Podcasts about pisses

Caitlin Clark dares to acknowledge a truth about racism.

Oh no, he's Skrillex. [Skrirrex] run awaaaayyyyyyyy! {Entet The Multiverse} Well, that was fun. Here's the deal, we're gonna give you a whole new look— a whole new Waaahh. Everything. I've been in new york two years and still haven't been to the brooklyn bridge ‘cause I don't want to fight the sudden urge to impulsively throw myself off of it. Notes: My first sketch: buffering. But I don't know how to pull off that little round thing in sketch form. I'm sure it can be done…somehow. Why are we writing sketches? Just trying something… different Two Pilot Scripts peloton arrival My general obsession with these curtains I am obsessed with these curtains George Carlin's magnificent body lol now when they slam the door there's a comforter under it so the mad stays outside. Dumb fucks. Whatever I lose respect at home wrecker. She seemed nice tho. That's how they operate. Man this judge gon forreal give this lil white girl 3 million dollars for doing some only fans shit for her boss— for free. I'm sorry ya'll, white folks really are lazy. They went and invented work from home, but you ever realize that was really only for the white people— all the white peoples have cushy stay at home jobs where all they do is zoom all day and they got all the ugly brown motherfuckers out here on mopeds delivering groceries and shit? You ever notice that? Please. You had better hope the judge in this case is not me, if you actually want to win this motherfucker. I would look at this case and go “Married man.. uh huh…two kids… uh huh— you thought you were in love—huh. Gave you a promotion. Uh huh. Screenshots. I see— and then you did what for him on a zoom call? Oh no, honey, huh uh. Case dismissed. You did wrong. You went and prayed on a married man, child! You know they are weak! You know this! How does that make the company owe you $3 million? HOW IS IT THE COMPANY'S FAULT THAT YOURE A HOE!? Huh uh. Take your dirty tennis shoe lazy instacarttttttt orderin ass eating-out-every-night BACK TO WORK!! And GET AWAY FROM THE DOOR. Slam that shit one more time, hoe! She's taking this homewrecker thing too seriously. When I said “you're a homewrecker” I didn't mean “Slam the door until It falls off”, I more meant How does being a hoe deserve you $3 million?! IT DONT. That's some shit! Can't trust these niggas— But you fo sho can't trust these hoes. I'm just sayin. We get the whole negro spiritual? The whooooole negro spiritual. Cause all this #metoo bullshit . You know any white judge in they white mind is gonna be all “This poor little victim.” Whatever! She ferocious! Got a snake and everything! Can't trust noooooobody. Nobody. NOBODY. My lawsuit legitimate. I got motorcycles all up and down the block all day and all night to the point where I'm starting to be just as ugly on the inside, as these motorcycle motherfuckers are on the outside— I got a twitch now— Pisses me off. I developed a tremor. It was just mind games at first, but now my body in jeopardy!? Kill yo self. Karma gon whoop yo ass now it's icy and shit. SSSSSTTTTH, That's the back of a truck on yo' engine revving weak dick ass. ——sssssssss—CUH. Outta here. Fucktards. And you know what!? I'm black. I'mma go to the judge with all these recordings And all these reports, And all these statements— And he's gonna look me up and down and go— “You know a lot of people would be lucky to have what you have.” That's what they say. That this bullshit is a stroke of “luck”. And it is. When it's quiet. But for the time being— When there's no motorcycles, There's a homewrecking Snake wrangling; Door slamming hoe next door— And she wants to be FRIENDS. So you know what: I'm a be her friend. For as long as I'm single. I fuck around and get a man? I'm ghost. I'm gone. Whatever. She finna get $3milliomnf For being a slimy old Snake ass Manipulative Husband stealing Hoe And move on up. Just as a reminder to us all That all you have to do to get away with murder Is be a little white girl. You take the high road, And I'll take the low road And I'll be a gettin there before yeeeeee. Ok. So the Irish weren't playing— The song literally say: You take the high road (The moral high ground) And I'll take the low road (The hoe road) Oh shit. I gotta keep reading this shit . I couldn't have made it up better myself. ANOTHER MAGICIAN! I told you magic had something to do with it. Oh, it's— Probably nothing; You know you don't like it When cold hard dependence Just knocks on your door When you're standing butt naked The front door was opened, You've been quite lethargic, And after all the trauma The Cold War is over It's dark, damp and crowded A laugh, not a gesture, A swallow, not a falcon A sparrow, not a letter A mistress?! Oh pardon, sire. A partridge, a harpist— A hard alcoholic, And no one knows what comes after. Ya are honest or what? What's up, faggots? I'm at church, for Christ sakes! It's my day off, and God Almighty and I are in a High stakes game, alright, Keep driving me crazy, keep driving the crime rate up, and in time you'll be behind bars, And out of my way. The Red Dawn has come upon And now the west has won, sequestered every equestrian Shit I lost it Just wait for it. Damn this blondie is awesome. Embezzeled every pedestrian? That might work… —that resembles It's so nice to meet you. I'll shoot you. What. Don't touch me, I'll shoot you. With what. Silver pistol, jacket pocket. Wow. It's nice to meet you, too. How did you get that in here? I walked in. Through security? I didn't go through security. The worst part about living in New York City, Is all the smartest people are concentrated— To the rich areas. The outskirts is just a bunch of dumb motherfuckers banging on shit, and in their small world, they're important. In their small world, they run shit. That's when I realized that in order to maintain a world where I'm important— And I run shit, I have to stay away, and above these dumb motherfuckers. I— —Ahem—whatever. It's time for some SMUT VEE.. That's a good nickname. Maaaan. How long's it gonna take me to write this show? Maybe forever. {Enter The Multiverse} Lil bitz Have you ever started watching a video and thought, “I don't know if I can watch this” Because of the narrator's voice? By the way, If you can listen to those tik tok videos with robot AI captions, you should get yourself checked for a micro chip. You might be a robot. Anyway, Have you ever decided, Like, three seconds into the video that the dude's voice is just—so shitty that it might make the video shitty? No? Just me? {Enter The Multiverse} I nearly cleaned out the little free library after discovering that on the top shelf there were a slew of cookbooks, and more additions to the bottom. I hadn't been out in three days, but it seemed there was still some high level effort to theorize on how to go about siphoning my personal energy from inside of the apartment— I was still being followed. As I cleared the little library, dividing the take between my three bags, a blur of an ingrate human being passed from my right, explicitly and with purpose letting out a loud and obnoxious open-mouth cough— immediately, I coughed back, knowing that in time, the things I had been subjected to by these people would come back at them with roaring force—why not help along that karmic justice by paying it forward now, besides of course, the fact that I had for two more days been silent. ‘Disgusting fucking creatures.' And just with that, the opened-mouth coughing of a low-level gangstalker, I was proud that I had considered my purchase both urgent and imminent; there was no certain way to go about shutting myself away from the world besides doing it, and now with winter's chill gripping at the nose and fingertips, a cold wind whipping about and ice afoot, all the more reason to step aside and inside to resume creation—and the less time I spent on the street level with the roach and rat like people — much too far from the glittering and glamour filled luxe of Manhattan to be refined, well behaved, or mild mannered, they much emulated a lesser species by their habits and limitations. it was a frequency I strayed far away from, however— I had made it easy for them to stalk me on this particular morning, while although leaving for groceries at close to five or something of the like, and still being followed even then by the strange and shadowy type that at least stayed silent and kept great enough distance that it didn't bother too much, (besides the knowing that it never seemed seemed what time it actually was), that if I left my apartment at all, I would be followed; But, I had doubled back for the books after just by habit, though with a heavy load of groceries—baking goods and other heavy things I normally didn't buy, plus breakfast foods for the long haul, a self-initiated lockdown— and I knew that the later into the day it got, the more ‘sims' (a term I had deemed the robotic gangstalkers sent about remote controlled by their devices, whether they were doing it with intention or by force, or not.) They seemed at the disposal of the controllers, and while some of the sims were just weird, robotic drone-like people, many of them seemed dangerous—their frequencies almost creating such a friction that it seemed a disease to be in their presence. It had become clear that though docile and complacent, human beings had become weaponized by force, and the only thing keeping a revolution from emerging or a civil war from breaking out, was the intense divisiveness amongst people. People chose to remain as slaves, in utter complacency. I was skinnyish from running and awaiting the arrival of my Peloton, however. There was still 24 hours between now and then, the arrival of the beast and though I had spent the day before completely off grid, instead enjoying my now small library—though needing to be properly re-sorted, as collecting more literature had made a mess of things, (and though I had picked up a toy Hello Kitty Ukulele as wall decoration), I still somewhat refused to buy rugs or other practical decor or furniture, such as bookcases or even a bed. I was being stalked, followed and regularly tortured by sound and vibration interference— frequencies aimed directly into my abode, especially at times when I had wanted to rest, and though I could have avoided entirely at least some of these awful people by just leaving a little earlier, I then would have missed the all-too-beautiful reddened hues of the east coast sunrise; I had actually never seen such a ruby red light cast upon the Brooklyn brownstones, and although the people were sometimes ugly (the open-mouthed coughing ingrates, that is), the red and gold sunlight over the