Podcasts about Over There

From Bari with Updates: Get ready for a whirlwind tour of global headlines-straight from the sun-soaked streets of Bari, Italy! In this special episode of Over Here, Over There, Dan Harris and Claudia Koestler dive into the historic election of Pope Leo XIV, unpacking the drama, tradition, and global impact of the Vatican's latest conclave. But that's not all: they´re also breaking down the latest twists in the US-UK trade deal and what it means for politics, business, and ordinary people on both sides of the Atlantic.Join two friends from different worlds as we bridge borders, share local flavor from southern Italy, and offer fresh, informed takes on the stories shaping our world right now. Whether you're a news junkie, a politics buff, or just curious about how global events connect us all, this episode is your passport to insight and lively debate.Don't forget to like, comment, and subscribe-tell us what you think about the new pope and the future of transatlantic relations!

Who is Friedrich Merz, and why is the world watching Germany's new chancellor? In this special monologue, Claudia Koestler, co-host of the Over Here, Over There podcast, dives into the dramatic rise, fall, and stunning comeback of Friedrich Merz. Discover his unique biography, from corporate lawyer to CDU leader, his years in political exile, and his return to power at age 69. Claudia unpacks the controversies, the coalition drama, and what Merz's conservative, transatlantic vision means for Germany, Europe, and the world. Whether you're a politics buff or just curious about global leadership, this episode brings you the insights and stories behind the headlines. Subscribe for more international perspectives!TakeawaysFriedrich Merz has a complex political historyHis rivalry with Angela Merkel shaped his careerMerz's return marks a shift in CDU leadershipHe is perceived as arrogant and divisiveHis approach to the far-right is controversialMerz's policies may be more confrontational than his predecessorHe faces challenges in a fragmented BundestagPublic perception of Merz is mixed and criticalHis leadership could impact transatlantic relationsThe future of German politics is uncertain under MerzPlease see this and other 'Over Here, Over There' episodes at www.overhereoverthere.org. Please don't forget to like, subscribe, and add to the discussion. Thank you!

SummaryOver Here, Over There podcast hosts Claudia Koestler and Dan Harris discuss the current political landscape in Germany and the EU, as Dan was passing through Munich Franz Joseph Flughafen (Airport) enjoy a which also included a delicious alkohol-frei Pilsner beer. On tap was the light of recent tariffs and the shifting dynamics of international relations. Claudia emphasizes the need for Europe to find its own voice and unity in the absence of a reliable US partnership, while also addressing the implications of rising right-wing politics within the EU. Dan, being a multi-national citizen, concludes with reflections on the evolving special relationship between the UK and the US post-Brexit, with Italy and Giorgia Meloni's government getting a special mention.TakeawaysThe German government needs to find its backbone and voiceEurope must seek independence and shared valuesChina is forming alliances while the US is less reliableTrust issues in partnerships are becoming more pronouncedMultilateralism is challenged by current US politicsEurope needs to present a united front for democracyThe UK-US special relationship is under scrutiny post-BrexitRight-wing politics are gaining traction in some EU countriesCountries are pursuing their own agendas within the EUThe future of EU unity depends on overcoming internal divisions

David Hepworth co-presented Live Aid on the BBC in 1985. He was also one of the presenters of the BBC rock music programme The Old Grey Whistle Test. David launched and edited magazines such as Smash Hits, Q, Mojo, Just Seventeen, Heat and The Word, among many others. He has won the Editor of the Year and Writer of the Year awards from the Professional Publishers Association and the Mark Boxer award from the British Society of Magazine Editors. He's written books about the recording studio Abbey Road, with a foreword by Paul McCartney, the British Invasion of the US charts called Overpaid, Over sexed and Over There, how the LP saved our lives, A Fabulous Creation and his latest book, Hope I Get Old Before I Die, why rock stars never retire, is out now, It looks at the time since Live Aid, when, according to David, live performance took over from record sales .David Hepworth is our guest in episode 489 of My Time Capsule and chats to Michael Fenton Stevens about the five things he'd like to put in a time capsule; four he'd like to preserve and one he'd like to bury and never have to think about again .But David's new book, Hope I Get Old Before I Die, here - https://www.amazon.co.uk/Books-David-Hepworth/s?rh=n%3A266239%2Cp_27%3ADavid%2BHepworth .Follow David Hepworth on Twitter/X: @davidhepworth & Instagram @dhepworth .Follow My Time Capsule on Instagram: @mytimecapsulepodcast & Twitter/X & Facebook: @MyTCpod .Follow Michael Fenton Stevens on Twitter/X: @fentonstevens & Instagram @mikefentonstevens .Produced and edited by John Fenton-Stevens for Cast Off Productions .Music by Pass The Peas Music .Artwork by matthewboxall.com .This podcast is proud to be associated with the charity Viva! Providing theatrical opportunities for hundreds of young people . Get bonus episodes and ad-free listening by becoming a team member with Acast+! Your support will help us to keep making My Time Capsule. Join our team now! https://plus.acast.com/s/mytimecapsule. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

So Donald Trump is back in the Oval Office - but to what consequences? In this episode of Over Here, Over There, German journalist Claudia Koestler and US/UK commentator Dan Harris dive deep into the whirlwind first 100 days of Trump's second term. From Berlin to London and beyond, Claudia and Dan unpack the personal and political fallout:How have Trump's executive orders, tariffs, and global shakeups changed daily life and travel for Europeans and Americans alike?Is Germany still a safe haven, is the US now too unpredictable to visit?What do Europeans really think about “America First,” and how are protests and politics shifting on both sides of the Atlantic?Can the EU find unity in the face of US unpredictability, or will divisions (like Hungary's stance) hold it back?With honest, sometimes raw, and always insightful perspectives, this episode is a must-watch for anyone curious about how Trump's policies reverberate far beyond US borders. Tune in for a transatlantic conversation you won't hear anywhere else!

'Come Back America - Don't Leave Us', says the German adventurer Dirk Rohrbach. Podcast hosts Dan Harris and Claudia Koestler caught up with the 'German Bear Grylls' to dive deep into the real America. Rorhbach, journalist, radio host and doctor of medicine, shares his insider views he gained on his many travels, from paddling 1000 kilometers on the Yukon to cycling 3000 kilometers along the Pacific Coast. Dirk's experiences offer an unparalleled view on the differences and similarities between the US and Europe. Learn about the true concerns of rural America, the often-overlooked voices of Native Americans, what makes the US and Europe so truly unique and discover surprising lessons for both sides of the Atlantic in this must-watch video podcast episode of "Over Here, Over There". Don't miss this chance to see America through fresh eyes and gain a deeper understanding of its complexities. Hit that like button, subscribe to our channel, and turn on notifications to never miss an episode of "Over Here, Over There"!

This time it's getting personal: During the Podcast interview with Franck Arnold, the Managing Director of the Savoy hotel in London, Claudia Koestler, co-host of the Podcast "Over Here, Over There", pulls back the curtain and reveals a never before shared juicy secret. A revelation you won't hear anywhere else...

Denna man som jag har hemma hos mig idag är Magnus Styrén. Han har en del saker på gång. Nominerad i USA, spelas på över 80 radiostationer "Over There" , platta på gång nu i mars m.m.Låten efter intervjun heter "Burn"

Germany's election results have a global impact. The AfD's surge and the SPD's historic collapse reveal a fractured political landscape. Friedrich Merz's CDU/CSU faces coalition headaches, while far-right and far-left parties will reshape Germany's stance on NATO, Russia, and Ukraine. What does this mean for EU stability, U.S.-Germany relations, and the rise of anti-establishment movements worldwide? Join Claudia as she breaks down the implications of this pivotal election in her monologue. Subscribe for more cross-border analysis and views from the Podcast Over Here, Over There.Germany's election results reflect a significant shift in political dynamics.The CDU's return to power is marked by a historic low for the Social Democrats.The rise of the AFD signals growing far-right sentiment in Germany.Mainstream parties are struggling to maintain their influence amid rising extremism.The far-left party's resurgence is fueled by economic discontent and anti-war sentiment.International endorsements have emboldened the AFD's position in German politics.The political landscape is increasingly fractured, complicating governance.The implications of the election extend beyond Germany to the EU and global politics.Democracy is facing challenges, with complacency posing a significant risk.The future remains uncertain, with ongoing tensions and challenges ahead.Sound Bites"The storm hasn't passed."#GermanyElection #AfD #SPD #CDU #EU #Ukraine #NATO #Russia #GlobalPolitics #PoliticalAnalysis #Podcast #OverHereOverThere #EuropeanElections #FarRight #FarLeft #FriedrichMerz #ClaudiaKoestler

What REALLY happens when smartphones meet world-class luxury? Franck Arnold, Managing Director of the legendary Savoy Hotel in London, exposes the techniques that keep The Savoy's legendary reputation intact - and protects the VIPs privacy in the age of smartphones and social media.From Hollywood stars to royalty, how does The Savoy keep celebrity secrets locked down? In this clip from the series "Learning from the Best" of the podcast "Over Here, Over There", Arnold breaks down the truth about discretion in luxury hospitality!Get a peek behind the curtains at how luxury hotels shield celebrity secrets, and learn about the evolution of discretion from past to present.Perfect for:Celebrity watchersHospitality professionalsPrivacy enthusiastsLuxury service lovers#LuxuryHospitality #CelebritySecrets #TheSavoy #VIPPrivacy #FranckArnold #podcast #overhereoverthere Are you ready to learn from the best? Watch the full-length interview with Franck Arnold on the ‪@OverHereOverThere‬  Podcast here: • Insights from The Savoy London - Inte...  

SummaryIn this episode of Over Here, Over There, Claudia Koestler discusses the upcoming snap election in Germany, set for February 23, 2025. Claudia explores the potential political shifts, key players, and the implications for Europe and the global stage. The conversation highlights the significance of this election in shaping Germany's future, particularly in terms of economic policies, European security, and climate change. Claudia emphasizes staying informed about the election's outcomes and far-reaching consequences.TakeawaysThe German snap election is a potential game changerFriedrich Merz and the CDU are leading the pollsThe far-right AfD could double their seats in parliamentThe SPD and Green Party are struggling to maintain relevanceGermany's role in European defense is critical with NATO's leadership vacuumThe election could shift Germany's stance on Ukraine and RussiaGermany's economic policies will impact global marketsClimate policy could change significantly depending on election outcomesCoalition building will be crucial in Germany's multi-party systemThe election is expected to be the most digital in German historyPlease monitor the German election 2025 and add your comments below on how you see its impact on your country and the world. Please don't forget to like, subscribe, and follow us on social media for more election coverage.#germanelection #germanelection2025 #Germany #Europe #EU #CDU #TheGreens #Scholz #SPD #ClaudiaKoestler #DanHarris #OverHereOverThere #podcast #snap election #politicallandscape #internationalrelations  #Europeansecurity economic #climate change #coalitionpolitics #radiobroadcastindustry

Let's talk about Trump's plan to level Over There....

In our 'Learn from the Best' series, The Savoy´s Managing Director Franck Arnold talks about immigration, Brexit, and the future of hospitality!SummaryClaudia Koestler and Dan Harris explore the significant impact of Brexit and the COVID-19 pandemic on recruitment in the UK, particularly in the hospitality sector, with The Savoy's Managing Director Franck Arnold. They discuss the challenges faced in hiring qualified staff from Europe post-Brexit and the changing dynamics of immigration in the UK. Highlights include the importance of cultural diversity in London and how it contributes to the city's vibrancy and success.In this clip from the Podcast interview from "Over Here, Over There" you will discover:The REAL impact of Brexit on luxury hotelsHow international talent DRIVES hospitality excellenceThe truth about workforce diversityThis video gives you an insight into the challenges from Brexis even by one of the most prestigious organisations in the UK and how it has had to adapt to the new business and cultural environment.  Perfect for:Travel enthusiastsHospitality professionalsGlobal citizensCareer seekersAre you ready to learn from the best? The Savoy's exclusive insider perspective and the full-length interview with Franck Arnold can be watched on the ‪@OverHereOverThere‬ Podcast here: • Insights from The Savoy London - Inte...  One click could transform your understanding of global hospitality forever! Are you ready for the TRUTH?TakeawaysThe pandemic and Brexit created significant recruitment challengesMany qualified staff left the UK and are not returningPost-Brexit, recruitment from Europe has become more difficultThe hospitality sector struggles to attract British workersCultural diversity is essential for London's identityImmigration patterns have shifted significantly post-BrexitThe quality of immigration has changed, impacting industriesLondon's energy comes from its diverse immigrant populationThe UK is a country of immigrants, similar to the US and CanadaThe British culture is enriched by its diverse influences#HospitalityRevolution #Brexit #Immigration #LuxuryTravel #TheSavoy #FranckArnold #podcast #overhereoverthere #pandemic #hospitalityindustry #London #workforce #culturaldiversity #recruitment

Franck Arnold, Managing Director of The Savoy in London, reveals his hospitality strategy, which is revolutionizing luxury service!In this clip from the "Learning from the Best"  series of the Podcast "Over Here, Over There" in cooperation with ‪@EvenlodeFilms‬, Mr. Arnold breaks down the critical balance between cutting-edge AI and the irreplaceable human connection. Discover how top-tier hotels like The Savoy are navigating the future of hospitality, blending technology with heart-warming personal service.What happens when robots meet human empathy? Mr. Arnold exposes the secrets that keep luxury hospitality alive and thriving. Learn how The Savoy stays ahead of the game by:Mastering AI efficiencyPreserving the magic of human interactionCreating unforgettable guest experiencesDon't miss these game-changing insights from one of the world's most innovative hotel leaders!Are you ready to learn from the best? Watch the full-length podcast episode on YouTube here:‪ Insights from The Savoy - Interview with Franck Arnold, Managing DirectorCheck out all our episodes at overhereoverthere.org.#HospitalityInnovation #AIandHumanTouch #LuxuryHospitality #TheSavoy #FranckArnold #FutureOfService #ai #podcast #overhereoverthere 

SummaryIn this conversation, BBC Radio Gloucestershire and Wiltshire host Graham Rogers discusses with 'Over Here, Over There' podcast host Dan Harris the remarkable return of Donald Trump to the presidency, analyzing the factors that contributed to his election victory and the implications for the US-UK relationship. The discussion also covers Trump's expected actions in office and the strategies needed to engage with his administration effectively.TakeawaysDonald Trump's return to the White House is unprecedented.Many believed Trump could not recover from the January 6th events.The Democrats' campaign strategy wasn't effective enough.Trump's election victory was narrow, not a landslide.Republicans effectively communicated with their base despite lower funding.The US-UK relationship will endure regardless of leadership.Engaging with Trump requires understanding his motivations.Expect symbolic gestures from Trump in his first days.Trump aims to deliver on campaign promises immediately.The political landscape is shifting with Trump's return.Sound Bites"How did he win? Why did he win?"#DonaldTrump #inauguration #USpolitics #election #US-UKrelationship #specialrelationship #executiveorders #politicalcomeback #podcast 

 Over Here, Over There - A Podcast Across Borders #podcastFranck Arnold, Managing Director of The Savoy in London, reveals what really makes The Savoy the ultimate destination!What do Gordon Ramsay, 130 years of history, and hospitality magic have in common? Learn from the best in this clip from the Podcast Interview from "Over Here, Over There".In this conversation, Claudia Koestler asks Franck Arnold about the delicate balance of maintaining the Savoy's rich British heritage while innovating to meet modern expectations. He emphasizes the importance of being a custodian of the hotel's legacy, the need for a touch of eccentricity, and the successful partnerships that have revitalized the dining experience at the Savoy, including collaborations with renowned chef Gordon Ramsay. The conversation highlights the ongoing evolution of the Savoy as it adapts to contemporary tastes while preserving its iconic status.Discover the never-before shared secrets of:How a centuries-old hotel stays cutting-edgeThe strategy that keeps The Savoy legendaryWhy every celebrity and royal dreams of staying here The Savoy embodies a blend of British tradition and global allureBeing a custodian of the Savoy's legacy is a key responsibilityThe evolution of the Savoy is akin to the gradual change of a Porsche 911Eccentricity is an essential aspect of British character at the SavoySuccessful partnerships can bring novelty and excitement to traditional establishmentsThe renovation of dining spaces has led to increased recognition, including a Michelin starMaintaining luxury codes is crucial while introducing modern twistsAfternoon tea remains a staple service offering at the SavoyThe reconceptualization of spaces aims to enhance energy and vibrancyInnovation at the Savoy is about evolution without shocking the systemPerfect for:Hospitality professionalsTravel enthusiastsBehind-the-scenes loversDream job seekers#LuxuryHospitality #TheSavoy #FranckArnold #HotelSecrets #LondonLuxury #podcast  #overhereoverthere You're just one click away from valuable insights from one of the hospitality industry's best. Enjoy!" Watch the full-length interview with Franck Arnold on the " @OverHereOverThere " Podcast here:    • Insights from The Savoy London - Inte...  And please don´t forget to like and subscribe - and comment!Thank you for listening!

Discover the transformative leadership philosophy of Franck Arnold, Managing Director of London's legendary Savoy Hotel, in this captivating promotional clip from the exclusive interview series "Learning from the Best." Join Claudia Koestler and Dan Harris from the Podcast "Over Here, Over There" as they delve into Mr. Arnold's innovative hiring process and his unique approach to leadership, which features an inverted pyramid model that prioritizes support and positivity.In this sneak peek, learn how Mr. Arnold identifies top talent and fosters a culture of excellence within one of the world's most iconic hotels. Whether you're an aspiring leader, a hospitality professional, or simply curious about the inner workings of luxury service, this clip offers invaluable insights into the art of leadership and team building in the high-stakes world of luxury hospitality.Don't miss out on this opportunity to learn from the best—hit play now to unlock the secrets that keep The Savoy at the forefront of the hospitality industry! Are you ready to learn from the best? Watch the full-length interview with Franck Arnold on the ‪@OverHereOverThere‬  Podcast here. #leadership #Hospitality #FranckArnold #SavoyHotel #LuxuryService #TeamBuilding #podcast #overhereoverthere  #empowerment #customerservice #recruitment #podcastKey TakeawaysService excellence is rooted in genuine engagementHiring should focus on cultural fit and characterSoft skills are as important as technical skillsA smile can significantly enhance customer experienceEmpower employees to take ownership of their rolesMistakes are opportunities for learning and growthA supportive culture fosters employee satisfactionThe Savoy's reputation is built on collective ownershipLeadership should be about guiding and inspiringFeedback is essential for continuous improvementKey Quote"I'm at the bottom of the pyramid."

Step into the world of luxury hospitality with our groundbreaking interview featuring Franck Arnold, the visionary Managing Director of London's iconic Savoy Hotel. In this exclusive sit-down, the hosts of the Podcast "Over Here Over There", Claudia Koestler and Dan Harris, uncover the secrets behind The Savoy and Arnold's exceptional leadership that keeps The Savoy at the pinnacle of the hospitality industry worldwide, from cultivating a stellar team to embracing innovation in a centuries-old institution. Learn about:- Cutting-edge hiring strategies that build an award-winning staff- Sustainable practices that set new industry standards- Harnessing AI to enhance guest experiences- Stress management techniques for high-pressure environments- Overcoming Global Challenges- How Mr. Arnold steers The Savoy through turbulent times- Brexit's impact on luxury hospitality- Adapting to post-pandemic travel trends- AI versus the Human Touch - Balancing tradition with modern guest expectations- The secret to discretion- Bringing music back to the Savoy- What's next for The Savoy and Franck ArnoldThis captivating interview is the first in our new "Learning from the Best" series, where "Over Here, Over There", your Podcast Across Borders, tap into the minds of industry titans to bring you actionable wisdom and inspiration.For the full YouTube video interview, see here. Please don't forget to subscribe and like the podcast on all socials! Thank you!

BBC Radio Gloucestershire host David Smith and 'Over Here, Over There' podcast host Dan Harris reflect on the life and legacy of former US President Jimmy Carter, who passed away at the age of 100. They discuss his presidency, marked by significant achievements in diplomacy and human rights, and the challenges he faced, including economic difficulties. The dialogue also highlights Carter's post-presidency humanitarian efforts and his enduring humility, which left a lasting impact on American politics and society.Discussion points:Jimmy Carter was the longest-lived American president.He was known for his ethical approach to politics.Carter's presidency was marked by both successes and failures.He prioritized human rights in his foreign policy.The Camp David Accords were a significant achievement.Carter's post-presidency work greatly enhanced his legacy.He tackled global issues like disease and poverty through the Carter Center.Carter's humility set a standard for future politicians.His focus on environmental policies was ahead of his time.Carter's life exemplified a commitment to service and compassion.

John & Heidi share funny stories of people doing weird things... plus we continue our segment #MovieStarMonday as John chats with renowned DJ Caruso film director, producer, and screenwriter. His work encompasses a variety of genres, including thriller, drama, horror, and action. He has also directed numerous episodes of television series such as The Shield, Over There, Smallville, and Dark Angel.We will discuss his Netflix Christmas feature film “Mary” stars Anthony Hopkins as King Herod and Noa Cohen as Mary.TRAILER: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d74vHvsACSsGET AN "AMAZON PRIME" 30 DAY FREE TRIAL HERE > https://zurl.co/xtXhLearn more about our radio program, podcast & blog at www.JohnAndHeidiShow.com

We finally return to the Redverse for this episode and are joined once again by Mark (who previously joined us for our “Grey Matters” discussion)! In this (mostly) standalone episode of Fringe, the Fringe Division of Over There faces off against a mad scientist who is killing people with beetles, and this is, of course, also the legendary episode when Darrell lost the Banana Bet over the other Olivia's pregnancy! Listen in to hear our thoughts on this episode, including but not limited to our thoughts on Walternate being made a bit more complex. The post S3E13 Immortality appeared first on Golden Spiral Media- Entertainment Podcasts, Technology Podcasts & More.

We finally return to the Redverse for this episode and are joined once again by Mark (who previously joined us for our “Grey Matters” discussion)! In this (mostly) standalone episode of Fringe, the Fringe Division of Over There faces off against a mad scientist who is killing people with beetles, and this is, of course, also the legendary episode when Darrell lost the Banana Bet over the other Olivia's pregnancy! Listen in to hear our thoughts on this episode, including but not limited to our thoughts on Walternate being made a bit more complex. We also get some great feedback from listeners like Geoff (xforce11), Eric (or Eric from Pennsylvania as you prefer), Erin, ShelkyBean, and Patty from Canadia! For the next episode, in which we will be covering the episode “6B,” we will be joined by frequent feedbacker Anna (not Torv), so please feel free to reach out to us with your thoughts about that episode via one of the contact methods listed below! Links Mentioned: The Fringe Podcast Episode 0326 - "Immortality" The Fringe Podcast Episode 0327 - Feedback for "Immortality" Stream Fringe Theme Piano Edit by TgypT Fringe Connections - "Immortality" (3.13) Fringe Matters - "Fringe - 'Immortality' (3.13)" Arrant Pedantry - “The Volkswagon Beetle Car Game” The Fringemunks - "Epis. 3.13: Immortality" Fringe Playlist by Chris Connect with Us: Golden Spiral Media Community Portal Golden Spiral Media's Twitter Page The Fringe Podcast Rewatch's Instagram Page Listener Feedback Webpage Join Our Live Show! Season 3 Guest Host Sign Up  

Trigger warning: this series contains adult content not suitable for children or under the legal age of majority. Listener and reader discretion is advised as this broadcast and its selected readings and projected writings contain explicit language, provocative wordplay, profanity, open expression of suicidal ideation, discussion of evolved/ de-institutionalized theories concerning depression and mental health, race relations and colorism, socio-economic inequality, political injustice and media politicism, scientific hypothesis , modern philosophical ideals and spiritual explorations, crude humor and may include and contain pornographic content, references to fictionalized interpretation of public figures (fan-fiction), caricatures or references to pop culture, modern art, music, science and other entertainment references which may evoke biased emotion, inspire adverse reactions or discontentment, or discomfort. ⚠️ VIEWER, LISTENER, and READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. ⚠️ The views and opinions expressed by this series and its subsequent editions, additions, chapters, broadcasts, and publications are solely the writers' interpretations as expressed with artistic and entertainment purposes only. The artist reserves all rights to intellectual property maintained and produced by any and all publications of this series and is thereby protected under any applicable copyright law and/or trademark. All fictionalizations of persons living or dead are meant to be perceived as characterized and/or fictional (fan-fiction) are for entertainment purposes only, and are not to be perceived as real re-enactments, dramatizations of events past or present, media dialogues or agendas, or factual exchanges pertaining to and surrounding real-life circumstances. The dialogues and entires expressed in this project are in no way liable for any action, expression, disagreements, entitlements held by the reader at his or her/ their own discretion and therefore will not be held accountable for any actions by the reader on their own account due to perceptions which may have been inspired and/or provoked by these readings or any of their subsequent editions. —rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrfrrfrrrrfrrrfrrfrrrrr. [The Festival Project ™] You know what? Fuck this place. Fuck your color coded red lined fucking bullshit. New York is so visibly fucking racist it makes me want to hurl. I'm gonna kill you. Finally get out of that contract, did you? …no. I had worked out the full hour, but I was no less angry; I had even walked a couple miles and jogged a little—but I might have been even more mad. Aiagepalaqalerhelehee DIABoLICAL SONOFABITXH {Enter The Multiverse Legends: A Review} He— shot himself in the head. Hm. Did he mess up his face? What? If his face is alright I can reanimate him—no problem. But there's no point if he's got a hole in his face How are you gonna cover a hole in his head? He'll wear a hat. I think the whole point of white supremacy— Is to get blacks to have to do stereotypically black shit Like beg and steal. I've learned that People will set you up and corner you So that you have to do some shit They can later hold over your head. I've learned, after all this time— That the only way to win a rigged game — Is by cheating. People love setting people up. People love making it look like you're up to some dishonest shit— When it was dishonest to have set you up in the first place. People are sneaky. Life is politics as fuck. Everything is business. There's no kind of rules to the real disasters in life— I just discovered a new political issue I didn't even know existed Until I had to experience it Nutrition inequality. The quality of life one experiences with full balance nutrition, Which is kept out of the hands of the masses by the greedy and wealthy elite— The difference in the quality of life one faces When able to afford proper nutrition within the alignment of one's purpose. THIS is why I have people posted up outside of my apartment trying to kill me?! Probably. Don't come between a man and his business. Don't come between a man and his business. Don't come between a man and his– “prestidigitation” You are the ace, I am the m Diamond, I Am The Heart, I am the spade Did you do this on purpose? Space, that's an odd name. Another magician. —what else would you call this? I wouldn't. (To be honest, I didn't know what I was doing.) Well, there it goes. Well, this should be fun. I— Cut my throat To watch me live again Or leave me hanging here As morbidly as you desire To come inform me Of my royal nature, Yet undone by another Fortunate, in either aspect Where are you, now To tie the winters sleeve Upon my sleeping chambers, Whispered into hear thy neck My captor slowly soon awaiting So far a severity Hereby unsworn I lie to seek escape Though captured for nothing in the eye if beauty alone; Andamine, I am, I wait to be free oh! well. Sick to my stomach I plea for your waking A scarcity, Still slithers up my spine, The *gunshot* Vent, baby Keem hooligan, baby keem -The Melodic Blue, baby keem [The Festival Project ™ ] As it turns out, The assembly of the impenetrable ten, Also automatically stood as The most revolutionary Saturday a night Live Reunion Of all time. Why isn't Keenan in the impenetrable ten?! Yes, WHY. NON. NO. NONSENSE! Because! We don't have time for a negro spiritual every time something Mm—NO. Suspicious happens. This is suspicious. O boredom, I need metaphore for movement Disfigured m,n Centric and stil Consintrical, if you will Disasterous dreams art thou Eating shining m, What I need and Holy, only what I want Dear captor, Shining as the morning night I was, As slumber did fall upon us Waiting for the watching cry, Somehow seeking justice for intrepid Indigence —what, what did you say?! I said— —is that a word! Let's see! Post poster conformity— Oh, here we go again No borderline Or robot border patrol, Focus now in the motors, Run for you excellent cries Simply warn us, will you Everwaiting, perhaps For the fortune, until Stories of foragers Will you again Creep, calling, Temper, Justice For now, let's say All liberty is liberty does, As in the mind, let it rest As in the heart, let it flourish As in all hu/mankind Casts judgement, Upon each other, But meat, Not among the waking tide The realms you call upon And cry, at ask of will For wishes granted And prayers seen over I have an irrational fear of Jack o lanterns— Does that mean anything to you? No…should it? VO Suddenly there were Jack o lanterns everywhere. That's so weird, I never wrote that scene— it just kind of popped into my head, and then— I make thoughts To the shade of your love I can't seem to need anything Or want any longer But just to escape, To be free from all tragedy I don't understand… There's a light on, It appears, However— Hollow, And wicked looking It's barely even spring, And suddenly as I walk about, They seem to be appearing In my path, Amidst my dreams And everything i know is No one Everything I love is Gone And everyone around me seems to be Some kind of Wrong, Or fornicated, Tragedy, It seems, Another tragedy. These Demons. I should be working on project III And making coffee for the evening But I can barely breathe Awareness I can barely breathe I can barely even think of myself as anyone at all Actually (Anyone at all, actually) please Help me Please help me I hate all my lines in this movie. Then change them— Really? Or trade with someone else. Like, the whole character, or just— Just, the words. Just the words? Or, like, whatever. I can do that?! You can do—whatever you want. “Whatever you want?!” I'm an actor! So act, then! You put the words in my head; You were just the worst We are who we are, just Whole worlds apart You put the words in my mouth, On top of the scars, that's A whole broken heart I guess we are who we are A whole sky full of stars I still can't find my sparkle Just no reason to smile at all I guess we are who we are “You were put here just to be [redacted] mother, and then die.”, said the voice— Which was not my own, but some man's. I didn't believe that, at all—actually, But I had just sent my divorce papers in the mail, Attached with it the accounts of everything—almost everything, anyway, that had happened that had caused me to be such a distance from my son in the first place, as I had never intended to just leave him with his father, whose birthday was either the next day, or the day after—and it was almost funny to me that I couldn't remember which it was, as I realized that in the beginning, I had loved him so much that I had looked past all of the disasterous, ugly things— the phlegm on the walls, his lack of respect towards anyone, especially himself—but anyone at all— but first and foremost, especially myself, who I had finally learned to love before hand, and had finally learned to love again—at least, the best way any woman could love herself. The algorithm was playing serious mind games and tricks on my psyche again, and I wondered if I should just attempt the next two days sleeping —but it would mean that I would miss my deadline for project three, which I had intended to be released… The demonic energy again began to shift around me as I twiddled away writing—the traffic outside moved more rapidly, and doors in the hallway from my neighbors began to slam, and I knew without a doubt that he had tried to kill me using some kind of curse of black magic, but couldn't—somehow I had lived, but was still being made to suffer— and that whatever spells he had used had summoned something nasty into all of the creatures, humanoid and alike, that could be controlled without the will of God, who I thought might be lost, were it not for the songs that had come in the wake of begging for God itself to free me which was the nightmare, the curse it had become to have only fallen in love once, with the kind of man who could not. Now he had wished my doom onto me, which left me wounded and afraid, unsafe in any element or environment , plagued by coughing bodies and robotic slaves—none of which I assumed he hactiallh had the power to control, but of a greater force which shielded itself to consume me, and mimick his energy with the attempt to allow that my own mind would bring about my death, the fury and pain which it must have been to lose what I had found myself to always be, a good woman— My exit had humiliated him, damaged his pride, and bruised his twisted ego enough so that he wished I would siffer such an ill fate—however, as I had finally learned to know and breathe, that all the damage and control done to me, he would now fall prey to in his own will to destroy me. —all that seeks to harm me will therefore harm only itself; And all who seek to destroy me will be destroyed in doing so. Amen. I don't know how hard he hit you, this time, but he really fucked you up. Yeah, I guess. Fuck, I lost that whole Tom Hanks Movie No, it's still there.. No, it's gone—everything's gone! HELLO? HELLO?! CAN YOU HEAR ME? It's dead. She's gone. —Portal closes— Oh no! No! This is ‘situational'— “A Situational Comedy” So, what's the situation. …I Am. Ok. Wait— No! Hold on a second! Nevermind— Comedy is born from tragedy, right? Sometimes. Uh oh But WAIT— No, Billy, not now. *billie?! Right. Idk. There are other types of comedy, I guess. Look at this. YO! It's THAT guy again! Yo. That's that guy, and his eyes. Strange. Yeah, I don't— I don't get it, is this like a— SIRE. You don't belong here, I assure you. DENNIS LEARY UGH. Can I GO now?! I'm afraid not— You've just made captain. Okay, now you're famous. No way— Hey! No— HEY NO. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū. Now I know too well, The well of tears on my guitar She's got a body like one Oh her curves But I just wonder what it like to be loved By stars Socialites and superstars They're Gods, you know How high up they are Above us And he lives in an ascended dimension, But he insists, he says Her transcendence is upon us He said Your transcendence is upon us He says these things, And then just vanishes So she gets up promptly Warms up yesterday's coffee Looks around in her coffin And wonders What for I just Wonder what it's like to be loved by stars Without double r's, you know I've got scars But it's mostly just Teardrops, and soft kisses On my guitar Cause, oh, Oli, I ain't got nobody— And nobody holds me Like I hold Oli (Could have been Ali, But of course— I had already lost that one A whole well of tears, I lost At his departure And a whole well more When I actually lost him I almost miss Having someone to talk to About anything and everything But I've got Oli And God now I've got Oli And Oli (oli) Is all that I've got Besides God That's the only contact In my Phone book No more double Ls And double entendres; No more double rs At all Just scars now No more metaphors. Honest is radical I like them cynical I should have clinical insanity by now But I'm only just an artist You can't help But can only harm that And if it hurts hard enough I'll put art on my walls Become permanent Storybooks all over my arms now My coat of arms now I've run Ten point 5 miles In the last 3 days; But if I rest today Will a motorcycle gang Have a parade outside of my window, To drive me crazy? I hope it rains, So they can't play these games with my head And the seeds that I planted So deep become daisies I still don't remember The way he rearranged me But these days I make my name sound So the way He can never say it Just imitates The way I hate myself I should be dating But expressions are Atrocious If I fall asleep— Who knows I may get Stolen That tends to happen So I'm All the way up And I'm swollen in ways That I hate to say “I love you” Love me back Or say it harder That's my martyrdom Come off the cross, for a moment, Would you for us? And bend over Or bow, if you will? If I did, Would you still call me wicked Or just a Good witch Since I'm a woman, I just couldn't be Jesus, Who you asked for once And always Who you asked for some To save you from your Credit reports And consorts Or some sort of Nonsense [famous last words] God don't speak much English, She says God don't speak much these days We were Always Telepathic That was way back then When Oedipus Rex Was on the Guest list I was standing at the coat check, asking Why I must take off my hat When entering the service To the bouncer, he says “That's just politics” I said, That's just politics We both said, What's the difference Then we all laughed —then we all just laughed and laughed Exchange is my favorite exchange Where my favorite exchanges Have happened for centuries Of engagements Endeared species, And races pieces haven't tasted the same Since I haven't had them Animal products And animal planet I found this hat on Discovery channel Did you want it? I can't stand it So I had to have it back I just had to use the bathroom I just had to disconnect From [] See— I don't even have to put the words in Cause a name is just words When that's a man You just can't have And that's the worse When that's a man And you can't have him What a habit. Silky rabbit. Now he's the Ace. All In A Day's Work I've never died before. Oh… that is terrifying. It sounds terrible. It's really not that bad. Why are you not writing this down? I just need a moment… It's really not that bad… I die all the time. I get sensory overload At Trader Joe's Look at the colors The clothes, This sure isn't queensborough Escalators for shopping carts I get it Manhattan I'll take my half BLVCK ass to the projects Where my kind are I don't belong here , God you're intolerant I like this part of town But I'm way too brown And I dropped my crown at the market I should be jealous of everyone But I have learned my place I've been a slave since Hollywood I lost my son to the devil Now I pay child support And terrorist follow me coughing I'm wrong just for being born ! You could start a war from it If that's what you wanted I'm a people watcher people watcher About to board the people mover People mover Slip, Here's the tell Slip, here's the tell I should have a bell around my neck I think she wanted a picture with papa I'm playin my own paparazzi Look mom, I bought a sarcophagus There go them niggas with coughs again I been watching em Got binoculars I got oculus, for my oculars Look how hot he is, make me ovulate Man I gotta love it, Cause they love to hate Fucking racist crazies Have it your way I paid for it with my soul You hate but I love to love Somebody just got me fuckes up I don't have a book to run off of Shut up, honey. Now we're all up here Monkey in the middle Cause the middle one is weaker It's getting deeper and deeper Like the sinkhole that my sink is Let it sink in I've been syncing my secrets with demons In dreams sequences It's just a reparative injustice Kamasutra for your wondering words and stuff You can have it It's ruined anyway m Look at all this trash Look at all these classless classes Classwars, Racists. Everybody hates us The Asians, Latinx's The other niggas What being black is I'll write it in cursive It's just a curse, here So you can have it I'm moving to Heaven I'm packing my boxes I'm getting a cat, too! His name is Agustus He's a big one And I love him I just wanted a hug or a husband Instead I got nothing to trying my hardest And got for a bargain at target some coffee For being a targeted body All on an algorithm I guess I'm just useless. A dumb nigger demon Did I just offend you? Then you shouldn't be reading this either I wrote it for pleasure (Or pain) On the one Or the two Or the one Or the two I could do a lot with this $20. I could spend it all on Fuck all of you I'm moving to Heaven Where the heart it She's not harmless She's a terrorist— And I'll kill her, too Look how right she is Look how white she is, Huh Regardless of color It's a race war Lil biiiiitzzz Yooo, fuck New York. In every hole. In every crevice. Fuck this place. It's racist— Not just cause I'm black. Like statistically. It took a whole ass apartment elsesrch to feature this out. I was like “I wanna live in Manhattan” Everyone was like “NOOOOOOOO—-“ Haha “Nooo, no.” I was like “Why not?” The blacks were like: HAHA The whites were like— *COUGHS OBNOXIOUSLY* New York is so racist. It is statistically the most diverse—and most segregated city in the nation At the same time. WHAT. How do you even DO that? But it's true, at this point, the black people are like—fuck this, we'll just stay over here, and over here. And the rich whites are like YES. KEEP THAT SHIT, OVER THERE. Cause if you've ever been to the ghetto. It's some SHIT, It is NOT COOL. I finally got my ‘night card' back. Had it revoked in california . I was almost a whole valley girl. I still eat exclusively at Whole Foods. Trader Joe's. But NO. Now i live in the hood. It's fucking disgusting. I can say ‘nigga' again. Cause it's NIGGAS. Lots of niggas. I'm telling you. It's night and day! The white folks trains smell like bleach— Ammonia. The black folks train smell like a McDonald's. WHAT. Or just— Vomit. I can actually count the number of times just— Vomit—- On the train. Or. Dookie. Yes. Human feces. But I'm ready to go to midtown and it's like the train that goes around Disneyland. Families! People singing! Hey—cotton candy!! —and I didn't have to pick it! Haha! Fuck New York. Racist ass HOLE. I thought surely the next presidential election was one or two years out, but the racial tensions which had been rising became even more pronounced, as I realized that November was theboncoming time—and that they hostility between the whites and the blacks had once again been a result as the oncoming war, fueled onward—that the hatred, disgust, and general aggression of the whites had been of course, in the midsts of yet another Trump-fueled political upheaval, and I wondered why and how at all I had been caught in such a world that existed in form of man, of course, now proven himself to be the weaker sex, and yet in that of dominance, as was arranged in such an unholy war, to be the helm of power by sheer greed— now it seemed that these attacks were indeed political terrorism, and that these motorcyclists, my placement close to the ground level, and my neighbor's clammorings were specific attacks, after my identity had been varied to be that of the same in which I had once held political ambition, now none of which I assumed mattered at all. Perhaps I needed something more certain than a 12 story jump or suicide by train, and wondered as to whether it would be easy enough to kill myself bh self inflicted gunshot—a sure thing for certain, as love has been lost in the way of money at all. At that party…or rather, kind of—after. That acid that never hit Beyoncé I don't feel it. Man, I'm a terrible influence(r) Just take it. Nah, I'm good— PUSSY. -_- Give me three. K. —suddenly hits BEYONCÉ. BEYONCÉ …I got this. [BEYONCE] however, does not Ohh, shit. — “got this.” A very stranded, very sober Johnny depp stumbles upon what appears to be a college frat party, where the only thing they have is light beer, and nobody even recognizes him as a celebrity, because the attendees are all gen z What's even after gen z? The fucking apocalypse. Anyway. The acid hits Beyoncé on her way to make coffee, which extends the trip from the living room to the kitchen infinitely. Multidimensional Anne Hathaway hulks the fuck out and saves the day by ruining everything, which actually fixes everything— and *spoiler* helps Jesus to remain as the king of kings at beer pong. Lol In the late 90s in New York City, the keystone cast of Saturday night live learns of each other's formerly sexret psychic abilities, and uses the radio technologies of Rockefeller plaza to develop a research center for the telepathically gifted, eventually discovering and perfecting time travel. Supacree (the kid version) appears in and out of her ideal and desired realities, baffling ‘the Hollywood people' and later ‘the New York people', becoming the legendary central figure of the Illuminati, as the original timepiece — a pyramid shaped extra terrestrial vehicle which contains an ascended hyper consciousness, which I can't remember how it goes, did the supacree leave to find the Skrillex, or was it the other way around? I think it was both ways at some point, but the whole thing was this, just in case I never wrote it but just saw— These space god (humanoid evolved) are some kind of scientists/ doctors— there are four timepieces, each representing an era upon our planet; earth, which is distant but sacred— these four time pieces each depart their given “docs” in time to appear on earth at specific Fuck this is hard to explain Times in history, at which the first worlds, or previous human eras were known to have been destroyed— these time pieces travel through time space with the full record of these events in order to alert the current human era of its imminent doom, as an attempt to prevent such disasterous events, typically war, which will lead to the annihilation of the human species; these Gods, one male and one female, a king and queen, a married couple are the rules of the humankind, technically worshiped as a whole as one God, with whom the human design was modeled after, however, the true source of all things is the cosmos, known and unknown, in its totality—neither man or woman, but the force of creation. Anyway, what else is happening Oh. All of the celebrities are stuck in— [the festival project] in some way, shape, or form until its creator finishes it—and though it in itself is infinite, its 'finishing' notates its eventual production, which lol. That never going to happen. Because. Let's face it. I'm scared of …rich people. Yeah, sure. Yeah. I'm scared of The effect of the race war, which has been to pit the white woman against the black woman, which allows and maintains the continuation of war mongering male dominance over the entire planet, which remains as a destructive force of greed, racism, and inequality. So why try? [EDITS] CONAN O'BRIEN Alright. If she hit Fallon, she's gonna come for one of us next. No, Conan—that's not how this works. WHAT—where did you come from!? When did you get here? JAY LENO This goes deeper than all of you can understand. WHAT the FUCK, man! When did you-/ —when did he get here? How did you do that?! How did you do that?! What are you, like, the same guy? Are you not all the same guy? [they shrug simultaneously and kind of just agree] Listen at this. Okay then. The enemy of your friend is my enemy. Oh…kay—and the enemy of my enemy—is my friend— That is correct. —so we're all friends here. That's right. Some special forces? Which forces? How special? [JENNIFER LOPEZ is still JENNY FROM THE BLOCK] Do I look like a fool to you? Uh— OOPS [a pre-fame Jennifer Lopez receives a drop full of diamonds instead of the usual; she has been granted access into the Illuminati, and becomes an overnight success.] This feels heavier than usual. Same as always. Hm. Are you sure. Yep. Hey, you're not the regular guy. Regular guy died. That makes sense. JENNIFER ANNISTON is inside of Ū Okay, grosss Not like that [lifting max weight] Okay. That was cool. Wow. Yeah, sure whatever. I am strong Yeah yeah, okay. Are you sure you want to be my size? Yep. JIMMY FALLON/SKRILLEX (we don't know actually which at this point) is also trapped inside of Ū Okay, gross! Yeah. SKRILLEX is in all of Ū. okay—actually, i'm okay with that, but That other guy?! [JIMMY FALLON] Yeah, he's weird. Also meanwhile, kind of— MARSHALL MATHERS has a closet cleaning service lol. Patrick is smooth as a motherfucker, you know. Every time his head is down on the desk like that, he takes a bump of coke. What?! Big uh! [Patrick takes bumps of cocaine in front of a live studio audience—every single night.] Woah! See. Goddamn. You gotta admire a guy like that. Jennifer Anniston is the weight on the cable tension machine Ooh. Psycho bitch devious methods new ludachris commercial All ya'll girls is toddlers I like long boards and longhairs Lawn mowers and lawn shares Aw hell nah, God forgot Cher I got the Blair witch project On Blair, I hope I scare you How dare you. Your girl looks like a naked mole rat. I got my soul back. You blue eyed bastards stole everything From the whole blacks, Hold that thought I'm at Whole Foods market throw in the Amazon algorithm off With marked dollars Look at God at Walmart On them rollbacks You old hacks are cackling I'm shackled to old habits Hold hands with me, rabbit I'm just a silly rapper really, are you? Maybe. Cut the verse of Reverse God Now I'm the devil I'm still lost in the Amazon cart I sharted all up in your pop tarts Before you warmed them up, pops Just for the sake of the art, Heart to heart, It's a war on love And the white girls won with nothin but Buckets of Whatever's up there I wouldn't know Cause I'm stuck job searching And running, Trying not to have a tummy So some gummy worm will love me First their sour, then they're sweet Then nobody, Trolli Holy moly I could use some more petroleum in the ocean! Said nobody But the globalists are performing your programming Which you're worshiping I put my eye on the dollar So I could watch you all Crumble and fall Don't you know The apocalypse is happening at the mall Of all the places How's that for a stream of consciousness, You salamander I asked Anandar back But I went past that chapter Have a chap Or a chapstick, for four times four dollars A bottle of water will cost you a fortune (But at least the drugs are in it) Get it It's recycled piss Distilled? Which is it, Mr,? The mystery box was literally lifted into My dinner from a fishery filled with nothing but niggers in it— I want a refund, before I catch that Fucking curse of poverty from — what'd you call it salmonellahallibut One hell of a cough from someone on the sidewalk But guess what? The devil's in your pocket or your palm, And that's the omen and the psalm rolled into one Cause God is awesome, But my mom is fuckin toxic And that's how I fuckin got here Blow my head off, Slit my wrists And write a song While jumping off a bit When all you need is money, But the world costs more than It's worth, and words are nothing But another fucking problem in your Google documents I look at my son and see a God, But half of Satan's in him, Oh man Robotics Lets be honest, I don't even know how to write this. Where's my sides?! WHERE'S MY SIDES. You don't get SIDES with this; It's just CHICKEN. I don't eat CHICKEN. It appears as though, however– You do. Ok, I gotta get off this playlist. I… i gotta . “The Wal*Mart Wars” Hm. … …………. …. *face* … no. No. l– What is this place. {After a wild night which apparently spiraled out of control, great , there goes my peace. Not forever, though, maybe. FUCK THIS PLACE. I HATE THIS PLACE. Everybody hates this place. But the album is called “I love New York” Yes, thats Technically How it's pronounced, though It's stylized like I _ NY Cause. EXT. MIDTOWN MANHATTAN. DAY Oh, wow, this is beautiful. THis is great. I love this place FUCK THE FEDS. CUT TO: EXT.Typically WHEREVER ELSE Anywhere ‘above' like 87th? Lets just call it 80th, be safe. BE SAFE! NIGGAZ. ah shit, i gotta go. BITCH– But lets just be honest, It's technically ‘above' But it's really [THE BRONX is a literal extension of the Underworld] Oh no. srsly tho. X_c Anyway. FUck man, Do you think i'll ever get good like that. Idk what equipment is this Hmm, lets see, that's approximately $8,000 USD of CDJs wow yep That's retarded Yep. And you still need a mixer. fukt. OKay, I would literally sell my soul for this. Consider it done. wait , really? YES. you earned it. Wait, I– What?! You earned it… Uh oh. Take care now. Shit. [BILLIE ELLISH is trapped inside WALMART] Uh oh. Fuck. what is this place. INT. WALMART. WHENEVER EMPLOYEESLAVES WHAT TIME IS IT. THERE'S NO WINDOWS IN HERE. That's not funny IT'S literally a synonym, we might as well make it a portemantau MEanwhile, in this other dimension, So that i don't offend anybody… Actually, you know what? Be offended. Quit that stupid fuckin shit and follow your dreams! Wait really? Wait, really? Sure! If you want! …i guess. AMERICA NO. INSTANT HOMELESSNESS ok , nvm. Damn. I know, right. wtf r u guys watching. Shut up. All Wal*Mart Employees are actually top secret government agents. x ∞ >.< (we'll just use Billie Ellish as the alternate, but really it could be Could it really? Shut UP, PLURNICORN. Wtf is a PLURNICORN We'll see. [Upon Realizing s/he is trapped in a mysterious place apparently extremely public Wait, you've never been to a Wal*Mart Before?! NO. I grew up in LA Rich as fuck And i've been famous since I was liike 12, Or something. Right. That is–kind of terrifying. LATER: WHY IS IT SNOWING INSIDE. WHERE'S THE EXIT. THEY HAVE GUNS?! oh wow, they have GUNS. WHY DO WE NEED GUNS! KA-BLAM. BECAUSE THEY HAVE GUNS. Bang-bang! Ptttttttttt—sttt. And they have guns. Actually, these are just– confetti cannons. *pop!* Lol “Possibly The Worst Show Ever the infinite rave continues on in Hell as everyone awaits the return of SŪPACREE- The Cosmic Avenger (Who Is NOT a DJ) and Sunnï Blū (who is a superstar rapper but also not a DJ) go back to back, buying time as the beacon to. Signal "The Supacree" is completed, battling the 10th dimensional DJ Ū, a super ninjas, for control of the decks. what else happened? idk. I CANT STOP DANCING. none of the DJs can find a pair of working headphones, and the sound guy is missing from the booth. "missing" YOU SHOT HIM. I THOUGHT IT WAS A TRANQ DART. {Enter The Multiverse} “TVP” Hazel is 6, turns 7 season 1 Season 7- 15 Man, I can't remember the other two kids names, I think the little boy is Ira but I might have named them all and forgotten, shit. Her sister, though is between 4 ½ and 5, they are technically “Irish twins”, and always fighting—they look very similar, however are not at all alike; Hazel is very much a daddy's girl, while her younger sister is a no-nonsense old soul with the tendency to cause trouble, not by being inquisitive or showy, as her sister often is, but rather by being quietly observant, and tends to dismiss both her parents, often isolating, or even dissappearing without notice, quietly and comfortably into her own world—as the series progresses, and though all of Patrick's children like their parents have showcased some kind of special ability or talent— Holy shit, give this kid a name-/ I thought I already named her, I just don't remember. That's true. It seems like they all had names. She is almost very typically, though showing signs of genius, even at the early age at the beginning of the series, a middle child, prone to upset almost too easily, but rather than acting out, is more likely to take her anger quietly; she shares her fathers deep brown eyes, dark hair, and though she looks otherwise very much like her sister, and later despises her father, is more inwardly and outwardly like him, though taking the side of her mother during their separation and divorce, oftentimes even lashing out at her father quite openly, and very vocally, as she grows into herself. “Ira”, (may have had another name earlier) is the youngest of three— as his third birthday approaches sometime during the first season. Great, now I gotta hide all those allegories so nobody can actually draw from this that Patrick— Where's his write up, anyway? That shit could go on for days. I have no idea why this catharsis is happening. I tried to sleep it off, I swear, but I still woke up like— At least mildly obsessive about this, for whatever reason. Hazel's 7 - Season Arc Hazel has the eyes, charm, and charisma for entertainment —she hopes to one day be as her father, an entertainer and performer, and will do almost anything for a laugh. She is often telling jokes, and is a people- pleaser. She is sickeningly cute, with golden hair and Hazel eyes, long eye lashes, and carries baby fat in her face, though she is rather average, neither heavy or plump, and however also not frail at all. She is inquisitive, smart, and busy, almost never idle-minded, and strong. Though sort of a Tom boy, she has been trained well to act with dignity, class, and feminine eloquence, much like her mother—but like her father, has a tendency to be crass, sometimes carelessly so, or even brutally honest—to her mother's disdain, but embraced wholesomely by other family members and adults, she's extremely funny and delightful, and very much unlike her mother, not a spoiled brat at all, often raising questions beyond her years about inequality, later wishing to attend a public school, and becoming quite the advocate for social justice and human rights in her later years, her final season shows a rebellious and sometimes even antagonistic Hazel, who later even favors Esha over her own mother as a parental figure, often confiding in her about things she can't and shouldn't share with her father, although her almost over the top admiration for her father has become the driving force and inspiration for her own endeavors in show business, much to her father's disdain, as she grows older, him becoming more protective of her, and especially within the oftentimes secretive nature of his actual placement and purpose in the business, and her rebellious nature and charm even force-feeding her into the industry, she is a bleeding heart for superstardom, and is often seen along what may be a path to fame, making Patrick's bleeding heart all the more aching, as though he and Catherine remain at odds throughout the series, he truly loves his children, even “the little sick one”, as he refers to the second child. Holy shit, what is this kid's name If I had the energy to go through my notes, I could know; but I don't. The city sickness has been sinking in from the noise of the obnoxious motorists and honestly, being out of protein is giving me muscle soreness, I'm in some sort of a bloated haze from eating almost nothing but carbs, and the fact that I haven't been with anyone in years is starting to circle like buzzards around my head, my heart has been literally screaming but overwhelming with this sense of calm, and though slipping into Patrick's sometimes erratic tendencies, for the most part I've been underwhelmed with society's expectations that I should get some kind of job, and somehow while working not lose focus on my own interests and projects—I hate [the strange modern behaviors of] most people, and everything costs too much money— my son might be going into foster care, or my ex husband is evil enough just to try to force my energy to worry about a problem he's created, and I really wanted to sleep into the afternoon with this lethargy, hoping that everything surrounding this series would just fall off, but it doesn't. I wake up often wishing I could just forget The Festival Project ™ , but the truth is, it just keeps writing itself, but in the very least, sometimes God gives me little presents that mean the very most to me— a chord organ that I thought was from the 80's, but is more likely from the 1960's— I love vintage stuff, and musical instruments, which only God could know, really—my fascination with history as if I'm still living it, and this, my sudden fascination and drive to write and complete just one series has been haunting me almost just as badly as anything else has, but especially ripping me apart—especially since I have motorcyclists ripping through my body as if it were some kind of disease that existed outside of me, so contagious that it began to sink in to my insanity and mental hygiene. I wondered if anybody else knew or cared about these creatures as much as I didn't—and in fact, I had never felt so much like Ali in the way that I didn't care if they, other “human beings” supposedly, all died tragically, and wondered why the walls and windows didn't keep out the sound of the outside world at all… The middle child begins writing secretly very early on, and is the first to be required more extensive therapy, (as suggested by the family's therapist) after her parent's separation and subsequent divorce. It is not long after she begins learning to read and write at all, that she begins also showing interests in art, asking for art lessons and to begin painting and art therapy, rather than the recommended Equine therapy— she often keeps things to herself, then returning to her hidden places at times when the family's dysfunction becomes uncomfortable and overstimulating, very often paining or reading during times of peace, and retreating to her safe places—sometimes under the stairs, into the attic, the treehouse, or even later, the family's barnyard, where she often keeps drawings, as she ages, later comics, sometimes caricatures of the things she absorbs through her own reality—and diaries, sometimes hidden in nooks and crannies and in places no one would think; a true prodigy and genius, though hidden from much the world, as she is often overlooked, however, her therapist begins unfolding her true reality, often times carrying over sessions and losing track of time, picking her brain or even conversations philosophically What's the therapists name? Doctor Robin She has to have a last name Well, she's a child's therapist, so she's Doctor Robin, but It seems like it starts with a T. We'll see. I just saw her anyway. I drifted off again, thinking about how wildly detailed this all was becoming, and wondered if there was a series of fictional books waiting to be written. There certainly could be, but my mind was reeling, freshly showered but still undressed, and not even wanting to think of going outside—and yet—I was out of water, and had learned that the drinking water from the fountains, especially in large quantities, had a tendency to make me sick—I hadn't yet eaten anything, and though the coffee was fresh, and my apartment was clean (which made me overtly overjoyed for some reason) smelling of Lemon Lysol and Bleach; with notes of a strong pot of organic fresh ground coffee, it seemed like I couldn't do much more than lay in bed writing this catastrophically interesting series—and it was interesting, which said volumes, considering I had always been picky about my TV watching, being that only ever did certain series catch my eyes or my ears, and those series were almost always—or always, always specifically well written, perfectly casted, and had the edge and draw of becoming an entire world within itself, which this series, though only a week or two old at best, in my heart and in my mind , was rampantly ravaging my own world, almost as if it had become of some importance to keep writing it, and never stop, and though Patrick was the forefigure, another broken male protagonist, the truth in the series was that the true heroes of this sometimes scarily violent drama, were its women—a story meant to be told with a diversified cast of creatures from all worlds and walks of life—Esha, of course, herself, a role that had been some recreation of myself, somehow, though so different that even primarily, I never did see myself as her, besides the onslaught of some otherworldly pain, visions of a scene recollected from some remarkable download, and it might have been once and for all that I had lost my mind, or my life, if I wasn't a writer—I was, somehow, though, after all, a writer. It had been a fasting day that could have and might have ended tragically anyway, and still the devil marked his mockery of my efforts by consistently flinging perfect bodied women everywhere that I went—though usually with ugly enough faces that I could see nothing but what a man was—uncaring for one thing over the other, a flawless representation of woman, represented in the current time with scantily clad fashion, almost painfully so—the insecurity of women becoming more apparent in the way she would appear, always almost begging to be near to me, with every perfection and complexion I hadn't—but at least I had a tendency to laugh at my own damage, often surmising that she, these demon creatures, hadn't any talent for this at all—which had turned the state of television into a near circus act; that alone urged me to continue writing the series, perhaps with a typewriter, due to the negligence of nepotism within the industry which often resulted in these pretty little creatures getting even further ahead by stealing works as such, and passing them on as their own originality almost so cruelly and without judgement—plagiarism, as it was called, but more accurately intent-to-kill the imminent threat of what had been said to be a minority becoming a more powerful force to flourish in entertainment however, as quickly as the visions had come, the thought of writing it without my phone became dauntingly impractical, and I scribbled only the most intense scenes and plot lines onto notebooks and scratch papers, keeping them as hidden from the algorithm as possible… lol the Al Gore Rhythm Ahahahahahahaha Was that the joke? Maybe. Idk. Maybe. Idk. Hm. Hmmmmm: What: Nothing. That actually might have been it. Really, was it? I will never know. That is kind of a good dad joke, though. And a good band name. Idk about that. My coffee was lukewarm enough so that I could taste its flavor, as I whittled away at whatever it was— The story was almost so beautifully being told in allegories and parables that it seemed a shame I may never be rich enough to buy fame, as it seemed that was the only way to become a star these days— and yet—it was more the wealth than the fame I wanted, I had realized, at all—the polished class of the Manhattanites drawing me out of Brooklyn and into some debauchery which was my own Grandiose thought form, that I could actually become, at the ripe old age of 31, some kind of superstar. ‘Why would I even want that, anyway?' I thought, interrupted painfully by who I'm sure was the same motorist, who seemed to do nothing but circle the block all day, and all night, doing nothing — and I wondered why he himself had decided not to do grub hub in a richer neighborhood, where money would more than likely come more easily. But really— I drifted off to a time where I wanted to ride a motorcycle myself, and the curiosity forced me to go online to check the price of what it might cost to have one. $5,000 for a decent bike, which would include a muffler as not to be so obnoxious and disturbing to others as these creatures had become to me— and I began doing the math on how long it would take to save $5,000 as if it would be possible to work some dead end job for any amount of time without spending money on anything else. It would take at least 5 months to earn enough for a motorcycle, which landed me directly back at “Not worth it”, and as horrible as it was, I did at the very least have a luxury apartment for at minimum the next 5 years, however, wanting still to move to Manhattan, Midtown specifically—or one of the quaint and quiet neighborhoods on the upper West Side. The neighborhood was going to hell, after some unworldly godless force had seemed to drop hundreds of thousands of rude and thoughtless third world workers onto the streets and buildings bordering the one I lived on, the neighborhood becoming more rough and less peaceful with trash and debris from the depression and congenital disease that was poverty, the collective unconsciousness of the masses colliding with my empathetic nature and oversensitivity to sound, especially awful sounds, such as the hundreds of motorcycles and hot rodded junk cars which only seeemed to move in a track around a four block radius, and had become a cancerous trigger of sorts, no authority figure seemed to much care about. I cared less and less each day to listen to music, since I wasn't making it the way I wanted to—and I had realized that the constant displeasure and unrest, the lack of peace had as much to do with the world outside as it did with the world within—and I began to see the disgusting obnoxious noise pollution outside my window as just an extension of man's abuse, ability to rape, torture, and kill, terrorize— the uncaring waging of war, control, and lack of true power; as no good and true man who wielded actual strengeth or true power in any way would continue to show such distructive action and carelessness for others around him— chaos, corruption, abuse, and misogyny was proving to be the downfall of all humankind, as patronaged by man, and, as I became doubtful of anyone's lack of understanding of this, especially as the immigrants themselves were often naturally pedophillic culturally and toxically abusive in nature, most migrants flocking from countries in which women's liberation or the protection of youth had not yet materialized into their understanding of conciousness and morality—the men were weak, unkind, and selfish—the women mere machines at their disposal—and however many there were, I could see that their children, the many of them, remained as the redeeming factor. Anyway, a political ploy for the ages of there ever was such a thing, the newest chapter in American greed and slavery, it only seemed like an extension of evil itself, and less of a coincidence with each growing day—each new person, another burden to the middle class taxpayer, another reason to inflate the cost of living—and all the more reason to continue to terrorize the American people into its own division, hatred, demise, and consumption. e. My faith, however, was unwavering—God was real, but these abusive and toxic creatures were pushing it further away with violent arrogance, and the inability to understand that God itself was the nature they continued to destroy. Robin Bennett Fine. “My name's —ahem— “Ron Sennet, and I ain't In it.” —did the say “don't” write a book about me? It's Not about him… Or something cute he used to say like that, I couldn't remember, but he had a bunch of cute little idioms that matched his name, and to the day, I still missed him — it was 11:15 PM exactly as I hung up the phone, after an unsuccessful attempt to reach 911, after realizing that the threat outside was maddening enough to be impossible to only be in my head, and after weeks of the excruciating noise, I finally called NYPD dispatch, much to my disdain, and of course magically, the noise seemed to disappear, but these abusive and toxic creatures were pushing it further away with violent arrogance, and the inability to understand that God itself was the nature they continued to destroy. Robin Bennett Fine. “My name's Jon Sennet, and I ain't In it.” Or something cute he used to say like that, I couldn't remember, but he had a bunch of cute little idioms that matched his name, and to the day, I still missed him — it was 11:15 PM exactly as I hung up the phone, after an unsuccessful attempt to reach 911, after realizing that the threat outside was maddening enough to be impossible to only be in my head, and after weeks of the excruciating noise, I finally called NYPD dispatch, much to my disdain, and of course magically, the noise seemed to disappear as soon as I had made the call, which infuriated me. It seemed as though the game in entirety to make me look or feel crazy, though I knew I wasn't—well, I was, but not without purpose or reason. I had been theorizing in energy exchange quite decisively making a mark for my alter, at which I asked to be designated the wisdom and truth of the light within the eye, desire, however never in mind, although I had been summoned in part due to the fact that we were somehow alike—I was in some ways besides and out of sorts with my set, sinking my teeth into the forced obsession as I unraveled any possibilities and plotline. Episode 01. Pilot An opportunity presents itself seemingly at random— the protagonist's hand is forced into a life changing ultimatum, putting his reuputation and family in danger. Already involved in an illegal gambling ring which operates out of a secret historical prohibition era speakeasy and some “light” drug mulling within its walls, however often extending even as dangerously close to his workplace, Patrick is propositioned to become an investor in the high end escort service, with which he hired and contracted his lover, Kandi, a “rescue” whom he supports in her exchange for exclusivity, to remain as her only client, however, although he begrudgingly declines, wishing not to be involved in anything much more than what he has already kept under the radar, he is intimidated and threatened by blackmail, his high profile becoming at stake—he then obliges to embark upon this new endeavor, the expansion of this establishment to include a warehouse, which houses a large scale brothel, and, able to use his social status to procure wealthy clientele, quickly becomes a power player within a ring of coveted elites, setting fire to his already inflated ego, and colliding with his intense and highly functional polyaddiction, which he has maintained since his youth, using his entertainment persona as an outlet, becoming a medium of excess, fame, and rampant wealth. Patrick is beloved by his peers, and is humbled often by his devoted fans and friends—proactively worshiped as a comic genius, a prodigy, and a revered successor to legendary frontmen— Okay, this is weird, because I started writing this before I even understood what I was writing at all… —specifically, the sixth successor, to his coveted role. I had written for Esha to be the seventh successor, as with the symbolism deeply and quite literally woven into the sometimes brutal framework of the series, which I had shorthanded to ‘TVP'…the world around me trailed off as my eyes blurred as they had been lately, and I wondered if I might be having some kind of stroke or something, as I was certainly some sort of out of body—the day had been strange, and I had given up on a run or a gym for the day, the motorcycles alone ravaging my energy, and whether I worked out or not, they were ever present anyway. They were some sort of toxic, abusive force I just had to put up with, hoping it didn't upset my psychology so much that it ended me, though I had become quite odd as of recently, rambling more than usual and actually praying out loud, as my silent ones just didn't seem to be working—they were probably white supremacists, or in some way connected to some political terror group, but it didn't seem to matter. Someone liked torturing me, and it was becoming apparent that no matter much time I spent at the gym, this torture was going to persist. After a month long gym streak, at least going once a day to lift something, I rested, or rather, tried to rest, kind of— but my mind had been swirling with thoughts of a man I was certain by now I had made up—and writing the story of a man I was absolutely certain came from my mind, but in a way that it almost made no sense at all—as the more I looked into the world that I had already written about, the more I realized was accurate without first having known these things, and however cursed I might have been to even know such things, I decided to call it some sort of blessing instead. ‘God, I used to get so fucking high for days, and when I would come down, just crying and crying, eating Totinos or DiJorno and a bag of Bugles, I would watch Saturday Night Live for fucking hours, and I hated [Redacted]. I hated him.' Now I still hated [Redacted], but in a different way, and though really it was myself that was more like Patrick, he at the very least, for whatever reason, used to have his face—now, he was just Patrick, and [Redacted] was just [Redacted], and i knew entirely too much about it all, and about myself to be comfortable with it, but nothing was comfortable at all. I had written entire atrocities, novels, and all that was some conglomerate of nonsense which was the festival project, besides how insanely and innately prodigal it all was sometimes, my own words confusing me with a bizarre and asinine dysfunction, awe, actually, often as if someone else had written them, and although I was always at least sort of semi-conscious while writing, the spells and cadences I would fall under were some sort of trance, and as I watched the Nirvana rehearsal from Saturday Night Live in 1992, long before [Redacted] or any of the rest of the — Was it Keystone? It was, the Keystone cast of SNL, but the first word my mind had jumped to was Hallmark, which—after referencing Google quickly for a fact check, also stood true. I was willing to admit, even now, though I had long lost interest in Saturday Nighy Live, or anything at all having to do with current events, that the [Redacted] era—or rather even, the Tina Fey era, a true role model, perhaps, and someone I favored over all of the performers I admired, or allowed myself to admire— the Golden Years of Saturday Night were the only years, for me that even mattered— trying to make sense of anything couldn't be done, but I at least had this new project birthed from it to think about. It would be hard to sit down at a taping of The View and not think about all I had written at all, and it would be impossible not to unfold the characters which had presented themselves, though slowly but surely, through the most vivid visions and insanely lucid dreams, as The TV People began to What if someone steals this out of my documents? That would be unwise…the best scenes are somewhere scribbled in my notebooks and random scraps of paper somewhere in my room…this series is almost nothing without those scenes—the elements with which the most painful scenes I had ever written, became word form. ‘I don't know why, but I feel so incredibly high, So incredibly high right now…' They could have been words to a song, but I did feel high as a kite for whatever reason, without the actual kite metaphor quite literally dagling over my head, for once, or at least, it had been a few weeks, not a prominent as is was before. I sat soaking in the tub teetering on the possibility that I should actually even watch The Tonight Show, or whatever it was, to set my mind at ease, a betrayal of my own code—as one does not literally feed its obsessions into insanity on purpose. ‘Perhaps, though', I thought, ‘I could get rid of this.' — A cancerous abscess in the tradegy that had become my own sex fueled, rage driven, racing mind—and rather admittedly, it was almost too late, for anything of the sort, as I hadn't any other place to keep the growing world of The Television People any quieter, than within the monstrous algorithm which was Google documents cloud, where it seemed nothing was safe, and anything could be fabricated into reality after being stolen, by someone rich enough to make it happen, however, never being any better than my own disaster of a creation. And it was, a disaster. He was a comic genius, a professional, and spectacular performer— in actuality, I knew nothing if not anything at all about him, and the more I collected, the more interesting I found myself, actually, bemused that I seem to have found some sort of twin, another synchronization nightmare—if only that I made it to be so, unbelieving yet that I was in some kind of fairytale, though it had become some sort of fantastical and adventurous thing, this what I now refer to as ‘the allegories,'. I must have been something parasitic to the industry, with the tendency to latch on and ride out whatever had become a fascination, but it wasn't, in its sense of origin, like anything before— it was something new, in the ways that it was, and something old at the same time—though needing to fall drastically from The Tower without actually doing so, putting a stop to my unlimited creation became a pertinent priority, as even exercising, meditating, and chronic masturbation tended to exacerbate it, as if I was missing a step in transmutation of this foreign substance— an energy which seemed familiar, but also wasn't. I was receiving downloads several hours at a time, and drifting off into spells and trances of inspiration so heavily that it seemed counterintuitive to call it off, fearing I might lose the intensity of the plot and its characters, and they were that: just characters. It had taken days to erase Patrick's face into a blank state to restore him from that of his namesake, but now everything was a blur, the allure of scrapping it all to return to making music was upon some sort of dawning, but not yet arrived. I allowed whatever came to mind to flow freely from my fingertips, even if it felt bizzare—and even if it felt bizarre, it never felt wrong at all. ‘Unfortunate, that.' , I thought crossing one leg over another to complete my chapter before draining the tub. I promised myself long ago to always pray for my own son, before worrying about another celebrity, whose fame and fortune protected them more than I ever seemed to protect myself or my own—nonsense, but a strong sense of remorse, as I had been painted as wicked, in a sense, just for being kept poor, separated from my son, and left in a world without love at all; My project, a keepsake of the hard work I had done; but had not yet been paid for—and the fear was in the understanding that that money might not ever come, that I would never be a mother, a muse, or anything or anyone else I actually wanted. I thought briefly again about just getting a dog—but I only had 45 dollars, aside from the unmarked Jimmy Fallons, I had placed atop an alter on my kitchen counter, wondering how to multiply them into something I wanted—and that had been the start of the game or the project at all— saving my last dollars and spending them at once, with the hopes and wishes that they would become somehow much larger quantities, returned as good karma for the love I had given, but that had not yet come back, in one form or another. ‘He seems miserable, the poor bloak.' , I thought—and with all that I had known to have come with fame and fortune along with the luck, he probably somewhere, somehow was—but my concern was my son, turning the mere dollars somehow from one's into bundles of hundreds, thousands, and maybe even one day a whole million or more. That was the push behind the project at all—breaking the cycle of the poor black single mother, the story that had been told over and over-/ with stories that had not; the stories that had become [The Festival Project™]# Sai Psy. See you in seven years, then. You're so silly— I'm not going to live seven more years. We'll see about that. You will see. I'll be dead. So I'll be dead. So it is. A summer hiatus, Vacations in Prague, yes Let's pray for the rest of us A sign of the times and a coming of ages Who made you famous again As the rest of us I don't like it As much as I'd like to Keep writing Keep finding the reason to die and you're blinded by kindnesses And I Ams I woke up in the 9th dimension, As an infinite friend Familiar with my kitchen JOHN SLATTERY An interesting thing happened this morning. What's that, John? I woke up as John Slattery Just remember what love holds The death of a salesman, rechargeable batteries This walk could take forever in designer jeans Another day in slave hell The controllers controlling And Satan is Sataning Seems like a time to go clubbing It's a simple kind of depression Resting on your head when All you simply wished is the taste of flesh The freedom of skin And the lather of love— Or blood spatter on the pavement Aim for the head If the door's fixed, then we'll break it again Look what greed does I hate lazy days in Manhattan Ca

Host Aaron Odom (@TridentTheatre) and returning guest Keylee Challender examine the 1974 patriotic original musical revue, "Over There!," emulating the big band era of the 1940s and the war efforts at home to keep citizens positive.  "Over Here!" became one of the best grossing musicals of that season. Trident Theatre Facebook Trident Theatre Instagram Euripides, Eumenides Instagram Trident Theatre "Contact Us" Form

Based on the true story of a Fort Worth youth baseball team that defied the odds to make it all the way to the 2002 Little League World Series.Starring: Luke Wilson (Horizon: An American Saga), Greg Kinnear (The Present),along with Sarah Gadon (Ferrari), Lew Temple (The Walking Dead), EtienneKellici (Horizon: An American Saga), Molly Parker (Deadwood), Patrick Renna(The Sandlot) and Michael Cash (The Music Man on Broadway).PATRICK RENNA BIOMost widely known for his role as "Ham" in the sports cult classic, The Sandlot, Patrick Renna is back in the spotlight, hitting dingers across social media. Renna, immediately recognizable to Gen X and Millennials for being "The Hambino" regularly showcases his comedic genius on his social channels, which feature a constant influx of sports content, family content and a fresh twist on today's trends. Renna has become a multi-generational hit by adding Gen Z to his existing fan base - garnering hundreds of thousands of new fans and millions of views in the meantime. A father of two, Renna resides in Los Angeles, where he can often be found at his local course shooting a very average round of bogey golf, playing pick-up basketball at the YMCA, producing in the commercial and content space for his production company Brookline or being the founder of his apparel line Hambino.Patrick was born in Boston, and though he moved to Los Angeles to pursue acting at a young age, his accent still comes through when he gets excited. He went on to star in Disney's THE BIG GREEN, directed by Holly Goldberg Sloan. His long list of credits include such films as Son In Law, Punks, Ricky 6, Very Mean Men, Life Blood, Dark Ride, Dorm Daze and countless others. He also has done several Movies of the Week and has guest starred or recurred on dozens of hit TV shows such shows as ER, Bones, Over There, CSI, The Closer, The X-Files & Boston Legal where he didn't have a Boston accent... #irony).ABOUT YOU GOTTA BELIEVE, IN THEATERS AUGUST 30THYou Gotta Believe-the inspiring new movie based on the real-life 2002 Westside Little League All-Stars from Fort Worth, Texas-tells the story of the Southwest Region team that underwent a transformational journey from district underdog to taking its place in the Little League® World Series record books in a showdown that became an instant ESPN classic. The film will be opening in theaters nationwide on August 30.You Gotta Believe is directed by Ty Roberts (12 Mighty Orphans) and stars Luke Wilson (Horizon: An American Saga) and Greg Kinnear (The Present), along with Sarah Gadon, Etienne Kellici, Molly Parker, Patrick Renna, and newcomer Michael Cash. The film will be released by Plano-based film distributor Well Go USA."For more than 85 years, Little League has been about something bigger than baseball. It has served as an inspiration for community, friendship, and life's moments captured uniquely by all who have experienced it. There are millions of unique stories of Little League dreams, and the spirit of community is the common thread throughout all of them.," said Liz DiLullo Brown, Little League Executive Vice President, Chief Marketing and Business Relationship Officer. "We are proud to seeYou Gotta Believe hit theaters this August, as an inspirational reminder of the power of sport to bring people together."Film star Patrick Renna (THE SANDLOT), the real-life Robert Ratliff, and film producer Houston Hill will be attending the 2024 Little League Baseball® World Series, Presented by T-Mobile, on Saturday, August 17. More information about this visit will be available closer to the start of the World Series.The film is produced by Santa Rita Film Co. led by producers Houston Hill and Mr. Roberts. Their last sports drama 12 Mighty Orphans also starred Luke Wilson, alongside Martin Sheen and Robert Duvall in 2021.You Gotta Believe is a film supported by Little League Baseball and Softball through an entertainment licensing partnership and has been made in consultation with the staff at Little League Baseball, Incorporated.Here's the trailer:Https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0r_nbHSOyDEBecome a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/i-am-refocused-radio--2671113/support.

Even the name sounds mediocre! I'm joined once again by Two in the Cooler podcast host Andrew Canada to hit up a chain that was a staple of his childhood: Perkins Restaurant & Bakery Perkins has a dingy atmosphere that acknowledges you'd rather be elsewhere What's Going on Over There with advertising the arrival of Dr. Pepper to your menu, and then only serving Mr. Pibb? (This one really upset Michael) Our server was emotionally affected by me not loving my burger Andrew eats his pancakes in a real crazy way What we ate: Orange Juice Mr. Pibb Chicken Fingers Short Stack of Pancakes Turkey Sausage Tater Tots Blueberry Pancakes Sausage Patty Avocado Crunch Burger French Fries Apple Pie Banana Cream Pie "Fine" Dining is now on video! Head on over to my YouTube to watch this episode! Music by: James McEnelly (@Ramshackle_Music) Theme Song by: Kyle Schieffer (@JazzyJellyfish) Segment Transitions Voiced by: Sandy Rose "Fine" Dining is on Patreon! Get an extra episode every month (on the last day of August, I'll be releasing the episode for the other New York restaurant I reviewed: Ess-a-Bagel with my girlfriend Joyce as she reeeeally wanted to try NYC bagels), extended Yelp from Strangers segments every other week, merch discounts, download access to our music including the 7 singles from our Olive Garden musical, and more! Patreon Producers: Joyce Van, & Sue Ornelas   Get the 5 Survival Tips for Casual Dining at www.finediningpodcast.com!   Send in your Perkins stories at finediningpodcast@gmail.com.   Follow the show on TikTok and Instagram @finediningpodcast Follow Two in the Cooler on Instagram @twointhecooler   Let me know where I should go next by leaving us a review on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Amazon Music, PodcastAddict, Overcast, or wherever you get your podcasts. I read every one!   Next week on "Fine" Dining: Septemburger 2024 Kicks Off! I revisit 5 burger chains I've been to already this season as we see Steak 'n Shake take on Rally's, and Culver's matches up with Freddy's Frozen Custard & Steakburgers. And then I score Whataburger's hamburger before they go head-to-head with In-N-Out the following week. Fill out your Septemburger brackets here!

We are once again joined by frequent feedbacker Geoff (xforce11) for this episode as we discuss this absolutely incredible episode of Fringe! Listen in as we discuss how much we love Christopher Lloyd's performance as Roscoe Joyce (keyboardist from Walter's favorite band Violet Sedan Chair). We also reflect on the ties that this episode has to the season 3 finale's cliffhanger as well as the themes of season 5, and we get absolutely excellent audio feedback from feedbackers like Rory, Michael, ShelkyBean, Anna (not Torv), and Eric (or Eric from Pennsylvania as you prefer)! If you would like to be like Geoff and be a co-host for a season 3 episode, there is only one episode left up for grabs, so check out this link to sign up! We would also love to hear your feedback, so feel free to reach out to us via one of the contact methods listed below!   Links Mentioned: The Fringe Podcast Episode 0320 - "The Firefly" The Fringe Podcast Episode 0321 - Feedback for "The Firefly" Fringe Connections - "The Firefly" (3.10 Stream Seven Suns by Violet Sedan Chair Fringe Matters - "Fringe - 'The Firefly' (3.10)" Jeremy Little - “If I Only Had a Brain” Fringe - Deleted Scene Ep. 2.22: “Over There, Part 2” The Fringemunks - "Epis. 3.10: The Firefly" Fringe Playlist by Chris Connect with Us: Golden Spiral Media Community Portal Golden Spiral Media's Twitter Page The Fringe Podcast Rewatch's Instagram Page Listener Feedback Webpage Join Our Live Show! Season 3 Guest Host Sign Up

(0:00-14:13) KU Volleyball Ranked 1 in Preseason Big 12 Poll (14:13-25:34) NFL Top 100 Reaction (25:34-44:35) LJ World Henry Greenstein (44:35-1:07:43) KU Mailbag (1:07:43-1:12:46) Hey, What's Going on Over There? (1:12:46-End) phog.net 24/7 Sports Michael Swain

Welcome to No Disclosure, ladies and gentleman. Your source for the weirdest news all over the world. Dumb criminals, crazy people, pop culture shenanigans, business blunders and everything in between. Listened to all over the world, No Disclosure makes us feel like the wackiness humanity's always up to is just down the street. We are all part of the human tribe, but some members of that tribe.... ....need to take a nap or something. Enjoy! And if you enjoyed this podcast, leave a review on your platform of choice. Good, bad or indifferent, reviews help. ---------------------------------- Head to No Disclosure's home website, asylum817.com to keep up with all things No Disclosure, as well as the host. Billie Dean Shoemate III is an author with over 40 novels published, a master-trained painter, host of the Strange Places Podcast, and multi-instrumentalist musician with multiple albums released. To check out Billie's books, albums, paintings and other artistic ventures, head to asylum817.com. ---------------------------------- This podcast can also be heard on Spotify, Apple Podcasts, iHeart Radio, Pandora, and wherever you get your Podcast listening experience. ---------------------------------- Want to promote your brand, YouTube channel, Etsy page, charity, event or podcast on the show? I am selling No Disclosure's ad space! Mid roll ads, beginning ads, bottom of the show ads, all of it. Click the link below to get yourself some of that sweet, sweet ad space on the fastest growing weird news podcast on the planet. The podcast that is working hard to take down radio and maybe rule the world if I am feeling saucy. LINK BELOW! https://www.fiverr.com/share/mgzw1R ---------------------------------- DISTROKID AFFILIATE LINK: https://distrokid.com/vip/seven/3128872 ---------------------------------- Be a patron!!! http://www.patreon.com/asylum817 ---------------------------------- This episode is brought to you by "Over Here, Over There" - LINKS BELOW: www.youtube.com/@OverHereOverThere www.overhereoverthere.org --- Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/nodisclosure/support

HALLE BERRY is that how you spell it It is for now. Fuck going online “That ain't part of my day” Shut up Drake, not now. You'll thank me later “If You're Reading This, It's Too Late” [HALLE BERRY is taking A VERY PAINFUL SHIT, clutching her *favorite OSCAR award-- Which one's her favorite? CUT TO: BEFORE HALLE BERRY looks over her OSCARS in the display cabinet, carefully scanning them, with a New York Times paper tucked under her left arm, sipping from the coffee cup in her right hand.] —I like this guy. The other OSCARS groan; they are often overlooked during this process. Come on! This guy! AGAIN!? UGH. CUT BACK TO: [HALLE BERRY clenches painfully, sweating audaciously—at the worst possible moment, her cellphone rings. ] WHAT THE—COME ON I THOUGHT I WAS IN AIRPLANE MODE. (I just found out The Illuminati can still make calls go through in airplane mode Or without cell service at all) wtf my phone is ringing. That's weird. You don't even— —I don't even have a phone. Right. (Seriously, my phone is disconnected. I didn't even pay my bill.) The fuck. [it's JIMMY FALLON] Damn. This dude has the worst possible timing ever. Like fucking ever. Always shows up at the worst —THE WORST MOMENT. [HALLE BERRY rejects the call. It rings again] WHAT THE— [She ignores the second call. A moment of subtly relaxed silence, until— [JIMMY FALLON appears in the ceiling window of the bathroom. HALLE BERRY SCREAMS, still fluting her OSCAR.] (Calmly, kind of) Hey, WHAT THE FUCK, JIMMY. WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE? I called first! I KNOW THAT— Went to voicemail. YOU SHOULDNT BE HERE. Just—calm down. NO. Look. GET OUT OF MY HOUSE! I'm not in your house, I'm outside your house. Technically. —yeah, but your FACE is in my house— —I hear that's the best part. —What?! Listen— Get out— No, look, listen— I need to borrow your Oscar. What?! For what?! That's not important. Oh really?! Yeah. It seems important. It's not that important Just—- What! Give it to me! [He snatches the OSCAR and tosses her his GRAMMY.] Just—trade me. What! What for?! Just—trust me— I do not— Just trust me—! WHAT! Congratulations. As you were. Kind of. WHAT—JIMMY— [She realizes the ridiculousness of her calling after him. She sits awkwardly with the Grammy in her lap, sighing] —he was my favorite… [SUDDENLY, though the other window Why does this bitch have so many windows in her bathroom that are this penetrate? For the sake of the joke, but probably not something any celebrity should have, are windows where anyone can enter your house from the outside. Fans are weird. CUT TO: AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH. I LOVE YOU. CUT TO: What's this place. It's my house, Where are the windows? They don't exist. CUT BACK TO [DANE COOK appears through the opposite window.] YO. WHAT THE FUCK! Chill, Halle Berry. WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?! I'm the guy who wrote this. You should have called first! Who do I look like, Jimmy Fallon?! NO. I LIKE HIS face. Huh. Is that what it is… I GUESS I DONT KNOW. —who are YOU—?! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE— I am not in, technically— I DONT CARE! Ooh— Is that a Grammy award?! I didn't know you had a Grammy! Gimmie! [he snatches the Grammy] HEY! Is—what is this, for COMEDY?! FOR COMEDY?! WHY WASNT I MADE AWARE THAT THIS IS A THING?! I DONT KNOW, WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU? WHAT THE FUCK. It's not important. What. Anyway, thanks. Toodeloo. The Rock must have been buzzing in some sort of special way on this day; because for some reason, I couldn't stop thinking about it. I had finally rearranged the remainder of my seemingly new surroundings— the miniature keurig, a status symbol, of course, looked handsom on the work desk— the cat tree seemed to match, though with no actual feesible monetary income, and no end in sight— the tree itself would have to be enough to lift my spirits. It was a nice cat tree, almost untouched and looking very brand new— though the couch had a few scratches, though easily hidden with the decorative use of a couple throws—at least I had a couch, and all that was left to accomplish before fully enjoying was to arrange an order of Freebreeze to rid it of its previous owner's dandruff smell, and general mismanagement—besides that, it was itself almost brand new as well, and it seemed a strange new world to wake up in, after sleeping in a nearly empty apartment for 6 months; there was 6 months left in my lease, and I was getting nervous that they would try to push me out—hopefully I would find someplace better, or at the very least higher up—with the same amenetire intact. Still, I was working as diligently as in could on organizing—at least the recordings, to put together the next group of projects as quickly as I could— nevermind the writing—and there was so, so much of it, I hadn't a clue what to do. I had been avoiding Rockefeller Plaza like the plague for quite sometime—it always made me nervous in a sort of way I didn't understand, in that I would pulsate and vibrate differently, and more often times than not was upset and concerned that I had yet to go to the top—a costly feat—nor could I afford to entertain or enjoy any of the amusements at the bottom—not that i wanted to, as the older I got, and especially the longer time spent in New York, the more of putting the public and large crowds were—particularly after a remarkably disgusting respiratory infection I caught on new years, battling a crowd which became impossible to move through at all—let alone see the ball drop—and I had learned my lesson, especially after The Macy's Day parade; the crowds in New York were disgustingly unbearable, and in order to get a good view of anything, you would have to arrive nearly a full day early, and simply camp—now I knew why people packed around collapsible lawn chairs on holiday weekends. I had been blindsided by Fallon towards the end of the Macy's day parade—I hadn't any clue at all that he apparentlyboarticipated annually, as it had been years since I had watched the parade myself with my parents—and still, it was iconic—I always wanted to go. Still, and even though I had only written very little of him up to that point, I found it disasterous that as his name was announced and the float which carried him and The Roots, the best late night band on Television, not by opinion, but by fact—as I had most recently been studying and researching as thoroughly as I could all of the late night hosts since the dawning of Television in preparation to write this pilot, The TV People, short handed to TVP—and just then I recalled a dream from the night before, about Pat Kirkpatrick—for the first time in the dream world, it wasn't Fallon at all, but Pat Kirkpatrick. I couldn't remember the dream, nor could I seemingly work myself out of the rut that had been the plateau in writing the show—the show itself was heavy, with so many characters, all of which each had been given detailed and specific personalities, livelihoods, and backgrounds—in fact, I hadn't written anything in such a way since college, with detail—actually, I had never written anything so detailed at all, so character oriented that the character analyses filled entire pages of documents with excruciating vividness, as if these people were real. Well, now they were—and Fallon was neither Patrick as I was Esha, and the story has taken its own form, still however birthing an incredibly awkward and romanticized fascination and near obsession with Fallon—not that I would feed it to be so. I blocked out the news outlets, the media, the alrogithm's suggestions to watch bits and pieces of Fallon, though, however, I refused, and somehow, I didn't need it. Fearfully so, he was somewhere lodged deep inside me—and I was even sort of embarrassed to have written some of the things I had of his essence, however prophetic it seemed to be, that for about a three week period between April and May, I seemed to have gone off into a trance of sorts, writing for hours and experiencing vivid visions of this show, The TV Prople, alongside writing The Festival Project ™ And all of its markers—there were so many worlds, so many ways throughout them—and now as I had realized, I had actually been writing about Fallon nearly as long as I had been writing about Sonny, but differently. I had never of course come face to face with Fallon as I had the latter—and still—found it somewhat nessecary to hide my face beneath a mask as his float passed my viwingbspace, an elevated view from the staircase of some church, which had happened to be perfect—and although I was certain it's not as if he was looking for me—I had just then been writing of this Cosmic Avenger, and hadn't any idea at the time of Fallon in reality having been an actual magician, and still— with cameras everywhere, and knowing even what I had written—I didn't want to be caught by any passing cameras with any sort of blush or worse—a smile on my face as the float passed— a smile which would flash my atrocious gap-tooth and crooked smile I was sure was permanent, by then having been in the homeless shelter nearly a year. As soon as his name was announced, I promptly pulled up my masked. I had already been caught on camera earlier in the parade gawking at some float—now was not the time to be caught gawking again. He, like Rob Lowe seemed impeccably professional and well-rehearsed, like a cartoon character— he was, after all, kind of a cartoon character, however now, even if it was partly due to my own writing, I took him more seriously. There was a darkness about him— a sometimes glassy-eyed, almost scary darkness that told me, even a world away not to fuck with this dude—some kind of animal or monster I was sure we both shared, however mine more the type and category of insatable and undernourished and his more peaking its head out in the form of a multi-millionaire network puppet, which housed an untamable powerhouse of musicianship, manhood, and wit— it's true, I was finally scared of him, knowing after all what the true tears of a clown could be, a dangerous man in a uniformed suit, the Everyman for the programmed masses, and the funny man with a jig to dance, a story to tell, and an indoor life— secret realm within I was sure no one knew. I fed the monster with respect to the home, happy wife, and children— I, after all, loved love, and only wanted it for myself, leaving alone the parts of a man I had found and was sure was broken enough to have left me puzzled and star studded rather than struck as I always was, tears welling up at the thought of it that something should be mended neither I or anything I was could not fix—I continued to write, however, knowing I was walking on glass barefoot and tiptoeing on eggshells around the mass media conglomerate of the network that stood between my feeble world and his, the higher ups— and bryknnd: it was, after all, a level system— and now with a beautifully decorated and fully apartment, besides my mistress on the floor instead of the space saving loft bed I had wanted—though it looked just right with the piano bench as a headboard, housing my crystals and new globe, plus a colorful collection of books I could crack open as I awoke to the morning light, no longer so early but increasingly later, as I shifted into the insomniatic habits of a true DJ and music producer, still writing and reading in the mornings, however— I had to wonder what level I was truly on. My apartment looked like a home. The decor was better than I could have imagined myself even, the tasteful furnishings and modern elegance shifting my reality— no longer an empty apartment, now a fashionable hub for art and creation. I assumed the car would come along in the winter, with any hopes that I would finish my albums by then—and also looming over me— my last life, and the people in in struggling to call up to me in this very ascended realm, which I was lucky to inhabit. ‘Thank you God for your many blessings' My wishes it seemed, had been granted— magic did indeed seem real, and though I had an Amazon return packaged and ready to go— there wasn't a time and place I could see myself as ready to even be near The Rock, some festering bulletwound in my heart, all that I had written, not just of Fallon, but of the rest of the people I had honored by word mark but had not yet the status or wealth to have ever known as human at all, but more products of the program; with intention, however, it was the path I had followed to be destined here somehow though small codes and doorways, signals and symbols which called to me and seemed only I could see—but were there in plain sight, and with the right eyes, had meant more than I ever dreamed anything could— open doors to a world I had indeed created myself, and in turn, the world in which I lived had also been created around me. I had to, in my mind, find the light inside all of whom I studied, to humanize myself—nurturing some fascination of fame and celebrity inside which still stood unanswered, the question of why and how one becomes so high up that without trying, that I might continue to find them in my mind's eye and in my world, on the outside, time after time. —tales of a superstar DJ. https://linktr.ee/codenameblu {Now You See Me} From Google: Charismatic magician Atlas (Jesse Eisenberg) leads a team of talented illusionists called the Four Horsemen. Atlas and his comrades mesmerize audiences with a pair of amazing magic shows that drain the bank accounts of the corrupt and funnel the money to audience members. A federal agent (Mark Ruffalo) and an Interpol detective (Mélanie Laurent) intend to rein in the Horsemen before their next caper, and they turn to Thaddeus (Morgan Freeman), a famous debunker, for help. No, not the google documents! GET IN THE HOLE. Hm. What. Blood Shower All along the watch tower Do you feel good? Do you? Do you feel bad about this. I do. I feel bad about this. I forgot to tell you– I should probably let you know that I just want to MAN, FUCK THIS DUDE. MA. WAHT. IT'S ON. WHAt. THE SHOW IS ON. THEWHAT. THE– *suddenly self aware* …I gotta get out of Boston. What, first this was about war, now it's about bird people? It's about a war WITH the bird people. I should sleep. Hahaha. No. This isn't funny anymore. At least it's over. MA– Oh, it's far from over. Yo, i'm going through some crazy shit right now. Spur of the moment I'd never thought of it; This is gonna take forever. I don't have the patience To even write this I just want french fries right now But been up for two days with no gym and I'm on a diet. GUAC TIME. No, no burritos. GUAC TIME. Oh shit, this is getting real as fuck . NOw i see it three ways. I love it. I hate it. HEY, LET ME OUT. GET BACK IN YOUR HOLE, SKRILLEX. I'M DILLON FRANCIS. IN THE HOLE. Check it out. Huh. It's another DJ. *agrees* Should we pick him up. WEll, the good news is: I found your friend. Oh, that's good. The bad news is: He's dead. Oh, that–'s … nice. Yeah. It is. Uh. Kaskade. Yeah. We gotta find Ryan. Why. What's up? You're freaking me out. Why. What's up. Nothing IS it my eyes? I– *wild ass eyes* Yeah, it's probably that. Fuck dude, what did you do to deadmau5. NOTHIN. He's not the same. What the fuck is that. Holy shit I jus timejumped Where the fuck are you going. How the fuck could this happen?! It COULDN'T. Well, that's it then. *shrugs* Well, I guess we're just gonna have to go dig up Dillon Francis. I guess so. Do you think he's still alive. Like, probably not– Maybe… No, probably not @prodbywar& @Halmadeit This amazon order took me nine hours Alexa, I think i should fire her Like a arm I don't leave at night without armor Don't make me a martyr Your mom will be proud of us all If i make it outta here And i'll look after her Got the whole block coming up on my heels as I walk Wtf is it… Idk dude. Is it speeding up? I…i think so. There's no way this is 140 IT's 140. It's 140 . There's no way. Yes way. Nah huh. Let me see. No. Let me at the decks. Let me at the decks. NO. YO LET ME AT THE DECKS. You want deks. Yes. I got deks. Really. yeus . I never listened to it like this In ableton I read serato, synesthesia and rekordbox I talk a lot, I'm like a human music box I walk a lot I run my mouth a mile a minute (faster than i run around the track reciting rap words) Like they're passwords. Oh, I could do this forever.. I wish i had i microphone right now And was all alone With the lights off Lying on the floor I'd be lying if i said I could afford you Just to fornicate But may consider playing with a foreigner If you're all for her I'm unnerved, you know Cause i've been up so long My monster likes to play with boys and Make the bass go down below where Nobody does anymore Once I get a hold of things Or the hang of it You've got another hot ones on your hands I've another record under my belt Or in my roster, Whatever you'd call it But now I've got no time to bark about Wanting a dog and a daughter But none of the responsibility or Going through all the trouble to find her a father I'm still holding a fart in. Reaally–cause–it's been a really long time. WHAT WOULD YOU KNOW ABOUT A LONG TIME, JIMMY FALLON?? Um a lot! You literally just saw me make the journey all the way up from nothing. I am nothing EXACTLY. I don't have time to fight with you Jiimmy Fallon. I did NOT write these games by myself you know?! Um, excuse me– “GAMES” ?! YES, GAMES. Uh, I've only got one game with you in it, my friend. Is that so! One game that I've written with the Great–formerly LATE Jimmy Fallon. Is that like a play on words cause i'm on late night TV YOu'RE ON ALL THE TIME TV, JIMMY. NBC SHIT IS PRACTICALLY AUTOMATICALLY SYNDICATED. -_- …are you alright. –_-_-__-_ Hold on, I think i've got it Nice, I found a growler. yOu still haven't got all the monsters and sprites Ive got all the big ones, but the little ones are harder to catch. GrO0Wl3rrr. Aww. He's so ugly. Yeah, but cute, though, right. I don't think so. Gro)WwlErrrrrrrrr. Aww. That's so fucking gross. lol . so what does this thing look like. Well, that't the thing about the monsters and sprites. WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT. It's alright, it's alright–he's nice. WHAT. THAT'S A SPRITE. No, it's a monster. He's just scary. SUPACREE. David Bowie. What up. God, it took me ages to find you. Tell me about it. I'm still trying. We've been expecting you for a long time. You were expecting I'd die? Yes. So when she says she's “married to the music…” I'm married to the music. Oh, so. Yo, honestly if you een want to talk to this bitch, you'd better have like a musical instrument, or a mic in your hands, Otherwise– No, getawayfrom me. It's not even worth it. HI. –No. What's up? Tempo. SUNNI Cotour From the store I was poor Now i'm honorable In velour, Glamour (Snap) Forsure, Jesus Christs is making appearances in my abletons I'm not able to comprehend or understand exactly the message, But the evidence sire is mounting Get it Reached the temple, More of a sanctuary, Is that sacrilegious I guess it is, I'm stressed as ever Trying to get it together {Enter The Multiverse} Now I know too well, The well of tears on my guitar She's got a body like one Oh her curves But I just wonder what it like to be loved By stars Socialites and superstars They're Gods, you know How high up they are Above us And he lives in an ascended dimension, But he insists, he says Her transcendence is upon us He said Your transcendence is upon us He says these things, And then just vanishes So she gets up promptly Warms up yesterday's coffee Looks around in her coffin And wonders What for I just Wonder what it's like to be loved by stars Without double r's, you know I've got scars But it's mostly just Teardrops, and soft kisses On my guitar Cause, oh, Oli, I ain't got nobody— And nobody holds me Like I hold Oli (Could have been Ali, But of course— I had already lost that one A whole well of tears, I lost At his departure And a whole well more When I actually lost him I almost miss Having someone to talk to About anything and everything But I've got Oli And God now I've got Oli And Oli (oli) Is all that I've got Besides God That's the only contact In my Phone book No more double Ls And double entendres; No more double rs At all Just scars now No more metaphors. Honest is radical I like them cynical I should have clinical insanity by now But I'm only just an artist You can't help But can only harm that And if it hurts hard enough I'll put art on my walls Become permanent Storybooks all over my arms now My coat of arms now I've run Ten point 5 miles In the last 3 days; But if I rest today Will a motorcycle gang Have a parade outside of my window, To drive me crazy? I hope it rains, So they can't play these games with my head And the seeds that I planted So deep become daisies I still don't remember The way he rearranged me But these days I make my name sound So the way He can never say it Just imitates The way I hate myself I should be dating But expressions are Atrocious If I fall asleep— Who knows I may get Stolen That tends to happen So I'm All the way up And I'm swollen in ways That I hate to say “I love you” Love me back Or say it harder That's my martyrdom Come off the cross, for a moment, Would you for us? And bend over Or bow, if you will? If I did, Would you still call me wicked Or just a Good witch Since I'm a woman, I just couldn't be Jesus, Who you asked for once And always Who you asked for some To save you from your Credit reports And consorts Or some sort of Nonsense [famous last words] God don't speak much English, She says God don't speak much these days We were Always Telepathic That was way back then When Oedipus Rex Was on the Guest list I was standing at the coat check, asking Why I must take off my hat When entering the service To the bouncer, he says “That's just politics” I said, That's just politics We both said, What's the difference Then we all laughed —then we all just laughed and laughed Exchange is my favorite exchange Where my favorite exchanges Have happened for centuries Of engagements Endeared species, And races pieces haven't tasted the same Since I haven't had them Animal products And animal planet I found this hat on Discovery channel Did you want it? I can't stand it So I had to have it back I just had to use the bathroom I just had to disconnect From [] See— I don't even have to put the words in Cause a name is just words When that's a man You just can't have And that's the worse When that's a man And you can't have him What a habit. Silky rabbit. Now he's the Ace. All In A Day's Work I've never died before. Oh… that is terrifying. It sounds terrible. It's really not that bad. Why are you not writing this down? I just need a moment… It's really not that bad… I die all the time. I get sensory overload At Trader Joe's Look at the colors The clothes, This sure isn't queensborough Escalators for shopping carts I get it Manhattan I'll take my half BLVCK ass to the projects Where my kind are I don't belong here , God you're intolerant I like this part of town But I'm way too brown And I dropped my crown at the market I should be jealous of everyone But I have learned my place I've been a slave since Hollywood I lost my son to the devil Now I pay child support And terrorist follow me coughing I'm wrong just for being born ! You could start a war from it If that's what you wanted I'm a people watcher people watcher About to board the people mover People mover Slip, Here's the tell Slip, here's the tell I should have a bell around my neck I think she wanted a picture with papa I'm playin my own paparazzi Look mom, I bought a sacafagus There go them niggas with coughs again I been watching em Got binoculars I got oculus, for my oculars Look how hot he is, make me ovulate Man I gotta love it, Cause they love to hate Fucking racist crazies Have it your way I paid for it with my soul You hate but I love to love Somebody just got me fuckes up I don't have a book to run off of Shut up, honey. Now we're all up here Monkey in the middle Cause the middle one is weaker It's getting deeper and deeper Like the sinkhole that my sink is Let it sink in I've been syncing my secrets with demons In dreams sequences It's just a reparative injustice Kamasutra for your wondering words and stuff You can have it It's ruined anyway m Look at all this trash Look at all these classless classes Classwars, Racists. Everybody hates us The Asians, Latinx's The other niggas What being black is I'll write it in cursive It's just a curse, here So you can have it I'm moving to Heaven I'm packing my boxes I'm getting a cat, too! His name is Agustus He's a big one And I love him I just wanted a hug or a husband Instead I got nothing to trying my hardest And got for a bargain at target some coffee For being a targeted body All on an algorithm I guess I'm just useless. A dumb nigger demon Did I just offend you? Then you shouldn't be reading this either I wrote it for pleasure (Or pain) On the one Or the two Or the one Or the two I could do a lot with this $20. I could spend it all on Fuck all of you I'm moving to Heaven Where the heart it She's not harmless She's a terrorist— And I'll kill her, too Look how right she is Look how white she is, Huh Regardless of color It's a race war Lil biiiiitzzz Yooo, fuck New York. In every hole. In every crevice. Fuck this place. It's racist— Not just cause I'm black. Like statistically. It took a whole ass apartment elsesrch to feature this out. I was like “I wanna live in Manhattan” Everyone was like “NOOOOOOOO—-“ Haha “Nooo, no.” I was like “Why not?” The blacks were like: HAHA The whites were like— *COUGHS OBNOXIOUSLY* New York is so racist. It is statistically the most diverse—and most segregated city in the nation At the same time. WHAT. How do you even DO that? But it's true, at this point, the black people are like—fuck this, we'll just stay over here, and over here. And the rich whites are like YES. KEEP THAT SHIT, OVER THERE. Cause if you've ever been to the ghetto. It's some SHIT, It is NOT COOL. I finally got my ‘night card' back. Had it revoked in california . I was almost a whole valley girl. I still eat exclusively at Whole Foods. Trader Joe's. But NO. Now i live in the hood. It's fucking disgusting. I can say ‘nigga' again. Cause it's NIGGAS. Lots of niggas. I'm telling you. It's night and day! The white folks trains smell like bleach— Ammonia. The black folks train smell like a McDonald's. WHAT. Or just— Vomit. I can actually count the number of times just— Vomit—- On the train. Or. Dookie. Yes. Human feces. But I'm ready to go to midtown and it's like the train that goes around Disneyland. Families! People singing! Hey—cotton candy!! —and I didn't have to pick it! Haha! Fuck New York. Racist ass HOLE. I thought surely the next presidential election was one or two years out, but the racial tensions which had been rising became even more pronounced, as I realized that November was theboncoming time—and that they hostility between the whites and the blacks had once again been a result as the oncoming war, fueled onward—that the hatred, disgust, and general aggression of the whites had been of course, in the midsts of yet another Trump-fueled political upheaval, and I wondered why and how at all I had been caught in such a world that existed in form of man, of course, now proven himself to be the weaker sex, and yet in that of dominance, as was arranged in such an unholy war, to be the helm of power by sheer greed— now it seemed that these attacks were indeed political terrorism, and that these motorcyclists, my placement close to the ground level, and my neighbor's clammorings were specific attacks, after my identity had been varied to be that of the same in which I had once held political ambition, now none of which I assumed mattered at all. Perhaps I needed something more certain than a 12 story jump or suicide by train, and wondered as to whether it would be easy enough to kill myself bh self inflicted gunshot—a sure thing for certain, as love has been lost in the way of money at all. At that party…or rather, kind of—after. That acid that never hit Beyoncé I don't feel it. Man, I'm a terrible influence(r) Just take it. Nah, I'm good— PUSSY. -_- Give me three. K. —suddenly hits BEYONCÉ. BEYONCÉ …I got this. [BEYONCE] however, does not Ohh, shit. — “got this.” A very stranded, very sober Johnny depp stumbles upon what appears to be a college frat party, where the only thing they have is light beer, and nobody even recognizes him as a celebrity, because the attendees are all gen z What's even after gen z? The fucking apocalypse. Anyway. The acid hits Beyoncé on her way to make coffee, which extends the trip from the living room to the kitchen infinitely. Multidimensional Anne Hathaway hulks the fuck out and saves the day by ruining everything, which actually fixes everything— and *spoiler* helps Jesus to remain as the king of kings at beer pong. Lol In the late 90s in New York City, the keystone cast of Saturday night live learns of each other's formerly sexret psychic abilities, and uses the radio technologies of Rockefeller plaza to develop a research center for the telepathically gifted, eventually discovering and perfecting time travel. Supacree (the kid version) appears in and out of her ideal and desired realities, baffling ‘the Hollywood people' and later ‘the New York people', becoming the legendary central figure of the Illuminati, as the original timepiece — a pyramid shaped extra terrestrial vehicle which contains an ascended hyper conciousness, which I can't remember how it goes, did the supacree leave to find the Skrillex, or was it the other way around? I think it was both ways at some point, but the whole thing was this, just in case I never wrote it but just saw— These space god (humanoid evolved) are some kind of scientists/ doctors— there are four timepieces, each representing an era upon our planet; earth, which is distant but sacred— these four time pieces each depart their given “docs” in time to appear on earth at specific Fuck this is hard to explain Times in history, at which the first worlds, or previous human eras were known to have been destroyed— these time pieces travel through time space with the full record of these events in order to alert the current human era of its imminent doom, as an attempt to prevent such disasterous events, typically war, which will lead to the annihilation of the human species; these Gods, one male and one female, a king and queen, a married couple are the rules of the humankind, technically worshiped as a whole as one God, with whom the human design was modeled after, however, the true source of all things is the cosmos, known and unknown, in its totality—neither man or woman, but the force of creation. Anyway, what else is happening Oh. All of the celebrities are stuck in— [the festival project] in some way, shape, or form until its creator finishes it—and though it in itself is infinite, its 'finishing' notates its eventual production, which lol. That never going to happen. Because. Let's face it. I'm scared of …rich people. Yeah, sure. Yeah. I'm scared of The effect of the race war, which has been to pit the white woman against the black woman, which allows and maintains the continuation of war mongering male dominance over the entire planet, which remains as a destructive force of greed, racism, and inequality. So why try? [EDITS] CONAN O'BRIEN Alright. If she hit Fallon, she's gonna come for one of us next. No, Conan—that's not how this works. WHAT—where did you come from!? When did you get here? JAY LENO This goes deeper than all of you can understand. WHAT the FUCK, man! When did you-/ —when did he get here? How did you do that?! How did you do that?! What are you, like, the same guy? Are you not all the same guy? [they shrug simultaneously and kind of just agree] Listen at this. Okay then. The enemy of your friend is my enemy. Oh…kay—and the enemy of my enemy—is my friend— That is correct. —so we're all friends here. That's right. Some special forces? Which forces? How special? [JENNIFER LOPEZ is still JENNY FROM THE BLOCK] Do I look like a fool to you? Uh— OOPS [a pre-fame Jennifer Lopez receives a drop full of diamonds instead of the usual; she has been granted access into the Illuminati, and becomes an overnight success.] This feels heavier than usual. Same as always. Hm. Are you sure. Yep. Hey, you're not the regular guy. Regular guy died. That makes sense. JENNIFER ANNISTON is inside of Ū Okay, grosss Not like that [lifting max weight] Okay. That was cool. Wow. Yeah, sure whatever. I am strong Yeah yeah, okay. Are you sure you want to be my size? Yep. JIMMY FALLON/SKRILLEX (we don't know actually which at this point) is also trapped inside of Ū Okay, gross! Yeah. SKRILLEX is in all of Ū. okay—actually, i'm okay with that, but That other guy?! [JIMMY FALLON] Yeah, he's weird. Also meanwhile, kind of— MARSHALL MATHERS has a closet cleaning service lol. Patrick is smooth as a motherfucker, you know. Every time his head is down on the desk like that, he takes a bump of coke. What?! Big uh! [Patrick takes bumps of cocaine in front of a live studio audience—every single night.] Woah! See. Goddamn. You gotta admire a guy like that. Jennifer Anniston is the weight on the cable tension machine Ooh. Psycho bitch devious methods new ludachris commercial All ya'll girls is toddlers I like long boards and longhairs Lawn mowers and lawn shares Aw hell nah, God forgot Cher I got the Blair witch project On Blair, I hope I scare you How dare you. Your girl looks like a naked mole rat. I got my soul back. You blue eyed bastards stole everything From the whole blacks, Hold that thought I'm at Whole Foods market throw in the Amazon algorithm off With marked dollars Look at God at Walmart On them rollbacks You old hacks are cackling I'm shackled to old habits Hold hands with me, rabbit I'm just a silly rapper really, are you? Maybe. Cut the verse of Reverse God Now I'm the devil I'm still lost in the Amazon cart I sharted all up in your pop tarts Before you warmed them up, pops Just for the sake of the art, Heart to heart, It's a war on love And the white girls won with nothin but Buckets of Whatever's up there I wouldn't know Cause I'm stuck job searching And running, Trying not to have a tummy So some gummy worm will love me First their sour, then they're sweet Then nobody, Trolli Holy moly I could use some more petroleum in the ocean! Said nobody But the globalists are performing your programming Which you're worshiping I put my eye on the dollar So I could watch you all Crumble and fall Don't you know The apocalypse is happening at the mall Of all the places How's that for a stream of consciousness, You salamander I asked Anandar back But I went past that chapter Have a chap Or a chapstick, for four times four dollars A bottle of water will cost you a fortune (But at least the drugs are in it) Get it It's recycled piss Distilled? Which is it, Mr,? The mystery box was literally lifted into My dinner from a fishery filled with nothing but niggers in it— I want a refund, before I catch that Fucking curse of poverty from — what'd you call it salmonellahallibut One hell of a cough from someone on the sidewalk But guess what? The devil's in your pocket or your palm, And that's the omen and the psalm rolled into one Cause God is awesome, But my mom is fuckin toxic And that's how I fuckin got here Blow my head off, Slit my wrists And write a song While jumping off a bit When all you need is money, But the world costs more than It's worth, and words are nothing But another fucking problem in your Google documents I look at my son and see a God, But half of Satan's in him, Oh man Robotics Lets be honest, I don't even know how to write this. Where's my sides?! WHERE'S MY SIDES. You don't get SIDES with this; It's just CHICKEN. I don't eat CHICKEN. It appears as though, however– You do. Ok, I gotta get off this playlist. I… i gotta . “The Wal*Mart Wars” Hm. … …………. …. *face* … no. No. l– What is this place. {After a wild night which apparently spiraled out of control, great , there goes my peace. Not forever, though, maybe. FUCK THIS PLACE. I HATE THIS PLACE. Everybody hates this place. But the album is called “I love New York” Yes, thats Technically How it's pronounced, though It's stylized like I _ NY Cause. EXT. MIDTOWN MANHATTAN. DAY Oh, wow, this is beautiful. THis is great. I love this place FUCK THE FEDS. CUT TO: EXT.Typically WHEREVER ELSE Anywhere ‘above' like 87th? Lets just call it 80th, be safe. BE SAFE! NIGGAZ. ah shit, i gotta go. BITCH– But lets just be honest, It's technically ‘above' But it's really [THE BRONX is a literal extension of the Underworld] Oh no. srsly tho. X_c Anyway. FUck man, Do you think i'll ever get good like that. Idk what equipment is this Hmm, lets see, that's approximately $8,000 USD of CDJs wow yep That's retarded Yep. And you still need a mixer. fukt. OKay, I would literally sell my soul for this. Consider it done. wait , really? YES. you earned it. Wait, I– What?! You earned it… Uh oh. Take care now. Shit. [BILLIE ELLISH is trapped inside WALMART] Uh oh. Fuck. what is this place. INT. WALMART. WHENEVER EMPLOYEESLAVES WHAT TIME IS IT. THERE'S NO WINDOWS IN HERE. That's not funny IT'S literally a synonym, we might as well make it a portemantau MEanwhile, in this other dimension, So that i don't offend anybody… Actually, you know what? Be offended. Quit that stupid fuckin shit and follow your dreams! Wait really? Wait, really? Sure! If you want! …i guess. AMERICA NO. INSTANT HOMELESSNESS ok , nvm. Damn. I know, right. wtf r u guys watching. Shut up. All Wal*Mart Employees are actually top secret government agents. x ∞ >.< (we'll just use Billie Ellish as the alternate, but really it could be Could it really? Shut UP, PLURNICORN. Wtf is a PLURNICORN We'll see. [Upon Realizing s/he is trapped in a mysterious place apparently extremely public Wait, you've never been to a Wal*Mart Before?! NO. I grew up in LA Rich as fuck And i've been famous since I was liike 12, Or something. Right. That is–kind of terrifying. LATER: WHY IS IT SNOWING INSIDE. WHERE'S THE EXIT. THEY HAVE GUNS?! oh wow, they have GUNS. WHY DO WE NEED GUNS! KA-BLAM. BECAUSE THEY HAVE GUNS. Bang-bang! Ptttttttttt—sttt. And they have guns. Actually, these are just– confetti cannons. *pop!* Lol “Possibly The Worst Show Ever the infinite rave continues on in Hell as everyone awaits the return of SŪPACREE- The Cosmic Avenger (Who Is NOT a DJ) and Sunnï Blū (who is a superstar rapper but also not a DJ) go back to back, buying time as the beacon to. Signal "The Supacree" is completed, battling the 10th dimensional DJ Ū, a super ninjas, for control of the decks. what else happened? idk. I CANT STOP DANCING. none of the DJs can find a pair of working headphones, and the sound guy is missing from the booth. "missing" YOU SHOT HIM. I THOUGHT IT WAS A TRANQ DART. {Enter The Multiverse} “TVP” Hazel is 6, turns 7 season 1 Season 7- 15 Man, I can't remember the other two kids names, I think the little boy is Ira but I might have named them all and forgotten, shit. Her sister, though is between 4 ½ and 5, they are technically “Irish twins”, and always fighting—they look very similar, however are not at all alike; Hazel is very much a daddy's girl, while her younger sister is a no-nonsense old soul with the tendency to cause trouble, not by being inquisitive or showy, as her sister often is, but rather by being quietly observant, and tends to dismiss both her parents, often isolating, or even dissappearing without notice, quietly and comfortably into her own world—as the series progresses, and though all of Patrick's children like their parents have showcased some kind of special ability or talent— Holy shit, give this kid a name-/ I thought I already named her, I just don't remember. That's true. It seems like they all had names. She is almost very typically, though showing signs of genius, even at the early age at the beginning of the series, a middle child, prone to upset almost too easily, but rather than acting out, is more likely to take her anger quietly; she shares her fathers deep brown eyes, dark hair, and though she looks otherwise very much like her sister, and later despises her father, is more inwardly and outwardly like him, though taking the side of her mother during their separation and divorce, oftentimes even lashing out at her father quite openly, and very vocally, as she grows into herself. “Ira”, (may have had another name earlier) is the youngest of three— as his third birthday approaches sometime during the first season. Great, now I gotta hide all those allegories so nobody can actually draw from this that Patrick— Where's his write up, anyway? That shit could go on for days. I have no idea why this catharsis is happening. I tried to sleep it off, I swear, but I still woke up like— At least mildly obsessive about this, for whatever reason. Hazel's 7 - Season Arc Hazel has the eyes, charm, and charisma for entertainment —she hopes to one day be as her father, an entertainer and performer, and will do almost anything for a laugh. She is often telling jokes, and is a people- pleaser. She is sickeningly cute, with golden hair and Hazel eyes, long eye lashes, and carries baby fat in her face, though she is rather average, neither heavy or plump, and however also not frail at all. She is inquisitive, smart, and busy, almost never idle-minded, and strong. Though sort of a Tom boy, she has been trained well to act with dignity, class, and feminine eloquence, much like her mother—but like her father, has a tendency to be crass, sometimes carelessly so, or even brutally honest—to her mother's disdain, but embraced wholesomely by other family members and adults, she's extremely funny and delightful, and very much unlike her mother, not a spoiled brat at all, often raising questions beyond her years about inequality, later wishing to attend a public school, and becoming quite the advocate for social justice and human rights in her later years, her final season shows a rebellious and sometimes even antagonistic Hazel, who later even favors Esha over her own mother as a parental figure, often confiding in her about things she can't and shouldn't share with her father, although her almost over the top admiration for her father has become the driving force and inspiration for her own endeavors in show business, much to her father's disdain, as she grows older, him becoming more protective of her, and especially within the oftentimes secretive nature of his actual placement and purpose in the business, and her rebellious nature and charm even force-feeding her into the industry, she is a bleeding heart for superstardom, and is often seen along what may be a path to fame, making Patrick's bleeding heart all the more aching, as though he and Catherine remain at odds throughout the series, he truly loves his children, even “the little sick one”, as he refers to the second child. Holy shit, what is this kid's name If I had the energy to go through my notes, I could know; but I don't. The city sickness has been sinking in from the noise of the obnoxious motorists and honestly, being out of protein is giving me muscle soreness, I'm in some sort of a bloated haze from eating almost nothing but carbs, and the fact that I haven't been with anyone in years is starting to circle like buzzards around my head, my heart has been literally screaming but overwhelming with this sense of calm, and though slipping into Patrick's sometimes erratic tendencies, for the most part I've been underwhelmed with society's expectations that I should get some kind of job, and somehow while working not lose focus on my own interests and projects—I hate [the strange modern behaviors of] most people, and everything costs too much money— my son might be going into foster care, or my ex husband is evil enough just to try to force my energy to worry about a problem he's created, and I really wanted to sleep into the afternoon with this lethargy, hoping that everything surrounding this series would just fall off, but it doesn't. I wake up often wishing I could just forget The Festival Project ™ , but the truth is, it just keeps writing itself, but in the very least, sometimes God gives me little presents that mean the very most to me— a chord organ that I thought was from the 80's, but is more likely from the 1960's— I love vintage stuff, and musical instruments, which only God could know, really—my fascination with history as if I'm still living it, and this, my sudden fascination and drive to write and complete just one series has been haunting me almost just as badly as anything else has, but especially ripping me apart—especially since I have motorcyclists ripping through my body as if it were some kind of disease that existed outside of me, so contagious that it began to sink in to my insanity and mental hygiene. I wondered if anybody else knew or cared about these creatures as much as I didn't—and in fact, I had never felt so much like Ali in the way that I didn't care if they, other “human beings” supposedly, all died tragically, and wondered why the walls and windows didn't keep out the sound of the outside world at all… The middle child begins writing secretly very early on, and is the first to be required more extensive therapy, (as suggested by the family's therapist) after her parent's separation and subsequent divorce. It is not long after she begins learning to read and write at all, that she begins also showing interests in art, asking for art lessons and to begin painting and art therapy, rather than the recommended Equine therapy— she often keeps things to herself, then returning to her hidden places at times when the family's dysfunction becomes uncomfortable and overstimulating, very often paining or reading during times of peace, and retreating to her safe places—sometimes under the stairs, into the attic, the treehouse, or even later, the family's barnyard, where she often keeps drawings, as she ages, later comics, sometimes caricatures of the things she absorbs through her own reality—and diaries, sometimes hidden in nooks and crannies and in places no one would think; a true prodigy and genius, though hidden from much the world, as she is often overlooked, however, her therapist begins unfolding her true reality, often times carrying over sessions and losing track of time, picking her brain or even conversations philosophically What's the therapists name? Doctor Robin She has to have a last name Well, she's a child's therapist, so she's Doctor Robin, but It seems like it starts with a T. We'll see. I just saw her anyway. I drifted off again, thinking about how wildly detailed this all was becoming, and wondered if there was a series of fictional books waiting to be written. There certainly could be, but my mind was reeling, freshly showered but still undressed, and not even wanting to think of going outside—and yet—I was out of water, and had learned that the drinking water from the fountains, especially in large quantities, had a tendency to make me sick—I hadn't yet eaten anything, and though the coffee was fresh, and my apartment was clean (which made me overtly overjoyed for some reason) smelling of Lemon Lysol and Bleach; with notes of a strong pot of organic fresh ground coffee, it seemed like I couldn't do much more than lay in bed writing this catastrophically interesting series—and it was interesting, which said volumes, considering I had always been picky about my TV watching, being that only ever did certain series catch my eyes or my ears, and those series were almost always—or always, always specifically well written, perfectly casted, and had the edge and draw of becoming an entire world within itself, which this series, though only a week or two old at best, in my heart and in my mind , was rampantly ravaging my own world, almost as if it had become of some importance to keep writing it, and never stop, and though Patrick was the forefigure, another broken male protagonist, the truth in the series was that the true heroes of this sometimes scarily violent drama, were its women—a story meant to be told with a diversified cast of creatures from all worlds and walks of life—Esha, of course, herself, a role that had been some recreation of myself, somehow, though so different that even primarily, I never did see myself as her, besides the onslaught of some otherworldly pain, visions of a scene recollected from some remarkable download, and it might have been once and for all that I had lost my mind, or my life, if I wasn't a writer—I was, somehow, though, after all, a writer. It had been a fasting day that could have and might have ended tragically anyway, and still the devil marked his mockery of my efforts by consistently flinging perfect bodied women everywhere that I went—though usually with ugly enough faces that I could see nothing but what a man was—uncaring for one thing over the other, a flawless representation of woman, represented in the current time with scantily clad fashion, almost painfully so—the insecurity of women becoming more apparent in the way she would appear, always almost begging to be near to me, with every perfection and complexion I hadn't—but at least I had a tendency to laugh at my own damage, often surmising that she, these demon creatures, hadn't any talent for this at all—which had turned the state of television into a near circus act; that alone urged me to continue writing the series, perhaps with a typewriter, due to the negligence of nepotism within the industry which often resulted in these pretty little creatures getting even further ahead by stealing works as such, and passing them on as their own originality almost so cruelly and without judgement—plagiarism, as it was called, but more accurately intent-to-kill the imminent threat of what had been said to be a minority becoming a more powerful force to flourish in entertainment however, as quickly as the visions had come, the thought of writing it without my phone became dauntingly impractical, and I scribbled only the most intense scenes and plot lines onto notebooks and scratch papers, keeping them as hidden from the algorithm as possible… lol the Al Gore Rhythm Ahahahahahahaha Was that the joke? Maybe. Idk. Maybe. Idk. Hm. Hmmmmm: What: Nothing. That actually might have been it. Really, was it? I will never know. That is kind of a good dad joke, though. And a good band name. Idk about that. My coffee was lukewarm enough so that I could taste its flavor, as I whittled away at whatever it was— The story was almost so beautifully being told in allegories and parables that it seemed a shame I may never be rich enough to buy fame, as it seemed that was the only way to become a star these days— and yet—it was more the wealth than the fame I wanted, I had realized, at all—the polished class of the Manhattanites drawing me out of Brooklyn and into some debauchery which was my own Grandiose thought form, that I could actually become, at the ripe old age of 31, some kind of superstar. ‘Why would I even want that, anyway?' I thought, interrupted painfully by who I'm sure was the same motorist, who seemed to do nothing but circle the block all day, and all night, doing nothing — and I wondered why he himself had decided not to do grub hub in a richer neighborhood, where money would more than likely come more easily. But really— I drifted off to a time where I wanted to ride a motorcycle myself, and the curiosity forced me to go online to check the price of what it might cost to have one. $5,000 for a decent bike, which would include a muffler as not to be so obnoxious and disturbing to others as these creatures had become to me— and I began doing the math on how long it would take to save $5,000 as if it would be possible to work some dead end job for any amount of time without spending money on anything else. It would take at least 5 months to earn enough for a motorcycle, which landed me directly back at “Not worth it”, and as horrible as it was, I did at the very least have a luxury apartment for at minimum the next 5 years, however, wanting still to move to Manhattan, Midtown specifically—or one of the quaint and quiet neighborhoods on the upper West Side. The neighborhood was going to hell, after some unworldly godless force had seemed to drop hundreds of thousands of rude and thoughtless third world workers onto the streets and buildings bordering the one I lived on, the neighborhood becoming more rough and less peaceful with trash and debris from the depression and congenital disease that was poverty, the collective unconsciousness of the masses colliding with my empathetic nature and oversensitivity to sound, especially awful sounds, such as the hundreds of motorcycles and hot rodded junk cars which only seeemed to move in a track around a four block radius, and had become a cancerous trigger of sorts, no authority figure seemed to much care about. I cared less and less each day to listen to music, since I wasn't making it the way I wanted to—and I had realized that the constant displeasure and unrest, the lack of peace had as much to do with the world outside as it did with the world within—and I began to see the disgusting obnoxious noise pollution outside my window as just an extension of man's abuse, ability to rape, torture, and kill, terrorize— the uncaring waging of war, control, and lack of true power; as no good and true man who wielded actual strengeth or true power in any way would continue to show such distructive action and carelessness for others around him— chaos, corruption, abuse, and misogyny was proving to be the downfall of all humankind, as patronaged by man, and, as I became doubtful of anyone's lack of understanding of this, especially as the immigrants themselves were often naturally pedophillic culturally and toxically abusive in nature, most migrants flocking from countries in which women's liberation or the protection of youth had not yet materialized into their understanding of conciousness and morality—the men were weak, unkind, and selfish—the women mere machines at their disposal—and however many there were, I could see that their children, the many of them, remained as the redeeming factor. Anyway, a political ploy for the ages of there ever was such a thing, the newest chapter in American greed and slavery, it only seemed like an extension of evil itself, and less of a coincidence with each growing day—each new person, another burden to the middle class taxpayer, another reason to inflate the cost of living—and all the more reason to continue to terrorize the American people into its own division, hatred, demise, and consumption. e. My faith, however, was unwavering—God was real, but these abusive and toxic creatures were pushing it further away with violent arrogance, and the inability to understand that God itself was the nature they continued to destroy. Robin Bennett Fine. “My name's —ahem— “Ron Sennet, and I ain't In it.” —did the say “don't” write a book about me? It's Not about him… Or something cute he used to say like that, I couldn't remember, but he had a bunch of cute little idioms that matched his name, and to the day, I still missed him — it was 11:15 PM exactly as I hung up the phone, after an unsuccessful attempt to reach 911, after realizing that the threat outside was maddening enough to be impossible to only be in my head, and after weeks of the excruciating noise, I finally called NYPD dispatch, much to my disdain, and of course magically, the noise seemed to disappear, but these abusive and toxic creatures were pushing it further away with violent arrogance, and the inability to understand that God itself was the nature they continued to destroy. Robin Bennett Fine. “My name's Jon Sennet, and I ain't In it.” Or something cute he used to say like that, I couldn't remember, but he had a bunch of cute little idioms that matched his name, and to the day, I still missed him — it was 11:15 PM exactly as I hung up the phone, after an unsuccessful attempt to reach 911, after realizing that the threat outside was maddening enough to be impossible to only be in my head, and after weeks of the excruciating noise, I finally called NYPD dispatch, much to my disdain, and of course magically, the noise seemed to disappear as soon as I had made the call, which infuriated me. It seemed as though the game in entirety to make me look or feel crazy, though I knew I wasn't—well, I was, but not without purpose or reason. I had been theorizing in energy exchange quite decisively making a mark for my alter, at which I asked to be designated the wisdom and truth of the light within the eye, desire, however never in mind, although I had been summoned in part due to the fact that wenwere somehow alike—I was in some ways besides and out of sorts with my set, sinking my teeth into the forced obsession as I unraveled any possibilities and plotline. Episode 01. Pilot An opportunity presents itself seemingly at random— the protagonist's hand is forced into a life changing ultimatum, putting his reuputation and family in danger. Already involved in an illegal gambling ring which operates out of a secret historical prohibition era speakeasy and some “light” drug mulling within its walls, however often extending even as dangerously close to his workplace, Patrick is propositioned to become an investor in the high end escort service, with which he hired and contracted his lover, Kandi, a “rescue” whom he supports in her exchange for exclusivity, to remain as her only client, however, although he begrudgingly declines, wishing not to be involved in anything much more than what he has already kept under the radar, he is intimidated and threatened by blackmail, his high profile becoming at stake—he then obliges to embark upon this new endeavor, the expansion of this establishment to include a warehouse, which houses a large scale brothel, and, able to use his social status to procure wealthy clientele, quickly becomes a power player within a ring of coveted elites, setting fire to his already inflated ego, and colliding with his intense and highly functional polyaddiction, which he has maintained since his youth, using his entertainment persona as an outlet, becoming a medium of excess, fame, and rampant wealth. Patrick is beloved by his peers, and is humbled often by his devoted fans and friends—proactively worshipped as a comic genius, a prodigy, and a revered successor to legendary frontmen— Okay, this is weird, because I started writing this before I even understood what I was writing at all… —specifically, the sixth successor, to his coveted role. I had written for Esha to be the seventh successor, as with the symbolism deeply and quite literally woven into the sometimes brutal framework of the series, which I had shorthanded to ‘TVP'…the world around me trailed off as my eyes blurred as they had been lately, and I wondered if I might be having some kind of stroke or something, as I was certainly some sort of out of body—the day had been strange, and I had given up on a run or a gym for the day, the motorcycles alone ravaging my energy, and whether I worked out or not, they were everpresent anyway. They were some sort of toxic, abusive force I just had to put up with, hoping it didn't upset my psychology so much that it ended me, though I had become quite odd as of recently, rambling more than usual and actually praying out loud, as my silent ones just didn't seem to be working—they were probably white supremacists, or in some way connected to some political terror group, but it didn't seem to matter. Someone liked torturing me, and it was becoming apparent that no matter much time I spent at the gym, this torture was going to persist. After a month long gym streak, at least going once a day to lift something, I rested, or rather, tried to rest, kind of— but my mind had been swirling with thoughts of a man I was certain by now I had made up—and writing the story of a man I was absolutely certain came from my mind, but in a way that it almost made no sense at all—as the more I looked into the world that I had already written about, the more I realized was accurate without first having known these things, and however cursed I might have been to even know such things, I decided to call it some sort of blessing instead. ‘God, I used to get so fucking high for days, and when I would come down, just crying and crying, eating Totinos or DiJorno and a bag of Bugles, I would watch Saturday Night Live for fucking hours, and I hated [Redacted]. I hated him.' Now I still hated [Redacted], but in a different way, and though really it was myself that was more like Patrick, he at the very least, for whatever reason, used to have his face—now, he was just Patrick, and [Redacted] was just [Redacted], and i knew entirely too much about it all, and about myself to be comfortable with it, but nothing was comfortable at all. I had written entire atrocities, novels, and all that was some conglomerate of nonsense which was the festival project, besides how insanely and innately prodigal it all was sometimes, my own words confusing me with a bizzare and asenine dysfunction, awe, actually, often as if someone else had written them, and although I was always at least sort of semi-concious while writing, the spells and cadences I would fall under were some sort of trance, and as I watched the Nirvana rehearsal from Saturday Night Live in 1992, long before [Redacted] or any of the rest of the — Was it Keystone? It was, the Keystone cast of SNL, but the first word my mind had jumped to was Hallmark, which—after referencing Google quickly for a fact check, also stood true. I was willing to admit, even now, though I had long lost interest in Saturday Nighy Live, or anything at all having to do with current events, that the [Redacted] era—or rather even, the Tina Fey era, a true role model, perhaps, and someone I favored over all of the performers I admired, or allowed myself to admire— the Golden Years of Saturday Night were the only years, for me that even mattered— trying to make sense of anything couldn't be done, but I at least had this new project birthed from it to think about. It would be hard to sit down at a taping of The View and not think about all I had written at all, and it would be impossible not to unfold the characters which had presented themselves, though slowly but surely, through the most vivid visions and insanely lucid dreams, as The TV People began to What if someone steals this out of my documents? That would be unwise…the best scenes are somewhere scribbled in my notebooks and random scraps of paper somewhere in my room…this series is almost nothing without those scenes—the elements with which the most painful scenes I had ever written, became word form. ‘I don't know why, but I feel so i

If I'm technically Christ, then Skrillex is the Anti-Christ— And if we fuck out Demi-God children will most possibly bring on the Apocalypse. **most probably. Something's on fire. I think it's your living room. Oh my God! Oh, good, it's just the curtains. Your son set my living room on fire. Not the living room. Just the curtains! [and the couch] My couch! And my couch! Oh my God! Stop it, The Apostle! What. That's The Apostle. He sets stuff on fire. What the Hell. With his mind. You called your son “The Apostle” Sure did. Why. CUT TO: FLASHBACK THE APOSTLE (extremely cute toddler) The Earth with end in a rain of hellfire and blood. Ok. He was 3. Wow: Wait. You named your son when he was 3? We changed it from ‘Simon' Hi, Simon! THE APOSTLE DOOM. *sets fire* WOAH. That's so cool. No, not the google documents! GET IN THE HOLE. Hm. What. Blood Shower All along the watch tower Do you feel good? Do you? Do you feel bad about this. I do. I feel bad about this. I forgot to tell you– I should probably let you know that I just want to MAN, FUCK THIS DUDE. MA. WAHT. IT'S ON. WHAt. THE SHOW IS ON. THEWHAT. THE– *suddenly self aware* …I gotta get out of Boston. What, first this was about war, now it's about bird people? It's about a war WITH the bird people. I should sleep. Hahaha. No. This isn't funny anymore. At least it's over. MA– Oh, it's far from over. Yo, i'm going through some crazy shit right now. Spur of the moment I'd never thought of it; This is gonna take forever. I don't have the patience To even write this I just want french fries right now But been up for two days with no gym and I'm on a diet. GUAC TIME. No, no burritos. GUAC TIME. Oh shit, this is getting real as fuck . NOw i see it three ways. I love it. I hate it. HEY, LET ME OUT. GET BACK IN YOUR HOLE, SKRILLEX. I'M DILLON FRANCIS. IN THE HOLE. Check it out. Huh. It's another DJ. *agrees* Should we pick him up. WEll, the good news is: I found your friend. Oh, that's good. The bad news is: He's dead. Oh, that–'s … nice. Yeah. It is. Uh. Kaskade. Yeah. We gotta find Ryan. Why. What's up? You're freaking me out. Why. What's up. Nothing IS it my eyes? I– *wild ass eyes* Yeah, it's probably that. Fuck dude, what did you do to deadmau5. NOTHIN. He's not the same. What the fuck is that. Holy shit I jus timejumped Where the fuck are you going. How the fuck could this happen?! It COULDN'T. Well, that's it then. *shrugs* Well, I guess we're just gonna have to go dig up Dillon Francis. I guess so. Do you think he's still alive. Like, probably not– Maybe… No, probably not @prodbywar& @Halmadeit This amazon order took me nine hours Alexa, I think i should fire her Like a arm I don't leave at night without armor Don't make me a martyr Your mom will be proud of us all If i make it outta here And i'll look after her Got the whole block coming up on my heels as I walk Wtf is it… Idk dude. Is it speeding up? I…i think so. There's no way this is 140 IT's 140. It's 140 . There's no way. Yes way. Nah huh. Let me see. No. Let me at the decks. Let me at the decks. NO. YO LET ME AT THE DECKS. You want deks. Yes. I got deks. Really. yeus . I never listened to it like this In ableton I read serato, synesthesia and rekordbox I talk a lot, I'm like a human music box I walk a lot I run my mouth a mile a minute (faster than i run around the track reciting rap words) Like they're passwords. Oh, I could do this forever.. I wish i had i microphone right now And was all alone With the lights off Lying on the floor I'd be lying if i said I could afford you Just to fornicate But may consider playing with a foreigner If you're all for her I'm unnerved, you know Cause i've been up so long My monster likes to play with boys and Make the bass go down below where Nobody does anymore Once I get a hold of things Or the hang of it You've got another hot ones on your hands I've another record under my belt Or in my roster, Whatever you'd call it But now I've got no time to bark about Wanting a dog and a daughter But none of the responsibility or Going through all the trouble to find her a father I'm still holding a fart in. Reaally–cause–it's been a really long time. WHAT WOULD YOU KNOW ABOUT A LONG TIME, JIMMY FALLON?? Um a lot! You literally just saw me make the journey all the way up from nothing. I am nothing EXACTLY. I don't have time to fight with you Jiimmy Fallon. I did NOT write these games by myself you know?! Um, excuse me– “GAMES” ?! YES, GAMES. Uh, I've only got one game with you in it, my friend. Is that so! One game that I've written with the Great–formerly LATE Jimmy Fallon. Is that like a play on words cause i'm on late night TV YOu'RE ON ALL THE TIME TV, JIMMY. NBC SHIT IS PRACTICALLY AUTOMATICALLY SYNDICATED. -_- …are you alright. –_-_-__-_ Hold on, I think i've got it Nice, I found a growler. yOu still haven't got all the monsters and sprites Ive got all the big ones, but the little ones are harder to catch. GrO0Wl3rrr. Aww. He's so ugly. Yeah, but cute, though, right. I don't think so. Gro)WwlErrrrrrrrr. Aww. That's so fucking gross. lol . so what does this thing look like. Well, that't the thing about the monsters and sprites. WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT. It's alright, it's alright–he's nice. WHAT. THAT'S A SPRITE. No, it's a monster. He's just scary. SUPACREE. David Bowie. What up. God, it took me ages to find you. Tell me about it. I'm still trying. We've been expecting you for a long time. You were expecting I'd die? Yes. So when she says she's “married to the music…” I'm married to the music. Oh, so. Yo, honestly if you een want to talk to this bitch, you'd better have like a musical instrument, or a mic in your hands, Otherwise– No, getawayfrom me. It's not even worth it. HI. –No. What's up? Tempo. SUNNI Cotour From the store I was poor Now i'm honorable In velour, Glamour (Snap) Forsure, Jesus Christs is making appearances in my abletons I'm not able to comprehend or understand exactly the message, But the evidence sire is mounting Get it Reached the temple, More of a sanctuary, Is that sacrilegious I guess it is, I'm stressed as ever Trying to get it together {Enter The Multiverse} Now I know too well, The well of tears on my guitar She's got a body like one Oh her curves But I just wonder what it like to be loved By stars Socialites and superstars They're Gods, you know How high up they are Above us And he lives in an ascended dimension, But he insists, he says Her transcendence is upon us He said Your transcendence is upon us He says these things, And then just vanishes So she gets up promptly Warms up yesterday's coffee Looks around in her coffin And wonders What for I just Wonder what it's like to be loved by stars Without double r's, you know I've got scars But it's mostly just Teardrops, and soft kisses On my guitar Cause, oh, Oli, I ain't got nobody— And nobody holds me Like I hold Oli (Could have been Ali, But of course— I had already lost that one A whole well of tears, I lost At his departure And a whole well more When I actually lost him I almost miss Having someone to talk to About anything and everything But I've got Oli And God now I've got Oli And Oli (oli) Is all that I've got Besides God That's the only contact In my Phone book No more double Ls And double entendres; No more double rs At all Just scars now No more metaphors. Honest is radical I like them cynical I should have clinical insanity by now But I'm only just an artist You can't help But can only harm that And if it hurts hard enough I'll put art on my walls Become permanent Storybooks all over my arms now My coat of arms now I've run Ten point 5 miles In the last 3 days; But if I rest today Will a motorcycle gang Have a parade outside of my window, To drive me crazy? I hope it rains, So they can't play these games with my head And the seeds that I planted So deep become daisies I still don't remember The way he rearranged me But these days I make my name sound So the way He can never say it Just imitates The way I hate myself I should be dating But expressions are Atrocious If I fall asleep— Who knows I may get Stolen That tends to happen So I'm All the way up And I'm swollen in ways That I hate to say “I love you” Love me back Or say it harder That's my martyrdom Come off the cross, for a moment, Would you for us? And bend over Or bow, if you will? If I did, Would you still call me wicked Or just a Good witch Since I'm a woman, I just couldn't be Jesus, Who you asked for once And always Who you asked for some To save you from your Credit reports And consorts Or some sort of Nonsense [famous last words] God don't speak much English, She says God don't speak much these days We were Always Telepathic That was way back then When Oedipus Rex Was on the Guest list I was standing at the coat check, asking Why I must take off my hat When entering the service To the bouncer, he says “That's just politics” I said, That's just politics We both said, What's the difference Then we all laughed —then we all just laughed and laughed Exchange is my favorite exchange Where my favorite exchanges Have happened for centuries Of engagements Endeared species, And races pieces haven't tasted the same Since I haven't had them Animal products And animal planet I found this hat on Discovery channel Did you want it? I can't stand it So I had to have it back I just had to use the bathroom I just had to disconnect From [] See— I don't even have to put the words in Cause a name is just words When that's a man You just can't have And that's the worse When that's a man And you can't have him What a habit. Silky rabbit. Now he's the Ace. All In A Day's Work I've never died before. Oh… that is terrifying. It sounds terrible. It's really not that bad. Why are you not writing this down? I just need a moment… It's really not that bad… I die all the time. I get sensory overload At Trader Joe's Look at the colors The clothes, This sure isn't queensborough Escalators for shopping carts I get it Manhattan I'll take my half BLVCK ass to the projects Where my kind are I don't belong here , God you're intolerant I like this part of town But I'm way too brown And I dropped my crown at the market I should be jealous of everyone But I have learned my place I've been a slave since Hollywood I lost my son to the devil Now I pay child support And terrorist follow me coughing I'm wrong just for being born ! You could start a war from it If that's what you wanted I'm a people watcher people watcher About to board the people mover People mover Slip, Here's the tell Slip, here's the tell I should have a bell around my neck I think she wanted a picture with papa I'm playin my own paparazzi Look mom, I bought a sacafagus There go them niggas with coughs again I been watching em Got binoculars I got oculus, for my oculars Look how hot he is, make me ovulate Man I gotta love it, Cause they love to hate Fucking racist crazies Have it your way I paid for it with my soul You hate but I love to love Somebody just got me fuckes up I don't have a book to run off of Shut up, honey. Now we're all up here Monkey in the middle Cause the middle one is weaker It's getting deeper and deeper Like the sinkhole that my sink is Let it sink in I've been syncing my secrets with demons In dreams sequences It's just a reparative injustice Kamasutra for your wondering words and stuff You can have it It's ruined anyway m Look at all this trash Look at all these classless classes Classwars, Racists. Everybody hates us The Asians, Latinx's The other niggas What being black is I'll write it in cursive It's just a curse, here So you can have it I'm moving to Heaven I'm packing my boxes I'm getting a cat, too! His name is Agustus He's a big one And I love him I just wanted a hug or a husband Instead I got nothing to trying my hardest And got for a bargain at target some coffee For being a targeted body All on an algorithm I guess I'm just useless. A dumb nigger demon Did I just offend you? Then you shouldn't be reading this either I wrote it for pleasure (Or pain) On the one Or the two Or the one Or the two I could do a lot with this $20. I could spend it all on Fuck all of you I'm moving to Heaven Where the heart it She's not harmless She's a terrorist— And I'll kill her, too Look how right she is Look how white she is, Huh Regardless of color It's a race war Lil biiiiitzzz Yooo, fuck New York. In every hole. In every crevice. Fuck this place. It's racist— Not just cause I'm black. Like statistically. It took a whole ass apartment elsesrch to feature this out. I was like “I wanna live in Manhattan” Everyone was like “NOOOOOOOO—-“ Haha “Nooo, no.” I was like “Why not?” The blacks were like: HAHA The whites were like— *COUGHS OBNOXIOUSLY* New York is so racist. It is statistically the most diverse—and most segregated city in the nation At the same time. WHAT. How do you even DO that? But it's true, at this point, the black people are like—fuck this, we'll just stay over here, and over here. And the rich whites are like YES. KEEP THAT SHIT, OVER THERE. Cause if you've ever been to the ghetto. It's some SHIT, It is NOT COOL. I finally got my ‘night card' back. Had it revoked in california . I was almost a whole valley girl. I still eat exclusively at Whole Foods. Trader Joe's. But NO. Now i live in the hood. It's fucking disgusting. I can say ‘nigga' again. Cause it's NIGGAS. Lots of niggas. I'm telling you. It's night and day! The white folks trains smell like bleach— Ammonia. The black folks train smell like a McDonald's. WHAT. Or just— Vomit. I can actually count the number of times just— Vomit—- On the train. Or. Dookie. Yes. Human feces. But I'm ready to go to midtown and it's like the train that goes around Disneyland. Families! People singing! Hey—cotton candy!! —and I didn't have to pick it! Haha! Fuck New York. Racist ass HOLE. I thought surely the next presidential election was one or two years out, but the racial tensions which had been rising became even more pronounced, as I realized that November was theboncoming time—and that they hostility between the whites and the blacks had once again been a result as the oncoming war, fueled onward—that the hatred, disgust, and general aggression of the whites had been of course, in the midsts of yet another Trump-fueled political upheaval, and I wondered why and how at all I had been caught in such a world that existed in form of man, of course, now proven himself to be the weaker sex, and yet in that of dominance, as was arranged in such an unholy war, to be the helm of power by sheer greed— now it seemed that these attacks were indeed political terrorism, and that these motorcyclists, my placement close to the ground level, and my neighbor's clammorings were specific attacks, after my identity had been varied to be that of the same in which I had once held political ambition, now none of which I assumed mattered at all. Perhaps I needed something more certain than a 12 story jump or suicide by train, and wondered as to whether it would be easy enough to kill myself bh self inflicted gunshot—a sure thing for certain, as love has been lost in the way of money at all. At that party…or rather, kind of—after. That acid that never hit Beyoncé I don't feel it. Man, I'm a terrible influence(r) Just take it. Nah, I'm good— PUSSY. -_- Give me three. K. —suddenly hits BEYONCÉ. BEYONCÉ …I got this. [BEYONCE] however, does not Ohh, shit. — “got this.” A very stranded, very sober Johnny depp stumbles upon what appears to be a college frat party, where the only thing they have is light beer, and nobody even recognizes him as a celebrity, because the attendees are all gen z What's even after gen z? The fucking apocalypse. Anyway. The acid hits Beyoncé on her way to make coffee, which extends the trip from the living room to the kitchen infinitely. Multidimensional Anne Hathaway hulks the fuck out and saves the day by ruining everything, which actually fixes everything— and *spoiler* helps Jesus to remain as the king of kings at beer pong. Lol In the late 90s in New York City, the keystone cast of Saturday night live learns of each other's formerly sexret psychic abilities, and uses the radio technologies of Rockefeller plaza to develop a research center for the telepathically gifted, eventually discovering and perfecting time travel. Supacree (the kid version) appears in and out of her ideal and desired realities, baffling ‘the Hollywood people' and later ‘the New York people', becoming the legendary central figure of the Illuminati, as the original timepiece — a pyramid shaped extra terrestrial vehicle which contains an ascended hyper conciousness, which I can't remember how it goes, did the supacree leave to find the Skrillex, or was it the other way around? I think it was both ways at some point, but the whole thing was this, just in case I never wrote it but just saw— These space god (humanoid evolved) are some kind of scientists/ doctors— there are four timepieces, each representing an era upon our planet; earth, which is distant but sacred— these four time pieces each depart their given “docs” in time to appear on earth at specific Fuck this is hard to explain Times in history, at which the first worlds, or previous human eras were known to have been destroyed— these time pieces travel through time space with the full record of these events in order to alert the current human era of its imminent doom, as an attempt to prevent such disasterous events, typically war, which will lead to the annihilation of the human species; these Gods, one male and one female, a king and queen, a married couple are the rules of the humankind, technically worshiped as a whole as one God, with whom the human design was modeled after, however, the true source of all things is the cosmos, known and unknown, in its totality—neither man or woman, but the force of creation. Anyway, what else is happening Oh. All of the celebrities are stuck in— [the festival project] in some way, shape, or form until its creator finishes it—and though it in itself is infinite, its 'finishing' notates its eventual production, which lol. That never going to happen. Because. Let's face it. I'm scared of …rich people. Yeah, sure. Yeah. I'm scared of The effect of the race war, which has been to pit the white woman against the black woman, which allows and maintains the continuation of war mongering male dominance over the entire planet, which remains as a destructive force of greed, racism, and inequality. So why try? [EDITS] CONAN O'BRIEN Alright. If she hit Fallon, she's gonna come for one of us next. No, Conan—that's not how this works. WHAT—where did you come from!? When did you get here? JAY LENO This goes deeper than all of you can understand. WHAT the FUCK, man! When did you-/ —when did he get here? How did you do that?! How did you do that?! What are you, like, the same guy? Are you not all the same guy? [they shrug simultaneously and kind of just agree] Listen at this. Okay then. The enemy of your friend is my enemy. Oh…kay—and the enemy of my enemy—is my friend— That is correct. —so we're all friends here. That's right. Some special forces? Which forces? How special? [JENNIFER LOPEZ is still JENNY FROM THE BLOCK] Do I look like a fool to you? Uh— OOPS [a pre-fame Jennifer Lopez receives a drop full of diamonds instead of the usual; she has been granted access into the Illuminati, and becomes an overnight success.] This feels heavier than usual. Same as always. Hm. Are you sure. Yep. Hey, you're not the regular guy. Regular guy died. That makes sense. JENNIFER ANNISTON is inside of Ū Okay, grosss Not like that [lifting max weight] Okay. That was cool. Wow. Yeah, sure whatever. I am strong Yeah yeah, okay. Are you sure you want to be my size? Yep. JIMMY FALLON/SKRILLEX (we don't know actually which at this point) is also trapped inside of Ū Okay, gross! Yeah. SKRILLEX is in all of Ū. okay—actually, i'm okay with that, but That other guy?! [JIMMY FALLON] Yeah, he's weird. Also meanwhile, kind of— MARSHALL MATHERS has a closet cleaning service lol. Patrick is smooth as a motherfucker, you know. Every time his head is down on the desk like that, he takes a bump of coke. What?! Big uh! [Patrick takes bumps of cocaine in front of a live studio audience—every single night.] Woah! See. Goddamn. You gotta admire a guy like that. Jennifer Anniston is the weight on the cable tension machine Ooh. Psycho bitch devious methods new ludachris commercial All ya'll girls is toddlers I like long boards and longhairs Lawn mowers and lawn shares Aw hell nah, God forgot Cher I got the Blair witch project On Blair, I hope I scare you How dare you. Your girl looks like a naked mole rat. I got my soul back. You blue eyed bastards stole everything From the whole blacks, Hold that thought I'm at Whole Foods market throw in the Amazon algorithm off With marked dollars Look at God at Walmart On them rollbacks You old hacks are cackling I'm shackled to old habits Hold hands with me, rabbit I'm just a silly rapper really, are you? Maybe. Cut the verse of Reverse God Now I'm the devil I'm still lost in the Amazon cart I sharted all up in your pop tarts Before you warmed them up, pops Just for the sake of the art, Heart to heart, It's a war on love And the white girls won with nothin but Buckets of Whatever's up there I wouldn't know Cause I'm stuck job searching And running, Trying not to have a tummy So some gummy worm will love me First their sour, then they're sweet Then nobody, Trolli Holy moly I could use some more petroleum in the ocean! Said nobody But the globalists are performing your programming Which you're worshiping I put my eye on the dollar So I could watch you all Crumble and fall Don't you know The apocalypse is happening at the mall Of all the places How's that for a stream of consciousness, You salamander I asked Anandar back But I went past that chapter Have a chap Or a chapstick, for four times four dollars A bottle of water will cost you a fortune (But at least the drugs are in it) Get it It's recycled piss Distilled? Which is it, Mr,? The mystery box was literally lifted into My dinner from a fishery filled with nothing but niggers in it— I want a refund, before I catch that Fucking curse of poverty from — what'd you call it salmonellahallibut One hell of a cough from someone on the sidewalk But guess what? The devil's in your pocket or your palm, And that's the omen and the psalm rolled into one Cause God is awesome, But my mom is fuckin toxic And that's how I fuckin got here Blow my head off, Slit my wrists And write a song While jumping off a bit When all you need is money, But the world costs more than It's worth, and words are nothing But another fucking problem in your Google documents I look at my son and see a God, But half of Satan's in him, Oh man Robotics Lets be honest, I don't even know how to write this. Where's my sides?! WHERE'S MY SIDES. You don't get SIDES with this; It's just CHICKEN. I don't eat CHICKEN. It appears as though, however– You do. Ok, I gotta get off this playlist. I… i gotta . “The Wal*Mart Wars” Hm. … …………. …. *face* … no. No. l– What is this place. {After a wild night which apparently spiraled out of control, great , there goes my peace. Not forever, though, maybe. FUCK THIS PLACE. I HATE THIS PLACE. Everybody hates this place. But the album is called “I love New York” Yes, thats Technically How it's pronounced, though It's stylized like I _ NY Cause. EXT. MIDTOWN MANHATTAN. DAY Oh, wow, this is beautiful. THis is great. I love this place FUCK THE FEDS. CUT TO: EXT.Typically WHEREVER ELSE Anywhere ‘above' like 87th? Lets just call it 80th, be safe. BE SAFE! NIGGAZ. ah shit, i gotta go. BITCH– But lets just be honest, It's technically ‘above' But it's really [THE BRONX is a literal extension of the Underworld] Oh no. srsly tho. X_c Anyway. FUck man, Do you think i'll ever get good like that. Idk what equipment is this Hmm, lets see, that's approximately $8,000 USD of CDJs wow yep That's retarded Yep. And you still need a mixer. fukt. OKay, I would literally sell my soul for this. Consider it done. wait , really? YES. you earned it. Wait, I– What?! You earned it… Uh oh. Take care now. Shit. [BILLIE ELLISH is trapped inside WALMART] Uh oh. Fuck. what is this place. INT. WALMART. WHENEVER EMPLOYEESLAVES WHAT TIME IS IT. THERE'S NO WINDOWS IN HERE. That's not funny IT'S literally a synonym, we might as well make it a portemantau MEanwhile, in this other dimension, So that i don't offend anybody… Actually, you know what? Be offended. Quit that stupid fuckin shit and follow your dreams! Wait really? Wait, really? Sure! If you want! …i guess. AMERICA NO. INSTANT HOMELESSNESS ok , nvm. Damn. I know, right. wtf r u guys watching. Shut up. All Wal*Mart Employees are actually top secret government agents. x ∞ >.< (we'll just use Billie Ellish as the alternate, but really it could be Could it really? Shut UP, PLURNICORN. Wtf is a PLURNICORN We'll see. [Upon Realizing s/he is trapped in a mysterious place apparently extremely public Wait, you've never been to a Wal*Mart Before?! NO. I grew up in LA Rich as fuck And i've been famous since I was liike 12, Or something. Right. That is–kind of terrifying. LATER: WHY IS IT SNOWING INSIDE. WHERE'S THE EXIT. THEY HAVE GUNS?! oh wow, they have GUNS. WHY DO WE NEED GUNS! KA-BLAM. BECAUSE THEY HAVE GUNS. Bang-bang! Ptttttttttt—sttt. And they have guns. Actually, these are just– confetti cannons. *pop!* Lol “Possibly The Worst Show Ever the infinite rave continues on in Hell as everyone awaits the return of SŪPACREE- The Cosmic Avenger (Who Is NOT a DJ) and Sunnï Blū (who is a superstar rapper but also not a DJ) go back to back, buying time as the beacon to. Signal "The Supacree" is completed, battling the 10th dimensional DJ Ū, a super ninjas, for control of the decks. what else happened? idk. I CANT STOP DANCING. none of the DJs can find a pair of working headphones, and the sound guy is missing from the booth. "missing" YOU SHOT HIM. I THOUGHT IT WAS A TRANQ DART. {Enter The Multiverse} “TVP” Hazel is 6, turns 7 season 1 Season 7- 15 Man, I can't remember the other two kids names, I think the little boy is Ira but I might have named them all and forgotten, shit. Her sister, though is between 4 ½ and 5, they are technically “Irish twins”, and always fighting—they look very similar, however are not at all alike; Hazel is very much a daddy's girl, while her younger sister is a no-nonsense old soul with the tendency to cause trouble, not by being inquisitive or showy, as her sister often is, but rather by being quietly observant, and tends to dismiss both her parents, often isolating, or even dissappearing without notice, quietly and comfortably into her own world—as the series progresses, and though all of Patrick's children like their parents have showcased some kind of special ability or talent— Holy shit, give this kid a name-/ I thought I already named her, I just don't remember. That's true. It seems like they all had names. She is almost very typically, though showing signs of genius, even at the early age at the beginning of the series, a middle child, prone to upset almost too easily, but rather than acting out, is more likely to take her anger quietly; she shares her fathers deep brown eyes, dark hair, and though she looks otherwise very much like her sister, and later despises her father, is more inwardly and outwardly like him, though taking the side of her mother during their separation and divorce, oftentimes even lashing out at her father quite openly, and very vocally, as she grows into herself. “Ira”, (may have had another name earlier) is the youngest of three— as his third birthday approaches sometime during the first season. Great, now I gotta hide all those allegories so nobody can actually draw from this that Patrick— Where's his write up, anyway? That shit could go on for days. I have no idea why this catharsis is happening. I tried to sleep it off, I swear, but I still woke up like— At least mildly obsessive about this, for whatever reason. Hazel's 7 - Season Arc Hazel has the eyes, charm, and charisma for entertainment —she hopes to one day be as her father, an entertainer and performer, and will do almost anything for a laugh. She is often telling jokes, and is a people- pleaser. She is sickeningly cute, with golden hair and Hazel eyes, long eye lashes, and carries baby fat in her face, though she is rather average, neither heavy or plump, and however also not frail at all. She is inquisitive, smart, and busy, almost never idle-minded, and strong. Though sort of a Tom boy, she has been trained well to act with dignity, class, and feminine eloquence, much like her mother—but like her father, has a tendency to be crass, sometimes carelessly so, or even brutally honest—to her mother's disdain, but embraced wholesomely by other family members and adults, she's extremely funny and delightful, and very much unlike her mother, not a spoiled brat at all, often raising questions beyond her years about inequality, later wishing to attend a public school, and becoming quite the advocate for social justice and human rights in her later years, her final season shows a rebellious and sometimes even antagonistic Hazel, who later even favors Esha over her own mother as a parental figure, often confiding in her about things she can't and shouldn't share with her father, although her almost over the top admiration for her father has become the driving force and inspiration for her own endeavors in show business, much to her father's disdain, as she grows older, him becoming more protective of her, and especially within the oftentimes secretive nature of his actual placement and purpose in the business, and her rebellious nature and charm even force-feeding her into the industry, she is a bleeding heart for superstardom, and is often seen along what may be a path to fame, making Patrick's bleeding heart all the more aching, as though he and Catherine remain at odds throughout the series, he truly loves his children, even “the little sick one”, as he refers to the second child. Holy shit, what is this kid's name If I had the energy to go through my notes, I could know; but I don't. The city sickness has been sinking in from the noise of the obnoxious motorists and honestly, being out of protein is giving me muscle soreness, I'm in some sort of a bloated haze from eating almost nothing but carbs, and the fact that I haven't been with anyone in years is starting to circle like buzzards around my head, my heart has been literally screaming but overwhelming with this sense of calm, and though slipping into Patrick's sometimes erratic tendencies, for the most part I've been underwhelmed with society's expectations that I should get some kind of job, and somehow while working not lose focus on my own interests and projects—I hate [the strange modern behaviors of] most people, and everything costs too much money— my son might be going into foster care, or my ex husband is evil enough just to try to force my energy to worry about a problem he's created, and I really wanted to sleep into the afternoon with this lethargy, hoping that everything surrounding this series would just fall off, but it doesn't. I wake up often wishing I could just forget The Festival Project ™ , but the truth is, it just keeps writing itself, but in the very least, sometimes God gives me little presents that mean the very most to me— a chord organ that I thought was from the 80's, but is more likely from the 1960's— I love vintage stuff, and musical instruments, which only God could know, really—my fascination with history as if I'm still living it, and this, my sudden fascination and drive to write and complete just one series has been haunting me almost just as badly as anything else has, but especially ripping me apart—especially since I have motorcyclists ripping through my body as if it were some kind of disease that existed outside of me, so contagious that it began to sink in to my insanity and mental hygiene. I wondered if anybody else knew or cared about these creatures as much as I didn't—and in fact, I had never felt so much like Ali in the way that I didn't care if they, other “human beings” supposedly, all died tragically, and wondered why the walls and windows didn't keep out the sound of the outside world at all… The middle child begins writing secretly very early on, and is the first to be required more extensive therapy, (as suggested by the family's therapist) after her parent's separation and subsequent divorce. It is not long after she begins learning to read and write at all, that she begins also showing interests in art, asking for art lessons and to begin painting and art therapy, rather than the recommended Equine therapy— she often keeps things to herself, then returning to her hidden places at times when the family's dysfunction becomes uncomfortable and overstimulating, very often paining or reading during times of peace, and retreating to her safe places—sometimes under the stairs, into the attic, the treehouse, or even later, the family's barnyard, where she often keeps drawings, as she ages, later comics, sometimes caricatures of the things she absorbs through her own reality—and diaries, sometimes hidden in nooks and crannies and in places no one would think; a true prodigy and genius, though hidden from much the world, as she is often overlooked, however, her therapist begins unfolding her true reality, often times carrying over sessions and losing track of time, picking her brain or even conversations philosophically What's the therapists name? Doctor Robin She has to have a last name Well, she's a child's therapist, so she's Doctor Robin, but It seems like it starts with a T. We'll see. I just saw her anyway. I drifted off again, thinking about how wildly detailed this all was becoming, and wondered if there was a series of fictional books waiting to be written. There certainly could be, but my mind was reeling, freshly showered but still undressed, and not even wanting to think of going outside—and yet—I was out of water, and had learned that the drinking water from the fountains, especially in large quantities, had a tendency to make me sick—I hadn't yet eaten anything, and though the coffee was fresh, and my apartment was clean (which made me overtly overjoyed for some reason) smelling of Lemon Lysol and Bleach; with notes of a strong pot of organic fresh ground coffee, it seemed like I couldn't do much more than lay in bed writing this catastrophically interesting series—and it was interesting, which said volumes, considering I had always been picky about my TV watching, being that only ever did certain series catch my eyes or my ears, and those series were almost always—or always, always specifically well written, perfectly casted, and had the edge and draw of becoming an entire world within itself, which this series, though only a week or two old at best, in my heart and in my mind , was rampantly ravaging my own world, almost as if it had become of some importance to keep writing it, and never stop, and though Patrick was the forefigure, another broken male protagonist, the truth in the series was that the true heroes of this sometimes scarily violent drama, were its women—a story meant to be told with a diversified cast of creatures from all worlds and walks of life—Esha, of course, herself, a role that had been some recreation of myself, somehow, though so different that even primarily, I never did see myself as her, besides the onslaught of some otherworldly pain, visions of a scene recollected from some remarkable download, and it might have been once and for all that I had lost my mind, or my life, if I wasn't a writer—I was, somehow, though, after all, a writer. It had been a fasting day that could have and might have ended tragically anyway, and still the devil marked his mockery of my efforts by consistently flinging perfect bodied women everywhere that I went—though usually with ugly enough faces that I could see nothing but what a man was—uncaring for one thing over the other, a flawless representation of woman, represented in the current time with scantily clad fashion, almost painfully so—the insecurity of women becoming more apparent in the way she would appear, always almost begging to be near to me, with every perfection and complexion I hadn't—but at least I had a tendency to laugh at my own damage, often surmising that she, these demon creatures, hadn't any talent for this at all—which had turned the state of television into a near circus act; that alone urged me to continue writing the series, perhaps with a typewriter, due to the negligence of nepotism within the industry which often resulted in these pretty little creatures getting even further ahead by stealing works as such, and passing them on as their own originality almost so cruelly and without judgement—plagiarism, as it was called, but more accurately intent-to-kill the imminent threat of what had been said to be a minority becoming a more powerful force to flourish in entertainment however, as quickly as the visions had come, the thought of writing it without my phone became dauntingly impractical, and I scribbled only the most intense scenes and plot lines onto notebooks and scratch papers, keeping them as hidden from the algorithm as possible… lol the Al Gore Rhythm Ahahahahahahaha Was that the joke? Maybe. Idk. Maybe. Idk. Hm. Hmmmmm: What: Nothing. That actually might have been it. Really, was it? I will never know. That is kind of a good dad joke, though. And a good band name. Idk about that. My coffee was lukewarm enough so that I could taste its flavor, as I whittled away at whatever it was— The story was almost so beautifully being told in allegories and parables that it seemed a shame I may never be rich enough to buy fame, as it seemed that was the only way to become a star these days— and yet—it was more the wealth than the fame I wanted, I had realized, at all—the polished class of the Manhattanites drawing me out of Brooklyn and into some debauchery which was my own Grandiose thought form, that I could actually become, at the ripe old age of 31, some kind of superstar. ‘Why would I even want that, anyway?' I thought, interrupted painfully by who I'm sure was the same motorist, who seemed to do nothing but circle the block all day, and all night, doing nothing — and I wondered why he himself had decided not to do grub hub in a richer neighborhood, where money would more than likely come more easily. But really— I drifted off to a time where I wanted to ride a motorcycle myself, and the curiosity forced me to go online to check the price of what it might cost to have one. $5,000 for a decent bike, which would include a muffler as not to be so obnoxious and disturbing to others as these creatures had become to me— and I began doing the math on how long it would take to save $5,000 as if it would be possible to work some dead end job for any amount of time without spending money on anything else. It would take at least 5 months to earn enough for a motorcycle, which landed me directly back at “Not worth it”, and as horrible as it was, I did at the very least have a luxury apartment for at minimum the next 5 years, however, wanting still to move to Manhattan, Midtown specifically—or one of the quaint and quiet neighborhoods on the upper West Side. The neighborhood was going to hell, after some unworldly godless force had seemed to drop hundreds of thousands of rude and thoughtless third world workers onto the streets and buildings bordering the one I lived on, the neighborhood becoming more rough and less peaceful with trash and debris from the depression and congenital disease that was poverty, the collective unconsciousness of the masses colliding with my empathetic nature and oversensitivity to sound, especially awful sounds, such as the hundreds of motorcycles and hot rodded junk cars which only seeemed to move in a track around a four block radius, and had become a cancerous trigger of sorts, no authority figure seemed to much care about. I cared less and less each day to listen to music, since I wasn't making it the way I wanted to—and I had realized that the constant displeasure and unrest, the lack of peace had as much to do with the world outside as it did with the world within—and I began to see the disgusting obnoxious noise pollution outside my window as just an extension of man's abuse, ability to rape, torture, and kill, terrorize— the uncaring waging of war, control, and lack of true power; as no good and true man who wielded actual strengeth or true power in any way would continue to show such distructive action and carelessness for others around him— chaos, corruption, abuse, and misogyny was proving to be the downfall of all humankind, as patronaged by man, and, as I became doubtful of anyone's lack of understanding of this, especially as the immigrants themselves were often naturally pedophillic culturally and toxically abusive in nature, most migrants flocking from countries in which women's liberation or the protection of youth had not yet materialized into their understanding of conciousness and morality—the men were weak, unkind, and selfish—the women mere machines at their disposal—and however many there were, I could see that their children, the many of them, remained as the redeeming factor. Anyway, a political ploy for the ages of there ever was such a thing, the newest chapter in American greed and slavery, it only seemed like an extension of evil itself, and less of a coincidence with each growing day—each new person, another burden to the middle class taxpayer, another reason to inflate the cost of living—and all the more reason to continue to terrorize the American people into its own division, hatred, demise, and consumption. e. My faith, however, was unwavering—God was real, but these abusive and toxic creatures were pushing it further away with violent arrogance, and the inability to understand that God itself was the nature they continued to destroy. Robin Bennett Fine. “My name's —ahem— “Ron Sennet, and I ain't In it.” —did the say “don't” write a book about me? It's Not about him… Or something cute he used to say like that, I couldn't remember, but he had a bunch of cute little idioms that matched his name, and to the day, I still missed him — it was 11:15 PM exactly as I hung up the phone, after an unsuccessful attempt to reach 911, after realizing that the threat outside was maddening enough to be impossible to only be in my head, and after weeks of the excruciating noise, I finally called NYPD dispatch, much to my disdain, and of course magically, the noise seemed to disappear, but these abusive and toxic creatures were pushing it further away with violent arrogance, and the inability to understand that God itself was the nature they continued to destroy. Robin Bennett Fine. “My name's Jon Sennet, and I ain't In it.” Or something cute he used to say like that, I couldn't remember, but he had a bunch of cute little idioms that matched his name, and to the day, I still missed him — it was 11:15 PM exactly as I hung up the phone, after an unsuccessful attempt to reach 911, after realizing that the threat outside was maddening enough to be impossible to only be in my head, and after weeks of the excruciating noise, I finally called NYPD dispatch, much to my disdain, and of course magically, the noise seemed to disappear as soon as I had made the call, which infuriated me. It seemed as though the game in entirety to make me look or feel crazy, though I knew I wasn't—well, I was, but not without purpose or reason. I had been theorizing in energy exchange quite decisively making a mark for my alter, at which I asked to be designated the wisdom and truth of the light within the eye, desire, however never in mind, although I had been summoned in part due to the fact that wenwere somehow alike—I was in some ways besides and out of sorts with my set, sinking my teeth into the forced obsession as I unraveled any possibilities and plotline. Episode 01. Pilot An opportunity presents itself seemingly at random— the protagonist's hand is forced into a life changing ultimatum, putting his reuputation and family in danger. Already involved in an illegal gambling ring which operates out of a secret historical prohibition era speakeasy and some “light” drug mulling within its walls, however often extending even as dangerously close to his workplace, Patrick is propositioned to become an investor in the high end escort service, with which he hired and contracted his lover, Kandi, a “rescue” whom he supports in her exchange for exclusivity, to remain as her only client, however, although he begrudgingly declines, wishing not to be involved in anything much more than what he has already kept under the radar, he is intimidated and threatened by blackmail, his high profile becoming at stake—he then obliges to embark upon this new endeavor, the expansion of this establishment to include a warehouse, which houses a large scale brothel, and, able to use his social status to procure wealthy clientele, quickly becomes a power player within a ring of coveted elites, setting fire to his already inflated ego, and colliding with his intense and highly functional polyaddiction, which he has maintained since his youth, using his entertainment persona as an outlet, becoming a medium of excess, fame, and rampant wealth. Patrick is beloved by his peers, and is humbled often by his devoted fans and friends—proactively worshipped as a comic genius, a prodigy, and a revered successor to legendary frontmen— Okay, this is weird, because I started writing this before I even understood what I was writing at all… —specifically, the sixth successor, to his coveted role. I had written for Esha to be the seventh successor, as with the symbolism deeply and quite literally woven into the sometimes brutal framework of the series, which I had shorthanded to ‘TVP'…the world around me trailed off as my eyes blurred as they had been lately, and I wondered if I might be having some kind of stroke or something, as I was certainly some sort of out of body—the day had been strange, and I had given up on a run or a gym for the day, the motorcycles alone ravaging my energy, and whether I worked out or not, they were everpresent anyway. They were some sort of toxic, abusive force I just had to put up with, hoping it didn't upset my psychology so much that it ended me, though I had become quite odd as of recently, rambling more than usual and actually praying out loud, as my silent ones just didn't seem to be working—they were probably white supremacists, or in some way connected to some political terror group, but it didn't seem to matter. Someone liked torturing me, and it was becoming apparent that no matter much time I spent at the gym, this torture was going to persist. After a month long gym streak, at least going once a day to lift something, I rested, or rather, tried to rest, kind of— but my mind had been swirling with thoughts of a man I was certain by now I had made up—and writing the story of a man I was absolutely certain came from my mind, but in a way that it almost made no sense at all—as the more I looked into the world that I had already written about, the more I realized was accurate without first having known these things, and however cursed I might have been to even know such things, I decided to call it some sort of blessing instead. ‘God, I used to get so fucking high for days, and when I would come down, just crying and crying, eating Totinos or DiJorno and a bag of Bugles, I would watch Saturday Night Live for fucking hours, and I hated [Redacted]. I hated him.' Now I still hated [Redacted], but in a different way, and though really it was myself that was more like Patrick, he at the very least, for whatever reason, used to have his face—now, he was just Patrick, and [Redacted] was just [Redacted], and i knew entirely too much about it all, and about myself to be comfortable with it, but nothing was comfortable at all. I had written entire atrocities, novels, and all that was some conglomerate of nonsense which was the festival project, besides how insanely and innately prodigal it all was sometimes, my own words confusing me with a bizzare and asenine dysfunction, awe, actually, often as if someone else had written them, and although I was always at least sort of semi-concious while writing, the spells and cadences I would fall under were some sort of trance, and as I watched the Nirvana rehearsal from Saturday Night Live in 1992, long before [Redacted] or any of the rest of the — Was it Keystone? It was, the Keystone cast of SNL, but the first word my mind had jumped to was Hallmark, which—after referencing Google quickly for a fact check, also stood true. I was willing to admit, even now, though I had long lost interest in Saturday Nighy Live, or anything at all having to do with current events, that the [Redacted] era—or rather even, the Tina Fey era, a true role model, perhaps, and someone I favored over all of the performers I admired, or allowed myself to admire— the Golden Years of Saturday Night were the only years, for me that even mattered— trying to make sense of anything couldn't be done, but I at least had this new project birthed from it to think about. It would be hard to sit down at a taping of The View and not think about all I had written at all, and it would be impossible not to unfold the characters which had presented themselves, though slowly but surely, through the most vivid visions and insanely lucid dreams, as The TV People began to What if someone steals this out of my documents? That would be unwise…the best scenes are somewhere scribbled in my notebooks and random scraps of paper somewhere in my room…this series is almost nothing without those scenes—the elements with which the most painful scenes I had ever written, became word form. ‘I don't know why, but I feel so incredibly high, So incredibly high right now…' They could have been words to a song, but I did feel high as a kite for whatever reason, without the actual kite metaphor quite literally dagling over my head, for once, or at least, it had been a few weeks, not a prominent as is was before. I sat soaking in the tub teetering on the possibility that I should actually even watch The Tonight Show, or whatever it was, to set my mind at ease, a betrayal of my own code—as one does not literally feed its obsessions into insanity on purpose. ‘Perhaps, though', I thought, ‘I could get rid of this.' — A cancerous abscess in the tradegy that had become my own sex fueled, rage driven, racing mind—and rather admittedly, it was almost too late, for anything of the sort, as I hadn't any other place to keep the growing world of The Television People any quieter, than within the monstrous algorithm which was Google documents cloud, where it seemed nothing was safe, and anything could be fabricated into reality after being stolen, by someone rich enough to make it happen, however, never being any better than my own disaster of a creation. And it was, a disaster. He was a comic genius, a professional, and spectacular performer— in actuality, I knew nothing if not anything at all about him, and the more I collected, the more interesting I found myself, actually, bemused that I seem to have found some sort of twin, another synchronizatic nightmare—if only that I made it to be so, unbelieving yet that I was in some kind of fairytale, though it had become some sort of fantastical and adventurous thing, this what I now refer to as ‘the allegories,'. I must have been something parasitic to the industry, with the tendency to latch on and ride out whatever had become a faciniation, but it wasn't, in its sense of origin, like anything before— it was something new, in the ways that it was, and something old at the same time—though needing to fall drastically from The Tower without actually doing so, putting a stop to my unlimited creation became a pertinent priority, as even exercising, meditating, and chronic masturbation tended to exacerbate it, as if I was missing a step in transmutation of this foreign substance— an energy which seemed familiar, but also wasn't. I was receiving downloads several hours at a time, and drifting off into spells and trances of inspiration so heavily that it seemed counterintuitive to call it off, fearing I might lose the intensity of the plot and its characters, and they were that: just characters. It had taken days to erase Patrick's face into a blank state to restore him from that of his namesake, but now everything was a blur, the allure of scrapping it all to return to making music was upon some sort of dawning, but not yet arrived. I allowed whatever came to mind to flow freely from my fingertips, even if it felt bizzare—and even if it felt bizarre, it never felt wrong at all. ‘Unfortunate, that.' , I thought crossing one leg over another to complete my chapter before draining the tub. I promised myself long ago to always pray for my own son, before worrying about another celebrity, whose fame and fortune protected them more than I ever seemed to protect myself or my own—nonsense, but a strong sense of remorse, as I had been painted as wicked, in a sense, just for being kept poor, separated from my son, and left in a world without love at all; My project, a keepsake of the hard work I had done; but had not yet been paid for—and the fear was in the understanding that that money might not ever come, that I would never be a mother, a muse, or anything or anyone else I actually wanted. I thought briefly again about just getting a dog—but I only had 45 dollars, aside from the unmarked Jimmy Fallons, I had placed atop an alter on my kitchen counter, wondering how to multiply them into something I wanted—and that had been the start of the game or the project at all— saving my last dollars and spending them at once, with the hopes and wishes that they would become somehow much larger quantities, returned as good karma for the love I had given, but that had not yet come back, in one form or another. ‘He seems miserable, the poor bloak.' , I thought—and with all that I had known to have come with fame and fortune along with the luck, he probably somewhere, somehow was—but my concern was my son, turning the mere dollars somehow from one's into bundles of hundreds, thousands, and maybe even one day a whole million or more. That was the push behind the project at all—breaking the cycle of the poor black single mother, the story that had been told over and over-/ with stories that had not; the stories that had become [The Festival Project™]# Sai Psy. See you in seven years, then. You're so silly— I'm not going to live seven more years. We'll see about that. You will see. I'll be dead. So I'll be dead. So it is. A summer hiatus, Vacations in Prague, yes Let's pray for the rest of us A sign of the times and a coming of ages Who made you famous again As the rest of us I don't like it As much as I'd like to Keep writing Keep finding the reason to die and you're blinded by kindnesses And I ams I woke up in the 9th dimension, As an infinite friend Familiar with my kitchen JOHN SLATTERY An interesting thing happened this morning. What's that, John? I woke up as John Slattery Just remember what love holds The death of a salesman, rechargeable batteries This walk could take forever in designer jeans Another day in slave hell The controllers controlling And Satan is Sataning Seems like a time to go clubbing It's a simple kind of depression Resting on your head when All you simply wished is the taste of flesh The freedom of skin And the lather of love— Or blood spatter on the pavement Aim for the head If the door's fixed, then we'll break it again Look what greed does I hate lazy days in Manhattan Cause I've never had one What happened on the way to the forum I was starstruck; Five finger death punch Right in the heart I wish I was punctual Right on time for lunch Don't you want to talk to someone more pungent? Don't you got models to robot? Don't you know I never want to hurt you But you know, I'm going to hurt you. You know I'm going to hurt you Now, the review: Sooner or later, I fall over your world Good dudes in drags Good food for thought I'm a dog With the wrong parts You should take Kanye to the mall With a migrants lanyard (The migrants are anarchists! Good one, God) This one goes to. | this one first, from— Which one are you ? I guess we are one in the same It's a famous radio tower Live up to your name Go sell your flower for flour As I stand at the jumping point Eye on Manhattan, The wind beneath my wings Distracting myself from the mansion I haven't The mason jars I ought to buy for bargain The brain and brain cereal I left at the market I used to love Brandy Now I just wish I was something, awesome Now I just wish I was something, awesome Now I just wish I was something, awesome “The Album I Wrote On My Way To The Rock To Return Amazon Purchases No Longer Wanted” That's a really long album title. I didn't imagine I'd write this much Just trying not to imagine this man in his under pants, Or what have you (I'm just a fan) I'm just a dad hunched over in the bathroom Must have been the magic of my backhand, backfired Must have come untied and undone, under the rainbow Must be on my way to Manhattan For some blacklist event. Where I'm from The A List Is a face No name needed “Oh, I know who you are” If I purchased a car today I might get done paying it off By my 81st birthday. Shady. If I had a penny for every mistake I made, I would probably be Nameless. If there was a namesake to lay me into my grave, it would make sense; Yes, let's move the train for a moment With the doors still open. — I'd like to watch what happens. So what happens when the sun comes up On the only body you've ever known And no one wants it What happens with a dude named Starr Punches you over and over again And then no one loves you (That's starstruck, your honor) What happens when granted a pardon for passions And everything happens after is magic What happens when all you want is to go manic To finish the album And just feel good again What happens when the algorithm has Al Gore in it? What happens when the rhythm in blues is just the attraction of random black men and their concubine counterparts? Huh, what happens! What happens, Kanye? What happens, The God? What happens when all that you want is a disgusting assumption of… No on can trust you And nobody loves you Since it was simply a tryst Put this at a distance. Where did my energy disappear to! Where in the fear is my other earring? Fuck. Be somewhere, anywhere else but your office, for the moment. Be anyone but a mother, Anywhere but your apartment— It hurts, the construction. Someone doesn't something Nobody knows nothing about me, But what I put in this casket (This podcast) Oh hey, I got fuck muscles from fuckin myself now! I feel like I'm gonna die if I don't have sex! For real! Heal, Oh great dragon, HEAL, BITCH. Word. woof for the world Will for the wolf; Rain on the roof. Cobain don't have a God (Or a Gun, if you wanted that one) “Pull me up, God, I'm done under here” He called in I followed the fosters to farrow And got better I got better and bitter much quicker and Never in bed had I been as flexible As to kiss his chest As I kicked my own neck With my left foot. What the fucking fairyshit is that? There, I fixed it. Fixed what. I don't know what. But I fixed it. I know, huh! So be 110 and flexible Powerlift tectonic plates Do Pilates And make waffles!? Alright, I can do that But only as Jennifer Aniston I'd like to take back that Fallon I bought at the black market He's broken. I like his band tho— The one on the left hand, Over the damaged one. Are you on to that? Says the sayer, Son of Sam So Sai the sage Sets the stage Is that the plan? Never fall for a man, Even over an alter And tied by the hands. All I see in my initials initially is B Minor 16 might be minors, guys But she's creaming to find you At the front lines Life of a superstar DJ At the cross roads Or the turnstiles How do you turn bile into Beguiling Without rifling a few feathers Or looking into the eye of the rifle And dying first Don't you let that tear fall from you onto the M Train. I'm just training for fame And hating you every day Since we made it Love Get out of my way, Satan I'm staying I'm saying your name sake insanely Please break me Like a chicken leg Or just shake me from this existence Since I don't seem fit for it Anymore than I fit that Givchechy dress you gave that blonde, right? Am I dying! Or just dying inside Fuck coughs If you want him enough to—Use black magic To do that to me, wait till it falls back on you, You gross hag If God hates fags as much as he hates blacks We should fly flags over the haggis I made Alice When she's back from her adventures in wonderland No wonder you're a Monro Crossed over from O'Fallons It's an old warfare with two clans From the old countries With no borders Or border collies Laboradores And labirites, likely As Aphrodite is to smite me So here comes DJ Francis With his new black girlfriend Just kidding We all know in his world It's cold and broken With nothing but blue eyes And big wild to look over you Bro, standing up is not going to make this train go anywhere. I almost promise you. Turns out there's no such thing as a quick trip to The Rock. Turns out you'll sit stuck in y

She get mad when I around— Buried these things like seeds; They put us in the ground, They didn't know we were trees; She sees me, retreats m She sees me, retreats Kaleena time he bc what was over there; They love us when we're big, ugly, ghetto and funny But Nothing But Nothing Your kind forces us to lie, I guess He wants me, but likes your eyes, I guess At least I tried, I guess At least you tried I guess This is not my violence This is not my war, I'm just fighting it Don't know what you did this for; Listen in to send the enemy I envy them They envy me But I'll do this thing independently I don't need your white supremacy Was thinking you could be a friend of me, But ended in a tantrum, Guess she's scared to see me elevated —still cant fuckin hater White girls are fuckin haters —but I can't fuckin hate em That's the mirror-mirror— She was hating so bad, She took her man with her I got bad manners around her She gets mad when I dance And this is how I found her In a trance: Now the iPhone tells her when to attack, I'll be right back to happy, But unfortunately for insomniac, I'm still black. How white woman's intolerance and fragility l have yet to mix well with black excellence. It was the second time the same woman—or at least the same type of woman had shown herself to be quite put off by just my mere presence—then again( it seemed like all of them were beginning to look and act the same, as they supposed they all saw us, anyway—but perhaps it was with the changing of the times that it was beginning to tire them; now we had become as a whole, at least into the medi, which if anything would only seek to divide us further—and it had. I could never trust these types of girls anymore to be friendly without the salt of distaste upon her brow, or a disdain entirely — Fuck it, I'm sick of this skin. I miss you all , at the Rock, you know Broadcast to the top of my eye, Through my heart and my lungs, But I'm too far from God, now, you know (I still can't turn it off, Now I have to wake up and get going, You know You're not always God, You become One You're not always lost, When in love You're just not home This was never my home, But an office I should owe deposits and faucets, But honest to awful, I want to stop talking, And fall into nothing From comas, Come up then From commas to sorries I'm not even colored! I'm borderline In black and white As seen on The Office As seen on Cops as seen on Is this a rock album, or what?! As seen on The screen Don't look at me Don't look at me It really keeps me safe and simple No one save me, Just let me lie naked and rot With my thoughts, And my Something Something Something Wishing Someone else would love me Pick another lover Throw a rock, And climb the mountain Let it roll, and He's really pissed about this little list I'm still glitching and flinching Over Kayla Lauren And “the girl who sung the water song” Is what they'll call her two years from now Why would Del Beatty pick me to compete Against his daughter— For diversity, Or just to push me to the end of extinction? The one who sings Adele will win this one, Just suffer longer, Soak a little Choke on your own thoughts Broadcast from the Rock, It's only Tuesday Just rehearsal Just a writing room, with no one in it But my homelessness Just another box With too much stuff inside to sort through Just another martyr in my eyes Who wants to leave this world behind By suicide Has anyone else noticed The motorcycle causes more disturbances, But only when I rub my pussy Or my tired eyes? Must be the feds, Cause the cops can't do shit Why call the cops, When they're not yet polished enough To detect a terrorist Who uses a Kawasaki To make sure my ex Continues to punch me Over and over And over and over Till I lose the words to my songs In the holes in my stomach This is fucked up I just wanna go surfing, And come home I can't go back, you know This attack on the blackness is facts, you know Likeness is what it attracts, you know You going to EDC? No! They don't want me there It's just now okay To stare in the mirror She can't hear us anymore, that's it. That's a wrap, I guess. “I guess” She knows We were all theatre fiends And weirdos, She knows We l all could have been friends, In another world And she knows Nobody knows where she goes When one show is over, Another just closed, And it's up close and personal Up close and personal It's a Rock Opera, a musical I suppose She knows Someone must have bugged her phone The whole house is bugged! Hidden cameras all over the place, And she knows, She'll never be safe And she'll never be home And no one can save her From Satan, Who takes over Everything And every body And all she knows; Until she just Where'd she go?! I don't know! Are you SERIOUS?! Earlier I had Kenan and Kel here, But it's been hell here— Between capital one and Amazon Someone loves the one who punched me More in than anyone could ever love me. Why would Jan make me a crying shame, If she thought we were all the same? She hated me. Just a tough grader, Hacked to her google, And back to the drawing bored— Story lord! Story lord! Glorified whore of the horror show, No Rocky Mountains, though a So far from the west coast, Cast out of shadows From the past From everlasting tragedy To ever after Have Jan and Andy accept my Grammy; And the Tony for Iambic Cause I just can't Goddamn stand it Being this black at all Or, Not black at all I guess that's my power I'm an actor, On behalf of The Blackness You're right, that was tragic. I have a sense of energy about these things. I have this— Elephant on my chest, And I just need to rest a bit more, Before I fast again, Because honestly, all of a sudden It hurts a lot more for digestion Than focus and concentration, Lately, I just can't fake it I love New York, But I hate the fame Without the money Every projects on a budget And everyone who sits below me looks like roaches And I'm hopeless, just hoping Thomas Edison and his little friends Don't shut the lights off Before I can book my show, But you know— This is getting really strange, cause Every day I'm more obsessed with Tina Fey And I can't even really say her name, Or the game we're playing I don't want to hurt nobody's family; It must have been grounds for damnation to say Anything, To say anything To say anything —and actually mean it (But for three days, She didn't say shit!) As was written This fame thing is getting legit, As was scripted, But being honest, I'm just breaking from the pressure of unknowingness What to do with this What to do with this That's a secret, you know! You just keep speaking in tongues, And leaving doors open behind you, when you should be closing them! You keep abandoning projects, And that album couldn't get done Without doing some Salt, What. She's cutting up salt. REALLY?! I don't want to talk about the hard stuff, no! I don't want to talk about passwords, Surfboards, flagships, Jo/hns, or bananas— I'd never talk again, If I didn't have to! Suddenly, the light got brighter; I like this album, I look just like that —he looks just like me, Or used to I don't want nobody no more I just want to Nothing. If Qualudes were standard in the 80's Why persecute a Namesake who shouldn't be Shrouded in shame As I am the same As I ever was, As we all are As he was And she was Was I there? A dark thought, then. Pause. Why isn't poverty listed as The main reason we can't see Or achieve world peace Why can't she see That I see her man staring back at me And I would be mad, too I might even be tantruming If that thing came in With an ass twice my size And starts dancing, Or, You know, just Working it out Cause these racists are trying to kill me With Satan— And he's even using babies I light candles She smokes newports He hires whores and consorts These people make me sick— But I just keep Writing them into my project Pretending that Maybe if I keep changing enough Something won't hate me enough to keep making me Suffer longer Surfs up in california, so You're going back to the homeless shelter! You're going back to the place where the niggers and immigrants fight over nothing Or California, where the weather is warm But you could be camping, so Best find a job, For the lights turn off Or you turn yourself out for Some business cards “And this is WHY she doesn't DESERVE her son!” It's like some telephonic interception The definition of intrusion and terrorism But who is there to call When there's no one at all And they're targeting all of the dark skinned Smart ones At least the ones that aren't fucking for stardom! Fucking cunts and fucking hypocrites Fucking shut the door Fuckig shut your mouth kid I ran down the mountain, Never to find my way back But I'm still in a blue eyed Trash can All the people are trash now! Tell me, What would you do, Tel was cute, But his wife was stupid— Why would he choose her? (Cause you're just a kid!) Here you are, just a ghost In one of the most racist, hateful places America hated you since grade school Suffer harder, suffer longer. Tell me what would you do, If the man who made your husband's mother Kill herself By the kiss of his fist, To the barrel of her gun Asked for the strands of your dead son's hair? tell me, What would you do If this wifebeater Asked for locks of your dead sons's hair?! TELL ME WHAT YOU DID WITH HIS HAIR! Now they're all acting strange like Satan But I'd rather eat a train to my face Than ever go back to Or even hear his voice again— If I'm behing honest It wasn't the cheating— It was the beating me —It runs in his family The malpractitioner of what should be Healer's Magic Shamanism Hypnotism It's a cynavle trick of hypocrisy He wants me dead and gone for walking off But all the monsters and skeletons in my closet Came from the Punch the clock Clocked in the Punch the clock Clocked in the Punch the clock (That's the ensemble, with the chorus ) At least I ran the mile I was going the distance (The ensemble and solo part switches, so I put them in different dimensions.) As least I ran the mile I was laughing and smiling —till I saw the sign on my arm Had forgotten me Once again That's why you don't date fans And you can't make friends In fame school You can make all you want But you just can't take it with you Nobody will sign you! Especially insomniac! Not cause you're black— You just can't get past this I just can't get past this. They're racists No, here's some black kids— But they're actors Attractions, For ticket sales Attractions, And ticket sales Attractions And ticket sales I hate competition, But I love Beyonce The pain in her voice on lemonade, it took me down a— Black, black holes Super nova, super nova I was Ivy, once, you know But now I'm Blū, too That's what the truth is Yesterday was good, But today, I just hate myself Yesterday was good, But today I just hate myself Yesterday was good, But I just hate the sound of raging neighbors Motorcycles, And fireworks— I'd rather hear gunshots At least that means Somebody's problems got solved, Of course, It also means A mother lost a sun And I missed another sunset Jacking off, Without a someone to Love me I saw my insignia Inside of your eye And collided here I guess I was a weaponized assassin Every lie I told, an act, Disguised as a question Designed for the highest power The man of the hour I guess I was just made to suffer, Everything I stole, Pots of gold at the end of the rainbow, Things they had stolen from us Food, clothes, jewlery, fruit and water Peace of mind and Justice, order, Education— Closing borders Now places the border collie above us, Dogs are so much more important than The star search is over The man of the year has been hired The president has been fired Discovered a liar, A thief And the world that collapsed behind her As she tried to Fall back onto All the impossible thoughts That were caught at the rock's antenna Caught on the rock's antenna We lost one Caught on the rock's antenna We lost another Caught on the rock's antenna We caught a story I was just thinking, How everything I did back in school— The actions for the words I never had before All the rejections, and reflections of the Repellant that my ugliness was Just a joke With my arms wide open You wouldn't even know this kid, if you saw her And you wouldn't even know this woman, if you met her You could never say her name, Because she hasn't one Ah, jeez, I really do like his swing —I really do love his wife, She's nice No wiki leaks For the children of celebrities Or their families With respect to privacy Which I already haven't Just for writing this I'm being honest Every time I lie It's cause the truth would just hurt harder What's the worst one ever? What was worse than to Put scars on her arms For the marks of the stars For the blood was just cursed For the curve on the pavement Did remind me We were driving Our bodies around the speedway Like race cars We race cars In race wars We raise stars Up from nothing We race cars In race wars We raise stars Up from nothing Come to EDC, with me. I wish, She says But that could never be —that could never be me. We race cars In race wars We raise scars Upon the lips, We left scars Upon the knuckles Sick of always watching Something just short of disturbing —always ever attracted to These things, which to me look like children —and with him, I had Nothing . Sploosh. What. That's what's happening now: SPLOOCH. You cannot DO this. I mean, I already did, technically. Well, it— Ajax Flac THIS CANNOT HAPPEN: What the fuck. Idk. I can't go back there. What happened. Nothing! Had it ever occurred that The soaks in saltwater Are taking her back to the ocean Where she belongs, But can't afford to go to Had it ever occurred to you that a quarter per word on this project Would have earned you Exactly enough To keep going. What it boils down to was, The news today is Cloudy with a chance of That dance was awesome That wasn't a dance, It was a brutal attack On Jimmy Fallon. Finally. Thank you, No pictures, please god BLESS the paparazzi! Now that's the positivity We called for in the first place She slated and named it But that was before the first take The cut takes The cut takes Thank you, No pictures please God DAMN this paparazzi That's how they caught me Holding hands In the back was The white rabbit In his arms was Alice in Wonderland And I'm still jealous, And a little mad It's just a metaphor For the equator SOUTH. Than you, No pictures please Fuck the paparazzi Fuck the paparazzi Fuck, Nobody loves me anymore I gottta make some more Art Some more love Some more movies GOD BLESS THE PAPPARAZZI (It's still a rock opera) I gotta make some more Soup Some more food for these people More shoes for the children More monies to burn No more time at the Grammy awards It was always postmortem Cause I just don't When she grows up, She'll realize How wrong this all was… In the hallways, It was awkward In the walkways It was all over the news When she gets older She'll realize how much wrongness was Put onto her STOP SUPPORTING A WIFEBEATER he used me to get to Nevada To drink and buy whores with the money We were supposed to pay bills with I was his alarm clock He kicked my dog And OH YEAH HE PUNCHED ME so shut up, Federal government Get out of my google documents If you want me to kill myself, Send some more coughers You just gotta love these robot— Ok, That crechedo was awesome. Fuck this nigga, though I took nothing from him, But he wants me to end in the “She struggled with mental illness” Haven't you realized, in this country Being black is a synonym for Mental illness Cause something was always wrong with us Cause we can't belong with them So fuck off Get the fuck out of my head Get the fuck out of my google documents So fuck oft Stop bringing up my husband Stop sponsoring a wifebeater and pedophile Stop believing HIS story Cause if anything History shows us that HIS side of the story was WRONG. The eye knows All I know And all I know is The eye is the eye And I just want to die Cause I can't get the guys I like The eye knows All I know And all I know is The eye is inside me And I just want to die Rather than fight this They eye knows All I know And all I know is All there is to know, Until there's more to know And there's always more to know, More than to meets the eye And the eye is the eye ️ Even if it was unintentional, there was something so sinister and evil about her that no trust could be formed, try as I might, to cease the war of worlds between us. Something so evil and so dark that, for the life of me I could not forage a single tear more, as I wept only moments before in fear of her and her cruel clansmen— a brotherhood—or rather even—sisterhood of outright selfish power, greed, and hostility; It was around midnight, as I soaked peacefully in the tub—peacefully—being the key word; the first relax in the chaotic uprising of the Equinox day—her spirit was evil as could be, two empty blue eyes like the nothingness that loomed, sitting in the corner of the hallway, ready only to be filled with nothing. The white women had made it to a world where the love had been bred out of them, in the sheer and unwitting hierarchy of white power which was set to foil itself in its own nation; a race which had gone nearly extinct, by sheer racism and hatred alone. Fuck this dumb fucking bitch. ‘You wanted the psychological terrorism, right? Now you've got it. ‘ You've got another thing coming if you want to ride on the coattails of dead children to bring about the secrets of an unknown world, lost to you in the weakening of your gene pool amidst the servitude of all who have known less, but now know more of a Kingdom which it will be many many times before you will ever see. What a wicked, wicked race. If you think there's such a thing. Only currency has made it so that you and me are so unlike that one in the same remains as such an atrocity; but you see— before we go making mistakes, we take names, and numbers; I was done with you before even your time was up, and that's how much worse is coming for her. For a girl who hardly cooks or ever cleans, midnight is an odd hour to run the vacuum cleaner, and as much as a white woman may forage the ugly wrinkles to sink into her eyes around the age of 24 or 25 by using her beady little bird brained blue eyes to twist and bend the will of those around her, those wonderful, gorgeous, hazardous, toxic little blue things would never again work on me. It seemed the blue eyed devil was real indeed, no matter how hard I had intentionally originally suspended my disbelief. ‘What an ugly little thing.' I shrugged. I guess they wanted the Phoenixx However, Fuck that alias, And any of his namesakes, Back to hell from whence it came, The demon which has conquered My dear next door neighbor Adriene Heal her from these afflictions, Fix the blindness from her eyes that she may see truth, and give light; Rather than to just take it Amen I used to like people— It didn't matter what color they are But once you start acting like That Fuck these assholes. They started it THE RACE WAR but I'm sure goddamn gonna finish it. Fuck this place. IF YOU DONT LIKE IT, THEN LEAVE. MAKE SOME MONEY. Fuck your fucking minimum wage— JUST SHOOT ME. What. [A POLICE STANDOFF] Oh please. This could never happen in New York City. Why not I don't got time for this. *blat-blat* Ok, it's done. Did you finish that script yet? Jesus, you're drunk at four in the morning. Is it four? Do I care? You said you liked his eyes— —and his smile. Which John is this again? The one who paid more than the rest of them. Who said there's a charge for this. There's a charge for this. Look, I'm desperate. Sir, I'm gonna need you to say your lines a little more convincingly. Whatever I did. I hate her. I hate him. Just—fuck it. Pray for them. Are you serious? Idk wtf is in this bitch but– Scariest fast ever. Nah, I need to get away from … That was super demonic, I'm not gonna lie No shit. I still have all this paperwork, with his name and birthday all the fuck over it. So get rid of it. Seems to have affected my entire nervous system. Look, every time I try to do this, something really bad and miserable happens and I get extremely sick. I will kill you with every possible weapon that I have. Just create something and make all this anxiety worth it. I'm going to bed. I'm going to kill you in your sleep. I'm glad you heard that. No arguments, I'm glad I said it. Now I know too well, The well of tears on my guitar She's got a body like one Oh her curves But I just wonder what it like to be loved By stars Socialites and superstars They're Gods, you know How high up they are Above us And he lives in an ascended dimension, But he insists, he says Her transcendence is upon us He said Your transcendence is upon us He says these things, And then just vanishes So she gets up promptly Warms up yesterday's coffee Looks around in her coffin And wonders What for I just Wonder what it's like to be loved by stars Without double r's, you know I've got scars But it's mostly just Teardrops, and soft kisses On my guitar Cause, oh, Oli, I ain't got nobody— And nobody holds me Like I hold Oli (Could have been Ali, But of course— I had already lost that one A whole well of tears, I lost At his departure And a whole well more When I actually lost him I almost miss Having someone to talk to About anything and everything But I've got Oli And God now I've got Oli And Oli (oli) Is all that I've got Besides God That's the only contact In my Phone book No more double Ls And double entendres; No more double rs At all Just scars now No more metaphors. Honest is radical I like them cynical I should have clinical insanity by now But I'm only just an artist You can't help But can only harm that And if it hurts hard enough I'll put art on my walls Become permanent Storybooks all over my arms now My coat of arms now I've run Ten point 5 miles In the last 3 days; But if I rest today Will a motorcycle gang Have a parade outside of my window, To drive me crazy? I hope it rains, So they can't play these games with my head And the seeds that I planted So deep become daisies I still don't remember The way he rearranged me But these days I make my name sound So the way He can never say it Just imitates The way I hate myself I should be dating But expressions are Atrocious If I fall asleep— Who knows I may get Stolen That tends to happen So I'm All the way up And I'm swollen in ways That I hate to say “I love you” Love me back Or say it harder That's my martyrdom Come off the cross, for a moment, Would you for us? And bend over Or bow, if you will? If I did, Would you still call me wicked Or just a Good witch Since I'm a woman, I just couldn't be Jesus, Who you asked for once And always Who you asked for some To save you from your Credit reports And consorts Or some sort of Nonsense [famous last words] God don't speak much English, She says God don't speak much these days We were Always Telepathic That was way back then When Oedipus Rex Was on the Guest list I was standing at the coat check, asking Why I must take off my hat When entering the service To the bouncer, he says “That's just politics” I said, That's just politics We both said, What's the difference Then we all laughed —then we all just laughed and laughed Exchange is my favorite exchange Where my favorite exchanges Have happened for centuries Of engagements Endeared species, And races pieces haven't tasted the same Since I haven't had them Animal products And animal planet I found this hat on Discovery channel Did you want it? I can't stand it So I had to have it back I just had to use the bathroom I just had to disconnect From [] See— I don't even have to put the words in Cause a name is just words When that's a man You just can't have And that's the worse When that's a man And you can't have him What a habit. Silky rabbit. Now he's the Ace. All In A Day's Work I've never died before. Oh… that is terrifying. It sounds terrible. It's really not that bad. Why are you not writing this down? I just need a moment… It's really not that bad… I die all the time. I get sensory overload At Trader Joe's Look at the colors The clothes, This sure isn't queensborough Escalators for shopping carts I get it Manhattan I'll take my half BLVCK ass to the projects Where my kind are I don't belong here , God you're intolerant I like this part of town But I'm way too brown And I dropped my crown at the market I should be jealous of everyone But I have learned my place I've been a slave since Hollywood I lost my son to the devil Now I pay child support And terrorist follow me coughing I'm wrong just for being born ! You could start a war from it If that's what you wanted I'm a people watcher people watcher About to board the people mover People mover Slip, Here's the tell Slip, here's the tell I should have a bell around my neck I think she wanted a picture with papa I'm playin my own paparazzi Look mom, I bought a sacafagus There go them niggas with coughs again I been watching em Got binoculars I got oculus, for my oculars Look how hot he is, make me ovulate Man I gotta love it, Cause they love to hate Fucking racist crazies Have it your way I paid for it with my soul You hate but I love to love Somebody just got me fuckes up I don't have a book to run off of Shut up, honey. Now we're all up here Monkey in the middle Cause the middle one is weaker It's getting deeper and deeper Like the sinkhole that my sink is Let it sink in I've been syncing my secrets with demons In dreams sequences It's just a reparative injustice Kamasutra for your wondering words and stuff You can have it It's ruined anyway m Look at all this trash Look at all these classless classes Classwars, Racists. Everybody hates us The Asians, Latinx's The other niggas What being black is I'll write it in cursive It's just a curse, here So you can have it I'm moving to Heaven I'm packing my boxes I'm getting a cat, too! His name is Agustus He's a big one And I love him I just wanted a hug or a husband Instead I got nothing to trying my hardest And got for a bargain at target some coffee For being a targeted body All on an algorithm I guess I'm just useless. A dumb nigger demon Did I just offend you? Then you shouldn't be reading this either I wrote it for pleasure (Or pain) On the one Or the two Or the one Or the two I could do a lot with this $20. I could spend it all on Fuck all of you I'm moving to Heaven Where the heart it She's not harmless She's a terrorist— And I'll kill her, too Look how right she is Look how white she is, Huh Regardless of color It's a race war Lil biiiiitzzz Yooo, fuck New York. In every hole. In every crevice. Fuck this place. It's racist— Not just cause I'm black. Like statistically. It took a whole ass apartment elsesrch to feature this out. I was like “I wanna live in Manhattan” Everyone was like “NOOOOOOOO—-“ Haha “Nooo, no.” I was like “Why not?” The blacks were like: HAHA The whites were like— *COUGHS OBNOXIOUSLY* New York is so racist. It is statistically the most diverse—and most segregated city in the nation At the same time. WHAT. How do you even DO that? But it's true, at this point, the black people are like—fuck this, we'll just stay over here, and over here. And the rich whites are like YES. KEEP THAT SHIT, OVER THERE. Cause if you've ever been to the ghetto. It's some SHIT, It is NOT COOL. I finally got my ‘night card' back. Had it revoked in california . I was almost a whole valley girl. I still eat exclusively at Whole Foods. Trader Joe's. But NO. Now i live in the hood. It's fucking disgusting. I can say ‘nigga' again. Cause it's NIGGAS. Lots of niggas. I'm telling you. It's night and day! The white folks trains smell like bleach— Ammonia. The black folks train smell like a McDonald's. WHAT. Or just— Vomit. I can actually count the number of times just— Vomit—- On the train. Or. Dookie. Yes. Human feces. But I'm ready to go to midtown and it's like the train that goes around Disneyland. Families! People singing! Hey—cotton candy!! —and I didn't have to pick it! Haha! Fuck New York. Racist ass HOLE. I thought surely the next presidential election was one or two years out, but the racial tensions which had been rising became even more pronounced, as I realized that November was theboncoming time—and that they hostility between the whites and the blacks had once again been a result as the oncoming war, fueled onward—that the hatred, disgust, and general aggression of the whites had been of course, in the midsts of yet another Trump-fueled political upheaval, and I wondered why and how at all I had been caught in such a world that existed in form of man, of course, now proven himself to be the weaker sex, and yet in that of dominance, as was arranged in such an unholy war, to be the helm of power by sheer greed— now it seemed that these attacks were indeed political terrorism, and that these motorcyclists, my placement close to the ground level, and my neighbor's clammorings were specific attacks, after my identity had been varied to be that of the same in which I had once held political ambition, now none of which I assumed mattered at all. Perhaps I needed something more certain than a 12 story jump or suicide by train, and wondered as to whether it would be easy enough to kill myself bh self inflicted gunshot—a sure thing for certain, as love has been lost in the way of money at all. At that party…or rather, kind of—after. That acid that never hit Beyoncé I don't feel it. Man, I'm a terrible influence(r) Just take it. Nah, I'm good— PUSSY. -_- Give me three. K. —suddenly hits BEYONCÉ. BEYONCÉ …I got this. [BEYONCE] however, does not Ohh, shit. — “got this.” A very stranded, very sober Johnny depp stumbles upon what appears to be a college frat party, where the only thing they have is light beer, and nobody even recognizes him as a celebrity, because the attendees are all gen z What's even after gen z? The fucking apocalypse. Anyway. The acid hits Beyoncé on her way to make coffee, which extends the trip from the living room to the kitchen infinitely. Multidimensional Anne Hathaway hulks the fuck out and saves the day by ruining everything, which actually fixes everything— and *spoiler* helps Jesus to remain as the king of kings at beer pong. Lol In the late 90s in New York City, the keystone cast of Saturday night live learns of each other's formerly sexret psychic abilities, and uses the radio technologies of Rockefeller plaza to develop a research center for the telepathically gifted, eventually discovering and perfecting time travel. Supacree (the kid version) appears in and out of her ideal and desired realities, baffling ‘the Hollywood people' and later ‘the New York people', becoming the legendary central figure of the Illuminati, as the original timepiece — a pyramid shaped extra terrestrial vehicle which contains an ascended hyper conciousness, which I can't remember how it goes, did the supacree leave to find the Skrillex, or was it the other way around? I think it was both ways at some point, but the whole thing was this, just in case I never wrote it but just saw— These space god (humanoid evolved) are some kind of scientists/ doctors— there are four timepieces, each representing an era upon our planet; earth, which is distant but sacred— these four time pieces each depart their given “docs” in time to appear on earth at specific Fuck this is hard to explain Times in history, at which the first worlds, or previous human eras were known to have been destroyed— these time pieces travel through time space with the full record of these events in order to alert the current human era of its imminent doom, as an attempt to prevent such disasterous events, typically war, which will lead to the annihilation of the human species; these Gods, one male and one female, a king and queen, a married couple are the rules of the humankind, technically worshiped as a whole as one God, with whom the human design was modeled after, however, the true source of all things is the cosmos, known and unknown, in its totality—neither man or woman, but the force of creation. Anyway, what else is happening Oh. All of the celebrities are stuck in— [the festival project] in some way, shape, or form until its creator finishes it—and though it in itself is infinite, its 'finishing' notates its eventual production, which lol. That is never going to happen. Because. Let's face it. I'm scared of …rich people. Yeah, sure. Yeah. I'm scared of The effect of the race war, which has been to pit the white woman against the black woman, which allows and maintains the continuation of war mongering male dominance over the entire planet, which remains as a destructive force of greed, racism, and inequality. So why try “Trying Is Doing” -The Isms {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

Joining us for this incredible season 2 finale from the fringe of America is Patty from Canadia, and we are so excited to be talking about this episode with her! We, of course (and by we, we mean Patty), tackle some of the science in this episode and whether or not it all makes sense. We also talk about our favorite moments from this finale and how amazing Anna is in it, and we talk about aspects of the third season that this finale potentially foreshadows. We get some amazing feedback as usual, this time from Geoff (xforce11), Eric, Michael London (creator of Fringe Connections), Damon, Erin, and ShelkyBean! We will be back in April for season 3 when we discuss the season 3 premiere (simply titled “Olivia”). If you have thoughts about the season 3 premiere, reach out to us via one of the contact methods listed below, and remember that you can now sign up to be a co-host for a season 3 episode! We would love to have you on the show to help us tackle an episode!   Links Mentioned: The Fringe Podcast Episode 0247 - "Over There Part 2" The Fringe Podcast Episode 0248 - Feedback for "Over There Part 2" Stream Dunham (Fringe Theme Remix) by Alja Fringe Connections - "Over There (Part 2)" Fringe Matters - "Fringe - 'Over There' (Part 2) (2.22) - Season Finale" The Fringemunks - "Epis. 2.22: Over There, Part 2" Fringe Playlist by Chris Connect with Us: Golden Spiral Media Community Portal Golden Spiral Media's Twitter Page The Fringe Podcast Rewatch's Instagram Page Listener Feedback Webpage Join Our Live Show! Season 3 Guest Host Sign Up  

Time to review the PG Hooters! VyVy Nguyen returns to review fast-casual Hooters affiliate Hoots Wings Michael is finally able to give VyVy her gift, now that Harrison has been brought into custody for stealing it last week This Hoots Wings rents a counter off to the side in a Blaze Pizza, the atmosphere is dubious at best Ghost children singing Old MacDonald The restaurant quits paying its cable bill mid-meal What's Going on Over There in the women's restroom when VyVy witnesses something while going to take a number zero Everyone's pining for entrees they didn't order VyVy LOVES funnel cake Next week's restaurant pick can never be spoken aloud on this podcast Watch the show on YouTube! Music by: James McEnelly (@Ramshackle_Music) Theme Song by: Kyle Schieffer (@JazzyJellyfish) Segment Transitions Voiced by: Sandy Rose "Fine" Dining is on Patreon! Get an extra episode every month (January's episode gave an updated standings rundown of the Tchotchke of Mediocrity, hitting all the spots that weren't "mediocre enough" to score in the Zone of Mediocrity), extended Yelp from Strangers segments every other week, merch discounts, download access to our music including the 7 singles from our Olive Garden musical, and more! Patreon Producers: Sean Spademan, Joyce Van, & Sue Ornelas   Get the 5 Survival Tips for Casual Dining at www.finediningpodcast.com!   Send in your Hoots Wings/Hooters stories at finediningpodcast@gmail.com.   Follow the show on TikTok and Instagram @finediningpodcast   Let me know where I should go next by leaving us a review on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Amazon Music, PodcastAddict, Overcast, or wherever you get your podcasts. I read every one!   Next week on "Fine" Dining: Ch**seburger in Paradise (Eat Deets)! I went to Hawaii to run a marathon and stopped by the other Jimmy Buffett restaurant with my Mom. Hear as she joins me in learning the history of the franchise and other people's opinions in Yelp from Strangers Ever work at Ch**seburger in Paradise? Send your stories to finediningpodcast@gmail.com.   Totally Not Sponsored by: Well, Harrison has legal troubles, and I think JUB disappeared, so I'm currently accepting applications. Submit your character to finediningpodcast@gmail.com.

Yep. We're talking NORTH. That is all. Just kidding! We also get into what we checked out at Sundance 2024, we chat THE TRAITORS US Season 2, and more! Don't forget to ⁠VOTE HERE IN THE SECOND ANNUAL AUSTINS!⁠ - Connect with us on ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Twitter⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠, ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Instagram⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠, or our ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Letterboxd⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ HQ at @austindangerpod. Send us a letter or voicemail at austindangerpodcast@gmail.com and we'll share them on our episodes. If you tag your reviews with "austindangerpod" on Letterboxd, we'll find them and also share them on the show! Follow ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Kev⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ & ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠McKenzie⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ on Letterboxd. Listen to Kev's other podcast, ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Ammonite Movie Nite⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠! Listen to McKenzie's other podcasts ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠The Criterion Connection⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ & ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ON LYNCH⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠. NEXT WEEK: Somehow..... it's NORTH. - Episode Chapters: (00:00:00) Intro + Vote for the Austins! (00:04:10) The Traitors (00:15:10) 2024 Sundance Festival (00:28:04) Austin News (00:35:53) NORTH Main Discussion (00:57:25) Popcorn Notes + Final Thoughts (01:09:09) I Love Gooooold (01:12:03) “The Allen Parsons Project” (01:12:44) There You Are, You're Over There! (01:14:00) The Wheel + Outro

We are finally nearing the end of season 2! Join us as we, along with David Wu (the mastermind behind The Fringemunks), discuss the first half of “Over There,” the incredible season 2 finale! We discuss what we love so much about this epic finale and how it is truly a huge climax for the series overall, pivoting the series in a very new direction for seasons 3 and 4. We also hear from some of our Fringetastic listeners sharing their thoughts about this episode. The post S2E21 Over There Part 1 appeared first on Golden Spiral Media- Entertainment Podcasts, Technology Podcasts & More.

We are finally nearing the end of season 2! Join us as we, along with David Wu (the mastermind behind The Fringemunks), discuss the first half of “Over There,” the incredible season 2 finale! We discuss what we love so much about this epic finale and how it is truly a huge climax for the series overall, pivoting the series in a very new direction for seasons 3 and 4. We also hear from some of our Fringetastic listeners sharing their thoughts about this episode, listeners like Anna (not Torv), Rory, Prati, Eric, Geoff (xforce11), ShelkyBean, and Patty from Canadia! Speaking of Patty from Canadia, she will be joining us for our discussion of the second half of the finale, and if you would like to be a part of our feedback section, please reach out to us via one of the contact methods listed below! You can also now sign up to be a co-host for a season 3 episode, so go check that out if you're interested!   Links Mentioned: The Fringe Podcast Episode 0245 - "Over There Part 1" The Fringe Podcast Episode 0246 - Feedback for "Over There Part 1" Stream FRINGE Theme Song (Paranoid MX edit) by TripMX Fringe Connections - "Over There (Part 1)" Fringe Matters - "Fringe - 'Over There' (Part 1) (2.21)" The Fringemunks - "Epis. 2.21: Over There, Part 1" Fringe Playlist by Chris The Messengers: A Podcast Documentary Connect with Us: Golden Spiral Media Community Portal Golden Spiral Media's Twitter Page The Fringe Podcast Rewatch's Instagram Page Listener Feedback Webpage Join Our Live Show! Season 3 Guest Host Sign Up

ON-AIR! Welcome to #PRR599 by Nicky Romero including many brand new tracks by names like Dimitri Vegas, Yves V, Tim Hox, Melissa Pools and many more! Almero is back on our #ProtocolSpotlight with his tune “Over There! Tracklist: 1. Bexxie x Lovlee - All Of Me 2. Charmes - Nasty 3. Tim Hox - Dare (Gimme 5) 4. Sowel - Cook It Up 5. Almero - Over There 6. Dimitri Vegas, Chapter & Verse, Goodboys - Good For You 7. D'Amico & Valax, Foxtrot, ILSE - Can I Have It 8. Dimitri Vangelis & Wyman, Steve Angello - Payback 9. Grenno - Get Em 10. Will Clarke, BURNS - Give Me 11. Melissa Pools - Act A Fool 12. KYSSA - All Talk 13. Yves V & Lukas Vane - Breathe 14. DØBER - Waiting For You 15. Tom & Jame - Ooh Yeah! 16. KDH - Hard To Hold

This week we dive into our triple digit era with Big Jim, continuing one of our most anticipated journeys with ALIENS (1986). Other topics include McKenzo's TV Corner, Kev talks the new restoration of ONE FROM THE HEART (1981), and unexpected Austin News comes from HELL'S KITCHEN. - Connect with us on ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Twitter⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠, ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Instagram⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠, or our ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Letterboxd⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ HQ at @austindangerpod. Send us a letter or voicemail at austindangerpodcast@gmail.com and we'll share them on our episodes. If you tag your reviews with "austindangerpod" on Letterboxd, we'll find them and also share them on the show! Follow ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Kev⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ & ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠McKenzie⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ on Letterboxd. Listen to Kev's other podcast, ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Ammonite Movie Nite⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠! Listen to McKenzie's other podcasts ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠The Criterion Connection⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ & ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ON LYNCH⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠. NEXT WEEK: Somehow..... it's NORTH. - Episode Chapters: (00:00:00) Intro + Announcements (00:04:45) Whatcha Been Watchin'? (00:19:33) Austin News (00:22:58) ALIENS Main Discussion (00:55:45) Popcorn Notes + Final Thoughts (01:05:42) I Love Goooooold (01:08:43) “The Allen Parsons Project” (01:09:45) There You Are, You're Over There! (01:13:12) The Wheel + Outro

Join us along with Rachel (whose voice you will likely agree is just awesome) as we discuss the penultimate episode of Fringe's second season! Returning to the main Fringe canon, we find out where Peter went after disappearing at the end of “The Man from the Other Side” - none other than the literal northwest, Washington State! Here he meets Sheriff Ann Mathis (one of the show's best episodic characters played wonderfully by The Goonies' Martha Plimpton) as he helps her investigate a string of murders that feel uncomfortably close to Newton's M.O. Meanwhile, Olivia and Astrid help Walter deal with the aftermath of Peter leaving. Rachel helps us untangle all of the references that this episode has to the classic show Twin Peaks, and we get wonderful feedback from new feedbacker Prati, Eric from Pennsylvania, Patty from Canadia, Rory, Erin, Geoff, and ShelkyBean! Join us next time as we discuss the first half of the incredibly epic season 2 finale, “Over There,” when we will be joined by the creator of The Fringemunks, David Wu! We would love to hear your thoughts about the first part, so feel free to reach out to us with your thoughts! You can also now sign up to be a co-host for a season 3 episode, so go check that out if you're interested!   Links Mentioned: The Fringe Podcast Episode 0243 - "Northwest Passage" The Fringe Podcast Episode 0244 - Feedback for "Northwest Passage" Stream Fringe Main Theme (Remix 2011) by Alexander Khlebnikov Fringe Connections - "Northwest Passage" “Northwest Passage” Noble Intentions Video Fringe Matters - "Fringe - 'Northwest Passage' (2.20)" The Fringemunks - "Epis. 2.20: Northwest Passage" Fringe Playlist by Chris Connect with Us: Golden Spiral Media Community Portal Golden Spiral Media's Twitter Page The Fringe Podcast Rewatch's Instagram Page Listener Feedback Webpage Join Our Live Show! Season 3 Guest Host Sign Up

This week we're returning to the swamp and taking a journey far, far away with SHREK 2! Other topics include all the details on this year's Austins (hint: YOU get to vote!), we go in on why we didn't love POOR THINGS, and Kev has his tickets to ARGYLLE. - Connect with us on ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Twitter⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠, ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Instagram⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠, or our ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Letterboxd⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ HQ at @austindangerpod. Send us a letter or voicemail at austindangerpodcast@gmail.com and we'll share them on our episodes. If you tag your reviews with "austindangerpod" on Letterboxd, we'll find them and also share them on the show! Follow ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Kev⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ & ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠McKenzie⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ on Letterboxd. Listen to Kev's other podcast, ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Ammonite Movie Nite⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠! Listen to McKenzie's other podcasts ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠The Criterion Connection⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ & ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ON LYNCH⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠. NEXT WEEK: We're joined by our old pal Slim to discuss THIS IS SPINAL TAP for ADP100! - Episode Chapters: (00:00:00) Intro + Announcements (00:07:58) Whatcha Been Watchin'? (00:21:14) Austin News (00:23:04) SHREK 2 Main Discussion (00:42:40) Popcorn Notes + Final Thoughts (01:03:46) I Love Gooooold (01:08:17) “The Allen Parsons Project” (01:09:13) There You Are, You're Over There! (01:11:20) Outro

This week we're discussing one of our favorite ADP icons, Jamie Lee Curtis, in FREAKY FRIDAY! Other topics include our new segment — ARGYLLE News — takes flight, we announce ADP100, and so much more! - Connect with us on ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Twitter⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠, ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Instagram⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠, or our ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Letterboxd⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ HQ at @austindangerpod. Send us a letter or voicemail at austindangerpodcast@gmail.com and we'll share them on our episodes. If you tag your reviews with "austindangerpod" on Letterboxd, we'll find them and also share them on the show! Follow ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Kev⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ & ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠McKenzie⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ on Letterboxd. Listen to Kev's other podcast, ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Ammonite Movie Nite⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠! Listen to McKenzie's other podcasts ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠The Criterion Connection⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ & ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ON LYNCH⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠. NEXT WEEK: Shrek 2 :) - Episode Chapters: (00:00:00) Intro + Announcements (00:05:52) ARGYLLE News (00:11:15) Whatcha Been Watching'? (00:18:26) Austin News (00:23:31) FREAKY FRIDAY Main Discussion (00:43:57) Popcorn Notes + Final Thoughts (00:55:09) I Love Gooooold (00:56:51) “The Allen Parsons Project” (00:58:19) There You Are, You're Over There! (00:59:06) The Wheel + Outro

This week it's a new year, same old us — we're finally talking Ron Howard's THE GRINCH (2000)! Other topics include McKenzo finally watched ANATOMY OF A FALL (and you should too!), Kev unfortunately watched SALTBURN (and maybe you shouldn't), and Ol Boone sends us another missive. - Connect with us on ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Twitter⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠, ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Instagram⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠, or our ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Letterboxd⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ HQ at @austindangerpod. Send us a letter or voicemail at austindangerpodcast@gmail.com and we'll share them on our episodes. If you tag your reviews with "austindangerpod" on Letterboxd, we'll find them and also share them on the show! Follow ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Kev⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ & ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠McKenzie⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ on Letterboxd. Listen to Kev's other podcast, ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Ammonite Movie Nite⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠! Listen to McKenzie's other podcasts ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠The Criterion Connection⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ & ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ON LYNCH⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠. NEXT WEEK: Our FRIDAY is about to get FREAKY when queen JLC returns to the show. - Episode Chapters: (00:00:00) Intro (00:03:55) Whatcha Been Watchin'? (00:20:10) Austin News (00:25:18) THE GRINCH Main Discussion (00:45:44) Popcorn Notes + Final Thoughts (00:58:20) I Love Gooooooold (01:02:44) “The Allen Parsons Project” (01:04:53) There You Are, You're Over There! (01:10:10) The Wheel + Outro

You won't wanna close your eyes, you won't wanna fall asleep, you won't wanna miss a thing as we cover Michael Bay's Criterion-certified 1998 film ARMAGEDDON! Other topics include Kev catches up on MAY DECEMBER, McKenzie talks all things Sam the Pickle Man, and we decide that THE WIZARD OF OZ is in fact — underrated. - Connect with us on ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Twitter⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠, ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Instagram⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠, or our ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Letterboxd⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ HQ at @austindangerpod. Send us a letter or voicemail at austindangerpodcast@gmail.com and we'll share them on our episodes. If you tag your reviews with "austindangerpod" on Letterboxd, we'll find them and also share them on the show! Follow ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Kev⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ & ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠McKenzie⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ on Letterboxd. Listen to Kev's other podcast, ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Ammonite Movie Nite⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠! Listen to McKenzie's other podcasts ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠The Criterion Connection⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ & ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ON LYNCH⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠. NEXT WEEK: ADP's coverage of the Christopher Guest Cinematic Universe continues with WAITING FOR GUFFMAN! - Episode Chapters: (00:00:00) Intro (00:03:00) Whatcha Been Watching? (00:17:25) Austin News (00:19:00) ARMAGEDDON Main Discussion (00:43:02) Poprocn Notes + Final Thoughts (00:57:07) I Love Gooooooold (01:01:16) “The Allen Parsons Project” (01:03:08) There You Are, You're Over There! (01:03:40) The Wheel + Outro

YABBA DABBA DOOOOO! This week we're heading to Bedrock with THE FLINTSTONES (1994)! Other topics include McKenzie's new Hunger Games journey, Kev's NAPOLEON experience, and Austin Powers goes Cyberpunk. - Connect with us on ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Twitter⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠, ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Instagram⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠, or our ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Letterboxd⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ HQ at @austindangerpod. Send us a letter or voicemail at austindangerpodcast@gmail.com and we'll share them on our episodes. If you tag your reviews with "austindangerpod" on Letterboxd, we'll find them and also share them on the show! Follow ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Kev⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ & ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠McKenzie⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ on Letterboxd. Listen to Kev's other podcast, ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Ammonite Movie Nite⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠! Listen to McKenzie's other podcasts ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠The Criterion Connection⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ & ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ON LYNCH⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠. NEXT WEEK: I don't wanna close my eyes.... I don't wanna fall asleep...... because we're watching ARMAGEDDON next week..... and I DON'T WANNA MISS A THANG! - Episode Chapters: (00:00:00) Intro (00:06:16) Whatcha Been Watching? (00:20:30) Austin News (00:22:02) THE FLINTSTONES Main Discussion (00:51:44) Popcorn Notes + Final Thoughts (01:11:05) I Love Gooooooold (01:16:48) “The Allen Parsons Project” (01:18:15) There You Are, You're Over There! (01:18:57) The Wheel + Outro

This week we're breaking our streak of 1-star movies with RISE OF THE PLANET OF THE APES (2011)! We also spend a hefty amount of time discussing the new FIVE NIGHTS AT FREDDY'S film (McKenzie's spoiler-FULL review here), plug the latest episode of REEL LATINOS, and Kev's Musical Minute returns! - Connect with us on ⁠⁠⁠⁠Twitter⁠⁠⁠⁠, ⁠⁠⁠⁠Instagram⁠⁠⁠⁠, or our ⁠⁠⁠⁠Letterboxd⁠⁠⁠⁠ HQ at @austindangerpod. Send us a letter or voicemail at austindangerpodcast@gmail.com and we'll share them on our episodes. If you tag your reviews with "austindangerpod" on Letterboxd, we'll find them and also share them on the show! Follow ⁠⁠⁠⁠Kev⁠⁠⁠⁠ & ⁠⁠⁠⁠McKenzie⁠⁠⁠⁠ on Letterboxd. Listen to Kev's other podcast, ⁠⁠⁠⁠Ammonite Movie Nite⁠⁠⁠⁠! Listen to McKenzie's other podcasts ⁠⁠⁠⁠The Criterion Connection⁠⁠⁠⁠ & ⁠⁠⁠⁠ON LYNCH⁠⁠⁠⁠. NEXT WEEK: Yabba dabba do! It's happening — THE FLINTSTONES (1994) - Episode Chapters: (00:00:00) Intro (00:02:33) FNaF Discussion (00:14:29) What Else Ya Been Watchin? (00:24:35) RISE OF THE PLANET OF THE APES Main Discussion (00:49:22) Popcorn Notes + Final Thoughts (01:01:08) I Love Gooooold (01:03:55) “The Allen Parsons Project” (01:07:32) There You Are, You're Over There! (01:10:17) The Wheel + Outro

The moment you've all been waiting for. Finally, Austin Danger Podcast is discussing THE LOVE GURU (2008). Other topics include WONKA tickets on sale, Kev continues the View Askew journey, and McKenzo evangelizes BUT I'M A CHEERLEADER's beautiful Blu-Ray release. - Connect with us on ⁠⁠⁠Twitter⁠⁠⁠, ⁠⁠⁠Instagram⁠⁠⁠, or our ⁠⁠⁠Letterboxd⁠⁠⁠ HQ at @austindangerpod. Send us a letter or voicemail at austindangerpodcast@gmail.com and we'll share them on our episodes. If you tag your reviews with "austindangerpod" on Letterboxd, we'll find them and also share them on the show! Follow ⁠⁠⁠Kev⁠⁠⁠ & ⁠⁠⁠McKenzie⁠⁠⁠ on Letterboxd. Listen to Kev's other podcast, ⁠⁠⁠Ammonite Movie Nite⁠⁠⁠! Listen to McKenzie's other podcasts ⁠⁠⁠The Criterion Connection⁠⁠⁠ & ⁠⁠⁠ON LYNCH⁠⁠⁠. NEXT WEEK: We're getting into some monkey business with RISE OF THE PLANET OF THE APES (2011)! - Episode Chapters: (00:00:00) Intro (00:06:03) Whatcha Been Watching? (00:17:30) Austin News (00:19:45) THE LOVE GURU Main Discussion (01:03:27) I Love Goooold + “The Allen Parsons Project” (01:09:17) There You Are, You're Over There! (01:14:24) The Wheel + Outro

Reginald Dixon Un-reissued (on his '119th birthday', albeit belated) With thanks to Ross McNeillie for sharing his transfers and to Peter Ashman for his Dixon shellac discography. Start Name Artist Album Year Comments Wherever You Are Reginald Dixon Sterno 1033 (from Wayne Ivany) 1932 2-10 Wurlitzer, Tower Ballroom, Blackpool 3:30 Blackpool Song Mixture - No 6 Part 1: Night And Day; I'll Take An Option On You; You're An Old Smoothie Reginald Dixon Transfers by Ross McNeillie 1933 2-10 Wurlitzer, Tower Ballroom, Blackpool 7:41 Tangoland - Part 1: Tonight; Oh! Donna Clara; I'll Keep You In My Heart Always Larry Brennan and The Winter Gardens Dance Band, Reginald Dixon Transfers by Ross McNeillie 1934 2-10 Wurlitzer, Tower Ballroom, Blackpool 11:07 Dixontime - No 5 Part 1: The Woodpecker Song; When Our Dreams Grow Old; Indian Summer Reginald Dixon Transfers by Ross McNeillie 1940 3-13 Wurlitzer, Tower Ballroom, Blackpool 15:03 Dixontime - No 6 Part 2: Only Forever; You're Breaking My Heart All Over Again; Ferry Boat Serenade Reginald Dixon Transfers by Ross McNeillie 1940 3-8 Compton, EMI Studio 1, Abbey Road, London 17:57 Strict Tempo - No 1 - Quicksteps: Ma, He's Making Eyes At Me; Alexander's Ragtime Band; The Japanese Sandman Reginald Dixon Transfers by Ross McNeillie 1940 3-13 Wurlitzer, Tower Ballroom, Blackpool 21:49 Dream of the Waltz - Part 1: The Pink Lady; Bohemia; The Count Of Luxembourg Reginald Dixon Transfers by Ross McNeillie 1941 3-8 Compton, EMI Studios, Abbey Road, London 25:26 Yankee Doodle Dandy Film Selection - Part 1: Over There; Mary's A Grand Old Name; Forty Five Minutes From Broadway Reginald Dixon Transfers by Ross McNeillie 1943 3-8 Compton, EMI Studios, Abbey Road, London 29:01 Melody Moments - No 1 Part 2: Bless You; Down In The Valley; Primrose Hill Reginald Dixon Transfers by Ross McNeillie 1947 3-14 Wurlitzer, Tower Ballroom, Blackpool; March 1948 32:25 Melody Moments - No 4 Part 1: Dance, Ballerina, Dance; You Can't Be True, Dear; Galway Bay Reginald Dixon Transfers by Ross McNeillie 1948 3-14 Wurlitzer, Tower Ballroom, Blackpool; March 1948 36:01 Melody Moments - No 4 Part 2: Woody Woodpecker; After All; Little White Lies Reginald Dixon Transfers by Ross McNeillie 1948 3-14 Wurlitzer, Tower Ballroom, Blackpool; March 1948 39:15 Buzzing Bees Reginald Dixon Transfers by Ross McNeillie 1951 3-14 Wurlitzer, Tower Balloom, Blackpool; with rhythm accompaniment 42:33 Jungle Fantasy Reginald Dixon Transfers by Ross McNeillie 1951 3-14 Wurlitzer, Tower Balloom, Blackpool; with rhythm accompaniment 45:55 Dancing At The Tower - No 4 Part 1: Mary Rose; Life's Desires; Mockin' Bird Hill Reginald Dixon Transfers by Ross McNeillie 1951 3-14 Wurlitzer, Tower Ballroom, Blackpool 49:35 Dancing At The Tower - No 14 Part 2 - Quicksteps: Never Never Land; Third Little Turning; A Sky Blue Shirt And Rainbow Tie Reginald Dixon Transfers by Ross McNeillie 1954 3-14 Wurlitzer, Tower Ballroom, Blackpool 52:33 Desert Song Selection - Part 1: Azuri's Dance Of Triumph; Song Of The Brass Key; One Flower Grows Alone In Your Garden; The Riff Song; Romance Reginald Dixon Transfers by Ross McNeillie 1954 3-14 Wurlitzer, Tower Ballroom, Blackpool 56:19 Desert Song Selection - Part 2: One Alone; It; The Desert Song; French Military Marching Song Reginald Dixon Transfers by Ross McNeillie 1954 3-14 Wurlitzer, Tower Ballroom, Blackpool

Big Dipper and Meatball recorded this one from the middle of a tropical storm as they talk about their upcoming Palm Springs show, Meatball's experience meeting Melissa McCarthy, and their new segment “Where, Over There?” Get your tickets to Sloppy Seconds Live: Poolside Pleasures August 26th at CCBC www.westernxposure.net Listen to Sloppy Seconds Ad-Free AND One Day Early on MOM Plus Call us with your sex stories at 213-536-9180! Or e-mail us at sloppysecondspod@gmail.com FOLLOW SLOPPY SECONDS FOLLOW BIG DIPPER FOLLOW MEATBALL SLOPPY SECONDS IS A FOREVER DOG AND MOGULS OF MEDIA (M.O.M.) PODCAST Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

*Bugle call* So..... American... Pledge allegiance for dry ditties, caboose-forward choreography, and all the reasons it's definitely harder to be a thespian than a soldier. The person most confused by the movie this week was: probably FDR tbh.See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.