck with too many people who I didn't like, with no other choice at all really but to just sit through it, unable to afford more privacy and my body unable to work two full time minimum wage jobs. I was horny, hair disheveled, and in bad need of a manicure and pedicure, which I could afford, but hadn't the energy to pursue; It had been a long week, and I was haunted by my failed dreams of becoming someone, anyone other than who I was -likable, of course, but not pretty enough to have any real fun in the city, and of course, anything I was attracted to at all only reminded me of y awful placement as a black girl in a white girl's world. I hadn't thought to be jealous, at least, of jy roommate , which seemed to be her placement in the Matrix: making me jealous that she was beyond petite, toting a child's figure, which of course men seemed to adore – the notion of pedophelia being a blurred line between attraction and sexuality I still had yet to understand. The men I seemed to find myself particularly attracted to were of course out of my league, my sapiosexuality of course always getting the better of me– and now, a new tipping point in the alt-right insanity that had to have been the confines of my inner mind itself. It shouldn't have been bothering me as much as it was, but it was–and there was going to have to be an elemental change in my coping mechanisms, before I altogether dropped off into an intricate world that seemed to be designed to torment me with remnants from an old world; though I was no longer married, it seemed as though there was nothing else really in the world left for me It wasn't working. My roommate had asked very nicely twice for me to turn down my music, but I just wanted her to leave. I needed a moment of calm and clarity to myself, after a week of too much nonsense at all to make anything worth it, I wasn't making any real music, and my mixtape series had come to a plateau, after posting [The Next Level] and feeling that the energy of that mix couldn't be topped– if I was going to be a real DJ, I knew I needed to play that way every time, but it seemed that day that a new energy entirely had taken over for exactly 1 hour 8 minutes, and had resulted in the perfect mix. Now my other callings were beckoning–remembering that I was, in fact, a gifted writer, having just the day before publisted a telling entry based on my surreality, merged with my sexuality coming to a peak and noone to be found in my realm worth breaking my celibacy for; It wasn't fair at all that Drake Bell had to buy his own whippets–nor that I had to be the reciprocate, working at the smokeshop with just enough time to be reminded of my own failures, my childhood dreams, or what seemed to be the curse of a body literally not even a mother could love. I wasn't pretty or well to do enough for anyone I actually liked, and though I could have at any point easily gone to the dark side for what may have been decent dick, It wouldn't have been worth it in any effect to lay down with anyone who actually wanted to lay down with me–or at least who had made it apparent, of course–black dudes I would have been happy to keep just as friends, as if there ever was such a thing between myself, apparently in a body attractive to black men, and repellant to my type “Goddammit” I thought. Drake Bell looked good: too good, actually– the reason I had ignored him intentionally the first time he came into the store, and before I had realized who he was; not that I would have believed Nick if he hadn't come back a couple nights later. “Fuck this.” What's a girl to do in the midsts of being reminded of What? Nevermind. What. I don't know how to word this. Well, try. ‘Nick' Get it? Very funny, God. But God is Funny, Undoubtedly. WHY. Why what? WHY would you do this? By the end of The Shell, I was ready to leave myself; I wanted an acai bowl, and had no intentions of heading towards the gym, but needed to– I was, at least for the moment, okay with my figure–though something about the experience had pissed me off just enough to know that I needed to return to ‘The Hollywood Diet' ; there seemed to be an attraction to the vibration of fame and fortune that was ever fleeting, and with a plethora of one-dimentional fuck-boxes that paraded around in model hot bodies, spending upwards of thousands in whippets – of course, there were the upper echelon women, too– the high bar, classy and well-achieving type I knew I wouldn't see any time between the Graveyard hours of tomfuckery at which I was posted in this Downtown Los Angeles Smokeshop–and it was surprising even to me that I had chosen this employer over Aziz, who had insulted my intelligence enough that I felt no need to explain my disappearance–but now God was playing tricks with my mind. WHY GOD. Because. WHY. Because. IT ISN'T REAL. A strange thing was happening inside my sick and twisted mind ; Repressed sexuality collided with rage in the seat of my soul, and there could be only one thing left to blame for any of it. Hollywood. It's always Hollywood. And it was–always Hollywood. They know how to pick ‘em. That's the point. The miniature pinata, my only real prize from having worked at Higher Livin, for all and none of what it was worth; I felt myself sinking into an abyss of carelessness, on the verge of a bender of sorts, sexual or otherwise–I had again fallen victim to the cruelty of Hollywood's chaotic clammerings of magic and insensible display of wonder, and what could be. Now I had an array of men I desired ranging in a spectrum, not all together alike, but not altogether separate: I did seem to have a type, and a tendency to be attracted to what was clearly out of my league, at least for the moment I knew that Hollywood had had it's cyclops eye on me since my early years, and perhaps even at birth– but I was unaware of how to break the barrier between this– poverty and mediocrity–, and the limelight of success in the entertainment industry. For some or any reason, Drake Bell and his Whippets had caused a flat-out degradation of my exterior and formerly safe reality; My multidimensional world was blending together almost harshly with the taste of reality that I was still working an almost-dead-end job, which required too much of me. I was a easy egg to crack: my attraction to anything could be calculated in an algorithmic cocktail of 1 + 2 = 3. Hollywood could do anything. After throwing Skrillex in my tent of course, there was absolutely no denying how easily I could be manipulated with the wrong type of attention: not to ever think I would be lucky enough to get any dick out of it, but at least I was writing; First about Jon, Then about Sonny, Then About Dillon Francis –Sometimes about Joel, And now about Drake Bell, Who, to be fair, I had begun writing about some time ago in Mexico, when I had decided that all of the characters and personalities of the fourth dimension were still alive out there somewhere, and the only way tha SUPACREE could ever exist is if they did too. I wanted to cry. I felt I was being tormented, played with–and of course, rather than to act in rebellion, I submitted, as probably at least somewhat expected, still upset at any of the aforementioned for living my dream life, or probably just as jealous of the innumerous women that they had their pick of at any moment because of it, my ugly, too-blacl-too-fat self included from anything I might have once wanted, besides a peaceful and restful peace of death, suicide once again in my mind's eye and in my grips. “Maybe I should just do some whippets,” SUPACREE was nowhere to be found, really–but Sunni Blu was making the rounds in another word away, just a parallel and a stones throw from mine. “Fuck it.” –And, I'm not into you, I'm just that miserable I ain't got much to do But think about my every move And every movie I've seen you in, For the moment. At least this Flum gives me a headrush, And just enough Remove my trust, Perhaps, move from this gloomy room I just assume that this is what you do To keep me moving So much for an encore So much in store; A bargain for a robbery, A sob story on your arms; An informant, A mormon, an adorable girl, an honorable martyr, a star, A scar across my heart, For all you are, And all I wanted, Too far gone, But not quite yet forgotten On my awful God: A mockery, we all are Aren't we? Stop. I just can't go on any longer, I– I can't go on anymore. It's just a storefront, it's , It's just a front, or something What do you want from me? What more than just a start, To stop working too hard, At the corner market, (and more on my art) I'm up in arms, And out of armor, All at once “What did you do this for?” –I asked my God, And now, she won't respond, She just laughs harder and harder. Do I scare you? Only a little. Huh. What? Nothing.. I hate you. ihateyou. Eventually, The Ascended Masters will intervene. They already have. Oh, Christ Almighty. He's not coming. JESUS CHRIST ALMIGHTY [Answering Phone] Jesus Christ Almighty –WHERERU? JESUS CHRIST ALMIGHTY I TOLD YOU I'D GET THERE GODDAMNIT. Fascinating. Do my eyes deceive me, Or Is there a secret between us: A secret illusion; Should I bury it, Or keep it neatly And unseen, Between my knees, And where you need me? Is there a thing that I should need, But never speak– I'll keep it in my sweet release To dream beliefs of evil Seen, aquamarine revines, And pulsing veins, –and stolen hearts, Not passing judgment, But just passing by To hide, to pass the time To find a high, Align in color Fly, Write another rhyme, Or wire fireflies a transfer of light, Like blue eyes reflect to mine. WHY would you write this? WHY. I hate blue eyes. That's racist. No it isn't. Congratulations on making it into my aerospace, unscathed. A coincidence, this is not. I have something for you. I don't need anything from you. That's because I gave you everything you need. Right. I have everything. RIght. So you should know whatever you need comes at a high price. What makes you think I need something? You said you have something for me? Yes I do. You don't seem the gift giving type. I'm not. So, what do you want from me? WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME? Oh. it's another one. What's he need? Probably nothin, really Oh, it's something. This shouldn't be happening. I agree. why is this bothering me. Google it's self had deleted half my entry, which was admittedly sloppily thrown together, at nearly a full episode's length; probably for the best, as I was becoming more intolerant of my societal responsibility by the moment, and increasingly self destructive asa result. It was stil chaotic; fame kept coming closer towards me and then leaping away, but not out of reach or out of sight, but rather than chase it, I merely calmly strode forward in a never-changing pace, not rushing and always careful to remain calm, even when filled with fury. I had become unrecognizably fit, chaste, and a remarkably healthy eater; I was all together well, besides in the areas of romance and sexuality of course. I was ready to pounce, but timing would be key, and patience the virtue; Man, the Illuminati is high-key hilarious. The first time he wandered into the storefront, I of course immediately avoided any direct eye contact, as I typically did with any attractive Caucasian male, especially in thick glasses—not that I noticed who he was at all before Nick mentioned it—and not that I actually did believe Nick at all when he did; I had immediately looked away, anyhow, and rightly so. “You remember that show Drake & Josh?” , asked Nick coyly, as the man exited “What about it?” , I asked unassumingly “That's that nigga Josh Bell”, he nodded— “Oh”, I bawked, thinking twice to correct him, but instead opting to seem unaffected—mostly I thought he was lying, but it at least had sparked my imiagination enough to remember I had begun writing about Cosmo and Wanda's life after the conclusion of Fairly Oddparents, not yet having returned until now to inspiration—suddenly I was flooded with the remnants of a song I had once loved enough to keep on repeat, which I was of course prompted to listen to as soon as possible, and with which a story unfolded in front of my eyes and beneath my feet, as I left to work the next day with my then-newest mix ringing in my ears—and an actual narrative for Timmy Turner himself, now reaching middle age, as I was— and, to my suprise, a couple nights and a million lifetimes later, when the well-dressed man caught my eye again, after having resisted the urge to waste a Google just to verify what may well have been a farse—God took the liberty of playing show-and-tell—and for some reason, it was his voice, along with a quick and striking once-over, that it was in fact once more as Nick said he was—and rather than his stardom that made me nervous, it was perhaps more so that he was, in fact, extremely attractive, especially my type—and actually, probably at most—the overflow of things I had written and already published about him in my imaginary world—the place where I lived, but wasn't entirely sure anyone else was aware of. His pink sweatshirt and ball cap tempted me to Google exactly what it was Timmy Turner used to wear—in my creative headspace, I thought to myself, blushing a little as he walked away, still swinging to the Detroit Drill music in the background “What's Timmy Turner up to tonight?” Perhaps it was my sex drive getting the better of me—I had wholeheartedly been indulging in the tater tots at the hot bar for three nights exactly—but at least I was back in the gym, where I listened over my mixes, playing over Timmy Turner by Desiigner, envisioning the Fairyless Timmy's trials, intermingling the fictional trademark into my multidimensional science fiction fantasy-action world—and somewhat hoping the real-life Drake has no way to creep into my ultra-conscience hyper sexual fantasies, disallowing my mind to run too wildly. It was late at night, or rather, early in the morning—and I was just the girl at the smokeshop—meanwhile, in the fourth dimension, Timmy Turner was more than likely.. TIMMY TURNER open the registers. CASHIERS Fuck that, bro— —no, way, man —on God— TIMMY TURNER produces a Glock. OH SHIT —OH HELL NAW. The cashiers raise their arms in surrender. TIMMY TURNER Now open the register. —Alright man, ok Oh, fuck, man— [The cashiers obey his command—the registers spring open, clinging.] TIMMY TURNER Cool, now—in the bag. CASHIERS All of it?! Come on, man. TIMMY TURNER Oh yeah, I want all that shit! [He leaves, palming a soda on the way out.] TIMMY TURNER Suckas. Timmy Turner- Acoustic Version, Various Artists BLŪ / SUPACREE skates to work in the heart of downtown Los Angeles 3 weeks later: Cosmo. What. Get up. What. What do you want. Get up. Stop touching me! No! Get up! What?! —just get up. What is it? It's Timmy. TIMMY. TIMMY WHAT. He made a wish. He—he did?! YES. WHERE IS HE? —I don't know. INT/EXT. SMOKESHOP - 5:50 AM GET LOW It's too early for this. Can I get some whippets? Yes. LEGENDS: EPISODE 3 “Hoes Love Whippets” Timmy, what happened? ...I don't remember. The True Origins of the Bampheramphs are Unknown. I know what they are. No you don't--nobody knows. Yah. I'm nobody. *Running at exactly 140 BPM* SAMMI! SAMMI! SAMMI!! WHAT? Listen to me! I'm—listening to something else— What is it? Something more important. That cannot be! Why?! LISTEN TO ME: What?! Something very strange is about to happen to you. To me? Yes, to you— I just said that. Just making sure. LISTEN TO ME: I've been listening… Bampheramph Camp Welcome to your dwelling. This is disgusting. I don't care. I'm beat! Yeah, me too. Dibs on top!!! Aw, no fair! [he jumps onto the top bunk; amattress spring quickly protrudes from the top of the bed] Oh, well, never mind. [another camper opens the bathroom door, to find only the foundation of plumbing for a toilet] Uhhh… where's the toilet? (From afar) It's...over here. What. You're welcome. You're welcome?! For what! Not all the cabins even have toilets. That's seriously disturbing. It's supposed to be— And why is the bathtub separate from the toilet— —or where the toilet should be— Right— Because— there are 43 of us in this quadrant; some of you are gonna have to shit and shower at the same time. What! 43 of us?! Are you blind? There's like 16 of us! I'm pretty sure there's only 9; we lost those guys. [a group of dilapidated campers huddled in a pile] Nah, they're alive… well, maybe like five of them. [immediately, the front door swings open— a drove of campers come pouring in] Alright guys, single file lines. [not even close] Perfect. What the fuck. Who are they?! Who are you? What the fuck! There's 10 beds! Learn to share. Get off me! GET OFF THE FLOOR. Mm—no, probably not… Ughuhhhuhhh—- [blows gym whistle] OH MY GOD! THEN GET UP. I'm so drunk. I've been drunk for three days. Flicker the lights. I WANT MY MOM. Too bad—she's with me! Noooo! The rise free your mind>< I still care Cosmo and Wanda share stories of their lives as Fairies (before becoming Godparents) with their androgynous offspring. Poof, this is reckless. You can't just go granting every wish he makes-- Why not? One, It's dangerou-- He isn't evil. Secondly, it's irresponsible. SUPACREE TURN UP, TURN UPPPPPPP!!! DRAKE BELL Goddamn, girl. SUPACREE SHUT UP, DRAKE— DRAKE (THE SINGER) WHAT I DO?! SUPACREE attempts a whippet—but the can is empty. SUPACREE not you, dumbass. DRAKE continues dusting. DRAKE BELL enters the suite. CONT'D This dumbass. She attempts another huff from the empty can. SUPACREE this shits out. DRAKE BELL Jesus Christ. JESUS CHRIST WHAT? BOTH NOT YOU. SUPACREE CONT'D —you get my whippets? Okay, this is bothering me too much. Okay. Okay. A man in colored graphic motorcycle helmet popped up on a wheelie, aligning with and then passing by me, reminding me of something that had not quite left my mind since the time of its reentry. Come on, Don't let me take this on Come on, I'm unremarkable, Honored, but on one Come on, I'm tired I'm on one You're ok one Come on! Are you alright, my guy? It's gonna kill me inside Kill me inside Just one look in your eyes It's gonna kill me inside Kill me inside Kill me inside Now, my idol— Rest your eyes and Set your mind on Fire On fire Come on! I can shrug it right off, If I want I can rub it right off on the morning With soap Are you suffering? What! Have you lost God? God, this is awful, God, I don't want it no more And I'm on one Gotta be on love Gotta be on something Watching the stars Coming on as I follow, They fall in my honor And I'm not a God— Come on, I'm just watching it all From my awesome apartment Or loft, Turn it off, though, I'm done with it God, this is awful You turn me on And the world keeps on turning I'm falling apart In the heart of Los Angeles Honestly, God, You're a Dog, (And adorable) I should be jotting my thoughts, But I'm lost in a document, Mocking my mantras And talking to God, All in awe with the colors of Love Come on. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2022 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