fallen leaves and east coast architecture almost made it worth it—and with any reckoning, my coughing back at the nasty little monster was a telltale sign that eventually, I'd either start beating the shit out of people when they coughed at me in public — or — I'd eventually craft a world without them in it by staking away from them, and taking long breaks from practicing behaviors and habits they exhibited. I no longer wanted to fit in, or become popular, or accepted, as I had finally realized that it was just as it always was, back in school: the popular people, even in music, “art”, and what was supposed to be “culture” weren't very bright—they were just brighter than enough of the people around them to get ahead by just enough whether by looks, money, or sometimes but rarely now, even, superior talent. They had been elected as representatives of the masses—the common man, the not-too-smart; the easily manipulated, and the docile. The superficial next generation was programmed to be limited to what had already happened; a stalemate in ingenuity, high art, and evolutionary consciousness in culture had been reached, as observed by dealings with the public world, as I studied their listening habits, social normalcies, and collective behaviors. The less time spent interacting with these ‘sims' and drones, the more in-depth my thoughts began to flourish—seeing in full color spectrums and patterns, acting and thinking in ways I was blessed to be abnormal in. I was no longer complacent in a world full of material greed and commercial competition, no longer feigning for mere objects that simply with decent credit anyone could go well into debt for—and most did. Instead, I would wear my same recycled clothes, keep to myself and my business, and craft from within some kind of masterpiece the world itself could no better inspire than I on my own. I was now the proud owner of a small library—and into my list of small but sacred prized possessions, two pilot television scripts from the era before which Television had deteriorated, in the onslaught of streaming culture; these two pilot scripts, neatly bracketed and crammed in between classic novels and cookbooks, were my happiest find since the treadmill, and of course— the Omega Juicer I still wasn't sure would ever work, but at least, watching the 11-year-old instruction video had given me a proper laugh, and besides not having the patience to further explore whether I had put it together incorrectly, or if it simply no longer operated, it was a device worth further considering spending time in order to try to make it work, before spending something awful on a machine of equal or lesser value. The treadmill had worked right away, and I was now clocking in segmented runs of about 4 miles a day— working my way up to seven, with the actual notion and belief that it was those Madonna-length runs which had manifested this apartment, and, that with the Peloton and those runs combined perhaps, if I were to stay in New York, an apartment in one of those tall shiny buildings in Manhattan would manifest itself—only second, of course, to a house in the Hollywood Hills. As for America, there was nowhere else I could I should be, I thought, and something strange had happened without my noticing—without any promotion whatsoever, I had garnered an unusually high amount of streams on I Love New York— surprisingly, with global response. I had gained followers and listeners in London, Germany, and Spain— top countries for dance music, and as I studied my metrics, I realized that the type of music I found easiest to make was performing the best; House and Techno snobs never changing, I had found a niché, and, another interesting point I had gathered was to find the Uptown A, without any promotion or live performance, was gaining traction and followers. Though minimal, without any effort, the numbers climbed all on their own. I found it astonishing that with no promotion at all, somehow, the album had circulated. Now I wished I had the focus and prayed for a way to finish the short film, or, collection or videos with a vague storyline which connected them together—however anyone wanted to see it, if they ever would. I was still largely out of storage space, and the phenomenon that the psychological terror attacks seemed to happen most frequently while online and even connected to my own private network, the more time I spent online the more time I spent under the blankets of honking horns, ravaged by motorcycles and modified engines, though—I found none of these people to be impressive or very powerful; their being counterproductive only alluded to the simple fact that it had become clear more people were born or made through neglect of some sort to be more useless than not— and so in effect, had to make use of themselves in other ways. I was almost trying to forge an alliance with the neighbor, but there was still some deepseated mistrust that probably had less to do with her race than her gender acclimations. I attempted not to judge, but it tormented me that anyone could knowingly sleep with a married man in exchange for a job and then expect 3 million for it was beyond me. Her unexpected visits and eagerness to see inside of my apartment was a discomfort, but to discover the likelihood of her induction to the wealthy— a millionaire status— angered me, but I was sure it was meant to, in that she herself was either some sort of plant, or a gangstalker who had been sent to gaslight in some sort of way— procuring information in one way or another or simply to plant seeds in my mind that hadn't needed to be there. It seemed she was in need of something—information, and that her motivations went beyond curiosity, however misjudged I might have been. Her actions seemed provocative and invasive, and however—the restlessness was already out of hand. I did my best to keep the peace, knowing all too well that a privalaged person made upset could be damaging and destructive. I had lived long enough to understand that, in fact, a cute little white girl could get her way with just about anything, using their ideal status and high regard as a tool of manipulation. I had no doubt that she would probably get her way— millions of dollars for doing nothing and being offended by it/- or even further, that it was all just an elaborate story crafted to further crank my brain, in addition to the motorcycles, the door slamming, and of course being followed to the gyms here-and-there and having had the entire year of living here being a nearly intolerably, noise filled nightmare. She had, after all, gone through wild and extraneous efforts to forage her way into being friends or something of the like, and, in my final attempt at being human, I thought to at the very least try to understand the idea of friendship, though probably having become forever unable to actually attain it. Friendship required trust, and, after hearing about her lawsuit, apparently for having had an extramarital affair with her married boss, with whom she “believed” was “in love with her”, it was perhaps the initial feeling of discomfort which had foundationally placed this person in the danger zone—that there was ‘just something' I couldn't trust about her—and I wondered as a future business owner how it might be the company's fault for her obvious moral defects. Further solidifying every reason to never pursue a married man, I pondered this; that in the modern practice of validating feminine toxicity and masquerading it as ‘justice' or ‘feminism' only further keeps women away as a whole from obtaining equality— on the moral high ground that one should not sleep with her boss, or should immediately report threatening behavior rather than to allow it in exchange for professional promotion, it only seems that the tactic of manipulation has to at some point come into play when indeed, over a period of time, one has gathered enough evidence to factor in a judgement that the company should compensate them. One should not be simply compensated for their willingness to display affection and exchanges of intimacy in a work environment if not reported at first concern; I was old enough to know better, so I figured certainly anyone given a few years in either direction should have a clear understanding of such. I had dealt numerouy with narcissists and manipulators all of my life, and it almost seemed an immediate red flag that she seemed to want so much to be friends, especially after having audibly reported me for various discrepancies—besides the obsurdity that she had decisively slammed doors as a means of getting attention. Perhaps it was some sort of sponsorship of sorts, indeed that she was a gangstalker herself and was being incentivized to act in such ways. For weeks, we had fallen into the habit of overendowment by way of gift exchange. Still, these were blurred lines; and I thought it best to be ‘friends' with a dangerous person rather than actual enemies. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer, and of course—keep it light, and simple, and on the surface. She might have known my line of work, but nothing else, and it seemed that I might actually have the advantage here— besides her being Caucasian, obviously of privelege and wealth and my being multiracial. I knew more about her than she did about me, and, under the suspicion alone that she was a plant, and with the confirmation of my theory that she had also been burning sage, (now having done so admittedly knowing that the other neighbors would suspect and report me), and the apparent falling out with the other neighbors over something I had neither asked, nor was interested about— perhaps the simple fact was, I distrusted her immediately just with the intrinsic sense that she was untrustworthy; the type of woman who would knowingly sleep with a married man, and worse— with the intention of monetary gain in mind. The type of woman you don't want around your husband, period. In that way, perhaps it was simply that I was traumatized, once having been severely cheated on and lied to by a serial cheater and later wifebeater, that it was impossible to not see myself as ‘the wife'. Though now happily divorced and not quite straying from single, though planning to somehow be married again even if it was in the style of Elizabeth Taylor or, Richard Pryor—or even Marilyn Monroe, just repeating the process in insanity, I realized, however impractically, that I enjoyed being married, and monogamous—and even if this did make me a simple and easy target for infidelity, I had learned something very simple and wholesome about myself; I was a good woman. And I enjoyed that. —Tales of a Superstar DJ. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

Oh no, he's Skrillex. [Skrirrex] run awaaaayyyyyyyy! {Entet The Multiverse} Well, that was fun. Here's the deal, we're gonna give you a whole new look— a whole new Waaahh. Everything. I've been in new york two years and still haven't been to the brooklyn bridge ‘cause I don't want to fight the sudden urge to impulsively throw myself off of it. Notes: My first sketch: buffering. But I don't know how to pull off that little round thing in sketch form. I'm sure it can be done…somehow. Why are we writing sketches? Just trying something… different Two Pilot Scripts peloton arrival My general obsession with these curtains I am obsessed with these curtains George Carlin's magnificent body lol now when they slam the door there's a comforter under it so the mad stays outside. Dumb fucks. Whatever I lose respect at home wrecker. She seemed nice tho. That's how they operate. Man this judge gon forreal give this lil white girl 3 million dollars for doing some only fans shit for her boss— for free. I'm sorry ya'll, white folks really are lazy. They went and invented work from home, but you ever realize that was really only for the white people— all the white peoples have cushy stay at home jobs where all they do is zoom all day and they got all the ugly brown motherfuckers out here on mopeds delivering groceries and shit? You ever notice that? Please. You had better hope the judge in this case is not me, if you actually want to win this motherfucker. I would look at this case and go “Married man.. uh huh…two kids… uh huh— you thought you were in love—huh. Gave you a promotion. Uh huh. Screenshots. I see— and then you did what for him on a zoom call? Oh no, honey, huh uh. Case dismissed. You did wrong. You went and prayed on a married man, child! You know they are weak! You know this! How does that make the company owe you $3 million? HOW IS IT THE COMPANY'S FAULT THAT YOURE A HOE!? Huh uh. Take your dirty tennis shoe lazy instacarttttttt orderin ass eating-out-every-night BACK TO WORK!! And GET AWAY FROM THE DOOR. Slam that shit one more time, hoe! She's taking this homewrecker thing too seriously. When I said “you're a homewrecker” I didn't mean “Slam the door until It falls off”, I more meant How does being a hoe deserve you $3 million?! IT DONT. That's some shit! Can't trust these niggas— But you fo sho can't trust these hoes. I'm just sayin. We get the whole negro spiritual? The whooooole negro spiritual. Cause all this #metoo bullshit . You know any white judge in they white mind is gonna be all “This poor little victim.” Whatever! She ferocious! Got a snake and everything! Can't trust noooooobody. Nobody. NOBODY. My lawsuit legitimate. I got motorcycles all up and down the block all day and all night to the point where I'm starting to be just as ugly on the inside, as these motorcycle motherfuckers are on the outside— I got a twitch now— Pisses me off. I developed a tremor. It was just mind games at first, but now my body in jeopardy!? Kill yo self. Karma gon whoop yo ass now it's icy and shit. SSSSSTTTTH, That's the back of a truck on yo' engine revving weak dick ass. ——sssssssss—CUH. Outta here. Fucktards. And you know what!? I'm black. I'mma go to the judge with all these recordings And all these reports, And all these statements— And he's gonna look me up and down and go— “You know a lot of people would be lucky to have what you have.” That's what they say. That this bullshit is a stroke of “luck”. And it is. When it's quiet. But for the time being— When there's no motorcycles, There's a homewrecking Snake wrangling; Door slamming hoe next door— And she wants to be FRIENDS. So you know what: I'm a be her friend. For as long as I'm single. I fuck around and get a man? I'm ghost. I'm gone. Whatever. She finna get $3milliomnf For being a slimy old Snake ass Manipulative Husband stealing Hoe And move on up. Just as a reminder to us all That all you have to do to get away with murder Is be a little white girl. You take the high road, And I'll take the low road And I'll be a gettin there before yeeeeee. Ok. So the Irish weren't playing— The song literally say: You take the high road (The moral high ground) And I'll take the low road (The hoe road) Oh shit. I gotta keep reading this shit . I couldn't have made it up better myself. ANOTHER MAGICIAN! I told you magic had something to do with it. Oh, it's— Probably nothing; You know you don't like it When cold hard dependence Just knocks on your door When you're standing butt naked The front door was opened, You've been quite lethargic, And after all the trauma The Cold War is over It's dark, damp and crowded A laugh, not a gesture, A swallow, not a falcon A sparrow, not a letter A mistress?! Oh pardon, sire. A partridge, a harpist— A hard alcoholic, And no one knows what comes after. Ya are honest or what? What's up, faggots? I'm at church, for Christ sakes! It's my day off, and God Almighty and I are in a High stakes game, alright, Keep driving me crazy, keep driving the crime rate up, and in time you'll be behind bars, And out of my way. The Red Dawn has come upon And now the west has won, sequestered every equestrian Shit I lost it Just wait for it. Damn this blondie is awesome. Embezzeled every pedestrian? That might work… —that resembles It's so nice to meet you. I'll shoot you. What. Don't touch me, I'll shoot you. With what. Silver pistol, jacket pocket. Wow. It's nice to meet you, too. How did you get that in here? I walked in. Through security? I didn't go through security. The worst part about living in New York City, Is all the smartest people are concentrated— To the rich areas. The outskirts is just a bunch of dumb motherfuckers banging on shit, and in their small world, they're important. In their small world, they run shit. That's when I realized that in order to maintain a world where I'm important— And I run shit, I have to stay away, and above these dumb motherfuckers. I— —Ahem—whatever. It's time for some SMUT VEE.. That's a good nickname. Maaaan. How long's it gonna take me to write this show? Maybe forever. {Enter The Multiverse} Lil bitz Have you ever started watching a video and thought, “I don't know if I can watch this” Because of the narrator's voice? By the way, If you can listen to those tik tok videos with robot AI captions, you should get yourself checked for a micro chip. You might be a robot. Anyway, Have you ever decided, Like, three seconds into the video that the dude's voice is just—so shitty that it might make the video shitty? No? Just me? {Enter The Multiverse} I nearly cleaned out the little free library after discovering that on the top shelf there were a slew of cookbooks, and more additions to the bottom. I hadn't been out in three days, but it seemed there was still some high level effort to theorize on how to go about siphoning my personal energy from inside of the apartment— I was still being followed. As I cleared the little library, dividing the take between my three bags, a blur of an ingrate human being passed from my right, explicitly and with purpose letting out a loud and obnoxious open-mouth cough— immediately, I coughed back, knowing that in time, the things I had been subjected to by these people would come back at them with roaring force—why not help along that karmic justice by paying it forward now, besides of course, the fact that I had for two more days been silent. ‘Disgusting fucking creatures.' And just with that, the opened-mouth coughing of a low-level gangstalker, I was proud that I had considered my purchase both urgent and imminent; there was no certain way to go about shutting myself away from the world besides doing it, and now with winter's chill gripping at the nose and fingertips, a cold wind whipping about and ice afoot, all the more reason to step aside and inside to resume creation—and the less time I spent on the street level with the roach and rat like people — much too far from the glittering and glamour filled luxe of Manhattan to be refined, well behaved, or mild mannered, they much emulated a lesser species by their habits and limitations. it was a frequency I strayed far away from, however— I had made it easy for them to stalk me on this particular morning, while although leaving for groceries at close to five or something of the like, and still being followed even then by the strange and shadowy type that at least stayed silent and kept great enough distance that it didn't bother too much, (besides the knowing that it never seemed seemed what time it actually was), that if I left my apartment at all, I would be followed; But, I had doubled back for the books after just by habit, though with a heavy load of groceries—baking goods and other heavy things I normally didn't buy, plus breakfast foods for the long haul, a self-initiated lockdown— and I knew that the later into the day it got, the more ‘sims' (a term I had deemed the robotic gangstalkers sent about remote controlled by their devices, whether they were doing it with intention or by force, or not.) They seemed at the disposal of the controllers, and while some of the sims were just weird, robotic drone-like people, many of them seemed dangerous—their frequencies almost creating such a friction that it seemed a disease to be in their presence. It had become clear that though docile and complacent, human beings had become weaponized by force, and the only thing keeping a revolution from emerging or a civil war from breaking out, was the intense divisiveness amongst people. People chose to remain as slaves, in utter complacency. I was skinnyish from running and awaiting the arrival of my Peloton, however. There was still 24 hours between now and then, the arrival of the beast and though I had spent the day before completely off grid, instead enjoying my now small library—though needing to be properly re-sorted, as collecting more literature had made a mess of things, (and though I had picked up a toy Hello Kitty Ukulele as wall decoration), I still somewhat refused to buy rugs or other practical decor or furniture, such as bookcases or even a bed. I was being stalked, followed and regularly tortured by sound and vibration interference— frequencies aimed directly into my abode, especially at times when I had wanted to rest, and though I could have avoided entirely at least some of these awful people by just leaving a little earlier, I then would have missed the all-too-beautiful reddened hues of the east coast sunrise; I had actually never seen such a ruby red light cast upon the Brooklyn brownstones, and although the people were sometimes ugly (the open-mouthed coughing ingrates, that is), the red and gold sunlight over the fallen leaves and east coast architecture almost made it worth it—and with any reckoning, my coughing back at the nasty little monster was a telltale sign that eventually, I'd either start beating the shit out of people when they coughed at me in public — or — I'd eventually craft a world without them in it by staking away from them, and taking long breaks from practicing behaviors and habits they exhibited. I no longer wanted to fit in, or become popular, or accepted, as I had finally realized that it was just as it always was, back in school: the popular people, even in music, “art”, and what was supposed to be “culture” weren't very bright—they were just brighter than enough of the people around them to get ahead by just enough whether by looks, money, or sometimes but rarely now, even, superior talent. They had been elected as representatives of the masses—the common man, the not-too-smart; the easily manipulated, and the docile. The superficial next generation was programmed to be limited to what had already happened; a stalemate in ingenuity, high art, and evolutionary consciousness in culture had been reached, as observed by dealings with the public world, as I studied their listening habits, social normalcies, and collective behaviors. The less time spent interacting with these ‘sims' and drones, the more in-depth my thoughts began to flourish—seeing in full color spectrums and patterns, acting and thinking in ways I was blessed to be abnormal in. I was no longer complacent in a world full of material greed and commercial competition, no longer feigning for mere objects that simply with decent credit anyone could go well into debt for—and most did. Instead, I would wear my same recycled clothes, keep to myself and my business, and craft from within some kind of masterpiece the world itself could no better inspire than I on my own. I was now the proud owner of a small library—and into my list of small but sacred prized possessions, two pilot television scripts from the era before which Television had deteriorated, in the onslaught of streaming culture; these two pilot scripts, neatly bracketed and crammed in between classic novels and cookbooks, were my happiest find since the treadmill, and of course— the Omega Juicer I still wasn't sure would ever work, but at least, watching the 11-year-old instruction video had given me a proper laugh, and besides not having the patience to further explore whether I had put it together incorrectly, or if it simply no longer operated, it was a device worth further considering spending time in order to try to make it work, before spending something awful on a machine of equal or lesser value. The treadmill had worked right away, and I was now clocking in segmented runs of about 4 miles a day— working my way up to seven, with the actual notion and belief that it was those Madonna-length runs which had manifested this apartment, and, that with the Peloton and those runs combined perhaps, if I were to stay in New York, an apartment in one of those tall shiny buildings in Manhattan would manifest itself—only second, of course, to a house in the Hollywood Hills. As for America, there was nowhere else I could I should be, I thought, and something strange had happened without my noticing—without any promotion whatsoever, I had garnered an unusually high amount of streams on I Love New York— surprisingly, with global response. I had gained followers and listeners in London, Germany, and Spain— top countries for dance music, and as I studied my metrics, I realized that the type of music I found easiest to make was performing the best; House and Techno snobs never changing, I had found a niché, and, another interesting point I had gathered was to find the Uptown A, without any promotion or live performance, was gaining traction and followers. Though minimal, without any effort, the numbers climbed all on their own. I found it astonishing that with no promotion at all, somehow, the album had circulated. Now I wished I had the focus and prayed for a way to finish the short film, or, collection or videos with a vague storyline which connected them together—however anyone wanted to see it, if they ever would. I was still largely out of storage space, and the phenomenon that the psychological terror attacks seemed to happen most frequently while online and even connected to my own private network, the more time I spent online the more time I spent under the blankets of honking horns, ravaged by motorcycles and modified engines, though—I found none of these people to be impressive or very powerful; their being counterproductive only alluded to the simple fact that it had become clear more people were born or made through neglect of some sort to be more useless than not— and so in effect, had to make use of themselves in other ways. I was almost trying to forge an alliance with the neighbor, but there was still some deepseated mistrust that probably had less to do with her race than her gender acclimations. I attempted not to judge, but it tormented me that anyone could knowingly sleep with a married man in exchange for a job and then expect 3 million for it was beyond me. Her unexpected visits and eagerness to see inside of my apartment was a discomfort, but to discover the likelihood of her induction to the wealthy— a millionaire status— angered me, but I was sure it was meant to, in that she herself was either some sort of plant, or a gangstalker who had been sent to gaslight in some sort of way— procuring information in one way or another or simply to plant seeds in my mind that hadn't needed to be there. It seemed she was in need of something—information, and that her motivations went beyond curiosity, however misjudged I might have been. Her actions seemed provocative and invasive, and however—the restlessness was already out of hand. I did my best to keep the peace, knowing all too well that a privalaged person made upset could be damaging and destructive. I had lived long enough to understand that, in fact, a cute little white girl could get her way with just about anything, using their ideal status and high regard as a tool of manipulation. I had no doubt that she would probably get her way— millions of dollars for doing nothing and being offended by it/- or even further, that it was all just an elaborate story crafted to further crank my brain, in addition to the motorcycles, the door slamming, and of course being followed to the gyms here-and-there and having had the entire year of living here being a nearly intolerably, noise filled nightmare. She had, after all, gone through wild and extraneous efforts to forage her way into being friends or something of the like, and, in my final attempt at being human, I thought to at the very least try to understand the idea of friendship, though probably having become forever unable to actually attain it. Friendship required trust, and, after hearing about her lawsuit, apparently for having had an extramarital affair with her married boss, with whom she “believed” was “in love with her”, it was perhaps the initial feeling of discomfort which had foundationally placed this person in the danger zone—that there was ‘just something' I couldn't trust about her—and I wondered as a future business owner how it might be the company's fault for her obvious moral defects. Further solidifying every reason to never pursue a married man, I pondered this; that in the modern practice of validating feminine toxicity and masquerading it as ‘justice' or ‘feminism' only further keeps women away as a whole from obtaining equality— on the moral high ground that one should not sleep with her boss, or should immediately report threatening behavior rather than to allow it in exchange for professional promotion, it only seems that the tactic of manipulation has to at some point come into play when indeed, over a period of time, one has gathered enough evidence to factor in a judgement that the company should compensate them. One should not be simply compensated for their willingness to display affection and exchanges of intimacy in a work environment if not reported at first concern; I was old enough to know better, so I figured certainly anyone given a few years in either direction should have a clear understanding of such. I had dealt numerouy with narcissists and manipulators all of my life, and it almost seemed an immediate red flag that she seemed to want so much to be friends, especially after having audibly reported me for various discrepancies—besides the obsurdity that she had decisively slammed doors as a means of getting attention. Perhaps it was some sort of sponsorship of sorts, indeed that she was a gangstalker herself and was being incentivized to act in such ways. For weeks, we had fallen into the habit of overendowment by way of gift exchange. Still, these were blurred lines; and I thought it best to be ‘friends' with a dangerous person rather than actual enemies. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer, and of course—keep it light, and simple, and on the surface. She might have known my line of work, but nothing else, and it seemed that I might actually have the advantage here— besides her being Caucasian, obviously of privelege and wealth and my being multiracial. I knew more about her than she did about me, and, under the suspicion alone that she was a plant, and with the confirmation of my theory that she had also been burning sage, (now having done so admittedly knowing that the other neighbors would suspect and report me), and the apparent falling out with the other neighbors over something I had neither asked, nor was interested about— perhaps the simple fact was, I distrusted her immediately just with the intrinsic sense that she was untrustworthy; the type of woman who would knowingly sleep with a married man, and worse— with the intention of monetary gain in mind. The type of woman you don't want around your husband, period. In that way, perhaps it was simply that I was traumatized, once having been severely cheated on and lied to by a serial cheater and later wifebeater, that it was impossible to not see myself as ‘the wife'. Though now happily divorced and not quite straying from single, though planning to somehow be married again even if it was in the style of Elizabeth Taylor or, Richard Pryor—or even Marilyn Monroe, just repeating the process in insanity, I realized, however impractically, that I enjoyed being married, and monogamous—and even if this did make me a simple and easy target for infidelity, I had learned something very simple and wholesome about myself; I was a good woman. And I enjoyed that. —Tales of a Superstar DJ. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

Oh no, he's Skrillex. [Skrirrex] run awaaaayyyyyyyy! {Entet The Multiverse} Well, that was fun. Here's the deal, we're gonna give you a whole new look— a whole new Waaahh. Everything. I've been in new york two years and still haven't been to the brooklyn bridge ‘cause I don't want to fight the sudden urge to impulsively throw myself off of it. Notes: My first sketch: buffering. But I don't know how to pull off that little round thing in sketch form. I'm sure it can be done…somehow. Why are we writing sketches? Just trying something… different Two Pilot Scripts peloton arrival My general obsession with these curtains I am obsessed with these curtains George Carlin's magnificent body lol now when they slam the door there's a comforter under it so the mad stays outside. Dumb fucks. Whatever I lose respect at home wrecker. She seemed nice tho. That's how they operate. Man this judge gon forreal give this lil white girl 3 million dollars for doing some only fans shit for her boss— for free. I'm sorry ya'll, white folks really are lazy. They went and invented work from home, but you ever realize that was really only for the white people— all the white peoples have cushy stay at home jobs where all they do is zoom all day and they got all the ugly brown motherfuckers out here on mopeds delivering groceries and shit? You ever notice that? Please. You had better hope the judge in this case is not me, if you actually want to win this motherfucker. I would look at this case and go “Married man.. uh huh…two kids… uh huh— you thought you were in love—huh. Gave you a promotion. Uh huh. Screenshots. I see— and then you did what for him on a zoom call? Oh no, honey, huh uh. Case dismissed. You did wrong. You went and prayed on a married man, child! You know they are weak! You know this! How does that make the company owe you $3 million? HOW IS IT THE COMPANY'S FAULT THAT YOURE A HOE!? Huh uh. Take your dirty tennis shoe lazy instacarttttttt orderin ass eating-out-every-night BACK TO WORK!! And GET AWAY FROM THE DOOR. Slam that shit one more time, hoe! She's taking this homewrecker thing too seriously. When I said “you're a homewrecker” I didn't mean “Slam the door until It falls off”, I more meant How does being a hoe deserve you $3 million?! IT DONT. That's some shit! Can't trust these niggas— But you fo sho can't trust these hoes. I'm just sayin. We get the whole negro spiritual? The whooooole negro spiritual. Cause all this #metoo bullshit . You know any white judge in they white mind is gonna be all “This poor little victim.” Whatever! She ferocious! Got a snake and everything! Can't trust noooooobody. Nobody. NOBODY. My lawsuit legitimate. I got motorcycles all up and down the block all day and all night to the point where I'm starting to be just as ugly on the inside, as these motorcycle motherfuckers are on the outside— I got a twitch now— Pisses me off. I developed a tremor. It was just mind games at first, but now my body in jeopardy!? Kill yo self. Karma gon whoop yo ass now it's icy and shit. SSSSSTTTTH, That's the back of a truck on yo' engine revving weak dick ass. ——sssssssss—CUH. Outta here. Fucktards. And you know what!? I'm black. I'mma go to the judge with all these recordings And all these reports, And all these statements— And he's gonna look me up and down and go— “You know a lot of people would be lucky to have what you have.” That's what they say. That this bullshit is a stroke of “luck”. And it is. When it's quiet. But for the time being— When there's no motorcycles, There's a homewrecking Snake wrangling; Door slamming hoe next door— And she wants to be FRIENDS. So you know what: I'm a be her friend. For as long as I'm single. I fuck around and get a man? I'm ghost. I'm gone. Whatever. She finna get $3milliomnf For being a slimy old Snake ass Manipulative Husband stealing Hoe And move on up. Just as a reminder to us all That all you have to do to get away with murder Is be a little white girl. You take the high road, And I'll take the low road And I'll be a gettin there before yeeeeee. Ok. So the Irish weren't playing— The song literally say: You take the high road (The moral high ground) And I'll take the low road (The hoe road) Oh shit. I gotta keep reading this shit . I couldn't have made it up better myself. ANOTHER MAGICIAN! I told you magic had something to do with it. Oh, it's— Probably nothing; You know you don't like it When cold hard dependence Just knocks on your door When you're standing butt naked The front door was opened, You've been quite lethargic, And after all the trauma The Cold War is over It's dark, damp and crowded A laugh, not a gesture, A swallow, not a falcon A sparrow, not a letter A mistress?! Oh pardon, sire. A partridge, a harpist— A hard alcoholic, And no one knows what comes after. Ya are honest or what? What's up, faggots? I'm at church, for Christ sakes! It's my day off, and God Almighty and I are in a High stakes game, alright, Keep driving me crazy, keep driving the crime rate up, and in time you'll be behind bars, And out of my way. The Red Dawn has come upon And now the west has won, sequestered every equestrian Shit I lost it Just wait for it. Damn this blondie is awesome. Embezzeled every pedestrian? That might work… —that resembles It's so nice to meet you. I'll shoot you. What. Don't touch me, I'll shoot you. With what. Silver pistol, jacket pocket. Wow. It's nice to meet you, too. How did you get that in here? I walked in. Through security? I didn't go through security. The worst part about living in New York City, Is all the smartest people are concentrated— To the rich areas. The outskirts is just a bunch of dumb motherfuckers banging on shit, and in their small world, they're important. In their small world, they run shit. That's when I realized that in order to maintain a world where I'm important— And I run shit, I have to stay away, and above these dumb motherfuckers. I— —Ahem—whatever. It's time for some SMUT VEE.. That's a good nickname. Maaaan. How long's it gonna take me to write this show? Maybe forever. {Enter The Multiverse} Lil bitz Have you ever started watching a video and thought, “I don't know if I can watch this” Because of the narrator's voice? By the way, If you can listen to those tik tok videos with robot AI captions, you should get yourself checked for a micro chip. You might be a robot. Anyway, Have you ever decided, Like, three seconds into the video that the dude's voice is just—so shitty that it might make the video shitty? No? Just me? {Enter The Multiverse} I nearly cleaned out the little free library after discovering that on the top shelf there were a slew of cookbooks, and more additions to the bottom. I hadn't been out in three days, but it seemed there was still some high level effort to theorize on how to go about siphoning my personal energy from inside of the apartment— I was still being followed. As I cleared the little library, dividing the take between my three bags, a blur of an ingrate human being passed from my right, explicitly and with purpose letting out a loud and obnoxious open-mouth cough— immediately, I coughed back, knowing that in time, the things I had been subjected to by these people would come back at them with roaring force—why not help along that karmic justice by paying it forward now, besides of course, the fact that I had for two more days been silent. ‘Disgusting fucking creatures.' And just with that, the opened-mouth coughing of a low-level gangstalker, I was proud that I had considered my purchase both urgent and imminent; there was no certain way to go about shutting myself away from the world besides doing it, and now with winter's chill gripping at the nose and fingertips, a cold wind whipping about and ice afoot, all the more reason to step aside and inside to resume creation—and the less time I spent on the street level with the roach and rat like people — much too far from the glittering and glamour filled luxe of Manhattan to be refined, well behaved, or mild mannered, they much emulated a lesser species by their habits and limitations. it was a frequency I strayed far away from, however— I had made it easy for them to stalk me on this particular morning, while although leaving for groceries at close to five or something of the like, and still being followed even then by the strange and shadowy type that at least stayed silent and kept great enough distance that it didn't bother too much, (besides the knowing that it never seemed seemed what time it actually was), that if I left my apartment at all, I would be followed; But, I had doubled back for the books after just by habit, though with a heavy load of groceries—baking goods and other heavy things I normally didn't buy, plus breakfast foods for the long haul, a self-initiated lockdown— and I knew that the later into the day it got, the more ‘sims' (a term I had deemed the robotic gangstalkers sent about remote controlled by their devices, whether they were doing it with intention or by force, or not.) They seemed at the disposal of the controllers, and while some of the sims were just weird, robotic drone-like people, many of them seemed dangerous—their frequencies almost creating such a friction that it seemed a disease to be in their presence. It had become clear that though docile and complacent, human beings had become weaponized by force, and the only thing keeping a revolution from emerging or a civil war from breaking out, was the intense divisiveness amongst people. People chose to remain as slaves, in utter complacency. I was skinnyish from running and awaiting the arrival of my Peloton, however. There was still 24 hours between now and then, the arrival of the beast and though I had spent the day before completely off grid, instead enjoying my now small library—though needing to be properly re-sorted, as collecting more literature had made a mess of things, (and though I had picked up a toy Hello Kitty Ukulele as wall decoration), I still somewhat refused to buy rugs or other practical decor or furniture, such as bookcases or even a bed. I was being stalked, followed and regularly tortured by sound and vibration interference— frequencies aimed directly into my abode, especially at times when I had wanted to rest, and though I could have avoided entirely at least some of these awful people by just leaving a little earlier, I then would have missed the all-too-beautiful reddened hues of the east coast sunrise; I had actually never seen such a ruby red light cast upon the Brooklyn brownstones, and although the people were sometimes ugly (the open-mouthed coughing ingrates, that is), the red and gold sunlight over the fallen leaves and east coast architecture almost made it worth it—and with any reckoning, my coughing back at the nasty little monster was a telltale sign that eventually, I'd either start beating the shit out of people when they coughed at me in public — or — I'd eventually craft a world without them in it by staking away from them, and taking long breaks from practicing behaviors and habits they exhibited. I no longer wanted to fit in, or become popular, or accepted, as I had finally realized that it was just as it always was, back in school: the popular people, even in music, “art”, and what was supposed to be “culture” weren't very bright—they were just brighter than enough of the people around them to get ahead by just enough whether by looks, money, or sometimes but rarely now, even, superior talent. They had been elected as representatives of the masses—the common man, the not-too-smart; the easily manipulated, and the docile. The superficial next generation was programmed to be limited to what had already happened; a stalemate in ingenuity, high art, and evolutionary consciousness in culture had been reached, as observed by dealings with the public world, as I studied their listening habits, social normalcies, and collective behaviors. The less time spent interacting with these ‘sims' and drones, the more in-depth my thoughts began to flourish—seeing in full color spectrums and patterns, acting and thinking in ways I was blessed to be abnormal in. I was no longer complacent in a world full of material greed and commercial competition, no longer feigning for mere objects that simply with decent credit anyone could go well into debt for—and most did. Instead, I would wear my same recycled clothes, keep to myself and my business, and craft from within some kind of masterpiece the world itself could no better inspire than I on my own. I was now the proud owner of a small library—and into my list of small but sacred prized possessions, two pilot television scripts from the era before which Television had deteriorated, in the onslaught of streaming culture; these two pilot scripts, neatly bracketed and crammed in between classic novels and cookbooks, were my happiest find since the treadmill, and of course— the Omega Juicer I still wasn't sure would ever work, but at least, watching the 11-year-old instruction video had given me a proper laugh, and besides not having the patience to further explore whether I had put it together incorrectly, or if it simply no longer operated, it was a device worth further considering spending time in order to try to make it work, before spending something awful on a machine of equal or lesser value. The treadmill had worked right away, and I was now clocking in segmented runs of about 4 miles a day— working my way up to seven, with the actual notion and belief that it was those Madonna-length runs which had manifested this apartment, and, that with the Peloton and those runs combined perhaps, if I were to stay in New York, an apartment in one of those tall shiny buildings in Manhattan would manifest itself—only second, of course, to a house in the Hollywood Hills. As for America, there was nowhere else I could I should be, I thought, and something strange had happened without my noticing—without any promotion whatsoever, I had garnered an unusually high amount of streams on I Love New York— surprisingly, with global response. I had gained followers and listeners in London, Germany, and Spain— top countries for dance music, and as I studied my metrics, I realized that the type of music I found easiest to make was performing the best; House and Techno snobs never changing, I had found a niché, and, another interesting point I had gathered was to find the Uptown A, without any promotion or live performance, was gaining traction and followers. Though minimal, without any effort, the numbers climbed all on their own. I found it astonishing that with no promotion at all, somehow, the album had circulated. Now I wished I had the focus and prayed for a way to finish the short film, or, collection or videos with a vague storyline which connected them together—however anyone wanted to see it, if they ever would. I was still largely out of storage space, and the phenomenon that the psychological terror attacks seemed to happen most frequently while online and even connected to my own private network, the more time I spent online the more time I spent under the blankets of honking horns, ravaged by motorcycles and modified engines, though—I found none of these people to be impressive or very powerful; their being counterproductive only alluded to the simple fact that it had become clear more people were born or made through neglect of some sort to be more useless than not— and so in effect, had to make use of themselves in other ways. I was almost trying to forge an alliance with the neighbor, but there was still some deepseated mistrust that probably had less to do with her race than her gender acclimations. I attempted not to judge, but it tormented me that anyone could knowingly sleep with a married man in exchange for a job and then expect 3 million for it was beyond me. Her unexpected visits and eagerness to see inside of my apartment was a discomfort, but to discover the likelihood of her induction to the wealthy— a millionaire status— angered me, but I was sure it was meant to, in that she herself was either some sort of plant, or a gangstalker who had been sent to gaslight in some sort of way— procuring information in one way or another or simply to plant seeds in my mind that hadn't needed to be there. It seemed she was in need of something—information, and that her motivations went beyond curiosity, however misjudged I might have been. Her actions seemed provocative and invasive, and however—the restlessness was already out of hand. I did my best to keep the peace, knowing all too well that a privalaged person made upset could be damaging and destructive. I had lived long enough to understand that, in fact, a cute little white girl could get her way with just about anything, using their ideal status and high regard as a tool of manipulation. I had no doubt that she would probably get her way— millions of dollars for doing nothing and being offended by it/- or even further, that it was all just an elaborate story crafted to further crank my brain, in addition to the motorcycles, the door slamming, and of course being followed to the gyms here-and-there and having had the entire year of living here being a nearly intolerably, noise filled nightmare. She had, after all, gone through wild and extraneous efforts to forage her way into being friends or something of the like, and, in my final attempt at being human, I thought to at the very least try to understand the idea of friendship, though probably having become forever unable to actually attain it. Friendship required trust, and, after hearing about her lawsuit, apparently for having had an extramarital affair with her married boss, with whom she “believed” was “in love with her”, it was perhaps the initial feeling of discomfort which had foundationally placed this person in the danger zone—that there was ‘just something' I couldn't trust about her—and I wondered as a future business owner how it might be the company's fault for her obvious moral defects. Further solidifying every reason to never pursue a married man, I pondered this; that in the modern practice of validating feminine toxicity and masquerading it as ‘justice' or ‘feminism' only further keeps women away as a whole from obtaining equality— on the moral high ground that one should not sleep with her boss, or should immediately report threatening behavior rather than to allow it in exchange for professional promotion, it only seems that the tactic of manipulation has to at some point come into play when indeed, over a period of time, one has gathered enough evidence to factor in a judgement that the company should compensate them. One should not be simply compensated for their willingness to display affection and exchanges of intimacy in a work environment if not reported at first concern; I was old enough to know better, so I figured certainly anyone given a few years in either direction should have a clear understanding of such. I had dealt numerouy with narcissists and manipulators all of my life, and it almost seemed an immediate red flag that she seemed to want so much to be friends, especially after having audibly reported me for various discrepancies—besides the obsurdity that she had decisively slammed doors as a means of getting attention. Perhaps it was some sort of sponsorship of sorts, indeed that she was a gangstalker herself and was being incentivized to act in such ways. For weeks, we had fallen into the habit of overendowment by way of gift exchange. Still, these were blurred lines; and I thought it best to be ‘friends' with a dangerous person rather than actual enemies. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer, and of course—keep it light, and simple, and on the surface. She might have known my line of work, but nothing else, and it seemed that I might actually have the advantage here— besides her being Caucasian, obviously of privelege and wealth and my being multiracial. I knew more about her than she did about me, and, under the suspicion alone that she was a plant, and with the confirmation of my theory that she had also been burning sage, (now having done so admittedly knowing that the other neighbors would suspect and report me), and the apparent falling out with the other neighbors over something I had neither asked, nor was interested about— perhaps the simple fact was, I distrusted her immediately just with the intrinsic sense that she was untrustworthy; the type of woman who would knowingly sleep with a married man, and worse— with the intention of monetary gain in mind. The type of woman you don't want around your husband, period. In that way, perhaps it was simply that I was traumatized, once having been severely cheated on and lied to by a serial cheater and later wifebeater, that it was impossible to not see myself as ‘the wife'. Though now happily divorced and not quite straying from single, though planning to somehow be married again even if it was in the style of Elizabeth Taylor or, Richard Pryor—or even Marilyn Monroe, just repeating the process in insanity, I realized, however impractically, that I enjoyed being married, and monogamous—and even if this did make me a simple and easy target for infidelity, I had learned something very simple and wholesome about myself; I was a good woman. And I enjoyed that. —Tales of a Superstar DJ. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

Steiny & Guru debate what the most frustrating part about the San Francisco 49ers is THIS season and where things went off the rail most.

Send us a textThis week, Tyler and John question where the podcast goes from here. They also break down Mark Zuckerberg and T-Pain teaming up for a baffling remake of "Get Low," The Goo Goo Dolls and Dashboard Confessional touring together, and My Chemical Romance announcing a massive North American tour for 2025...and managing to enrage fans in the process. (Ticketmaster, we're looking at you!) We also discuss rumors of new Oasis music, All Time Low being cleared of allegations, Jelly Roll accusing Charli XCX of chart rigging, and Spitalfield making a comeback. Drama, nostalgia, and chaos—just another day in music news!Support the showAs always, thanks for listening! Want to listen to this podcast on your favorite podcast player? You can do so here. Please consider rating and reviewing this podcast. A solid rating can really help us reach more listeners just like you, and that's our ultimate goal.If you're interested in supporting our show, you can do so here.Want even more news? Sign up for our weekly newsletter and get all of the relevant music news and music releases from the week. It really is the best way to keep up with all of the happenings from the scene. Sign up now!Check out our merch store here!Are you a fan of the scene and want to be a guest on the pod? Fill out the form here.

With the election TOMORROW (have you voted or made a plan to vote?) we had to discuss .... what is it about women having power that makes certain individuals (read: mostly men) so peeved?  The idea of a woman in power intimidates and angers a certain group of people, by and large men, because it challenges cultural gender role norms. It disrupts the domestic power imbalance so carefully put in place by many organized religions. And it means that if women can do everything men can do [better], what's next? Will men start to be treated the same way they've treated us for centuries....? Gasp! Not that! Let's talk a little history, a little misogyny and a little hot dish.  Remember, YOUR VOTE MATTERS. Now more than ever. Get yer ass to the polls tomorrow and fill in those little ovals you patriotic people!   As we approach our 100th episode of Toxic, we have a special favor to ask of you. If you enjoy the podcast, will you please take two minutes and rate and review us on whatever platform you're on? Did you know there are over 4.19 million podcasts in the world? You have more than a few to choose from. Which is why standing out as a little podcast like ours is rough. We believe we have important issues to discuss and women to fight for, so please help us by doing this one simple thing to elevate Toxic just a tad.  Do you have a story you think we need to discuss or a guest we should have on? Visit us at ToxicthePodcast.com and tell us all about it.  As always, if you are experiencing abuse or domestic violence, please consider disclosing to someone you trust. You can also reach out to a trained domestic violence advocate—find one near you at DomesticShelters.org.  

Today on "Don't@ME", ESPN's “Mr. Greedy”, Charles Barkley rips turner and Georgia has LACKLUSTER Fans? Host of the "The Michele Tafoya Podcast" Michele Tafoya joins Dan with reaction to Tim Walz' debate vs JD Vance and the Chiefs starting 5-0 despite Mahomes not playing his best football this season. Plus, Host VSIN Network, Dave Ross on the Jets firing HC Robert Saleh and big bets for the football weekend. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

MeidasTouch host Ben Meiselas reports on Donald Trump losing his voters who are now endorsing VP Harris in the final days of the election. Get an exclusive offer of 40% off a Calm Premium SubscrIption at https://calm.com/meidas Visit https://meidastouch.com for more! Join the MeidasTouch Patreon: https://Patreon.com/meidastouch Remember to subscribe to ALL the MeidasTouch Network Podcasts: MeidasTouch: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/meidastouch-podcast Legal AF: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/legal-af MissTrial: https://meidasnews.com/tag/miss-trial The PoliticsGirl Podcast: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/the-politicsgirl-podcast The Influence Continuum: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/the-influence-continuum-with-dr-steven-hassan Mea Culpa with Michael Cohen: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/mea-culpa-with-michael-cohen The Weekend Show: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/the-weekend-show Burn the Boats: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/burn-the-boats Majority 54: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/majority-54 Political Beatdown: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/political-beatdown Lights On with Jessica Denson: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/lights-on-with-jessica-denson On Democracy with FP Wellman: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/on-democracy-with-fpwellman Uncovered: https://www.meidastouch.com/tag/maga-uncovered Coalition of the Sane: https://meidasnews.com/tag/coalition-of-the-sane Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

-------------------------------------------------- Support our show sponsor at:  https://shellshockcbd.com/ https://johnburk.com https://www.1920brand.com/ ------------------------------------------ Follow John's socials at: TWITCH: https://www.twitch.tv/johnburkofficial LOCALS: https://www.locals.com/member/johnburk RUMBLE: https://rumble.com/c/JohnBurk Kick app: https://kick.com/johnburk Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/@johnburkofficial Twitter: https://twitter.com/johnburk39 Truth Social: https://truthsocial.com/@JohnBurk Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/johnburkig

Bobby Griff and Rik are here and talking about: Al Snow and Pepper Horror trailers Capri Sun drama Where did the Hum Hum Cum From? Women in the news and crazy animal news including BOMBING MICE! Come on in, and get yourself Effin' Cultured!

$1000 Minute advantage (0:07), what the fact (3:15), bad gym etiquette (4:09), What's Trending: Steve Martin pisses off Canada, Air Canada & Mattea Roach (14:45), $1000 Minute (21:45), describe your summer in 2 words (27:00), Sean Paul dramatic reading (36:57), Nathan MacKinnon dt Hali (41:25), Mindbender: 20% of people have this on them at all times! (43:40) Follow us on Instagram: @MOVE100Halifax, @ErinHopkinsFM & @PeterAtMove100  

____ ⏯ See the Life of a 7-Figure Entrepreneur on My YouTube Channel:  https://www.youtube.com/@therealbrianmark ——

Tobin gives us headlines and injury updates from around the NFL Connor Williams also beating science in Seattle? + More Jets Drama Jimmy Butler pisses off a pro Poker Player

TTO-196 Spiderman II Gay, Squid Arms Tentacles, Octopus, Phallus Iceberg, Church England Naked Anus, Mexican Neighbor Party Cops Bull RidingOne Hand, Electric Bus, Pisses of Nebraska Fans, Monorail, Raw Dog Flight, Trouser Snakes, House of Dragon Recaps, Project 25, Star Wars Disney Sucks, Jordan Caller, 

In this episode, Toni and I cover the latest news from Tiktok, Wix and the most recent thing Google has done to piss sellers off. Out of all of the ecommerce companies, TikTok seems to be innovating the fastest and will become a much bigger player in the future. What You’ll Learn The newest features of TikTok Latest update on Wix How Google pissed a lot of sellers off Sponsors SellersSummit.com – The Sellers Summit is the ecommerce conference that I’ve run for the past 8 years. It’s small and intimate and you’ll learn a ton! Click Here To Grab […] The post 546: Google Pisses Off Sellers And The Latest Updates From TikTok appeared first on MyWifeQuitHerJob.com.

Zeolite

Rob gets arrested

DC Appellate DENIES lard butt Bannon's cry to stay out of prison!Trump appointed judge Walker signs off on releasing Bannon and RECOMMENDS AND APPEAL!Trump Appointed judge Cannon continues to DISHONOR her own courtroom through a LARGELY EVIDENTIt's Raining ShitAnother MAGA lie argument goes down the toilet!A message to Caitlyn Jenner and the transgender community!Supreme Court upholds ban on ownership of weapons for anyone under the restrictions of a domestic violence restraining order

- Matty breaks down the Tom Brady Patriots retirement ceremony - Celtics are up 3-0 in the NBA Finals! - John Henry has some harsh words for Red Sox fans --- Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/legends-lingo/support

Some would say "everything" some would say "nothing"

Buy our new shirt https://www.fanrunradio.com/shop/p/wgpia-things-tee. Patreon.com/ReedsRanch. In this conversation, Jon and Cody discuss the technical difficulties they faced in uploading a video episode, Jon's experience throwing the first pitch at a baseball game, and their thoughts on recent news events. They also give shoutouts to listeners who purchased their merchandise. The conversation covers various topics including selling t-shirts, reading YouTube comments, power ranking women in different cities, and discussing intense fear dreams. Cody shares a dream about being in hell and being shot, while Jon talks about his fear of the Celtics winning and his recurring dream of driving off a bridge. They also touch on their preferences for women in different cities and Cody's goth girl phase. In this final part of the conversation, Jon and Cody discuss various topics, including Jon's bedwetting issue, Cody's comedy set, changes at Cracker Barrel, fish oil pills, and Cody's Uber experiences. They also touch on the decline of church attendance and the state of American society. The conversation ends with a discussion about the NCAA baseball tournament and Jon's plans for the weekend.

Holmberg's Morning Sickness - Brady Report - Wednesday May 29, 2024 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Holmberg's Morning Sickness - Brady Report - Wednesday May 29, 2024 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Why Harrison Butker Is Absolutely Correct and Why This Pisses Off the Left

5-15-24 Afternoon Rush - Chiefs Kicker's BIZARRE SPEECH Pisses Off Taylor Swift Fans & Bachelor Star Discusses Coming Out Today's Podcast Is Sponsored By Ro Body! Go to RO DOT CO SLASH RUSHHOUR Sign up today and you'll pay just $99 for your first month—and $145 a month after that. Medication costs are separate. That's R…O…DOT…C…O SLASH RUSHHOUR

A Daily "Buzz 24/7" feature from Greg & The Morning Buzz

Hear the WHOLE show for the first time anytime of day with The Morning Buzz On Demand.

Kevin Scampoli and Geno The Bull say the N word a lot on https://havegrit.club

Kevin Scampoli and Geno The Bull say the N word a lot on https://havegrit.club 

Today I wanted to take it back to my roots and talk about what pisses me off! I do this by reading my old book I published 7 years ago! Thank you to our sponsors: Skims and HomeChef http://www.skims.com (let them know I sent you!) http://www.homechef.com/Rachel Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Packers general manager Brian Gutekunst was asked about chasing the Lions in the NFC North

Yeeeeeeeeeees the Minis. I'm joined by Scoot, Sean & Darc as we cover off some strange topics, including eating raw chicken, our favourite instagram profiles, scenic pisses & whether a grown man should be wearing triangle undies still. Enjoy!   Contact Email - mailbag@dylandfriends.com Instagram - @dylbuckley @dylandfriends Youtube - @dylandfriends Facebook - dylandfriends Tiktok - @dylandfriends   Dyl & Friends is produced by Dylan Buckley & Darcy Parkinson Video and audio production by Producey. ILY xx

JACKSON IS GOING TO JAIL! (1:13)AUDACY'S ODYSSEY CONTINUES (5:09)THE NFL PISSES A LOT OF PEOPLE OFF….! (10:57)IHEART DOES A REORG!  AGAIN! (17:23)Welcome to the only podcast/video blog that talks about all kinds of media…and the impact on local sales and management.  Two media execs, Jackson Weaver and Keith Samuels do this each Wednesday.  Produced by InTown Media we welcome comments at jackson@intownmedia.com  Website www.intownmedia.comMedia Insultant is produced each Wednesday as Jackson Weaver & Keith Samuels offer comments, ideas and sometimes snarky comments about the current media landscape. They focus on radio and TV primarily - but also any media that is relevent or beneficial to media sales and management. Videos are under the Media Insultant Showcase on Vimeo. Comments are always welcome at jackson@intownmedia.com Thanks for listening!

mark climbs the jungle gym just to piss on rob, rob lights marks genitals on fire.

Funky Dineva and Al Reynolds are dishing the latest celebrity gossip with Claudia Jordan. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Jess Piper is @piper4missouriCorey Deangelis Curated Bio As A Lobbyist@TheHeartlandPOD on Twitter and Threadshttps://heartlandpod.com/JOIN PATREON FOR MORE - AND JOIN OUR SOCIAL NETWORK!“Change The Conversation”Gust: Jared Yates Sexton - Hoosier, Political Analyst, Muckrake Podcast, Author THE MIDNIGHT KINGDOM: A HISTORY OF POWER, PARANOIA, AND THE COMING CRISISWebsite:https://www.jysexton.com/ Substack: https://jaredyatessexton.substack.com/Twitter: @JYSexton Jess Piper Substack: https://jesspiper.substack.com/

Some stuff that PISSES us off, some may piss you off as well.

Ep 210: American Academy should scare the shit out of you, Tubberville pisses off his own, Ivanka to testify, Pence is out, MTG is pissed, MAGA cultist going to prison, we lost a Friend, & NFL picks --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/tom-powell-jr/message Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/tom-powell-jr/support

Dax Holt and Adam Glyn get you caught up on the biggest stories in Hollywood in the Raw Rundown! The guys talk about the latest bombshells dropped in Britney Spears' new memoir, rumors of Mauricio Umansky and his DWTS partner Emma Slater in a relationship, Dave Chappelle's jokes on Israel and Hamas have people very upset, & MORE! Take a dive into Hollywood unlike any you've done before. Real, raw, and uncensored. Join us as we talk to celebs living their lives in front of the cameras AND hear from the paparazzi, bodyguards, and private flight attendants that surround them. Find out what your favorite celebrities are REALLY like. Hosted by entertainment news veteran Dax Holt and NYC photojournalist Adam Glyn. Follow Hollywood Raw TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@hollywoodraw  Instagram:instagram.com/hollywoodrawpod Facebook:facebook.com/HollywoodRawPodcast Twitter: twitter.com/hollywoodraw  Dax Holt Insta:https://www.instagram.com/daxholt/ Twitter: twitter.com/daxholt TikTok: tiktok.com/@dax_holt Adam Glyn Insta: https://www.instagram.com/adamglyn/ Twitter: https://twitter.com/adamglyn TikTok: tiktok.com/@adamglyn YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/c/AdamsAppleNYC/ This is another Hurrdat Media Production. Hurrdat Media is a podcast network and digital media production company based in Omaha, NE. Find more podcasts on the Hurrdat Media Network by going to HurrdatMedia.com or Hurrdat Media YouTube channel! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Get 20% OFF @manscaped + Free Shipping with promo code WESAYTHINGS20 at https://MANSCAPED.com #ad #manscapedpod Timestamps: 00:00 Start 04:30 SUNSfan is sick 08:01 Voice Line story 14:16 Valve Tour 36:08 TI 12 results and predictions Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

If you believe like I do, that Donald Trump is an existential threat to our democracy, then you must publicly say that you'll support the only person who can beat Trump: Joe Biden.

In this weeks episode, we go over the different little things that piss us off and argue over the dumbest questions as always

Behavior Gap Radio: www.behaviorgapradio.com/

For years, the Unity Engine has operated with a royalty-free licensing structure, which meant developers incurred no extra costs based on how well a game sold. On Tuesday, however, the company announced of a new fee structure that will start charging developers on a "per-install" basis.  "We're not nickel-and-diming people," Unity CEO John Riccitiello once memorably said. "When we say it's free, it's free." LOL. We discuss this deeply unpopular move by Unity and take bets on how long it will be before the company walks it back entirely.We'll also be talking about Microsoft's brand new Xbox credit card, how Square Enix has lost nearly $2 billion in value since the launch of Final Fantasy 16 (and a new report has cast doubt on the company's ability to recover), and the announcement that Nintendo is sunsetting Mario Kart Tour next month.Finally, Blue takes us to Subcon with Mario & Luigi in the first ever Gamers Week Book Club.We love our sponsors! Please help us support those who support us!- Check out the Retro Game Club Podcast at linktr.ee/retrogameclub- Connect with CafeBTW at linktr.ee/cafebtw- Visit A Gamer Looks At 40 at linktr.ee/agamerlooksat40Hosts: @retrogamebrews, @wrytersview, @donniegretro Opening theme: "Gamers Week Theme" by Akseli TakanenPatron theme: "Chiptune Boss" by @donniegretroClosing theme: "Gamers Week Full-Length Theme" by Akseli TakanenSupport the show

We're back from 4th of July and have a lot to talk about. Joey Chestnut is the greatest american ever. Threads happened and we're over it. Hank is taking the summer off so leave him alone. Victor Wembanyama vs Britney Spears (00:00:00-00:26:03). Who's back of the week including Wimbledon, eating, UFC and more (00:26:03-00:59:38). Sam Darnold joins the show to talk about TEU, his career, seeing ghosts and actually seeing ghosts at George Kittle's house, Adam Gase's hyperdrive, USC and more. (00:59:38-01:31:56) Mt Rushmore of best pisses (01:31:56-01:56:08) . We finish up with Monday Reading The Reply Guys Who Won, Repeatedly commenting on your crush's twitter posts is a terrible dating strategy...until it isn't (01:56:08-02:10:39).You can find every episode of this show on Apple Podcasts, Spotify or YouTube. Prime Members can listen ad-free on Amazon Music. For more, visit barstool.link/PardonMyTake

How the heck does everyone know to put the cutlery in the top draw and tea towels & glad wrap in the 3rd? A Complete Drivel investigation. We also run through a list of inspection nightmares after Producer Nat encountered something strange AND I introduce a new segment  that i think you'll like ... things that really PISS. US. OFF! LINKS Follow @christianhull on Instagram  Follow @listnrentertainment on Instagram   CREDITS Host: Christian HullProducer: Natalie Turner Audio Imager: Nial Fernandes Social Producer: Amber Lowther Supervising Producer: Elise Cooper  Find more great podcasts like this at www.listnr.com/See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.