Podcasts about plastered

Korn the band, Kim K, plaster, grunge, babies, Van Gogh, shoutouts, and our first “Curator Burn.”Join the friends as they visit the show Plastered by Nicole Eisenman at Anton Kern Gallery.

On this episode of The Cybersecurity Defenders Podcast, we share both parts of 'When the Lights Went Out in Ukraine.'Beginning on January 13th, 2022, a Russian APT installed wiper malware on the IT networks of government, NGO, and IT companies across Ukraine. The malicious program was designed to appear like ransomware, but contained no recovery feature – it simply destroyed any computer it wished. Just one day later, hackers from the intelligence service of Belarus – Russia's close ally – took down 70 websites belonging to the Ukrainian government. This was tilling – laying down the foundation for an all-out ground attack. Plastered on the 70 downed websites was a message from the attackers: “be afraid,” they wrote, and expect the worst.”This episode was written by the talented Nathaniel Nelson, narrated by Christopher Luft, and produced by the team at LimaCharlie.And a special thank you to Robert Lipovsky for sharing his first-hand knowledge.

It was marky mark and Channing Tatum, but in the dream they were just my friends. They were hanging out in Vegas and I dropped by to say hi, but I had to get going. I was renting a white Beamer SUV which I thought was too nice for me. Thought about going back to say hello but had to convince my parents. Dumb. At least I figured out who those two shirtless dudes were. Oh they also had that guy from Dexter with them. That's correct. And an old dude. But what is that dudes name? Idk. Shirtless dude three. SHIRTLESS DUDE 3 You mean me. God, that Beamer was nice. It was white. It was white, but it was also a rental. I don't know if I could see myself getting a white car. It was pearlescent white though, kind of cream, but with sparkles. You're right, that's a different kind of white. Why would they let me drive this thing? I can drive, I was more surprised anyone would let me rent a car after the Enterprise fiasco. Luckily, it was under my mom's name. Well, this is fucked up. {Enter The Multiverse} My dellisions of granduer sure are fire right now Are you sure you don't know who you are Or where I'll be right there On the highway to hell Like a baseball bat out of heaven I wear my hat backwards, Cause I'm the only one To throw shade On my back end Can I just say, I really like the gangster version of deadmau5. Oh SHIT, There he go. RUN, BLAT-BLAT. (Still Canadian tho) Ah, FUCK, man. What suh tho?! I'm out of gas, eh. The car's out of gas?! Ammo, bud! Oh shit, aight. Must have been surfing in the dream, because I was eating lots of fish and cool about it. That's true! I only ever eat fish when I'm surfing. Why were we in Vegas then? No, the guys were in Vegas, I was just visiting. That doesn't seem like the place to just “visit”. Maybe it was EDC, I don't know. Then why were we eating fish!? That was in another part of the dream. Oh. So we were traveling? I guess so. That sounds rich. Stephen Colbert stands over Jimmy Kimmel with a wooden sword, hitting him repeatedly, yelling KING ME. OW. NO. KING ME. OW, WHAT THE FUCK MAN! KING ME! OWC, knock it OFF! He overpowers Colbert and takes the wooden sword. GIVE ME THAT. he thwaps him with the sword one good time. OW. EXACTLY. Fuck outta here! Why won't you king me?! What makes you think I'm in charge of Kinging?! You wrote the game! I co-wrote the game—with-very minimal effort, by the way, other people— Including my//yourself. Was I there? Gee, maybe not… Seriously, I don't know where my head is sometimes. Plastered inside of the television. Like literally?! I guess. In or on. Anyway, if you're unhappy with your lowly, monocle status, you should talk to The Creator. Who's the creator? Nobody really seems to know… Well then, how am i supposed to talk to him,? Let's find out, Wait, what. One… Jimmy Kimmel Begins to morph into a bird, feathers first and more slowly than usual. What is that? [via tootsie pops owl] Two-hoo! I feel like I've heard this before somewhere. THREE! OH MY GAAA—AAHHHHH! Suddenly, Jimmy Kimmel is transformed into a giant-esque owl. WHAT THE FUCK!!!!!! Jimmy Kimmel swoops above him, grabbing Colbert by the shoulders, as he screams inconsolably. He begins to fly out of the oversized window, then doubles back for a moment, hovering over the wooden sword. Get the sword! YOU CAN STILL TALK? GET THE SWORD. He lowers Colbert down to the sword, his talons digging deeply into his shoulders—it looks like this probably hurts a lot, he meekly but with great f air grabs the sword, and his feed dangle as the owl takes flight, bawking, Of course I can still tallk; I'm smarter than your actual human self! SO IT WAS YOU WHO ATE MY TOOTSIE POP. JIMMY KIMMEL the OWL lets out a deep and bellowing meniacal laugh as he takes flight, STEPHEN COLBERT crying in shame. NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! {Enter The Multiverse} Gotta take it real hard Hang down, head in shame Strong arm, the charms off Work hard, the thigh gap Gets a good man Get the gap tooth fixed, Maybe bleach a few shades Paula Patton, or whatever Zoe Kravitz, like My Time's up; I want to be a good mom Hey, Lorne won't like me Hey, hey, Lorne won't like me at all. What's up on the network I'm waiting on my closeup I take lessons real hard I want to be a good mom, Or if not A long gone alcoholic I mean long gone I mean long gone I mean long gone I mean woke up, blacked out Still pedaling forward on the peloton A skeleton I mean long, long gone No, Lorne don't like me at all What's in the back of the bus? A diversity hire, Fresh out of Harvard university What's on the top of the tube Well, a fresh pack of lubricated condoms, If you really want to know No raw dog What's on the top of the morning An hour on the Peloton, Another in the tub, Doc What's on your mind? Are you really on the road? (No raw dog) Woah, If you really want to know I'm in love, So you're all of them, Until I come, And then you just, Run off like a ghost I'm in the room with a body, And you're not her, I must have gone off the hard stuff (on behalf of Oliver) What if you wrote your book, Knowing who might open it? Who wrote the forward, Colbert. Tough crowd— Now I'm out of folks to come up on, After all that hard stuff Simply won't go on I want to be a good mom, But so much for that It goes well up my spine, Like an epidural, I'm all out of experience. I've got 30 minutes of torture left But I'm all out of droplets, From the hyperdermal contraption I've strapped on And the 4 kilometer run And the dance number to Beyoncé, Of course. (It was Destiny's child, But I was dancing to Beyoncè) It was Destiny's Child, But I was dancing to Beyoncé, Also. “Aw, love…” I always gawk, When couples go on as they do, Even if it occurs that, The one I love, Dawns his beloved And arm and arm My heart weighs just a ton I can't even hear the words anymore It's just all for numbers One for Oliver I can't even hear the words anymore It's just for numbers Almost a Californian As long as I just keep going And don't eat Before sweating it all off in the tub Now the scar on the inside of my lip lights up And raises Just at the sound of []; Had better not touch that one, Put the sides to the side And mark the folder Do not touch Move off of it And wonder what the fuck That number was all for All four I could fly a kite Out of that thing on your back— Impresario If that be the case, Than that makes them the rock, Then what of the kite, And the wind And the string So I wanna kill you. Impresario I'll be Lennon And you be the other. I've got my Yoko out on tour Impresario I work hard for a broke heart Just for songs Impresario Get the monster out Put it all on him Like a kite in the wind Put it all on him Ad hominum/ homonym ATTN: Jimmy Fallon. JIMMY FALLON receives a large shipment of grade A douches, with one simple sticky note which reads an anonymous message in neat cursive. ‘Likeness is what your attract.' Why do I have some of your memories? Before: Hmmm… Where can I offload these? I need more storage. L E G E N D S Bpm: animal rights I'm a slave —for your love I'm a slave —for your love I'm a slave —for your love I'm a slave for your love. As I'm taking my time considering whether or not to buy pure, 100% Organic a grade maple syrup, letting out a heavy sigh at the brave of green coated indidivuals who just so happened to not really need anything in the aisle, but just walk by, also just so happened this last man, who appeared to resemble none other than— CUT TO: Seth Meyers. We meet again. We've never met. Oh, you don't remember? I don't remember things that never happened. Oh, really. Really. Well. I beg to differ. Don't beg. It's an expression. For the first time throughout the series run—we stand corrected—however, and possibly just rather, because this is the movie— And not the series at all. *gasp* Now… what the fuck did I come in here to actually write? —I don't remember. True facts. But— More importantly— why did I toggle on the internet? FUCK. Why, what happened? I just remembered I was online and listening to deadmau5. Ah, shit. Is that such a bad thing? It's like…it's like a guilty pleasure— Seriously? Like Drake, now, except I almost wish I hadn't gone about putting them in that scene together. Why. Cause they're Canadian? No! I mean yes— Must—more—Peloton—get— WAISTED. Fuck. I don't know how much I weigh. So how do you know you're not already 120 lbs . Well, let's see here. 110… What the fuck is a silent basketball?!! Still don't know. {Enter the multiverse} Are you sponsored by Bud Wiser? [why] Just answer the question: Are you sponsored by Budweiser? No. (?) Cause you look like a Clydesdale. Your answer should have been. “Nay”. You and me weren't meant to be friends We're not meeting in real life Or, we already did, but hey We'll never meet again. Just another magic trick Just another magic trick It's like hanging at a rave on a Saturday late night. Or early am Or more Spending the night With an old friend, Then waking up to realize when you finally lift yourself up from the couch, You've been all alone The whole time The magic is gone, And you're still feeling under, disturbed —and jealous of her, of course. Knock it off, go for a long soak And remember the Oath you once took Just for fun and only out of A hint of desperation, Unable to escape from him But remember to remember what his name is At some point B A R T H O There it is again The evil and crawling thing in the distance That says I belong to him L E M Perhaps once, But you'd might as well run along And into a different body, Disguised as something I could never even notice To even get close to me Ū I'd bet my last dollar you couldn't do that I'd go all in at the end of that long poker table The tournament, still rolling on And I've not made lunch yet It was a long party, A long supper An even longer dessert And the forever order For ever after What a laugh There's too many of us Stranded out here, I'll never get over — if you needed closer, I've written it on a cardboard box, With a penny for your thoughts, 3-1 and still keeping it simple; I kept my intentions just as hidden in the numbers As the apples in the barrel, unbranded After all, I am famished, And not quite yet has it been 24 hours. I like all your music. Like a shotgun to the face I want to end it. I'm still floating out in space, I guess Recommended Reassigned and Disestablished— Resigned but terrified of it Fried tofu on the orifice Your or her face With a red dress From just behind, Indecision, regrets, And then, of course I wake up. So duotone, your honor. Fuck magnets, I want to go digging up colors I love corpses. Sara Black is so white I could see right through her. I tripped and fell in your eyes for a multi second. If I creep up expressing my love, he'll send them faster The devil: direct to you— More beautiful women There's less of me today. It didn't seem to take long to notice at all, running the soap over my body as it lathered, that there was overall just less to do, and less at all indeed. It had been three days since the arrival of my Peleton, and that combined with the treadmill had been preoccupying all if not most of my time, often the first thing besides making coffee— a brisk mile-or-so walk as it brewed or, clipping in to the Bike in the middle of the night, as if the thing itself had awakened me with a whispering beckon. Then, I knew that my time was running short— my body wanted pregnancy, and my mind wanted a man who would be easily forgiven for his natural instinct to adulterize and fraternize as he pleased by his wit, charm, intelligence, good looks and wealth, of course—but with a man like that comes certain stipulations—I'd have to be a trophy. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