As I am clearly a poser, or as the idiot around me refers to me as, the fat lazy cunt cow who nobody loves and listens to, I am begging you to not follow the link below, do not join our Discord community, do not check out the live streams or anything else. More than anything, do not support or share our work, and of course, make sure you keep supporting AnusRanth, the ultimate liar who made a mockery out of abuse, because acoording to her, she is so wholesome~ ROFL~ I think she meant whoresome but misspronounced it~ In her dumb ass vocabulary of illiterates wholesome is a fake liar whore wannabe who feels so beautiful, of course, not without her new make up face, fake disproportionate boobs and various fillers~ FIFA rich, maybe, but poor in every other way, surely~ AnusRanth, the current generation of loser, liar and looser~ I promise, she cares about all of you who enable her, as much as she cares about the animals she consumes with her sad and pathetic non vegan diet~ She claims she loves animals but has no problems supporting the cruelest of industries, along with fake charities owned by the same cult who is behind all that human trafficking they claim they want to stop~ Being an enabler is just as bad as being a perpetrator and the universe, or God, does care about integrity~ Good LUCK, you will need it~ If you got no sense of humor while witnessing such sub humans at work you will always get angry and it's not worth it. Mocking the liars and posers is our business and business is great~ https://linktr.ee/soulmaidhealing --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/soulmaid-healing/message

A new MP3 sermon from Bethel Netherlands Reformed Congregation is now available on SermonAudio with the following details: Title: Christ Mocking them that Refuse the Calling Subtitle: Holy Baptism Speaker: Pastor Pieter Van Ruitenburg Broadcaster: Bethel Netherlands Reformed Congregation Event: Sunday Service Date: 12/19/2022 Bible: Proverbs 1:24-26 Length: 46 min.

Dan gives his theory on why Democrats fared much better in the 2022 mid-term elections than expected, and reveals why Russian media was outright mocking the exchange President Biden made with Vladimir Putin of convicted Russian arms dealer Viktor Bout for WNBA star Brittany Griner.

Mocking someone involves making fun of them in a cruel or derisive manner.While Jesus was being crucified, people were lined up to mock him.I guess it gave them a chance to tell their favorite jokes about brutal executions. It can be hard to find the right time and place to share those, right?But it's how Jesus responded that holds my attention in this story. And it should be the detail that matters most to you as well.Check it out.Questions and comments are always welcome. Post them here or email them to me at roger.mccort@usw.salvationarmy.orgWhat a great time to make a gift which will help us help others! https://bit.ly/donateGVCheck out the archive of our messages or subscribe to the podcast or video feed of our messages. http://bit.ly/shieldonline or iTunes, Spotify, Google Podcasts, YouTube, and the rest are all options.Grace and peace to you this week.

The Stanford U. band mocked Mormonism at a half-time show in a game between Stanford and BYU. If you want to mock Mormons and Christians, you can do it without fear of criticism. Try mocking Islam and see what happens… Kanye West brought virulent antisemite Nick Fuentes with him to a meeting with former President Trump. West's recklessness has hurt Candace Owens and now Donald Trump.  San Francisco has a list of 130 genders if you want to qualify for their free money program… Have the Chinese had enough of lockdowns? There were large protests over the weekend. Given this is a communist country, people took a big personal risk.  The Left's obsession with racism is counterproductive. It diverts attention from the real causes of disparities between blacks and whites… Japan still believes in traditional beauty contests… Wokeness is everywhere, including the world soccer games in Qatar… Thanks for listening to the Daily Dennis Prager Podcast. To hear the entire three hours of my radio show as a podcast, commercial-free every single day, become a member of Pragertopia. You'll also get access to 15 years' worth of archives, as well as daily show prep. Subscribe today at Pragertopia dot com.See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Sermon: Patrick H. WrisleyTheme Music: The Church at Colee Hammock by Mario Rodriguez

Jake Schwanitz and Justin Michael go over a wild weekend of college football that nearly ended in total chaos for the CFB Playoff selection committee. They also run a mock simulator and debate what Denver's best option would be with the 20th pick of the 2023 Draft based on the results. Score the best seats in the house at Gametime:  https://gametime.hnyj8s.net/c/3442941/1441541/10874 Visit https://dkng.co/DNVR to sign up for DraftKings Sportsbook using the code “DNVR” If you or someone you know has a gambling problem, crisis counseling and referral services can be accessed by calling 1-800-GAMBLER (1-800-426-2537) (IL/IN/LA/MI/NJ/TN/PA/WV/WY), 1-800-NEXT STEP (AZ), 1-800-522-4700 (CO/KS/NH), 888-789-7777/visit ccpg.org (CT), 1-800-BETS OFF (IA), 877-8-HOPENY/text HOPENY (467369) (NY), visit OPGR.org (OR), or 1-888-532-3500 (VA). 21+ (18+ NH/WY). Physically present in AZ/CO/CT/IL/IN/IA/KS/LA(select parishes)/MI/NH/NJ/ NY/OR/PA/TN/VA/WV/WY only. $200 in Free bets: New customers only. Min. $5 deposit. Min $5 pregame moneyline bet. $200 issued as eight (8) $25 free bets. Bet must win. Ends 1/8/23 @ 8pm. Risk-Free Stepped Up SGP: 1 Token issued per eligible game. Opt in req. Min $1 bet. Max bet limits apply. Min. 3-leg. Each leg min. -300 odds, total bet +100 odds or longer. Ends at start of final game of the 2022-2023 NBA Season. See eligibility & terms at sportsbook.draftkings.com/basketballterms. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Jake Schwanitz and Justin Michael go over a wild weekend of college football that nearly ended in total chaos for the CFB Playoff selection committee. They also run a mock simulator and debate what Denver's best option would be with the 20th pick of the 2023 Draft based on the results. Score the best seats in the house at Gametime:  https://gametime.hnyj8s.net/c/3442941/1441541/10874 Visit https://dkng.co/DNVR to sign up for DraftKings Sportsbook using the code “DNVR” If you or someone you know has a gambling problem, crisis counseling and referral services can be accessed by calling 1-800-GAMBLER (1-800-426-2537) (IL/IN/LA/MI/NJ/TN/PA/WV/WY), 1-800-NEXT STEP (AZ), 1-800-522-4700 (CO/KS/NH), 888-789-7777/visit ccpg.org (CT), 1-800-BETS OFF (IA), 877-8-HOPENY/text HOPENY (467369) (NY), visit OPGR.org (OR), or 1-888-532-3500 (VA). 21+ (18+ NH/WY). Physically present in AZ/CO/CT/IL/IN/IA/KS/LA(select parishes)/MI/NH/NJ/ NY/OR/PA/TN/VA/WV/WY only. $200 in Free bets: New customers only. Min. $5 deposit. Min $5 pregame moneyline bet. $200 issued as eight (8) $25 free bets. Bet must win. Ends 1/8/23 @ 8pm. Risk-Free Stepped Up SGP: 1 Token issued per eligible game. Opt in req. Min $1 bet. Max bet limits apply. Min. 3-leg. Each leg min. -300 odds, total bet +100 odds or longer. Ends at start of final game of the 2022-2023 NBA Season. See eligibility & terms at sportsbook.draftkings.com/basketballterms. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Jake Schwanitz and Justin Michael go over a wild weekend of college football that nearly ended in total chaos for the CFB Playoff selection committee. They also run a mock simulator and debate what Denver's best option would be with the 20th pick of the 2023 Draft based on the results. Score the best seats in the house at Gametime:  https://gametime.hnyj8s.net/c/3442941/1441541/10874 Visit https://dkng.co/DNVR to sign up for DraftKings Sportsbook using the code “DNVR” If you or someone you know has a gambling problem, crisis counseling and referral services can be accessed by calling 1-800-GAMBLER (1-800-426-2537) (IL/IN/LA/MI/NJ/TN/PA/WV/WY), 1-800-NEXT STEP (AZ), 1-800-522-4700 (CO/KS/NH), 888-789-7777/visit ccpg.org (CT), 1-800-BETS OFF (IA), 877-8-HOPENY/text HOPENY (467369) (NY), visit OPGR.org (OR), or 1-888-532-3500 (VA). 21+ (18+ NH/WY). Physically present in AZ/CO/CT/IL/IN/IA/KS/LA(select parishes)/MI/NH/NJ/ NY/OR/PA/TN/VA/WV/WY only. $200 in Free bets: New customers only. Min. $5 deposit. Min $5 pregame moneyline bet. $200 issued as eight (8) $25 free bets. Bet must win. Ends 1/8/23 @ 8pm. Risk-Free Stepped Up SGP: 1 Token issued per eligible game. Opt in req. Min $1 bet. Max bet limits apply. Min. 3-leg. Each leg min. -300 odds, total bet +100 odds or longer. Ends at start of final game of the 2022-2023 NBA Season. See eligibility & terms at sportsbook.draftkings.com/basketballterms. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Drew & Rob go over each game in the week 11 NFL season. They also of course go on a few tangents including one about Mark Davis's bowl cut. Tennessee Titans vs Green Bay PackersChicago Bears vs Atlanta FalconsCleveland Browns vs Buffalo BillsPhiladelphia Eagles vs Indianapolis ColtsNew York Jets vs New England PatriotsLos Angeles Rams vs New Orleans SaintsDetroit Lions vs New York GiantsCarolina Panthers vs Baltimore RavensWashington Commanders vs Houston TexansLas Vegas Raiders vs Denver BroncosDallas Cowboys vs Minnesota VikingsCincinnati Bengals vs Pittsburgh SteelersKansas City Chiefs vs Los Angeles ChargersSan Francisco 49ers vs Arizona Cardinals

Divorce and Mocking of your Spouse - Mufti Menk

This week David Ault hosts alone as Jack is off taking some time in his cabin. But the horror features continue this week with the first two episodes of Mocking Manor. Mockery Manor is a theme park where people disappear, and it's up to a pair of chaotic teenage twins to catch a killer! If you have enjoyed Stranger Things, Friday the 13th, and Black Mirror than this double-bill is for you! After all, it's AUDIO DRAMA TIME! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

This week David Ault hosts alone as Jack is off taking some time in his cabin. But the horror features continue this week with the first two episodes of Mocking Manor. Mockery Manor is a theme park where people disappear, and it's up to a pair of chaotic teenage twins to catch a killer! If you have enjoyed Stranger Things, Friday the 13th, and Black Mirror than this double-bill is for you! After all, it's AUDIO DRAMA TIME! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Edward reacts to r/AITA stories and gives his very important opinions on other people's lives.Interact with the show:Twitter: https://twitter.com/Dedwurd_Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Am-I-Cancelled-111238007465561Support the show

Many of you have heard me (this is obviously KJ) whine about my revision in process. Well, I'm here to report that it's done, and successfully. Below is a full description of the process, and in the episode you'll hear me talking about it with Jennie Nash. I detail everything except the Peeps that fueled me, and I decided it was wrong to leave them out. So, in addition to a lot of butt-in-chair time and a surprising number of hours spend really just staring the at screen, I should own that I also ate a lot of Halloween peeps and most of a bag of fun-sized $100,000 bars. And I would have eaten the whole bag but someone else beat me too it, and they owe me big.Here it is in writing, THE LONG VERSION: How to do a substantial novel revision in 30 daysThe OverviewI had a long, rambling, completed draft of a book with a solid plot and decent thematic/internal story. The magic system was unclear and the romance undeveloped, and I had too many side-characters and too many scenes that weren't doing more than one job. Because it's a seasonal book, I couldn't take my time with a revision without getting pushed another full year out. So we were shooting for publication in less than a year—and we needed to leave some time, tbh, for me to get this wrong and have to fix it again. Thus: 30 days to a revision that involved nearly a full rewrite, even though the characters, story and in particular the plot excitement of the ending would stay the same.What the hell did I sell?At the time, I thought I sold a solid, almost-ready 102K draft.  Looking back, I see I sold an idea (Grown-up Gilmore Girls meets Practical Magic with a stolen set of family Tarot cards with powers and a mission of their own) and a rambling, creaky proof-of-concept draft with a solid plot at its core and characters my editor liked and wanted to spend time with.What this was: Same basic plot, both inside and out. I've done revisions that required altering a major plot point or removing characters. This did not.Same characters.Same themes, but narrowed and clarified.A few thoughts on that—the draft I sold was, in my mind, intentionally “edit-able”. There comes a point in a draft when editing it is hard. When what you have is both very polished and tightly wound, the editor may be able to see what's wrong, but pulling it out will be more painful for the writer, because you've locked down all the story elements to intertwine and all the language, etc. This wasn't that—when I yanked out scenes, they were at least flabby or tangential. I didn't have to feel too bad about it. And the story wasn't quite locked in as well. So none of this was unexpected. I know this editor likes to edit and is really good at it.That said, it WAS a … third or fourth draft or fifth, I can't remember. I'd done a lot of work on it. When I let go of it I thought it was pretty darn good. When I got it back I was like, OMG I can't BELIEVE I gave this to anyone, it's so long and there are scenes that don't go anywhere and it takes forever to get to the point. And in many ways I had done too much writing work on a story that wasn't ready to be written (although some of that is necessary for me to find the story).So a) I thought this was a lot better than it was and b) even after you sell a book, sometimes there is substantial work still to be done and that is fine, it doesn't mean you're terrible and the story is crap and the editor is staring at it and thinking, I cannot believe I bought this horrible piece of junk. (Or so I kept telling myself, over and over and over.) And c) apparently what you go out with can be (and will be) far, far from perfect. Even if you think it is.All that said, some editors don't edit. I was talking with another writer at a party recently, a NYT best-seller who broke out on her seventh novel, and has written 2 more since, told me that she doesn't get edited any more. That may be because of her skill and experience (and if so, I am so not there and can go back to feeling terrible about this draft) but I've heard the same from newer novelists. And debut novelists, although that situation is a little different, as our debuts are usually the product of a longer period of work and often working with paid editors or readers.I knew this editor and knew what to expect. If I was submitting to an unknown editor, I would submit something that—to me—was ready to go. Which, I should say, does not mean that it won't get the same big editorial treatment, so it's important to be ready for that and accept it. It also doesn't mean it wouldn't need it.The goal for this go-round.Major notes from my editor: it's too long, and it drags. The magic system is unclear. The motivations of several major secondary characters who move the plot are unclear. The love story is an afterthought. There's too much of one secondary character and not enough of 2 others. Too much internal monologue, too many conversations in parts that should be action. The deep backstory (i.e where the magic comes from) should be super-clear to me but mostly unseen by the reader.Minor notes: Some scenes don't work hard enough. Magic should be more magical. The stakes are high, but make it more clear what they are. More descriptions of the cute town and shop.My editor suggested a fresh structure of the first half of the book that moved it more quickly, which was very helpful. There are two inciting incidents, and we moved things so one of them happens very very quickly (the return of the magic) and the other later, after the first had more time to develop (the magic goes badly).I had two calls with my editor, the first before she wrote her (10 page!) editorial letter and the second after I'd read it. I didn't do any revision in between—I re-wrote the flap copy and worked on their author questionnaire (and if you've never done one of those, they're quite long). We also wrote the tagline. Both of those—the flap copy and the tagline—were really helpful in reminding me what it was I was doing here, especially the tagline, which ended up on a post-it on my desktop: Flair is done with magic. But magic isn't done with her.I needed to cut at least 10K words, make the magic, the plot and the motivations of the characters around it clear, bring the romance forward and take out a lot of action (and a few tertiary characters and events) that were obscuring the main story.An aside: I think we're either writers who stuff too much into the story (and write long) or writers who get right to the point (and write short). Whichever you are, outlining a favorite book in your genre or one that really did whatever your goal is (page-turner, thought-provoking, slow burn) successfully for you can really help. How many additional characters and plotlines were there? Which did you remember at the end of the book? How many did you really love, or really contributed to the book's success with you? Did they move the plot and the inner story or just one or the other?I did this during my revision and found it really helpful. Again. For me, outlining—or at least thinking about specific elements—of books I hope to be like on some level is always a good move.The numbersOriginal: 102K/330 pp 36 chaptersRevision: 83K/298 pp 30 chapters30 days/189.5 hours of butt-in-chair. This does not count anxiety dreams, walks to think through problems or time spent staring at other people and nodding while thinking about book.Longest day: 11 hours (I had 2 11 hour days and 5 10 hour days)What did that look like? 7-8 hours before dinner, with a substantial dinner stop that often included a walk or short bike ride, then back at it until 11 pm or so. I'm a natural night owl, so that's not that hard for me.Shortest: 1.5 (I traveled 3x during the 30 days, so I knew in advance that there would be several days when I did very little.) The shortest “real” day—as in, I didn't drive for 8 hours or spend a full day in family activity—was 6 hours. I'd consider that a normal day, and if I hadn't been in a rush I would say that's about ideal.Average: 6.3The mechanicsI made one big decision first thing: I decided not to work in the draft, even though it had (relatively few) line notes from my editor. Instead, I decided to return to Scrivener.The big advantage to Scrivener is the ability to move from chapter to chapter easily—as in, when you realize you're quoting something said in an earlier chapter, it's in the outline off to the side and easy to pop up and see, or if you realize you've forgotten something, ditto. That's really tough in 300 pp in Word, or even if you pull out each chapter and work on them separately in Word. And the risk of choosing an old version is high for me.  This worked really well, and I would do it again on any revision where I didn't need to be following line notes in Word. The ease of moving around a doc in Scrivener cannot be beat.I also decided not to pull out each chapter, put it in Scrivener and plan to revise it. Here's why—there was a LOT in this draft that wasn't going to make it into the final. At a minimum I needed to cut 10K/15pp. But truly, so much needed re-writing as much as revising—or maybe I should say, there was a lot of new material that needed to fit in. It would be easier to take what I needed from the old draft and add it to new stuff than to cut things, especially things I liked. Most of the scenes I needed had been written, but interspersed with scenes I did not. It was MUCH easier not to even look at those scenes again unless, say, I began writing a conversation and thought –they've done this before. Then I'd go dig it out.  Instead, I tackled it bit by bit, taking out the part I planned to work on and creating a Scrivener folder for it. I divided my book into about 6 sections—broadly, the beginning, the beginning of the middle, the midpoint scenes, the beginning of the end, the big action at the end and then the end. I planned for it all to end up in Scrivener and to compile it out from there.I often did the editing in Word by pulling out, say, three chapters that needed to become 2, dumping them into a fresh word doc (that way I got my editor's comments, too), giving it a name and working in there by also opening a dumping ground word doc next to (on desktop) or behind (laptop) it. I'd pull out a huge chunk, put it in the dumping ground and then go snatch lines or paragraphs as needed. This also gave me confidence, because the original always remained whole. I could always go back and get something if I needed it.Those Word docs looked like this:I drafted new material in Scrivener. Once or twice, I duplicated a chapter so that I could try something and see if it worked but easily go back to a previous version, which Scrivener also makes easy. I did some smaller chapter revisions in Scrivener too, although often I did them in Word and then pasted the result into Scrivener.I created multiple outlines (about which more in the next section), and often—especially as I got closer to the end—included target word counts, and I really paid attention to those. I have a tendency to repeat things, especially in dialogue, and keeping an awareness of where I was in the scene/chapter in terms of middle and approaching end helped me move things faster.Why are my fingers not moving?Of that 189.5 hours, I spent approximately 103 staring at the screen, outlining, prewriting, staring, outlining again, and generally struggling.I loosely outlined my revision with my editor before I started. A few days in I crashed headlong into the first wall and pulled back to really outline. We'd focused mostly on plot, which was just great—but what I ran into was the question of why anyone did anything and then, what the reader knew and believed when and what they were wondering about.It seems so straightforward now, but on day four I wrote in my calendar (I keep a calendar record of what I actually did, as opposed to what I meant to do, often quite different): “struggling.” And struggle I did, for 9 days. I tried summarizing, I tried outlining, I tried fitting the story into various structures. I did a lot of prewriting of dialogue, which is dialogue with no punctuation and no tags or stage direction, which was one of the most useful things I did—just basically let the characters yell what they really thought at one another and then used it in various places. Here's an example:Mocking her. None of those cards were for her, they never were.What came next, Nana taught her, was what you faced.The card that, for Flair, held the flash of premonition, the knowledge of what was coming.She pushed it away. She didn't want it. She didn't want the cards, not even these cookies, to exert their control. She didn't want to know what would happen. She knew what she wasn't going to let happen.He can't take Lucie from me.The Hermit. Herself, alone.A figure on the ground, lucie's frightened eyes, the five of cups. She hadn't even made a five of cups. Death—we cannot outwit death and we cannot outwit change—that was not what lay ahead.They were just cookies.I made them.They're mine.None of that. She reached out, seized on the Devil, that card of control, to push it away with all her might but found her grip tightening on it.Because of David. David needs to do what I want and leave my daughter alone.Whew. Harsh.Well, he's an a*****e. She can't go live with him.Agreed. But you know what I think.I know, enabling, blah blah. Well that's done. I'm done with him. As long as he's done with Lucie.Oh yeah that sounds like you've totally let him go in a healthy way.Flair picked up death and bit its head off.Oh, maybe we leave the nice cookies alone now, morticia. I think you've had enough.And then things went on well enough for a little over a week. And then I hit another wall and spent 2 days circling around, again, why one secondary character (the antagonist) would do what she does and how she would interact with my protagonist, in particular in one scene—what would she be offering and why would it work? That seemed to go on forever. Part of the problem was that I had two different elements of her motivation that I quite liked but I couldn't keep them both, and I kept leaning in one direction, then the other, depending on what I was working on… honestly I can barely remember the details now, but that's when I created the document labeled “pick a f*****g side”.Sometimes you just need to make a decision and write it that way. Sure, save your place so you can go back and all that. But sometimes you just have to CHOOSE.At about the same time I sent my agent what I had, and she didn't like the first chapter and that… let's just say I took that badly. I mean, she had like 35K words and she liked them all except the opening 3K. IT WAS FINE. And revising them later was really good. But I might have had a slightly unprofessional meltdown.A few quotes from that time: 10/8, 12 PM: Day of Panic. Why does anyone do anything? Why?10/9, 1 AM: Ugly ugly ugly10/9, 10 AM: Still staring at Loretta scene….10/9, 7 PM: Finally back on track!In which I actually revise actual words on actual pagesSo after about 30 hours of returning to outlining/prewriting/cursing mode, I found my way back in, moved a scene to earlier, revised some transitions and then… finally… chugged along to the end. Where I'd known all along that the action would remain the same, but the dialogue/internal dialogue would change a lot. (In part because, right at the most dramatic moment when life and death hang in the balance, I … had two people go have a heart-to-heart about their relationship. Twice.)But I knew it wouldn't be hard to revise, and it wasn't. It was such a relief to be there, too! And then I changed one part of the end dramatically, which oddly didn't involve changing that much text, and then, instead of dropping straight out of the story and heading to a “one month later” style epilogue, I actually WROTE the end of the story, which I know will be way more satisfying for readers. The other was largely a choice made from exhaustion.Once I'd solved all the problems (that are going to be solved in this draft, anyway), it took 4 days to actually revise the rest of the book and get to the end, a glorious moment.Which was immediately followed by rewriting the first two chapters, and then it was on to my checklist.The yellow and the greenJennie Nash suggests a stoplight checklist for revisions—Red/Yellow/Green. I had such a list, at the beginning of this process. But I quickly realized that so much was red here that, for the most part, that was all I could do. I fixed some green things (changed the name of a character, physical descriptions, that kind of thing) as I went and had an awareness of some yellow (build up this relationship, tighten the dialogue) but I was very much concentrating on red. So I kept a running list of things I'd need to go back and revise for at the end. Here's what that looked like:Play up can't use magic without cards even more esp cynCraft enclave. Kansas League of Craftswomen/coven, build up trail's importance againBakery has bright turquoise boxes with the logo stamped on them by herJosie is still an EMTCyn needs to know who Alice isMaybe Renee would call Flair Harwicke? Maybe she coached some ridiculous soccer team they were on once?Loretta lick lipAdd Jude pop rocksBack of the cards: On each was an elaborate medallion, a fleur de lis with an eye inside a triangle made of a floral vine,Loretta and Jude: The tough, genuinely ruthless spirit had also doted on him and raised him, supported his dreams, pushed him to be more, driven him relentlessly, had—along with Renee—turned him into who he was today, good and bad/or wtf IS the deal between him and Loretta and Renee? Because Renee didn't tell him anything, bc she never gave him any credit.Josie's sig other still in national guardSomeone needs to extinguish flames as well as start them. Maybe make point that it's easiet to put out your own fire?BLACK MOON is big deal all overSome of those I ended up disregarding. Some were literally one line additions (green), others I needed to look at in nearly every chapter—which could be green (hair color, bakery boxes) or yellow (the relationship between two characters). I made a tidier checklist and then went back through most of the chapters in the book, line editing and addressing those issues.Anything I'd really worked on and didn't want to touch again, I mostly left for the next round. Which I knew would come.How did it turn out?Well. Fabulously. Here's this, from my editor:Wow! Amazing! I don't think I've ever had a book improve so much from the first draft to the second. You have done incredible work. Brava! Standing ovation! You took all the different elements that had so much potential and you pulled them tightly together into a story that is constantly moving forward, has a solid internal logic, makes use of the fun magic that is dying to be used, but without making it kitschy, and that has a wonderful happy ending. I'm truly amazed by how far you have taken the book in just one draft. I'm also impressed by how much self-editing I can tell that you did. There are so many fewer instances of circular thinking, sentences where it's difficult to parse the meaning, and using forty words when twenty would do. It's hard to self-edit and you have done it and I'm very grateful.Do note that she managed to list all the things I usually do poorly (most particularly, “using 40 words where 20 would do”) and that she's this excited because the last time I did a revision for her, I managed to actually make the book worse.So.Maybe I learned, maybe I didn't. But this one goes in the win column!Listeners, the team at Author Accelerator knows that all kinds of people can make good book coaches. It's not necessarily people who have had massive success as writers themselves. It's not necessarily people who have secured agents, book deals, degrees, or awards.It's people who really could spend all day talking about books, who get excited by the idea of lifting up other writers, and who are ready to back up their passion for writing with skills, training, and hard work.If that might be you, join the Author Accelerator team for two days of exploration on November 30 and December 1, 2022, to find out if 2023 will be the year you launch a book coaching business or level up the one you already have. Head to bookcoaches.com/dreamjob to learn more. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit amwriting.substack.com/subscribe

Included in this episode: 1. Twitter Bans Accounts Mocking ‘Free Speech Absolutist' Elon Musk 2. Women Could Win Both Top Spots in Government for the First Time in These States 3. Ohio May Be About to Test the Limits of Trumpism 4. Column: I Have Seen Christian Nationalism Up Close. It Terrifies Me .

The platform banned several comedians for parody tweets in which they impersonated its new owner

Pastor Vic Fonov shares a message with us this Sunday. To support our ministry please visit www.whitefieldsalaska.com

Political consultant Mark McKinnon said on MSNBC: “Larry Elder out in California, who was running for governor, made some joke about this is the second time he's been hammered, referencing a DWI, and not only did he say that, he gets 30,000 likes on Twitter as a response. That's the problem. We have an ecosystem now that's rewarding people for bad behavior.” Larry Elder responds: “If a mentally ill intruder broke into Mar-a-Lago and struck Trump in the head with a hammer, not only would the Trump-deranged left barely contain their glee—for they'd deem it retribution, as they felt when Trump contracted COVID-19—they'd recruit the thug for Congress.” ⭕️Watch in-depth videos based on Truth & Tradition at Epoch TV

01:00 Tucker Carlson on Supreme Court taking up affirmative action 18:00 Youtube censors any criticism of the fairness of Brazil's election 25:00 Dooovid joins 29:00 NYT: Security Training Group Asks Musk to Rid Twitter of Antisemitism, https://www.nytimes.com/2022/11/01/technology/musk-twitter-antisemitism-security-group.html 49:00 Latest on Paul Pelosi story 52:00 Bio-labs in Ukraine 53:00 How's John Fetterman doing? 1:05:00 You Are the Message: Getting What You Want by Being Who You Are, https://lukeford.net/blog/?p=130263 1:20:00 Say It With Feeling: Megastars, Media Tsars, Trailblazing TV: Memoirs of a Prime Time Warrior, https://lukeford.net/blog/?p=133104 https://www.nytimes.com/2022/11/01/us/politics/pelosi-attack-republicans-trump.html https://www.latimes.com/california/story/2022-10-31/shocking-new-details-blow-up-conspiracy-theories-about-paul-pelosi-attack NYRB: ‘The Illusion of the First Person', https://lukeford.net/blog/?p=145933 https://www.nybooks.com/articles/2022/11/03/the-illusion-of-the-first-person-merve-emre/ The Intellectuals and the Masses: Pride and Prejudice Among the Literary Intelligentsia 1880-1939 by John Carey, https://lukeford.net/blog/?p=136235 The Champions Of Chastity: I love reading stories about those great souls who put the realm of the spirit first. https://lukeford.net/blog/?p=145915 https://www.wsj.com/articles/safe-streets-are-a-policy-choice-incapacitation-incarceration-state-federal-prison-violent-crime-1990s-reagan-bush-barr-obama-sentencing-bail-11666785403?mod=opinion_lead_pos5 https://www.takimag.com/article/triggered-2/ https://www.nytimes.com/2022/10/25/magazine/try-guys-internet-fame.html Cohesive societies rejoice together: https://www.washingtonpost.com/sports/2022/10/26/south-korea-baseball-fans-cheers/, english soccer fans singing https://www.nytimes.com/2022/10/26/opinion/newsom-desantis-culture-war.html https://www.nytimes.com/2022/10/21/opinion/condition-of-liberalism.html https://www.nytimes.com/2022/10/21/us/politics/us-democracy.html - what about dems who said bush is not their president https://www.outsidethebeltway.com/musk-could-cripple-content-moderation/ https://www.outsidethebeltway.com/fear-and-resentment-of-a-changing-america/ https://www.nytimes.com/2022/10/22/us/politics/republican-election-objectors-rhetoric.html https://www.pbs.org/wgbh/frontline/documentary/lies-politics-and-democracy/ https://www.nytimes.com/2022/10/23/us/politics/republican-election-objectors-demographics.html https://www.nytimes.com/2022/10/24/nyregion/hasidic-yeshiva-fraud-central-united-talmudical-academy.html SA: Conservative and Liberal Brains Might Have Some Real Differences, https://lukeford.net/blog/?p=145820 Process (Liberals) Vs Ends (Conservatives), https://lukeford.net/blog/?p=145795 Chums: How a Tiny Caste of Oxford Tories Took Over the UK, https://lukeford.net/blog/?p=145781 https://www.newyorker.com/culture/jia-tolentino/the-personal-essay-boom-is-over https://www.nybooks.com/articles/2022/11/03/the-illusion-of-the-first-person-merve-emre/ https://lareviewofbooks.org/article/the-talented-ms-calloway/ https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caroline_Calloway https://nymag.com/intelligencer/2022/10/why-are-kids-so-sad.html https://www.nybooks.com/articles/2022/11/03/the-limits-of-press-power-geoffrey-wheatcroft/

Lindsay Lohan gave a rare interview to Cosmopolitan and talked about getting mocked for her work and public life. Plus, Kylie Jenner is worried about being an oversharer on social media.

As 2022 mid-term elections are just around the bend, today's episode lays out a clear picture about the differences between the platforms of the two parties. No politician or party is perfect or our salvation, but there are clear policies that the Democrats are currently promoting that are just evil and need to be recognized as such. So how as a Christian can you vote for them? Ready to join The Rebellion? Become a patreon member and enjoy some great extras while supporting our efforts to speak the Truth into our culture. Learn more at patreon.com/dreverettpiper. Find more resources and info at dreverettpiper.com

Ravens Mocking Russ On Plane, Cody Roark Talks Broncos And Trade Deadline

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The Democrats do their best to distract the public from the World Economic Forum's influence in crushing the United States- The Trans movement has been pushed to the forefront lately, designed to destabilize and demoralize us- The Medical system is being weaponized against you- Desantis makes a bold move thats turning heads- Trump Admin Appointee Dr. Soloway returns to the show! Visit MikeCrispi.com for MORE

The defeat of evil and of demonic powers is associated with Halloween. For this reason, Martin Luther posted his 95 challenges to the wicked practices of the Church to the bulletin board on the door of the Wittenberg chapel on Halloween. He picked his day with care, and ever since Halloween has also been Reformation Day. The power of Satan has been broken once and for all, and our children can mock him by dressing up like ghosts, goblins, and witches. Check out Doug Giles' amazing art here.

Unfortunately, I have pneumonia. That's not going to stop me from airing a new show, though. Even though I'm compromised, I happen to know someone who has a lot of talent, when it comes to sharing Dogman encounters. I asked Marvin if he'd be interested in coming back on, for this week's show and, luckily, he agreed. So, Marvin's going to be back, sharing more encounters with you, the way only he can. One of his encounters was shared with him by a woman who said she was mocked by the Dogman she encountered. I can only imagine what that must have been like for her to experience!If you have a Dogman encounter you'd like to share with Marvin, his email address is…HezekiahAllen8318@gmail.comTo visit Marvin's YouTube Channel, please go to…https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC1jabXHeioq_eqG4nHSJyHg/videosPremium memberships are now available! If you'd like to be able to listen to the show without ads and have full access to premium content, please go to https://DogmanEncounters.com/Podcast to find out how to become a premium member.If you'd like to help support the show, by buying your own Dogman Encounters t-shirt, sweatshirt, tank top, or coffee mug, please visit the Dogman Encounters Show Store, by going to https://Dogman-Encounters.MyShopify.com If you've had a Dogman encounter and would like to speak with me about it, whether you'd like to keep your encounter confidential or be interviewed on a show, please go to https://DogmanEncounters.com and submit a report. If you've had a Sasquatch sighting and would like to be a guest on My Bigfoot Sighting, please go to https://MyBigfootSighting.com and submit a report. I produce 3 other podcasts. Below, you'll find links to them.My Bigfoot Sighting... https://spreaker.page.link/xT7zh6zWsnCDaoVa7Bigfoot Eyewitness Radio... https://spreaker.page.link/WbtSccQm92TKBskT8My Paranormal Experience... https://youtube.com/channel/UCyxVu8_b4yxLHcZ1fNPmRkAThanks for listening!

This week's show is with Steve Sims. Quoted as “The Real Life Wizard of Oz" by Forbes and Entrepreneur Magazine, Steve Sims is a best selling Author of 'Bluefishing: The Art of Making Things Happen, sought-after coach', top-rated speaker in the US speaker after keynoting at a variety of networks, groups and associations as well as the Pentagon and Harvard – twice. He is the founder and CEO of the luxury concierge service Bluefish.  He's someone who has worked with Sir Elton John and Elon Musk, sent people down to see the wreck of the Titanic on the sea bed and managed to get the museum in Florence, Italy that houses the most famous sculpture on Earth, The Statue of David, to shut down in order to host a private dinner for his client at the foot of the statue with Andrea Bocelli serenading them while they ate their pasta. In this show, we explored the question: what would you create if you weren't afraid of being laughed at? We spoke about cancel culture, the lack of true conversation, how we kill our dreams when people mock us - and why those people are rarely the ones to take notice of. And lastly, why and how you can go for stupid! I'd love to know what YOU think about this week's show. Let's carry on the conversation…  please leave a comment below. What you'll learn from this episode: I loved what Steve said about needing to have the conversation with ourselves about our dreams first - often we're the first person to mock ourselves, instead how about we become the first person to acknowledge ourselves for our dream? People will almost certain laugh at you, especially to begin with, the choice is whether to take notice of them or to listen to the people whose opinion you respect Steve's car analogy was a great one! I wonder what lives we'd create if we made it natural for us to go for stupid? Resources and stuff that we spoke about: Steve Sims' Official Website: http://stevedsims.com Follow Steve in Social Media: FaceBook: https://www.facebook.com/groups/stevedsims/ Twitter: https://twitter.com/stevedsims IG: https://www.instagram.com/stevedsims Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/sdsims/ Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/stevedsims Tik Tok: https://www.tiktok.com/@stevedsims   There's fresh episode each week, if you subscribe then you'll get each new episode delivered to your phone every Tuesday (that way you'll never miss an episode): Subscribe on Apple Podcasts/iTunes Subscribe on Android Thank you! Lian & Jonathan

Comedian John Crist chats with Trey Elling about DELETE THAT (AND OTHER FAILED ATTEMPTS TO LOOK GOOD ONLINE). Topics include: Writing a memoir at 38 (:31) John's unique childhood (2:20) Failure (6:58) Early affirmations from a comic who had 'made it' (10:47) Louie Anderson's generous offer (13:51) Getting over a fear of discussing his spirituality on stage (17:00) Mocking both sides of a topic (22:22) A Sophie's choice for John (25:51) Those little motivators early in a standup career (29:52)

Today's Topics: 1) Singer strikes back at those mocking faith https://www.catholicregister.org/ysn/ysn-news/item/34739-singer-strikes-back-at-those-mocking-faith 2, 3) A Catholic analysis of sports https://www.churchmilitant.com/news/article/catholic-analysis-of-sports-0111 4) What does the word “homily” mean? Is it in the Bible? What makes a good homily?

Dr. Jaishankar is mocking and trolling the West like no one has done in a long time. From 'Europe thinks its problems are the world's problem' to the many quips in the USA, he is confidently putting forth the new confident India before the world. Vijay Sardana joins Vibhuti Jha and Sanjay dixit to discuss.

Calling all metalheads who love a woman who can kick ass!!! You'll need an ice cold shower after this episode. Meet the first Vietnamese female wrestler .. Viva Van Hellbent Vixen. Not only does she love heavy metal, she also sang in the band  , Mocking of the Trinity.  Any league that signs this versatile wrestler, would be lucky. I bet you can't guess what she got her degree .  Ladies...check out her awesome make up line as well.. Hellbent Glam!! Someone sign this lady!! Victoria Tran, known by her ring name Viva Van is an American professional wrestler and model. She is best known for her work on the Independent circuit, wrestling for promotions such as on All Elite Wrestling, Lucha Libre AAA Worldwide, Impact Wrestling, Championship Wrestling from Hollywood, and PCW UltraSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

By a Mocking of God and His Institutions, Threats to Our Churches, Country, and Jesus Followers Are Exacerbated MESSAGE SUMMARY: Our way of life is slipping quickly away from us, but our way of life is not just about elections and politics. This risk arises from direct threats to both our Christian faith-based institutions and our country's related founding principles. The news, 24/7, confirms that this risk is to our churches, to our country, and to our way of life. This threat is coming from a constant state of conflict among institutions, cultures, and individuals. The Bible provides examples of similar institutionalized conflicts throughout the ages. However, today's conflicts, in and among organized religion, are over the basic principles of Biblical teachings and Jesus' Gospel; and these conflicts make one wonder where the path for a way out of this descension and conflict will emerge.  From Clergy, Politicians, and the men and women in the street, God is mocked daily along with His institutions. Paul tells us, in Galatians 6:7, that: “Do not be deceived: God is not mocked, for whatever one sows, that will he also reap." Some ask, in a mocking fashion, “Where is Jesus; He is supposed to be the Peacemaker?”. Jesus answers this question in Matthew 10:34-35, 38-39: “Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I have not come to bring peace, but a sword. For I have come to set a man against his father, and a daughter against her mother, and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law . . . And whoever does not take his cross and follow me is not worthy of me. Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it."    The risks from this conflict, arising from the mocking of God and the large numbers of institutions walking away from the Christian principles upon which America was founded, will only be addressed by a change in our hearts. The hearts of the people will not change until we have a true “spiritual awakening”. As Jesus tells us in John 14:1: “Let not your hearts be troubled. Believe in God; believe also in me.”. Additionally, Isaiah tells us in Isaiah 35:4: “Be strong; fear not! Behold, your God will come with vengeance, with the recompense of God. He will come and save you.”. A spiritual awakening is needed not only to save souls from eternal damnation but to save our way of life. This “Spiritual Awakening” begins by proclaiming Christ faithfully to the nations.   TODAY'S PRAYER: Lord, everything in me resists following you into the garden of Gethsemane to fall on my face to the ground before you. Grant me the courage to follow you all the way to the cross, whatever that might mean for my life. And then, by your grace, lead me to resurrection life and power. In Jesus' name, amen.   Scazzero, Peter. Emotionally Healthy Spirituality Day by Day (p. 100). Zondervan. Kindle Edition. TODAY'S AFFIRMATION: Today, because of I am filled with the Holy Spirit, I will not be controlled by my Compulsions. Rather, I will walk in the Spirit's fruit of Patience. “The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.” (Galatians 5:22f). SCRIPTURE REFERENCE (ESV): John 20:19-25; John 16:33; John 14:27; John 1:14; 1 John 1:9; Luke 24:46; John 3:16; John 5:24; Romans 3:23; Romans 6:23; Romans 5:8; Romans 10:10; Romans 8:1; Romans 8:38-39; John 1:12; Psalms 52:1-9. A WORD FROM THE LORD WEBSITE: www.AWFTL.org. THIS SUNDAY'S AUDIO SERMON: You can listen to Archbishop Beach's Current Sunday Sermon: “Are You Committed to Spending Personal Relationship Time with God Through Prayer? (Video Sunday Sermon)”, at our Website: https://awordfromthelord.org/listen/ DONATE TO AWFTL: https://mygiving.secure.force.com/GXDonateNow?id=a0Ui000000DglsqEAB

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Clip From Ep #355 Of The Clay Edwards Show On 103.9 WYAB   1. Don Lemon get's owned by a guest on his show when the conversation of reparations comes up, me and Derrick discuss, mock and ridicule live on the radio Check out my website & all of my social channels by clicking my link tree at www.solo.to/clayedwards

Belal Muhammad joins the latest episode of The Fighter vs. The Writer to help breakdown everything that unfolded at UFC 278 including Leon Edwards' stunning comeback victory to beat Kamaru Usman and become welterweight champion. Muhammad will give his thoughts on Edwards' performance as well as the set up that led to the head kick knockout to finish Usman in the main event. With his own fight scheduled at UFC 280, Muhammad also addresses the messy situation at 170 pounds now that Edwards is champion and how that might delay his own hopes for a title shot. Will Edwards face Usman again for a third time or could he convince the UFC to give him the fight against Jorge Masvidal instead? Finally, Muhammad will address Conor McGregor and Jake Paul after they both mocked Usman following his devastating knockout loss. All this and more on the latest episode of The Fighter vs. The Writer. Subscribe: Apple Podcasts Subscribe: Spotify Read More: MMA Fighting Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

In recent years, the media decided to put losers like Beto O'Rourke, Stacey Abrams, and now Liz Cheney up on a pedestal. Why is this? CNN's "Reliable Sources" aired its last episode, and Brian Stelter is no longer on the screen. During his last broadcast, he said some weird things, and Chad is here to clarify his statement. Where will Brian go next? A University of Berkley co-op house decided to go full-on racist by declaring that “white guests are not allowed in common spaces.” Is this the America you want to live in? Comedian Ricky Gervais decided to beef up security after recent onstage attacks. The Florida judge that green-lit the FBI raid at former President Trump's home will release key documents of the search warrant. When will Trump announce his candidacy? Dr. Anthony Fauci will step down from his role at the end of the year, and Chad wants Dr. Fauci to be held accountable. Will Dr. Fauci be held accountable? Today's Sponsors: First things first... let's make sure your home's title is securely in your name. You can do that now by going to http://HomeTitleLock.com and use my promo code RADIO. Then enter your address for your FREE, no obligation home title scan. That's a $100 value -- free. Kick leftism where it hurts, and get Blaze Media's conservative socks today, featuring Ron DeSantis, Donald Trump, Glenn Beck, and more! You're gonna love them! Go to http://BlazeSocks.com and get them before they're gone! BlazeTV subscribers get an extra treat: use promo code “BlazeSub” for 20% off your purchase.  Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

https://www.youtube.com/rslash

https://www.youtube.com/rslash

In the more than 150 year history of Major League Baseball, only one player has ever been murdered during a season. That player is Lyman “Wesley” Bostock Jr, a budding star for the Angels in the 70's, who was murdered by a man who whose court case would result in a stunning verdict. In this 8-part series from FOX Sports Podcasts, Tom Rinaldi explores Lyman's improbable life, his tragic death, and the miscarriage of justice that let his killer go free. Follow here: https://listen.foxaud.io/Wesley?sid=und 00:00 James Harden's new contract 23:52 Does the Bucs signing Kyle Rudolph seal the deal on Gronk's retirement? 37:13 KD + Steph 58:55 Jonas Valanciunas mocking LeBron 1:10:24 Baker Mayfield 1:22:28 Russell Westbrook 1:31:12 Tom Brady on latest QB rankings 1:41:32 LeBron says he never thinks about missing a game-winning shot 1:49:50 Jimmy G 1:53:51 Micah Parsons Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices