Podcasts about Ninja Assassin

In this episode of the Action Movie Guys Podcast, Alex and Nate revisit Ninja Assassin (2009) after a long time away. While the film delivers brutal, fast-paced ninja action, does the story hold up just as well? They break down the insane fight sequences, the over-the-top gore, and why the plot might not be as sharp as the swords. Tune in as they decide if this martial arts thriller is still worth the watch!

HAN JOINS THE FAST SAGA!! The Fast & The Furious: Tokyo Drift Full Reaction Watch Along:  https://www.patreon.com/thereelrejects  Download the PrizePicks today & use code REJECTS to $50 instantly when you play $5! https://prizepicks.onelink.me/LME0/RE... Follow Us On Socials:  Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/reelrejects/  Tik-Tok: https://www.tiktok.com/@thereelrejects?lang=en Twitter: https://x.com/thereelrejects Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/TheReelRejects/ The Saga CONTINUES one quarter mile at a time as Aaron Alexander & Tara Erickson return to give their FIRST TIME Reaction, Commentary, Analysis, Breakdown, & Full Movie Spoiler Review for the 3rd film in the Fast & Furious Franchise!! Tokyo Drift shifts gears to introduce Sean Boswell - teenager who becomes a major competitor in the world of drift racing after moving to Tokyo to avoid a jail sentence in America.. The threequel stars Lucas Black (Sling Blade, NCIS: New Orleans) as Sean along with Sung Kang (Live Free or Die Hard, Ninja Assassin) as Han, Shad Moss aka Bow Wow (Scary Movie V, Like Mike), Zachery Ty Bryan (Home Improvement), Brian Tee (Jurassic World, The Wovlerine), Sonny Chiba (Kill Bill Vol 1 & 2), Leonardo Nam (Wesworld), Nathalie Kelley (Dynasty), & MORE! Aaron & Tara REACT to all the Best Scenes & Most Exciting Race / Chase scenes including Masting the Drift, Out of the Garage, The End of Han, Building the Car, The Race Begins, Sean Beats D.K., Pre-Race Tussle, Collecting from Paw, Drifting with Neela, Racing Through Tokyo, & Beyond!! Follow Aaron On Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/therealaaronalexander/?hl=en Follow Tara Erickson: Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/@TaraErickson Instagram:  https://www.instagram.com/taraerickson/ Twitter:  https://twitter.com/thetaraerickson Support The Channel By Getting Some REEL REJECTS Apparel! https://www.rejectnationshop.com/ Music Used In Manscaped Ad:  Hat the Jazz by Twin Musicom is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 license. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ POWERED BY @GFUEL Visit https://gfuel.ly/3wD5Ygo and use code REJECTNATION for 20% off select tubs!! Head Editor: https://www.instagram.com/praperhq/?hl=en Co-Editor: Greg Alba Co-Editor: John Humphrey Music In Video: Airport Lounge - Disco Ultralounge by Kevin MacLeod is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 license. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Ask Us A QUESTION On CAMEO: https://www.cameo.com/thereelrejects Follow TheReelRejects On FACEBOOK, TWITTER, & INSTAGRAM:  FB:  https://www.facebook.com/TheReelRejects/ INSTAGRAM:  https://www.instagram.com/reelrejects/ TWITTER:  https://twitter.com/thereelrejects Follow GREG ON INSTAGRAM & TWITTER: INSTAGRAM:  https://www.instagram.com/thegregalba/ TWITTER:  https://twitter.com/thegregalba Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

One of the most action packed ninja movies in the past 15 years karate chops us right in the titties as Charlie and Nate gush over this mile a minute freight train of fists, blades and bitchin kyoketsu-shoge. Yeah, we can't pronounce it either but it's one of the coolest weapons we've had the pleasure to discuss. Pete paid respect to the film but really didn't like it. That's his freaking problem and we don't have time for that kind of negativity. Truly a masterpiece of action. Watch it then tune in to the show.

With all the fighting  and  sex, my work reviews should suck. In 25 parts, edited from the works of FinalStand. Listen and subscribe to the ► Podcast at Connected..  “Saving a life isn't about worthiness. It is about instinct and guts.” (Friday) Since I liked to think that life encouraging me with bruises, punctures, cuts and concussions made me smarter, I had scheduled some eleven o'clock gym time most of the week so to avoid the whole lunch and after-work crowds. Aya and I went to the 'Others' gym, which was nice, but wasn't as complete as the Full/Pure-blood one. Most notable was the lack of weapons. Aya's and my trip to the 'Other' gym on Friday hit a snag. Aya clued in on the fact that I was avoiding the Pure-blood facility. We talked about it. I explained I wasn't a Pure-blood. Her counter-argument was she was and I should confront my fears. Yes, I lost an argument with a nine year old. I have talked a nineteen year old, promise-ring virgin into nameless sex in an airport stall. Aya was an unassailable wall of resolve that dashed all of my ploys into so many useless words. I found myself entering the real 'No Man's Land' twice in less than a week. Not only was I hard-headed, I was also obviously soft-hearted. At the last moment, I imagined I had a reprieve. I didn't have to tell Aya how I got in the first time; grabbing an open door. I could swipe my card, have it rejected and move on to safer pursuits. Sure enough, my card failed. Aya's didn't; mother-puss-bucket! Upon entering, the twenty, or so women in the place looked at me; and Aya. I recognized somebody. It was Constanza, Elsa's chief evil henchwoman. Our eyes met. She smiled in a way that assured me she vividly recalled our last encounter. It should be of no surprise that I insulted her somewhere in the process. It's how I roll. I smiled back at Constanza and gave her a nod before setting up Aya and me for our workout routine. Constanza was not mollified in the slightest. She was patiently waiting; for something. I decided that Aya would be my sole focus and banished the other women from my mind. The munchkin could tell the difference and relayed that to me with her happiness. After twenty minutes, she decided her time with the machines was done and her minutes were better spent resting against, or sitting on, me. My cock was reminding me that it was approaching 36 torturous hours without sex. It was also pointing out that there were thirty available, sexually inquisitive women achingly close. I reminded my penis that being relocated was probably as fun-less as it sounded. That bought me some time. We finished up our sojourn by walking the wall, going over the weapon racks. Mainly we went over the ones various members of her family were proficient with. Aya still had problems with even the most basic ones. The words 'let me help you' spilled out of my mouth. There were two problems; Aya's tiny size and the fact that all the weapons were very dangerous. Even the leaf-shaped short blade was too heavy for her so we ended up screwing around instead. I picked up two Iron Age style axes. The blades were more of a thick wedge than the broad axe heads of medieval fame. They were less effective in delivering damage, compensating somewhat in their reduced weight. I've convinced a Jewish girl to have sex in a synagogue despite me not being Jewish yet this child was twirling me around her pinkie finger. I was entertaining her with some exotic, flamboyant moves wielding two axes while Aya clapped her hands and giggled when I felt a stranger approach me on the sparring mat. I had been hopping around keeping all my weight on my right leg until that moment. I turned to face the woman, putting my left behind me yet while keeping it firmly on the ground. I also drew my axes up, crossing them over my chest, blades pointing past my shoulders. "I have never seen that technique before," she addressed me. That and what followed was all in the Amazon tongue. "It is more of a fantasy creation. I had a love affair with pseudo-archaic movies that always do the crazy, two-weapon stuff so my mentor helped me create this method," I explained. "Has it ever been tested?" she continued. "I am Cáel Nyilas," I answered, "and yes, my mentor preferred using a poleaxe, or a mace/shield combo against me." "Oneida," she seemed amused. "We will see how well you have been tested." "May I request a favor?" I tried to keep my cool. She pulled out one of those damn spears. "Yes," she seemed intrigued. "Can you call someone over to sit with Aya? I don't want her to accidently set foot on the mat," I beseeched. "Drusilla, please aid me," Oneida summoned an observer. The woman had heard my appeal and settled beside the nervous, kneeling Aya. "Cáel, please be careful," Aya pleaded. "Who me?" I chuckled. "I'm impervious to all man-made contrivances." "Every weapon in this room was crafted by women," Oneida snorted. "That would certainly explain my full-body bruising and the hole in my leg," I grinned back. I caught Oneida trying to sneak closer to me. My axes came to a ready position and I charged. I was sure some sort of medic would punish me for this later. She got off two jabs then I was all over her. I knew how to fight a two and a half meter spear. She had no clue how to plot out two incoming weapons with an extra meter of reach. The first time I drove her off the mat. The second time, I got inside her guard and clocked her in the temple with the back end of an axe head. I quickly hopped back three paces, knelt and put my axes on the mat. The rush to get me was stillborn. A few did come to stand over me while two others checked on Oneida who quickly came around. "What happened?" were Oneida's first, shaky words. "He hit you," one of her companions answered. "With what; the Moon?" Oneida mumbled as they helped her up. "My ears are still ringing." "My turn," Constanza announced. She went for a spear, blade, and round leather-covered, wicker shield. "Give Cáel a moment to rest," Aya appealed. "He has been fighting longer." No such luck. I was halfway to exhausted as well. Fighting with two weapons pretty much means just that; twice the fight. Kinetically speaking, I was burning around 80% more calories than my one weapon opponents. I was wielding axes, not fighting sticks after all. In my favor was a deep wellspring of stamina and my Will reinforced by my desire to not upset Aya. What little time I was given wasn't out of charity. A second Amazon was joining the struggle. I could back off, but I felt Constanza would enforce an intense level of groveling solely to grind up Aya emotionally. She didn't hate Aya. Aya was an avenue to really hurt me and we both knew it. For a second, when I hobbled off the mat, there were chuckles. I had fled. That ended as I began retrieving some select weapons from the wall racks. Sword harnesses came in two varieties; belted and shoulder slings. I took two shoulder slings and two more axes. I affixed my two 'spare' axes with leather straps. As I turned to the mat, Constanza had decided to be clever. She and her buddy had closed to within three meters of the edge. They would box me in as soon as my second foot touched down on the mat. "Please back up," I requested. Constanza smiled with supreme confidence. I smiled back. This was going to be dangerous, agonizing and unorthodox; totally me. I began backing up. "Cáel," Aya murmured. "Don't let them hurt you." "Running away?" Constanza sneered. "Aya, wickedness is the expedience of the weak," I nodded her way. "Do you think I can win?" "Of course," Aya sighed happily. "I am by your side." I laughed. I charged. The Amazons did the precisely wrong thing; the stepped up to meet me. You keep thrusting weapons, like spears, aimed at the central part of the body. This allows you to deviate your projection anywhere from the thighs to the face. This does imply you know where the central part of the enemy will be. This was not playschool. Real weapons; real damage; real death. They didn't have to kill me. It didn't mean they wouldn't. I leapt. I didn't leap at them, I leapt over them. Let's not forget I'm pretty freaking strong. My left leg shot-gunned pain straight to the brain but held it together. I sailed over their thrusting spear points, flipped my axes down so that they would impact the mats first. The flat tops of the axe heads impacted the mat and my body rose up and then flipped over them. This gave me an extra meter and a half on my back flip. I turned that maneuver into summersault, giving three more meters of space. I rolled over to my side and rode the momentum to my feet, facing my adversaries. Now they were the ones in the corner of the mat with their enemy pinning them in and I wasn't done yet. With all my might, I hurled my right-handed axe at Constanza's companion. She did exactly what I thought she'd do. She saw the throw halfway in motion and raised her shield up; right where I wanted it. Amazon shields aren't what most people think shields are today. They think medieval knights, or more appropriately, the shields of the Greek hoplites. The Amazons date back 700 years before those Greeks and they weren't heavy infantry anyway. Amazons moved light and fast. Consequently, their shields were light; wicker constructs with layers of leather stretched over the frame. Great for deflecting light weapons; not so great for what I was about to do. The steel axe head shattered the top half of the wicker frame. It saved her life, but now she had this useless object strapped to her arm. It also had the added bonus of knocking her back while Constanza engaged me alone. Her first jab forced me to jump back, but I still was able to draw my first spare axe. My luck with women held up a little longer. The other Amazon hesitated just long enough to remove her shattered shield. Alone with Constanza, I attacked. She thrust, I captured her spear head between my axe handles and yanked her forward. We kicked out simultaneously. Her off-balanced strike brushed past my abused left leg. My right kick hit her shield and knocked her down. Her grip on the spear slipped and I propelled it somewhere behind me. Constanza pulled off a reverse summersaulted while drawing her short blade. A really nice move. Unfortunately, it moved her away from the chick with the spear, who hesitated again. This time she took the thrown axe straight to the head; back end impacting. I didn't want to kill her. Constanza anticipated my next action. It came down to position, distance, and stride length and they all favored me. We raced to the downed companion. My left-handed axes flat side slammed into her forehead, rendering her unconscious, and I kicked her spear off the mat; out of bounds. I slowly backed away from Constanza and readied my second spare axe. "Retire from the field," I panted. I was physically failing fast. "Why should I?" Constanza glared. "You are about to fall over." "Aya won't let me fall," I stared her down. "You couldn't beat me with a companion and a spear, Constanza. Do you really think a shield and sword will work any better." "Let's find out," she charged. I really needed the short breather to recover somewhat. The short Amazon blade was an excellent close-in weapon. I never let her get close enough to use it. Tandem axes allowed me to shred her shield while keeping her at arm's length. My axe bit into her upper left arm right above the elbow. Constanza hissed instead of screaming. She did stagger back. I hopped back three steps, knelt and placed my axes on the mat at my side. "No!" Constanza howled. She came at me while I remained still. Her hand drew back for a killing thrust. I waited. Sparing my life didn't stop her. The looks of her fellow Amazons held back her wrath. They wouldn't stop her from slaughtering me, but that was exactly what it was; a butchery. Two things occurred to me: Aya was showing remarkably better control today than on Saturday, and I figured out a way to sleep with Buffy tonight. Being killed? Nah, worry about the things you have control over. "Constanza, he was instructing me," Oneida stood up. She took up Constanza's discarded spear and stepped toward us. What disturbed the gathering was how Oneida held it; sidewise, not ready for combat. "You do not intimidate me, Oneida," Constanza growled. "You misunderstand," Oneida intoned. "I would do this out of shame and despair." "I will shear my hair, burn it and take myself to the cliffs to die childless," she continued. "I leave whatever contempt you might possess for me to be conveyed to my House when they learn your actions have killed one of their last breeding females. The death of some male will not concern them. My death will. The shame I bear for killing a teacher will certainly interest many of our people." "You wouldn't dare," Constanza scoffed. The spear dropped. Fuck that noise. I snatched the last quarter of the shaft before it hit the ground. No one seemed to understand what to do about that. Apparently my reaction was unique. "Yay!" Aya cheered. "He's the best Daddy ever," she loudly announced to the crowd. "Oneida, my apology, but Katrina has put her faith in me and the New Directive," I adlibbed. "I am here to aid the recovery of your people, not diminish them. For the sake of Katrina's honor, please reconsider." "Cáel Nyilas," Oneida smiled sadly, "this is not a pledge that can be retracted." "Ah; doesn't it only take effect when the weapon hits the ground?" I struggled. "I mean, otherwise dropping the weapon would be pointless; right?" I repeat, apparently this had never come up before. "This is kind of awkward. Can someone take this?" I meant the spear. I was worn to the bone and holding a long spear from one end, with one hand. Quickly calls went out to Hayden as well as a few department heads. "Constanza," one of the Amazons spoke up, "if you attack the male, you will be actively sealing Oneida's Death Pledge. Far fewer of us will understand that." "How is it that you are so damn lucky?" Constanza growled at me. "You are asking this of a man, on his knees before you with your sword at his throat?" I countered. "Lucky isn't you sparing my life. Lucky is me never having heard of this place; Except for Aya. She makes the rest of this hellish experience worthwhile." "Best Daddy ever," Aya chirped. "Hayden is on her way," a different Amazon called out. Already a passel of newcomers were swarming the scene. Truly curious was the group looking mournfully at Oneida. One stepped forward. "Male, do you need something? Water?" she asked. I gave it some thought. "Could you sing?" I requested. "A nice soothing song of hope would be nice." Blink. Like all panicked moments, nothing came to mind for several seconds. Oneida's people rapidly bantered about some names then the questioner began singing. By the third song I was crying and shaking like a leaf. Constanza had fallen back enough to get her arm tended to. Twice Aya had tried to get me, lending me the tiniest bit more strength. Wisely, her minder kept her away from the possible conflict. There was a whole different level of commotion when Hayden arrived this time. "To bear a weapon in my presence is Death, Cáel," Hayden stated. "I apologize for being a disappointing Male," I grunted. "Pass on my regrets to Katrina." "Drop the weapon and you will be spared. You will only be beaten," Hayden gave a hint of a smile. "If I drop it, she dies," I hissed. The ache in my right arm was exceeding that in my left leg. "I'm afraid I will have to decline," I concluded. "If I kill you, the spear will drop and she'll die anyway," Hayden pointed out. "Sucks to be both of us, I guess," I gasped. "Oneida, step on the spear. Push it down," Hayden ordered. Hush. Oneida raised her foot. "You are stepping in the wrong place," I huffed. She looked at me. My eyes flashed to the short side between my grip and my side. "Do you really think you can hold it up?" she questioned. "I know I'll fail if you step anywhere else," I tried to grin. "No matter what happens, you will die," she murmured. "Not my chief concern right now," I grunted. "Hurry." Oneida put her foot on the short end. "It will help your balance if you place a hand on his shoulder," Hayden noted. We both flashed Hayden a shocked look. Oneida stepped on the spear. It trembled and sunk down, barely millimeters off the mat. Her hand came to rest on the crux of my neck and shoulder. I felt my body about to tip over. I was at my limit. I almost missed the gasps whispering around the assembly. Oneida had her body off the ground. Hayden lowered herself so that she could witness there was a distance between the spear and the earth. "The spirits have not heard your pledge, Oneida," Hayden declared as she regained her regal posture. "I suggest you weigh your words with greater care in the future. Retrieve your spear." She turned and started to leave the gym. Oneida dismounted and snatched up her spear. "What of the male?" one of the spectators inquired. I didn't care. I had fallen on my back. "At a moment of such great spiritual significance; the ancestral rejection of a Death Pledge, the action of any one male does not concern me," Hayden remarked coldly. It wasn't praise. It was a 'don't fuck with him'. Around me a cultural conundrum was taking place. Not only could Oneida's house not thank me because I was a male, they couldn't thank me because, by Hayden's decree, there was no life to be saved. Oneida bent over me on one knee. "You really shouldn't be so eager to toss your life away, Cáel," she smiled warmly. I was essentially immobile. "You have the most gorgeous blue-grey eyes," I moaned. "You are thinking about that at a time like this?" she snorted. Her relatives were shockingly amused as well. "No time like the present. Besides, in 75 days you can all go out to some nature preserve and hunt me down with non-lethal weapons. Great way to spend a weekend." I heard an authoritative cough. I looked up from my still prone position to see Katrina. "Cancel that Oneida. I'm about to get relocated to Antarctica where I'll be tasked with teaching penguins how to arm wrestle," I sighed. "Cáel, why do you think I'd be so nice to you after all the hell you cause me on a daily basis?" Katrina looked all menacing. "You recall how much I like winter sports?" I pleaded. "Hey; wait. I was good on Friday. Wasn't I good on Friday?" "I don't recall you having a good day yet, but I may double check. Can you stand?" Katrina asked. "Is that a question, or veiled order?" I muttered. "If the former; no. If that latter, I'll die trying." Using a combination of my right leg and left arm, I managed to struggle my way upright. By that time, Aya had circled the practice mat and was at Katrina's side. "He was very brave," Aya insisted. One of Oneida's senior women coughed. "Nothing happened so nothing has changed," Katrina stated. It was a lie and both sides knew it. It was the whole loyalty/martial valor thing. Inside their closed little minds a balancing act had taken place; my worthlessness as a male against Oneida's value to her people. Aya was easy to discount as she was of Katrina's house. I had no clue who Oneida was yet still rallied to her when she desperately needed help; Hayden's obfuscation be damned. Yeah, Oneida had been young and foolish. Her challenge had been given to make Constanza back off. When Constanza called her bluff, pride took over. Oneida had been foolhardy and overly status conscious. Constanza had played Russian roulette with their House's future and almost 'won'. She'd be wise to avoid darkened corridors for the next few weeks too. There was not only Oneida's house but the houses allied to it to worry about despite Hayden's expunging of the official record. For me, it was time to be dragged over to my cute doctor friend. I had been slashed twice by the spears during my jump and not noticed it; adrenaline no doubt. "Congratulations, you and Aya are forbidden to work. I thought keeping you in the building would be safer. I'm mature enough to admit I was wrong," Katrina conceded. "No place is safe for you, or from you. I'm sending you home, under guard." "Can I choose Buffy?" I perked up. Katrina arched an eyebrow. "I also need something," I kept slaloming down toward Hell. "I need a six hour dispensation from you on the whole sex thing with employees." "Oh Goddess," Katrina laughed. "What part of me wanting you to stay alive have you missed?" "Are you going to sleep with my Mommy now?" Aya grinned. "No," Katrina answered for me, "he's going to play with Buffy." Right on the money. One scary-smart woman without a doubt. "Best of all, I'll let you assign Buffy to be your security for the night and you can tell her the good news when you get home. Aya, that means Cáel does, not you." "Yes Aunt Katrina," Aya moaped. She wanted me to be banging Caitlyn; her Momma. We would make love, Caitlyn would take me as her mate and I'd be Aya's Daddy for real. She'd kill me a month later for my twelfth indiscretion. I'm not a fortuneteller. I'm a bookie and I knew the odds of me staying faithful were a sucker's bet. The only questions were how many and with which one Caitlyn would kill me with. I wasn't sure how to break that reality to Aya. After getting bandaged/tortured my doctor, cleaned up and redressed, I managed to survive the rest of the day without catastrophe. (Later) "Cáel, do you realize that you've been wounded more than most Security Detail recruits do during their basic training?" Violet teased me. Buffy was too furious for coherent speech. "It isn't his fault, Buffy," Aya pleaded. "He wasn't seducing a woman, or anything like that. Oneida tried to sex him up all on her own." Huh? "Constanza's nipples were very aroused and we all know what she wanted." I really was worrying about the twisted sexual education Aya was getting. She knew the terms, but was missing out on the complete meaning of what she was saying. "Oneida? Who the hell is Oneida?" Buffy growled. "She's one of the new hires with Acquisitions," Violet answered. Brian Fung's group. "What were you making eyes at her for?" Buffy snarled possessively. "He didn't," Katrina swept into the office. "She made a Death Pledge and Cáel, acting as a vessel for our Ancestors, refused it; so the youngest breeding female in House Arinniti gets to keep living." I grunted because I knew who Arinniti was, or had been. "Vessels for the Ancestors?" Violet gasped. "Arinniti; that name rings a bell," Buffy mumbled. "She's one of the twenty founding bloodlines," Aya gladly provided. Katrina took her seat behind her desk and regarded me with something between amusement, annoyance, and pride. Oh, and sex. "Violet, Cáel held a weapon in the presence of Hayden; the spear that Oneida had dropped to seal her pledge. If he was a male acting alone, he would have to be killed. Is that the course of action you wish to recommend to the High Priestess?" Katrina suggested. "Ancestors work for me," Violet gulped. "You can't take back a Death Pledge," Buffy turned to Katrina. "It is a Death Pledge." "It appears you can if Cáel is in the room," Katrina smirked. "Best Daddy ever!" Aya yipped. "He caught the spear before it hit the ground and held it until Hayden came by and read the signs from the Ancestors that Cáel was supposed to retract Oneida's words. Hayden even had Oneida stand on the spear, but Da; Cáel didn't let it fall." "Maybe the Ancestors think Cáel is sexy too," Aya added. Groan. "They had better not," Buffy spun back to me threateningly. Fine, if some undead man-haters thought I was hot; sigh; that might entail there would be no rest for me even in the afterlife. "Buffy, do you have plans for this weekend?" I glared. "Why?" she snapped. "Great. Katrina, I want Buffy to be my bodyguard for this weekend," I looked to my boss. Aya almost slipped up, but bit her lip to hold herself back. "Fine," Katrina grumbled. "I promised you that you could choose your guardian. I was truly hoping you would pick among the candidates from SD I suggested, but so be it." "I have to be around him all weekend?" Buffy howled. "Yeah," I exhaled happily, "and I plan to have sex all weekend long." From the look on Buffy's face, she knew she was going to die. She was going to see me having sex with someone else, snap, kill me then kill herself out of shame and grief. Yep, she was going to die. It turned out Aya was off to Amazon Summer Camp for Squirts. We quickly arranged a series of smoke signals she could use to send for me if she was in danger. Desiree rolled her eyes, hefted Aya's luggage and left with my tiny boon companion. I sobbed. "Katrina, can I go see her when she's at camp?" I turned to my boss. "Cáel Nyilas, this is a place where we send our greatest treasure; our children," Katrina smirked. "We will not discuss the abuse of power it would be for me to reveal the location to you." "Cool; Daphne, where is it?" I turned to my closest female new hire. "I won't tell you and it changes every year," Daphne smiled. "But you know where it is this year," I persisted. "I didn't say I didn't," Daphne beamed. "Fine. Come home with me. While my ogress henchwoman holds you down, I'll tickle the truth out of you," I menaced. "Buffy don't!" Tigger shouted. Buffy was about to brain me with my reading lamp. I was fearless. "Okay, Bubbles," I beamed vindictively. "Go get us a car and make it snappy." There was a hush. "What? Did I use any words that were too big for you to understand?" Buffy's screamed caused people to reach for their sidearm three floors away. She stormed out, thankfully not running over anyone. "Do you want to die?" Violet tugged my sleeve. "Let the 'Lost Blood' (Old Kingdom Hittite) deal with him," Fabiola sneered. "They are both annoyances." I took a deep breath. "Fabiola, your laws regulate what I can and can't say to you," I stared at her. "Instead, I beseech you to never insult a 'Runner' (Old Kingdom Hittite) in my presence again." "Buffy is a 'Lost Blood' (Old Kingdom Hittite)," Fabiola defied me. I took another deep breath then hobbled over to Katrina's desk, retrieved a pen, piece of paper and a nice, soapstone-encased lighter. By the time I got back to my desk, I certainly had the new hires' attention. Since Fabiola was a Latin name, I had to guess at what it would look like in the Amazon alphabet. "Daphne, is this right?" I asked. She shook her head. She wouldn't give me the answer. I got it on the third try. I showed Fabiola her name on the paper then burned it. I rubbed the ashes between my palms then showed Fabiola my blackened palms. "What does that mean?" Paula inquired. She was worried. I was both flamboyant and hardcore at the same time. "Who cares?" Fabiola mocked me. "'Ghost'" I said in Old Kingdom Hittite. It took them a few seconds to realize it had a second definition; invisible. I had no doubt Katrina fully understood the implications of my actions. "Cáel, I will have to consult with Hayden over this," Katrina mused. I gave a nod, collected my stuff and headed for the elevator. "Katrina, what did he do?" Dora chimed in. "He murdered Fabiola," Katrina enlightened them. "In his mind, she no longer exists." "Can he do that?" Violet wondered. Fabiola took after me. "Cáel," she called out. I ignored her. She caught up. "Cáel." Ignored. Then she shoved me from behind in the shoulder. I kept walking. "Don't you ignore me!" she seethed. Daphne was coming up fast. "Leave him alone," Daphne insisted. Fabiola shoved me again. I was almost at the elevator. "Don't," Helena came up. She was aiming for Daphne because Daphne was about to kick Fabiola. "She's insulting you!" Daphne reacted to Helena while pointing at Fabiola. "He is a man," Helena explained. "We don't fight over men." Meaning that couldn't be the primary excuse, not that it never happened. "Katrina, make me Cáel's boss," Fabiola shouted. Well, I would never dare shout at Katrina unless her life was on the line. Also, technically Fabiola couldn't be my boss, being a 'new hire' and all. "Cáel Nyilas, Fabiola is your boss for the next five minutes," Katrina intoned. Oh fuck. "Cáel, to my side," Fabiola gloated. I looked past her to Katrina, sighed and punched the elevator button. "Don't turn your back on me," Fabiola snarled. A tug of war developed. She kept trying to turn me away from the elevator doors and I refused to be budged. Fabiola drew her blade. Shit. "You cannot run far enough away that I will let you get away with that," Daphne seethed in Old Kingdom Hittite. Fabiola was about to meet that challenge. "What are you doing?" Katrina had been coming out of her office when she caught the exchange. "I;” Daphne stammered. She'd screwed up. "Apologize," Katrina commanded. Daphne apologized grudgingly. The doors opened. "Cáel, hold the door." I did. "Cáel, to my side," Fabiola repeated. She thought she was about to win. I stayed where I was. "Fabiola, he can't hear you," Katrina pointed out. "Of course he can hear me," Fabiola rebutted. "No; no he can't," Katrina remained calm. "You have rendered yourself dead to him. Since he is not a priestess, or augur, he cannot hear the voices of the dead." "He cannot willfully decide he can't hear me," Fabiola demanded. "Oh, I agree. That would be wrong for him to willfully ignore any Havenstone female. Conversely, he can't allow any of our women to be harmed either," Katrina explained patiently. "So, when he witnessed an assault on the spirit of our women, he attempted to address it." "He approached the perpetrator and politely asked them to refrain from that activity. He was rebuffed. It wasn't like he could physically resolve the issue. To resolve that internal conflict; to defend his sisters but not attack a sister, he symbolically killed the problem. This allowed him to constantly and continuously forget the cause of this disruption." "He can't do that," Fabiola persisted. "Actually, it is pure Cáel," Katrina smirked. "I personally unaware of any scripture, bylaw, or statute that forbids him from doing this. I have given you a reasonable argument that explains his actions. He is essentially working through two conflicting orders." "Now Fabiola, as a perspective leader, what do you suggest he do? Let you force him to be relocated when he breaks your jaw? Let you insult half of Havenstone's staff until one day, one of them snaps and you end up in a Newark landfill? That would be wrong of him to do as he is supposed to lay his life down for us," Katrina kept at it. "What do you suggest?" "How do you resolve the crisis? Before you answer that, consider the fate of Leona," Katrina gave a predatory twist of the lips that would make a Momma T-Rex proud. "This male is making us fight amongst ourselves," Fabiola complained. "I'm not fighting just for the male," Daphne growled. "I'm fighting to have offspring that are strong in both body and mind." "Hey," Helena snorted, "can you imagine how much tougher the women in Acquisitions and Business Management have it? We get to talk about the New Directive without fear of weirding Cáel out." "Please believe me," I chuckled. "I'm still weirded out. There is simply nothing I can do about it so I get on with my day." "I don't understand any of you," Fabiola protested. "Fabiola, will Aya die?" Katrina asked. "Yes." "Why?" Katrina continued. "She is small, weak and hyperactive," Fabiola explained. "Cáel, will Aya die?" "No." "Why?" Katrina gazed at me. "Isn't she small, weak and hyperactive?" "Sure, she's small now, but she's only nine. Look at the size of all the other women in her house. None of them are super-tall either," I answered. "She's not hyperactive. She is very bright with a very active imagination. Once she finds her 'stillness'; her center; she'll do fine. If anything, she's too smart. She figures out that her guardians are worried, why they are worried and has to fight against their disappointment every time she does anything." Fabiola snorted, proving yet again she was clueless to her surroundings. "After all, Katrina, she's related to you and you are one of the scariest-smart people I've ever had the pleasure to know," I smiled. I could reply to Fabiola while not replying. "Cáel, go. You are unlikely to survive Buffy as it is," Katrina directed. Buffy was indeed apoplectic. She did manage to let me retrieve my bike before driving me home. Since I was dragging both all my business clothes, toiletries and my bike upstairs with crutches, it was painfully comical. A furious Buffy relented and took a few of my things. We had barely made it in the door when my phone rang. Buffy dumped my belongings in the center of the living room. "Hey," I answered the phone. "Hey, it's Odette," she greeted me happily. "Are you still in the HQ?" "Nope Odette," I grinned at Buffy. "I'm home. Do you want to come over?" "Sure; it's not going to be a problem, is it?" she asked. "I have a good friend over, but if you can stand my illicit behavior, you are more than welcome," I informed her. "Cool," she chirped. "I'll be over in about an hour." "See you soon. Until then Odette," I said. "Now I have to watch you fuck a whore?" Buffy stared at the ground. I wasn't going to go after for the 'whore' thing. She was at the end of her endurance. I knew that. I limped in front of her and pulled out her phone. She was too angry to look up at me so I knelt down. "Buffy," I showed her the text from Katrina about my six hour sexual exemption. She looked up and read it. "So? What does this mean?" Buffy looked ready to explode in tears and fists. "It means that when Constanza had her sword aimed at my throat I figured out a way to ease some of your fears," I stated. She blinked. "You worried that I'd be dead by the end of the month, and I did promise to try and make you the first Havenstone woman I made love to," I explained. "Constanza was about to kill you and you were thinking of me?" is what Buffy got out of all that. "Yeah. I also realized that Aya was far calmer than she was last Saturday, but the major thing was how to ask Katrina for the exemption and lure you here for the weekend," I told her. "Weekend?" Buffy studied me intently. "Yeah," I grinned seductively. "See, I figure we time everything. When we start something naughty, we flip on the timer and the moment we are done, we flip it off," I met her gaze. "That way we squeeze as much out of the six hours as possible; if that's what you want to do?" Buffy hugged me suddenly. "You were about to die and I was the one you were thinking about," Buffy wept. By that, I meant she fell apart emotionally. I had always seen Buffy so fierce that I was caught off-guard by this open vulnerability. I hugged her back and snuggled her close. She sniffled for several seconds. "This doesn't count, does it?" she hiccupped. "This is purely platonic. I'm bonding with my supervisor; team-building," I stated firmly. "Oh Goddess, you are crazy, you are crazy, you are crazy," she murmured into my shoulder. "Okay, I'm crazy. I also really want to have sex with you," I pushed her back so we could look eye to eye. "Or, are you going to make me beg like a big baby?" "I really want to have sex with you too," Buffy smiled; romantically. The fiery freakiness was gone to be replaced by a deeply sensual, gentle spirit. What the hell? "Let's go to the bedroom," I suggested. "We can try out the sofa later." "Is your leg going to be okay?" she suddenly worried. "Which one? Two of the three are working fine," I teased. No anger. "I love your sense of humor," Buffy snickered. I repeat; Huh? We stripped down then crawled under the sheets. Buffy was demure, calm and at peace. "Buffy, I don't want to ruin the mood," I said as I pulled her close. "But you are not acting normal and I don't know what to make of it," I completed. "I won," Buffy stroked my cheek lovingly. "I beat out everyone else for you. I gave it everything I had, you recognized that and came to me. This is me being happy, Cáel. Would you prefer me to be combative?" "I prefer you," I teased. The 'thank you' hovered right on the other side of unspoken. It wasn't in her. She was starting to get amorous. I pulled away to Buffy's momentary confusion then the condom came out, I ripped open the packet, slipped on the prophylactic and returned to my lover. I was about to slip into Buffy, missionary style. "Wait!" she stopped me. She hit two buttons on her wrist watch. "Timer," she explained. In I went. Buffy gasped slightly then began moving her legs up along my thighs. Years of experience made this a slow, gentle screw. This wasn't me wasting time; Buffy wanted savagery later. For her triumphal moment, she wanted to savor every second of this first time with her prize; me. Tender kissing and nuzzling were the signs of our affection. She ran her hands over my shoulders, back and ass. I would balance on my right arm while I coaxed delightful hums from Buffy. This was not Buffy's first time. By the level of stimulation she was giving me, this was unlikely to even be her 100th time. She knew her stuff. She had mentioned me physically and cerebrally engaging her being a reason she was so desperate to 'have' me. I had misinterpreted that. Buffy wanted a sex partner that could keep up in a way that went far beyond stamina; she hungered for matching skill and maturity. She could give me subtle clues with her body and I'd pick up on them, folding them back into my own actions and signals. There aren't too many that can meet me orgasm for orgasm. Buffy did. She crested first, but I was only seconds behind her. Before my final blasts, I rolled us over so that she was on top. I tried wiggle out of her. Buffy resisted. "Don't pull out yet," Buffy requested. "If I pull out, we can stop the clock," I insisted. "Oh," she giggled, "me lying naked on top of you in your bed isn't 'inappropriate behavior'?" "I won't tell if you won't," I snickered. Buffy cut of the timer on her wristwatch. Buffy was bringing her breathing under control and getting comfortable with our sweatiness. "If you hadn't been as good as your hype," Buffy whispered after a minute, "I think I would have fallen apart; and killed you; then probably myself." "Whoa," I reacted. "Explain that. Girls wanting to kill me is fine. Girls killing themselves for anything remotely involving me isn't." She mulled that over. She wasn't going to apologize yet felt a need to share something. I had to be patient. I've been with a lot of girls and a few guys who didn't take rejection well. That rarely had anything to do with the actual rejection. It was some festering wound much deeper and older than their encounter with me. "In high school I discovered the wonders of sex. I loved it. Not the lover, but the carnal act. I'd screw anyone, as long as it was something new and different," Buffy confided. "After a few bad incidents, my parents; my stepfather and my mother; threw me out because they thought I was a bad influence for my two younger sisters. I went to a city and did the only thing I was good at. I met this guy; you know the story. He would protect me, love me, blah, blah, blah," Buffy recalled painfully. "Slowly the sex stopped being fun. It was money and not my money at that. One night I got sick of it. 'He' wanted me to perform, I told him I was leaving so he and two buddies raped me. They raped me a lot over the next two days while they smoked meth and drank," she continued. "Finally, when they all passed out, I went to the place where he had his gun." "That wasn't going to be good enough for me," she tilted her head up to study my eyes. "I got his baseball bat instead and knocked them all out real good. I found a few garbage bag twist ties, tied their hands behind their backs and went at all three with a knife. I gutted them a bit so they were awake and in a shitload of pain; then I hacked their cocks and balls off." I was less revolted than I thought I'd be. I still felt my dick shrivel and my balls trying to retract into my bodies. I certainly wasn't going to joke about it; this was a serious sensitive moment for her. I stroked her hair. I could live with this revelation. I wasn't sure why I could, but my heart and mind weren't freaking out, so I went with my instincts. "I had barely finished up when the cops came bursting in. I had taken far longer torturing them than I imagined and their screams had been heard all over the housing complex. They Tasered me, I went to jail and finally to trial. My defense attorney argued an 'Insanity' Plea and I ended up in a mental facility," she was clearly relieved that I wasn't terrified. "A few months later, Katrina showed up," Buffy continued. "She wasn't where she is today. We talked a great deal, but there were only two crucial questions for her. 'Do you regret killing those men?' and 'Can you have sex again?' I answered 'no' and 'yes' after some thought. Two weeks later, I was transferred to a Havenstone facility, they cleaned me up, trained me, and I was stationed here." "What is with you and Elsa?" I prodded a handful of minutes later. "Don't go there, Cáel," Buffy muttered. "Do you seriously want me to confront her not knowing the whole score?" I countered. "She is a complete and total racist Bitch," she grumbled. "Please don't tell me it was a sex contest," I groaned. "If she is better than you, I'm going to die." Her grumbling lack of an explanation allowed me to crack a joke. Buffy 'punished' me by kissing my chin. "No, it wasn't a cunt-thing. If she can fuck you better than me, you have my permission to die," she smiled playfully. Scary. I was so used to her being scary, Buffy not being scary was scaring me. Push? "Well, the only thing I can do then, is a Buffy-Elsa-Cáel three-way," I sighed. "Okay," Buffy murmured. "Stop it!" I shouted. "You are freaking me out." Buffy giggled. I was howling off into madness on the inside. "I think you have company coming soon. We should get clean and put some clothes on," she exhaled joyously. By dressed, Buffy meant putting on my dress shirt; unbuttoned. She was like that, cross-legged on the sofa, eating Cheese Puffs and watching 'Real Housewives of Mumbai' when Odette arrived. It took Odette a second to realize this Buffy was the same firecracker from the last time they met. "Hi; um," Odette started. "We are fine. He fucked me. I'm in a state of grace," Buffy explained pleasantly; without a hint of menace, or fury. "Buffy; Odette Sievert," I made introductions. "Odette; Buffy Dubois." Odette strode right over to the sofa and plopped down beside Buffy. I had to struggle to not flinch. "He gives an incredible dicking, doesn't he?" Odette bubbled. "Yes," Buffy purred, "Yes, he does that and more. You are new to this whole 'love-making thing, aren't you?" "Pretty much," Odette openly admitted. "He gave me my first orgasm. I didn't realize how good sex was until I met Cáel." "I didn't realize how good sex was until I met me either," I joked. "Trust me," Buffy patted Odette's thigh, "I know a great deal about sex and I can assure you he's really, really good." "You are not wearing underwear," Odette noted. Life only got more bizarre. "Why don't you go into the bedroom, get one of his used dress shirts and put it on; and nothing else," Buffy advised. "It is a wonderful experience." "Oh God, don't I know it," Odette exulted. She jumped up and skipped into my bedroom. "Don't play with her," I cautioned Buffy. Buffy studied me then gave me a glowing look. "I'm trying to be a better companion Cáel," she told me. "I know I've put you through hell. I'm not going to apologize. I like the look of fear in your eyes. It is only matched by that look that says 'I'll get you for this'," she chuckled. "Just for that, its reverse cowgirl for you the next time we make love," I threatened. "How is that a threat?" Buffy teased. "I am absolutely positive you like my ass." "I bet he likes all of you," Odette sang out as she came out twirling in another one of my dressed shirts and nothing else. Odette had change really quick. I knew she came over bra-less. I was suspecting no underwear, or socks too. She sat down tightly next to Buffy. "So, how is this 'sharing' thing going to work?" Odette looked back and forth between us. "Have you ever been with a woman?" Buffy asked. "Don't be embarrassed about curiosity." "Ah; well, a little," Odette stammered. "Here is how it works," Buffy patted Odette's nervous hand. "I can only have sex with Cáel for five and a half more hours for the entire weekend. Since I like sex and you are here, I'm certainly interested in you." "Odette," she reassured my bed-buddy, "there is no pressure. I have gotten the most important thing; quality time with Cáel. Everything else is a bonus." "Oh; I'm okay with that," Odette nodded. Then she leaned in to kiss Buffy; maybe I should create a 'Sex for Beginners' CD. I was working gangbusters on expanding Odette's sexual horizons. Buffy wrapped a hand in Odette's hair and drew her into a steamer kiss. I settled in behind Odette, switching kisses between the back of Odette's head and Buffy's hand. "Wow," Odette panted. "You taste different than any guy I've kissed. I like it, but I like Cáel better." Before anyone thinks this never happens, or 'only in Hollywood (West Hollywood, that is), please understand I went to a rural college with a 70% female student enrollment. Convincing a girl to engage in a little girl-on-girl action to 'get me extra aroused' is insanely easy. The few times a lady has asked if I'd kiss a guy to get her 'extra aroused', I said 'for her and only for her'. Works every time. I've kissed a few guys, but only for charity. Fine; I've kissed a few guys in gay bars because Timothy intimated that we'd get our asses kicked if I didn't. He may have been playing me, but for all the shit I put him through, I can live with that. Back to the story: we had Odette in my bed in no time. I was on the bottom, Odette was lying on me, back to my chest and I was using my hips to piston into her while she moaned on top of me. Buffy was alternating between tantalizing Odette's clit and teasing her nipples. Using a very liberal definition for 'touching me', we decided that this wasn't consuming any of our 'exemption' time. Three orgasms later, Buffy poured an uber-contented Odette into her/my shirt and I carried her to the sofa. I put Odette's head in Buffy's lap, Buffy twirling Odette's forelock and Odette humming a happy tune. I was getting some apple and orange juice when Timothy's keys jangled in the door. He walked into the apartment and soaked up the scene. I took in that it was barely 8:30 and Timothy was in his date clothes. A seriously not-good situation. I diverted to him, drinks in hand, and hugged him. "Sorry Bro," I murmured. He hugged me back. "Buffy DuBois, this is Timothy." "Buffy? The crazy chick who wanted a hug?" Timothy chuckled. "She's not;” Odette mumbled. "Yes, that would be me," Buffy grinned sedately. Timothy looked down and shook his head. "That is some dick," he groused. "Damn Bro, "Timothy regarded me with some amusement, "did you bother to get her panties off, or was the mere thought of sex with you enough to cause a complete personality reversal?" "Cáel," Odette raised a shaking arm and commanded loftily, "put the drinks down and get us some ice cream. It is Bonding Time." She meant commiserating with Timothy over his dating failure. Timothy trundled off to his bedroom muttering something about 'getting into something more comfortable' and I delivered the drinks then doubled back for the ice cream and four spoons. Timothy ended up on the floor with his head resting against Odette's stomach. I offered to take the bottom spot. Timothy accepted the gesture then pointed out I was the guy with the bum leg. I ended up with Odette's feet in my lap. The flavor of the night was Cherry Vanilla and we were all making inroads into the supply quickly. Timothy dialed up Ninja Assassin on Netflix. Ten minutes in I realized why. There was this Asian actor who was really hot and extremely physically fit. Odette agreed. "You two can't believe any of this is real," Buffy commented shortly after. "This is absurd. Nothing and no one kills like that." She had professional pride after all. It hadn't taken me three days to figure out that the Executive Service babes' main purpose in life was not laundry delivery. They went everywhere and saw everything; just like a secret police force. Odd, huh? "Speaking of absurd and unreal," Timothy snickered. "Cáel, two ladies screaming Extreme High Maintenance showed up this morning. Apparently you weren't answering your phone, work said you were out of the office, and some spooky chicks at Havenstone showed them the door with something akin to a threat of lethal violence," he continued. "From long experience as your roommate, I could tell you'd fucked them to Nirvana and they wanted more." "From long experience'?" Buffy wondered. "You haven't known him two months yet." "Lady, this happens at least once a week with this guy. You are playing with the hair of one of those women right now," Timothy told her. "Yeah," Odette sighed happily. I was still wrapping my mind around the fact that Buffy hadn't threatened me with violence in the past four hours. Not even a glower. "So, what did you tell them?" I asked my bud. "I looked terribly put out then informed them you'd decided to become a Dominican and gone to a monastery in Italy to train," Timothy smirked. "What did you really say?" I thumped his head with my spoon. Before anyone goes 'iew, don't eat with that', I would remind you how pervasive hair is in a bachelor pad. Vacuum and you'll find out. "I told them you work in Looney Tunes Central; which they bought surprisingly easily; and that you would give them a call the moment your destiny was returned to you," Timothy said. I was willing to bet he used those exact words too. "What has Cáel told you about Havenstone?" Buffy prodded. "No way, Buffy," Timothy shook his head. "You are still one of those crazy bitches. Cáel hasn't told me the real deal, but when he looked me in the eye and said you ladies might kill me, I knew he wasn't playing around. He was afraid for my life." "Do you really think we would hurt you?" Buffy persisted. "You put an arrow in my boy; and he's got the magic dick. Since I'm not likely to put out for you ladies, I pretty much believe you'll put one through my heart without batting an eye," Timothy countered. "What would you do if he simply stopped showing up one day?" Buffy mused. "Not ask," Timothy snapped off his reply. "I trust Cáel enough to heed his warning and get on with my life." "Cáel has a big heart," Buffy regarded me warmly. "It is one of the many things that makes him a great prize." "Salmon; Angel Falls," Timothy taunted me. Before I even started at Havenstone, he had warned me that I had no chance of making it in that women-dominated Hell. He was right and he loved rubbing it in; the Bastard. To clarify: a salmon is a stupid fish who follows his penis to his death and Angel Falls in Venezuela is the Earth's longest, continuous waterfall; that's 807 meters for those who don't want to use Wikipedia. "Timothy, if there was any doubt, there will be no mention of Tuesday night and what came afterwards," I urged my guy. "Way ahead of you," Timothy chuckled. That was Rhada we were talking about. "If you are going to hang around Cáel, you will have to get used to all the other ladies," Odette sighed comfortably up at Buffy. "I know," Buffy stroked Odette's ear. "Also, if you see me outside of Cáel's home, be afraid of me because if you aren't, bad things might happen to you. Do we understand each other?" "No," Odette hesitated to respond. "Don't worry about it; just do it," Buffy warned her; affectionately. I was going mad. For the rest of the movie, everyone behaved. We emptied the ice cream container. Timothy went for beers. He bought back three. "Where is mine?" Odette inquired. "I don't think you are old enough to drink," Timothy told her. "Odette, if you give Buffy a kiss steamy enough to curl her toes, I'll give you mine," I offered. Odette weighed the offer, rolled over and crawled into Buffy's lap. The kiss was classic me; teasing contact; light tongue; full kiss; re-arrangement of tonsils. I was so proud of my girl. "That was exceedingly pleasant, Odette," Buffy grinned once the French kiss eventually ended. I handed Odette my beer. She remained straddling Buffy's lap, perfectly at ease. "Dude, do you have any guy friends you can bring over and make gay?" Timothy pleaded with me. We knew that didn't happen. "Fine, bi will do," he grinned. "I'm not a lesbian," Odette wiggled in Buffy's lap. "I just like Buffy." "Buffy likes you," Buffy placed a light kiss on Odette's lips. "Let's go to the bedroom." Acid test time. "Sure," Odette hopped up. She took Buffy's hand and pulled her up. Hand in hand they went to my room. I rose to follow. "We'll call you when we are ready," Buffy teased me. They went into my boudoir and shut the door. "Now you know how I feel," Timothy sighed. "Not really," I patted his shoulder. "In thirty, or forty minutes, I'm going to go in there and do some serious boning. Personally, I don't know how you take sleeping alone so often." Timothy and I sat down on the sofa. "You are an asshole," he grumbled. "Considering what you do to assholes, I don't know how to take that," I joked. He hit me. "Being gay would be the only thing that would make you more fun," Timothy laughed. I wondered how Katrina would take my sexual conversion. I deciding telling her would be unwise. I had another rescue flare about how out of control my life had become; Odette had seen my latest series of bandaged wounds and hadn't forced me to create some lie to explain them away. Damn. To be continued in Part 11 By FinalStand for Literotica.

Cáel's tombstone: For the love of women, women put him here.In 25 parts, edited from the works of FinalStand.Listen and subscribe to the ► Podcast at Connected..

Lethal Mullet Podcast: Episode #259: Ninja Assassin   The Mullet returns with a look at the classic 2009 ninja showcase NINJA ASSASSIN. Produced by the makers of The MATRIX, and directed by James McTiegue, this film starring Korean Pop Star Rain, and classic action star Sho Kosugi is the greatest of the modern ninja films.  Find Lethal Mullet Podcast on: Apple / Stitcher / Spotify / Google Play / Podbean / IheartRadio Contact: Site: fpnet.podbean.com Twitter: @fanpodnetwork Facebook & Instagram: Fandom Podcast Network Adam: @thelethalmullet (Twitter/Facebook/Instagram) FPN Master Feed: fpnet.podbean.com Catch the flagship show: Culture Clash, Blood of Kings, and the host of amazing podcasts covering all of Lethal Mullet Podcast Flashback. #fandompodcastnetwork #lethalmulletpodcast #ninjaassassin

In the fifty second episode of the series we review the 2009 action martial arts thriller Ninja Assassin starring Rain, Rick Yune, and Naomie Harris

Pham and Jonesy talk about Ninja Assassin (2009)

This week, Dusty is on the road so the guys are joined by their old pal John Crist. John shares how identifying as a podcaster got him out of jury duty. Aaron tells how free donuts helped him get into Notre Dame. Nate reviews the movie Ninja Assassin and Brian unsuccessfully tries to review the movie The Color Of Money. 

Former Texans defensive linemen connected on this Texans All Access, as Antonio Smith and N.D. Kalu huddled together for a fascinating conversation about where the team is headed and some memories from the 2011 bunch.See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

In this episode, Kelly returns to discuss Rain's Hollywood moment: Speed Racer (2008) and Ninja Assassin (2009)!

Hoje temos enlatados do blog

Ninja films were a huge sub-genre for the straight-to-video market in the '80s. After the success of Enter the Ninja, Sho Kosugi became the go-to ninja master and the face of the Ninja craze. Join us as we Enter the Kosugi and discuss four of his films: Revenge of the Ninja, Ninja III: The Domination, Pray for Death, and 9 Deaths of the Ninja on this month's episode of My Dad's Video Store!Original Music and episode audio mastering by Beau Hitt. Check out more of Beau's music at the link below.https://spoti.fi/3OcxTMSFollow us on :FacebookInstagramLetterboxd

Platypus Revenge plays along to Ninja Assassin. Steve the Mad Drummer Mauro, Philly Napkins, Harry Weinberg and DJMAGIKCLOWNS

FEATURED FILM: A Night at the Roxbury (1998). OTHER FILMS DISCUSSED: Hackers (1995); Pokémon: The First Movie - Mewtwo Strikes Back (1998); Antitrust (1995); Stepbrothers (2008); Ninja Assassin (2009); Donnie Darko (2001); Detroit: Rock City (1999); Rampart (2011); The Princess Bride (1987) We are back again with Tom again, the Other Host of I'll Make A Stay Out of You podcast! This time, we manage to stop talking about Stray Kids long enough to talk about HELLA MOVIES. First, we test Tom and his co-host Phil's friendship by seeing if, after more than a decade of friendship, they each could guess which movie(s) the other one would pick. Did their friendship survive this? Listen to find out! This episode features Bring Your Own Popcorn's first ever Mental Health PSA! Hell Yeah! Plus, why Tom's dad deserves a trophy; Tom's relationship with his brother and which franchise bonded them for life; Tom's trials as the maknae; shout out to Jake; which movie made Tom cry; how Tom is really an emotions feely type of feely person; how many times do you have to watch a movie to be an expert on it; and listen to the rain that was raining really loud in the background of Mixtape's track! Coincidentally, Rain is also the star of Ninja Assassin.  Listen to Make a Stay pod! Check out the Make a Stay website!  Check out Tom's TikToks! "If you need mental health help, go get it!" It's normal to be depressed in this capitalistic, soul-crushing hellscape, but you don't have to go through it silently, nor alone. Here are some resources for those living in the United States. SAMHSA's National Helpline - SAMHSA's National Helpline is a free, confidential, 24/7, 365-day-a-year treatment referral and information service (in English and Spanish) for individuals and families facing mental and/or substance use disorders. Mental Health America Crisis Resources - This page includes the phone numbers for the Suicide Lifeline (Call or TEXT 988), the Disaster Distress Helpline, Crisis Textline, the Trevor Project, Trans Lifeline, Domestic Violence and Sexual Assault helplines, and more. Find a Therapist Near You - Using PsychologyToday's directory, use their advanced search feature to find a therapist in your area / who does virtual appointments, who accepts your insurance, and specializes in whatever you're looking for! For those not living in the United States, go to HelpGuide.org and click "Get Help" at the top of the page to search for specific mental health resources in your country. Become a treasured kernel in the BYOP bucket over on PATREON!  For as little as $3 a month, you'll get access to the Bonus Episode series, replays of the Riffraff Reads streaming show, exclusive photos, videos, polls, merch, a sense of buttery community, and more! Plus, you help us keep the lights on* here at BYOP HQ. *(By the keep the lights on, I mean pay for annual hosting costs so that the pod can stay podding. I make no profit on this podcast, but my fabulous Patrons have made it so I can still afford to keep the archive up!) WANNA TALK? Email BringYourOwnPopcorn@gmail.com! - MUSIC: "Adult Problems" by Richard and the Julians Copyright Richard and the Julians 2015; "Miroh", "District 9", "Social Path", Copyright Stray Kids, Epic Japan, JYPE; "What Is Love" by Haddaway Copyright Haddaway and Coconut 1993; "Popcorn Frog" by MC Chris Copyright mc chris llc 2013.   BYOP Logo by @MilkMyth. 

We're down to our second last Ninja episode of the year and this time we're covering a wild one in Ninja Assassin! We've seen a lot of Ninja movies this year and we're happy to report that Ninja Assassin delivers the goods! This movie felt like a mix of some of the Ninja content we've already covered, but it takes certain aspects and levels them up. Join us as we walk through the movie and share all the great Ninja moments then put the movie through our ratings system to see where it stands against all of the other Ninja content we've covered.  Be sure to tell your friends about Talking Back, and we hope you enjoy our review of Ninja Assassin! If you'd like to unlock bonus episodes from Talking Back every month, then check out our page on Patreon! You can also support Talking Back by sending us a Coffee at Buy Us a Coffee!  Please consider leaving a 5 star rating and review on Apple Podcasts! This helps make our Podcast easier for listeners to find.  Feel free to drop us a line on Social Media at Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook. Or drop us an email us at talkbackpod@gmail.com. This podcast is part of the BFOP Network 

1:10 - The News 4:15 - Jerks of the Week 10:38 - Bully Beatdown 17:04 - The Jungle Book (1967) 18:52 - The Invention of Lying 25:03 - Mad Max: Fury Road (Black & Chrome) 27:10 - Neon Genesis Evangelion 1.0 & 2.0 32:02 - The Road 35:33 - The Fourth Kind 37:33 - Monsters 38:59 - Popstar 40:30 - I Know What You Did Last Summer 44:54 - The Immortal 55:14 - Jackass Forever 57:16 - Theater Camp 1:04:04 - Now One Will Save You 1:19:27 - Victoria 1:28:29 - Ninja Assassin 1:53:12 - Game of Games

We're closing out Tarnished Silver with the brutally underrated Ninja Assassin with Rain, Naomie Harris, Rick Yune, and Sho Kosugi. From IMDB: A young ninja turns his back on the orphanage that raised him, leading to a confrontation with a fellow ninja from the clan. If there was a time to think of others once you've properly secured an "oxygen mask", it's now. If you can assist, please note a few of the groups that we hold dear to our hearts that can really use your help. Links below. There are some charitable opportunities that engulfing the news these days, but we're big supporters of. If you can, please check these out and share with whoever you think would want to be to help: LA FOOD BANKhttps://shorturl.at/bEU17 LAHAINA STRONG GOFUNDME https://shorturl.at/mtvW7 If you'd like to show your support for members of the WGA and SAG-AFTRA, as well as other workers in the entertainment industry, please take a look at the link below and maybe make a donation: Entertainment Community Fund https://entertainmentcommunity.org/support-our-work Enjoy! ------------------ As always, and maybe even more than ever, here are some mental health resources for North America: United States  https://www.mentalhealth.gov/get-help/immediate-help https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/ The Suicide Hotline phone number has been changed. Now, just text or call 988. Canada https://www.ccmhs-ccsms.ca/mental-health-resources-1 1 (833) 456-4566 Even though we don't say it in this episode, more NOW than ever before: PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE take care of yourselves and those around you. Be mindful of your surroundings. Karate in the Garage Linkages              

I walked in locked in; Pistol cocked, and pointed towards my head You'll only want me when you have no options left, Or when I'm dead “It's clever” They all said An ambitious endevour End this life, and be devoured By the miester and the misters of the hour How about now? (Or–) How about Now, or How about Now, or How about Now? Or, How about now, or How about now, or How about now? Or, How about Now, or How about Now, or How about Now? Now or Never I said “That's clever” or “How about Now” What do you want from me? I lie for a living; A literal drama queen, don't eat turkey on thanksgiving I'm the worthless word for Surface level thinking on this Earth, or Picking hearses with my cursor, Mercenary, Mercury, or Just a Mercer–But not a Mercedes; I'm paid, but I hate paying; Made the game, but I hate playing I remember making hate to be created Just for entertainment– A belated invitation, Now i'll face it, Back to Basic– But she's laced with Masonry; A tastemaker, maybe But she just wants a family, Whatever that means Wow. How about now? Fuck this. Homelssness. I woul rather kill myself than stay alive I'd rather die than fight Don't want to write this: I'm just a diamond pressurized And i might never see the light I'll never see the lght I see the light There's no honor in suicide But i've devided my mind a million times And now like dynamite in a mine; Collapsed, collided, ad defined by All divine; You'll never see me shine, But deep inside I'd blind you; Guided by the tide, I've come to find you Down, I dive I'm not alive, you know I'm always misaligned But that's beside the point Another suicide attempt Is in the midst– But just what is it; More than just one, is it? Rather die than listen to Skrillex Or take pills just to chill with it For real? this shit again? It wasn't real, all to begin with It's only mental illness cause i'm penniless Now i've got so much to deal with Another wound to heal, Another deal, perhaps I'll make another million in a year, If i'm still here– And i”m still here– And i'm still– Who are you now, and— Who were you then; And— Which part of this, would you want— Or did want, Or just wanted Pondered before in a vision, Outfitted in hooded drapery, The heaviest fabric; A rosary hung from his neck But can't recall the connection In this ressurection I can recall him, But never remember The calling Let's call him Oh, fuck man. ‘Friar Tuck' THAT WAS IT. The high priest of asencion, Was burned in her memory— Not as a friend, But a friend of the enemy; Who she loved and protected, Despite all the envy, She felt for Persephone— Just an unjust figure, A fictional figment of imagination But— Who was I then And who am I now; And what part of him, Would I want, if I wanted Or wished for, Or honored A friend, long forgotten Not a high priest, But a Friar That was it— But before, As Mary, Joseph, and Jesus On the front lines of the war, Not to be started, but ended, as in Preparation, a blood sacrifice I've prepared In a premonition that I'd Give my whole heart again Honest, And honestly slain in the eyes, Of a man I remember, But didn't, when it mattered— Then did, right in front of him Who are we now, and— Who were we then; Let's find out, As time's running out again “Yes, I know him.” She sighed, eyeing from over the rims of the glasses she purchased only earlier to assure she had hidden the tears that she cried for Him— Neither a friend or an enemy, rather The ghost of a shadow she hadn't yet met with again, since he entered her presence Shifting into a tent Now, ripped from the pages of a book she cherished, A page which she promised to never diminish or tarnish would go up in ashes, As totems would fall, Wishes would become granted The PyRAmiD Spell (For Pasquale Rotella) gave gave the man honorary doctorate, and then reneged it, nigga thought he was actually bigger than big sister sick spitter, rip n dip listening to anything but Skrillex that shit is for kids ‘Check it' I hate midi gimmie a synth, something gritty, I'll make it pretty Come and try to get me, I been dead for centuries, Unsolved like a mystery This image don't mean shit to me, I sit to think, I wait to speak, I leak some information on the interwebs just to see how fast it comes back to me I'm actually a master “Untitled 07” It's like a 24/7 job, can't get no rest in, At best you're looking like a slob I kamikaze ‘em all, I am your mom, I will tell you what you are, to me By now, you should know, or see Just a name on my computer screen A friendly neighbor on Easy Street A wish, A lucid dream, A misalignment, so its seems So let me tell you what you are to me: Just make believe (Just make believe) Just make believe (Just make believe) It may be evil (Make believe) Just make believe (Just make believe) A lucid dream I'll tell you what I've seen, and what I see (and What I see) I dare to dream (I dare to dream) But please believe me, I'm as evil as can be Don't let my anything deceive you I'm a fleeting, bleeding Beaten bride to be No, don't believe me I'm the fire and gnashing teeth they preached to you May everything I've written one day reach you And beseech you, Just like you did to me Now let me tell you what I see; Just make believe (Just make believe) It may be evil (Make believe) Just make believe (Just make believe) A lucid dream When I wash up on the beach, From blazing fires of burning seas, Let me sing you all to sleep For every tear I often weep To dream of you A lucid dream Just fucking make believe; And I can make believe we fucked Just so I can get to sleep (Are you proud of me?) Hey. (Sarcastically) Oh, Come In. (Sighs heavily) I fucked up. I'm not surprised. I'm not surprised. Don't copy me. I need help. No arguments there. Dude, I'm serious. __ So first of all oh God, now what– I'm not racist You're extremely racist Racist By Proxy I'm not Racist They do look alike. Check this out: WOAH. That's…not a coincidence. That's definitely not a coincidence. Fuck. This. Shit. Here, take this. So, you dropped this totem… Uh-huh. In the ocean. Yes I did. And that one Ooof. What about– That came off on the moped. How? When I came off the moped. So you admit it. SO! He only let me ride it cause he wanted to ride ME! Nice. Did you sing to him? Uh, I sang for him? What's the difference? Here's every song I've ever written about X.X Just kill yourself. Should I then? I mean, perHAPS. I mean, maaaayyyybeee. You know what? I do know. Fuckthisshit. Fuck it, then. I'm out. I quit. Go find SupaCree. This…is impossible. Nothing is impossible. Except for that. Oh. “Oh.” No, i'm serious. You look serious–I'm just saying. What is this? Don't touch that– What is it? It's– [a tiny explosion] –ugh. Volatile. What the fuck are you into? I told you. You said “music.” What is “Music” [very deep pondering] I hate you. We have to find her. You have to. What! You're not going to help us? I have other things to do. Like what, dude? Like what, broh. Feed My cat; Your cat died. Walk my dog– You don't have a dog. I'm getting one. Oh, Jesus Christ Don't get all religious on me, now, not after that. Not after what? Yeah, which thing? ___ Man. Get me out of here. [shrugs] I hate being stuck in your head. What is THIS. Uh. play dead. What's up with your dog. Ruff. Good boy. I'm a girl. Uhhh–good girl. Wait. Hm. Did that dog just– [???] Nevermind. I've been up for 6 days straight. Tour life, buddy. Ah-huh. Uhh. Can I take a shower in your– Take a sho–? [dog grumphs] Uh, yeah, sure. Thanks. *Shapeshifts* Wow, that's cool. It's so stupid. I came in late to the office, so to speak; it had been an off day, after an off night, plagued by what I was sure to be some sort of demonic magic—I was moving slowly, off beat, and irritated—nevermind the lack of energy, as I moved about as steadily as I could—making arrangements for the next trials to come, as it seemed nearly impossible to move ahead, and yet—somehow, I had been given what seemed like one final chance to survive, or not. I had spent the first part of my day, somehow waking with a gust of light, and ready to take on the tasks at hand—then quickly wiped of anything holy in me by the outrageously disgusting hacking and howling of the seemingly-programmed man-or-something-alike, and into a manic-semi-conscious desperation to piece together what was left of my life—seemingly nothing, but somehow still pieced and patched together by music, the overriding theme being that I would be quickly booted out of any position unsuitable for me; and by now, I was just about unsuitable for everything, besides gym crawling and throwing together pieces of literature unlike any I had before seen, as I was, assuredly beginning to look in every direction for other writers which may have matched my style of the then-present day and age, and to my shagrin had found nearly nothing to gawk about, but at the very least had picked up some novels noteworthy in nature, as they had made me laugh, or somehow otherwise caught my attention. Now in my Arsenal, I had one novel, each respectively written by a woman, a white man, and a black man—every book I had otherwise been drawn to written by black women were, upon cracking to open, too-stereotypically black, or about being a black-girl in some kind of way I knew too much about and had absolutely no interest in reading. I had no idea what caused me to look into a world I had all but shut out of my mind—this someone and something had haunted me for months and even growing into years now, first affectionately, but now growing into an uneasy and painstaking, critical list for something deeper. I hated my ex husband for bringing me to this, and, as I looked at the clock at 5:55 exactly, nearly vomited in disgust at the sprawling obsession I would have to somehow quiet—as there really was no halting the plague of tragic recouping thoughts of Dillon Francis at random—now, daily, for quite some time, even as the automatic writing had nearly stopped entirely; I had become entrapped with daily reminders of things I had written, now welling up with spite and anger, that I had even allowed myself the obsession to begin with—especially after what had happened—or what had not happened—with Sonny, whatever way you wanted to look at it. Now; just left with a burning lust and motion sickness beyond my wildest control upon approaching the matter if it all, nonetheless with peaking curisosity, as he had walked in and out if my dreamscape like a picturesque bandit, even hijacking my own sexuality—now almost didn't want or dream of anything else, and with the un presidented amount of ‘decoys' life had thrown at me—Bruno, the bird speaking man from Belgium with the eyes that burned in striking similarity to Dillon's—and then again with Gabriel, the man who had hired me to DJ in the small cerveceria in Mazunte, who could have been his brother'; a dazzlingly handsome, if not perfect near-replica of Dillon Francis, who, by that point, i couldn't even bear to look at, let alone conjure the spark or touch of romance—even after multiple suggestions that he and his girlfriend had just broken up. I never allowed myself for a moment to believe or think that Dillon—or any of the men I fawned after, for that matter, in reality, a very short list—would ever be settled with the idea of me as a perfect fit; no, I sat in the certain reality that I was cursed, living in the opposite exact of the Allison Wonderland archetype—a woman who I theorized may have been Skrillexed and Dillon Francis'd herself—it seemed to be a pattern of hypnotism I was finally wrapping my head around, and even had learned to respect if not envy: I wanted the codes to create my own version of the worlds I had been spun into—and while I would more than likely never be a light skinned, light eyed beauty Queen; perhaps my own kingdom was meant to be of wit and wealth, rather than vanity. Still, headed back into the desert, I found myself scrolling through open guest lists, excited to take my longtime best friend turned literal goddess club crawling, looking for industry and network connections, if not at least a sex partner that could keep up with my needs, now furiously tearing at me from the inside out—as I scrolled, RSVPing for any acts I hadn't yet seen but had heard of, I found myself trailing off in thought and perhaps looking for something I hadn't realized I would stray into; I knew specifically that Dillon had a residency at the Wynn, and —though I also knew I wouldn't be caught dead at this point anywhere I knew he was, or especially stupid enough to pay for it. Now it was torturous, knowing how regretfully physical my attraction had become—understsnding from my interactions with the aforementioned that I was drawn to Dillon for his features—his eyes, his hair, and everything in his silhouette from his jawline, to his lips and brow drove me absolutely wild—however, I had learned about my very fragile psychiatry from my obsession with Skrillex, or with Sonny—neither of which I wished existed, adding Dillon Francis to the list of fictional characters I pushed further into my imaginary incineration box, where I put everything that not need affect my actual emotions or actions; Dillon Francis, a wealthy and talented, very handsome man—could not exist. I wished more than ever that I wasn't dark skinned, that I wasn't heavy set, that I didn't come with a flaming dumpster full of trauma and baggage that no man wanted or needed, but especially not the wealthy and handsome individuals I had spent very much of the last passing years writing about and fantasizing over, finding it respectably impossible to even have flings or sexual experiences without either of the two most rampant figures of my infatuation crossing into my mind and shrouding me with guilt and shame—and yet, here they were, so out of my element that I continued to agree with myself and the universe that it would be dillusinal to think myself a match for anyone so high-achieving. Nothing I could do or say could shake the fact that despite all my efforts to break through, all it had seemed to do was create a broken down individual, ready for enslavement in the working class just to stay housed—my music aspirations both hanging above me, and somehow fading away into the distance behind me. I hated myself. But more importantly, hated Skrillex and Dillon Francis for living the life I somehow thought I wanted and needed. What is the definitive definition of the word Skrillex? Skrillex: noun...right? What, you don't know? I know! It's...a noun...right? Right. Right--- ---Right! Could also be, an adjective, I guess--i? You guess?! You have to know. I mean--- Coughs ain't shit Skrillex ain't *coughs Satan ain't shit Bitch suck a dick Slit ya wrists On ya pissed off Little ass nigga. A loud, abrupt cough disrupted my focus; I was 5-sets-of-8 out of 8 and just feeling my heart begin to pump, as sweat poured from my temples and my sunglasses steamed “Man, fuck Coughs.” Whoever she was, even if it was just one of my infinite inward selves, this was some satanic shit. Now I hated Skrillex—not that it mattered, and as he was a living legend in computer animated music, or whatever voodoo shit he was responsible for that had sparked an entire uprising of revolutionary artists and producers spanning a generation or more—and I was damned-if-I-did, and damned-if-I-didn't love, like, or listen to him; all of which I did, besides the latter higher love by Whitney Houston, God rest her soul, blared over the gym's loud speakers, as I, more than likely looking just as superficially occupied as any basic broad, scrolling away on Instagram or texting her replicas, jotted down the rest of the thoughts that had nestled themselves in my mind's eye, as the coughing, which had followed me everywhere for nearly four years, beckoned to something—searching for purpose if not means to an end. He had Kayla Lauren, a plastic, streamlined representation of the all-American-deem girl, not to mention a “collective” of other broad women of sorts, probably all inwardly clawing just as I had at one time, for a piece of Sonny's heart, or whatever was left of it, after what I could have only assumed to have been a blood sacrifice of sorts, for his placement atop such a steep pyramid of success. What if, every time someone coughed—someone took a picture? I thought about the millions of hacking imbeciles and inbred, backwards savages who had crowded my ears with the putrid sounds of Satan's show choir, a coughing and excessive hellish representation of how the human race had gone awry; If I had been famous, or on my way to it, I would be burgeoned with photographs, as I had been in Mexico without knowing why or how—people sometimes slinking behind their phones as if to secretly capture a candid photo, I myself, pretending not to be aware of it. Cough cough. Ugh. If every cough represented a fan or something of the sorts taking a picture, I almost reveled in the thought—I would have rather had a million flashing cameras at once than to hear another ingrate hacking up a lung in Satan's honor. I was horrified at whatever Skrillex was, and whatever OWSLA meant, though I broadly showcased the tattoo on my inner-right forearm, opposite of Sonny's—the boy I was sure was murdered by the fame monster itself, as Lady Gaga, though admirable, had blatently called it, or herself, or whatever “we” all were or had been once, or would be, collectively at the beginning-and-end of it all. I had seen broadly into the realms of infinity the night previous, and had settled on one, astonishing fact: all of infinitely combined shared a concéntrical center at which at any point could be accessed. Even typing such a concept, I knew it to be life-altering…if I was even alive. To think, I used to hate deadmau5– I hate deadmau5– You know—after that spat with Skrillex. GO TEAM SKRILLEX!!! SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!! who the fuck is deadmau5, anyway. But here I am, decades later. [skrillex] FUCK THIS NIGGA. I needed something to help offset the damage that was done. [someone coughing loudly] Fuck this coughs bitch! [trying on small clothes] Ohh. [kayla Lauren] [sadness] Aww. [dillon Francis] —well how was I supposed to know he was a— STOP RIGHT THERE! I'm...not moving. Yeah, you're not. Uh, okay? You know why? I didn't ask— You need THIS: What is this. I'll tell you what it is [beat] … Okay—what is it?' ILL TELL YOU WHAT IT IS. — Technically, If I do this every day, I can eat whatever I want— Just eat it. No. But I won't. Well, why not? Too Fat For Skrillex. — [C.C. Arrives in the parking lot to find her car has been vandalized...again.] ...Skrillex did this. On Jimmy Fallon. On Jimmy Fallon. Alright, then, kid—it's your dollar. I'll take “Skrillex Did It” for one dollar. But he's halfway across the world! He can shapeshift! Don't be stupid. What—! He's a shapeshifter, for real. We know! Just don't say it! I saw it. We all have. What the fuck, bro— Where did you come from? I've been here. Haven't we all? That's the spirit. What's a spirit? I'm glad you asked. As SUPACREE walks down the street, a man in the passenger's seat is seen to be the Egyptian God ANUBIS, before shifting back into hidden human form. Which one's that? Anubis, right? Googles 'deities' Oh, there he is: Anubis. Good. What's he want? Whatever it is, that's not what I was looking for. What are you looking for? That dark thing. Which “dark thing”? Flashback: That's inside me?! Flashback to Kite at Bass– UGH! Canyon. That's it. That's what it is. LET ME OUT. It's gonna destroy something. She. She–yes–apparently so. CUT BACK TO Fuck you, Skrillex! Stay over there and be Skrillex with your fucking–models–and you coughs piece of fucking–peice of fucking shit, peice of shit. Oh SHIT, who let him in? I mean, it's Skrillex. Yeah, but who let him near SUPACREE? He does what he wants. I heard that. Fuck you, Skrillex. That sounds deep. I guess so. What even happened? Nobody seems to know. Oh. –Except these guys. Who the fuck are you? Where did you come from?! CULT FOLLOWERS Yes–”WHO” Yes–”WHERE” Uh, okay. SUPACREE Fuck this shit. I quit. You can't quit. I just did. Fuck Skrillex. Ah, shit, here it comes. Go ahead, the worst he can do is cough at me and make me homeless. *loud obnoxious coughing* Do your worst. *more loud coughing* Fuckin'. Satan's pet. Satan's not real! Then neither is Skrillex. Amen. (Cult Followers, In unison.) Amen. [SUPACREE exits furiously.] What…the fuck. Pause. Wait, is this marketable? Yes. How? Cause its Skrillex. Skrillex is clickbait. What the FUCK did he do? *COUGHS* I mean, I bet– Fucking–motherfucker. Fuck. Well, now what? Now, nothing. I'mma go get a regular job and see what the industry wants with Jessica. (((Oh, I think you know what they want.))) ((Oh, God Knows)) I thought we weren't doing that bit. We're doing all the bits. MORTY. JESSICA. Oh yeah. Even better. C'esme't sighs heavily, unamused. My liege. Don't be coy with me. I would never. There are hardly any things left you would never do. If not only because I had done them all; But to be coy, with you, my Queen is neither desire or pleasure. You are clever. At your discretion. I began to wonder if I may have looked as miserable as I was, as even though I could not see my own self, walking about in my day-to-day nothingness, the expression protruding from my face felt as if it might look as lifeless as I was beginning to feel, no longer wholly choking back tears but still moving and barely breathing in the awful circumstance of doing and being–I had felt the light itself slowly draining from my eyes, and even things I loved with all my heart could not in any sense brighten this dullness. I felt Godless, and at the very least loveless, lightless, and without my magic, somehow having lost my soul and my singing voice at once. Yes, it was terrible–something was wrong, and I, without becoming the star I had so wanted, was already washing up. Homelessness drained all of what would have been a magnificent energy all together, left to become someone I wasn't sure I even liked, and seemingly cursed, as most recently, no one else seemed to like me either--still, I almost let myself believe something bigger was at play, or perhaps in the works; I had been relocated just perfect walking distance to the gym, where of course rather than look for work which would only urge me closer to suicide than I had been, I elected instead to spend a majority of my time, crafting my days around getting there for the bare minimum of three hours, but ideally closer to 5 or 6, always aiming for 8 and almost-always giving up not because I was too tired, but because I was drenched in sweat, and something like the discomfort of a wet diaper, just wanted to be fresh and dry. God, Help me with this affliction Pick a clip, Flick the bean, And watch Netflix I'm stressin, wet and undressin This sexual tension is serious Salad, with no dressin I'm the lady in the red dress, and yes I write blank checks, so when I go to Heck, I bounce back like, “Yes.” [YES] No pressure, It's my pleasure; I'd rather be in leather than in latex, lathered up Present, or past but honestly, neither matters; Just give this to Marshall Mathers, And a Dad Hat; AMEN Hey Kids, Lets not say “Amen”, After we say hanuss shit, okay? Today, I'm Eminem, so I can finally find Skrillex, And kill him: My mission is to introduce a new religion to humans, called STOP BEING STUPID. Stop Being Skrillex. Well, Alright Then. [Presses Easy Button] “WELL, THAT WAS-- CUT TO: -__- SUPACREE wakes up from a coma; In a very SKRILLEX, Get out. [He just does.] ...Where's Dillon Francis? ...Dillon Is Dead. Dilon Francis Died. He's...left us. ...Nope. Yes, he is. SUPACREE, I'm Sorry. Don't be sorry. Be Dillon Francis. The Coma--You know---must've-- You know. Nope. Where's Pasquale? Who is that? Oh, fuck this. No, wait, stop! STAHP. Bring Skrillex Back. I never left. You're never there. Here, Tres Leches … Dulce De Leche. You know what? What? NO. NO? NO. __ ALRIGHT, WHERE'S DILLON FRANCIS? Who is that? STOP PLAYING GAMES. DILLON FRANCIS is in THE VOID, trying to beat THE LEGEND of SUPACREE. It's a really good game. DILLON FRANCIS (cracked) “It's a really good game!” GAMERS It is, a really good game. So good, in fact, that when SUPACREE herself arrives, S/He pays her almost entirely no mind. Really, Dillon Francis? ... Really, Motherfucker. DILLON FRANCIS I'm The Captain SUPACREE No, I am. (I AM!) She gestures that she is about to unplug the TV DILLON FRANCIS Don't do that. SUPACREE What? I am (I AM) Don't do it again! I told you, it's-- IN Dillon. DILLON Don't FIN. SUPACREE Unplugs the Set. DEADMAU5 FUCK, MAN. FINALLY. SUPACREE Be Less Canadian. JOEL No, I can't DILLON FRANCIS No, He can't-- JESUS No, he can't. [Beat] DILLON IS SHATTERED, as at the last moment (before the determination of the outcome of the battle, it entirely ceases to exist. Moments of silence pass in infinite tension, before DILLON, looking much like an uncomfortable, overheated, skinless (live) chicken, meets a soon to be boiled crab. OH, MY GOD. GAD/SUPACREE/C.C. That's... what they call me. *coughs* -UGLY!- *coughs* *coughs* GOD. GOD No, not you. DILLON FRANCIS ...Oh, My God. GOD What, Dillon Francis? DILLON FRANCIS Are you SUPACREE? GOD I...Am. DILLON FRANCIS Oh My God--I am too! GOD I know this. DILLON FRANCIS Oh My God! GOD Yeah, I know! Woah, he's Fangirling He's fangirling so hard. Well, wouldn't you. Ask me about IT.” (IS/IT) 3 heads are better than one; This is a a game based on truth; The more you ask, the more you know; The more you know about me— The more you know about yourself— The more you know about yourself, the more you know about the world You are the world. Ī ∆ M Ū. Goddammit! You son of a bitch. She won't watch it I bet she will They know I will He knows I am! I am! Oh, there we go—it's on Get off me! Goddammit, Dillon Francis! I hate you. I hate you BACK! GO BACK! GO BACK! GO BACK–WHEN TO THE WYNN!! Right—! Wait—- Not yet— I know the code. Oh she– she knows what the code is. What did I put it in? I get it, I get it, it's— Not now, then! Not then, now! Not— Wait—- DONT! ...then, I die. The DJ VALET AND THE DJ BALLET THE BAMPHERAMPH BALANCING ACT WITH THE CHAMPION OF RAP?!? ...ohhh, wave dash, I get it… Ū Alright. GOD This is the part where you don't sleep. SUPACREE Oh no. GOD You've been ‘Don't Eating' for like, 8 months now. Now it's time to Don't Sleep. SUPACREE Yikes. Û You can bet we'll have it done by the beginning of next semester. GERALD Next semester's set to not even be in a classroom. Ï Even better. Remote binge worthy media. Excerpt From: “Blū and The Cosmic Owl” ... ...Having found the fallen owl, he glances up at the sky, just as another shooting star flies by. In awe, he stands at the giant animal, who pants in a tragically cry in pain. He sorrowfully glances into the bird's giant eye, crying as his tears spill into the trail of blood, a sparkling dark purple river, streaked with the silver streams of moonlit tears and the golden gleam of a lucid dream; her dilated pupils reflect all the cosmos, sparkling through the three round dials; some sound, which has never heard or even fathomed to be made, a vibration ringing as it aligns with his light, which also shines now through his dark brown eyes; He is hypnotized, nearly full of light in a state of trance as he begins to float upward, levitating just slightly--A SUDDEN FLASH OF COSMIC LIGHT, as the wounded bird, morphs into a matching [humanoid] being, abruptly changing the frequency from a hypnotising lull, to an ear-shattering, soul startling and painstaking frequency. As they both hover above the ground-- still in levitation, he quickly looks down worriedly, then back up at the being--now matching in age, as The Princess, a pretty poised and painted warrior, adorned with the royally decadent white and purple trimmed fashion, crystals and gemstones of the galaxies imbedded into her sashes. He's enamoured and intrigued, less terrified than excited; however her eyes, now changing a through colors of neon light, reflect her terrified and painful confusion, having been wounded with the weapon of ‘man'--he falls toward the ground, suddenly, groaning in pain, then turning into a fetal position from which he cowers in fear under her. A tear, which has formed in her eye, nearly falls; she forcefully reabsorbs it back into her eyes, as she calms herself down, lowering gracefully to the ground. She crouches over him, thinking twice quite literally, before angrily kneeling over him, yielding a ball of fire out of one hand, holding him by his shirt with the other--he cowers in fear, now--his awestruck chased away by the apparent power of this being; she quickly throws her fireball at a nearby bush, lighting it as he glares at the sight slightly stupified by the fire light, which he likes. A splash of water drenches him from head to toe, blasting off his pink glasses and shattering playful spry outlook with a very grumpy pout, as he stands up, dripping from head to toe. She stands, one leg crossed over the other, another dream of water floating in her hand; as he stands dripping, she blasts him again, with the intensity of a firehose pushing him back. Taking awhile to get back, she waits, meditating by the bush as a campfire, as he, still dripping approaches. She looks out of one eye, unassumingly continuing to meditate as he approaches the fire, which he sits by, as closely and cautiously on the other side, trying to get dry. She looks at him from the other eye, calmly sighing as she blasts him with the surprise of an almost blow dry, which she provides by colliding her hands stretched outwardly towards him; the heated gust leaves him looking somewhat like a freshly groomed poodle--his dark brown hair to match his sweet and gentle eyes, by which, his glasses having been blasted off a third time, he notices as he pushes up on the bridge of his nose, realizing he's lost them again--before he can even (literally) think to retrieve them, they float, guided by her telekinetic twisting of her index finger. BLŪ ...thank you... Still unable to form words, she just gazes at him from over the firelight, sternly searching perhaps, for the way to create a translation between her native telepathic ways of communication, or any of the alien languages--she is unfamiliar with this, though captioned in (several, actually) alien languages, we, as the audience can perceive any of the dialogue just to be "english". PRINCESS Why would you do that?! BLŪ What?! PRINCESS What you did to me! BLŪ I didn't mean to! PRINCESS Mean to what? BLŪ Shoot you!? I-- PRINCESS Why would you ‘shoot' an Owl!? BLŪ An ‘owl?' I'm sorry! I didn't! PRINCESS Didn't what? LOOK. [She appears, even still, to be wounded.] BLŪ I--I never-- PRINCESS Never what? BLŪ I've never seen an ‘owl' before… PRINCESS So you just--!? BLŪ I'm sorry! PRINCESS What were you attempting to do? BLŪ I don't know! PRINCESS You don't know? BLŪ No! I just-- PRINCESS You? BLŪ I...just… PRINCESS You… BLŪ I… PRINCESS … [She appears to be bleeding through the sheath of her bodice.] BLU ...Are you ok? CYPHER I: ‘The Coffee Run' This is my job, Like this is your job I look at the jaw I want what you want This is my planet we're on This is is my plan, I got lost in it Maybe I'm wrong, but I'm not You just want a nut with a butt I just want a bud-- [Sample, Dillon Francis: Hey Buddy! (The Coffee Run)] --I'm not your buddy. Ah. Look at that car; I'm on a coffee run at McDonald's How much does it cost? A dollar, one— It's like putting gas in my car, I don't wanna I don't wanna I don't wanna Call Jimmy Fallon to borrow a dollar. It's a coffee run A coffee run A coffee run; You cough, I run You like? I'm fun The west was won by everything under the Sun, Run it This--soul. Yes? It is...of light? It is. And? (A concept unbeknownst the the dark and evil underlords of Satan's realm, which has expanded far beyond hell, into the upper reaches of our world, consuming in darkness everything it can.) Something else… What? Something powerful. It is...beyond words. How? That is, yet to be understood. Mmm… ________________ INT. SOMEWHERE IN ALASKA. DAY. [Before the initial collision... ] DEVIL Exited for EDC? Ï Are you serious? DEVIL Is Dillon Francis going to be there? Ï Dillon Francis? DEVIL Yeah. DJ Dillon Francis. Ï Uh. I don't know. And I don't care. DEVIL Why not? This guy is awesome. Ï (rolling eyes) Since when do you listen to EDM? DEVIL I don't. Just Dillon Francis. He's fuckin hilarious. Look at this. VIDEO: NEED YOU, NGHTMRE & DILLON FRANCIS Ï Huh. CUT TO: DILLON FRANCIS arrives through a portal onto Venice beach, just moments before SUPACREE arrives; Where he is ‘kidnapped' into an Egyptian crystal shop. CUT TO SUPACREE What the FUCK! Dillon Francis isn't the answer to anything, even if someone is pointing at him, asking "Who the fuck is that?" HANZEL Wvell that's because ze answer is "DJ Dillon Francis" Ū Exactly. SUPACREE Oh, please. CUT TO: INT. THE GREAT SALTAIR. SALT LAKE CITY, UT. [SŪP∆ is on the lineup; she prepares for her set. She lurks down into the dancefloor, hiding in the risers, looking over the crowd to read the room. As she peers into the corner nearest to the bar, she suddenly stops, tipping down the rims of her glasses and squinting sternly, scanning over the large group...she intensely scopes a tall, and lanky brunette hunched drunkenly in the corner, one sleeve of her I'll fitting oversized jacket hanging off her shoulder unevenly. Even from afar, she looks tequila toasted.] SŪP∆ Yikes. [She looks down at her [watch, which appears to be a early version of the Synesthesia Panel] it is 7:35.] SŪP∆ (CONT'D) Annnnnd--the night is young… [She peers once more into the corner, to see the girl stumbling towards the restroom sloppily, hunched shoulders and struggling to keep her oversized jacket "on", over her high waisted shorts, accompanied by black fishnets and babydoll crop top, stomping in her stupor towards the restroom. She thinks for a moment, then exits downstairs intently. Downstairs, She is greeted by one of the stagehands. They PLUR and hug. ] DIMITRI Heeeeey. Happy Rave Dayyy. SŪP∆ Every day is rave day. DIMITRI I wish. SŪP∆ Wishes come true. DIMITRI Ugh, I wish. SŪP∆ Don't waste a wish on a wish. They all come true. DIMITRI Think so? SŪP∆ Know so. Like--know-know… so…don't wish for stupid shit; you don't know how many wishes you actually get, so just...be...specific. [He is starry eyed, gazing at her in a dreamlike trance.] SŪP∆ (CONT'D) ...like super specific. DIMITRI ...Specific…Wishes… SŪP∆ ‘Rollin'? [DIMITRI nods happily, bouncing to the upbeat bass house music coming from the mainstage.] SŪP∆ Just kicked in? DIMITRI (shaking head in agreement) Yuh. SŪP∆ Water? [She produces a bottled water out of "nowhere" (the void in her energy field which manifests items most needed/useful immediately [DIMITRI takes the water, amazed that she literally pulled it out of nowhere right in front of him; however, his Befuddled expression suggests curiosity that he is "tripping", which he quickly shrugs off, still bouncing happily to the music as he takes a drink (nearly the entire bottle), giving him life. (As he catches his breath, he looks up to see a tricolor of gumstucks fanned before him, his eyes light up.] SŪP∆ Spearmint, peppermint, winter fresh. DIMITRI ...ohhhh shittttt, winter fresh…! [He happily takes a stick, as the DJ loops [live sampling] the word "fresh", and they share a dance breakdown; Dimitri finishes his water and starts on his stick of gum. She produces a trash bag out of thin air, gesturing vanna white style, again as DIMITRI 'checks' himself, clearly unaware of Supa's Powers.] SŪP∆ Trash. [He enters his trash into the bag, after which, it immediately collapses, as it vanishes.] DIMITRI ...what was...what was that. SŪP∆ That...was...trash...magic…bags…brand...bags. ((( ))) (Magic Isn't Real!) SŪP∆ Oh, fuck, right. DILLON FRANCIS(in the next dimension over) DILLON FRANCIS Is. SŪP∆ Uh, Personal Space. DILLON FRANCIS Telepathy wasn't invented for "personal space" SŪP∆ Telepathy wasn't invented at all. DILLON FRANCIS Exactly. It's--Magic. Hence. SŪP∆ This has been previously established. DILLON FRANCIS I'm reinforcing the foundations...established...previously. SŪP∆ Uh, Don't you have half an album to finish? DILLON FRANCIS Uh, Don't you have a rave frozen in an unstable time warp, just so we can have this conversation--? Which, by the way, I'm pretty sure does not comply with aforementioned...reinforced foundations, Previously...established… SŪP∆ So what's the other half of thAt… was it even an album. Is it an EP? DILLON FRANCIS Nice view from the dancefloor, by the way, Jeez--JEEZ! I mean, I guess once you get used to the view from the stage, behind--you know --where the actual DJs...DJ. Behind the decks. In the DJ booth. For the DJ. SŪP∆ ...k… DILLON FRANCIS Which you're not. SŪP∆ Oh, I'm not. DILLON FRANCIS No. You're just...Dillusionally, probably permanently and terminally...not a DJ. SŪP∆ ‘Not a DJ.' DILLON FRANCIS Not a DJ. Right. SŪP∆ Not a DJ...with Magic. DILLON FRANCIS Maybe, mildly, weirdly magic--definitely not a DJ. Ever. SŪP∆ Okay. Not-- DILLON FRANCIS Not ever-- SŪP∆ Oh right, not Ever--s BOTH --a DJ. DILLON FRANCIS I'm glad you finally understand. We so, so appreciate the FANS, though. SŪP∆ BIG fan. BIG Dillon Francis fan. DILLON FRANCIS I know. I have…I'm telepathic. I'm also a DJ. Like, a real DJ. With...fans. AND albums. SŪP∆ So many fans. DILLON FRANCIS And albums. Like, tracks. SŪP∆ Right. Tracks. Got That Track Magic. DILLON FRANCIS Tracks. SŪP∆ I just got that, fan magic. And you know, actual magic. Thanks Dillon Francis-- DILLON FRANCIS DJ Dillon Francis SŪP∆ Right. DJ Dillon Francis. So many fans. DILLON FRANCIS but you're my best fan. SŪP∆ Best Fan! DILLON FRANCIS BEST FAN AWARD. SŪP∆ YEAH. DILLON FRANCIS FAN CAM! SŪP∆ ONE FOR THE FAN GRAM! DILLON FRANCIS THE *BEST* FAN GRAM. SŪP∆ YEAH. [Posing for a selfie, she uses one of her rave weapons (which is, actually just a regular iPhone) spitefully flashes him into a cross parallel dimension, outside of Bampheramph jurisdiction, trapping him in an intractable dimension; the photo created a time warp and intersectable checkpoint in time. She unfreezes the rave.] DIMITRI ...magic…? SŪP∆ Uh--no! ‘magic'. The music is magic, Just trash bags...brand...yeah. DIMITRI trash...brand...bags... SŪP∆ ...yeah... [They continue to dance; she nervously looks over her shoulder for possible alternate versions of DILLON FRANCIS At the end of the break, an immediate change of tone--she readjusts her outfit and hair, collecting herself in a snap--grabbing DIMITRI by his shoulder and pulling him closer, crouching lower into a "gameplay" position.) SŪP∆ (CONT'D) Now, business talk time. DIMITRI Serious face? [She nods adamantly. DIMITRI tries to straighten up, and "get serious, still bouncing along to the beat, adjusting his sunglasses.] CUT TO: EXT. THE OPEN SEAS. DAY [In a nearby dimension, As SKRILLEX and *alt* DILLON FRANCIS continue to battle, they cross paths at sea.] SKRILLEX Nice Dinghy, dude. DILLON FRANCIS It's...not a dinghy. It's a miniature yacht, and you're talking a lot, for someone that's more of a prop, than the dialogue. SKRILLEX Prop. Plot device. Main character. Oh shit dude--I might even star of the show. DILLON FRANCIS She's the star of the show. SKRILLEX Not without me. [A BAMPHERAMPH teleportals onto SKRILLEX'S boat, tagging him, BAMPHERAMPH TAG, YOU'RE IT. [He disappears into another portal.] SKRILLEX I'm it. DILLON FRANCIS Nah, you're just “Skrillex.” SKRILLEX That's--all you need. [A MOTHERFUCKER portals onto SKRILLEX'S boat, via another portal, handing him an *object*] MOTHERFUCKER Humility. You need it. SKRILLEX ...I made the HUMBLE remix. MOTHERFUCKER Yeah you did. [THE MOTHERFUCKER disappears into a portal; SKRILLEX unwraps the object; It is a pie, labeled ‘HUMBLE PIE.'] SKRILLEX Hm. FLASHBACK: BASS DROP, HUMBLE (Skrillex Remix) CUT BACK: As the bass drops, the pie explodes; This leaves him covered in a very fruity mess, and a *bass face* CUT TO: INT. OWSLA HQ. DAY MANAGER I don't think it's good for you, If you do this movie. SONNY/SKRILLEX Movies. It's like a series. Or a saga, oh--god, I don't know. [DILLON FRANCIS shows up, out of nowhere.] DILON FRANCIS Yeah. She is. Like a God, and you're not, man. So you know...I mean… SKRILLEX Actually heh. First of all, you tell me what the price of ‘Everliving Skrillex' is, I'll wait. DILLON FRANCIS My pants are currently selling for 69.99 right now. SKRILLEX My left sock was 69.99 this morning. MANAGER Why are you buying individual socks--??? DILLON FRANCIS Why are you buying socks in the mornings? MANAGER You're up late, how are you even up in the morning?! DILLON FRANCIS Do you ever sleep? Does a Skrillex sleep? MANAGER Who are you again? DILLON FRANCIS I'm Dillon Francis. DJ- Dillon Francis. SKRILLEX Does a Dillon Francis DJ? Or wear proper fitting pants? Or do anything? Anything cool at all? Yeah actually--He pushed Skrillex off a miniature yacht! SKRILLEX ...What? [DILLON FRANCIS portals them back onto the YACHT SCENE.] *alt* SKRILLEX and *alt* DILLON FRANCIS are still fighting; They are now both on the deck of SKRILLEX's boat, DILLON FRANCIS's mini yacht burning/ devastated by what appears to be a giant kraken in the background.] ALT/SKRILLEX FUCK YOUR MINIATURE YACHT. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS You're a miniature yacht! SKRILLEX Is that US?! MANAGER I told you... ALT/SKRILLEX You're not a good villain. Or at anything, really! You're just…'Dillon Francis. ‘ ALT/DILLON FRANCIS And you're just stranded in the ocean. ALT/SKRILLEX It's okay, it's hella refreshing! UNLIKE YOUR MUSIC. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS You know what--? DILLON FRANCIS (to his alternate self) I got this. ALT/SKRILLEX Huh? [DILLON FRANCIS blasts ALT/SKRILLEX into a portal, which whirlpools him into an alternate dimension; SKRILLEX and the MANAGER look on in horror.] ALT/DILLON FRANCIS Oh God, Finally! DILLON FRANCIS Yeah, I know. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS That took FOREVER. [DILLON FRANCIS rolls his eyes and hands his alternate self a small object*.] ALT/ DILLON FRANCIS By the way-- [He opens up another portal, reaching out just to jump into it, exclaiming:] ALT/DILLON FRANCIS (CONT'D) Tag, you're it. [He disappears into the portal.] DILLON FRANCIS OH, GOD DAMMIT. COMEUPOUTDAWAHTA, S U P A C R E E M I X X __________ SKRILLEX Get off my Alien Planet! Don't touch it! It's my alien planet, nobody land on it. DILLON FRANCIS Suhweeet planet… SUPACREE No! Don't land on that planet! [He lands.] SUPACREE God DAMMIT. GOD I can't do that. You know I can't do that. It's a whole planet just--give it time. SUPACREE I gave it spacetime! I am time! GOD I know you are, dear. Just be patient. SUPACREE Be patient? He went and put his DILLON FRANCIS all over it. JESUS Let Dillon Francis play with your planet, yeah? SUPACREE What?? No, can't have it, it's my planet. No. JESUS But he already put his Dillon on it, you know how that goes. SUPACREE I do know how it goes. I wrote it. GOD How does it go? It goes: SUPACREE --No--No--Dillon Francis, go home. /SKRILLEX No planet for Dillon Francis. SUPACREE This isn't Dillon Francis Land, it's closed. And also Not. Your. Planet. Go. Home. GOD That had a lot of heart, hun. SUPACREE And no Dillon Francis. JESUS Actually, it had a lot of that, too. SKRILLEX Aha. SUPACREE --Aha, well it's about to have a lot of not-that, I'm about to knock the not-that-hot-sauce off his-- /SKRILLEX --mini yacht knocking-- SUPACREE --sock-rocking-planet-blocking-motherfacker!!!! RAAGGHHH…!! /SKRILLEX AGHRAHGHHGH!!! JESUS Whew. Did you just eat a McFury? SUPACREE MAYBEITWASAFUCKISDILLONFRANCISDOINGONMYPLANETSANWHICH. SUPACREE + SKRILLEX FUCK DILLON FRANCIS. JESUS sounds like a lot. / Sounds Like A Mouthful. SUPACREE/SKRILLEX It wasn't. Ever. Never. / It's not. (Alternately) _______ DILLON FRANCIS Hey. This is a nice planet. Ū He's gonna be like-- DILLON FRANCIS Like flabbergasted. Ū Past Flabbergasted. Did he see you land? DILLON FRANCIS Yeah. Ū Good. Lol. Did he get the coupon? DILLON FRANCIS --Yes. (Previously) [Dillon Lurks In The Background with the SupaCreepers (binoculars). SKRILLEX finds the coupon.] $-FREE MCFURY. SKRILLEX ...oh, shit. Mm! Yeah-yeah! CUT BACK TO Ū Hehehe. EXT. AN ‘ALIEN' PLANET. SPACE THE SKRILLEX Enters The Atmosphere. THE SKRILLEX 'I AM SKRILLEX' S- Sunnï Blū, Ninja Guru Singer/Songwriter Ū- The Anti-Anti-Hero, the Superhero Persona, Ninja Assassin, and Mothafuckin' Bampheramph P-PEACE (Piece, Piece of the Puzzle, Piece of Pie, etc.) Problemo (Exists when too many plot holes and complexities arrive, also “The Pretender”, who just ignores when crazy shit happens, questions all realities (?) Alt+J- SUPACREE, The DIvine Trinity C- (Copyright Symbol) The Original Cree, Alternately Chak Chel, the ancient spirit guide ‘trapped' inside of the Physical Body to Accompany and Assist through magic, rituals, and energy manipulation through music, time space, and all reality which exists within the fathomable and expanding infinite consciousness. (thought to be ancient, however actually originating from hyper intelligent and extraterrestrial existence in the outer realms. Caricatures (“Characters” Based On Various Entertainment Artists Personas, To Be Played (As themselves) S-Dillon Francis U-Dillon Frances P-Dillon T. Francis A-Dillon Flances C-Dillon Glances R-Dillon France Is E-Fillon Dances E-(Fictional Dillon) Francis/Is Pasquale -DJ Hanzel -DJ Rich As Fuck -Gerald -N(E)RD (Pronounced” NED”) Sonny Moore/Skrillex -Hereby referenced to as SS, there exists “Infinite Skrillex” variably throughout the Multiverse, however, Skrillex himself is (secretly) the singular (and seemingly random apparent “phenomenon”) of his kind. A rare and shiny seemingly shapeshifting sorcerer, the concept and use of “Fictional Skrillex” is separated into a multitude of characters, uses and ambiguities explained throughout the series. *Spoiler*, Tying into the Theme of an Ever Expanding (and alternately, Collapsing/Compressing) Infinite Multidimensional, The Term Skrillex can refer the the Persona, or Person as Himself, but alternately is used as a noun, pronoun, verb, or adjective--even sometimes as a profanity, or to be referred to as a “race”. Sammi B,/LSDream/Brillz -Sam I Am (Festival Trip Alter Ego) -I Am Sam (Festival Trip Second Alter Ego) Pasqualle Rotella A nameless, untranslatable into spoken or written language symbol, to be decided. An Ultra-Omnipitent giant (predominately purple, but emanating all colors of the cosmos) Galaxy of Ultra Concious Light Waves, SoundFrequencies, and Own Planetary Solar System, Boasting Stars which rival our own sun. A brilliant Collection of Space Dust (A relative of “Fart”, from Rick and Morty) Evil Pasquale Pasqualle Is Dillon Francis Mr. Rager (Underground Pasqualle) A No-Named Burner and Ultimate Raver, whose domain is the kingdom of the underground rave scene--he detests the mainstream, traveling (across time, as an undercover Bampheramph), Wally (Never started Insomniac, Works At Walmart as Greeter. Never Raved.) In a homage to the second back to the future, U has traveled back to 1993 to create a reality where Google and Insomniac, etc. are owned and operated by SupaCree, skewing into an adjacent timeline in the future where her superstardom and rise to fame begins as a child star on Disney Channel, crossing multiple timelines interdimensionally intersected on the Infinite Grid so complex, it begins to create a disastrous series of knots, loops, and voids, tangled now permanently into the fabric of time. Wally is asked to fill in for his coworker in the photography section, where he develops photos from a disposable camera and is enamoured by the dazzling magic of EDC captured on camera. His eyes widen as he glimpses into the photos; it is love at first sight. He makes doubles of the photos, later creating a vision board (used as a totem, easter egg throughout series) Wally's World lol The Ascended Masters The Psychonauts The Bampheramphs (& Mothafuckin' Bampheramphs, Respectively) The Insomniacs (& Pasquallians, a secret sect of magicians, sorcerers and alchemists, seers and mystics carefully selected as keyholders to ‘The Secret Gates', a secret interdimensional transit system hidden beyond VIP (VIP+, VIP++, VIP+++, and VIP (+/-) which actually contains an underground city, a massive classified compound which exists between cross dimensions, allowing for shifts in the timespace continuums and temporary constructs of reality adjust by a mastery of manipulative conception, a complete control of energy--even allowing for such things as matter to appear, disappear, The Toxic Avengers, Traveling across the Multiverse to Avenge the annihilation, assassinations, and massacre of The Infinite Skrillex {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

I walked in locked in; Pistol cocked, and pointed towards my head You'll only want me when you have no options left, Or when I'm dead “It's clever” They all said An ambitious endevour End this life, and be devoured By the miester and the misters of the hour How about now? (Or–) How about Now, or How about Now, or How about Now? Or, How about now, or How about now, or How about now? Or, How about Now, or How about Now, or How about Now? Now or Never I said “That's clever” or “How about Now” What do you want from me? I lie for a living; A literal drama queen, don't eat turkey on thanksgiving I'm the worthless word for Surface level thinking on this Earth, or Picking hearses with my cursor, Mercenary, Mercury, or Just a Mercer–But not a Mercedes; I'm paid, but I hate paying; Made the game, but I hate playing I remember making hate to be created Just for entertainment– A belated invitation, Now i'll face it, Back to Basic– But she's laced with Masonry; A tastemaker, maybe But she just wants a family, Whatever that means Wow. How about now? Fuck this. Homelssness. I woul rather kill myself than stay alive I'd rather die than fight Don't want to write this: I'm just a diamond pressurized And i might never see the light I'll never see the lght I see the light There's no honor in suicide But i've devided my mind a million times And now like dynamite in a mine; Collapsed, collided, ad defined by All divine; You'll never see me shine, But deep inside I'd blind you; Guided by the tide, I've come to find you Down, I dive I'm not alive, you know I'm always misaligned But that's beside the point Another suicide attempt Is in the midst– But just what is it; More than just one, is it? Rather die than listen to Skrillex Or take pills just to chill with it For real? this shit again? It wasn't real, all to begin with It's only mental illness cause i'm penniless Now i've got so much to deal with Another wound to heal, Another deal, perhaps I'll make another million in a year, If i'm still here– And i”m still here– And i'm still– Who are you now, and— Who were you then; And— Which part of this, would you want— Or did want, Or just wanted Pondered before in a vision, Outfitted in hooded drapery, The heaviest fabric; A rosary hung from his neck But can't recall the connection In this ressurection I can recall him, But never remember The calling Let's call him Oh, fuck man. ‘Friar Tuck' THAT WAS IT. The high priest of asencion, Was burned in her memory— Not as a friend, But a friend of the enemy; Who she loved and protected, Despite all the envy, She felt for Persephone— Just an unjust figure, A fictional figment of imagination But— Who was I then And who am I now; And what part of him, Would I want, if I wanted Or wished for, Or honored A friend, long forgotten Not a high priest, But a Friar That was it— But before, As Mary, Joseph, and Jesus On the front lines of the war, Not to be started, but ended, as in Preparation, a blood sacrifice I've prepared In a premonition that I'd Give my whole heart again Honest, And honestly slain in the eyes, Of a man I remember, But didn't, when it mattered— Then did, right in front of him Who are we now, and— Who were we then; Let's find out, As time's running out again “Yes, I know him.” She sighed, eyeing from over the rims of the glasses she purchased only earlier to assure she had hidden the tears that she cried for Him— Neither a friend or an enemy, rather The ghost of a shadow she hadn't yet met with again, since he entered her presence Shifting into a tent Now, ripped from the pages of a book she cherished, A page which she promised to never diminish or tarnish would go up in ashes, As totems would fall, Wishes would become granted The PyRAmiD Spell (For Pasquale Rotella) gave gave the man honorary doctorate, and then reneged it, nigga thought he was actually bigger than big sister sick spitter, rip n dip listening to anything but Skrillex that shit is for kids ‘Check it' I hate midi gimmie a synth, something gritty, I'll make it pretty Come and try to get me, I been dead for centuries, Unsolved like a mystery This image don't mean shit to me, I sit to think, I wait to speak, I leak some information on the interwebs just to see how fast it comes back to me I'm actually a master “Untitled 07” It's like a 24/7 job, can't get no rest in, At best you're looking like a slob I kamikaze ‘em all, I am your mom, I will tell you what you are, to me By now, you should know, or see Just a name on my computer screen A friendly neighbor on Easy Street A wish, A lucid dream, A misalignment, so its seems So let me tell you what you are to me: Just make believe (Just make believe) Just make believe (Just make believe) It may be evil (Make believe) Just make believe (Just make believe) A lucid dream I'll tell you what I've seen, and what I see (and What I see) I dare to dream (I dare to dream) But please believe me, I'm as evil as can be Don't let my anything deceive you I'm a fleeting, bleeding Beaten bride to be No, don't believe me I'm the fire and gnashing teeth they preached to you May everything I've written one day reach you And beseech you, Just like you did to me Now let me tell you what I see; Just make believe (Just make believe) It may be evil (Make believe) Just make believe (Just make believe) A lucid dream When I wash up on the beach, From blazing fires of burning seas, Let me sing you all to sleep For every tear I often weep To dream of you A lucid dream Just fucking make believe; And I can make believe we fucked Just so I can get to sleep (Are you proud of me?) Hey. (Sarcastically) Oh, Come In. (Sighs heavily) I fucked up. I'm not surprised. I'm not surprised. Don't copy me. I need help. No arguments there. Dude, I'm serious. __ So first of all oh God, now what– I'm not racist You're extremely racist Racist By Proxy I'm not Racist They do look alike. Check this out: WOAH. That's…not a coincidence. That's definitely not a coincidence. Fuck. This. Shit. Here, take this. So, you dropped this totem… Uh-huh. In the ocean. Yes I did. And that one Ooof. What about– That came off on the moped. How? When I came off the moped. So you admit it. SO! He only let me ride it cause he wanted to ride ME! Nice. Did you sing to him? Uh, I sang for him? What's the difference? Here's every song I've ever written about X.X Just kill yourself. Should I then? I mean, perHAPS. I mean, maaaayyyybeee. You know what? I do know. Fuckthisshit. Fuck it, then. I'm out. I quit. Go find SupaCree. This…is impossible. Nothing is impossible. Except for that. Oh. “Oh.” No, i'm serious. You look serious–I'm just saying. What is this? Don't touch that– What is it? It's– [a tiny explosion] –ugh. Volatile. What the fuck are you into? I told you. You said “music.” What is “Music” [very deep pondering] I hate you. We have to find her. You have to. What! You're not going to help us? I have other things to do. Like what, dude? Like what, broh. Feed My cat; Your cat died. Walk my dog– You don't have a dog. I'm getting one. Oh, Jesus Christ Don't get all religious on me, now, not after that. Not after what? Yeah, which thing? ___ Man. Get me out of here. [shrugs] I hate being stuck in your head. What is THIS. Uh. play dead. What's up with your dog. Ruff. Good boy. I'm a girl. Uhhh–good girl. Wait. Hm. Did that dog just– [???] Nevermind. I've been up for 6 days straight. Tour life, buddy. Ah-huh. Uhh. Can I take a shower in your– Take a sho–? [dog grumphs] Uh, yeah, sure. Thanks. *Shapeshifts* Wow, that's cool. It's so stupid. I came in late to the office, so to speak; it had been an off day, after an off night, plagued by what I was sure to be some sort of demonic magic—I was moving slowly, off beat, and irritated—nevermind the lack of energy, as I moved about as steadily as I could—making arrangements for the next trials to come, as it seemed nearly impossible to move ahead, and yet—somehow, I had been given what seemed like one final chance to survive, or not. I had spent the first part of my day, somehow waking with a gust of light, and ready to take on the tasks at hand—then quickly wiped of anything holy in me by the outrageously disgusting hacking and howling of the seemingly-programmed man-or-something-alike, and into a manic-semi-conscious desperation to piece together what was left of my life—seemingly nothing, but somehow still pieced and patched together by music, the overriding theme being that I would be quickly booted out of any position unsuitable for me; and by now, I was just about unsuitable for everything, besides gym crawling and throwing together pieces of literature unlike any I had before seen, as I was, assuredly beginning to look in every direction for other writers which may have matched my style of the then-present day and age, and to my shagrin had found nearly nothing to gawk about, but at the very least had picked up some novels noteworthy in nature, as they had made me laugh, or somehow otherwise caught my attention. Now in my Arsenal, I had one novel, each respectively written by a woman, a white man, and a black man—every book I had otherwise been drawn to written by black women were, upon cracking to open, too-stereotypically black, or about being a black-girl in some kind of way I knew too much about and had absolutely no interest in reading. I had no idea what caused me to look into a world I had all but shut out of my mind—this someone and something had haunted me for months and even growing into years now, first affectionately, but now growing into an uneasy and painstaking, critical list for something deeper. I hated my ex husband for bringing me to this, and, as I looked at the clock at 5:55 exactly, nearly vomited in disgust at the sprawling obsession I would have to somehow quiet—as there really was no halting the plague of tragic recouping thoughts of Dillon Francis at random—now, daily, for quite some time, even as the automatic writing had nearly stopped entirely; I had become entrapped with daily reminders of things I had written, now welling up with spite and anger, that I had even allowed myself the obsession to begin with—especially after what had happened—or what had not happened—with Sonny, whatever way you wanted to look at it. Now; just left with a burning lust and motion sickness beyond my wildest control upon approaching the matter if it all, nonetheless with peaking curisosity, as he had walked in and out if my dreamscape like a picturesque bandit, even hijacking my own sexuality—now almost didn't want or dream of anything else, and with the un presidented amount of ‘decoys' life had thrown at me—Bruno, the bird speaking man from Belgium with the eyes that burned in striking similarity to Dillon's—and then again with Gabriel, the man who had hired me to DJ in the small cerveceria in Mazunte, who could have been his brother'; a dazzlingly handsome, if not perfect near-replica of Dillon Francis, who, by that point, i couldn't even bear to look at, let alone conjure the spark or touch of romance—even after multiple suggestions that he and his girlfriend had just broken up. I never allowed myself for a moment to believe or think that Dillon—or any of the men I fawned after, for that matter, in reality, a very short list—would ever be settled with the idea of me as a perfect fit; no, I sat in the certain reality that I was cursed, living in the opposite exact of the Allison Wonderland archetype—a woman who I theorized may have been Skrillexed and Dillon Francis'd herself—it seemed to be a pattern of hypnotism I was finally wrapping my head around, and even had learned to respect if not envy: I wanted the codes to create my own version of the worlds I had been spun into—and while I would more than likely never be a light skinned, light eyed beauty Queen; perhaps my own kingdom was meant to be of wit and wealth, rather than vanity. Still, headed back into the desert, I found myself scrolling through open guest lists, excited to take my longtime best friend turned literal goddess club crawling, looking for industry and network connections, if not at least a sex partner that could keep up with my needs, now furiously tearing at me from the inside out—as I scrolled, RSVPing for any acts I hadn't yet seen but had heard of, I found myself trailing off in thought and perhaps looking for something I hadn't realized I would stray into; I knew specifically that Dillon had a residency at the Wynn, and —though I also knew I wouldn't be caught dead at this point anywhere I knew he was, or especially stupid enough to pay for it. Now it was torturous, knowing how regretfully physical my attraction had become—understsnding from my interactions with the aforementioned that I was drawn to Dillon for his features—his eyes, his hair, and everything in his silhouette from his jawline, to his lips and brow drove me absolutely wild—however, I had learned about my very fragile psychiatry from my obsession with Skrillex, or with Sonny—neither of which I wished existed, adding Dillon Francis to the list of fictional characters I pushed further into my imaginary incineration box, where I put everything that not need affect my actual emotions or actions; Dillon Francis, a wealthy and talented, very handsome man—could not exist. I wished more than ever that I wasn't dark skinned, that I wasn't heavy set, that I didn't come with a flaming dumpster full of trauma and baggage that no man wanted or needed, but especially not the wealthy and handsome individuals I had spent very much of the last passing years writing about and fantasizing over, finding it respectably impossible to even have flings or sexual experiences without either of the two most rampant figures of my infatuation crossing into my mind and shrouding me with guilt and shame—and yet, here they were, so out of my element that I continued to agree with myself and the universe that it would be dillusinal to think myself a match for anyone so high-achieving. Nothing I could do or say could shake the fact that despite all my efforts to break through, all it had seemed to do was create a broken down individual, ready for enslavement in the working class just to stay housed—my music aspirations both hanging above me, and somehow fading away into the distance behind me. I hated myself. But more importantly, hated Skrillex and Dillon Francis for living the life I somehow thought I wanted and needed. What is the definitive definition of the word Skrillex? Skrillex: noun...right? What, you don't know? I know! It's...a noun...right? Right. Right--- ---Right! Could also be, an adjective, I guess--i? You guess?! You have to know. I mean--- Coughs ain't shit Skrillex ain't *coughs Satan ain't shit Bitch suck a dick Slit ya wrists On ya pissed off Little ass nigga. A loud, abrupt cough disrupted my focus; I was 5-sets-of-8 out of 8 and just feeling my heart begin to pump, as sweat poured from my temples and my sunglasses steamed “Man, fuck Coughs.” Whoever she was, even if it was just one of my infinite inward selves, this was some satanic shit. Now I hated Skrillex—not that it mattered, and as he was a living legend in computer animated music, or whatever voodoo shit he was responsible for that had sparked an entire uprising of revolutionary artists and producers spanning a generation or more—and I was damned-if-I-did, and damned-if-I-didn't love, like, or listen to him; all of which I did, besides the latter higher love by Whitney Houston, God rest her soul, blared over the gym's loud speakers, as I, more than likely looking just as superficially occupied as any basic broad, scrolling away on Instagram or texting her replicas, jotted down the rest of the thoughts that had nestled themselves in my mind's eye, as the coughing, which had followed me everywhere for nearly four years, beckoned to something—searching for purpose if not means to an end. He had Kayla Lauren, a plastic, streamlined representation of the all-American-deem girl, not to mention a “collective” of other broad women of sorts, probably all inwardly clawing just as I had at one time, for a piece of Sonny's heart, or whatever was left of it, after what I could have only assumed to have been a blood sacrifice of sorts, for his placement atop such a steep pyramid of success. What if, every time someone coughed—someone took a picture? I thought about the millions of hacking imbeciles and inbred, backwards savages who had crowded my ears with the putrid sounds of Satan's show choir, a coughing and excessive hellish representation of how the human race had gone awry; If I had been famous, or on my way to it, I would be burgeoned with photographs, as I had been in Mexico without knowing why or how—people sometimes slinking behind their phones as if to secretly capture a candid photo, I myself, pretending not to be aware of it. Cough cough. Ugh. If every cough represented a fan or something of the sorts taking a picture, I almost reveled in the thought—I would have rather had a million flashing cameras at once than to hear another ingrate hacking up a lung in Satan's honor. I was horrified at whatever Skrillex was, and whatever OWSLA meant, though I broadly showcased the tattoo on my inner-right forearm, opposite of Sonny's—the boy I was sure was murdered by the fame monster itself, as Lady Gaga, though admirable, had blatently called it, or herself, or whatever “we” all were or had been once, or would be, collectively at the beginning-and-end of it all. I had seen broadly into the realms of infinity the night previous, and had settled on one, astonishing fact: all of infinitely combined shared a concéntrical center at which at any point could be accessed. Even typing such a concept, I knew it to be life-altering…if I was even alive. To think, I used to hate deadmau5– I hate deadmau5– You know—after that spat with Skrillex. GO TEAM SKRILLEX!!! SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!! who the fuck is deadmau5, anyway. But here I am, decades later. [skrillex] FUCK THIS NIGGA. I needed something to help offset the damage that was done. [someone coughing loudly] Fuck this coughs bitch! [trying on small clothes] Ohh. [kayla Lauren] [sadness] Aww. [dillon Francis] —well how was I supposed to know he was a— STOP RIGHT THERE! I'm...not moving. Yeah, you're not. Uh, okay? You know why? I didn't ask— You need THIS: What is this. I'll tell you what it is [beat] … Okay—what is it?' ILL TELL YOU WHAT IT IS. — Technically, If I do this every day, I can eat whatever I want— Just eat it. No. But I won't. Well, why not? Too Fat For Skrillex. — [C.C. Arrives in the parking lot to find her car has been vandalized...again.] ...Skrillex did this. On Jimmy Fallon. On Jimmy Fallon. Alright, then, kid—it's your dollar. I'll take “Skrillex Did It” for one dollar. But he's halfway across the world! He can shapeshift! Don't be stupid. What—! He's a shapeshifter, for real. We know! Just don't say it! I saw it. We all have. What the fuck, bro— Where did you come from? I've been here. Haven't we all? That's the spirit. What's a spirit? I'm glad you asked. As SUPACREE walks down the street, a man in the passenger's seat is seen to be the Egyptian God ANUBIS, before shifting back into hidden human form. Which one's that? Anubis, right? Googles 'deities' Oh, there he is: Anubis. Good. What's he want? Whatever it is, that's not what I was looking for. What are you looking for? That dark thing. Which “dark thing”? Flashback: That's inside me?! Flashback to Kite at Bass– UGH! Canyon. That's it. That's what it is. LET ME OUT. It's gonna destroy something. She. She–yes–apparently so. CUT BACK TO Fuck you, Skrillex! Stay over there and be Skrillex with your fucking–models–and you coughs piece of fucking–peice of fucking shit, peice of shit. Oh SHIT, who let him in? I mean, it's Skrillex. Yeah, but who let him near SUPACREE? He does what he wants. I heard that. Fuck you, Skrillex. That sounds deep. I guess so. What even happened? Nobody seems to know. Oh. –Except these guys. Who the fuck are you? Where did you come from?! CULT FOLLOWERS Yes–”WHO” Yes–”WHERE” Uh, okay. SUPACREE Fuck this shit. I quit. You can't quit. I just did. Fuck Skrillex. Ah, shit, here it comes. Go ahead, the worst he can do is cough at me and make me homeless. *loud obnoxious coughing* Do your worst. *more loud coughing* Fuckin'. Satan's pet. Satan's not real! Then neither is Skrillex. Amen. (Cult Followers, In unison.) Amen. [SUPACREE exits furiously.] What…the fuck. Pause. Wait, is this marketable? Yes. How? Cause its Skrillex. Skrillex is clickbait. What the FUCK did he do? *COUGHS* I mean, I bet– Fucking–motherfucker. Fuck. Well, now what? Now, nothing. I'mma go get a regular job and see what the industry wants with Jessica. (((Oh, I think you know what they want.))) ((Oh, God Knows)) I thought we weren't doing that bit. We're doing all the bits. MORTY. JESSICA. Oh yeah. Even better. C'esme't sighs heavily, unamused. My liege. Don't be coy with me. I would never. There are hardly any things left you would never do. If not only because I had done them all; But to be coy, with you, my Queen is neither desire or pleasure. You are clever. At your discretion. I began to wonder if I may have looked as miserable as I was, as even though I could not see my own self, walking about in my day-to-day nothingness, the expression protruding from my face felt as if it might look as lifeless as I was beginning to feel, no longer wholly choking back tears but still moving and barely breathing in the awful circumstance of doing and being–I had felt the light itself slowly draining from my eyes, and even things I loved with all my heart could not in any sense brighten this dullness. I felt Godless, and at the very least loveless, lightless, and without my magic, somehow having lost my soul and my singing voice at once. Yes, it was terrible–something was wrong, and I, without becoming the star I had so wanted, was already washing up. Homelessness drained all of what would have been a magnificent energy all together, left to become someone I wasn't sure I even liked, and seemingly cursed, as most recently, no one else seemed to like me either--still, I almost let myself believe something bigger was at play, or perhaps in the works; I had been relocated just perfect walking distance to the gym, where of course rather than look for work which would only urge me closer to suicide than I had been, I elected instead to spend a majority of my time, crafting my days around getting there for the bare minimum of three hours, but ideally closer to 5 or 6, always aiming for 8 and almost-always giving up not because I was too tired, but because I was drenched in sweat, and something like the discomfort of a wet diaper, just wanted to be fresh and dry. God, Help me with this affliction Pick a clip, Flick the bean, And watch Netflix I'm stressin, wet and undressin This sexual tension is serious Salad, with no dressin I'm the lady in the red dress, and yes I write blank checks, so when I go to Heck, I bounce back like, “Yes.” [YES] No pressure, It's my pleasure; I'd rather be in leather than in latex, lathered up Present, or past but honestly, neither matters; Just give this to Marshall Mathers, And a Dad Hat; AMEN Hey Kids, Lets not say “Amen”, After we say hanuss shit, okay? Today, I'm Eminem, so I can finally find Skrillex, And kill him: My mission is to introduce a new religion to humans, called STOP BEING STUPID. Stop Being Skrillex. Well, Alright Then. [Presses Easy Button] “WELL, THAT WAS-- CUT TO: -__- SUPACREE wakes up from a coma; In a very SKRILLEX, Get out. [He just does.] ...Where's Dillon Francis? ...Dillon Is Dead. Dilon Francis Died. He's...left us. ...Nope. Yes, he is. SUPACREE, I'm Sorry. Don't be sorry. Be Dillon Francis. The Coma--You know---must've-- You know. Nope. Where's Pasquale? Who is that? Oh, fuck this. No, wait, stop! STAHP. Bring Skrillex Back. I never left. You're never there. Here, Tres Leches … Dulce De Leche. You know what? What? NO. NO? NO. __ ALRIGHT, WHERE'S DILLON FRANCIS? Who is that? STOP PLAYING GAMES. DILLON FRANCIS is in THE VOID, trying to beat THE LEGEND of SUPACREE. It's a really good game. DILLON FRANCIS (cracked) “It's a really good game!” GAMERS It is, a really good game. So good, in fact, that when SUPACREE herself arrives, S/He pays her almost entirely no mind. Really, Dillon Francis? ... Really, Motherfucker. DILLON FRANCIS I'm The Captain SUPACREE No, I am. (I AM!) She gestures that she is about to unplug the TV DILLON FRANCIS Don't do that. SUPACREE What? I am (I AM) Don't do it again! I told you, it's-- IN Dillon. DILLON Don't FIN. SUPACREE Unplugs the Set. DEADMAU5 FUCK, MAN. FINALLY. SUPACREE Be Less Canadian. JOEL No, I can't DILLON FRANCIS No, He can't-- JESUS No, he can't. [Beat] DILLON IS SHATTERED, as at the last moment (before the determination of the outcome of the battle, it entirely ceases to exist. Moments of silence pass in infinite tension, before DILLON, looking much like an uncomfortable, overheated, skinless (live) chicken, meets a soon to be boiled crab. OH, MY GOD. GAD/SUPACREE/C.C. That's... what they call me. *coughs* -UGLY!- *coughs* *coughs* GOD. GOD No, not you. DILLON FRANCIS ...Oh, My God. GOD What, Dillon Francis? DILLON FRANCIS Are you SUPACREE? GOD I...Am. DILLON FRANCIS Oh My God--I am too! GOD I know this. DILLON FRANCIS Oh My God! GOD Yeah, I know! Woah, he's Fangirling He's fangirling so hard. Well, wouldn't you. Ask me about IT.” (IS/IT) 3 heads are better than one; This is a a game based on truth; The more you ask, the more you know; The more you know about me— The more you know about yourself— The more you know about yourself, the more you know about the world You are the world. Ī ∆ M Ū. Goddammit! You son of a bitch. She won't watch it I bet she will They know I will He knows I am! I am! Oh, there we go—it's on Get off me! Goddammit, Dillon Francis! I hate you. I hate you BACK! GO BACK! GO BACK! GO BACK–WHEN TO THE WYNN!! Right—! Wait—- Not yet— I know the code. Oh she– she knows what the code is. What did I put it in? I get it, I get it, it's— Not now, then! Not then, now! Not— Wait—- DONT! ...then, I die. The DJ VALET AND THE DJ BALLET THE BAMPHERAMPH BALANCING ACT WITH THE CHAMPION OF RAP?!? ...ohhh, wave dash, I get it… Ū Alright. GOD This is the part where you don't sleep. SUPACREE Oh no. GOD You've been ‘Don't Eating' for like, 8 months now. Now it's time to Don't Sleep. SUPACREE Yikes. Û You can bet we'll have it done by the beginning of next semester. GERALD Next semester's set to not even be in a classroom. Ï Even better. Remote binge worthy media. Excerpt From: “Blū and The Cosmic Owl” ... ...Having found the fallen owl, he glances up at the sky, just as another shooting star flies by. In awe, he stands at the giant animal, who pants in a tragically cry in pain. He sorrowfully glances into the bird's giant eye, crying as his tears spill into the trail of blood, a sparkling dark purple river, streaked with the silver streams of moonlit tears and the golden gleam of a lucid dream; her dilated pupils reflect all the cosmos, sparkling through the three round dials; some sound, which has never heard or even fathomed to be made, a vibration ringing as it aligns with his light, which also shines now through his dark brown eyes; He is hypnotized, nearly full of light in a state of trance as he begins to float upward, levitating just slightly--A SUDDEN FLASH OF COSMIC LIGHT, as the wounded bird, morphs into a matching [humanoid] being, abruptly changing the frequency from a hypnotising lull, to an ear-shattering, soul startling and painstaking frequency. As they both hover above the ground-- still in levitation, he quickly looks down worriedly, then back up at the being--now matching in age, as The Princess, a pretty poised and painted warrior, adorned with the royally decadent white and purple trimmed fashion, crystals and gemstones of the galaxies imbedded into her sashes. He's enamoured and intrigued, less terrified than excited; however her eyes, now changing a through colors of neon light, reflect her terrified and painful confusion, having been wounded with the weapon of ‘man'--he falls toward the ground, suddenly, groaning in pain, then turning into a fetal position from which he cowers in fear under her. A tear, which has formed in her eye, nearly falls; she forcefully reabsorbs it back into her eyes, as she calms herself down, lowering gracefully to the ground. She crouches over him, thinking twice quite literally, before angrily kneeling over him, yielding a ball of fire out of one hand, holding him by his shirt with the other--he cowers in fear, now--his awestruck chased away by the apparent power of this being; she quickly throws her fireball at a nearby bush, lighting it as he glares at the sight slightly stupified by the fire light, which he likes. A splash of water drenches him from head to toe, blasting off his pink glasses and shattering playful spry outlook with a very grumpy pout, as he stands up, dripping from head to toe. She stands, one leg crossed over the other, another dream of water floating in her hand; as he stands dripping, she blasts him again, with the intensity of a firehose pushing him back. Taking awhile to get back, she waits, meditating by the bush as a campfire, as he, still dripping approaches. She looks out of one eye, unassumingly continuing to meditate as he approaches the fire, which he sits by, as closely and cautiously on the other side, trying to get dry. She looks at him from the other eye, calmly sighing as she blasts him with the surprise of an almost blow dry, which she provides by colliding her hands stretched outwardly towards him; the heated gust leaves him looking somewhat like a freshly groomed poodle--his dark brown hair to match his sweet and gentle eyes, by which, his glasses having been blasted off a third time, he notices as he pushes up on the bridge of his nose, realizing he's lost them again--before he can even (literally) think to retrieve them, they float, guided by her telekinetic twisting of her index finger. BLŪ ...thank you... Still unable to form words, she just gazes at him from over the firelight, sternly searching perhaps, for the way to create a translation between her native telepathic ways of communication, or any of the alien languages--she is unfamiliar with this, though captioned in (several, actually) alien languages, we, as the audience can perceive any of the dialogue just to be "english". PRINCESS Why would you do that?! BLŪ What?! PRINCESS What you did to me! BLŪ I didn't mean to! PRINCESS Mean to what? BLŪ Shoot you!? I-- PRINCESS Why would you ‘shoot' an Owl!? BLŪ An ‘owl?' I'm sorry! I didn't! PRINCESS Didn't what? LOOK. [She appears, even still, to be wounded.] BLŪ I--I never-- PRINCESS Never what? BLŪ I've never seen an ‘owl' before… PRINCESS So you just--!? BLŪ I'm sorry! PRINCESS What were you attempting to do? BLŪ I don't know! PRINCESS You don't know? BLŪ No! I just-- PRINCESS You? BLŪ I...just… PRINCESS You… BLŪ I… PRINCESS … [She appears to be bleeding through the sheath of her bodice.] BLU ...Are you ok? CYPHER I: ‘The Coffee Run' This is my job, Like this is your job I look at the jaw I want what you want This is my planet we're on This is is my plan, I got lost in it Maybe I'm wrong, but I'm not You just want a nut with a butt I just want a bud-- [Sample, Dillon Francis: Hey Buddy! (The Coffee Run)] --I'm not your buddy. Ah. Look at that car; I'm on a coffee run at McDonald's How much does it cost? A dollar, one— It's like putting gas in my car, I don't wanna I don't wanna I don't wanna Call Jimmy Fallon to borrow a dollar. It's a coffee run A coffee run A coffee run; You cough, I run You like? I'm fun The west was won by everything under the Sun, Run it This--soul. Yes? It is...of light? It is. And? (A concept unbeknownst the the dark and evil underlords of Satan's realm, which has expanded far beyond hell, into the upper reaches of our world, consuming in darkness everything it can.) Something else… What? Something powerful. It is...beyond words. How? That is, yet to be understood. Mmm… ________________ INT. SOMEWHERE IN ALASKA. DAY. [Before the initial collision... ] DEVIL Exited for EDC? Ï Are you serious? DEVIL Is Dillon Francis going to be there? Ï Dillon Francis? DEVIL Yeah. DJ Dillon Francis. Ï Uh. I don't know. And I don't care. DEVIL Why not? This guy is awesome. Ï (rolling eyes) Since when do you listen to EDM? DEVIL I don't. Just Dillon Francis. He's fuckin hilarious. Look at this. VIDEO: NEED YOU, NGHTMRE & DILLON FRANCIS Ï Huh. CUT TO: DILLON FRANCIS arrives through a portal onto Venice beach, just moments before SUPACREE arrives; Where he is ‘kidnapped' into an Egyptian crystal shop. CUT TO SUPACREE What the FUCK! Dillon Francis isn't the answer to anything, even if someone is pointing at him, asking "Who the fuck is that?" HANZEL Wvell that's because ze answer is "DJ Dillon Francis" Ū Exactly. SUPACREE Oh, please. CUT TO: INT. THE GREAT SALTAIR. SALT LAKE CITY, UT. [SŪP∆ is on the lineup; she prepares for her set. She lurks down into the dancefloor, hiding in the risers, looking over the crowd to read the room. As she peers into the corner nearest to the bar, she suddenly stops, tipping down the rims of her glasses and squinting sternly, scanning over the large group...she intensely scopes a tall, and lanky brunette hunched drunkenly in the corner, one sleeve of her I'll fitting oversized jacket hanging off her shoulder unevenly. Even from afar, she looks tequila toasted.] SŪP∆ Yikes. [She looks down at her [watch, which appears to be a early version of the Synesthesia Panel] it is 7:35.] SŪP∆ (CONT'D) Annnnnd--the night is young… [She peers once more into the corner, to see the girl stumbling towards the restroom sloppily, hunched shoulders and struggling to keep her oversized jacket "on", over her high waisted shorts, accompanied by black fishnets and babydoll crop top, stomping in her stupor towards the restroom. She thinks for a moment, then exits downstairs intently. Downstairs, She is greeted by one of the stagehands. They PLUR and hug. ] DIMITRI Heeeeey. Happy Rave Dayyy. SŪP∆ Every day is rave day. DIMITRI I wish. SŪP∆ Wishes come true. DIMITRI Ugh, I wish. SŪP∆ Don't waste a wish on a wish. They all come true. DIMITRI Think so? SŪP∆ Know so. Like--know-know… so…don't wish for stupid shit; you don't know how many wishes you actually get, so just...be...specific. [He is starry eyed, gazing at her in a dreamlike trance.] SŪP∆ (CONT'D) ...like super specific. DIMITRI ...Specific…Wishes… SŪP∆ ‘Rollin'? [DIMITRI nods happily, bouncing to the upbeat bass house music coming from the mainstage.] SŪP∆ Just kicked in? DIMITRI (shaking head in agreement) Yuh. SŪP∆ Water? [She produces a bottled water out of "nowhere" (the void in her energy field which manifests items most needed/useful immediately [DIMITRI takes the water, amazed that she literally pulled it out of nowhere right in front of him; however, his Befuddled expression suggests curiosity that he is "tripping", which he quickly shrugs off, still bouncing happily to the music as he takes a drink (nearly the entire bottle), giving him life. (As he catches his breath, he looks up to see a tricolor of gumstucks fanned before him, his eyes light up.] SŪP∆ Spearmint, peppermint, winter fresh. DIMITRI ...ohhhh shittttt, winter fresh…! [He happily takes a stick, as the DJ loops [live sampling] the word "fresh", and they share a dance breakdown; Dimitri finishes his water and starts on his stick of gum. She produces a trash bag out of thin air, gesturing vanna white style, again as DIMITRI 'checks' himself, clearly unaware of Supa's Powers.] SŪP∆ Trash. [He enters his trash into the bag, after which, it immediately collapses, as it vanishes.] DIMITRI ...what was...what was that. SŪP∆ That...was...trash...magic…bags…brand...bags. ((( ))) (Magic Isn't Real!) SŪP∆ Oh, fuck, right. DILLON FRANCIS(in the next dimension over) DILLON FRANCIS Is. SŪP∆ Uh, Personal Space. DILLON FRANCIS Telepathy wasn't invented for "personal space" SŪP∆ Telepathy wasn't invented at all. DILLON FRANCIS Exactly. It's--Magic. Hence. SŪP∆ This has been previously established. DILLON FRANCIS I'm reinforcing the foundations...established...previously. SŪP∆ Uh, Don't you have half an album to finish? DILLON FRANCIS Uh, Don't you have a rave frozen in an unstable time warp, just so we can have this conversation--? Which, by the way, I'm pretty sure does not comply with aforementioned...reinforced foundations, Previously...established… SŪP∆ So what's the other half of thAt… was it even an album. Is it an EP? DILLON FRANCIS Nice view from the dancefloor, by the way, Jeez--JEEZ! I mean, I guess once you get used to the view from the stage, behind--you know --where the actual DJs...DJ. Behind the decks. In the DJ booth. For the DJ. SŪP∆ ...k… DILLON FRANCIS Which you're not. SŪP∆ Oh, I'm not. DILLON FRANCIS No. You're just...Dillusionally, probably permanently and terminally...not a DJ. SŪP∆ ‘Not a DJ.' DILLON FRANCIS Not a DJ. Right. SŪP∆ Not a DJ...with Magic. DILLON FRANCIS Maybe, mildly, weirdly magic--definitely not a DJ. Ever. SŪP∆ Okay. Not-- DILLON FRANCIS Not ever-- SŪP∆ Oh right, not Ever--s BOTH --a DJ. DILLON FRANCIS I'm glad you finally understand. We so, so appreciate the FANS, though. SŪP∆ BIG fan. BIG Dillon Francis fan. DILLON FRANCIS I know. I have…I'm telepathic. I'm also a DJ. Like, a real DJ. With...fans. AND albums. SŪP∆ So many fans. DILLON FRANCIS And albums. Like, tracks. SŪP∆ Right. Tracks. Got That Track Magic. DILLON FRANCIS Tracks. SŪP∆ I just got that, fan magic. And you know, actual magic. Thanks Dillon Francis-- DILLON FRANCIS DJ Dillon Francis SŪP∆ Right. DJ Dillon Francis. So many fans. DILLON FRANCIS but you're my best fan. SŪP∆ Best Fan! DILLON FRANCIS BEST FAN AWARD. SŪP∆ YEAH. DILLON FRANCIS FAN CAM! SŪP∆ ONE FOR THE FAN GRAM! DILLON FRANCIS THE *BEST* FAN GRAM. SŪP∆ YEAH. [Posing for a selfie, she uses one of her rave weapons (which is, actually just a regular iPhone) spitefully flashes him into a cross parallel dimension, outside of Bampheramph jurisdiction, trapping him in an intractable dimension; the photo created a time warp and intersectable checkpoint in time. She unfreezes the rave.] DIMITRI ...magic…? SŪP∆ Uh--no! ‘magic'. The music is magic, Just trash bags...brand...yeah. DIMITRI trash...brand...bags... SŪP∆ ...yeah... [They continue to dance; she nervously looks over her shoulder for possible alternate versions of DILLON FRANCIS At the end of the break, an immediate change of tone--she readjusts her outfit and hair, collecting herself in a snap--grabbing DIMITRI by his shoulder and pulling him closer, crouching lower into a "gameplay" position.) SŪP∆ (CONT'D) Now, business talk time. DIMITRI Serious face? [She nods adamantly. DIMITRI tries to straighten up, and "get serious, still bouncing along to the beat, adjusting his sunglasses.] CUT TO: EXT. THE OPEN SEAS. DAY [In a nearby dimension, As SKRILLEX and *alt* DILLON FRANCIS continue to battle, they cross paths at sea.] SKRILLEX Nice Dinghy, dude. DILLON FRANCIS It's...not a dinghy. It's a miniature yacht, and you're talking a lot, for someone that's more of a prop, than the dialogue. SKRILLEX Prop. Plot device. Main character. Oh shit dude--I might even star of the show. DILLON FRANCIS She's the star of the show. SKRILLEX Not without me. [A BAMPHERAMPH teleportals onto SKRILLEX'S boat, tagging him, BAMPHERAMPH TAG, YOU'RE IT. [He disappears into another portal.] SKRILLEX I'm it. DILLON FRANCIS Nah, you're just “Skrillex.” SKRILLEX That's--all you need. [A MOTHERFUCKER portals onto SKRILLEX'S boat, via another portal, handing him an *object*] MOTHERFUCKER Humility. You need it. SKRILLEX ...I made the HUMBLE remix. MOTHERFUCKER Yeah you did. [THE MOTHERFUCKER disappears into a portal; SKRILLEX unwraps the object; It is a pie, labeled ‘HUMBLE PIE.'] SKRILLEX Hm. FLASHBACK: BASS DROP, HUMBLE (Skrillex Remix) CUT BACK: As the bass drops, the pie explodes; This leaves him covered in a very fruity mess, and a *bass face* CUT TO: INT. OWSLA HQ. DAY MANAGER I don't think it's good for you, If you do this movie. SONNY/SKRILLEX Movies. It's like a series. Or a saga, oh--god, I don't know. [DILLON FRANCIS shows up, out of nowhere.] DILON FRANCIS Yeah. She is. Like a God, and you're not, man. So you know...I mean… SKRILLEX Actually heh. First of all, you tell me what the price of ‘Everliving Skrillex' is, I'll wait. DILLON FRANCIS My pants are currently selling for 69.99 right now. SKRILLEX My left sock was 69.99 this morning. MANAGER Why are you buying individual socks--??? DILLON FRANCIS Why are you buying socks in the mornings? MANAGER You're up late, how are you even up in the morning?! DILLON FRANCIS Do you ever sleep? Does a Skrillex sleep? MANAGER Who are you again? DILLON FRANCIS I'm Dillon Francis. DJ- Dillon Francis. SKRILLEX Does a Dillon Francis DJ? Or wear proper fitting pants? Or do anything? Anything cool at all? Yeah actually--He pushed Skrillex off a miniature yacht! SKRILLEX ...What? [DILLON FRANCIS portals them back onto the YACHT SCENE.] *alt* SKRILLEX and *alt* DILLON FRANCIS are still fighting; They are now both on the deck of SKRILLEX's boat, DILLON FRANCIS's mini yacht burning/ devastated by what appears to be a giant kraken in the background.] ALT/SKRILLEX FUCK YOUR MINIATURE YACHT. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS You're a miniature yacht! SKRILLEX Is that US?! MANAGER I told you... ALT/SKRILLEX You're not a good villain. Or at anything, really! You're just…'Dillon Francis. ‘ ALT/DILLON FRANCIS And you're just stranded in the ocean. ALT/SKRILLEX It's okay, it's hella refreshing! UNLIKE YOUR MUSIC. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS You know what--? DILLON FRANCIS (to his alternate self) I got this. ALT/SKRILLEX Huh? [DILLON FRANCIS blasts ALT/SKRILLEX into a portal, which whirlpools him into an alternate dimension; SKRILLEX and the MANAGER look on in horror.] ALT/DILLON FRANCIS Oh God, Finally! DILLON FRANCIS Yeah, I know. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS That took FOREVER. [DILLON FRANCIS rolls his eyes and hands his alternate self a small object*.] ALT/ DILLON FRANCIS By the way-- [He opens up another portal, reaching out just to jump into it, exclaiming:] ALT/DILLON FRANCIS (CONT'D) Tag, you're it. [He disappears into the portal.] DILLON FRANCIS OH, GOD DAMMIT. COMEUPOUTDAWAHTA, S U P A C R E E M I X X __________ SKRILLEX Get off my Alien Planet! Don't touch it! It's my alien planet, nobody land on it. DILLON FRANCIS Suhweeet planet… SUPACREE No! Don't land on that planet! [He lands.] SUPACREE God DAMMIT. GOD I can't do that. You know I can't do that. It's a whole planet just--give it time. SUPACREE I gave it spacetime! I am time! GOD I know you are, dear. Just be patient. SUPACREE Be patient? He went and put his DILLON FRANCIS all over it. JESUS Let Dillon Francis play with your planet, yeah? SUPACREE What?? No, can't have it, it's my planet. No. JESUS But he already put his Dillon on it, you know how that goes. SUPACREE I do know how it goes. I wrote it. GOD How does it go? It goes: SUPACREE --No--No--Dillon Francis, go home. /SKRILLEX No planet for Dillon Francis. SUPACREE This isn't Dillon Francis Land, it's closed. And also Not. Your. Planet. Go. Home. GOD That had a lot of heart, hun. SUPACREE And no Dillon Francis. JESUS Actually, it had a lot of that, too. SKRILLEX Aha. SUPACREE --Aha, well it's about to have a lot of not-that, I'm about to knock the not-that-hot-sauce off his-- /SKRILLEX --mini yacht knocking-- SUPACREE --sock-rocking-planet-blocking-motherfacker!!!! RAAGGHHH…!! /SKRILLEX AGHRAHGHHGH!!! JESUS Whew. Did you just eat a McFury? SUPACREE MAYBEITWASAFUCKISDILLONFRANCISDOINGONMYPLANETSANWHICH. SUPACREE + SKRILLEX FUCK DILLON FRANCIS. JESUS sounds like a lot. / Sounds Like A Mouthful. SUPACREE/SKRILLEX It wasn't. Ever. Never. / It's not. (Alternately) _______ DILLON FRANCIS Hey. This is a nice planet. Ū He's gonna be like-- DILLON FRANCIS Like flabbergasted. Ū Past Flabbergasted. Did he see you land? DILLON FRANCIS Yeah. Ū Good. Lol. Did he get the coupon? DILLON FRANCIS --Yes. (Previously) [Dillon Lurks In The Background with the SupaCreepers (binoculars). SKRILLEX finds the coupon.] $-FREE MCFURY. SKRILLEX ...oh, shit. Mm! Yeah-yeah! CUT BACK TO Ū Hehehe. EXT. AN ‘ALIEN' PLANET. SPACE THE SKRILLEX Enters The Atmosphere. THE SKRILLEX 'I AM SKRILLEX' S- Sunnï Blū, Ninja Guru Singer/Songwriter Ū- The Anti-Anti-Hero, the Superhero Persona, Ninja Assassin, and Mothafuckin' Bampheramph P-PEACE (Piece, Piece of the Puzzle, Piece of Pie, etc.) Problemo (Exists when too many plot holes and complexities arrive, also “The Pretender”, who just ignores when crazy shit happens, questions all realities (?) Alt+J- SUPACREE, The DIvine Trinity C- (Copyright Symbol) The Original Cree, Alternately Chak Chel, the ancient spirit guide ‘trapped' inside of the Physical Body to Accompany and Assist through magic, rituals, and energy manipulation through music, time space, and all reality which exists within the fathomable and expanding infinite consciousness. (thought to be ancient, however actually originating from hyper intelligent and extraterrestrial existence in the outer realms. Caricatures (“Characters” Based On Various Entertainment Artists Personas, To Be Played (As themselves) S-Dillon Francis U-Dillon Frances P-Dillon T. Francis A-Dillon Flances C-Dillon Glances R-Dillon France Is E-Fillon Dances E-(Fictional Dillon) Francis/Is Pasquale -DJ Hanzel -DJ Rich As Fuck -Gerald -N(E)RD (Pronounced” NED”) Sonny Moore/Skrillex -Hereby referenced to as SS, there exists “Infinite Skrillex” variably throughout the Multiverse, however, Skrillex himself is (secretly) the singular (and seemingly random apparent “phenomenon”) of his kind. A rare and shiny seemingly shapeshifting sorcerer, the concept and use of “Fictional Skrillex” is separated into a multitude of characters, uses and ambiguities explained throughout the series. *Spoiler*, Tying into the Theme of an Ever Expanding (and alternately, Collapsing/Compressing) Infinite Multidimensional, The Term Skrillex can refer the the Persona, or Person as Himself, but alternately is used as a noun, pronoun, verb, or adjective--even sometimes as a profanity, or to be referred to as a “race”. Sammi B,/LSDream/Brillz -Sam I Am (Festival Trip Alter Ego) -I Am Sam (Festival Trip Second Alter Ego) Pasqualle Rotella A nameless, untranslatable into spoken or written language symbol, to be decided. An Ultra-Omnipitent giant (predominately purple, but emanating all colors of the cosmos) Galaxy of Ultra Concious Light Waves, SoundFrequencies, and Own Planetary Solar System, Boasting Stars which rival our own sun. A brilliant Collection of Space Dust (A relative of “Fart”, from Rick and Morty) Evil Pasquale Pasqualle Is Dillon Francis Mr. Rager (Underground Pasqualle) A No-Named Burner and Ultimate Raver, whose domain is the kingdom of the underground rave scene--he detests the mainstream, traveling (across time, as an undercover Bampheramph), Wally (Never started Insomniac, Works At Walmart as Greeter. Never Raved.) In a homage to the second back to the future, U has traveled back to 1993 to create a reality where Google and Insomniac, etc. are owned and operated by SupaCree, skewing into an adjacent timeline in the future where her superstardom and rise to fame begins as a child star on Disney Channel, crossing multiple timelines interdimensionally intersected on the Infinite Grid so complex, it begins to create a disastrous series of knots, loops, and voids, tangled now permanently into the fabric of time. Wally is asked to fill in for his coworker in the photography section, where he develops photos from a disposable camera and is enamoured by the dazzling magic of EDC captured on camera. His eyes widen as he glimpses into the photos; it is love at first sight. He makes doubles of the photos, later creating a vision board (used as a totem, easter egg throughout series) Wally's World lol The Ascended Masters The Psychonauts The Bampheramphs (& Mothafuckin' Bampheramphs, Respectively) The Insomniacs (& Pasquallians, a secret sect of magicians, sorcerers and alchemists, seers and mystics carefully selected as keyholders to ‘The Secret Gates', a secret interdimensional transit system hidden beyond VIP (VIP+, VIP++, VIP+++, and VIP (+/-) which actually contains an underground city, a massive classified compound which exists between cross dimensions, allowing for shifts in the timespace continuums and temporary constructs of reality adjust by a mastery of manipulative conception, a complete control of energy--even allowing for such things as matter to appear, disappear, The Toxic Avengers, Traveling across the Multiverse to Avenge the annihilation, assassinations, and massacre of The Infinite Skrillex {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

I walked in locked in; Pistol cocked, and pointed towards my head You'll only want me when you have no options left, Or when I'm dead “It's clever” They all said An ambitious endevour End this life, and be devoured By the miester and the misters of the hour How about now? (Or–) How about Now, or How about Now, or How about Now? Or, How about now, or How about now, or How about now? Or, How about Now, or How about Now, or How about Now? Now or Never I said “That's clever” or “How about Now” What do you want from me? I lie for a living; A literal drama queen, don't eat turkey on thanksgiving I'm the worthless word for Surface level thinking on this Earth, or Picking hearses with my cursor, Mercenary, Mercury, or Just a Mercer–But not a Mercedes; I'm paid, but I hate paying; Made the game, but I hate playing I remember making hate to be created Just for entertainment– A belated invitation, Now i'll face it, Back to Basic– But she's laced with Masonry; A tastemaker, maybe But she just wants a family, Whatever that means Wow. How about now? Fuck this. Homelssness. I woul rather kill myself than stay alive I'd rather die than fight Don't want to write this: I'm just a diamond pressurized And i might never see the light I'll never see the lght I see the light There's no honor in suicide But i've devided my mind a million times And now like dynamite in a mine; Collapsed, collided, ad defined by All divine; You'll never see me shine, But deep inside I'd blind you; Guided by the tide, I've come to find you Down, I dive I'm not alive, you know I'm always misaligned But that's beside the point Another suicide attempt Is in the midst– But just what is it; More than just one, is it? Rather die than listen to Skrillex Or take pills just to chill with it For real? this shit again? It wasn't real, all to begin with It's only mental illness cause i'm penniless Now i've got so much to deal with Another wound to heal, Another deal, perhaps I'll make another million in a year, If i'm still here– And i”m still here– And i'm still– Who are you now, and— Who were you then; And— Which part of this, would you want— Or did want, Or just wanted Pondered before in a vision, Outfitted in hooded drapery, The heaviest fabric; A rosary hung from his neck But can't recall the connection In this ressurection I can recall him, But never remember The calling Let's call him Oh, fuck man. ‘Friar Tuck' THAT WAS IT. The high priest of asencion, Was burned in her memory— Not as a friend, But a friend of the enemy; Who she loved and protected, Despite all the envy, She felt for Persephone— Just an unjust figure, A fictional figment of imagination But— Who was I then And who am I now; And what part of him, Would I want, if I wanted Or wished for, Or honored A friend, long forgotten Not a high priest, But a Friar That was it— But before, As Mary, Joseph, and Jesus On the front lines of the war, Not to be started, but ended, as in Preparation, a blood sacrifice I've prepared In a premonition that I'd Give my whole heart again Honest, And honestly slain in the eyes, Of a man I remember, But didn't, when it mattered— Then did, right in front of him Who are we now, and— Who were we then; Let's find out, As time's running out again “Yes, I know him.” She sighed, eyeing from over the rims of the glasses she purchased only earlier to assure she had hidden the tears that she cried for Him— Neither a friend or an enemy, rather The ghost of a shadow she hadn't yet met with again, since he entered her presence Shifting into a tent Now, ripped from the pages of a book she cherished, A page which she promised to never diminish or tarnish would go up in ashes, As totems would fall, Wishes would become granted The PyRAmiD Spell (For Pasquale Rotella) gave gave the man honorary doctorate, and then reneged it, nigga thought he was actually bigger than big sister sick spitter, rip n dip listening to anything but Skrillex that shit is for kids ‘Check it' I hate midi gimmie a synth, something gritty, I'll make it pretty Come and try to get me, I been dead for centuries, Unsolved like a mystery This image don't mean shit to me, I sit to think, I wait to speak, I leak some information on the interwebs just to see how fast it comes back to me I'm actually a master “Untitled 07” It's like a 24/7 job, can't get no rest in, At best you're looking like a slob I kamikaze ‘em all, I am your mom, I will tell you what you are, to me By now, you should know, or see Just a name on my computer screen A friendly neighbor on Easy Street A wish, A lucid dream, A misalignment, so its seems So let me tell you what you are to me: Just make believe (Just make believe) Just make believe (Just make believe) It may be evil (Make believe) Just make believe (Just make believe) A lucid dream I'll tell you what I've seen, and what I see (and What I see) I dare to dream (I dare to dream) But please believe me, I'm as evil as can be Don't let my anything deceive you I'm a fleeting, bleeding Beaten bride to be No, don't believe me I'm the fire and gnashing teeth they preached to you May everything I've written one day reach you And beseech you, Just like you did to me Now let me tell you what I see; Just make believe (Just make believe) It may be evil (Make believe) Just make believe (Just make believe) A lucid dream When I wash up on the beach, From blazing fires of burning seas, Let me sing you all to sleep For every tear I often weep To dream of you A lucid dream Just fucking make believe; And I can make believe we fucked Just so I can get to sleep (Are you proud of me?) Hey. (Sarcastically) Oh, Come In. (Sighs heavily) I fucked up. I'm not surprised. I'm not surprised. Don't copy me. I need help. No arguments there. Dude, I'm serious. __ So first of all oh God, now what– I'm not racist You're extremely racist Racist By Proxy I'm not Racist They do look alike. Check this out: WOAH. That's…not a coincidence. That's definitely not a coincidence. Fuck. This. Shit. Here, take this. So, you dropped this totem… Uh-huh. In the ocean. Yes I did. And that one Ooof. What about– That came off on the moped. How? When I came off the moped. So you admit it. SO! He only let me ride it cause he wanted to ride ME! Nice. Did you sing to him? Uh, I sang for him? What's the difference? Here's every song I've ever written about X.X Just kill yourself. Should I then? I mean, perHAPS. I mean, maaaayyyybeee. You know what? I do know. Fuckthisshit. Fuck it, then. I'm out. I quit. Go find SupaCree. This…is impossible. Nothing is impossible. Except for that. Oh. “Oh.” No, i'm serious. You look serious–I'm just saying. What is this? Don't touch that– What is it? It's– [a tiny explosion] –ugh. Volatile. What the fuck are you into? I told you. You said “music.” What is “Music” [very deep pondering] I hate you. We have to find her. You have to. What! You're not going to help us? I have other things to do. Like what, dude? Like what, broh. Feed My cat; Your cat died. Walk my dog– You don't have a dog. I'm getting one. Oh, Jesus Christ Don't get all religious on me, now, not after that. Not after what? Yeah, which thing? ___ Man. Get me out of here. [shrugs] I hate being stuck in your head. What is THIS. Uh. play dead. What's up with your dog. Ruff. Good boy. I'm a girl. Uhhh–good girl. Wait. Hm. Did that dog just– [???] Nevermind. I've been up for 6 days straight. Tour life, buddy. Ah-huh. Uhh. Can I take a shower in your– Take a sho–? [dog grumphs] Uh, yeah, sure. Thanks. *Shapeshifts* Wow, that's cool. It's so stupid. I came in late to the office, so to speak; it had been an off day, after an off night, plagued by what I was sure to be some sort of demonic magic—I was moving slowly, off beat, and irritated—nevermind the lack of energy, as I moved about as steadily as I could—making arrangements for the next trials to come, as it seemed nearly impossible to move ahead, and yet—somehow, I had been given what seemed like one final chance to survive, or not. I had spent the first part of my day, somehow waking with a gust of light, and ready to take on the tasks at hand—then quickly wiped of anything holy in me by the outrageously disgusting hacking and howling of the seemingly-programmed man-or-something-alike, and into a manic-semi-conscious desperation to piece together what was left of my life—seemingly nothing, but somehow still pieced and patched together by music, the overriding theme being that I would be quickly booted out of any position unsuitable for me; and by now, I was just about unsuitable for everything, besides gym crawling and throwing together pieces of literature unlike any I had before seen, as I was, assuredly beginning to look in every direction for other writers which may have matched my style of the then-present day and age, and to my shagrin had found nearly nothing to gawk about, but at the very least had picked up some novels noteworthy in nature, as they had made me laugh, or somehow otherwise caught my attention. Now in my Arsenal, I had one novel, each respectively written by a woman, a white man, and a black man—every book I had otherwise been drawn to written by black women were, upon cracking to open, too-stereotypically black, or about being a black-girl in some kind of way I knew too much about and had absolutely no interest in reading. I had no idea what caused me to look into a world I had all but shut out of my mind—this someone and something had haunted me for months and even growing into years now, first affectionately, but now growing into an uneasy and painstaking, critical list for something deeper. I hated my ex husband for bringing me to this, and, as I looked at the clock at 5:55 exactly, nearly vomited in disgust at the sprawling obsession I would have to somehow quiet—as there really was no halting the plague of tragic recouping thoughts of Dillon Francis at random—now, daily, for quite some time, even as the automatic writing had nearly stopped entirely; I had become entrapped with daily reminders of things I had written, now welling up with spite and anger, that I had even allowed myself the obsession to begin with—especially after what had happened—or what had not happened—with Sonny, whatever way you wanted to look at it. Now; just left with a burning lust and motion sickness beyond my wildest control upon approaching the matter if it all, nonetheless with peaking curisosity, as he had walked in and out if my dreamscape like a picturesque bandit, even hijacking my own sexuality—now almost didn't want or dream of anything else, and with the un presidented amount of ‘decoys' life had thrown at me—Bruno, the bird speaking man from Belgium with the eyes that burned in striking similarity to Dillon's—and then again with Gabriel, the man who had hired me to DJ in the small cerveceria in Mazunte, who could have been his brother'; a dazzlingly handsome, if not perfect near-replica of Dillon Francis, who, by that point, i couldn't even bear to look at, let alone conjure the spark or touch of romance—even after multiple suggestions that he and his girlfriend had just broken up. I never allowed myself for a moment to believe or think that Dillon—or any of the men I fawned after, for that matter, in reality, a very short list—would ever be settled with the idea of me as a perfect fit; no, I sat in the certain reality that I was cursed, living in the opposite exact of the Allison Wonderland archetype—a woman who I theorized may have been Skrillexed and Dillon Francis'd herself—it seemed to be a pattern of hypnotism I was finally wrapping my head around, and even had learned to respect if not envy: I wanted the codes to create my own version of the worlds I had been spun into—and while I would more than likely never be a light skinned, light eyed beauty Queen; perhaps my own kingdom was meant to be of wit and wealth, rather than vanity. Still, headed back into the desert, I found myself scrolling through open guest lists, excited to take my longtime best friend turned literal goddess club crawling, looking for industry and network connections, if not at least a sex partner that could keep up with my needs, now furiously tearing at me from the inside out—as I scrolled, RSVPing for any acts I hadn't yet seen but had heard of, I found myself trailing off in thought and perhaps looking for something I hadn't realized I would stray into; I knew specifically that Dillon had a residency at the Wynn, and —though I also knew I wouldn't be caught dead at this point anywhere I knew he was, or especially stupid enough to pay for it. Now it was torturous, knowing how regretfully physical my attraction had become—understsnding from my interactions with the aforementioned that I was drawn to Dillon for his features—his eyes, his hair, and everything in his silhouette from his jawline, to his lips and brow drove me absolutely wild—however, I had learned about my very fragile psychiatry from my obsession with Skrillex, or with Sonny—neither of which I wished existed, adding Dillon Francis to the list of fictional characters I pushed further into my imaginary incineration box, where I put everything that not need affect my actual emotions or actions; Dillon Francis, a wealthy and talented, very handsome man—could not exist. I wished more than ever that I wasn't dark skinned, that I wasn't heavy set, that I didn't come with a flaming dumpster full of trauma and baggage that no man wanted or needed, but especially not the wealthy and handsome individuals I had spent very much of the last passing years writing about and fantasizing over, finding it respectably impossible to even have flings or sexual experiences without either of the two most rampant figures of my infatuation crossing into my mind and shrouding me with guilt and shame—and yet, here they were, so out of my element that I continued to agree with myself and the universe that it would be dillusinal to think myself a match for anyone so high-achieving. Nothing I could do or say could shake the fact that despite all my efforts to break through, all it had seemed to do was create a broken down individual, ready for enslavement in the working class just to stay housed—my music aspirations both hanging above me, and somehow fading away into the distance behind me. I hated myself. But more importantly, hated Skrillex and Dillon Francis for living the life I somehow thought I wanted and needed. What is the definitive definition of the word Skrillex? Skrillex: noun...right? What, you don't know? I know! It's...a noun...right? Right. Right--- ---Right! Could also be, an adjective, I guess--i? You guess?! You have to know. I mean--- Coughs ain't shit Skrillex ain't *coughs Satan ain't shit Bitch suck a dick Slit ya wrists On ya pissed off Little ass nigga. A loud, abrupt cough disrupted my focus; I was 5-sets-of-8 out of 8 and just feeling my heart begin to pump, as sweat poured from my temples and my sunglasses steamed “Man, fuck Coughs.” Whoever she was, even if it was just one of my infinite inward selves, this was some satanic shit. Now I hated Skrillex—not that it mattered, and as he was a living legend in computer animated music, or whatever voodoo shit he was responsible for that had sparked an entire uprising of revolutionary artists and producers spanning a generation or more—and I was damned-if-I-did, and damned-if-I-didn't love, like, or listen to him; all of which I did, besides the latter higher love by Whitney Houston, God rest her soul, blared over the gym's loud speakers, as I, more than likely looking just as superficially occupied as any basic broad, scrolling away on Instagram or texting her replicas, jotted down the rest of the thoughts that had nestled themselves in my mind's eye, as the coughing, which had followed me everywhere for nearly four years, beckoned to something—searching for purpose if not means to an end. He had Kayla Lauren, a plastic, streamlined representation of the all-American-deem girl, not to mention a “collective” of other broad women of sorts, probably all inwardly clawing just as I had at one time, for a piece of Sonny's heart, or whatever was left of it, after what I could have only assumed to have been a blood sacrifice of sorts, for his placement atop such a steep pyramid of success. What if, every time someone coughed—someone took a picture? I thought about the millions of hacking imbeciles and inbred, backwards savages who had crowded my ears with the putrid sounds of Satan's show choir, a coughing and excessive hellish representation of how the human race had gone awry; If I had been famous, or on my way to it, I would be burgeoned with photographs, as I had been in Mexico without knowing why or how—people sometimes slinking behind their phones as if to secretly capture a candid photo, I myself, pretending not to be aware of it. Cough cough. Ugh. If every cough represented a fan or something of the sorts taking a picture, I almost reveled in the thought—I would have rather had a million flashing cameras at once than to hear another ingrate hacking up a lung in Satan's honor. I was horrified at whatever Skrillex was, and whatever OWSLA meant, though I broadly showcased the tattoo on my inner-right forearm, opposite of Sonny's—the boy I was sure was murdered by the fame monster itself, as Lady Gaga, though admirable, had blatently called it, or herself, or whatever “we” all were or had been once, or would be, collectively at the beginning-and-end of it all. I had seen broadly into the realms of infinity the night previous, and had settled on one, astonishing fact: all of infinitely combined shared a concéntrical center at which at any point could be accessed. Even typing such a concept, I knew it to be life-altering…if I was even alive. To think, I used to hate deadmau5– I hate deadmau5– You know—after that spat with Skrillex. GO TEAM SKRILLEX!!! SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!! who the fuck is deadmau5, anyway. But here I am, decades later. [skrillex] FUCK THIS NIGGA. I needed something to help offset the damage that was done. [someone coughing loudly] Fuck this coughs bitch! [trying on small clothes] Ohh. [kayla Lauren] [sadness] Aww. [dillon Francis] —well how was I supposed to know he was a— STOP RIGHT THERE! I'm...not moving. Yeah, you're not. Uh, okay? You know why? I didn't ask— You need THIS: What is this. I'll tell you what it is [beat] … Okay—what is it?' ILL TELL YOU WHAT IT IS. — Technically, If I do this every day, I can eat whatever I want— Just eat it. No. But I won't. Well, why not? Too Fat For Skrillex. — [C.C. Arrives in the parking lot to find her car has been vandalized...again.] ...Skrillex did this. On Jimmy Fallon. On Jimmy Fallon. Alright, then, kid—it's your dollar. I'll take “Skrillex Did It” for one dollar. But he's halfway across the world! He can shapeshift! Don't be stupid. What—! He's a shapeshifter, for real. We know! Just don't say it! I saw it. We all have. What the fuck, bro— Where did you come from? I've been here. Haven't we all? That's the spirit. What's a spirit? I'm glad you asked. As SUPACREE walks down the street, a man in the passenger's seat is seen to be the Egyptian God ANUBIS, before shifting back into hidden human form. Which one's that? Anubis, right? Googles 'deities' Oh, there he is: Anubis. Good. What's he want? Whatever it is, that's not what I was looking for. What are you looking for? That dark thing. Which “dark thing”? Flashback: That's inside me?! Flashback to Kite at Bass– UGH! Canyon. That's it. That's what it is. LET ME OUT. It's gonna destroy something. She. She–yes–apparently so. CUT BACK TO Fuck you, Skrillex! Stay over there and be Skrillex with your fucking–models–and you coughs piece of fucking–peice of fucking shit, peice of shit. Oh SHIT, who let him in? I mean, it's Skrillex. Yeah, but who let him near SUPACREE? He does what he wants. I heard that. Fuck you, Skrillex. That sounds deep. I guess so. What even happened? Nobody seems to know. Oh. –Except these guys. Who the fuck are you? Where did you come from?! CULT FOLLOWERS Yes–”WHO” Yes–”WHERE” Uh, okay. SUPACREE Fuck this shit. I quit. You can't quit. I just did. Fuck Skrillex. Ah, shit, here it comes. Go ahead, the worst he can do is cough at me and make me homeless. *loud obnoxious coughing* Do your worst. *more loud coughing* Fuckin'. Satan's pet. Satan's not real! Then neither is Skrillex. Amen. (Cult Followers, In unison.) Amen. [SUPACREE exits furiously.] What…the fuck. Pause. Wait, is this marketable? Yes. How? Cause its Skrillex. Skrillex is clickbait. What the FUCK did he do? *COUGHS* I mean, I bet– Fucking–motherfucker. Fuck. Well, now what? Now, nothing. I'mma go get a regular job and see what the industry wants with Jessica. (((Oh, I think you know what they want.))) ((Oh, God Knows)) I thought we weren't doing that bit. We're doing all the bits. MORTY. JESSICA. Oh yeah. Even better. C'esme't sighs heavily, unamused. My liege. Don't be coy with me. I would never. There are hardly any things left you would never do. If not only because I had done them all; But to be coy, with you, my Queen is neither desire or pleasure. You are clever. At your discretion. I began to wonder if I may have looked as miserable as I was, as even though I could not see my own self, walking about in my day-to-day nothingness, the expression protruding from my face felt as if it might look as lifeless as I was beginning to feel, no longer wholly choking back tears but still moving and barely breathing in the awful circumstance of doing and being–I had felt the light itself slowly draining from my eyes, and even things I loved with all my heart could not in any sense brighten this dullness. I felt Godless, and at the very least loveless, lightless, and without my magic, somehow having lost my soul and my singing voice at once. Yes, it was terrible–something was wrong, and I, without becoming the star I had so wanted, was already washing up. Homelessness drained all of what would have been a magnificent energy all together, left to become someone I wasn't sure I even liked, and seemingly cursed, as most recently, no one else seemed to like me either--still, I almost let myself believe something bigger was at play, or perhaps in the works; I had been relocated just perfect walking distance to the gym, where of course rather than look for work which would only urge me closer to suicide than I had been, I elected instead to spend a majority of my time, crafting my days around getting there for the bare minimum of three hours, but ideally closer to 5 or 6, always aiming for 8 and almost-always giving up not because I was too tired, but because I was drenched in sweat, and something like the discomfort of a wet diaper, just wanted to be fresh and dry. God, Help me with this affliction Pick a clip, Flick the bean, And watch Netflix I'm stressin, wet and undressin This sexual tension is serious Salad, with no dressin I'm the lady in the red dress, and yes I write blank checks, so when I go to Heck, I bounce back like, “Yes.” [YES] No pressure, It's my pleasure; I'd rather be in leather than in latex, lathered up Present, or past but honestly, neither matters; Just give this to Marshall Mathers, And a Dad Hat; AMEN Hey Kids, Lets not say “Amen”, After we say hanuss shit, okay? Today, I'm Eminem, so I can finally find Skrillex, And kill him: My mission is to introduce a new religion to humans, called STOP BEING STUPID. Stop Being Skrillex. Well, Alright Then. [Presses Easy Button] “WELL, THAT WAS-- CUT TO: -__- SUPACREE wakes up from a coma; In a very SKRILLEX, Get out. [He just does.] ...Where's Dillon Francis? ...Dillon Is Dead. Dilon Francis Died. He's...left us. ...Nope. Yes, he is. SUPACREE, I'm Sorry. Don't be sorry. Be Dillon Francis. The Coma--You know---must've-- You know. Nope. Where's Pasquale? Who is that? Oh, fuck this. No, wait, stop! STAHP. Bring Skrillex Back. I never left. You're never there. Here, Tres Leches … Dulce De Leche. You know what? What? NO. NO? NO. __ ALRIGHT, WHERE'S DILLON FRANCIS? Who is that? STOP PLAYING GAMES. DILLON FRANCIS is in THE VOID, trying to beat THE LEGEND of SUPACREE. It's a really good game. DILLON FRANCIS (cracked) “It's a really good game!” GAMERS It is, a really good game. So good, in fact, that when SUPACREE herself arrives, S/He pays her almost entirely no mind. Really, Dillon Francis? ... Really, Motherfucker. DILLON FRANCIS I'm The Captain SUPACREE No, I am. (I AM!) She gestures that she is about to unplug the TV DILLON FRANCIS Don't do that. SUPACREE What? I am (I AM) Don't do it again! I told you, it's-- IN Dillon. DILLON Don't FIN. SUPACREE Unplugs the Set. DEADMAU5 FUCK, MAN. FINALLY. SUPACREE Be Less Canadian. JOEL No, I can't DILLON FRANCIS No, He can't-- JESUS No, he can't. [Beat] DILLON IS SHATTERED, as at the last moment (before the determination of the outcome of the battle, it entirely ceases to exist. Moments of silence pass in infinite tension, before DILLON, looking much like an uncomfortable, overheated, skinless (live) chicken, meets a soon to be boiled crab. OH, MY GOD. GAD/SUPACREE/C.C. That's... what they call me. *coughs* -UGLY!- *coughs* *coughs* GOD. GOD No, not you. DILLON FRANCIS ...Oh, My God. GOD What, Dillon Francis? DILLON FRANCIS Are you SUPACREE? GOD I...Am. DILLON FRANCIS Oh My God--I am too! GOD I know this. DILLON FRANCIS Oh My God! GOD Yeah, I know! Woah, he's Fangirling He's fangirling so hard. Well, wouldn't you. Ask me about IT.” (IS/IT) 3 heads are better than one; This is a a game based on truth; The more you ask, the more you know; The more you know about me— The more you know about yourself— The more you know about yourself, the more you know about the world You are the world. Ī ∆ M Ū. Goddammit! You son of a bitch. She won't watch it I bet she will They know I will He knows I am! I am! Oh, there we go—it's on Get off me! Goddammit, Dillon Francis! I hate you. I hate you BACK! GO BACK! GO BACK! GO BACK–WHEN TO THE WYNN!! Right—! Wait—- Not yet— I know the code. Oh she– she knows what the code is. What did I put it in? I get it, I get it, it's— Not now, then! Not then, now! Not— Wait—- DONT! ...then, I die. The DJ VALET AND THE DJ BALLET THE BAMPHERAMPH BALANCING ACT WITH THE CHAMPION OF RAP?!? ...ohhh, wave dash, I get it… Ū Alright. GOD This is the part where you don't sleep. SUPACREE Oh no. GOD You've been ‘Don't Eating' for like, 8 months now. Now it's time to Don't Sleep. SUPACREE Yikes. Û You can bet we'll have it done by the beginning of next semester. GERALD Next semester's set to not even be in a classroom. Ï Even better. Remote binge worthy media. Excerpt From: “Blū and The Cosmic Owl” ... ...Having found the fallen owl, he glances up at the sky, just as another shooting star flies by. In awe, he stands at the giant animal, who pants in a tragically cry in pain. He sorrowfully glances into the bird's giant eye, crying as his tears spill into the trail of blood, a sparkling dark purple river, streaked with the silver streams of moonlit tears and the golden gleam of a lucid dream; her dilated pupils reflect all the cosmos, sparkling through the three round dials; some sound, which has never heard or even fathomed to be made, a vibration ringing as it aligns with his light, which also shines now through his dark brown eyes; He is hypnotized, nearly full of light in a state of trance as he begins to float upward, levitating just slightly--A SUDDEN FLASH OF COSMIC LIGHT, as the wounded bird, morphs into a matching [humanoid] being, abruptly changing the frequency from a hypnotising lull, to an ear-shattering, soul startling and painstaking frequency. As they both hover above the ground-- still in levitation, he quickly looks down worriedly, then back up at the being--now matching in age, as The Princess, a pretty poised and painted warrior, adorned with the royally decadent white and purple trimmed fashion, crystals and gemstones of the galaxies imbedded into her sashes. He's enamoured and intrigued, less terrified than excited; however her eyes, now changing a through colors of neon light, reflect her terrified and painful confusion, having been wounded with the weapon of ‘man'--he falls toward the ground, suddenly, groaning in pain, then turning into a fetal position from which he cowers in fear under her. A tear, which has formed in her eye, nearly falls; she forcefully reabsorbs it back into her eyes, as she calms herself down, lowering gracefully to the ground. She crouches over him, thinking twice quite literally, before angrily kneeling over him, yielding a ball of fire out of one hand, holding him by his shirt with the other--he cowers in fear, now--his awestruck chased away by the apparent power of this being; she quickly throws her fireball at a nearby bush, lighting it as he glares at the sight slightly stupified by the fire light, which he likes. A splash of water drenches him from head to toe, blasting off his pink glasses and shattering playful spry outlook with a very grumpy pout, as he stands up, dripping from head to toe. She stands, one leg crossed over the other, another dream of water floating in her hand; as he stands dripping, she blasts him again, with the intensity of a firehose pushing him back. Taking awhile to get back, she waits, meditating by the bush as a campfire, as he, still dripping approaches. She looks out of one eye, unassumingly continuing to meditate as he approaches the fire, which he sits by, as closely and cautiously on the other side, trying to get dry. She looks at him from the other eye, calmly sighing as she blasts him with the surprise of an almost blow dry, which she provides by colliding her hands stretched outwardly towards him; the heated gust leaves him looking somewhat like a freshly groomed poodle--his dark brown hair to match his sweet and gentle eyes, by which, his glasses having been blasted off a third time, he notices as he pushes up on the bridge of his nose, realizing he's lost them again--before he can even (literally) think to retrieve them, they float, guided by her telekinetic twisting of her index finger. BLŪ ...thank you... Still unable to form words, she just gazes at him from over the firelight, sternly searching perhaps, for the way to create a translation between her native telepathic ways of communication, or any of the alien languages--she is unfamiliar with this, though captioned in (several, actually) alien languages, we, as the audience can perceive any of the dialogue just to be "english". PRINCESS Why would you do that?! BLŪ What?! PRINCESS What you did to me! BLŪ I didn't mean to! PRINCESS Mean to what? BLŪ Shoot you!? I-- PRINCESS Why would you ‘shoot' an Owl!? BLŪ An ‘owl?' I'm sorry! I didn't! PRINCESS Didn't what? LOOK. [She appears, even still, to be wounded.] BLŪ I--I never-- PRINCESS Never what? BLŪ I've never seen an ‘owl' before… PRINCESS So you just--!? BLŪ I'm sorry! PRINCESS What were you attempting to do? BLŪ I don't know! PRINCESS You don't know? BLŪ No! I just-- PRINCESS You? BLŪ I...just… PRINCESS You… BLŪ I… PRINCESS … [She appears to be bleeding through the sheath of her bodice.] BLU ...Are you ok? CYPHER I: ‘The Coffee Run' This is my job, Like this is your job I look at the jaw I want what you want This is my planet we're on This is is my plan, I got lost in it Maybe I'm wrong, but I'm not You just want a nut with a butt I just want a bud-- [Sample, Dillon Francis: Hey Buddy! (The Coffee Run)] --I'm not your buddy. Ah. Look at that car; I'm on a coffee run at McDonald's How much does it cost? A dollar, one— It's like putting gas in my car, I don't wanna I don't wanna I don't wanna Call Jimmy Fallon to borrow a dollar. It's a coffee run A coffee run A coffee run; You cough, I run You like? I'm fun The west was won by everything under the Sun, Run it This--soul. Yes? It is...of light? It is. And? (A concept unbeknownst the the dark and evil underlords of Satan's realm, which has expanded far beyond hell, into the upper reaches of our world, consuming in darkness everything it can.) Something else… What? Something powerful. It is...beyond words. How? That is, yet to be understood. Mmm… ________________ INT. SOMEWHERE IN ALASKA. DAY. [Before the initial collision... ] DEVIL Exited for EDC? Ï Are you serious? DEVIL Is Dillon Francis going to be there? Ï Dillon Francis? DEVIL Yeah. DJ Dillon Francis. Ï Uh. I don't know. And I don't care. DEVIL Why not? This guy is awesome. Ï (rolling eyes) Since when do you listen to EDM? DEVIL I don't. Just Dillon Francis. He's fuckin hilarious. Look at this. VIDEO: NEED YOU, NGHTMRE & DILLON FRANCIS Ï Huh. CUT TO: DILLON FRANCIS arrives through a portal onto Venice beach, just moments before SUPACREE arrives; Where he is ‘kidnapped' into an Egyptian crystal shop. CUT TO SUPACREE What the FUCK! Dillon Francis isn't the answer to anything, even if someone is pointing at him, asking "Who the fuck is that?" HANZEL Wvell that's because ze answer is "DJ Dillon Francis" Ū Exactly. SUPACREE Oh, please. CUT TO: INT. THE GREAT SALTAIR. SALT LAKE CITY, UT. [SŪP∆ is on the lineup; she prepares for her set. She lurks down into the dancefloor, hiding in the risers, looking over the crowd to read the room. As she peers into the corner nearest to the bar, she suddenly stops, tipping down the rims of her glasses and squinting sternly, scanning over the large group...she intensely scopes a tall, and lanky brunette hunched drunkenly in the corner, one sleeve of her I'll fitting oversized jacket hanging off her shoulder unevenly. Even from afar, she looks tequila toasted.] SŪP∆ Yikes. [She looks down at her [watch, which appears to be a early version of the Synesthesia Panel] it is 7:35.] SŪP∆ (CONT'D) Annnnnd--the night is young… [She peers once more into the corner, to see the girl stumbling towards the restroom sloppily, hunched shoulders and struggling to keep her oversized jacket "on", over her high waisted shorts, accompanied by black fishnets and babydoll crop top, stomping in her stupor towards the restroom. She thinks for a moment, then exits downstairs intently. Downstairs, She is greeted by one of the stagehands. They PLUR and hug. ] DIMITRI Heeeeey. Happy Rave Dayyy. SŪP∆ Every day is rave day. DIMITRI I wish. SŪP∆ Wishes come true. DIMITRI Ugh, I wish. SŪP∆ Don't waste a wish on a wish. They all come true. DIMITRI Think so? SŪP∆ Know so. Like--know-know… so…don't wish for stupid shit; you don't know how many wishes you actually get, so just...be...specific. [He is starry eyed, gazing at her in a dreamlike trance.] SŪP∆ (CONT'D) ...like super specific. DIMITRI ...Specific…Wishes… SŪP∆ ‘Rollin'? [DIMITRI nods happily, bouncing to the upbeat bass house music coming from the mainstage.] SŪP∆ Just kicked in? DIMITRI (shaking head in agreement) Yuh. SŪP∆ Water? [She produces a bottled water out of "nowhere" (the void in her energy field which manifests items most needed/useful immediately [DIMITRI takes the water, amazed that she literally pulled it out of nowhere right in front of him; however, his Befuddled expression suggests curiosity that he is "tripping", which he quickly shrugs off, still bouncing happily to the music as he takes a drink (nearly the entire bottle), giving him life. (As he catches his breath, he looks up to see a tricolor of gumstucks fanned before him, his eyes light up.] SŪP∆ Spearmint, peppermint, winter fresh. DIMITRI ...ohhhh shittttt, winter fresh…! [He happily takes a stick, as the DJ loops [live sampling] the word "fresh", and they share a dance breakdown; Dimitri finishes his water and starts on his stick of gum. She produces a trash bag out of thin air, gesturing vanna white style, again as DIMITRI 'checks' himself, clearly unaware of Supa's Powers.] SŪP∆ Trash. [He enters his trash into the bag, after which, it immediately collapses, as it vanishes.] DIMITRI ...what was...what was that. SŪP∆ That...was...trash...magic…bags…brand...bags. ((( ))) (Magic Isn't Real!) SŪP∆ Oh, fuck, right. DILLON FRANCIS(in the next dimension over) DILLON FRANCIS Is. SŪP∆ Uh, Personal Space. DILLON FRANCIS Telepathy wasn't invented for "personal space" SŪP∆ Telepathy wasn't invented at all. DILLON FRANCIS Exactly. It's--Magic. Hence. SŪP∆ This has been previously established. DILLON FRANCIS I'm reinforcing the foundations...established...previously. SŪP∆ Uh, Don't you have half an album to finish? DILLON FRANCIS Uh, Don't you have a rave frozen in an unstable time warp, just so we can have this conversation--? Which, by the way, I'm pretty sure does not comply with aforementioned...reinforced foundations, Previously...established… SŪP∆ So what's the other half of thAt… was it even an album. Is it an EP? DILLON FRANCIS Nice view from the dancefloor, by the way, Jeez--JEEZ! I mean, I guess once you get used to the view from the stage, behind--you know --where the actual DJs...DJ. Behind the decks. In the DJ booth. For the DJ. SŪP∆ ...k… DILLON FRANCIS Which you're not. SŪP∆ Oh, I'm not. DILLON FRANCIS No. You're just...Dillusionally, probably permanently and terminally...not a DJ. SŪP∆ ‘Not a DJ.' DILLON FRANCIS Not a DJ. Right. SŪP∆ Not a DJ...with Magic. DILLON FRANCIS Maybe, mildly, weirdly magic--definitely not a DJ. Ever. SŪP∆ Okay. Not-- DILLON FRANCIS Not ever-- SŪP∆ Oh right, not Ever--s BOTH --a DJ. DILLON FRANCIS I'm glad you finally understand. We so, so appreciate the FANS, though. SŪP∆ BIG fan. BIG Dillon Francis fan. DILLON FRANCIS I know. I have…I'm telepathic. I'm also a DJ. Like, a real DJ. With...fans. AND albums. SŪP∆ So many fans. DILLON FRANCIS And albums. Like, tracks. SŪP∆ Right. Tracks. Got That Track Magic. DILLON FRANCIS Tracks. SŪP∆ I just got that, fan magic. And you know, actual magic. Thanks Dillon Francis-- DILLON FRANCIS DJ Dillon Francis SŪP∆ Right. DJ Dillon Francis. So many fans. DILLON FRANCIS but you're my best fan. SŪP∆ Best Fan! DILLON FRANCIS BEST FAN AWARD. SŪP∆ YEAH. DILLON FRANCIS FAN CAM! SŪP∆ ONE FOR THE FAN GRAM! DILLON FRANCIS THE *BEST* FAN GRAM. SŪP∆ YEAH. [Posing for a selfie, she uses one of her rave weapons (which is, actually just a regular iPhone) spitefully flashes him into a cross parallel dimension, outside of Bampheramph jurisdiction, trapping him in an intractable dimension; the photo created a time warp and intersectable checkpoint in time. She unfreezes the rave.] DIMITRI ...magic…? SŪP∆ Uh--no! ‘magic'. The music is magic, Just trash bags...brand...yeah. DIMITRI trash...brand...bags... SŪP∆ ...yeah... [They continue to dance; she nervously looks over her shoulder for possible alternate versions of DILLON FRANCIS At the end of the break, an immediate change of tone--she readjusts her outfit and hair, collecting herself in a snap--grabbing DIMITRI by his shoulder and pulling him closer, crouching lower into a "gameplay" position.) SŪP∆ (CONT'D) Now, business talk time. DIMITRI Serious face? [She nods adamantly. DIMITRI tries to straighten up, and "get serious, still bouncing along to the beat, adjusting his sunglasses.] CUT TO: EXT. THE OPEN SEAS. DAY [In a nearby dimension, As SKRILLEX and *alt* DILLON FRANCIS continue to battle, they cross paths at sea.] SKRILLEX Nice Dinghy, dude. DILLON FRANCIS It's...not a dinghy. It's a miniature yacht, and you're talking a lot, for someone that's more of a prop, than the dialogue. SKRILLEX Prop. Plot device. Main character. Oh shit dude--I might even star of the show. DILLON FRANCIS She's the star of the show. SKRILLEX Not without me. [A BAMPHERAMPH teleportals onto SKRILLEX'S boat, tagging him, BAMPHERAMPH TAG, YOU'RE IT. [He disappears into another portal.] SKRILLEX I'm it. DILLON FRANCIS Nah, you're just “Skrillex.” SKRILLEX That's--all you need. [A MOTHERFUCKER portals onto SKRILLEX'S boat, via another portal, handing him an *object*] MOTHERFUCKER Humility. You need it. SKRILLEX ...I made the HUMBLE remix. MOTHERFUCKER Yeah you did. [THE MOTHERFUCKER disappears into a portal; SKRILLEX unwraps the object; It is a pie, labeled ‘HUMBLE PIE.'] SKRILLEX Hm. FLASHBACK: BASS DROP, HUMBLE (Skrillex Remix) CUT BACK: As the bass drops, the pie explodes; This leaves him covered in a very fruity mess, and a *bass face* CUT TO: INT. OWSLA HQ. DAY MANAGER I don't think it's good for you, If you do this movie. SONNY/SKRILLEX Movies. It's like a series. Or a saga, oh--god, I don't know. [DILLON FRANCIS shows up, out of nowhere.] DILON FRANCIS Yeah. She is. Like a God, and you're not, man. So you know...I mean… SKRILLEX Actually heh. First of all, you tell me what the price of ‘Everliving Skrillex' is, I'll wait. DILLON FRANCIS My pants are currently selling for 69.99 right now. SKRILLEX My left sock was 69.99 this morning. MANAGER Why are you buying individual socks--??? DILLON FRANCIS Why are you buying socks in the mornings? MANAGER You're up late, how are you even up in the morning?! DILLON FRANCIS Do you ever sleep? Does a Skrillex sleep? MANAGER Who are you again? DILLON FRANCIS I'm Dillon Francis. DJ- Dillon Francis. SKRILLEX Does a Dillon Francis DJ? Or wear proper fitting pants? Or do anything? Anything cool at all? Yeah actually--He pushed Skrillex off a miniature yacht! SKRILLEX ...What? [DILLON FRANCIS portals them back onto the YACHT SCENE.] *alt* SKRILLEX and *alt* DILLON FRANCIS are still fighting; They are now both on the deck of SKRILLEX's boat, DILLON FRANCIS's mini yacht burning/ devastated by what appears to be a giant kraken in the background.] ALT/SKRILLEX FUCK YOUR MINIATURE YACHT. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS You're a miniature yacht! SKRILLEX Is that US?! MANAGER I told you... ALT/SKRILLEX You're not a good villain. Or at anything, really! You're just…'Dillon Francis. ‘ ALT/DILLON FRANCIS And you're just stranded in the ocean. ALT/SKRILLEX It's okay, it's hella refreshing! UNLIKE YOUR MUSIC. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS You know what--? DILLON FRANCIS (to his alternate self) I got this. ALT/SKRILLEX Huh? [DILLON FRANCIS blasts ALT/SKRILLEX into a portal, which whirlpools him into an alternate dimension; SKRILLEX and the MANAGER look on in horror.] ALT/DILLON FRANCIS Oh God, Finally! DILLON FRANCIS Yeah, I know. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS That took FOREVER. [DILLON FRANCIS rolls his eyes and hands his alternate self a small object*.] ALT/ DILLON FRANCIS By the way-- [He opens up another portal, reaching out just to jump into it, exclaiming:] ALT/DILLON FRANCIS (CONT'D) Tag, you're it. [He disappears into the portal.] DILLON FRANCIS OH, GOD DAMMIT. COMEUPOUTDAWAHTA, S U P A C R E E M I X X __________ SKRILLEX Get off my Alien Planet! Don't touch it! It's my alien planet, nobody land on it. DILLON FRANCIS Suhweeet planet… SUPACREE No! Don't land on that planet! [He lands.] SUPACREE God DAMMIT. GOD I can't do that. You know I can't do that. It's a whole planet just--give it time. SUPACREE I gave it spacetime! I am time! GOD I know you are, dear. Just be patient. SUPACREE Be patient? He went and put his DILLON FRANCIS all over it. JESUS Let Dillon Francis play with your planet, yeah? SUPACREE What?? No, can't have it, it's my planet. No. JESUS But he already put his Dillon on it, you know how that goes. SUPACREE I do know how it goes. I wrote it. GOD How does it go? It goes: SUPACREE --No--No--Dillon Francis, go home. /SKRILLEX No planet for Dillon Francis. SUPACREE This isn't Dillon Francis Land, it's closed. And also Not. Your. Planet. Go. Home. GOD That had a lot of heart, hun. SUPACREE And no Dillon Francis. JESUS Actually, it had a lot of that, too. SKRILLEX Aha. SUPACREE --Aha, well it's about to have a lot of not-that, I'm about to knock the not-that-hot-sauce off his-- /SKRILLEX --mini yacht knocking-- SUPACREE --sock-rocking-planet-blocking-motherfacker!!!! RAAGGHHH…!! /SKRILLEX AGHRAHGHHGH!!! JESUS Whew. Did you just eat a McFury? SUPACREE MAYBEITWASAFUCKISDILLONFRANCISDOINGONMYPLANETSANWHICH. SUPACREE + SKRILLEX FUCK DILLON FRANCIS. JESUS sounds like a lot. / Sounds Like A Mouthful. SUPACREE/SKRILLEX It wasn't. Ever. Never. / It's not. (Alternately) _______ DILLON FRANCIS Hey. This is a nice planet. Ū He's gonna be like-- DILLON FRANCIS Like flabbergasted. Ū Past Flabbergasted. Did he see you land? DILLON FRANCIS Yeah. Ū Good. Lol. Did he get the coupon? DILLON FRANCIS --Yes. (Previously) [Dillon Lurks In The Background with the SupaCreepers (binoculars). SKRILLEX finds the coupon.] $-FREE MCFURY. SKRILLEX ...oh, shit. Mm! Yeah-yeah! CUT BACK TO Ū Hehehe. EXT. AN ‘ALIEN' PLANET. SPACE THE SKRILLEX Enters The Atmosphere. THE SKRILLEX 'I AM SKRILLEX' S- Sunnï Blū, Ninja Guru Singer/Songwriter Ū- The Anti-Anti-Hero, the Superhero Persona, Ninja Assassin, and Mothafuckin' Bampheramph P-PEACE (Piece, Piece of the Puzzle, Piece of Pie, etc.) Problemo (Exists when too many plot holes and complexities arrive, also “The Pretender”, who just ignores when crazy shit happens, questions all realities (?) Alt+J- SUPACREE, The DIvine Trinity C- (Copyright Symbol) The Original Cree, Alternately Chak Chel, the ancient spirit guide ‘trapped' inside of the Physical Body to Accompany and Assist through magic, rituals, and energy manipulation through music, time space, and all reality which exists within the fathomable and expanding infinite consciousness. (thought to be ancient, however actually originating from hyper intelligent and extraterrestrial existence in the outer realms. Caricatures (“Characters” Based On Various Entertainment Artists Personas, To Be Played (As themselves) S-Dillon Francis U-Dillon Frances P-Dillon T. Francis A-Dillon Flances C-Dillon Glances R-Dillon France Is E-Fillon Dances E-(Fictional Dillon) Francis/Is Pasquale -DJ Hanzel -DJ Rich As Fuck -Gerald -N(E)RD (Pronounced” NED”) Sonny Moore/Skrillex -Hereby referenced to as SS, there exists “Infinite Skrillex” variably throughout the Multiverse, however, Skrillex himself is (secretly) the singular (and seemingly random apparent “phenomenon”) of his kind. A rare and shiny seemingly shapeshifting sorcerer, the concept and use of “Fictional Skrillex” is separated into a multitude of characters, uses and ambiguities explained throughout the series. *Spoiler*, Tying into the Theme of an Ever Expanding (and alternately, Collapsing/Compressing) Infinite Multidimensional, The Term Skrillex can refer the the Persona, or Person as Himself, but alternately is used as a noun, pronoun, verb, or adjective--even sometimes as a profanity, or to be referred to as a “race”. Sammi B,/LSDream/Brillz -Sam I Am (Festival Trip Alter Ego) -I Am Sam (Festival Trip Second Alter Ego) Pasqualle Rotella A nameless, untranslatable into spoken or written language symbol, to be decided. An Ultra-Omnipitent giant (predominately purple, but emanating all colors of the cosmos) Galaxy of Ultra Concious Light Waves, SoundFrequencies, and Own Planetary Solar System, Boasting Stars which rival our own sun. A brilliant Collection of Space Dust (A relative of “Fart”, from Rick and Morty) Evil Pasquale Pasqualle Is Dillon Francis Mr. Rager (Underground Pasqualle) A No-Named Burner and Ultimate Raver, whose domain is the kingdom of the underground rave scene--he detests the mainstream, traveling (across time, as an undercover Bampheramph), Wally (Never started Insomniac, Works At Walmart as Greeter. Never Raved.) In a homage to the second back to the future, U has traveled back to 1993 to create a reality where Google and Insomniac, etc. are owned and operated by SupaCree, skewing into an adjacent timeline in the future where her superstardom and rise to fame begins as a child star on Disney Channel, crossing multiple timelines interdimensionally intersected on the Infinite Grid so complex, it begins to create a disastrous series of knots, loops, and voids, tangled now permanently into the fabric of time. Wally is asked to fill in for his coworker in the photography section, where he develops photos from a disposable camera and is enamoured by the dazzling magic of EDC captured on camera. His eyes widen as he glimpses into the photos; it is love at first sight. He makes doubles of the photos, later creating a vision board (used as a totem, easter egg throughout series) Wally's World lol The Ascended Masters The Psychonauts The Bampheramphs (& Mothafuckin' Bampheramphs, Respectively) The Insomniacs (& Pasquallians, a secret sect of magicians, sorcerers and alchemists, seers and mystics carefully selected as keyholders to ‘The Secret Gates', a secret interdimensional transit system hidden beyond VIP (VIP+, VIP++, VIP+++, and VIP (+/-) which actually contains an underground city, a massive classified compound which exists between cross dimensions, allowing for shifts in the timespace continuums and temporary constructs of reality adjust by a mastery of manipulative conception, a complete control of energy--even allowing for such things as matter to appear, disappear, The Toxic Avengers, Traveling across the Multiverse to Avenge the annihilation, assassinations, and massacre of The Infinite Skrillex {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.