It was marky mark and Channing Tatum, but in the dream they were just my friends. They were hanging out in Vegas and I dropped by to say hi, but I had to get going. I was renting a white Beamer SUV which I thought was too nice for me. Thought about going back to say hello but had to convince my parents. Dumb. At least I figured out who those two shirtless dudes were. Oh they also had that guy from Dexter with them. That's correct. And an old dude. But what is that dudes name? Idk. Shirtless dude three. SHIRTLESS DUDE 3 You mean me. God, that Beamer was nice. It was white. It was white, but it was also a rental. I don't know if I could see myself getting a white car. It was pearlescent white though, kind of cream, but with sparkles. You're right, that's a different kind of white. Why would they let me drive this thing? I can drive, I was more surprised anyone would let me rent a car after the Enterprise fiasco. Luckily, it was under my mom's name. Well, this is fucked up. {Enter The Multiverse} My dellisions of granduer sure are fire right now Are you sure you don't know who you are Or where I'll be right there On the highway to hell Like a baseball bat out of heaven I wear my hat backwards, Cause I'm the only one To throw shade On my back end Can I just say, I really like the gangster version of deadmau5. Oh SHIT, There he go. RUN, BLAT-BLAT. (Still Canadian tho) Ah, FUCK, man. What suh tho?! I'm out of gas, eh. The car's out of gas?! Ammo, bud! Oh shit, aight. Must have been surfing in the dream, because I was eating lots of fish and cool about it. That's true! I only ever eat fish when I'm surfing. Why were we in Vegas then? No, the guys were in Vegas, I was just visiting. That doesn't seem like the place to just “visit”. Maybe it was EDC, I don't know. Then why were we eating fish!? That was in another part of the dream. Oh. So we were traveling? I guess so. That sounds rich. Stephen Colbert stands over Jimmy Kimmel with a wooden sword, hitting him repeatedly, yelling KING ME. OW. NO. KING ME. OW, WHAT THE FUCK MAN! KING ME! OWC, knock it OFF! He overpowers Colbert and takes the wooden sword. GIVE ME THAT. he thwaps him with the sword one good time. OW. EXACTLY. Fuck outta here! Why won't you king me?! What makes you think I'm in charge of Kinging?! You wrote the game! I co-wrote the game—with-very minimal effort, by the way, other people— Including my//yourself. Was I there? Gee, maybe not… Seriously, I don't know where my head is sometimes. Plastered inside of the television. Like literally?! I guess. In or on. Anyway, if you're unhappy with your lowly, monocle status, you should talk to The Creator. Who's the creator? Nobody really seems to know… Well then, how am i supposed to talk to him,? Let's find out, Wait, what. One… Jimmy Kimmel Begins to morph into a bird, feathers first and more slowly than usual. What is that? [via tootsie pops owl] Two-hoo! I feel like I've heard this before somewhere. THREE! OH MY GAAA—AAHHHHH! Suddenly, Jimmy Kimmel is transformed into a giant-esque owl. WHAT THE FUCK!!!!!! Jimmy Kimmel swoops above him, grabbing Colbert by the shoulders, as he screams inconsolably. He begins to fly out of the oversized window, then doubles back for a moment, hovering over the wooden sword. Get the sword! YOU CAN STILL TALK? GET THE SWORD. He lowers Colbert down to the sword, his talons digging deeply into his shoulders—it looks like this probably hurts a lot, he meekly but with great f air grabs the sword, and his feed dangle as the owl takes flight, bawking, Of course I can still tallk; I'm smarter than your actual human self! SO IT WAS YOU WHO ATE MY TOOTSIE POP. JIMMY KIMMEL the OWL lets out a deep and bellowing meniacal laugh as he takes flight, STEPHEN COLBERT crying in shame. NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! {Enter The Multiverse} Gotta take it real hard Hang down, head in shame Strong arm, the charms off Work hard, the thigh gap Gets a good man Get the gap tooth fixed, Maybe bleach a few shades Paula Patton, or whatever Zoe Kravitz, like My Time's up; I want to be a good mom Hey, Lorne won't like me Hey, hey, Lorne won't like me at all. What's up on the network I'm waiting on my closeup I take lessons real hard I want to be a good mom, Or if not A long gone alcoholic I mean long gone I mean long gone I mean long gone I mean woke up, blacked out Still pedaling forward on the peloton A skeleton I mean long, long gone No, Lorne don't like me at all What's in the back of the bus? A diversity hire, Fresh out of Harvard university What's on the top of the tube Well, a fresh pack of lubricated condoms, If you really want to know No raw dog What's on the top of the morning An hour on the Peloton, Another in the tub, Doc What's on your mind? Are you really on the road? (No raw dog) Woah, If you really want to know I'm in love, So you're all of them, Until I come, And then you just, Run off like a ghost I'm in the room with a body, And you're not her, I must have gone off the hard stuff (on behalf of Oliver) What if you wrote your book, Knowing who might open it? Who wrote the forward, Colbert. Tough crowd— Now I'm out of folks to come up on, After all that hard stuff Simply won't go on I want to be a good mom, But so much for that It goes well up my spine, Like an epidural, I'm all out of experience. I've got 30 minutes of torture left But I'm all out of droplets, From the hyperdermal contraption I've strapped on And the 4 kilometer run And the dance number to Beyoncé, Of course. (It was Destiny's child, But I was dancing to Beyoncè) It was Destiny's Child, But I was dancing to Beyoncé, Also. “Aw, love…” I always gawk, When couples go on as they do, Even if it occurs that, The one I love, Dawns his beloved And arm and arm My heart weighs just a ton I can't even hear the words anymore It's just all for numbers One for Oliver I can't even hear the words anymore It's just for numbers Almost a Californian As long as I just keep going And don't eat Before sweating it all off in the tub Now the scar on the inside of my lip lights up And raises Just at the sound of []; Had better not touch that one, Put the sides to the side And mark the folder Do not touch Move off of it And wonder what the fuck That number was all for All four I could fly a kite Out of that thing on your back— Impresario If that be the case, Than that makes them the rock, Then what of the kite, And the wind And the string So I wanna kill you. Impresario I'll be Lennon And you be the other. I've got my Yoko out on tour Impresario I work hard for a broke heart Just for songs Impresario Get the monster out Put it all on him Like a kite in the wind Put it all on him Ad hominum/ homonym ATTN: Jimmy Fallon. JIMMY FALLON receives a large shipment of grade A douches, with one simple sticky note which reads an anonymous message in neat cursive. ‘Likeness is what your attract.' Why do I have some of your memories? Before: Hmmm… Where can I offload these? I need more storage. L E G E N D S Bpm: animal rights I'm a slave —for your love I'm a slave —for your love I'm a slave —for your love I'm a slave for your love. As I'm taking my time considering whether or not to buy pure, 100% Organic a grade maple syrup, letting out a heavy sigh at the brave of green coated indidivuals who just so happened to not really need anything in the aisle, but just walk by, also just so happened this last man, who appeared to resemble none other than— CUT TO: Seth Meyers. We meet again. We've never met. Oh, you don't remember? I don't remember things that never happened. Oh, really. Really. Well. I beg to differ. Don't beg. It's an expression. For the first time throughout the series run—we stand corrected—however, and possibly just rather, because this is the movie— And not the series at all. *gasp* Now… what the fuck did I come in here to actually write? —I don't remember. True facts. But— More importantly— why did I toggle on the internet? FUCK. Why, what happened? I just remembered I was online and listening to deadmau5. Ah, shit. Is that such a bad thing? It's like…it's like a guilty pleasure— Seriously? Like Drake, now, except I almost wish I hadn't gone about putting them in that scene together. Why. Cause they're Canadian? No! I mean yes— Must—more—Peloton—get— WAISTED. Fuck. I don't know how much I weigh. So how do you know you're not already 120 lbs . Well, let's see here. 110… What the fuck is a silent basketball?!! Still don't know. {Enter the multiverse} Are you sponsored by Bud Wiser? [why] Just answer the question: Are you sponsored by Budweiser? No. (?) Cause you look like a Clydesdale. Your answer should have been. “Nay”. You and me weren't meant to be friends We're not meeting in real life Or, we already did, but hey We'll never meet again. Just another magic trick Just another magic trick It's like hanging at a rave on a Saturday late night. Or early am Or more Spending the night With an old friend, Then waking up to realize when you finally lift yourself up from the couch, You've been all alone The whole time The magic is gone, And you're still feeling under, disturbed —and jealous of her, of course. Knock it off, go for a long soak And remember the Oath you once took Just for fun and only out of A hint of desperation, Unable to escape from him But remember to remember what his name is At some point B A R T H O There it is again The evil and crawling thing in the distance That says I belong to him L E M Perhaps once, But you'd might as well run along And into a different body, Disguised as something I could never even notice To even get close to me Ū I'd bet my last dollar you couldn't do that I'd go all in at the end of that long poker table The tournament, still rolling on And I've not made lunch yet It was a long party, A long supper An even longer dessert And the forever order For ever after What a laugh There's too many of us Stranded out here, I'll never get over — if you needed closer, I've written it on a cardboard box, With a penny for your thoughts, 3-1 and still keeping it simple; I kept my intentions just as hidden in the numbers As the apples in the barrel, unbranded After all, I am famished, And not quite yet has it been 24 hours. I like all your music. Like a shotgun to the face I want to end it. I'm still floating out in space, I guess Recommended Reassigned and Disestablished— Resigned but terrified of it Fried tofu on the orifice Your or her face With a red dress From just behind, Indecision, regrets, And then, of course I wake up. So duotone, your honor. Fuck magnets, I want to go digging up colors I love corpses. Sara Black is so white I could see right through her. I tripped and fell in your eyes for a multi second. If I creep up expressing my love, he'll send them faster The devil: direct to you— More beautiful women There's less of me today. It didn't seem to take long to notice at all, running the soap over my body as it lathered, that there was overall just less to do, and less at all indeed. It had been three days since the arrival of my Peleton, and that combined with the treadmill had been preoccupying all if not most of my time, often the first thing besides making coffee— a brisk mile-or-so walk as it brewed or, clipping in to the Bike in the middle of the night, as if the thing itself had awakened me with a whispering beckon. Then, I knew that my time was running short— my body wanted pregnancy, and my mind wanted a man who would be easily forgiven for his natural instinct to adulterize and fraternize as he pleased by his wit, charm, intelligence, good looks and wealth, of course—but with a man like that comes certain stipulations—I'd have to be a trophy. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

It was marky mark and Channing Tatum, but in the dream they were just my friends. They were hanging out in Vegas and I dropped by to say hi, but I had to get going. I was renting a white Beamer SUV which I thought was too nice for me. Thought about going back to say hello but had to convince my parents. Dumb. At least I figured out who those two shirtless dudes were. Oh they also had that guy from Dexter with them. That's correct. And an old dude. But what is that dudes name? Idk. Shirtless dude three. SHIRTLESS DUDE 3 You mean me. God, that Beamer was nice. It was white. It was white, but it was also a rental. I don't know if I could see myself getting a white car. It was pearlescent white though, kind of cream, but with sparkles. You're right, that's a different kind of white. Why would they let me drive this thing? I can drive, I was more surprised anyone would let me rent a car after the Enterprise fiasco. Luckily, it was under my mom's name. Well, this is fucked up. {Enter The Multiverse} My dellisions of granduer sure are fire right now Are you sure you don't know who you are Or where I'll be right there On the highway to hell Like a baseball bat out of heaven I wear my hat backwards, Cause I'm the only one To throw shade On my back end Can I just say, I really like the gangster version of deadmau5. Oh SHIT, There he go. RUN, BLAT-BLAT. (Still Canadian tho) Ah, FUCK, man. What suh tho?! I'm out of gas, eh. The car's out of gas?! Ammo, bud! Oh shit, aight. Must have been surfing in the dream, because I was eating lots of fish and cool about it. That's true! I only ever eat fish when I'm surfing. Why were we in Vegas then? No, the guys were in Vegas, I was just visiting. That doesn't seem like the place to just “visit”. Maybe it was EDC, I don't know. Then why were we eating fish!? That was in another part of the dream. Oh. So we were traveling? I guess so. That sounds rich. Stephen Colbert stands over Jimmy Kimmel with a wooden sword, hitting him repeatedly, yelling KING ME. OW. NO. KING ME. OW, WHAT THE FUCK MAN! KING ME! OWC, knock it OFF! He overpowers Colbert and takes the wooden sword. GIVE ME THAT. he thwaps him with the sword one good time. OW. EXACTLY. Fuck outta here! Why won't you king me?! What makes you think I'm in charge of Kinging?! You wrote the game! I co-wrote the game—with-very minimal effort, by the way, other people— Including my//yourself. Was I there? Gee, maybe not… Seriously, I don't know where my head is sometimes. Plastered inside of the television. Like literally?! I guess. In or on. Anyway, if you're unhappy with your lowly, monocle status, you should talk to The Creator. Who's the creator? Nobody really seems to know… Well then, how am i supposed to talk to him,? Let's find out, Wait, what. One… Jimmy Kimmel Begins to morph into a bird, feathers first and more slowly than usual. What is that? [via tootsie pops owl] Two-hoo! I feel like I've heard this before somewhere. THREE! OH MY GAAA—AAHHHHH! Suddenly, Jimmy Kimmel is transformed into a giant-esque owl. WHAT THE FUCK!!!!!! Jimmy Kimmel swoops above him, grabbing Colbert by the shoulders, as he screams inconsolably. He begins to fly out of the oversized window, then doubles back for a moment, hovering over the wooden sword. Get the sword! YOU CAN STILL TALK? GET THE SWORD. He lowers Colbert down to the sword, his talons digging deeply into his shoulders—it looks like this probably hurts a lot, he meekly but with great f air grabs the sword, and his feed dangle as the owl takes flight, bawking, Of course I can still tallk; I'm smarter than your actual human self! SO IT WAS YOU WHO ATE MY TOOTSIE POP. JIMMY KIMMEL the OWL lets out a deep and bellowing meniacal laugh as he takes flight, STEPHEN COLBERT crying in shame. NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! {Enter The Multiverse} Gotta take it real hard Hang down, head in shame Strong arm, the charms off Work hard, the thigh gap Gets a good man Get the gap tooth fixed, Maybe bleach a few shades Paula Patton, or whatever Zoe Kravitz, like My Time's up; I want to be a good mom Hey, Lorne won't like me Hey, hey, Lorne won't like me at all. What's up on the network I'm waiting on my closeup I take lessons real hard I want to be a good mom, Or if not A long gone alcoholic I mean long gone I mean long gone I mean long gone I mean woke up, blacked out Still pedaling forward on the peloton A skeleton I mean long, long gone No, Lorne don't like me at all What's in the back of the bus? A diversity hire, Fresh out of Harvard university What's on the top of the tube Well, a fresh pack of lubricated condoms, If you really want to know No raw dog What's on the top of the morning An hour on the Peloton, Another in the tub, Doc What's on your mind? Are you really on the road? (No raw dog) Woah, If you really want to know I'm in love, So you're all of them, Until I come, And then you just, Run off like a ghost I'm in the room with a body, And you're not her, I must have gone off the hard stuff (on behalf of Oliver) What if you wrote your book, Knowing who might open it? Who wrote the forward, Colbert. Tough crowd— Now I'm out of folks to come up on, After all that hard stuff Simply won't go on I want to be a good mom, But so much for that It goes well up my spine, Like an epidural, I'm all out of experience. I've got 30 minutes of torture left But I'm all out of droplets, From the hyperdermal contraption I've strapped on And the 4 kilometer run And the dance number to Beyoncé, Of course. (It was Destiny's child, But I was dancing to Beyoncè) It was Destiny's Child, But I was dancing to Beyoncé, Also. “Aw, love…” I always gawk, When couples go on as they do, Even if it occurs that, The one I love, Dawns his beloved And arm and arm My heart weighs just a ton I can't even hear the words anymore It's just all for numbers One for Oliver I can't even hear the words anymore It's just for numbers Almost a Californian As long as I just keep going And don't eat Before sweating it all off in the tub Now the scar on the inside of my lip lights up And raises Just at the sound of []; Had better not touch that one, Put the sides to the side And mark the folder Do not touch Move off of it And wonder what the fuck That number was all for All four I could fly a kite Out of that thing on your back— Impresario If that be the case, Than that makes them the rock, Then what of the kite, And the wind And the string So I wanna kill you. Impresario I'll be Lennon And you be the other. I've got my Yoko out on tour Impresario I work hard for a broke heart Just for songs Impresario Get the monster out Put it all on him Like a kite in the wind Put it all on him Ad hominum/ homonym ATTN: Jimmy Fallon. JIMMY FALLON receives a large shipment of grade A douches, with one simple sticky note which reads an anonymous message in neat cursive. ‘Likeness is what your attract.' Why do I have some of your memories? Before: Hmmm… Where can I offload these? I need more storage. L E G E N D S Bpm: animal rights I'm a slave —for your love I'm a slave —for your love I'm a slave —for your love I'm a slave for your love. As I'm taking my time considering whether or not to buy pure, 100% Organic a grade maple syrup, letting out a heavy sigh at the brave of green coated indidivuals who just so happened to not really need anything in the aisle, but just walk by, also just so happened this last man, who appeared to resemble none other than— CUT TO: Seth Meyers. We meet again. We've never met. Oh, you don't remember? I don't remember things that never happened. Oh, really. Really. Well. I beg to differ. Don't beg. It's an expression. For the first time throughout the series run—we stand corrected—however, and possibly just rather, because this is the movie— And not the series at all. *gasp* Now… what the fuck did I come in here to actually write? —I don't remember. True facts. But— More importantly— why did I toggle on the internet? FUCK. Why, what happened? I just remembered I was online and listening to deadmau5. Ah, shit. Is that such a bad thing? It's like…it's like a guilty pleasure— Seriously? Like Drake, now, except I almost wish I hadn't gone about putting them in that scene together. Why. Cause they're Canadian? No! I mean yes— Must—more—Peloton—get— WAISTED. Fuck. I don't know how much I weigh. So how do you know you're not already 120 lbs . Well, let's see here. 110… What the fuck is a silent basketball?!! Still don't know. {Enter the multiverse} Are you sponsored by Bud Wiser? [why] Just answer the question: Are you sponsored by Budweiser? No. (?) Cause you look like a Clydesdale. Your answer should have been. “Nay”. You and me weren't meant to be friends We're not meeting in real life Or, we already did, but hey We'll never meet again. Just another magic trick Just another magic trick It's like hanging at a rave on a Saturday late night. Or early am Or more Spending the night With an old friend, Then waking up to realize when you finally lift yourself up from the couch, You've been all alone The whole time The magic is gone, And you're still feeling under, disturbed —and jealous of her, of course. Knock it off, go for a long soak And remember the Oath you once took Just for fun and only out of A hint of desperation, Unable to escape from him But remember to remember what his name is At some point B A R T H O There it is again The evil and crawling thing in the distance That says I belong to him L E M Perhaps once, But you'd might as well run along And into a different body, Disguised as something I could never even notice To even get close to me Ū I'd bet my last dollar you couldn't do that I'd go all in at the end of that long poker table The tournament, still rolling on And I've not made lunch yet It was a long party, A long supper An even longer dessert And the forever order For ever after What a laugh There's too many of us Stranded out here, I'll never get over — if you needed closer, I've written it on a cardboard box, With a penny for your thoughts, 3-1 and still keeping it simple; I kept my intentions just as hidden in the numbers As the apples in the barrel, unbranded After all, I am famished, And not quite yet has it been 24 hours. I like all your music. Like a shotgun to the face I want to end it. I'm still floating out in space, I guess Recommended Reassigned and Disestablished— Resigned but terrified of it Fried tofu on the orifice Your or her face With a red dress From just behind, Indecision, regrets, And then, of course I wake up. So duotone, your honor. Fuck magnets, I want to go digging up colors I love corpses. Sara Black is so white I could see right through her. I tripped and fell in your eyes for a multi second. If I creep up expressing my love, he'll send them faster The devil: direct to you— More beautiful women There's less of me today. It didn't seem to take long to notice at all, running the soap over my body as it lathered, that there was overall just less to do, and less at all indeed. It had been three days since the arrival of my Peleton, and that combined with the treadmill had been preoccupying all if not most of my time, often the first thing besides making coffee— a brisk mile-or-so walk as it brewed or, clipping in to the Bike in the middle of the night, as if the thing itself had awakened me with a whispering beckon. Then, I knew that my time was running short— my body wanted pregnancy, and my mind wanted a man who would be easily forgiven for his natural instinct to adulterize and fraternize as he pleased by his wit, charm, intelligence, good looks and wealth, of course—but with a man like that comes certain stipulations—I'd have to be a trophy. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

niagara falls. Collection II - ‘antithesis. Track 12. - ‘niagara falls' Prod By Blū Tha Guru [Previously on L E G E N D S: Enter The Multiverse} Baby's all right Brooklyn Pretty little palace of disaster Pretty little patterns of — Whatever Tantrums, smashing Jack o lanterns Shadows, Hands that attach to the strings Allowing them to dance into dreams It seems these sacred places Have been ravaged And I have not been running But I don't have any money Wise than that It's less than zero Negatives I want to kill myself again Honestly, I see a way out it just Requires being tortured By people coughing. And motorcycles I might have seen my son for the last time At age five It's finally warm outside And everything's just Reminding me I'm struggling with poverty Nothing really matters cause I don't belong here Everything is wrong I just want blonde hair, Hurry up, God Assist me with a suicide I can take pride in Not an attempt, but The only success I'll ever have At anything At all -El Al Nothing moves the same After an unrequited love becomes a tragedy Or just a movie scene I want to scream for needing to be needed Then again Could die just to be dead Could go back To just be blacklisted Or a crackhead Doing magic tricks Pass I couldn't have ever imagined This fascination as of late Or making trance But anything can happen With the light switches on and off As the kite catches headwinds Or hedwig is getting bigger by the minute That just grows out of his head, But I wish it was a wig Like Kristen Pass Yes. Breathe deep into my lungs, These scenes of things So evil seeming, even to me Lucidity becomes as dreamily Eerie, intermittently meaningless, And then suddenly, However much later, Maddeningly attractive, As I am, in fact Attached to this project As menacingly handsome and devilish as he is I've decided, it's manageable, but clashes with my Moral standards and clasps with fabrications Lay hands on me and see what happens! —-okay… “Okay” Pass! I asked to be a rockstar and showrunner On the same blood soaked candles I took blood oaths Dancing in front of the fountain At rockafeller plaza, to no applause, Of course, Drinking monsters nonstop, Ontop of my skateboard I came back late to Boston And took a plane to Vegas early the next morning But somewhere deep in my Google Drive or documents Is me under a neon sign, Which reads a name I resigned from saying Until maybe I get signed I hate him, but hey, The name of the game is Mating Season, And lately I've been craving eggs and Mayonnaise instead of protein shakes and Crayons Wax on, wax off… Pass, but that last sentence didn't make sense It did.:: Oh, Yes, it did. Promise. You do some stupid shit. Okay, so I do stupid shit. Believe me, you do some stupid shit. Okay, I believe you. Don't believe me when I tell you things like that. What the fuck, Patrick, do you mean, even? I mean what I mean, but usually just— For me. I am you, I thought. Exactly: don't believe me. Okay? I don't believe you… Just—believe me. Believe me. Oh dang. So there really is no “Jimmy Fallon” No, there isn't it's just— Poor little Jimmy Fallon… What if— There is no “if”. Nobody has to ‘agree' to this project Sign the terms of agreement For what. You'll see.. stupid little bitch. *squints* What did you just say. (Walking away, mumbling) Nothing! Fucking idiot. What did you just say?! (Yelling) I said you're a fucking idiot, Fallon! You're a fucking lDi0T: Well, okay. lol NBC is not gonna let this fly at all. No, Jimmy, you cannot do this project. Well, that's alright. I quit. You can't quit. You have a contract. I don't—I'm out of my contract: On what grounds?! Conflict of interest! That's my say, isn't it? Is it? MORGUE. I bought a network! MY NAME IS— MAaaa!! WHATTTTTTT. The show's on! [A Cold Open] L E G E N D S {Enter The Multiverse} Fuck this kid. I'm gonna kill him. Kill what. Who. FALLON. GET IN HERE. Ah. [explitive] [‘THE FALLON' gets ‘FALLONED' by ELLEN DEGENERES] ELLEN YES. FINALLY, I'm in this bitch. [And other members of ‘THE HOSTS COLLECTIVE', a high ranking team in the ILLUMINATI FOREFRONT] Well, not in the way I'm sure you'd hoped, but. Shutthefuckup! Oh wait—is she Is it “she” Is she a lesbian?! What's the “Illuminati”— We'll get back to that later. No! gross! Portia Derossi! Huh? I want to be that pretty! Well, okie. MEANWHILE, In my actual own age group… I'm older than all these hosts, anyway! Even Leno? Isn't he dead already?! Exactly! EVEN STEVENS [BEANS is now VEGAN] Why is vegan capitalized. Cause it's important. Hey buddy! Don't call me buddy. I'm edging on 40. Time flies when you're— Rapidly aging? I brought you some bacon. You what: It's farm fresh! Kooldjredalert Lie to me Try to sleep (In my arms, won't you) Try to keep the Time with My heart Beat (Heavenly) I've been living in your world for just over a month, now. I'm sorry, Fallon. That must be awful. Not too sorry— Some of this stuff is good. Just, priceless. Wouldn't trade it for the world. But I've hung my head in shame, Cause I hung myself with gratitude, Haven't you had enough? If it makes any difference at all, And I'm betting it does All I wished for a wanted and prayed Was for you to be happy I buy burners with trackers Put burn holes in sweaters The summit at the plummet, pulling forwards And backwards I've four words for parlors, For barbers and hatchets I bury the four suns, The moon arose after I left an Oscar on your alter this morning Never shall ye rest, Haven't ever then, Paid the tythe, And for the while, Immortal wife and lover, Mother daughter, Soon to call your name and number, However, The fall from the drop of polish, Of course, oil marks upon canvases Sickness and swells of my Hands upon your corset Could you collide with another? Doubtful, to that, So shall it must be List, but never to utter A mustard seed; Ground, then unground— As if planted, Simple, As the seed of laughter So then, would you By the turn of the hour, return to the one had you called Lover, A curse upon the Coerced and responsible A blonde, But worse, A pretty one For never after happens out of nowhere Now, Dissociate, Before I dissipate of Loneliness Hark, The door opens for one, A bold soldier to come, Listen lover, The stone has been Suspended, by the mirror In terror Alarmed, Cool you are now Calm, however Not abound to be lie Or below Bound by blood There you are In excelsior, Predecessor What would you want that for— The camera obscured; Why, If only, To look upon you Plastered and enlarged As you are Endangered in my imagination A dangerous and strange, Dangling addiction Fascination, now With power, And prowess Come now, The midnight hour is upon us [his body hung from the rafters above the studio, just one lamp left aglow—and then suddenly I had awakened, his body still and resting, sleeping quietly—although the hanged man burned into my mind; I left him quietly as I could in the loft and sat with nothing in my mind at all at the canvas, brush in hand, as if I were to draw something—but could not. It was almost as if I was frozen, or even perhaps the canvas were instead a mirror, and I the painting —though I could not know. My dearest Patrick was a broken man, and I his broken lover—the both of us an atrocity at all in shambles—I wept inwardly but not outward, as not to wake him as my tears often did, even from a deep sleep. The sun was far from rising, and though I had barely slept at all, I felt I would never sleep again—I fell at my tilted alter as the sun rose, in prayer and devastation; What had I done?] —Esha's Memoirs, the journals from The Altar You know what, kid— You've got something. I don't know what it is, But it's something. Kid? Aren't we like, the same age? No. I'll tell you what I've got I've got a seven year old kid I haven't seen in two years; I've got a sink full of dishes I've got credit card debt and school loans I've got racist neighbors, An ex husband who swears he never hit me With a brand new baby I've got Extreme back pain I've got a body only God could ever love And I've got something like 10,000 pages or more Of stuff I barely remember writing Just sitting in the Google algorithm Pushing me closer and closer to suicide Every single day I've got Sexual fantasies about celebrities for no given reason at all. I've got 800 songs that are just words I've got books I want to read just— sitting there And I've got this pain That just sits inside my soul That never goes away, ever I've got something, alright. I've got something, sure But when it comes to money I got a dollar One fucking dollar And you know what I call that? -Useless. She's dead, isn't she? You guessed it. Well, what am I supposed to do? What you always do. What is that? What is that? Swear of the palm d ore I Cannes, Atop the Eiffel You are the river that crosses my eye, The scar across my heart, The Eye, is All we are And all is one; One is all, And All are One Well, I'm quite nervous. Don't be nervous, at all, Johnny. Relax. Another John—my first, in fact. Indeed, I was once relentlessly obsessed With Johnny Depp Infatuated, if you will Whatever you want to call it. Of course, For a teenaged girl, however This sort of obsession was somewhat normal Somewhat. I had always wanted to star in movies— So much so that I began to write them. I was about 7, maybe 8 when the stories in my headed started to form as narratives— Not just stories, but words Characters and conversations— Plots. I should leave this poor Fallon boy alone. Some darkness inside of me wants him; That thing that doesn't quiet, nor does it want, Anything but what it wants— And it is, Darkness-m— That thing that lives inside of me and what is does; The thing it calls love, and calls our for The something in someone that rises it up From wherever it dwells, Deep in my soul, and into my hear, Into my thoughts, It haunts all that I must and mustn't Ponder upon A woman's cause, And a murderer of sorts, The ugly swan , who dances on ponds, Laying one one, but all of precious stones, The egg, The coveted stones of trust, And wander, Listing upon that which it feeds, Not only the bod, But its motor, It's mind, A hearty philosopher, And willful warrior, Of wit, And of talent, The strength of Astonishment A power above all, A blindness of fate; Judged by all The spectacular amongst us The famed and the damned, Acquitted of warmth and dutiful, Exquisite in awe A rarity. —The Fame Files. V.O. Coming to terms with one's death is always peaceful. All harm caused will be returned by he/she who causes it or acts in such a way as to inflict pain and hostility towards peaceful persons. Causing with intention psychological, physical, mental, or physical harm will result in the immediate karmic retaliation of such pain as inflicted on peaceful individuals; these acts of war will inhibit the actor from entering the transcendence, or developing expanded consciousness, gaining wealth, further material possessions–his own will is therefore weakened, and therefore unworthy of love himself, by the intent to cause one such pain as an act of violence or ill will. One's disruption of peace is thereby an act of cruelty, punishable beyond death–causing pain by intention to another individual in the attempt of control or manipulation, intrusion, and abuse is therefore against the laws by which the ascended abide by, and therefore cannot and will not exist beyond the ill fate of its perpetrator. Please leave me alone; I'm asking you nicely. Alright, fine. Where is it! Where is what? You know what. What? From the fountain. It wasn't me! I don't have it. And this, is why Jimmy Fallon is impenetrable. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

niagara falls. Collection II - ‘antithesis. Track 12. - ‘niagara falls' Prod By Blū Tha Guru [Previously on L E G E N D S: Enter The Multiverse} Baby's all right Brooklyn Pretty little palace of disaster Pretty little patterns of — Whatever Tantrums, smashing Jack o lanterns Shadows, Hands that attach to the strings Allowing them to dance into dreams It seems these sacred places Have been ravaged And I have not been running But I don't have any money Wise than that It's less than zero Negatives I want to kill myself again Honestly, I see a way out it just Requires being tortured By people coughing. And motorcycles I might have seen my son for the last time At age five It's finally warm outside And everything's just Reminding me I'm struggling with poverty Nothing really matters cause I don't belong here Everything is wrong I just want blonde hair, Hurry up, God Assist me with a suicide I can take pride in Not an attempt, but The only success I'll ever have At anything At all -El Al Nothing moves the same After an unrequited love becomes a tragedy Or just a movie scene I want to scream for needing to be needed Then again Could die just to be dead Could go back To just be blacklisted Or a crackhead Doing magic tricks Pass I couldn't have ever imagined This fascination as of late Or making trance But anything can happen With the light switches on and off As the kite catches headwinds Or hedwig is getting bigger by the minute That just grows out of his head, But I wish it was a wig Like Kristen Pass Yes. Breathe deep into my lungs, These scenes of things So evil seeming, even to me Lucidity becomes as dreamily Eerie, intermittently meaningless, And then suddenly, However much later, Maddeningly attractive, As I am, in fact Attached to this project As menacingly handsome and devilish as he is I've decided, it's manageable, but clashes with my Moral standards and clasps with fabrications Lay hands on me and see what happens! —-okay… “Okay” Pass! I asked to be a rockstar and showrunner On the same blood soaked candles I took blood oaths Dancing in front of the fountain At rockafeller plaza, to no applause, Of course, Drinking monsters nonstop, Ontop of my skateboard I came back late to Boston And took a plane to Vegas early the next morning But somewhere deep in my Google Drive or documents Is me under a neon sign, Which reads a name I resigned from saying Until maybe I get signed I hate him, but hey, The name of the game is Mating Season, And lately I've been craving eggs and Mayonnaise instead of protein shakes and Crayons Wax on, wax off… Pass, but that last sentence didn't make sense It did.:: Oh, Yes, it did. Promise. You do some stupid shit. Okay, so I do stupid shit. Believe me, you do some stupid shit. Okay, I believe you. Don't believe me when I tell you things like that. What the fuck, Patrick, do you mean, even? I mean what I mean, but usually just— For me. I am you, I thought. Exactly: don't believe me. Okay? I don't believe you… Just—believe me. Believe me. Oh dang. So there really is no “Jimmy Fallon” No, there isn't it's just— Poor little Jimmy Fallon… What if— There is no “if”. Nobody has to ‘agree' to this project Sign the terms of agreement For what. You'll see.. stupid little bitch. *squints* What did you just say. (Walking away, mumbling) Nothing! Fucking idiot. What did you just say?! (Yelling) I said you're a fucking idiot, Fallon! You're a fucking lDi0T: Well, okay. lol NBC is not gonna let this fly at all. No, Jimmy, you cannot do this project. Well, that's alright. I quit. You can't quit. You have a contract. I don't—I'm out of my contract: On what grounds?! Conflict of interest! That's my say, isn't it? Is it? MORGUE. I bought a network! MY NAME IS— MAaaa!! WHATTTTTTT. The show's on! [A Cold Open] L E G E N D S {Enter The Multiverse} Fuck this kid. I'm gonna kill him. Kill what. Who. FALLON. GET IN HERE. Ah. [explitive] [‘THE FALLON' gets ‘FALLONED' by ELLEN DEGENERES] ELLEN YES. FINALLY, I'm in this bitch. [And other members of ‘THE HOSTS COLLECTIVE', a high ranking team in the ILLUMINATI FOREFRONT] Well, not in the way I'm sure you'd hoped, but. Shutthefuckup! Oh wait—is she Is it “she” Is she a lesbian?! What's the “Illuminati”— We'll get back to that later. No! gross! Portia Derossi! Huh? I want to be that pretty! Well, okie. MEANWHILE, In my actual own age group… I'm older than all these hosts, anyway! Even Leno? Isn't he dead already?! Exactly! EVEN STEVENS [BEANS is now VEGAN] Why is vegan capitalized. Cause it's important. Hey buddy! Don't call me buddy. I'm edging on 40. Time flies when you're— Rapidly aging? I brought you some bacon. You what: It's farm fresh! Kooldjredalert Lie to me Try to sleep (In my arms, won't you) Try to keep the Time with My heart Beat (Heavenly) I've been living in your world for just over a month, now. I'm sorry, Fallon. That must be awful. Not too sorry— Some of this stuff is good. Just, priceless. Wouldn't trade it for the world. But I've hung my head in shame, Cause I hung myself with gratitude, Haven't you had enough? If it makes any difference at all, And I'm betting it does All I wished for a wanted and prayed Was for you to be happy I buy burners with trackers Put burn holes in sweaters The summit at the plummet, pulling forwards And backwards I've four words for parlors, For barbers and hatchets I bury the four suns, The moon arose after I left an Oscar on your alter this morning Never shall ye rest, Haven't ever then, Paid the tythe, And for the while, Immortal wife and lover, Mother daughter, Soon to call your name and number, However, The fall from the drop of polish, Of course, oil marks upon canvases Sickness and swells of my Hands upon your corset Could you collide with another? Doubtful, to that, So shall it must be List, but never to utter A mustard seed; Ground, then unground— As if planted, Simple, As the seed of laughter So then, would you By the turn of the hour, return to the one had you called Lover, A curse upon the Coerced and responsible A blonde, But worse, A pretty one For never after happens out of nowhere Now, Dissociate, Before I dissipate of Loneliness Hark, The door opens for one, A bold soldier to come, Listen lover, The stone has been Suspended, by the mirror In terror Alarmed, Cool you are now Calm, however Not abound to be lie Or below Bound by blood There you are In excelsior, Predecessor What would you want that for— The camera obscured; Why, If only, To look upon you Plastered and enlarged As you are Endangered in my imagination A dangerous and strange, Dangling addiction Fascination, now With power, And prowess Come now, The midnight hour is upon us [his body hung from the rafters above the studio, just one lamp left aglow—and then suddenly I had awakened, his body still and resting, sleeping quietly—although the hanged man burned into my mind; I left him quietly as I could in the loft and sat with nothing in my mind at all at the canvas, brush in hand, as if I were to draw something—but could not. It was almost as if I was frozen, or even perhaps the canvas were instead a mirror, and I the painting —though I could not know. My dearest Patrick was a broken man, and I his broken lover—the both of us an atrocity at all in shambles—I wept inwardly but not outward, as not to wake him as my tears often did, even from a deep sleep. The sun was far from rising, and though I had barely slept at all, I felt I would never sleep again—I fell at my tilted alter as the sun rose, in prayer and devastation; What had I done?] —Esha's Memoirs, the journals from The Altar You know what, kid— You've got something. I don't know what it is, But it's something. Kid? Aren't we like, the same age? No. I'll tell you what I've got I've got a seven year old kid I haven't seen in two years; I've got a sink full of dishes I've got credit card debt and school loans I've got racist neighbors, An ex husband who swears he never hit me With a brand new baby I've got Extreme back pain I've got a body only God could ever love And I've got something like 10,000 pages or more Of stuff I barely remember writing Just sitting in the Google algorithm Pushing me closer and closer to suicide Every single day I've got Sexual fantasies about celebrities for no given reason at all. I've got 800 songs that are just words I've got books I want to read just— sitting there And I've got this pain That just sits inside my soul That never goes away, ever I've got something, alright. I've got something, sure But when it comes to money I got a dollar One fucking dollar And you know what I call that? -Useless. She's dead, isn't she? You guessed it. Well, what am I supposed to do? What you always do. What is that? What is that? Swear of the palm d ore I Cannes, Atop the Eiffel You are the river that crosses my eye, The scar across my heart, The Eye, is All we are And all is one; One is all, And All are One Well, I'm quite nervous. Don't be nervous, at all, Johnny. Relax. Another John—my first, in fact. Indeed, I was once relentlessly obsessed With Johnny Depp Infatuated, if you will Whatever you want to call it. Of course, For a teenaged girl, however This sort of obsession was somewhat normal Somewhat. I had always wanted to star in movies— So much so that I began to write them. I was about 7, maybe 8 when the stories in my headed started to form as narratives— Not just stories, but words Characters and conversations— Plots. I should leave this poor Fallon boy alone. Some darkness inside of me wants him; That thing that doesn't quiet, nor does it want, Anything but what it wants— And it is, Darkness-m— That thing that lives inside of me and what is does; The thing it calls love, and calls our for The something in someone that rises it up From wherever it dwells, Deep in my soul, and into my hear, Into my thoughts, It haunts all that I must and mustn't Ponder upon A woman's cause, And a murderer of sorts, The ugly swan , who dances on ponds, Laying one one, but all of precious stones, The egg, The coveted stones of trust, And wander, Listing upon that which it feeds, Not only the bod, But its motor, It's mind, A hearty philosopher, And willful warrior, Of wit, And of talent, The strength of Astonishment A power above all, A blindness of fate; Judged by all The spectacular amongst us The famed and the damned, Acquitted of warmth and dutiful, Exquisite in awe A rarity. —The Fame Files. V.O. Coming to terms with one's death is always peaceful. All harm caused will be returned by he/she who causes it or acts in such a way as to inflict pain and hostility towards peaceful persons. Causing with intention psychological, physical, mental, or physical harm will result in the immediate karmic retaliation of such pain as inflicted on peaceful individuals; these acts of war will inhibit the actor from entering the transcendence, or developing expanded consciousness, gaining wealth, further material possessions–his own will is therefore weakened, and therefore unworthy of love himself, by the intent to cause one such pain as an act of violence or ill will. One's disruption of peace is thereby an act of cruelty, punishable beyond death–causing pain by intention to another individual in the attempt of control or manipulation, intrusion, and abuse is therefore against the laws by which the ascended abide by, and therefore cannot and will not exist beyond the ill fate of its perpetrator. Please leave me alone; I'm asking you nicely. Alright, fine. Where is it! Where is what? You know what. What? From the fountain. It wasn't me! I don't have it. And this, is why Jimmy Fallon is impenetrable. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

niagara falls. Collection II - ‘antithesis. Track 12. - ‘niagara falls' Prod By Blū Tha Guru [Previously on L E G E N D S: Enter The Multiverse} Baby's all right Brooklyn Pretty little palace of disaster Pretty little patterns of — Whatever Tantrums, smashing Jack o lanterns Shadows, Hands that attach to the strings Allowing them to dance into dreams It seems these sacred places Have been ravaged And I have not been running But I don't have any money Wise than that It's less than zero Negatives I want to kill myself again Honestly, I see a way out it just Requires being tortured By people coughing. And motorcycles I might have seen my son for the last time At age five It's finally warm outside And everything's just Reminding me I'm struggling with poverty Nothing really matters cause I don't belong here Everything is wrong I just want blonde hair, Hurry up, God Assist me with a suicide I can take pride in Not an attempt, but The only success I'll ever have At anything At all -El Al Nothing moves the same After an unrequited love becomes a tragedy Or just a movie scene I want to scream for needing to be needed Then again Could die just to be dead Could go back To just be blacklisted Or a crackhead Doing magic tricks Pass I couldn't have ever imagined This fascination as of late Or making trance But anything can happen With the light switches on and off As the kite catches headwinds Or hedwig is getting bigger by the minute That just grows out of his head, But I wish it was a wig Like Kristen Pass Yes. Breathe deep into my lungs, These scenes of things So evil seeming, even to me Lucidity becomes as dreamily Eerie, intermittently meaningless, And then suddenly, However much later, Maddeningly attractive, As I am, in fact Attached to this project As menacingly handsome and devilish as he is I've decided, it's manageable, but clashes with my Moral standards and clasps with fabrications Lay hands on me and see what happens! —-okay… “Okay” Pass! I asked to be a rockstar and showrunner On the same blood soaked candles I took blood oaths Dancing in front of the fountain At rockafeller plaza, to no applause, Of course, Drinking monsters nonstop, Ontop of my skateboard I came back late to Boston And took a plane to Vegas early the next morning But somewhere deep in my Google Drive or documents Is me under a neon sign, Which reads a name I resigned from saying Until maybe I get signed I hate him, but hey, The name of the game is Mating Season, And lately I've been craving eggs and Mayonnaise instead of protein shakes and Crayons Wax on, wax off… Pass, but that last sentence didn't make sense It did.:: Oh, Yes, it did. Promise. You do some stupid shit. Okay, so I do stupid shit. Believe me, you do some stupid shit. Okay, I believe you. Don't believe me when I tell you things like that. What the fuck, Patrick, do you mean, even? I mean what I mean, but usually just— For me. I am you, I thought. Exactly: don't believe me. Okay? I don't believe you… Just—believe me. Believe me. Oh dang. So there really is no “Jimmy Fallon” No, there isn't it's just— Poor little Jimmy Fallon… What if— There is no “if”. Nobody has to ‘agree' to this project Sign the terms of agreement For what. You'll see.. stupid little bitch. *squints* What did you just say. (Walking away, mumbling) Nothing! Fucking idiot. What did you just say?! (Yelling) I said you're a fucking idiot, Fallon! You're a fucking lDi0T: Well, okay. lol NBC is not gonna let this fly at all. No, Jimmy, you cannot do this project. Well, that's alright. I quit. You can't quit. You have a contract. I don't—I'm out of my contract: On what grounds?! Conflict of interest! That's my say, isn't it? Is it? MORGUE. I bought a network! MY NAME IS— MAaaa!! WHATTTTTTT. The show's on! [A Cold Open] L E G E N D S {Enter The Multiverse} Fuck this kid. I'm gonna kill him. Kill what. Who. FALLON. GET IN HERE. Ah. [explitive] [‘THE FALLON' gets ‘FALLONED' by ELLEN DEGENERES] ELLEN YES. FINALLY, I'm in this bitch. [And other members of ‘THE HOSTS COLLECTIVE', a high ranking team in the ILLUMINATI FOREFRONT] Well, not in the way I'm sure you'd hoped, but. Shutthefuckup! Oh wait—is she Is it “she” Is she a lesbian?! What's the “Illuminati”— We'll get back to that later. No! gross! Portia Derossi! Huh? I want to be that pretty! Well, okie. MEANWHILE, In my actual own age group… I'm older than all these hosts, anyway! Even Leno? Isn't he dead already?! Exactly! EVEN STEVENS [BEANS is now VEGAN] Why is vegan capitalized. Cause it's important. Hey buddy! Don't call me buddy. I'm edging on 40. Time flies when you're— Rapidly aging? I brought you some bacon. You what: It's farm fresh! Kooldjredalert Lie to me Try to sleep (In my arms, won't you) Try to keep the Time with My heart Beat (Heavenly) I've been living in your world for just over a month, now. I'm sorry, Fallon. That must be awful. Not too sorry— Some of this stuff is good. Just, priceless. Wouldn't trade it for the world. But I've hung my head in shame, Cause I hung myself with gratitude, Haven't you had enough? If it makes any difference at all, And I'm betting it does All I wished for a wanted and prayed Was for you to be happy I buy burners with trackers Put burn holes in sweaters The summit at the plummet, pulling forwards And backwards I've four words for parlors, For barbers and hatchets I bury the four suns, The moon arose after I left an Oscar on your alter this morning Never shall ye rest, Haven't ever then, Paid the tythe, And for the while, Immortal wife and lover, Mother daughter, Soon to call your name and number, However, The fall from the drop of polish, Of course, oil marks upon canvases Sickness and swells of my Hands upon your corset Could you collide with another? Doubtful, to that, So shall it must be List, but never to utter A mustard seed; Ground, then unground— As if planted, Simple, As the seed of laughter So then, would you By the turn of the hour, return to the one had you called Lover, A curse upon the Coerced and responsible A blonde, But worse, A pretty one For never after happens out of nowhere Now, Dissociate, Before I dissipate of Loneliness Hark, The door opens for one, A bold soldier to come, Listen lover, The stone has been Suspended, by the mirror In terror Alarmed, Cool you are now Calm, however Not abound to be lie Or below Bound by blood There you are In excelsior, Predecessor What would you want that for— The camera obscured; Why, If only, To look upon you Plastered and enlarged As you are Endangered in my imagination A dangerous and strange, Dangling addiction Fascination, now With power, And prowess Come now, The midnight hour is upon us [his body hung from the rafters above the studio, just one lamp left aglow—and then suddenly I had awakened, his body still and resting, sleeping quietly—although the hanged man burned into my mind; I left him quietly as I could in the loft and sat with nothing in my mind at all at the canvas, brush in hand, as if I were to draw something—but could not. It was almost as if I was frozen, or even perhaps the canvas were instead a mirror, and I the painting —though I could not know. My dearest Patrick was a broken man, and I his broken lover—the both of us an atrocity at all in shambles—I wept inwardly but not outward, as not to wake him as my tears often did, even from a deep sleep. The sun was far from rising, and though I had barely slept at all, I felt I would never sleep again—I fell at my tilted alter as the sun rose, in prayer and devastation; What had I done?] —Esha's Memoirs, the journals from The Altar You know what, kid— You've got something. I don't know what it is, But it's something. Kid? Aren't we like, the same age? No. I'll tell you what I've got I've got a seven year old kid I haven't seen in two years; I've got a sink full of dishes I've got credit card debt and school loans I've got racist neighbors, An ex husband who swears he never hit me With a brand new baby I've got Extreme back pain I've got a body only God could ever love And I've got something like 10,000 pages or more Of stuff I barely remember writing Just sitting in the Google algorithm Pushing me closer and closer to suicide Every single day I've got Sexual fantasies about celebrities for no given reason at all. I've got 800 songs that are just words I've got books I want to read just— sitting there And I've got this pain That just sits inside my soul That never goes away, ever I've got something, alright. I've got something, sure But when it comes to money I got a dollar One fucking dollar And you know what I call that? -Useless. She's dead, isn't she? You guessed it. Well, what am I supposed to do? What you always do. What is that? What is that? Swear of the palm d ore I Cannes, Atop the Eiffel You are the river that crosses my eye, The scar across my heart, The Eye, is All we are And all is one; One is all, And All are One Well, I'm quite nervous. Don't be nervous, at all, Johnny. Relax. Another John—my first, in fact. Indeed, I was once relentlessly obsessed With Johnny Depp Infatuated, if you will Whatever you want to call it. Of course, For a teenaged girl, however This sort of obsession was somewhat normal Somewhat. I had always wanted to star in movies— So much so that I began to write them. I was about 7, maybe 8 when the stories in my headed started to form as narratives— Not just stories, but words Characters and conversations— Plots. I should leave this poor Fallon boy alone. Some darkness inside of me wants him; That thing that doesn't quiet, nor does it want, Anything but what it wants— And it is, Darkness-m— That thing that lives inside of me and what is does; The thing it calls love, and calls our for The something in someone that rises it up From wherever it dwells, Deep in my soul, and into my hear, Into my thoughts, It haunts all that I must and mustn't Ponder upon A woman's cause, And a murderer of sorts, The ugly swan , who dances on ponds, Laying one one, but all of precious stones, The egg, The coveted stones of trust, And wander, Listing upon that which it feeds, Not only the bod, But its motor, It's mind, A hearty philosopher, And willful warrior, Of wit, And of talent, The strength of Astonishment A power above all, A blindness of fate; Judged by all The spectacular amongst us The famed and the damned, Acquitted of warmth and dutiful, Exquisite in awe A rarity. —The Fame Files. V.O. Coming to terms with one's death is always peaceful. All harm caused will be returned by he/she who causes it or acts in such a way as to inflict pain and hostility towards peaceful persons. Causing with intention psychological, physical, mental, or physical harm will result in the immediate karmic retaliation of such pain as inflicted on peaceful individuals; these acts of war will inhibit the actor from entering the transcendence, or developing expanded consciousness, gaining wealth, further material possessions–his own will is therefore weakened, and therefore unworthy of love himself, by the intent to cause one such pain as an act of violence or ill will. One's disruption of peace is thereby an act of cruelty, punishable beyond death–causing pain by intention to another individual in the attempt of control or manipulation, intrusion, and abuse is therefore against the laws by which the ascended abide by, and therefore cannot and will not exist beyond the ill fate of its perpetrator. Please leave me alone; I'm asking you nicely. Alright, fine. Where is it! Where is what? You know what. What? From the fountain. It wasn't me! I don't have it. And this, is why Jimmy Fallon is impenetrable. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

No sympathy For the empath, either It smells of either Mescaline, or ether It's just a dream, I mean I don't need referrals to therapy Serenity and peace Is all I'm screaming for The the fourth wall's broken The worlds up in arms I pretend to hold him in my arms, As I nod off, I forgot to block the thought watchers Got my VPN on, but An EMP is what we need To get the NPCs off Fuck then all, then Turn my phone off, tune out Or just doze off I need at lease a dose of Stone, You know, But won't bother It's awful/awesome I didn't wanna write it all, At all, but I got to Cause I been moving up Like the Jefferson's in Chicago Or was that New York? Imm unsure, Puzzles, importance and crosswords I can't run on no water and pasta So I'm awkward a short-stop Or stoped stored of breath, tripped over a cross a t the crosswalk, For once I'm iconic, The Beatles I'm all four of them Need some soft porn, Or a needle in side my arm This dude is harming me I need some fuckin armor from The opposite of God It's just obnoxious, He won't stop fucking up my block I guess nobody loves him Not even his mom Guess it's my son It's just another song it sonnet, If you're reading or watching it It's the opposite of love, Not hate, It's poverty Baby's all right Brooklyn Pretty little palace of disaster Pretty little patterns of — Whatever Tantrums, smashing Jack o lanterns Shadows, Hands that attach to the strings Allowing them to dance into dreams It seems these sacred places Have been ravaged And I have not been running But I don't have any money Wise than that It's less than zero Negatives I want to kill myself again Honestly, I see a way out it just Requires being tortured By people coughing. And motorcycles I might have seen my son for the last time At age five It's finally warm outside And everything's just Reminding me I'm struggling with poverty Nothing really matters cause I don't belong here Everything is wrong I just want blonde hair, Hurry up, God Assist me with a suicide I can take pride in Not an attempt, but The only success I'll ever have At anything At all -El Al Nothing moves the same After an unrequited love becomes a tragedy Or just a movie scene I want to scream for needing to be needed Then again Could die just to be dead Could go back To just be blacklisted Or a crackhead Doing magic tricks Pass I couldn't have ever imagined This fascination as of late Or making trance But anything can happen With the light switches on and off As the kite catches headwinds Or hedwig is getting bigger by the minute That just grows out of his head, But I wish it was a wig Like Kristen Pass Yes. Breathe deep into my lungs, These scenes of things So evil seeming, even to me Lucidity becomes as dreamily Eerie, intermittently meaningless, And then suddenly, However much later, Maddeningly attractive, As I am, in fact Attached to this project As menacingly handsome and devilish as he is I've decided, it's manageable, but clashes with my Moral standards and clasps with fabrications Lay hands on me and see what happens! —-okay… “Okay” Pass! I asked to be a rockstar and showrunner On the same blood soaked candles I took blood oaths Dancing in front of the fountain At rockafeller plaza, to no applause, Of course, Drinking monsters nonstop, Ontop of my skateboard I came back late to Boston And took a plane to Vegas early the next morning But somewhere deep in my Google Drive or documents Is me under a neon sign, Which reads a name I resigned from saying Until maybe I get signed I hate him, but hey, The name of the game is Mating Season, And lately I've been craving eggs and Mayonnaise instead of protein shakes and Crayons Wax on, wax off… Pass, but that last sentence didn't make sense It did.:: Oh, Yes, it did. Promise. You do some stupid shit. Okay, so I do stupid shit. Believe me, you do some stupid shit. Okay, I believe you. Don't believe me when I tell you things like that. What the fuck, Patrick, do you mean, even? I mean what I mean, but usually just— For me. I am you, I thought. Exactly: don't believe me. Okay? I don't believe you… Just—believe me. Believe me. Oh dang. So there really is no “Jimmy Fallon” No, there isn't it's just— Poor little Jimmy Fallon… What if— There is no “if”. Nobody has to ‘agree' to this project Sign the terms of agreement For what. You'll see.. stupid little bitch. *squints* What did you just say. (Walking away, mumbling) Nothing! Fucking idiot. What did you just say?! (Yelling) I said you're a fucking idiot, Fallon! You're a fucking lDi0T: Well, okay. lol NBC is not gonna let this fly at all. No, Jimmy, you cannot do this project. Well, that's alright. I quit. You can't quit. You have a contract. I don't—I'm out of my contract: On what grounds?! Conflict of interest! That's my say, isn't it? Is it? MORGUE. I bought a network! MY NAME IS— MAaaa!! WHATTTTTTT. The show's on! [A Cold Open] L E G E N D S {Enter The Multiverse} Fuck this kid. I'm gonna kill him. Kill what. Who. FALLON. GET IN HERE. Ah. [explitive] [‘THE FALLON' gets ‘FALLONED' by ELLEN DEGENERES] ELLEN YES. FINALLY, I'm in this bitch. [And other members of ‘THE HOSTS COLLECTIVE', a high ranking team in the ILLUMINATI FOREFRONT] Well, not in the way I'm sure you'd hoped, but. Shutthefuckup! Oh wait—is she Is it “she” Is she a lesbian?! What's the “Illuminati”— We'll get back to that later. No! gross! Portia Derossi! Huh? I want to be that pretty! Well, okie. MEANWHILE, In my actual own age group… I'm older than all these hosts, anyway! Even Leno? Isn't he dead already?! Exactly! EVEN STEVENS [BEANS is now VEGAN] Why is vegan capitalized. Cause it's important. Hey buddy! Don't call me buddy. I'm edging on 40. Time flies when you're— Rapidly aging? I brought you some bacon. You what: It's farm fresh! Kooldjredalert Lie to me Try to sleep (In my arms, won't you) Try to keep the Time with My heart Beat (Heavenly) I've been living in your world for just over a month, now. I'm sorry, Fallon. That must be awful. Not too sorry— Some of this stuff is good. Just, priceless. Wouldn't trade it for the world. But I've hung my head in shame, Cause I hung myself with gratitude, Haven't you had enough? If it makes any difference at all, And I'm betting it does All I wished for a wanted and prayed Was for you to be happy I buy burners with trackers Put burn holes in sweaters The summit at the plummet, pulling forwards And backwards I've four words for parlors, For barbers and hatchets I bury the four suns, The moon arose after I left an Oscar on your alter this morning Never shall ye rest, Haven't ever then, Paid the tythe, And for the while, Immortal wife and lover, Mother daughter, Soon to call your name and number, However, The fall from the drop of polish, Of course, oil marks upon canvases Sickness and swells of my Hands upon your corset Could you collide with another? Doubtful, to that, So shall it must be List, but never to utter A mustard seed; Ground, then unground— As if planted, Simple, As the seed of laughter So then, would you By the turn of the hour, return to the one had you called Lover, A curse upon the Coerced and responsible A blonde, But worse, A pretty one For never after happens out of nowhere Now, Dissociate, Before I dissipate of Loneliness Hark, The door opens for one, A bold soldier to come, Listen lover, The stone has been Suspended, by the mirror In terror Alarmed, Cool you are now Calm, however Not abound to be lie Or below Bound by blood There you are In excelsior, Predecessor What would you want that for— The camera obscured; Why, If only, To look upon you Plastered and enlarged As you are Endangered in my imagination A dangerous and strange, Dangling addiction Fascination, now With power, And prowess Come now, The midnight hour is upon us [his body hung from the rafters above the studio, just one lamp left aglow—and then suddenly I had awakened, his body still and resting, sleeping quietly—although the hanged man burned into my mind; I left him quietly as I could in the loft and sat with nothing in my mind at all at the canvas, brush in hand, as if I were to draw something—but could not. It was almost as if I was frozen, or even perhaps the canvas were instead a mirror, and I the painting —though I could not know. My dearest Patrick was a broken man, and I his broken lover—the both of us an atrocity at all in shambles—I wept inwardly but not outward, as not to wake him as my tears often did, even from a deep sleep. The sun was far from rising, and though I had barely slept at all, I felt I would never sleep again—I fell at my tilted alter as the sun rose, in prayer and devastation; What had I done?] —Esha's Memoirs, the journals from The Altar You know what, kid— You've got something. I don't know what it is, But it's something. Kid? Aren't we like, the same age? No. I'll tell you what I've got I've got a seven year old kid I haven't seen in two years; I've got a sink full of dishes I've got credit card debt and school loans I've got racist neighbors, An ex husband who swears he never hit me With a brand new baby I've got Extreme back pain I've got a body only God could ever love And I've got something like 10,000 pages or more Of stuff I barely remember writing Just sitting in the Google algorithm Pushing me closer and closer to suicide Every single day I've got Sexual fantasies about celebrities for no given reason at all. I've got 800 songs that are just words I've got books I want to read just— sitting there And I've got this pain That just sits inside my soul That never goes away, ever I've got something, alright. I've got something, sure But when it comes to money I got a dollar One fucking dollar And you know what I call that? -Useless. She's dead, isn't she? You guessed it. Well, what am I supposed to do? What you always do. What is that? What is that? Swear of the palm d ore I Cannes, Atop the Eiffel You are the river that crosses my eye, The scar across my heart, The Eye, is All we are And all is one; One is all, And All are One Well, I'm quite nervous. Don't be nervous, at all, Johnny. Relax. Another John—my first, in fact. Indeed, I was once relentlessly obsessed With Johnny Depp Infatuated, if you will Whatever you want to call it. Of course, For a teenaged girl, however This sort of obsession was somewhat normal Somewhat. I had always wanted to star in movies— So much so that I began to write them. I was about 7, maybe 8 when the stories in my headed started to form as narratives— Not just stories, but words Characters and conversations— Plots. I should leave this poor Fallon boy alone. Some darkness inside of me wants him; That thing that doesn't quiet, nor does it want, Anything but what it wants— And it is, Darkness-m— That thing that lives inside of me and what is does; The thing it calls love, and calls our for The something in someone that rises it up From wherever it dwells, Deep in my soul, and into my hear, Into my thoughts, It haunts all that I must and mustn't Ponder upon A woman's cause, And a murderer of sorts, The ugly swan , who dances on ponds, Laying one one, but all of precious stones, The egg, The coveted stones of trust, And wander, Listing upon that which it feeds, Not only the bod, But its motor, It's mind, A hearty philosopher, And willful warrior, Of wit, And of talent, The strength of Astonishment A power above all, A blindness of fate; Judged by all The spectacular amongst us The famed and the damned, Acquitted of warmth and dutiful, Exquisite in awe A rarity. —The Fame Files. V.O. Coming to terms with one's death is always peaceful. All harm caused will be returned by he/she who causes it or acts in such a way as to inflict pain and hostility towards peaceful persons. Causing with intention psychological, physical, mental, or physical harm will result in the immediate karmic retaliation of such pain as inflicted on peaceful individuals; these acts of war will inhibit the actor from entering the transcendence, or developing expanded consciousness, gaining wealth, further material possessions–his own will is therefore weakened, and therefore unworthy of love himself, by the intent to cause one such pain as an act of violence or ill will. One's disruption of peace is thereby an act of cruelty, punishable beyond death–causing pain by intention to another individual in the attempt of control or manipulation, intrusion, and abuse is therefore against the laws by which the ascended abide by, and therefore cannot and will not exist beyond the ill fate of its perpetrator. Please leave me alone; I'm asking you nicely. Alright, fine. Where is it! Where is what? You know what. What? From the fountain. It wasn't me! I don't have it. And this, is why Jimmy Fallon is impenetrable. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

No sympathy For the empath, either It smells of either Mescaline, or ether It's just a dream, I mean I don't need referrals to therapy Serenity and peace Is all I'm screaming for The the fourth wall's broken The worlds up in arms I pretend to hold him in my arms, As I nod off, I forgot to block the thought watchers Got my VPN on, but An EMP is what we need To get the NPCs off Fuck then all, then Turn my phone off, tune out Or just doze off I need at lease a dose of Stone, You know, But won't bother It's awful/awesome I didn't wanna write it all, At all, but I got to Cause I been moving up Like the Jefferson's in Chicago Or was that New York? Imm unsure, Puzzles, importance and crosswords I can't run on no water and pasta So I'm awkward a short-stop Or stoped stored of breath, tripped over a cross a t the crosswalk, For once I'm iconic, The Beatles I'm all four of them Need some soft porn, Or a needle in side my arm This dude is harming me I need some fuckin armor from The opposite of God It's just obnoxious, He won't stop fucking up my block I guess nobody loves him Not even his mom Guess it's my son It's just another song it sonnet, If you're reading or watching it It's the opposite of love, Not hate, It's poverty Baby's all right Brooklyn Pretty little palace of disaster Pretty little patterns of — Whatever Tantrums, smashing Jack o lanterns Shadows, Hands that attach to the strings Allowing them to dance into dreams It seems these sacred places Have been ravaged And I have not been running But I don't have any money Wise than that It's less than zero Negatives I want to kill myself again Honestly, I see a way out it just Requires being tortured By people coughing. And motorcycles I might have seen my son for the last time At age five It's finally warm outside And everything's just Reminding me I'm struggling with poverty Nothing really matters cause I don't belong here Everything is wrong I just want blonde hair, Hurry up, God Assist me with a suicide I can take pride in Not an attempt, but The only success I'll ever have At anything At all -El Al Nothing moves the same After an unrequited love becomes a tragedy Or just a movie scene I want to scream for needing to be needed Then again Could die just to be dead Could go back To just be blacklisted Or a crackhead Doing magic tricks Pass I couldn't have ever imagined This fascination as of late Or making trance But anything can happen With the light switches on and off As the kite catches headwinds Or hedwig is getting bigger by the minute That just grows out of his head, But I wish it was a wig Like Kristen Pass Yes. Breathe deep into my lungs, These scenes of things So evil seeming, even to me Lucidity becomes as dreamily Eerie, intermittently meaningless, And then suddenly, However much later, Maddeningly attractive, As I am, in fact Attached to this project As menacingly handsome and devilish as he is I've decided, it's manageable, but clashes with my Moral standards and clasps with fabrications Lay hands on me and see what happens! —-okay… “Okay” Pass! I asked to be a rockstar and showrunner On the same blood soaked candles I took blood oaths Dancing in front of the fountain At rockafeller plaza, to no applause, Of course, Drinking monsters nonstop, Ontop of my skateboard I came back late to Boston And took a plane to Vegas early the next morning But somewhere deep in my Google Drive or documents Is me under a neon sign, Which reads a name I resigned from saying Until maybe I get signed I hate him, but hey, The name of the game is Mating Season, And lately I've been craving eggs and Mayonnaise instead of protein shakes and Crayons Wax on, wax off… Pass, but that last sentence didn't make sense It did.:: Oh, Yes, it did. Promise. You do some stupid shit. Okay, so I do stupid shit. Believe me, you do some stupid shit. Okay, I believe you. Don't believe me when I tell you things like that. What the fuck, Patrick, do you mean, even? I mean what I mean, but usually just— For me. I am you, I thought. Exactly: don't believe me. Okay? I don't believe you… Just—believe me. Believe me. Oh dang. So there really is no “Jimmy Fallon” No, there isn't it's just— Poor little Jimmy Fallon… What if— There is no “if”. Nobody has to ‘agree' to this project Sign the terms of agreement For what. You'll see.. stupid little bitch. *squints* What did you just say. (Walking away, mumbling) Nothing! Fucking idiot. What did you just say?! (Yelling) I said you're a fucking idiot, Fallon! You're a fucking lDi0T: Well, okay. lol NBC is not gonna let this fly at all. No, Jimmy, you cannot do this project. Well, that's alright. I quit. You can't quit. You have a contract. I don't—I'm out of my contract: On what grounds?! Conflict of interest! That's my say, isn't it? Is it? MORGUE. I bought a network! MY NAME IS— MAaaa!! WHATTTTTTT. The show's on! [A Cold Open] L E G E N D S {Enter The Multiverse} Fuck this kid. I'm gonna kill him. Kill what. Who. FALLON. GET IN HERE. Ah. [explitive] [‘THE FALLON' gets ‘FALLONED' by ELLEN DEGENERES] ELLEN YES. FINALLY, I'm in this bitch. [And other members of ‘THE HOSTS COLLECTIVE', a high ranking team in the ILLUMINATI FOREFRONT] Well, not in the way I'm sure you'd hoped, but. Shutthefuckup! Oh wait—is she Is it “she” Is she a lesbian?! What's the “Illuminati”— We'll get back to that later. No! gross! Portia Derossi! Huh? I want to be that pretty! Well, okie. MEANWHILE, In my actual own age group… I'm older than all these hosts, anyway! Even Leno? Isn't he dead already?! Exactly! EVEN STEVENS [BEANS is now VEGAN] Why is vegan capitalized. Cause it's important. Hey buddy! Don't call me buddy. I'm edging on 40. Time flies when you're— Rapidly aging? I brought you some bacon. You what: It's farm fresh! Kooldjredalert Lie to me Try to sleep (In my arms, won't you) Try to keep the Time with My heart Beat (Heavenly) I've been living in your world for just over a month, now. I'm sorry, Fallon. That must be awful. Not too sorry— Some of this stuff is good. Just, priceless. Wouldn't trade it for the world. But I've hung my head in shame, Cause I hung myself with gratitude, Haven't you had enough? If it makes any difference at all, And I'm betting it does All I wished for a wanted and prayed Was for you to be happy I buy burners with trackers Put burn holes in sweaters The summit at the plummet, pulling forwards And backwards I've four words for parlors, For barbers and hatchets I bury the four suns, The moon arose after I left an Oscar on your alter this morning Never shall ye rest, Haven't ever then, Paid the tythe, And for the while, Immortal wife and lover, Mother daughter, Soon to call your name and number, However, The fall from the drop of polish, Of course, oil marks upon canvases Sickness and swells of my Hands upon your corset Could you collide with another? Doubtful, to that, So shall it must be List, but never to utter A mustard seed; Ground, then unground— As if planted, Simple, As the seed of laughter So then, would you By the turn of the hour, return to the one had you called Lover, A curse upon the Coerced and responsible A blonde, But worse, A pretty one For never after happens out of nowhere Now, Dissociate, Before I dissipate of Loneliness Hark, The door opens for one, A bold soldier to come, Listen lover, The stone has been Suspended, by the mirror In terror Alarmed, Cool you are now Calm, however Not abound to be lie Or below Bound by blood There you are In excelsior, Predecessor What would you want that for— The camera obscured; Why, If only, To look upon you Plastered and enlarged As you are Endangered in my imagination A dangerous and strange, Dangling addiction Fascination, now With power, And prowess Come now, The midnight hour is upon us [his body hung from the rafters above the studio, just one lamp left aglow—and then suddenly I had awakened, his body still and resting, sleeping quietly—although the hanged man burned into my mind; I left him quietly as I could in the loft and sat with nothing in my mind at all at the canvas, brush in hand, as if I were to draw something—but could not. It was almost as if I was frozen, or even perhaps the canvas were instead a mirror, and I the painting —though I could not know. My dearest Patrick was a broken man, and I his broken lover—the both of us an atrocity at all in shambles—I wept inwardly but not outward, as not to wake him as my tears often did, even from a deep sleep. The sun was far from rising, and though I had barely slept at all, I felt I would never sleep again—I fell at my tilted alter as the sun rose, in prayer and devastation; What had I done?] —Esha's Memoirs, the journals from The Altar You know what, kid— You've got something. I don't know what it is, But it's something. Kid? Aren't we like, the same age? No. I'll tell you what I've got I've got a seven year old kid I haven't seen in two years; I've got a sink full of dishes I've got credit card debt and school loans I've got racist neighbors, An ex husband who swears he never hit me With a brand new baby I've got Extreme back pain I've got a body only God could ever love And I've got something like 10,000 pages or more Of stuff I barely remember writing Just sitting in the Google algorithm Pushing me closer and closer to suicide Every single day I've got Sexual fantasies about celebrities for no given reason at all. I've got 800 songs that are just words I've got books I want to read just— sitting there And I've got this pain That just sits inside my soul That never goes away, ever I've got something, alright. I've got something, sure But when it comes to money I got a dollar One fucking dollar And you know what I call that? -Useless. She's dead, isn't she? You guessed it. Well, what am I supposed to do? What you always do. What is that? What is that? Swear of the palm d ore I Cannes, Atop the Eiffel You are the river that crosses my eye, The scar across my heart, The Eye, is All we are And all is one; One is all, And All are One Well, I'm quite nervous. Don't be nervous, at all, Johnny. Relax. Another John—my first, in fact. Indeed, I was once relentlessly obsessed With Johnny Depp Infatuated, if you will Whatever you want to call it. Of course, For a teenaged girl, however This sort of obsession was somewhat normal Somewhat. I had always wanted to star in movies— So much so that I began to write them. I was about 7, maybe 8 when the stories in my headed started to form as narratives— Not just stories, but words Characters and conversations— Plots. I should leave this poor Fallon boy alone. Some darkness inside of me wants him; That thing that doesn't quiet, nor does it want, Anything but what it wants— And it is, Darkness-m— That thing that lives inside of me and what is does; The thing it calls love, and calls our for The something in someone that rises it up From wherever it dwells, Deep in my soul, and into my hear, Into my thoughts, It haunts all that I must and mustn't Ponder upon A woman's cause, And a murderer of sorts, The ugly swan , who dances on ponds, Laying one one, but all of precious stones, The egg, The coveted stones of trust, And wander, Listing upon that which it feeds, Not only the bod, But its motor, It's mind, A hearty philosopher, And willful warrior, Of wit, And of talent, The strength of Astonishment A power above all, A blindness of fate; Judged by all The spectacular amongst us The famed and the damned, Acquitted of warmth and dutiful, Exquisite in awe A rarity. —The Fame Files. V.O. Coming to terms with one's death is always peaceful. All harm caused will be returned by he/she who causes it or acts in such a way as to inflict pain and hostility towards peaceful persons. Causing with intention psychological, physical, mental, or physical harm will result in the immediate karmic retaliation of such pain as inflicted on peaceful individuals; these acts of war will inhibit the actor from entering the transcendence, or developing expanded consciousness, gaining wealth, further material possessions–his own will is therefore weakened, and therefore unworthy of love himself, by the intent to cause one such pain as an act of violence or ill will. One's disruption of peace is thereby an act of cruelty, punishable beyond death–causing pain by intention to another individual in the attempt of control or manipulation, intrusion, and abuse is therefore against the laws by which the ascended abide by, and therefore cannot and will not exist beyond the ill fate of its perpetrator. Please leave me alone; I'm asking you nicely. Alright, fine. Where is it! Where is what? You know what. What? From the fountain. It wasn't me! I don't have it. And this, is why Jimmy Fallon is impenetrable. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

No sympathy For the empath, either It smells of either Mescaline, or ether It's just a dream, I mean I don't need referrals to therapy Serenity and peace Is all I'm screaming for The the fourth wall's broken The worlds up in arms I pretend to hold him in my arms, As I nod off, I forgot to block the thought watchers Got my VPN on, but An EMP is what we need To get the NPCs off Fuck then all, then Turn my phone off, tune out Or just doze off I need at lease a dose of Stone, You know, But won't bother It's awful/awesome I didn't wanna write it all, At all, but I got to Cause I been moving up Like the Jefferson's in Chicago Or was that New York? Imm unsure, Puzzles, importance and crosswords I can't run on no water and pasta So I'm awkward a short-stop Or stoped stored of breath, tripped over a cross a t the crosswalk, For once I'm iconic, The Beatles I'm all four of them Need some soft porn, Or a needle in side my arm This dude is harming me I need some fuckin armor from The opposite of God It's just obnoxious, He won't stop fucking up my block I guess nobody loves him Not even his mom Guess it's my son It's just another song it sonnet, If you're reading or watching it It's the opposite of love, Not hate, It's poverty Baby's all right Brooklyn Pretty little palace of disaster Pretty little patterns of — Whatever Tantrums, smashing Jack o lanterns Shadows, Hands that attach to the strings Allowing them to dance into dreams It seems these sacred places Have been ravaged And I have not been running But I don't have any money Wise than that It's less than zero Negatives I want to kill myself again Honestly, I see a way out it just Requires being tortured By people coughing. And motorcycles I might have seen my son for the last time At age five It's finally warm outside And everything's just Reminding me I'm struggling with poverty Nothing really matters cause I don't belong here Everything is wrong I just want blonde hair, Hurry up, God Assist me with a suicide I can take pride in Not an attempt, but The only success I'll ever have At anything At all -El Al Nothing moves the same After an unrequited love becomes a tragedy Or just a movie scene I want to scream for needing to be needed Then again Could die just to be dead Could go back To just be blacklisted Or a crackhead Doing magic tricks Pass I couldn't have ever imagined This fascination as of late Or making trance But anything can happen With the light switches on and off As the kite catches headwinds Or hedwig is getting bigger by the minute That just grows out of his head, But I wish it was a wig Like Kristen Pass Yes. Breathe deep into my lungs, These scenes of things So evil seeming, even to me Lucidity becomes as dreamily Eerie, intermittently meaningless, And then suddenly, However much later, Maddeningly attractive, As I am, in fact Attached to this project As menacingly handsome and devilish as he is I've decided, it's manageable, but clashes with my Moral standards and clasps with fabrications Lay hands on me and see what happens! —-okay… “Okay” Pass! I asked to be a rockstar and showrunner On the same blood soaked candles I took blood oaths Dancing in front of the fountain At rockafeller plaza, to no applause, Of course, Drinking monsters nonstop, Ontop of my skateboard I came back late to Boston And took a plane to Vegas early the next morning But somewhere deep in my Google Drive or documents Is me under a neon sign, Which reads a name I resigned from saying Until maybe I get signed I hate him, but hey, The name of the game is Mating Season, And lately I've been craving eggs and Mayonnaise instead of protein shakes and Crayons Wax on, wax off… Pass, but that last sentence didn't make sense It did.:: Oh, Yes, it did. Promise. You do some stupid shit. Okay, so I do stupid shit. Believe me, you do some stupid shit. Okay, I believe you. Don't believe me when I tell you things like that. What the fuck, Patrick, do you mean, even? I mean what I mean, but usually just— For me. I am you, I thought. Exactly: don't believe me. Okay? I don't believe you… Just—believe me. Believe me. Oh dang. So there really is no “Jimmy Fallon” No, there isn't it's just— Poor little Jimmy Fallon… What if— There is no “if”. Nobody has to ‘agree' to this project Sign the terms of agreement For what. You'll see.. stupid little bitch. *squints* What did you just say. (Walking away, mumbling) Nothing! Fucking idiot. What did you just say?! (Yelling) I said you're a fucking idiot, Fallon! You're a fucking lDi0T: Well, okay. lol NBC is not gonna let this fly at all. No, Jimmy, you cannot do this project. Well, that's alright. I quit. You can't quit. You have a contract. I don't—I'm out of my contract: On what grounds?! Conflict of interest! That's my say, isn't it? Is it? MORGUE. I bought a network! MY NAME IS— MAaaa!! WHATTTTTTT. The show's on! [A Cold Open] L E G E N D S {Enter The Multiverse} Fuck this kid. I'm gonna kill him. Kill what. Who. FALLON. GET IN HERE. Ah. [explitive] [‘THE FALLON' gets ‘FALLONED' by ELLEN DEGENERES] ELLEN YES. FINALLY, I'm in this bitch. [And other members of ‘THE HOSTS COLLECTIVE', a high ranking team in the ILLUMINATI FOREFRONT] Well, not in the way I'm sure you'd hoped, but. Shutthefuckup! Oh wait—is she Is it “she” Is she a lesbian?! What's the “Illuminati”— We'll get back to that later. No! gross! Portia Derossi! Huh? I want to be that pretty! Well, okie. MEANWHILE, In my actual own age group… I'm older than all these hosts, anyway! Even Leno? Isn't he dead already?! Exactly! EVEN STEVENS [BEANS is now VEGAN] Why is vegan capitalized. Cause it's important. Hey buddy! Don't call me buddy. I'm edging on 40. Time flies when you're— Rapidly aging? I brought you some bacon. You what: It's farm fresh! Kooldjredalert Lie to me Try to sleep (In my arms, won't you) Try to keep the Time with My heart Beat (Heavenly) I've been living in your world for just over a month, now. I'm sorry, Fallon. That must be awful. Not too sorry— Some of this stuff is good. Just, priceless. Wouldn't trade it for the world. But I've hung my head in shame, Cause I hung myself with gratitude, Haven't you had enough? If it makes any difference at all, And I'm betting it does All I wished for a wanted and prayed Was for you to be happy I buy burners with trackers Put burn holes in sweaters The summit at the plummet, pulling forwards And backwards I've four words for parlors, For barbers and hatchets I bury the four suns, The moon arose after I left an Oscar on your alter this morning Never shall ye rest, Haven't ever then, Paid the tythe, And for the while, Immortal wife and lover, Mother daughter, Soon to call your name and number, However, The fall from the drop of polish, Of course, oil marks upon canvases Sickness and swells of my Hands upon your corset Could you collide with another? Doubtful, to that, So shall it must be List, but never to utter A mustard seed; Ground, then unground— As if planted, Simple, As the seed of laughter So then, would you By the turn of the hour, return to the one had you called Lover, A curse upon the Coerced and responsible A blonde, But worse, A pretty one For never after happens out of nowhere Now, Dissociate, Before I dissipate of Loneliness Hark, The door opens for one, A bold soldier to come, Listen lover, The stone has been Suspended, by the mirror In terror Alarmed, Cool you are now Calm, however Not abound to be lie Or below Bound by blood There you are In excelsior, Predecessor What would you want that for— The camera obscured; Why, If only, To look upon you Plastered and enlarged As you are Endangered in my imagination A dangerous and strange, Dangling addiction Fascination, now With power, And prowess Come now, The midnight hour is upon us [his body hung from the rafters above the studio, just one lamp left aglow—and then suddenly I had awakened, his body still and resting, sleeping quietly—although the hanged man burned into my mind; I left him quietly as I could in the loft and sat with nothing in my mind at all at the canvas, brush in hand, as if I were to draw something—but could not. It was almost as if I was frozen, or even perhaps the canvas were instead a mirror, and I the painting —though I could not know. My dearest Patrick was a broken man, and I his broken lover—the both of us an atrocity at all in shambles—I wept inwardly but not outward, as not to wake him as my tears often did, even from a deep sleep. The sun was far from rising, and though I had barely slept at all, I felt I would never sleep again—I fell at my tilted alter as the sun rose, in prayer and devastation; What had I done?] —Esha's Memoirs, the journals from The Altar You know what, kid— You've got something. I don't know what it is, But it's something. Kid? Aren't we like, the same age? No. I'll tell you what I've got I've got a seven year old kid I haven't seen in two years; I've got a sink full of dishes I've got credit card debt and school loans I've got racist neighbors, An ex husband who swears he never hit me With a brand new baby I've got Extreme back pain I've got a body only God could ever love And I've got something like 10,000 pages or more Of stuff I barely remember writing Just sitting in the Google algorithm Pushing me closer and closer to suicide Every single day I've got Sexual fantasies about celebrities for no given reason at all. I've got 800 songs that are just words I've got books I want to read just— sitting there And I've got this pain That just sits inside my soul That never goes away, ever I've got something, alright. I've got something, sure But when it comes to money I got a dollar One fucking dollar And you know what I call that? -Useless. She's dead, isn't she? You guessed it. Well, what am I supposed to do? What you always do. What is that? What is that? Swear of the palm d ore I Cannes, Atop the Eiffel You are the river that crosses my eye, The scar across my heart, The Eye, is All we are And all is one; One is all, And All are One Well, I'm quite nervous. Don't be nervous, at all, Johnny. Relax. Another John—my first, in fact. Indeed, I was once relentlessly obsessed With Johnny Depp Infatuated, if you will Whatever you want to call it. Of course, For a teenaged girl, however This sort of obsession was somewhat normal Somewhat. I had always wanted to star in movies— So much so that I began to write them. I was about 7, maybe 8 when the stories in my headed started to form as narratives— Not just stories, but words Characters and conversations— Plots. I should leave this poor Fallon boy alone. Some darkness inside of me wants him; That thing that doesn't quiet, nor does it want, Anything but what it wants— And it is, Darkness-m— That thing that lives inside of me and what is does; The thing it calls love, and calls our for The something in someone that rises it up From wherever it dwells, Deep in my soul, and into my hear, Into my thoughts, It haunts all that I must and mustn't Ponder upon A woman's cause, And a murderer of sorts, The ugly swan , who dances on ponds, Laying one one, but all of precious stones, The egg, The coveted stones of trust, And wander, Listing upon that which it feeds, Not only the bod, But its motor, It's mind, A hearty philosopher, And willful warrior, Of wit, And of talent, The strength of Astonishment A power above all, A blindness of fate; Judged by all The spectacular amongst us The famed and the damned, Acquitted of warmth and dutiful, Exquisite in awe A rarity. —The Fame Files. V.O. Coming to terms with one's death is always peaceful. All harm caused will be returned by he/she who causes it or acts in such a way as to inflict pain and hostility towards peaceful persons. Causing with intention psychological, physical, mental, or physical harm will result in the immediate karmic retaliation of such pain as inflicted on peaceful individuals; these acts of war will inhibit the actor from entering the transcendence, or developing expanded consciousness, gaining wealth, further material possessions–his own will is therefore weakened, and therefore unworthy of love himself, by the intent to cause one such pain as an act of violence or ill will. One's disruption of peace is thereby an act of cruelty, punishable beyond death–causing pain by intention to another individual in the attempt of control or manipulation, intrusion, and abuse is therefore against the laws by which the ascended abide by, and therefore cannot and will not exist beyond the ill fate of its perpetrator. Please leave me alone; I'm asking you nicely. Alright, fine. Where is it! Where is what? You know what. What? From the fountain. It wasn't me! I don't have it. And this, is why Jimmy Fallon is impenetrable. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

No sympathy For the empath, either It smells of either Mescaline, or ether It's just a dream, I mean I don't need referrals to therapy Serenity and peace Is all I'm screaming for The the fourth wall's broken The worlds up in arms I pretend to hold him in my arms, As I nod off, I forgot to block the thought watchers Got my VPN on, but An EMP is what we need To get the NPCs off Fuck then all, then Turn my phone off, tune out Or just doze off I need at lease a dose of Stone, You know, But won't bother It's awful/awesome I didn't wanna write it all, At all, but I got to Cause I been moving up Like the Jefferson's in Chicago Or was that New York? Imm unsure, Puzzles, importance and crosswords I can't run on no water and pasta So I'm awkward a short-stop Or stoped stored of breath, tripped over a cross a t the crosswalk, For once I'm iconic, The Beatles I'm all four of them Need some soft porn, Or a needle in side my arm This dude is harming me I need some fuckin armor from The opposite of God It's just obnoxious, He won't stop fucking up my block I guess nobody loves him Not even his mom Guess it's my son It's just another song it sonnet, If you're reading or watching it It's the opposite of love, Not hate, It's poverty Baby's all right Brooklyn Pretty little palace of disaster Pretty little patterns of — Whatever Tantrums, smashing Jack o lanterns Shadows, Hands that attach to the strings Allowing them to dance into dreams It seems these sacred places Have been ravaged And I have not been running But I don't have any money Wise than that It's less than zero Negatives I want to kill myself again Honestly, I see a way out it just Requires being tortured By people coughing. And motorcycles I might have seen my son for the last time At age five It's finally warm outside And everything's just Reminding me I'm struggling with poverty Nothing really matters cause I don't belong here Everything is wrong I just want blonde hair, Hurry up, God Assist me with a suicide I can take pride in Not an attempt, but The only success I'll ever have At anything At all -El Al Nothing moves the same After an unrequited love becomes a tragedy Or just a movie scene I want to scream for needing to be needed Then again Could die just to be dead Could go back To just be blacklisted Or a crackhead Doing magic tricks Pass I couldn't have ever imagined This fascination as of late Or making trance But anything can happen With the light switches on and off As the kite catches headwinds Or hedwig is getting bigger by the minute That just grows out of his head, But I wish it was a wig Like Kristen Pass Yes. Breathe deep into my lungs, These scenes of things So evil seeming, even to me Lucidity becomes as dreamily Eerie, intermittently meaningless, And then suddenly, However much later, Maddeningly attractive, As I am, in fact Attached to this project As menacingly handsome and devilish as he is I've decided, it's manageable, but clashes with my Moral standards and clasps with fabrications Lay hands on me and see what happens! —-okay… “Okay” Pass! I asked to be a rockstar and showrunner On the same blood soaked candles I took blood oaths Dancing in front of the fountain At rockafeller plaza, to no applause, Of course, Drinking monsters nonstop, Ontop of my skateboard I came back late to Boston And took a plane to Vegas early the next morning But somewhere deep in my Google Drive or documents Is me under a neon sign, Which reads a name I resigned from saying Until maybe I get signed I hate him, but hey, The name of the game is Mating Season, And lately I've been craving eggs and Mayonnaise instead of protein shakes and Crayons Wax on, wax off… Pass, but that last sentence didn't make sense It did.:: Oh, Yes, it did. Promise. You do some stupid shit. Okay, so I do stupid shit. Believe me, you do some stupid shit. Okay, I believe you. Don't believe me when I tell you things like that. What the fuck, Patrick, do you mean, even? I mean what I mean, but usually just— For me. I am you, I thought. Exactly: don't believe me. Okay? I don't believe you… Just—believe me. Believe me. Oh dang. So there really is no “Jimmy Fallon” No, there isn't it's just— Poor little Jimmy Fallon… What if— There is no “if”. Nobody has to ‘agree' to this project Sign the terms of agreement For what. You'll see.. stupid little bitch. *squints* What did you just say. (Walking away, mumbling) Nothing! Fucking idiot. What did you just say?! (Yelling) I said you're a fucking idiot, Fallon! You're a fucking lDi0T: Well, okay. lol NBC is not gonna let this fly at all. No, Jimmy, you cannot do this project. Well, that's alright. I quit. You can't quit. You have a contract. I don't—I'm out of my contract: On what grounds?! Conflict of interest! That's my say, isn't it? Is it? MORGUE. I bought a network! MY NAME IS— MAaaa!! WHATTTTTTT. The show's on! [A Cold Open] L E G E N D S {Enter The Multiverse} Fuck this kid. I'm gonna kill him. Kill what. Who. FALLON. GET IN HERE. Ah. [explitive] [‘THE FALLON' gets ‘FALLONED' by ELLEN DEGENERES] ELLEN YES. FINALLY, I'm in this bitch. [And other members of ‘THE HOSTS COLLECTIVE', a high ranking team in the ILLUMINATI FOREFRONT] Well, not in the way I'm sure you'd hoped, but. Shutthefuckup! Oh wait—is she Is it “she” Is she a lesbian?! What's the “Illuminati”— We'll get back to that later. No! gross! Portia Derossi! Huh? I want to be that pretty! Well, okie. MEANWHILE, In my actual own age group… I'm older than all these hosts, anyway! Even Leno? Isn't he dead already?! Exactly! EVEN STEVENS [BEANS is now VEGAN] Why is vegan capitalized. Cause it's important. Hey buddy! Don't call me buddy. I'm edging on 40. Time flies when you're— Rapidly aging? I brought you some bacon. You what: It's farm fresh! Kooldjredalert Lie to me Try to sleep (In my arms, won't you) Try to keep the Time with My heart Beat (Heavenly) I've been living in your world for just over a month, now. I'm sorry, Fallon. That must be awful. Not too sorry— Some of this stuff is good. Just, priceless. Wouldn't trade it for the world. But I've hung my head in shame, Cause I hung myself with gratitude, Haven't you had enough? If it makes any difference at all, And I'm betting it does All I wished for a wanted and prayed Was for you to be happy I buy burners with trackers Put burn holes in sweaters The summit at the plummet, pulling forwards And backwards I've four words for parlors, For barbers and hatchets I bury the four suns, The moon arose after I left an Oscar on your alter this morning Never shall ye rest, Haven't ever then, Paid the tythe, And for the while, Immortal wife and lover, Mother daughter, Soon to call your name and number, However, The fall from the drop of polish, Of course, oil marks upon canvases Sickness and swells of my Hands upon your corset Could you collide with another? Doubtful, to that, So shall it must be List, but never to utter A mustard seed; Ground, then unground— As if planted, Simple, As the seed of laughter So then, would you By the turn of the hour, return to the one had you called Lover, A curse upon the Coerced and responsible A blonde, But worse, A pretty one For never after happens out of nowhere Now, Dissociate, Before I dissipate of Loneliness Hark, The door opens for one, A bold soldier to come, Listen lover, The stone has been Suspended, by the mirror In terror Alarmed, Cool you are now Calm, however Not abound to be lie Or below Bound by blood There you are In excelsior, Predecessor What would you want that for— The camera obscured; Why, If only, To look upon you Plastered and enlarged As you are Endangered in my imagination A dangerous and strange, Dangling addiction Fascination, now With power, And prowess Come now, The midnight hour is upon us [his body hung from the rafters above the studio, just one lamp left aglow—and then suddenly I had awakened, his body still and resting, sleeping quietly—although the hanged man burned into my mind; I left him quietly as I could in the loft and sat with nothing in my mind at all at the canvas, brush in hand, as if I were to draw something—but could not. It was almost as if I was frozen, or even perhaps the canvas were instead a mirror, and I the painting —though I could not know. My dearest Patrick was a broken man, and I his broken lover—the both of us an atrocity at all in shambles—I wept inwardly but not outward, as not to wake him as my tears often did, even from a deep sleep. The sun was far from rising, and though I had barely slept at all, I felt I would never sleep again—I fell at my tilted alter as the sun rose, in prayer and devastation; What had I done?] —Esha's Memoirs, the journals from The Altar You know what, kid— You've got something. I don't know what it is, But it's something. Kid? Aren't we like, the same age? No. I'll tell you what I've got I've got a seven year old kid I haven't seen in two years; I've got a sink full of dishes I've got credit card debt and school loans I've got racist neighbors, An ex husband who swears he never hit me With a brand new baby I've got Extreme back pain I've got a body only God could ever love And I've got something like 10,000 pages or more Of stuff I barely remember writing Just sitting in the Google algorithm Pushing me closer and closer to suicide Every single day I've got Sexual fantasies about celebrities for no given reason at all. I've got 800 songs that are just words I've got books I want to read just— sitting there And I've got this pain That just sits inside my soul That never goes away, ever I've got something, alright. I've got something, sure But when it comes to money I got a dollar One fucking dollar And you know what I call that? -Useless. She's dead, isn't she? You guessed it. Well, what am I supposed to do? What you always do. What is that? What is that? Swear of the palm d ore I Cannes, Atop the Eiffel You are the river that crosses my eye, The scar across my heart, The Eye, is All we are And all is one; One is all, And All are One Well, I'm quite nervous. Don't be nervous, at all, Johnny. Relax. Another John—my first, in fact. Indeed, I was once relentlessly obsessed With Johnny Depp Infatuated, if you will Whatever you want to call it. Of course, For a teenaged girl, however This sort of obsession was somewhat normal Somewhat. I had always wanted to star in movies— So much so that I began to write them. I was about 7, maybe 8 when the stories in my headed started to form as narratives— Not just stories, but words Characters and conversations— Plots. I should leave this poor Fallon boy alone. Some darkness inside of me wants him; That thing that doesn't quiet, nor does it want, Anything but what it wants— And it is, Darkness-m— That thing that lives inside of me and what is does; The thing it calls love, and calls our for The something in someone that rises it up From wherever it dwells, Deep in my soul, and into my hear, Into my thoughts, It haunts all that I must and mustn't Ponder upon A woman's cause, And a murderer of sorts, The ugly swan , who dances on ponds, Laying one one, but all of precious stones, The egg, The coveted stones of trust, And wander, Listing upon that which it feeds, Not only the bod, But its motor, It's mind, A hearty philosopher, And willful warrior, Of wit, And of talent, The strength of Astonishment A power above all, A blindness of fate; Judged by all The spectacular amongst us The famed and the damned, Acquitted of warmth and dutiful, Exquisite in awe A rarity. —The Fame Files. V.O. Coming to terms with one's death is always peaceful. All harm caused will be returned by he/she who causes it or acts in such a way as to inflict pain and hostility towards peaceful persons. Causing with intention psychological, physical, mental, or physical harm will result in the immediate karmic retaliation of such pain as inflicted on peaceful individuals; these acts of war will inhibit the actor from entering the transcendence, or developing expanded consciousness, gaining wealth, further material possessions–his own will is therefore weakened, and therefore unworthy of love himself, by the intent to cause one such pain as an act of violence or ill will. One's disruption of peace is thereby an act of cruelty, punishable beyond death–causing pain by intention to another individual in the attempt of control or manipulation, intrusion, and abuse is therefore against the laws by which the ascended abide by, and therefore cannot and will not exist beyond the ill fate of its perpetrator. Please leave me alone; I'm asking you nicely. Alright, fine. Where is it! Where is what? You know what. What? From the fountain. It wasn't me! I don't have it. And this, is why Jimmy Fallon is impenetrable. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

00:00: Ben Cousins' photo has gone global 11:53: Ben Cousins plays Alphacuz 16:07: Ariel Bombara 24:32: Alphabucks Winsday 10k winner 28:58: Alphabucks winner tells her partnerSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Dee, a criminology graduate, initially worked with domestic violence victims before venturing into a different field in America, where she enjoyed her time working with Hooters. After having two children, she returned to the UK and reluctantly took up an office job that she found unfulfilling. Dissatisfied with her career path, Dee decided to learn the trades of tiling and plastering. Discovering a passion for plastering, she successfully integrated her work with her family life, securing jobs with local companies. Eventually, Dee took the leap to entrepreneurship, establishing her own plastering business. Stan's journey began with academic challenges, but he found his calling through a plumbing apprenticeship with his father. After a stint with Virgin Media, Stan returned to plumbing before taking on a role in a hospital's plastic surgery ward. His desire to be his own boss led him back to plumbing, where he successfully established his own plumbing company. The onset of the COVID-19 pandemic presented challenges, but Stan adapted by becoming a reactive plumber and found increased demand for his services. Prioritising family, Stan learned how to balance work and family life, enabling him to spend more time with his children while continuing to thrive in his entrepreneurial venture. Guests this week: Dee and Stan

Mark your calendars for an unforgettable evening! Join us for "A Night With The Amish and American Veteran Tours" on Saturday, February 3rd, 2024.Doors open at 5:30 PM, setting the stage for an enchanting experience. Immerse yourself in an authentic Amish family-style dinner starting at 6:00 PM, prepared with love and tradition.As the evening unfolds, get ready for the excitement! At 7:00 PM, we'll kick off a spectacular night with both a silent and live auction. Prizes, surprises, and delightful moments await you! Most importantly, this event supports a noble cause! The proceeds from this tax-deductible night will benefit American Veteran Tours, a non-profit organization dedicated to taking veterans of all generations on meaningful trips to Washington, DC. Let's come together to make a difference in the lives of those who served our nation. Looking for a unique Valentine's Day experience? This is it! Share this incredible evening with that special someone and create memories that will last a lifetime.Secure your tickets now and be part of a night filled with love, gratitude, and the spirit of giving. Let's make this an unforgettable celebration!

How thankful are you? Smelly shoes sell! And Rats 'Rock"! That's what Paul Layendecker is BuZzin' about today on The Daily BuZz!!See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

On this episode of The Cybersecurity Defenders Podcast, we share the second part of 'When the Lights Went Out in Ukraine.'If you haven't already, I recommend going back now and listening to “When the Lights Went Out in Ukraine, Part 1.”Beginning on January 13th, 2022, a Russian APT installed wiper malware on the IT networks of government, NGO, and IT companies across Ukraine. The malicious program was designed to appear like ransomware, but contained no recovery feature – it simply destroyed any computer it wished. Just one day later, hackers from the intelligence service of Belarus – Russia's close ally – took down 70 websites belonging to the Ukrainian government. This was tilling – laying down the foundation for an all-out ground attack. Plastered on the 70 downed websites was a message from the attackers: “be afraid,” they wrote, and expect the worst.”This episode was written by the talented Nathaniel Nelson, narrated by Christopher Luft, and produced by the team at LimaCharlie.And a special thank you to Robert Lipovsky for sharing his first-hand knowledge.The Cybersecurity Defenders Podcast: a show about cybersecurity and the people that defend the internet.

Holmberg's Morning Sickness - Tuesday September 5, 2023 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Holmberg's Morning Sickness - Tuesday September 5, 2023 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Beginning on January 13th, 2022, a Russian APT installed wiper malware on the IT networks of government, NGO, and IT companies across Ukraine. The malicious program was designed to appear like ransomware, but contained no recovery feature – it simply destroyed any computer it wished. Just one day later, hackers from the intelligence service of Belarus – Russia's close ally – took down 70 websites belonging to the Ukrainian government. This was tilling – laying down the foundation for an all-out ground attack. Plastered on the 70 downed websites was a message from the attackers: “be afraid,” they wrote, and expect the worst.”The Cybersecurity Defenders Podcast: a show about cybersecurity and the people that defend the internet.

Kori believes she's a dating jinx. Based on her story she might be right. Can we fix her nightmare first date with Aaron?

TRUMP4PRISON

00:03:06- Opening Statements 00:23:55- Shohei Ohtani 00:39:17- Das Boot Topic of the Week (NFL Season Preview) 01:13:14- Giuseppe Stromboli Re-Do and Alex Moran Player of the Week The Mack, Dragon Wrangler, and Stoczy bring back Plastered Negotiations as a monthly segment, this month discussing the Netflix series Quarterback, Shohei Ohtani, 2023 NFL Season Preview, and visit the home of Giuseppe Stromboli Re-do's: Florida.

As you know, we have been studying this concept of leprosy. And we've made mention that leprosy in the Bible is a unique disease, its origin is God a punishment from him, that stems from those who behave pridefully and those who speak unkindly in regard to others in a public way. To donate please visit us at: https://loveisrael.org/donate/ Checks may be sent to: LoveIsrael.org 6355 N Courtenay Parkway Merritt Island, FL 32953 Feel free to download our MyBibleStudy App on telephone https://get.theapp.co/yjjq we don't know how long we can post the teachings on YT https://www.instagram.com/mybiblestudyofficial/

As you know, we have been studying this concept of leprosy. And we've made mention that leprosy in the Bible is a unique disease, its origin is God a punishment from him, that stems from those who behave pridefully and those who speak unkindly in regard to others in a public way. To donate please visit us at: https://loveisrael.org/donate/ Checks may be sent to: LoveIsrael.org 6355 N Courtenay Parkway Merritt Island, FL 32953 Feel free to download our MyBibleStudy App on telephone https://get.theapp.co/yjjq we don't know how long we can post the teachings on YT https://www.instagram.com/mybiblestudyofficial/

HOUR 1: Was Gronk a drunken disaster? Your best audio of the day in Sound Check. Imagine having a child at Signing Day?

It's Friday and you should stand up and try to reach some part of your back to pat it for making it through this one. Patrick briefly recaps the latest from everybody's favorite sauced soothsayer, Chad Zumock. Ski Mark and Lil Mir get in to a fight which prompts Patrick to see a bigger trend. Ask yourself to imagine other rooms and areas in David Skarica aka Addicted to Profits Bahamian homestead and commit them to an everlasting piece of art. And finally, you won't believe the tweets Patrick seen... ...

Ryan "Joker" Benner steps in to host this week and alongside The Big Zo and Cade "Hi-C" Wilemon. The panel discusses athletes and teams who were overlooked due to a bigger story #nba #nbaplayoffs #nationalbasketballassociation #mlb #majorleaguebaseball #nfl #nationalfootballleague , followed by an emotional discussion about Real Madrid's Vinicius Jr. #realmadrid #realmadridvsvalencia #vinicius #viniciusjr #vinijr #vinijunior being subjected to racial taunts in a La Liga #laliga #laligasantander #fifa game against Valencia #valencia and what should be done to get rid of racism in sports venues. The Giuseppe Stromboli re-do of the Week features a steer running wild in Detroit #steer #detroit , and the panel closes by giving their Alex Moran Players of the Week. Like always, you won't want to miss this episode of Plastered Negotiations! Also catch Plastered Negotiations on YouTube at: https://www.youtube.com/@bigzoandelcabrasportstalk4826/featured You can also listen to the Plastered Negotiations family of shows on the following: Big Zo and El Cabra, as well as Sports Off Broad Street, on the same YouTube channel: https://www.youtube.com/@bigzoandelcabrasportstalk4826/featured Big Zo and El Cabra Sports Talk on Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/show/1Ifh96AE3CJUZgd1JlN90d?si=36fe7c820bbb491d Stitcher: https://www.stitcher.com/show/big-zo-and-el-cabra-sports-talk and Pandora: https://www.pandora.com/podcast/big-zo-and-el-cabra-sports-talk/PC:1001038197 as well; and Finally, don't forget to follow our resident musician, El Cabra, as The Humble Bassist on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCkfFhKCYMi4Vm9e4sc9LgYQ Please like, subscribe, share, and feel free to leave comments, but please be civil to us and to each other. Enjoy!

Mason Lowe (drummer of Seattle's feel-good, classic rock-inspired outfit Bread & Butter) has just announced his debut solo LP Morning People, due out June 23rd on Seattle's Killroom Records. The advance single Plastered features pounding, hyperactive guitar riffs over loping drums before opening up into a delightfully poppy chorus with descending melodies. Reflecting on the process behind the album and first single Lowe said, “When I started writing songs for this album, I was going through a long lonely period. But "Plastered” was one of the last few songs written for the album. And by then, I was in L-U-V love. I was a straight-up twinkle toes motherfucker! This song is about someone getting steamrolled by love, is heading off the rails, and is just letting it happen.” In a record with lots of different vibes, this is one of the heavier songs. Mason says, "I don't know where that riff came from! It's a mystery. I'm not a bombastic dude. I'm the kind of guy that tiptoes around my house when I'm alone.” The accompanying video for Plastered features Shane Herrel (Bread & Butter) and Maria-Elena Jaurez (Acapulco Lips) playing maniacally crafted homemade instruments throughout a psychedelic journey without ever leaving the Lowe's garage.  Morning People, combines the sounds of glam rock, 60's girl groups, and grunge. The result is an open-hearted, sunny record - a nostalgic sweet pop album that is hopeful, beautiful and utterly sentimental. Nods to Big Star, The Shangri-Las and The Beach Boys are present throughout. Morning People was recorded by Lowe during the height of the pandemic while he was struggling to keep the doors open at a Seattle human services nonprofit. But these are not 12 songs of loneliness and exhaustion. This is a dozen songs about new love, hot crushes, and friendship. Mason dragged his weary buns into the basement with 6-packs of Rainier tallboys to record heavy riffs, light harmonies, and tight arrangements. How tight? None of the songs on this album make it to the three-minute mark. Where did this burst of positive energy come from? "I have no idea,” Mason says. "Work was really tough. I had a lot on my mind. A lot. But I dived into music in a way I never have before. This was a super serious time, but the songs that came out are really poppy and fun. I don't know why.  I'm not a sunshiny person. Really!" Go to BETTERHELP.com/apologue for confidential online counselling.use the code word Apologue for a 7 day free trial Pledge monthly with Patreon https://www.patreon.com/apologueShop Apologue products at http://apologue.ca/shop

Time for a Friday Flight- our sampling of the week's financial news and what it means for your personal finances. There are a lot of headlines out there, but we boil it down to specific takeaways that will allow you to kick off the weekend informed and help you to get ahead with your money. In this episode we explain some relevant and helpful stories like: Costco refunds, asking for a discount, bank blow-ups, whether your money is safe, how to score more FDIC coverage, where rates might be headed, AI financial advice, plastered purchases, in-app purchases cost you more, and a big thanks to Argentina M for telling others about the HTM Newsletter that we publish every Tuesday morning- it's fun, free, practical, and we think it'll help you to get ahead with your money!   Want more How To Money in your life? Here are some additional ways to get ahead with your personal finances: Knowing your ‘money gear' is a crucial part of your personal finance journey. Start here.  Join a thriving community of fellow money in the HTM Facebook group. Find the best credit card for you with our new credit card tool! Massively reduce your cell phone bill each month by switching to a discount provider like Mint Mobile.   And please help us to spread the word by letting friends and family know about How to Money! Hit the share button, subscribe if you're not already a regular listener, and give us a quick review in Apple Podcasts or wherever you get your podcasts. Help us to change the conversation around personal finance and get more people doing smart things with their money. Have an awesome weekend!   Best friends out!See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Ja Morant Plastered Shotgun Willies with Money.

Pitching the media directly or sending sample products in for media mentions is not the only way to get media coverage for your business and brand. Collaborating with other businesses that compliment the product or service you offer and teaming up with them to go after the media together means you have double the newsworthiness, more angles to pitch, double the audience and double the reach...and it doesn't have to cost you a cent. In fact it's such a popular way to get media attention and elevate the profile of on your brand, that my guest this week, tech entrepreneur, Jess Ruhfus has made a business out of it, matching some of the biggest businesses in the country with small businesses like yours. Jess founded Collabosaurus, she likes to refer to it simply as, "Tinder for Business", in 2015 and has grown it's core revenue by an average of 157% year on year. With a background in fashion PR & SME education, Jess saw a gap in the market for an online platform that would make collaborations better matched, less time intensive with better results. Collaboration is so damn clever, it's simple, cost effective and it works. So why aren't we all doing it? You can learn more about Jess and find your perfect business match on Collabosaurus here: https://www.collabosaurus.com/

I don't know about you but I'm getting PLASTERED with ads everywhere, especially anything related to health, wealth or dating (the amount of dating app commercials from hinge to farmers only has been insane). But I wanted to share this mistake I saw the nearly $1 Billion Company known as Beachbody make in their recent ad that is deterring their people. To get the scoop on it and how to make sure you don't do the same sales repelling sentence they used listen to today's episode! And if you want to increase sales this WEEK by writing ~10 lines of copy, then the Instant Yes Workshop is for you. https://www.danielleklemm.com/instantyes Want to start selling more?

Veering wildly between reflections on death and bodies in the contemporary world, jokes about professional wrestling, ambulances passing by, rumination on how ancient people thought about burial and the afterlife, and with a major and free idea for others for a publication (hint: where do people who attend megachurches get buried?)—this is what you need for Halloween. Or any time. We're back for the 8th season and 4th year of new podcast episodes from Weird Religion. The skulls we're talking about have their own Wikipedia page: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Plastered_human_skulls Some more on the skulls: https://www.ashmolean.org/jericho-skull Archaeologist Dr. Karina Croucher: https://www.bradford.ac.uk/staff/kcroucher; https://twitter.com/karinaktc Paul Bearer (WWF/WWE): https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paul_Bearer Brian's paper on the buried infant at Ashkelon: https://bit.ly/3DnEiil

Bards for Hire - Cosmic Bos Taken from the album 2 A.M, it's Mission Time Which picked up a Judges Choice Award in the Lights and Lines Album in a Month Challenge 2022 Bandcamp link - https://cosmicbos.bandcamp.com/album/2-a-m-its-mission-time This song is all about us, Cosmic Bos, and how we are available for hire for songwriting or song construction. Please consider us for your next musical needs. All music written by Andy & Nick Jackson Lyrics by Andy Jackson Recorded, Mixed and Mastered by Nick Jackson Please like, share and subscribe, and ring the little old bell Our YouTube Channel And comment too, if you want to hire us for any Bard based activities #bards #forhire #cosmicbos #newmusic #podcast #ukmusic BARDS FOR HIRE by Andy Jackson Words for the ages Plastered on pages in books no one reads Tales of wonder Why aren't they considering remaking these? Let's go, we're bards for hire Give us coin and we'll give you fire Early birds bought down the wire Singing all that you desire Let's go, we're bards for hire A little coin's all we require We've hooks for days, are you the buyer? Any requests, just please enquire Culture scared to grow Embrace about face and let the future show Be the boss you want to work for And be the bosses ideal workforce Let's go, we're bards for hire Give us coin and we'll give you fire Early birds bought down the wire Singing all that you desire Let's go, we're bards for hire A little coin's all we require We've hooks for days, are you the buyer? Any requests, just please enquire As B for H we're here to help you Perspective shift to make it see through Let's go, we're bards for hire Give us coin and we'll give you fire Early birds bought down the wire Singing all that you desire Let's go, we're bards for hire A little coin's all we require We've hooks for days, are you the buyer? Any requests, just please enquire Do do do do do do La la la la la la Let's go, we're bards for hire Give us coin and we'll give you fire Early birds bought down the wire Singing all that you desire Let's go, we're bards for hire A little coin's all we require We've hooks for days, are you the buyer? Any requests, just please enquire

A nice slab of UK, US and a bunch of Australian punk scorchers.

Busted down on Bourbon Street. Fleeced by a member of the family. Plastered on a runaway train barreling through the Canadian countryside. As the Grateful Dead faced a number of new challenges and detours, their music moved steadily ahead on solid footing – evidenced by the back-to-basics songs that made up Workingman's Dead, their best album in years. For more info on the 27 CLUB and other great shows, visit the Double Elvis website and follow Double Elvis on Twitter and Instagram. See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

An overdue chat with an astute horse trainer and one of racing's true characters. Lindsey took a giant step in 2019 when he opened a business at Warrnambool, but left his WA stables operating under the supervision of a trusted lieutenant. He talks of his delight in being able to combine the two operations to win more than 100 races in each of the last three seasons. Lindsey talks of his use of heavy sand in the preparation of horses. He expresses his opinion on the theory that too much sand work can diminish a horse's natural speed. He describes the idyllic surroundings in which his horses train at Narrawong Beach near Port Fairy. Lindsey brings us up to date on the progress of recent winners God Has Chosen,Triple Missile, Tuvalu, In The Boat and Corner Pocket. He takes us back to his apprenticeship to Colin France at Rockingham (WA) and his brief riding career. The trainer looks back on his move to Victoria and a job with successful trainer Tom Hughes Snr. He talks of his time on the Gold Coast with Henry Davis, universally recognized as one of Australia's best ever horse trainers. He remembers his connection with Getting Closer, one of racing's most talked about “plunge” horses. Lindsey piled on weight during his time in Queensland. He looks back on the gym sessions he attended on his return to Perth and his friendship with ace harness trainer Justin Warwick.   He still marvels at his good fortune in being able to purchase a tried horse who would kick start his training career. His success with Old Cobber brought him a number of horses from leviathan owner/breeder Bob Peters. Lindsey pays tribute to the horses who've shaped his destiny. Old Money, Old Comrade, Plastered, Black Heart Bart, and Scales Of Justice get special mentions. He talks of his five children whose ages range from 13 to 30. Lindsey says his wife Rebecca isn't hands on with the horses, but loves a day at the races. All the way through this interview Lindsey's laconic manner and sense of humour are never far away. It's a good yarn with a horse trainer who thinks outside the square.

POA for today: Rihanna on the cover of Vogue, The Cut's Kardashians takedown, and Business Insider's 'America's Next Top Model' exposè. Get bonus content on Patreon See acast.com/privacy for privacy and opt-out information.

It opening day and our blowhards are celebrating the only way they know how. For their cocktails, both drunkards are celebrating with an old favorite. On the baseball side of things they're making predictions and there will be no regressions here. How many wins will Logan Webb record? Is Joey Bart going to be the NL Rookie of the Year? Are the Dodgers going to get revenge? These guys don't know, but they sure act like they do. Happy opening day, folks.

February 23rd - Show 899 The Chat We find out what it's like to get plastered whilst trying to get a coffee (& a biscuit) and Lee gives us and update on his sad week Emergency Questions What's one career you wish you could have? What is the [...]

Stev joins the boys for some gaming and comic chat. This episode was recorded a couple months ago but had to be pushed back due to some technical difficulties. Join our Patreon and follow us on social media at https://linktr.ee/youh82cit

The NPC has launched an awareness campaign to help build the public's knowledge about the proper initial start-up of cementitious interior pool and spa finishes and the importance of proper maintenance thereafter in relation to the aesthetic, functionality and lifespan of their plaster pool surface. Also, NPC is currently in production on our online education version of the start-up class as a foundation for several pool industry certification and apprenticeship programs and required curriculum. 

Drew and Chris are joined by Andrew Chelney of the Chel Squared Podcast to talk NWHL, Boston Bruins, and the NHL as a whole. Some topics include the Bruins and Pittsburgh Penguins series, Tuukka Rask's elite status, Jake DeBrusk's injury, the state of the New York Rangers, and texting Brett Hull about Call of Duty: Warzonethehockeypodcastnetwork.comDraftKings.com PROMO CODE: THPN!

Drew and Chris are joined by Andrew Chelney of the Chel Squared Podcast to talk NWHL, Boston Bruins, and the NHL as a whole. Some topics include the Bruins and Pittsburgh Penguins series, Tuukka Rask's elite status, Jake DeBrusk's injury, the state of the New York Rangers, and texting Brett Hull about Call of Duty: Warzone thehockeypodcastnetwork.com DraftKings.com PROMO CODE: THPN! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices