Podcasts about tuned

Your Good Friend Jimbo, along with King, discuss the growing feeling amongst viewers and commentators that the sports media world may becoming oversaturated with Pat McAfee, if that is indeed true, and what, if anything, can be done to correct that perception. We also discuss the Terry McLaurin situation with the Redskins, Shemar Stewart being the ONLY 1st round draft pick yet to sign with his team, a few new uniform reveals, the MLB All Star Game, and more ▪︎Donation Station: http://www.BuyMeACoffee.com/STSports ▪︎Visit Our Merch Store: http://stay-tuned-sports-merch.printify.me ▪︎Join The Discord: https://discord.com/invite/7H3xJSksxJ 

Collection Curios #6: Treasury Agent 1957 MBS, Stroke of Fate 10/11/53 NBC.

Mystery: New Adventures of Nero Wolfe “The Case of the Friendly Rabbit” 12/1/50 NBC, Yours Truly, Johnny Dollar “All Too Easy Matter” 6/17/62 CBS.

Horror: Haunting Hour “Occupation Murder” 1945 NBC Syndication, Lights Out “Come to the Bank” 11/17/42 CBS / AFRS.

Sitcom: It's Higgins, Sir 8/21/51 NBC, Halls of Ivy 6/25/52 CBS.

Someone help me. What happened. What's good bro. I think deadmau5 is my cat. Nah. You're serious? I'm…deadfuckingnserious. What makes you think that? [cat is deadmau5] lol isn't it super torturous as fuck as a woman knowing All you really want is for like, one man to like , Just like you, But dudes are notorious for like— Never ever really being able to just ”like” one person? Like dudes like everyone They are notorious whoooores. The like everybody. The older I get like the worse it gets Like here's this guy I like And I pretty much mostly just like him But then like, Look at all these girls! Fuuuuck that! NICOLE BYER OH LOOK. ITS DUM-DUM! this is because I keep forgetting you, isn't it? NICOLE BYER Yes it IS. this might actually be my favorite part of the story. BLŪ is taking a shower when suddenly— NICOLE BYER appears out of nowhere. HEY DUM-DUM. JIMMY KIMMEL uses his newfound ability to time shift (not time travel, persay, but to alter many parallels of a given time) to undo joining a college fraternity. Also in the present nothing appears altered. This invisibly and almost even silently skews several multidimensional parallels into disarray. Unknowing st all of this, he seems content with his decision. Then again, he always seems sort of... JIMMY KIMMEL is quietly enjoying his fishing trip. Basking in the wonderful allone ness of solitude and silence, he uncaps a bottle of [insert product placement here] and takes a very hearty swig, letting out a super contended sigh. …content. It is a picturesque and perfect day; however, something seems off; just then, as he admires his first catch, hanging from the line over the bow, a GIANT SHARK appears out of the water, snapping up his catch and retreating into the abyss with a thunderous SPLASH. Dripping with dismay (and lots of water) JIMMY KIMMEL explodes with an equally thunderous rage. WHAT THE FUCK! He teeters, sopping wet to the edge of the boat, peering momentarily into the rippling water before he realizes it may not be safe, and in the same glimpse from the side of his squinted unrelentlessly still glistening eyes, realizes that this shark has knocked over and spilled his entire bottle of [insert product placement here] He confusedly and exasperatedly cries out and upward into the skies—. THIS IS A LAKE!!! Just a note to remember that I finally perfected my recipe for the absolute best vegan breakfast burrito just previously to writing this. It was delicious. Yes, it was. I— Oh, my god! Parallels, remember! No! (Suddenly eating a burrito) Your memory sucks! It has to. Isn't it all in the culture? I don't know what you're all on about Turned it all on, now i'm off, man Turned it all off, but I laid here for it– Tuned it around, And I payed her for it! How's That Now For an awful apocalypse All on the top of the grant And the ground And the landmine The top of the mountain The tip of the iceberg the tell of the tails And tails of the sweet custom made to order Suits and ties Of course don't rock the boat If you know its yours! JIMMY KIMMEL stares into the distance as baby shark blares over the common room television screen–he appears to be babysitting, but his look is so far off, you wouldn't know he was in the room. The baby shark song seems to drum up some uncomfortable memories from fishing over the weekend. He squints with disdain over the incident with a weary glean in his eyes; this is not something you discuss with other people. Isn't it all in the coat tails? It's toxic, but i've never been a model Or even wanted, so What are all the hot blondes at the office on about? You wanted the host of the talk show, And woke up to croissants and roses, orange juice and probable cause for your lawsuit, But in the moment you loved it So what's everyone on about? Isn't it all in the cufflinks? The stuff you don't tell to your home folks; The homegrown and midwestern corn folks, Discussing your show over corn flakes? So what's everyone on about? Let us just be honest, I didn't know how deep it was Until i opened up pandoras box, And thought, “What the fuck, I've found a horxcrux.” I've found a goldmine, I've got the fox and the hare all in one here, What a show host What a conundrum, What a construct, What a hopeless homonid What a heart to want nothing but To put the top Back on the box And walk away Unknowing all Of what I saw –Middle Days. There's no Tonight Show where I'm from No late night, And no radio hosts No television, no songs No one to lead us on And then to no where No one to cut us off Before the road opens No one to Stop us at the railroad enclosures And no one at all named Love Don't you know that the idea of all of you at all Is just so comfortable, mountain or a horse? Capable and strong? Don't you know the mold of you has sunk into my heart And formed a hole Where all the world will go, When i'm no longer mourning? Are you sure you want to– No. Not at all? I already did! But I saw this thing– Don't tell me about my death. But you were there. That's the thing, actually, you're not understanding– I wasn't. But– Quite possibly everyone and everything around me– Possibly even, or most probably, everything ever– But I promise, Jimmy, if that is even your name– It isn't– exactly. Everything happening–or unhappening in the moment– was everything but me. But– Goodbye! But– Goodbye, I said! I told you it was a deathtrap. That lady is crazy. I'm telling you, have faith! It makes sense. It doesn't make sense! It does make sense. It's just random–gibberish. Its absolutely ludicrous, Jimmy. She's crazy! You're youre right; it is ludicrous, actually, but listen to me— I'm finished listening. Yeah. I think i've heard about enough. But you haven't heard anything! I have now what I needed to know. But these writings… We'll take it from here, Jim. [The suits walk away.] I hope you're flame retardant. I ought to be by now, i guess. Double check your coverage. How'd that go. As expected. At least you expected it. There isn't anything around here I haven't been expecting lately. I mean. V.O. I've been working here for over twenty years… At least you're not being haunted by ghosts or anything. [The irony is in that yes, actually, he is talking to a ghost.] I get it (ripped apart) He's in the music away and carrying with it –you're on! A signal, A ghost– A sacrifice, A ritual, you're on again, Then off again The pitter patter of the dismissive members of Upper society, High ranking elitists And businussmen whom you admire astonishingly Despite discomfort, Whom, happen to no doubt Disapprove of you by nature And yet, Are also drawn To your own power Circumstance Judgement Morals Traditions Honors, Representatives of the establishment The state (no longer a democracy) Repression– All in writer's room revisions What happened? I haven't kept it safe or sacred One tear over Only out the left eye Listen, the marytr I opened a death trap I opened my widened mind To the unknown and impossible, Swallowed it whole with the lot of you I died with knowing only the lowest of the totem pole And yet, low and behold Now, I rise to the top, And such is known that without the bottom, The whole log topples over. Oh wow. I'm famous. Yes, and? It kind of hurts. Eventually that goes away. What a sensation. It's always there. You just stop feeling it. It lingers in on a sunday night, And at most on the full moon, no wolves howling; It sets in in the bunny ears atop the chatterbox In the kitchen, where It outshines us, from the other room On the radio tower, Where in time the vines have climbed And now flower bloom In silent golden era tunes, The tombs of all our knowledge and our light To fade with every passing hour here Goodnight, my son I do not want to know you Goodbye, my father, I do not want to rust And again I wake in the pain and lure of autumn To never known a summer song, And ponder on the dusk It lingers deep on Sunday evening, Setting hard on Monday morn, and though i write so fond of JImmy I dare often dream of Lorne Chapter Four Donovan Arnold was a lover and not a fighter. He never much had to come up against any kind of battle, either, because he was quite prone to always getting exactly what he wanted. Louis Greenworth was not merely a friendly rival—but a challenge, and the two came head to heat in various bouts and brawls in their time at The Summit, where most if not many collide with one another for fortune, and in gratitude that there they had been chosen for greater purpose. Something told me not too far on that Donovan had many to will and tricks up his sleeve without showing it, and in Louis's visions, he cautioned that I should be wary—although, in the rarer and flickering lights of Donovan's knowing and unknown, I should be careful of Louis and his corners. Then, there wasn't a force amongst us which would lightly convey Louis—his doings and his shadows were dark--which is why I had been fashioned to it, and the powerful man he was beared such a heavy weight on all the world around him that he was nothing less than a storm to weather in total. Then, Donovan was such the luck and clever, loving sprite, that his wit and charm was assuring to my embark; there was no way of truly ever waning in the way that Donovan had winged his way into the arrangement in his favor, but at the very least— disappointing his approval would gain no absolute pleasure beyond the astonishing dissonance of loyalty. Then, there were keepers surrounding the might and the truth of The force that the shadows could not bare— there were times and marks and truths beyond the summit that were merely a facet of the things in the beyond, and in the way that The Source rules over its keepers, and its knowings—there was hardly any way for the niceties of pride, judgment most often throwing its way between dear Donovan Arnold and I. There was no nose that could t smell the stench if the foul odor that the rot of betrayal had done. The way of Donovan was seeking to know, without keeping or honor of heart—and I could not withstand another deep wound in the pit of my own truth. They called him Donovan Arnold Palmer because he made a mean Long Island iced tea— which of course he attributed to his affluent east coast heritage, hailing from a long line of the posh and uptight standard boys and girls of the fools and good old days. A clean cut brown nose and absolute stickler for circumstance and dedication, his placement within these sacred places was vanity, first and foremost—and with a sense of tradition and pride he carried on in the way any man would, with great relief that the world didn't rest on his shoulders the way it did on Louis— then, nothing really rested on anyone the way it did in Louis Greenworth. chapter 5 The gifted saint of revelations “Did he hurt you?” I looked away without knowing where to look at all but down, my body aching with the waves of having been pressed and clutched against the spirals of time. The things I pretend not to know. “Who?” Genie seemed disappointed but still, patiently coaxing me with the comfort of his warmth— calling my eyes and looking deeply into the soul. I was petrified “What happened?”, he persists. “I don't know what your talking about.” , I mumble guiltily. He pauses for a moment as if he knows the depth of it— somewhere inside of me I know he knows, and behind me my mind is reeling and screaming, like a desperate unearthed fortune of unknown. Barely breathing, and shallow in the dark of the luminescence of the moonlight night, my loyalty overwhelms my pride and brotherhood. “What did he say?” Now his eyes fill with the pain and begging for the mercy of truth, as he whispers almost with a whimper, even in his strength and grace. In all those prayers not once had I even the ounce of nerve to think that he had uttered my name— now looking into him but huddled under him in heaps and ruins, I could not remember a time more when I wanted to disacknowledge the unknown and send a heap of words into the capes and canyons of his holy ears, though these things I knew for any time but especially this, I could never speak. “He who?” I can't wake up, I'm a rockstar Can't wash it off And I'm just so high on drugs That no matter the cost I just don't want to come down Don't want to want you anymore Relax. Think about it never or none And wonder what the world becomes when Weather tides and moon songs are no more Remember, then the dolphin And temperament to want what of course All of us covet But still, waking up in a dungeon. What a curse. Also, however What a cure, as you wander up The slithering road that parts Los Angeles from all the north of her Southern coast, If you want specifics The Pacific is at most And much admires Where you are, No matter how far you wander I want I want I want And I get I get I get I'm a rockstar. Maybe after all those times Being just the girl that all might have died to have been And getting mad over it You wake up to find yourself A stalker Who doesn't Leave the apartment And just watches the come up Of the songbird Who just wishes She had've gone To Harvard Not for law school But the arts, You know You lost a fortune That wasn't clever You wrote a hospital long report And look what you got! A suffix And later on an honorary doctorate But look at Letterman Hardly recognizable And after all The stopwatch just starts over at one Doesn't it Doesn't it? I'm a rockstar And what you wanted Was no subtle front But a surfboard and a ping pong table Writing your fables in the quiet of the night With the ocean steady lapping under the docks And not Collapsing her whole structure What a thunderous wave If you think it's time Then you haven't caved yet I offer all the pleasures of the golden science And as alchemy concerned Its really only valuable on this planet As it stands the liquid gold mines here Haven't budged an ounce— There's an overflow of all you've ever wanted With a pungent odor Or wrongdoing done And lemonade To pucker And to ponder over S'mores for supper, anyone? I thought not -KR. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

Someone help me. What happened. What's good bro. I think deadmau5 is my cat. Nah. You're serious? I'm…deadfuckingnserious. What makes you think that? [cat is deadmau5] lol isn't it super torturous as fuck as a woman knowing All you really want is for like, one man to like , Just like you, But dudes are notorious for like— Never ever really being able to just ”like” one person? Like dudes like everyone They are notorious whoooores. The like everybody. The older I get like the worse it gets Like here's this guy I like And I pretty much mostly just like him But then like, Look at all these girls! Fuuuuck that! NICOLE BYER OH LOOK. ITS DUM-DUM! this is because I keep forgetting you, isn't it? NICOLE BYER Yes it IS. this might actually be my favorite part of the story. BLŪ is taking a shower when suddenly— NICOLE BYER appears out of nowhere. HEY DUM-DUM. JIMMY KIMMEL uses his newfound ability to time shift (not time travel, persay, but to alter many parallels of a given time) to undo joining a college fraternity. Also in the present nothing appears altered. This invisibly and almost even silently skews several multidimensional parallels into disarray. Unknowing st all of this, he seems content with his decision. Then again, he always seems sort of... JIMMY KIMMEL is quietly enjoying his fishing trip. Basking in the wonderful allone ness of solitude and silence, he uncaps a bottle of [insert product placement here] and takes a very hearty swig, letting out a super contended sigh. …content. It is a picturesque and perfect day; however, something seems off; just then, as he admires his first catch, hanging from the line over the bow, a GIANT SHARK appears out of the water, snapping up his catch and retreating into the abyss with a thunderous SPLASH. Dripping with dismay (and lots of water) JIMMY KIMMEL explodes with an equally thunderous rage. WHAT THE FUCK! He teeters, sopping wet to the edge of the boat, peering momentarily into the rippling water before he realizes it may not be safe, and in the same glimpse from the side of his squinted unrelentlessly still glistening eyes, realizes that this shark has knocked over and spilled his entire bottle of [insert product placement here] He confusedly and exasperatedly cries out and upward into the skies—. THIS IS A LAKE!!! Just a note to remember that I finally perfected my recipe for the absolute best vegan breakfast burrito just previously to writing this. It was delicious. Yes, it was. I— Oh, my god! Parallels, remember! No! (Suddenly eating a burrito) Your memory sucks! It has to. Isn't it all in the culture? I don't know what you're all on about Turned it all on, now i'm off, man Turned it all off, but I laid here for it– Tuned it around, And I payed her for it! How's That Now For an awful apocalypse All on the top of the grant And the ground And the landmine The top of the mountain The tip of the iceberg the tell of the tails And tails of the sweet custom made to order Suits and ties Of course don't rock the boat If you know its yours! JIMMY KIMMEL stares into the distance as baby shark blares over the common room television screen–he appears to be babysitting, but his look is so far off, you wouldn't know he was in the room. The baby shark song seems to drum up some uncomfortable memories from fishing over the weekend. He squints with disdain over the incident with a weary glean in his eyes; this is not something you discuss with other people. Isn't it all in the coat tails? It's toxic, but i've never been a model Or even wanted, so What are all the hot blondes at the office on about? You wanted the host of the talk show, And woke up to croissants and roses, orange juice and probable cause for your lawsuit, But in the moment you loved it So what's everyone on about? Isn't it all in the cufflinks? The stuff you don't tell to your home folks; The homegrown and midwestern corn folks, Discussing your show over corn flakes? So what's everyone on about? Let us just be honest, I didn't know how deep it was Until i opened up pandoras box, And thought, “What the fuck, I've found a horxcrux.” I've found a goldmine, I've got the fox and the hare all in one here, What a show host What a conundrum, What a construct, What a hopeless homonid What a heart to want nothing but To put the top Back on the box And walk away Unknowing all Of what I saw –Middle Days. There's no Tonight Show where I'm from No late night, And no radio hosts No television, no songs No one to lead us on And then to no where No one to cut us off Before the road opens No one to Stop us at the railroad enclosures And no one at all named Love Don't you know that the idea of all of you at all Is just so comfortable, mountain or a horse? Capable and strong? Don't you know the mold of you has sunk into my heart And formed a hole Where all the world will go, When i'm no longer mourning? Are you sure you want to– No. Not at all? I already did! But I saw this thing– Don't tell me about my death. But you were there. That's the thing, actually, you're not understanding– I wasn't. But– Quite possibly everyone and everything around me– Possibly even, or most probably, everything ever– But I promise, Jimmy, if that is even your name– It isn't– exactly. Everything happening–or unhappening in the moment– was everything but me. But– Goodbye! But– Goodbye, I said! I told you it was a deathtrap. That lady is crazy. I'm telling you, have faith! It makes sense. It doesn't make sense! It does make sense. It's just random–gibberish. Its absolutely ludicrous, Jimmy. She's crazy! You're youre right; it is ludicrous, actually, but listen to me— I'm finished listening. Yeah. I think i've heard about enough. But you haven't heard anything! I have now what I needed to know. But these writings… We'll take it from here, Jim. [The suits walk away.] I hope you're flame retardant. I ought to be by now, i guess. Double check your coverage. How'd that go. As expected. At least you expected it. There isn't anything around here I haven't been expecting lately. I mean. V.O. I've been working here for over twenty years… At least you're not being haunted by ghosts or anything. [The irony is in that yes, actually, he is talking to a ghost.] I get it (ripped apart) He's in the music away and carrying with it –you're on! A signal, A ghost– A sacrifice, A ritual, you're on again, Then off again The pitter patter of the dismissive members of Upper society, High ranking elitists And businussmen whom you admire astonishingly Despite discomfort, Whom, happen to no doubt Disapprove of you by nature And yet, Are also drawn To your own power Circumstance Judgement Morals Traditions Honors, Representatives of the establishment The state (no longer a democracy) Repression– All in writer's room revisions What happened? I haven't kept it safe or sacred One tear over Only out the left eye Listen, the marytr I opened a death trap I opened my widened mind To the unknown and impossible, Swallowed it whole with the lot of you I died with knowing only the lowest of the totem pole And yet, low and behold Now, I rise to the top, And such is known that without the bottom, The whole log topples over. Oh wow. I'm famous. Yes, and? It kind of hurts. Eventually that goes away. What a sensation. It's always there. You just stop feeling it. It lingers in on a sunday night, And at most on the full moon, no wolves howling; It sets in in the bunny ears atop the chatterbox In the kitchen, where It outshines us, from the other room On the radio tower, Where in time the vines have climbed And now flower bloom In silent golden era tunes, The tombs of all our knowledge and our light To fade with every passing hour here Goodnight, my son I do not want to know you Goodbye, my father, I do not want to rust And again I wake in the pain and lure of autumn To never known a summer song, And ponder on the dusk It lingers deep on Sunday evening, Setting hard on Monday morn, and though i write so fond of JImmy I dare often dream of Lorne Chapter Four Donovan Arnold was a lover and not a fighter. He never much had to come up against any kind of battle, either, because he was quite prone to always getting exactly what he wanted. Louis Greenworth was not merely a friendly rival—but a challenge, and the two came head to heat in various bouts and brawls in their time at The Summit, where most if not many collide with one another for fortune, and in gratitude that there they had been chosen for greater purpose. Something told me not too far on that Donovan had many to will and tricks up his sleeve without showing it, and in Louis's visions, he cautioned that I should be wary—although, in the rarer and flickering lights of Donovan's knowing and unknown, I should be careful of Louis and his corners. Then, there wasn't a force amongst us which would lightly convey Louis—his doings and his shadows were dark--which is why I had been fashioned to it, and the powerful man he was beared such a heavy weight on all the world around him that he was nothing less than a storm to weather in total. Then, Donovan was such the luck and clever, loving sprite, that his wit and charm was assuring to my embark; there was no way of truly ever waning in the way that Donovan had winged his way into the arrangement in his favor, but at the very least— disappointing his approval would gain no absolute pleasure beyond the astonishing dissonance of loyalty. Then, there were keepers surrounding the might and the truth of The force that the shadows could not bare— there were times and marks and truths beyond the summit that were merely a facet of the things in the beyond, and in the way that The Source rules over its keepers, and its knowings—there was hardly any way for the niceties of pride, judgment most often throwing its way between dear Donovan Arnold and I. There was no nose that could t smell the stench if the foul odor that the rot of betrayal had done. The way of Donovan was seeking to know, without keeping or honor of heart—and I could not withstand another deep wound in the pit of my own truth. They called him Donovan Arnold Palmer because he made a mean Long Island iced tea— which of course he attributed to his affluent east coast heritage, hailing from a long line of the posh and uptight standard boys and girls of the fools and good old days. A clean cut brown nose and absolute stickler for circumstance and dedication, his placement within these sacred places was vanity, first and foremost—and with a sense of tradition and pride he carried on in the way any man would, with great relief that the world didn't rest on his shoulders the way it did on Louis— then, nothing really rested on anyone the way it did in Louis Greenworth. chapter 5 The gifted saint of revelations “Did he hurt you?” I looked away without knowing where to look at all but down, my body aching with the waves of having been pressed and clutched against the spirals of time. The things I pretend not to know. “Who?” Genie seemed disappointed but still, patiently coaxing me with the comfort of his warmth— calling my eyes and looking deeply into the soul. I was petrified “What happened?”, he persists. “I don't know what your talking about.” , I mumble guiltily. He pauses for a moment as if he knows the depth of it— somewhere inside of me I know he knows, and behind me my mind is reeling and screaming, like a desperate unearthed fortune of unknown. Barely breathing, and shallow in the dark of the luminescence of the moonlight night, my loyalty overwhelms my pride and brotherhood. “What did he say?” Now his eyes fill with the pain and begging for the mercy of truth, as he whispers almost with a whimper, even in his strength and grace. In all those prayers not once had I even the ounce of nerve to think that he had uttered my name— now looking into him but huddled under him in heaps and ruins, I could not remember a time more when I wanted to disacknowledge the unknown and send a heap of words into the capes and canyons of his holy ears, though these things I knew for any time but especially this, I could never speak. “He who?” I can't wake up, I'm a rockstar Can't wash it off And I'm just so high on drugs That no matter the cost I just don't want to come down Don't want to want you anymore Relax. Think about it never or none And wonder what the world becomes when Weather tides and moon songs are no more Remember, then the dolphin And temperament to want what of course All of us covet But still, waking up in a dungeon. What a curse. Also, however What a cure, as you wander up The slithering road that parts Los Angeles from all the north of her Southern coast, If you want specifics The Pacific is at most And much admires Where you are, No matter how far you wander I want I want I want And I get I get I get I'm a rockstar. Maybe after all those times Being just the girl that all might have died to have been And getting mad over it You wake up to find yourself A stalker Who doesn't Leave the apartment And just watches the come up Of the songbird Who just wishes She had've gone To Harvard Not for law school But the arts, You know You lost a fortune That wasn't clever You wrote a hospital long report And look what you got! A suffix And later on an honorary doctorate But look at Letterman Hardly recognizable And after all The stopwatch just starts over at one Doesn't it Doesn't it? I'm a rockstar And what you wanted Was no subtle front But a surfboard and a ping pong table Writing your fables in the quiet of the night With the ocean steady lapping under the docks And not Collapsing her whole structure What a thunderous wave If you think it's time Then you haven't caved yet I offer all the pleasures of the golden science And as alchemy concerned Its really only valuable on this planet As it stands the liquid gold mines here Haven't budged an ounce— There's an overflow of all you've ever wanted With a pungent odor Or wrongdoing done And lemonade To pucker And to ponder over S'mores for supper, anyone? I thought not -KR. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

Someone help me. What happened. What's good bro. I think deadmau5 is my cat. Nah. You're serious? I'm…deadfuckingnserious. What makes you think that? [cat is deadmau5] lol isn't it super torturous as fuck as a woman knowing All you really want is for like, one man to like , Just like you, But dudes are notorious for like— Never ever really being able to just ”like” one person? Like dudes like everyone They are notorious whoooores. The like everybody. The older I get like the worse it gets Like here's this guy I like And I pretty much mostly just like him But then like, Look at all these girls! Fuuuuck that! NICOLE BYER OH LOOK. ITS DUM-DUM! this is because I keep forgetting you, isn't it? NICOLE BYER Yes it IS. this might actually be my favorite part of the story. BLŪ is taking a shower when suddenly— NICOLE BYER appears out of nowhere. HEY DUM-DUM. JIMMY KIMMEL uses his newfound ability to time shift (not time travel, persay, but to alter many parallels of a given time) to undo joining a college fraternity. Also in the present nothing appears altered. This invisibly and almost even silently skews several multidimensional parallels into disarray. Unknowing st all of this, he seems content with his decision. Then again, he always seems sort of... JIMMY KIMMEL is quietly enjoying his fishing trip. Basking in the wonderful allone ness of solitude and silence, he uncaps a bottle of [insert product placement here] and takes a very hearty swig, letting out a super contended sigh. …content. It is a picturesque and perfect day; however, something seems off; just then, as he admires his first catch, hanging from the line over the bow, a GIANT SHARK appears out of the water, snapping up his catch and retreating into the abyss with a thunderous SPLASH. Dripping with dismay (and lots of water) JIMMY KIMMEL explodes with an equally thunderous rage. WHAT THE FUCK! He teeters, sopping wet to the edge of the boat, peering momentarily into the rippling water before he realizes it may not be safe, and in the same glimpse from the side of his squinted unrelentlessly still glistening eyes, realizes that this shark has knocked over and spilled his entire bottle of [insert product placement here] He confusedly and exasperatedly cries out and upward into the skies—. THIS IS A LAKE!!! Just a note to remember that I finally perfected my recipe for the absolute best vegan breakfast burrito just previously to writing this. It was delicious. Yes, it was. I— Oh, my god! Parallels, remember! No! (Suddenly eating a burrito) Your memory sucks! It has to. Isn't it all in the culture? I don't know what you're all on about Turned it all on, now i'm off, man Turned it all off, but I laid here for it– Tuned it around, And I payed her for it! How's That Now For an awful apocalypse All on the top of the grant And the ground And the landmine The top of the mountain The tip of the iceberg the tell of the tails And tails of the sweet custom made to order Suits and ties Of course don't rock the boat If you know its yours! JIMMY KIMMEL stares into the distance as baby shark blares over the common room television screen–he appears to be babysitting, but his look is so far off, you wouldn't know he was in the room. The baby shark song seems to drum up some uncomfortable memories from fishing over the weekend. He squints with disdain over the incident with a weary glean in his eyes; this is not something you discuss with other people. Isn't it all in the coat tails? It's toxic, but i've never been a model Or even wanted, so What are all the hot blondes at the office on about? You wanted the host of the talk show, And woke up to croissants and roses, orange juice and probable cause for your lawsuit, But in the moment you loved it So what's everyone on about? Isn't it all in the cufflinks? The stuff you don't tell to your home folks; The homegrown and midwestern corn folks, Discussing your show over corn flakes? So what's everyone on about? Let us just be honest, I didn't know how deep it was Until i opened up pandoras box, And thought, “What the fuck, I've found a horxcrux.” I've found a goldmine, I've got the fox and the hare all in one here, What a show host What a conundrum, What a construct, What a hopeless homonid What a heart to want nothing but To put the top Back on the box And walk away Unknowing all Of what I saw –Middle Days. There's no Tonight Show where I'm from No late night, And no radio hosts No television, no songs No one to lead us on And then to no where No one to cut us off Before the road opens No one to Stop us at the railroad enclosures And no one at all named Love Don't you know that the idea of all of you at all Is just so comfortable, mountain or a horse? Capable and strong? Don't you know the mold of you has sunk into my heart And formed a hole Where all the world will go, When i'm no longer mourning? Are you sure you want to– No. Not at all? I already did! But I saw this thing– Don't tell me about my death. But you were there. That's the thing, actually, you're not understanding– I wasn't. But– Quite possibly everyone and everything around me– Possibly even, or most probably, everything ever– But I promise, Jimmy, if that is even your name– It isn't– exactly. Everything happening–or unhappening in the moment– was everything but me. But– Goodbye! But– Goodbye, I said! I told you it was a deathtrap. That lady is crazy. I'm telling you, have faith! It makes sense. It doesn't make sense! It does make sense. It's just random–gibberish. Its absolutely ludicrous, Jimmy. She's crazy! You're youre right; it is ludicrous, actually, but listen to me— I'm finished listening. Yeah. I think i've heard about enough. But you haven't heard anything! I have now what I needed to know. But these writings… We'll take it from here, Jim. [The suits walk away.] I hope you're flame retardant. I ought to be by now, i guess. Double check your coverage. How'd that go. As expected. At least you expected it. There isn't anything around here I haven't been expecting lately. I mean. V.O. I've been working here for over twenty years… At least you're not being haunted by ghosts or anything. [The irony is in that yes, actually, he is talking to a ghost.] I get it (ripped apart) He's in the music away and carrying with it –you're on! A signal, A ghost– A sacrifice, A ritual, you're on again, Then off again The pitter patter of the dismissive members of Upper society, High ranking elitists And businussmen whom you admire astonishingly Despite discomfort, Whom, happen to no doubt Disapprove of you by nature And yet, Are also drawn To your own power Circumstance Judgement Morals Traditions Honors, Representatives of the establishment The state (no longer a democracy) Repression– All in writer's room revisions What happened? I haven't kept it safe or sacred One tear over Only out the left eye Listen, the marytr I opened a death trap I opened my widened mind To the unknown and impossible, Swallowed it whole with the lot of you I died with knowing only the lowest of the totem pole And yet, low and behold Now, I rise to the top, And such is known that without the bottom, The whole log topples over. Oh wow. I'm famous. Yes, and? It kind of hurts. Eventually that goes away. What a sensation. It's always there. You just stop feeling it. It lingers in on a sunday night, And at most on the full moon, no wolves howling; It sets in in the bunny ears atop the chatterbox In the kitchen, where It outshines us, from the other room On the radio tower, Where in time the vines have climbed And now flower bloom In silent golden era tunes, The tombs of all our knowledge and our light To fade with every passing hour here Goodnight, my son I do not want to know you Goodbye, my father, I do not want to rust And again I wake in the pain and lure of autumn To never known a summer song, And ponder on the dusk It lingers deep on Sunday evening, Setting hard on Monday morn, and though i write so fond of JImmy I dare often dream of Lorne Chapter Four Donovan Arnold was a lover and not a fighter. He never much had to come up against any kind of battle, either, because he was quite prone to always getting exactly what he wanted. Louis Greenworth was not merely a friendly rival—but a challenge, and the two came head to heat in various bouts and brawls in their time at The Summit, where most if not many collide with one another for fortune, and in gratitude that there they had been chosen for greater purpose. Something told me not too far on that Donovan had many to will and tricks up his sleeve without showing it, and in Louis's visions, he cautioned that I should be wary—although, in the rarer and flickering lights of Donovan's knowing and unknown, I should be careful of Louis and his corners. Then, there wasn't a force amongst us which would lightly convey Louis—his doings and his shadows were dark--which is why I had been fashioned to it, and the powerful man he was beared such a heavy weight on all the world around him that he was nothing less than a storm to weather in total. Then, Donovan was such the luck and clever, loving sprite, that his wit and charm was assuring to my embark; there was no way of truly ever waning in the way that Donovan had winged his way into the arrangement in his favor, but at the very least— disappointing his approval would gain no absolute pleasure beyond the astonishing dissonance of loyalty. Then, there were keepers surrounding the might and the truth of The force that the shadows could not bare— there were times and marks and truths beyond the summit that were merely a facet of the things in the beyond, and in the way that The Source rules over its keepers, and its knowings—there was hardly any way for the niceties of pride, judgment most often throwing its way between dear Donovan Arnold and I. There was no nose that could t smell the stench if the foul odor that the rot of betrayal had done. The way of Donovan was seeking to know, without keeping or honor of heart—and I could not withstand another deep wound in the pit of my own truth. They called him Donovan Arnold Palmer because he made a mean Long Island iced tea— which of course he attributed to his affluent east coast heritage, hailing from a long line of the posh and uptight standard boys and girls of the fools and good old days. A clean cut brown nose and absolute stickler for circumstance and dedication, his placement within these sacred places was vanity, first and foremost—and with a sense of tradition and pride he carried on in the way any man would, with great relief that the world didn't rest on his shoulders the way it did on Louis— then, nothing really rested on anyone the way it did in Louis Greenworth. chapter 5 The gifted saint of revelations “Did he hurt you?” I looked away without knowing where to look at all but down, my body aching with the waves of having been pressed and clutched against the spirals of time. The things I pretend not to know. “Who?” Genie seemed disappointed but still, patiently coaxing me with the comfort of his warmth— calling my eyes and looking deeply into the soul. I was petrified “What happened?”, he persists. “I don't know what your talking about.” , I mumble guiltily. He pauses for a moment as if he knows the depth of it— somewhere inside of me I know he knows, and behind me my mind is reeling and screaming, like a desperate unearthed fortune of unknown. Barely breathing, and shallow in the dark of the luminescence of the moonlight night, my loyalty overwhelms my pride and brotherhood. “What did he say?” Now his eyes fill with the pain and begging for the mercy of truth, as he whispers almost with a whimper, even in his strength and grace. In all those prayers not once had I even the ounce of nerve to think that he had uttered my name— now looking into him but huddled under him in heaps and ruins, I could not remember a time more when I wanted to disacknowledge the unknown and send a heap of words into the capes and canyons of his holy ears, though these things I knew for any time but especially this, I could never speak. “He who?” I can't wake up, I'm a rockstar Can't wash it off And I'm just so high on drugs That no matter the cost I just don't want to come down Don't want to want you anymore Relax. Think about it never or none And wonder what the world becomes when Weather tides and moon songs are no more Remember, then the dolphin And temperament to want what of course All of us covet But still, waking up in a dungeon. What a curse. Also, however What a cure, as you wander up The slithering road that parts Los Angeles from all the north of her Southern coast, If you want specifics The Pacific is at most And much admires Where you are, No matter how far you wander I want I want I want And I get I get I get I'm a rockstar. Maybe after all those times Being just the girl that all might have died to have been And getting mad over it You wake up to find yourself A stalker Who doesn't Leave the apartment And just watches the come up Of the songbird Who just wishes She had've gone To Harvard Not for law school But the arts, You know You lost a fortune That wasn't clever You wrote a hospital long report And look what you got! A suffix And later on an honorary doctorate But look at Letterman Hardly recognizable And after all The stopwatch just starts over at one Doesn't it Doesn't it? I'm a rockstar And what you wanted Was no subtle front But a surfboard and a ping pong table Writing your fables in the quiet of the night With the ocean steady lapping under the docks And not Collapsing her whole structure What a thunderous wave If you think it's time Then you haven't caved yet I offer all the pleasures of the golden science And as alchemy concerned Its really only valuable on this planet As it stands the liquid gold mines here Haven't budged an ounce— There's an overflow of all you've ever wanted With a pungent odor Or wrongdoing done And lemonade To pucker And to ponder over S'mores for supper, anyone? I thought not -KR. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

Someone help me. What happened. What's good bro. I think deadmau5 is my cat. Nah. You're serious? I'm…deadfuckingnserious. What makes you think that? [cat is deadmau5] lol isn't it super torturous as fuck as a woman knowing All you really want is for like, one man to like , Just like you, But dudes are notorious for like— Never ever really being able to just ”like” one person? Like dudes like everyone They are notorious whoooores. The like everybody. The older I get like the worse it gets Like here's this guy I like And I pretty much mostly just like him But then like, Look at all these girls! Fuuuuck that! NICOLE BYER OH LOOK. ITS DUM-DUM! this is because I keep forgetting you, isn't it? NICOLE BYER Yes it IS. this might actually be my favorite part of the story. BLŪ is taking a shower when suddenly— NICOLE BYER appears out of nowhere. HEY DUM-DUM. JIMMY KIMMEL uses his newfound ability to time shift (not time travel, persay, but to alter many parallels of a given time) to undo joining a college fraternity. Also in the present nothing appears altered. This invisibly and almost even silently skews several multidimensional parallels into disarray. Unknowing st all of this, he seems content with his decision. Then again, he always seems sort of... JIMMY KIMMEL is quietly enjoying his fishing trip. Basking in the wonderful allone ness of solitude and silence, he uncaps a bottle of [insert product placement here] and takes a very hearty swig, letting out a super contended sigh. …content. It is a picturesque and perfect day; however, something seems off; just then, as he admires his first catch, hanging from the line over the bow, a GIANT SHARK appears out of the water, snapping up his catch and retreating into the abyss with a thunderous SPLASH. Dripping with dismay (and lots of water) JIMMY KIMMEL explodes with an equally thunderous rage. WHAT THE FUCK! He teeters, sopping wet to the edge of the boat, peering momentarily into the rippling water before he realizes it may not be safe, and in the same glimpse from the side of his squinted unrelentlessly still glistening eyes, realizes that this shark has knocked over and spilled his entire bottle of [insert product placement here] He confusedly and exasperatedly cries out and upward into the skies—. THIS IS A LAKE!!! Just a note to remember that I finally perfected my recipe for the absolute best vegan breakfast burrito just previously to writing this. It was delicious. Yes, it was. I— Oh, my god! Parallels, remember! No! (Suddenly eating a burrito) Your memory sucks! It has to. Isn't it all in the culture? I don't know what you're all on about Turned it all on, now i'm off, man Turned it all off, but I laid here for it– Tuned it around, And I payed her for it! How's That Now For an awful apocalypse All on the top of the grant And the ground And the landmine The top of the mountain The tip of the iceberg the tell of the tails And tails of the sweet custom made to order Suits and ties Of course don't rock the boat If you know its yours! JIMMY KIMMEL stares into the distance as baby shark blares over the common room television screen–he appears to be babysitting, but his look is so far off, you wouldn't know he was in the room. The baby shark song seems to drum up some uncomfortable memories from fishing over the weekend. He squints with disdain over the incident with a weary glean in his eyes; this is not something you discuss with other people. Isn't it all in the coat tails? It's toxic, but i've never been a model Or even wanted, so What are all the hot blondes at the office on about? You wanted the host of the talk show, And woke up to croissants and roses, orange juice and probable cause for your lawsuit, But in the moment you loved it So what's everyone on about? Isn't it all in the cufflinks? The stuff you don't tell to your home folks; The homegrown and midwestern corn folks, Discussing your show over corn flakes? So what's everyone on about? Let us just be honest, I didn't know how deep it was Until i opened up pandoras box, And thought, “What the fuck, I've found a horxcrux.” I've found a goldmine, I've got the fox and the hare all in one here, What a show host What a conundrum, What a construct, What a hopeless homonid What a heart to want nothing but To put the top Back on the box And walk away Unknowing all Of what I saw –Middle Days. There's no Tonight Show where I'm from No late night, And no radio hosts No television, no songs No one to lead us on And then to no where No one to cut us off Before the road opens No one to Stop us at the railroad enclosures And no one at all named Love Don't you know that the idea of all of you at all Is just so comfortable, mountain or a horse? Capable and strong? Don't you know the mold of you has sunk into my heart And formed a hole Where all the world will go, When i'm no longer mourning? Are you sure you want to– No. Not at all? I already did! But I saw this thing– Don't tell me about my death. But you were there. That's the thing, actually, you're not understanding– I wasn't. But– Quite possibly everyone and everything around me– Possibly even, or most probably, everything ever– But I promise, Jimmy, if that is even your name– It isn't– exactly. Everything happening–or unhappening in the moment– was everything but me. But– Goodbye! But– Goodbye, I said! I told you it was a deathtrap. That lady is crazy. I'm telling you, have faith! It makes sense. It doesn't make sense! It does make sense. It's just random–gibberish. Its absolutely ludicrous, Jimmy. She's crazy! You're youre right; it is ludicrous, actually, but listen to me— I'm finished listening. Yeah. I think i've heard about enough. But you haven't heard anything! I have now what I needed to know. But these writings… We'll take it from here, Jim. [The suits walk away.] I hope you're flame retardant. I ought to be by now, i guess. Double check your coverage. How'd that go. As expected. At least you expected it. There isn't anything around here I haven't been expecting lately. I mean. V.O. I've been working here for over twenty years… At least you're not being haunted by ghosts or anything. [The irony is in that yes, actually, he is talking to a ghost.] I get it (ripped apart) He's in the music away and carrying with it –you're on! A signal, A ghost– A sacrifice, A ritual, you're on again, Then off again The pitter patter of the dismissive members of Upper society, High ranking elitists And businussmen whom you admire astonishingly Despite discomfort, Whom, happen to no doubt Disapprove of you by nature And yet, Are also drawn To your own power Circumstance Judgement Morals Traditions Honors, Representatives of the establishment The state (no longer a democracy) Repression– All in writer's room revisions What happened? I haven't kept it safe or sacred One tear over Only out the left eye Listen, the marytr I opened a death trap I opened my widened mind To the unknown and impossible, Swallowed it whole with the lot of you I died with knowing only the lowest of the totem pole And yet, low and behold Now, I rise to the top, And such is known that without the bottom, The whole log topples over. Oh wow. I'm famous. Yes, and? It kind of hurts. Eventually that goes away. What a sensation. It's always there. You just stop feeling it. It lingers in on a sunday night, And at most on the full moon, no wolves howling; It sets in in the bunny ears atop the chatterbox In the kitchen, where It outshines us, from the other room On the radio tower, Where in time the vines have climbed And now flower bloom In silent golden era tunes, The tombs of all our knowledge and our light To fade with every passing hour here Goodnight, my son I do not want to know you Goodbye, my father, I do not want to rust And again I wake in the pain and lure of autumn To never known a summer song, And ponder on the dusk It lingers deep on Sunday evening, Setting hard on Monday morn, and though i write so fond of JImmy I dare often dream of Lorne Chapter Four Donovan Arnold was a lover and not a fighter. He never much had to come up against any kind of battle, either, because he was quite prone to always getting exactly what he wanted. Louis Greenworth was not merely a friendly rival—but a challenge, and the two came head to heat in various bouts and brawls in their time at The Summit, where most if not many collide with one another for fortune, and in gratitude that there they had been chosen for greater purpose. Something told me not too far on that Donovan had many to will and tricks up his sleeve without showing it, and in Louis's visions, he cautioned that I should be wary—although, in the rarer and flickering lights of Donovan's knowing and unknown, I should be careful of Louis and his corners. Then, there wasn't a force amongst us which would lightly convey Louis—his doings and his shadows were dark--which is why I had been fashioned to it, and the powerful man he was beared such a heavy weight on all the world around him that he was nothing less than a storm to weather in total. Then, Donovan was such the luck and clever, loving sprite, that his wit and charm was assuring to my embark; there was no way of truly ever waning in the way that Donovan had winged his way into the arrangement in his favor, but at the very least— disappointing his approval would gain no absolute pleasure beyond the astonishing dissonance of loyalty. Then, there were keepers surrounding the might and the truth of The force that the shadows could not bare— there were times and marks and truths beyond the summit that were merely a facet of the things in the beyond, and in the way that The Source rules over its keepers, and its knowings—there was hardly any way for the niceties of pride, judgment most often throwing its way between dear Donovan Arnold and I. There was no nose that could t smell the stench if the foul odor that the rot of betrayal had done. The way of Donovan was seeking to know, without keeping or honor of heart—and I could not withstand another deep wound in the pit of my own truth. They called him Donovan Arnold Palmer because he made a mean Long Island iced tea— which of course he attributed to his affluent east coast heritage, hailing from a long line of the posh and uptight standard boys and girls of the fools and good old days. A clean cut brown nose and absolute stickler for circumstance and dedication, his placement within these sacred places was vanity, first and foremost—and with a sense of tradition and pride he carried on in the way any man would, with great relief that the world didn't rest on his shoulders the way it did on Louis— then, nothing really rested on anyone the way it did in Louis Greenworth. chapter 5 The gifted saint of revelations “Did he hurt you?” I looked away without knowing where to look at all but down, my body aching with the waves of having been pressed and clutched against the spirals of time. The things I pretend not to know. “Who?” Genie seemed disappointed but still, patiently coaxing me with the comfort of his warmth— calling my eyes and looking deeply into the soul. I was petrified “What happened?”, he persists. “I don't know what your talking about.” , I mumble guiltily. He pauses for a moment as if he knows the depth of it— somewhere inside of me I know he knows, and behind me my mind is reeling and screaming, like a desperate unearthed fortune of unknown. Barely breathing, and shallow in the dark of the luminescence of the moonlight night, my loyalty overwhelms my pride and brotherhood. “What did he say?” Now his eyes fill with the pain and begging for the mercy of truth, as he whispers almost with a whimper, even in his strength and grace. In all those prayers not once had I even the ounce of nerve to think that he had uttered my name— now looking into him but huddled under him in heaps and ruins, I could not remember a time more when I wanted to disacknowledge the unknown and send a heap of words into the capes and canyons of his holy ears, though these things I knew for any time but especially this, I could never speak. “He who?” I can't wake up, I'm a rockstar Can't wash it off And I'm just so high on drugs That no matter the cost I just don't want to come down Don't want to want you anymore Relax. Think about it never or none And wonder what the world becomes when Weather tides and moon songs are no more Remember, then the dolphin And temperament to want what of course All of us covet But still, waking up in a dungeon. What a curse. Also, however What a cure, as you wander up The slithering road that parts Los Angeles from all the north of her Southern coast, If you want specifics The Pacific is at most And much admires Where you are, No matter how far you wander I want I want I want And I get I get I get I'm a rockstar. Maybe after all those times Being just the girl that all might have died to have been And getting mad over it You wake up to find yourself A stalker Who doesn't Leave the apartment And just watches the come up Of the songbird Who just wishes She had've gone To Harvard Not for law school But the arts, You know You lost a fortune That wasn't clever You wrote a hospital long report And look what you got! A suffix And later on an honorary doctorate But look at Letterman Hardly recognizable And after all The stopwatch just starts over at one Doesn't it Doesn't it? I'm a rockstar And what you wanted Was no subtle front But a surfboard and a ping pong table Writing your fables in the quiet of the night With the ocean steady lapping under the docks And not Collapsing her whole structure What a thunderous wave If you think it's time Then you haven't caved yet I offer all the pleasures of the golden science And as alchemy concerned Its really only valuable on this planet As it stands the liquid gold mines here Haven't budged an ounce— There's an overflow of all you've ever wanted With a pungent odor Or wrongdoing done And lemonade To pucker And to ponder over S'mores for supper, anyone? I thought not -KR. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

Someone help me. What happened. What's good bro. I think deadmau5 is my cat. Nah. You're serious? I'm…deadfuckingnserious. What makes you think that? [cat is deadmau5] lol isn't it super torturous as fuck as a woman knowing All you really want is for like, one man to like , Just like you, But dudes are notorious for like— Never ever really being able to just ”like” one person? Like dudes like everyone They are notorious whoooores. The like everybody. The older I get like the worse it gets Like here's this guy I like And I pretty much mostly just like him But then like, Look at all these girls! Fuuuuck that! NICOLE BYER OH LOOK. ITS DUM-DUM! this is because I keep forgetting you, isn't it? NICOLE BYER Yes it IS. this might actually be my favorite part of the story. BLŪ is taking a shower when suddenly— NICOLE BYER appears out of nowhere. HEY DUM-DUM. JIMMY KIMMEL uses his newfound ability to time shift (not time travel, persay, but to alter many parallels of a given time) to undo joining a college fraternity. Also in the present nothing appears altered. This invisibly and almost even silently skews several multidimensional parallels into disarray. Unknowing st all of this, he seems content with his decision. Then again, he always seems sort of... JIMMY KIMMEL is quietly enjoying his fishing trip. Basking in the wonderful allone ness of solitude and silence, he uncaps a bottle of [insert product placement here] and takes a very hearty swig, letting out a super contended sigh. …content. It is a picturesque and perfect day; however, something seems off; just then, as he admires his first catch, hanging from the line over the bow, a GIANT SHARK appears out of the water, snapping up his catch and retreating into the abyss with a thunderous SPLASH. Dripping with dismay (and lots of water) JIMMY KIMMEL explodes with an equally thunderous rage. WHAT THE FUCK! He teeters, sopping wet to the edge of the boat, peering momentarily into the rippling water before he realizes it may not be safe, and in the same glimpse from the side of his squinted unrelentlessly still glistening eyes, realizes that this shark has knocked over and spilled his entire bottle of [insert product placement here] He confusedly and exasperatedly cries out and upward into the skies—. THIS IS A LAKE!!! Just a note to remember that I finally perfected my recipe for the absolute best vegan breakfast burrito just previously to writing this. It was delicious. Yes, it was. I— Oh, my god! Parallels, remember! No! (Suddenly eating a burrito) Your memory sucks! It has to. Isn't it all in the culture? I don't know what you're all on about Turned it all on, now i'm off, man Turned it all off, but I laid here for it– Tuned it around, And I payed her for it! How's That Now For an awful apocalypse All on the top of the grant And the ground And the landmine The top of the mountain The tip of the iceberg the tell of the tails And tails of the sweet custom made to order Suits and ties Of course don't rock the boat If you know its yours! JIMMY KIMMEL stares into the distance as baby shark blares over the common room television screen–he appears to be babysitting, but his look is so far off, you wouldn't know he was in the room. The baby shark song seems to drum up some uncomfortable memories from fishing over the weekend. He squints with disdain over the incident with a weary glean in his eyes; this is not something you discuss with other people. Isn't it all in the coat tails? It's toxic, but i've never been a model Or even wanted, so What are all the hot blondes at the office on about? You wanted the host of the talk show, And woke up to croissants and roses, orange juice and probable cause for your lawsuit, But in the moment you loved it So what's everyone on about? Isn't it all in the cufflinks? The stuff you don't tell to your home folks; The homegrown and midwestern corn folks, Discussing your show over corn flakes? So what's everyone on about? Let us just be honest, I didn't know how deep it was Until i opened up pandoras box, And thought, “What the fuck, I've found a horxcrux.” I've found a goldmine, I've got the fox and the hare all in one here, What a show host What a conundrum, What a construct, What a hopeless homonid What a heart to want nothing but To put the top Back on the box And walk away Unknowing all Of what I saw –Middle Days. There's no Tonight Show where I'm from No late night, And no radio hosts No television, no songs No one to lead us on And then to no where No one to cut us off Before the road opens No one to Stop us at the railroad enclosures And no one at all named Love Don't you know that the idea of all of you at all Is just so comfortable, mountain or a horse? Capable and strong? Don't you know the mold of you has sunk into my heart And formed a hole Where all the world will go, When i'm no longer mourning? Are you sure you want to– No. Not at all? I already did! But I saw this thing– Don't tell me about my death. But you were there. That's the thing, actually, you're not understanding– I wasn't. But– Quite possibly everyone and everything around me– Possibly even, or most probably, everything ever– But I promise, Jimmy, if that is even your name– It isn't– exactly. Everything happening–or unhappening in the moment– was everything but me. But– Goodbye! But– Goodbye, I said! I told you it was a deathtrap. That lady is crazy. I'm telling you, have faith! It makes sense. It doesn't make sense! It does make sense. It's just random–gibberish. Its absolutely ludicrous, Jimmy. She's crazy! You're youre right; it is ludicrous, actually, but listen to me— I'm finished listening. Yeah. I think i've heard about enough. But you haven't heard anything! I have now what I needed to know. But these writings… We'll take it from here, Jim. [The suits walk away.] I hope you're flame retardant. I ought to be by now, i guess. Double check your coverage. How'd that go. As expected. At least you expected it. There isn't anything around here I haven't been expecting lately. I mean. V.O. I've been working here for over twenty years… At least you're not being haunted by ghosts or anything. [The irony is in that yes, actually, he is talking to a ghost.] I get it (ripped apart) He's in the music away and carrying with it –you're on! A signal, A ghost– A sacrifice, A ritual, you're on again, Then off again The pitter patter of the dismissive members of Upper society, High ranking elitists And businussmen whom you admire astonishingly Despite discomfort, Whom, happen to no doubt Disapprove of you by nature And yet, Are also drawn To your own power Circumstance Judgement Morals Traditions Honors, Representatives of the establishment The state (no longer a democracy) Repression– All in writer's room revisions What happened? I haven't kept it safe or sacred One tear over Only out the left eye Listen, the marytr I opened a death trap I opened my widened mind To the unknown and impossible, Swallowed it whole with the lot of you I died with knowing only the lowest of the totem pole And yet, low and behold Now, I rise to the top, And such is known that without the bottom, The whole log topples over. Oh wow. I'm famous. Yes, and? It kind of hurts. Eventually that goes away. What a sensation. It's always there. You just stop feeling it. It lingers in on a sunday night, And at most on the full moon, no wolves howling; It sets in in the bunny ears atop the chatterbox In the kitchen, where It outshines us, from the other room On the radio tower, Where in time the vines have climbed And now flower bloom In silent golden era tunes, The tombs of all our knowledge and our light To fade with every passing hour here Goodnight, my son I do not want to know you Goodbye, my father, I do not want to rust And again I wake in the pain and lure of autumn To never known a summer song, And ponder on the dusk It lingers deep on Sunday evening, Setting hard on Monday morn, and though i write so fond of JImmy I dare often dream of Lorne Chapter Four Donovan Arnold was a lover and not a fighter. He never much had to come up against any kind of battle, either, because he was quite prone to always getting exactly what he wanted. Louis Greenworth was not merely a friendly rival—but a challenge, and the two came head to heat in various bouts and brawls in their time at The Summit, where most if not many collide with one another for fortune, and in gratitude that there they had been chosen for greater purpose. Something told me not too far on that Donovan had many to will and tricks up his sleeve without showing it, and in Louis's visions, he cautioned that I should be wary—although, in the rarer and flickering lights of Donovan's knowing and unknown, I should be careful of Louis and his corners. Then, there wasn't a force amongst us which would lightly convey Louis—his doings and his shadows were dark--which is why I had been fashioned to it, and the powerful man he was beared such a heavy weight on all the world around him that he was nothing less than a storm to weather in total. Then, Donovan was such the luck and clever, loving sprite, that his wit and charm was assuring to my embark; there was no way of truly ever waning in the way that Donovan had winged his way into the arrangement in his favor, but at the very least— disappointing his approval would gain no absolute pleasure beyond the astonishing dissonance of loyalty. Then, there were keepers surrounding the might and the truth of The force that the shadows could not bare— there were times and marks and truths beyond the summit that were merely a facet of the things in the beyond, and in the way that The Source rules over its keepers, and its knowings—there was hardly any way for the niceties of pride, judgment most often throwing its way between dear Donovan Arnold and I. There was no nose that could t smell the stench if the foul odor that the rot of betrayal had done. The way of Donovan was seeking to know, without keeping or honor of heart—and I could not withstand another deep wound in the pit of my own truth. They called him Donovan Arnold Palmer because he made a mean Long Island iced tea— which of course he attributed to his affluent east coast heritage, hailing from a long line of the posh and uptight standard boys and girls of the fools and good old days. A clean cut brown nose and absolute stickler for circumstance and dedication, his placement within these sacred places was vanity, first and foremost—and with a sense of tradition and pride he carried on in the way any man would, with great relief that the world didn't rest on his shoulders the way it did on Louis— then, nothing really rested on anyone the way it did in Louis Greenworth. chapter 5 The gifted saint of revelations “Did he hurt you?” I looked away without knowing where to look at all but down, my body aching with the waves of having been pressed and clutched against the spirals of time. The things I pretend not to know. “Who?” Genie seemed disappointed but still, patiently coaxing me with the comfort of his warmth— calling my eyes and looking deeply into the soul. I was petrified “What happened?”, he persists. “I don't know what your talking about.” , I mumble guiltily. He pauses for a moment as if he knows the depth of it— somewhere inside of me I know he knows, and behind me my mind is reeling and screaming, like a desperate unearthed fortune of unknown. Barely breathing, and shallow in the dark of the luminescence of the moonlight night, my loyalty overwhelms my pride and brotherhood. “What did he say?” Now his eyes fill with the pain and begging for the mercy of truth, as he whispers almost with a whimper, even in his strength and grace. In all those prayers not once had I even the ounce of nerve to think that he had uttered my name— now looking into him but huddled under him in heaps and ruins, I could not remember a time more when I wanted to disacknowledge the unknown and send a heap of words into the capes and canyons of his holy ears, though these things I knew for any time but especially this, I could never speak. “He who?” I can't wake up, I'm a rockstar Can't wash it off And I'm just so high on drugs That no matter the cost I just don't want to come down Don't want to want you anymore Relax. Think about it never or none And wonder what the world becomes when Weather tides and moon songs are no more Remember, then the dolphin And temperament to want what of course All of us covet But still, waking up in a dungeon. What a curse. Also, however What a cure, as you wander up The slithering road that parts Los Angeles from all the north of her Southern coast, If you want specifics The Pacific is at most And much admires Where you are, No matter how far you wander I want I want I want And I get I get I get I'm a rockstar. Maybe after all those times Being just the girl that all might have died to have been And getting mad over it You wake up to find yourself A stalker Who doesn't Leave the apartment And just watches the come up Of the songbird Who just wishes She had've gone To Harvard Not for law school But the arts, You know You lost a fortune That wasn't clever You wrote a hospital long report And look what you got! A suffix And later on an honorary doctorate But look at Letterman Hardly recognizable And after all The stopwatch just starts over at one Doesn't it Doesn't it? I'm a rockstar And what you wanted Was no subtle front But a surfboard and a ping pong table Writing your fables in the quiet of the night With the ocean steady lapping under the docks And not Collapsing her whole structure What a thunderous wave If you think it's time Then you haven't caved yet I offer all the pleasures of the golden science And as alchemy concerned Its really only valuable on this planet As it stands the liquid gold mines here Haven't budged an ounce— There's an overflow of all you've ever wanted With a pungent odor Or wrongdoing done And lemonade To pucker And to ponder over S'mores for supper, anyone? I thought not -KR. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

Western: Hopalong Cassidy “The Case of the Last Word” 2/6/50 Syndicated, Frontier Town “The Case of Bourbon Kate” 6/11/49 Syndicated.

Series: Adventures by Morse “The Cobra King Strikes Back” Part 9 6/16/46 Syndicated, One Man's Family “The Book of Teddy – Book 78 Chapter 25” 10/6/50 NBC, Yours Truly, Johnny Dollar “The Alvin Summers Matter” Part 4 10/27/55 CBS.

JIMMY KIMMEL uses his newfound ability to time shift (not time travel, persay, but to alter many parallels of a given time) to undo joining a college fraternity. Also in the present nothing appears altered. This invisibly and almost even silently skews several multidimensional parallels into disarray. Unknowing st all of this, he seems content with his decision. Then again, he always seems sort of... JIMMY KIMMEL is quietly enjoying his fishing trip. Basking in the wonderful allone ness of solitude and silence, he uncaps a bottle of [insert product placement here] and takes a very hearty swig, letting out a super contended sigh. …content. It is a pictures and perfect day; however, something seems off; just then, as he admires his first catch, hanging from the line over the bow, a GIANT SHARK appears out of the water, snapping up his catch and retreating into the abyss with a thunderous SPLASH. Dripping with dismay (and lots of water) JIMMY KIMMEL explodes with an equally thunderous rage. WHAT THE FUCK! He teeters, sopping wet to the edge of the boat, peering momentarily into the rippling water before he realizes it may not be safe, and in the same glimpse from the side of his squinted unrelentlessly still glistening eyes, realizes that this shark has knocked over and spilled his entire bottle of [insert product placement here] He confusedly and exasperatedly cries out and upward into the skies— THIS IS A LAKE!!! Just a note to remember that I finally perfected my recipe for the absolute best vegan breakfast burrito just previously to writing this. It was delicious. Yes, it was. I— Oh, my god! Parallels, remember! No! (Suddenly eating a burrito) Your memory sucks! It has to. Isn't it all in the culture? I don't know what you're all on about Turned it all on, now i'm off, man Turned it all off, but I laid here for it– Tuned it around, And I payed her for it! How's That Now For an awful apocalypse All on the top of the grant And the ground And the landmine The top of the mountain The tip of the iceberg the tell of the tails And tails of the sweet custom made to order Suits and ties Of course don't rock the boat If you know its yours! JIMMY KIMMEL stares into the distance as baby shark blares over the common room television screen–he appears to be babysitting, but his look is so far off, you wouldn't know he was in the room. The baby shark song seems to drum up some uncomfortable memories from fishing over the weekend. He squints with disdain over the incident with a weary glean in his eyes; this is not something you discuss with other people. Isn't it all in the coat tails? It's toxic, but i've never been a model Or even wanted, so What are all the hot blondes at the office on about? You wanted the host of the talk show, And woke up to croissants and roses, orange juice and probable cause for your lawsuit, But in the moment you loved it So what's everyone on about? Isn't it all in the cufflinks? The stuff you don't tell to your home folks; The homegrown and midwestern corn folks, Discussing your show over corn flakes? So what's everyone on about? Let us just be honest, I didn't know how deep it was Until i opened up pandoras box, And thought, “What the fuck, I've found a horxcrux.” I've found a goldmine, I've got the fox and the hare all in one here, What a show host What a conundrum, What a construct, What a hopeless homonid What a heart to want nothing but To put the top Back on the box And walk away Unknowing all Of what I saw –Middle Days. There's no Tonight Show where I'm from No late night, And no radio hosts No television, no songs No one to lead us on And then to no where No one to cut us off Before the road opens No one to Stop us at the railroad enclosures And no one at all named Love Don't you know that the idea of all of you at all Is just so comfortable, mountain or a horse? Capable and strong? Don't you know the mold of you has sunk into my heart And formed a hole Where all the world will go, When i'm no longer mourning? Are you sure you want to– No. Not at all? I already did! But I saw this thing– Don't tell me about my death. But you were there. That's the thing, actually, you're not understanding– I wasn't. But– Quite possibly everyone and everything around me– Possibly even, or most probably, everything ever– But I promise, Jimmy, if that is even your name– It isn't– exactly. Everything happening–or unhappening in the moment– was everything but me. But– Goodbye! But– Goodbye, I said! I told you it was a deathtrap. That lady is crazy. I'm telling you, have faith! It makes sense. It doesn't make sense! It does make sense. It's just random–gibberish. Its absolutely ludicrous, Jimmy. She's crazy! You're youre right; it is ludicrous, actually, but listen to me— I'm finished listening. Yeah. I think i've heard about enough. But you haven't heard anything! I have now what I needed to know. But these writings… We'll take it from here, Jim. [The suits walk away.] I hope you're flame retardant. I ought to be by now, i guess. Double check your coverage. How'd that go. As expected. At least you expected it. There isn't anything around here I haven't been expecting lately. I mean. V.O. I've been working here for over twenty years… At least you're not being haunted by ghosts or anything. [The irony is in that yes, actually, he is talking to a ghost.] I get it (ripped apart) He's in the music away and carrying with it –you're on! A signal, A ghost– A sacrifice, A ritual, you're on again, Then off again The pitter patter of the dismissive members of Upper society, High ranking elitists And businussmen whom you admire astonishingly Despite discomfort, Whom, happen to no doubt Disapprove of you by nature And yet, Are also drawn To your own power Circumstance Judgement Morals Traditions Honors, Representatives of the establishment The state (no longer a democracy) Repression– All in writer's room revisions What happened? I haven't kept it safe or sacred One tear over Only out the left eye Listen, the marytr I opened a death trap I opened my widened mind To the unknown and impossible, Swallowed it whole with the lot of you I died with knowing only the lowest of the totem pole And yet, low and behold Now, I rise to the top, And such is known that without the bottom, The whole log topples over. Oh wow. I'm famous. Yes, and? It kind of hurts. Eventually that goes away. What a sensation. It's always there. You just stop feeling it. It lingers in on a sunday night, And at most on the full moon, no wolves howling; It sets in in the bunny ears atop the chatterbox In the kitchen, where It outshines us, from the other room On the radio tower, Where in time the vines have climbed And now flower bloom In silent golden era tunes, The tombs of all our knowledge and our light To fade with every passing hour here Goodnight, my son I do not want to know you Goodbye, my father, I do not want to rust And again I wake in the pain and lure of autumn To never known a summer song, And ponder on the dusk It lingers deep on Sunday evening, Setting hard on Monday morn, and though i write so fond of JImmy I dare often dream of Lorne Chapter Four Donovan Arnold was a lover and not a fighter. He never much had too come up against any kind of battle, either, because he was quite prone to always getting exactly what he wanted. Louis Greenworth was not merely a friendly rival—but a challenge, and the two came head to heat in various bouts and brawls in their time at The Summit, where most if not many collide with one another for fortune, and in gratitude that there they had been chosen for greater purpose. Something told me not too far on that Donovan had many to will and ticks up his sleeve without showing it, and in Louis's visions, he cautioned that I should be wary—although, in the rarer and flickering lights of Donovan's knowing and unknown, I should be csrefyl of Louis and his corners. Then, there wasn't a force amongst us which would lightly convey Louis—his doings and his shadows were dark/-which is why I had been fashioned to it, and the powerful man he was beared such a heavy weight on all the world around him that he was nothing less than a storm to weather in total. Then, Donovan was such the luck and clever, loving sprite, that his wit and charm was assuring to my embark; there was no way of truly ever waning in the way that Donovan had winged his way into the arrangement in his favor, but at the very least— disappointing his approval would gain no absolute pleasure beyond the astonishing dissonance of loyalty. Then, there were keepers surrounding the might and the truth if The force that the shadows could not bare— thee were times and marks and truths beyond the summit that were merely a facet of the things in the beyond, and in the way that The Source rules over its keepers, and its knowings—there was hardly any way for the nicities of pride, judgment most often throwing its way between dear Donovan Arnold and I. There was no nose that could t smell the stench if the foul odor that the rot of betrayal had done. The way of Donovan was seeking to know, without keeping or honor of heart—and I could not withstand another deep wound in the pit of my own truth. They called him Donovan Arnold Palmer because he made a mean Long Island iced tea— which of course he attributed to his affient east coast heritage, hailing from a long line of the posh and uptight standard boys and girls of the fools old days. A clean cut brown nose and absolute stickler for circumstance and dedication, his placement within these sacred places was vanity, first and foremost—and with a sense of tradition and pride he carried on in the way any man would, with great relief that the world didn't rest on his shoulders the way it did on Louis— then, nothing really rested on anyone the way it did in Louis Greenworth. chapter 5 The gifted saint of revelations “Did he hurt you?” I looked away without knowing where to look at all but down, my body aching with the waves of having been pressed and clutched against the spirals of time. The things I pretend not to know. “Who?” Genie seemed disappointed but still, patiently coaxing me with the comfort of his warmth— calling my eyes and looking deeply into the soul. I was petrified “What happened?”, he persists. “I don't know what your talking about.” , I mumble guiltily. He pauses for a moment as if he knows the depth of it— somewhere inside of me I know he knows, and behind me my mind is reeling and screaming, like a desperate unearthed fortune of unknown. Barely breathing, and shallow in the dark of the luminescence of the moonlight night, my loyalty overwhelms my pride and brotherhood. “What did he say?” Now his eyes fill with the pain and begging for the mercy of truth, as he whispers almost with a whimper, even in his strength and grace. In all those prayers not once had I even the ounce of nerve to think that he had uttered my name— now looking into him but huddled under him in heaps and ruins, I could not remember a time more when I wanted to disacknowlege the unknown and send a heap of words into the capes and canyons of his holy ears, though these things I knew for any time but especially this, I could never speak. “He who?” I can't wake up, I'm a rockstar Can't wash it off And I'm just so high on drugs That no matter the cost I just don't want to come down Don't want to want you anymore Relax. Think about it never or none And wonder what the world becomes when Weather tides and moon songs are no more Remember, then the dolphin And temperment to want what of course All of us covet But still, waking up in a dungeon. What a curse. Also, however What a cure, as you wander up The slithering road that parts Los Angeles from all the north of her Southern coast, If you want specifics The Pacific is at most And much admires Where you are, No matter how far you wander I want I want I want And I get I get I get I'm a rockstar. Maybe after all those times Being just the girl that all might have died to have been And getting mad over it You wake up to find yourself A stalker Who doesn't Leave the apartment And just watches the come up Of the songbird Who just wishes She had've gone To Harvard Not for law school But the arts, You know You lost a fortune That wasn't clever You wrote a hospital long report And look what you got! A suffix And later on an honorary doctorate But look at Letterman Hardly recognizable And after all The stopwatch just starts over at one Doesn't it Doesn't it? I'm a rockstar And what you wanted Was no subtle front But a surfboard and a ping pong table Writing your fables in the quiet of the night With the ocean steady lapping under the docks And not Collapsing her whole structure What a thunderous wave If you think it's time Then you haven't caved yet I offer all the pleasures of the golden science And as alchemy concerned Its really only valuable on this planet As it stands the liquid gold mines here Haven't budged an ounce— There's an overflow of all you've ever wanted With a pungent odor Or wrongdoing done And lemonade To pucker And to ponder over S'mores for supper, anyone? I thought not -KR. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū. DJ NAMES: -Ū. | Happy Accidents! [H∆!], c o l o r s, Uptown A GENRE TAGS: ACID, ELECTRONIC, EXPERIMENTAL, DANCE, DUBSTEP DESCRIPTION: Prepare for sonic seismic activity! "Freaky Fridays" with the enigmatic -Ū. is about to detonate on the airwaves, bringing you the biggest bass explosion since the Big Bang itself! Climb aboard the mothership every Friday from 11 AM to 1 PM and launch your weekend into orbit with a mind-bending blend of clever soundwaves and subterranean bass frequencies that stretch from infinity and beyond. Forget the surface – the sound of the underground is pure fire and untamed heat with DJ -Ū. at the helm. This mononymous maestro, sometimes materializing under the mysterious and mesmerizing aliases Happy Accidents, c o l o r s, or even the warehouse tycoon Uptown A, is a sonic enigma. Though a Californian beach bum at heart, with a soul steeped in ocean vibes and sunshine, this DJ has found a home for her dance-fueled chaos in the industrial heartland of dance music, Brooklyn. Get ready for a swift punch of chaotic wonder as -Ū. seamlessly blends the Hollywood movie magic of her homeland – think swaying palms and suave vibes – with the gritty twists and turns from the bunkers of bass music: dubstep, UK garage, techno, new wave, drum-n-bass, and genre-bending mind-fluxes that defy categorization. But wait: There's More! -Ū. isn't just about the bass. This sonic time traveler digs deep into generations of music history, unearthing classic rock anthems, psychedelic soundscapes, trance-inducing rhythms, and those precious b-sides and rarities – forgotten gems from the stage, silver screen, and even the epic realms of fantasy, action, and adventure from blockbuster hits to obscure and insane. -Ū. is a one-of-a-kind Pandora's record box, unleashing a thrilling mix of sonic atrocities and unexpected delights – the sounds you didn't know you were craving. So, relax, strap in, and prepare for a sweet ride filled with magic, wonder, and jaw-dropping surprises as this time-traveling tycoon hits the radio waves with the freakiest, Friday-est, no-holds-barred, anything-goes sound the world has been waiting to hear! Tune in every Friday from 11 AM to 1 PM for literally 'whatever, man.' with your affectionate Captain, Blū Tha Gürū (-Ū.), and keep your ears peeled for guest appearances by [Any Alias Whatsoever.] Peace + Love. FREAKY FRIDAY 005. LIVE Originally Aired July 11th, 2025 Brooklyn, New York

JIMMY KIMMEL uses his newfound ability to time shift (not time travel, persay, but to alter many parallels of a given time) to undo joining a college fraternity. Also in the present nothing appears altered. This invisibly and almost even silently skews several multidimensional parallels into disarray. Unknowing st all of this, he seems content with his decision. Then again, he always seems sort of... JIMMY KIMMEL is quietly enjoying his fishing trip. Basking in the wonderful allone ness of solitude and silence, he uncaps a bottle of [insert product placement here] and takes a very hearty swig, letting out a super contended sigh. …content. It is a pictures and perfect day; however, something seems off; just then, as he admires his first catch, hanging from the line over the bow, a GIANT SHARK appears out of the water, snapping up his catch and retreating into the abyss with a thunderous SPLASH. Dripping with dismay (and lots of water) JIMMY KIMMEL explodes with an equally thunderous rage. WHAT THE FUCK! He teeters, sopping wet to the edge of the boat, peering momentarily into the rippling water before he realizes it may not be safe, and in the same glimpse from the side of his squinted unrelentlessly still glistening eyes, realizes that this shark has knocked over and spilled his entire bottle of [insert product placement here] He confusedly and exasperatedly cries out and upward into the skies— THIS IS A LAKE!!! Just a note to remember that I finally perfected my recipe for the absolute best vegan breakfast burrito just previously to writing this. It was delicious. Yes, it was. I— Oh, my god! Parallels, remember! No! (Suddenly eating a burrito) Your memory sucks! It has to. Isn't it all in the culture? I don't know what you're all on about Turned it all on, now i'm off, man Turned it all off, but I laid here for it– Tuned it around, And I payed her for it! How's That Now For an awful apocalypse All on the top of the grant And the ground And the landmine The top of the mountain The tip of the iceberg the tell of the tails And tails of the sweet custom made to order Suits and ties Of course don't rock the boat If you know its yours! JIMMY KIMMEL stares into the distance as baby shark blares over the common room television screen–he appears to be babysitting, but his look is so far off, you wouldn't know he was in the room. The baby shark song seems to drum up some uncomfortable memories from fishing over the weekend. He squints with disdain over the incident with a weary glean in his eyes; this is not something you discuss with other people. Isn't it all in the coat tails? It's toxic, but i've never been a model Or even wanted, so What are all the hot blondes at the office on about? You wanted the host of the talk show, And woke up to croissants and roses, orange juice and probable cause for your lawsuit, But in the moment you loved it So what's everyone on about? Isn't it all in the cufflinks? The stuff you don't tell to your home folks; The homegrown and midwestern corn folks, Discussing your show over corn flakes? So what's everyone on about? Let us just be honest, I didn't know how deep it was Until i opened up pandoras box, And thought, “What the fuck, I've found a horxcrux.” I've found a goldmine, I've got the fox and the hare all in one here, What a show host What a conundrum, What a construct, What a hopeless homonid What a heart to want nothing but To put the top Back on the box And walk away Unknowing all Of what I saw –Middle Days. There's no Tonight Show where I'm from No late night, And no radio hosts No television, no songs No one to lead us on And then to no where No one to cut us off Before the road opens No one to Stop us at the railroad enclosures And no one at all named Love Don't you know that the idea of all of you at all Is just so comfortable, mountain or a horse? Capable and strong? Don't you know the mold of you has sunk into my heart And formed a hole Where all the world will go, When i'm no longer mourning? Are you sure you want to– No. Not at all? I already did! But I saw this thing– Don't tell me about my death. But you were there. That's the thing, actually, you're not understanding– I wasn't. But– Quite possibly everyone and everything around me– Possibly even, or most probably, everything ever– But I promise, Jimmy, if that is even your name– It isn't– exactly. Everything happening–or unhappening in the moment– was everything but me. But– Goodbye! But– Goodbye, I said! I told you it was a deathtrap. That lady is crazy. I'm telling you, have faith! It makes sense. It doesn't make sense! It does make sense. It's just random–gibberish. Its absolutely ludicrous, Jimmy. She's crazy! You're youre right; it is ludicrous, actually, but listen to me— I'm finished listening. Yeah. I think i've heard about enough. But you haven't heard anything! I have now what I needed to know. But these writings… We'll take it from here, Jim. [The suits walk away.] I hope you're flame retardant. I ought to be by now, i guess. Double check your coverage. How'd that go. As expected. At least you expected it. There isn't anything around here I haven't been expecting lately. I mean. V.O. I've been working here for over twenty years… At least you're not being haunted by ghosts or anything. [The irony is in that yes, actually, he is talking to a ghost.] I get it (ripped apart) He's in the music away and carrying with it –you're on! A signal, A ghost– A sacrifice, A ritual, you're on again, Then off again The pitter patter of the dismissive members of Upper society, High ranking elitists And businussmen whom you admire astonishingly Despite discomfort, Whom, happen to no doubt Disapprove of you by nature And yet, Are also drawn To your own power Circumstance Judgement Morals Traditions Honors, Representatives of the establishment The state (no longer a democracy) Repression– All in writer's room revisions What happened? I haven't kept it safe or sacred One tear over Only out the left eye Listen, the marytr I opened a death trap I opened my widened mind To the unknown and impossible, Swallowed it whole with the lot of you I died with knowing only the lowest of the totem pole And yet, low and behold Now, I rise to the top, And such is known that without the bottom, The whole log topples over. Oh wow. I'm famous. Yes, and? It kind of hurts. Eventually that goes away. What a sensation. It's always there. You just stop feeling it. It lingers in on a sunday night, And at most on the full moon, no wolves howling; It sets in in the bunny ears atop the chatterbox In the kitchen, where It outshines us, from the other room On the radio tower, Where in time the vines have climbed And now flower bloom In silent golden era tunes, The tombs of all our knowledge and our light To fade with every passing hour here Goodnight, my son I do not want to know you Goodbye, my father, I do not want to rust And again I wake in the pain and lure of autumn To never known a summer song, And ponder on the dusk It lingers deep on Sunday evening, Setting hard on Monday morn, and though i write so fond of JImmy I dare often dream of Lorne Chapter Four Donovan Arnold was a lover and not a fighter. He never much had too come up against any kind of battle, either, because he was quite prone to always getting exactly what he wanted. Louis Greenworth was not merely a friendly rival—but a challenge, and the two came head to heat in various bouts and brawls in their time at The Summit, where most if not many collide with one another for fortune, and in gratitude that there they had been chosen for greater purpose. Something told me not too far on that Donovan had many to will and ticks up his sleeve without showing it, and in Louis's visions, he cautioned that I should be wary—although, in the rarer and flickering lights of Donovan's knowing and unknown, I should be csrefyl of Louis and his corners. Then, there wasn't a force amongst us which would lightly convey Louis—his doings and his shadows were dark/-which is why I had been fashioned to it, and the powerful man he was beared such a heavy weight on all the world around him that he was nothing less than a storm to weather in total. Then, Donovan was such the luck and clever, loving sprite, that his wit and charm was assuring to my embark; there was no way of truly ever waning in the way that Donovan had winged his way into the arrangement in his favor, but at the very least— disappointing his approval would gain no absolute pleasure beyond the astonishing dissonance of loyalty. Then, there were keepers surrounding the might and the truth if The force that the shadows could not bare— thee were times and marks and truths beyond the summit that were merely a facet of the things in the beyond, and in the way that The Source rules over its keepers, and its knowings—there was hardly any way for the nicities of pride, judgment most often throwing its way between dear Donovan Arnold and I. There was no nose that could t smell the stench if the foul odor that the rot of betrayal had done. The way of Donovan was seeking to know, without keeping or honor of heart—and I could not withstand another deep wound in the pit of my own truth. They called him Donovan Arnold Palmer because he made a mean Long Island iced tea— which of course he attributed to his affient east coast heritage, hailing from a long line of the posh and uptight standard boys and girls of the fools old days. A clean cut brown nose and absolute stickler for circumstance and dedication, his placement within these sacred places was vanity, first and foremost—and with a sense of tradition and pride he carried on in the way any man would, with great relief that the world didn't rest on his shoulders the way it did on Louis— then, nothing really rested on anyone the way it did in Louis Greenworth. chapter 5 The gifted saint of revelations “Did he hurt you?” I looked away without knowing where to look at all but down, my body aching with the waves of having been pressed and clutched against the spirals of time. The things I pretend not to know. “Who?” Genie seemed disappointed but still, patiently coaxing me with the comfort of his warmth— calling my eyes and looking deeply into the soul. I was petrified “What happened?”, he persists. “I don't know what your talking about.” , I mumble guiltily. He pauses for a moment as if he knows the depth of it— somewhere inside of me I know he knows, and behind me my mind is reeling and screaming, like a desperate unearthed fortune of unknown. Barely breathing, and shallow in the dark of the luminescence of the moonlight night, my loyalty overwhelms my pride and brotherhood. “What did he say?” Now his eyes fill with the pain and begging for the mercy of truth, as he whispers almost with a whimper, even in his strength and grace. In all those prayers not once had I even the ounce of nerve to think that he had uttered my name— now looking into him but huddled under him in heaps and ruins, I could not remember a time more when I wanted to disacknowlege the unknown and send a heap of words into the capes and canyons of his holy ears, though these things I knew for any time but especially this, I could never speak. “He who?” I can't wake up, I'm a rockstar Can't wash it off And I'm just so high on drugs That no matter the cost I just don't want to come down Don't want to want you anymore Relax. Think about it never or none And wonder what the world becomes when Weather tides and moon songs are no more Remember, then the dolphin And temperment to want what of course All of us covet But still, waking up in a dungeon. What a curse. Also, however What a cure, as you wander up The slithering road that parts Los Angeles from all the north of her Southern coast, If you want specifics The Pacific is at most And much admires Where you are, No matter how far you wander I want I want I want And I get I get I get I'm a rockstar. Maybe after all those times Being just the girl that all might have died to have been And getting mad over it You wake up to find yourself A stalker Who doesn't Leave the apartment And just watches the come up Of the songbird Who just wishes She had've gone To Harvard Not for law school But the arts, You know You lost a fortune That wasn't clever You wrote a hospital long report And look what you got! A suffix And later on an honorary doctorate But look at Letterman Hardly recognizable And after all The stopwatch just starts over at one Doesn't it Doesn't it? I'm a rockstar And what you wanted Was no subtle front But a surfboard and a ping pong table Writing your fables in the quiet of the night With the ocean steady lapping under the docks And not Collapsing her whole structure What a thunderous wave If you think it's time Then you haven't caved yet I offer all the pleasures of the golden science And as alchemy concerned Its really only valuable on this planet As it stands the liquid gold mines here Haven't budged an ounce— There's an overflow of all you've ever wanted With a pungent odor Or wrongdoing done And lemonade To pucker And to ponder over S'mores for supper, anyone? I thought not -KR. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū. DJ NAMES: -Ū. | Happy Accidents! [H∆!], c o l o r s, Uptown A GENRE TAGS: ACID, ELECTRONIC, EXPERIMENTAL, DANCE, DUBSTEP DESCRIPTION: Prepare for sonic seismic activity! "Freaky Fridays" with the enigmatic -Ū. is about to detonate on the airwaves, bringing you the biggest bass explosion since the Big Bang itself! Climb aboard the mothership every Friday from 11 AM to 1 PM and launch your weekend into orbit with a mind-bending blend of clever soundwaves and subterranean bass frequencies that stretch from infinity and beyond. Forget the surface – the sound of the underground is pure fire and untamed heat with DJ -Ū. at the helm. This mononymous maestro, sometimes materializing under the mysterious and mesmerizing aliases Happy Accidents, c o l o r s, or even the warehouse tycoon Uptown A, is a sonic enigma. Though a Californian beach bum at heart, with a soul steeped in ocean vibes and sunshine, this DJ has found a home for her dance-fueled chaos in the industrial heartland of dance music, Brooklyn. Get ready for a swift punch of chaotic wonder as -Ū. seamlessly blends the Hollywood movie magic of her homeland – think swaying palms and suave vibes – with the gritty twists and turns from the bunkers of bass music: dubstep, UK garage, techno, new wave, drum-n-bass, and genre-bending mind-fluxes that defy categorization. But wait: There's More! -Ū. isn't just about the bass. This sonic time traveler digs deep into generations of music history, unearthing classic rock anthems, psychedelic soundscapes, trance-inducing rhythms, and those precious b-sides and rarities – forgotten gems from the stage, silver screen, and even the epic realms of fantasy, action, and adventure from blockbuster hits to obscure and insane. -Ū. is a one-of-a-kind Pandora's record box, unleashing a thrilling mix of sonic atrocities and unexpected delights – the sounds you didn't know you were craving. So, relax, strap in, and prepare for a sweet ride filled with magic, wonder, and jaw-dropping surprises as this time-traveling tycoon hits the radio waves with the freakiest, Friday-est, no-holds-barred, anything-goes sound the world has been waiting to hear! Tune in every Friday from 11 AM to 1 PM for literally 'whatever, man.' with your affectionate Captain, Blū Tha Gürū (-Ū.), and keep your ears peeled for guest appearances by [Any Alias Whatsoever.] Peace + Love. FREAKY FRIDAY 005. LIVE Originally Aired July 11th, 2025 Brooklyn, New York

JIMMY KIMMEL uses his newfound ability to time shift (not time travel, persay, but to alter many parallels of a given time) to undo joining a college fraternity. Also in the present nothing appears altered. This invisibly and almost even silently skews several multidimensional parallels into disarray. Unknowing st all of this, he seems content with his decision. Then again, he always seems sort of... JIMMY KIMMEL is quietly enjoying his fishing trip. Basking in the wonderful allone ness of solitude and silence, he uncaps a bottle of [insert product placement here] and takes a very hearty swig, letting out a super contended sigh. …content. It is a pictures and perfect day; however, something seems off; just then, as he admires his first catch, hanging from the line over the bow, a GIANT SHARK appears out of the water, snapping up his catch and retreating into the abyss with a thunderous SPLASH. Dripping with dismay (and lots of water) JIMMY KIMMEL explodes with an equally thunderous rage. WHAT THE FUCK! He teeters, sopping wet to the edge of the boat, peering momentarily into the rippling water before he realizes it may not be safe, and in the same glimpse from the side of his squinted unrelentlessly still glistening eyes, realizes that this shark has knocked over and spilled his entire bottle of [insert product placement here] He confusedly and exasperatedly cries out and upward into the skies— THIS IS A LAKE!!! Just a note to remember that I finally perfected my recipe for the absolute best vegan breakfast burrito just previously to writing this. It was delicious. Yes, it was. I— Oh, my god! Parallels, remember! No! (Suddenly eating a burrito) Your memory sucks! It has to. Isn't it all in the culture? I don't know what you're all on about Turned it all on, now i'm off, man Turned it all off, but I laid here for it– Tuned it around, And I payed her for it! How's That Now For an awful apocalypse All on the top of the grant And the ground And the landmine The top of the mountain The tip of the iceberg the tell of the tails And tails of the sweet custom made to order Suits and ties Of course don't rock the boat If you know its yours! JIMMY KIMMEL stares into the distance as baby shark blares over the common room television screen–he appears to be babysitting, but his look is so far off, you wouldn't know he was in the room. The baby shark song seems to drum up some uncomfortable memories from fishing over the weekend. He squints with disdain over the incident with a weary glean in his eyes; this is not something you discuss with other people. Isn't it all in the coat tails? It's toxic, but i've never been a model Or even wanted, so What are all the hot blondes at the office on about? You wanted the host of the talk show, And woke up to croissants and roses, orange juice and probable cause for your lawsuit, But in the moment you loved it So what's everyone on about? Isn't it all in the cufflinks? The stuff you don't tell to your home folks; The homegrown and midwestern corn folks, Discussing your show over corn flakes? So what's everyone on about? Let us just be honest, I didn't know how deep it was Until i opened up pandoras box, And thought, “What the fuck, I've found a horxcrux.” I've found a goldmine, I've got the fox and the hare all in one here, What a show host What a conundrum, What a construct, What a hopeless homonid What a heart to want nothing but To put the top Back on the box And walk away Unknowing all Of what I saw –Middle Days. There's no Tonight Show where I'm from No late night, And no radio hosts No television, no songs No one to lead us on And then to no where No one to cut us off Before the road opens No one to Stop us at the railroad enclosures And no one at all named Love Don't you know that the idea of all of you at all Is just so comfortable, mountain or a horse? Capable and strong? Don't you know the mold of you has sunk into my heart And formed a hole Where all the world will go, When i'm no longer mourning? Are you sure you want to– No. Not at all? I already did! But I saw this thing– Don't tell me about my death. But you were there. That's the thing, actually, you're not understanding– I wasn't. But– Quite possibly everyone and everything around me– Possibly even, or most probably, everything ever– But I promise, Jimmy, if that is even your name– It isn't– exactly. Everything happening–or unhappening in the moment– was everything but me. But– Goodbye! But– Goodbye, I said! I told you it was a deathtrap. That lady is crazy. I'm telling you, have faith! It makes sense. It doesn't make sense! It does make sense. It's just random–gibberish. Its absolutely ludicrous, Jimmy. She's crazy! You're youre right; it is ludicrous, actually, but listen to me— I'm finished listening. Yeah. I think i've heard about enough. But you haven't heard anything! I have now what I needed to know. But these writings… We'll take it from here, Jim. [The suits walk away.] I hope you're flame retardant. I ought to be by now, i guess. Double check your coverage. How'd that go. As expected. At least you expected it. There isn't anything around here I haven't been expecting lately. I mean. V.O. I've been working here for over twenty years… At least you're not being haunted by ghosts or anything. [The irony is in that yes, actually, he is talking to a ghost.] I get it (ripped apart) He's in the music away and carrying with it –you're on! A signal, A ghost– A sacrifice, A ritual, you're on again, Then off again The pitter patter of the dismissive members of Upper society, High ranking elitists And businussmen whom you admire astonishingly Despite discomfort, Whom, happen to no doubt Disapprove of you by nature And yet, Are also drawn To your own power Circumstance Judgement Morals Traditions Honors, Representatives of the establishment The state (no longer a democracy) Repression– All in writer's room revisions What happened? I haven't kept it safe or sacred One tear over Only out the left eye Listen, the marytr I opened a death trap I opened my widened mind To the unknown and impossible, Swallowed it whole with the lot of you I died with knowing only the lowest of the totem pole And yet, low and behold Now, I rise to the top, And such is known that without the bottom, The whole log topples over. Oh wow. I'm famous. Yes, and? It kind of hurts. Eventually that goes away. What a sensation. It's always there. You just stop feeling it. It lingers in on a sunday night, And at most on the full moon, no wolves howling; It sets in in the bunny ears atop the chatterbox In the kitchen, where It outshines us, from the other room On the radio tower, Where in time the vines have climbed And now flower bloom In silent golden era tunes, The tombs of all our knowledge and our light To fade with every passing hour here Goodnight, my son I do not want to know you Goodbye, my father, I do not want to rust And again I wake in the pain and lure of autumn To never known a summer song, And ponder on the dusk It lingers deep on Sunday evening, Setting hard on Monday morn, and though i write so fond of JImmy I dare often dream of Lorne Chapter Four Donovan Arnold was a lover and not a fighter. He never much had too come up against any kind of battle, either, because he was quite prone to always getting exactly what he wanted. Louis Greenworth was not merely a friendly rival—but a challenge, and the two came head to heat in various bouts and brawls in their time at The Summit, where most if not many collide with one another for fortune, and in gratitude that there they had been chosen for greater purpose. Something told me not too far on that Donovan had many to will and ticks up his sleeve without showing it, and in Louis's visions, he cautioned that I should be wary—although, in the rarer and flickering lights of Donovan's knowing and unknown, I should be csrefyl of Louis and his corners. Then, there wasn't a force amongst us which would lightly convey Louis—his doings and his shadows were dark/-which is why I had been fashioned to it, and the powerful man he was beared such a heavy weight on all the world around him that he was nothing less than a storm to weather in total. Then, Donovan was such the luck and clever, loving sprite, that his wit and charm was assuring to my embark; there was no way of truly ever waning in the way that Donovan had winged his way into the arrangement in his favor, but at the very least— disappointing his approval would gain no absolute pleasure beyond the astonishing dissonance of loyalty. Then, there were keepers surrounding the might and the truth if The force that the shadows could not bare— thee were times and marks and truths beyond the summit that were merely a facet of the things in the beyond, and in the way that The Source rules over its keepers, and its knowings—there was hardly any way for the nicities of pride, judgment most often throwing its way between dear Donovan Arnold and I. There was no nose that could t smell the stench if the foul odor that the rot of betrayal had done. The way of Donovan was seeking to know, without keeping or honor of heart—and I could not withstand another deep wound in the pit of my own truth. They called him Donovan Arnold Palmer because he made a mean Long Island iced tea— which of course he attributed to his affient east coast heritage, hailing from a long line of the posh and uptight standard boys and girls of the fools old days. A clean cut brown nose and absolute stickler for circumstance and dedication, his placement within these sacred places was vanity, first and foremost—and with a sense of tradition and pride he carried on in the way any man would, with great relief that the world didn't rest on his shoulders the way it did on Louis— then, nothing really rested on anyone the way it did in Louis Greenworth. chapter 5 The gifted saint of revelations “Did he hurt you?” I looked away without knowing where to look at all but down, my body aching with the waves of having been pressed and clutched against the spirals of time. The things I pretend not to know. “Who?” Genie seemed disappointed but still, patiently coaxing me with the comfort of his warmth— calling my eyes and looking deeply into the soul. I was petrified “What happened?”, he persists. “I don't know what your talking about.” , I mumble guiltily. He pauses for a moment as if he knows the depth of it— somewhere inside of me I know he knows, and behind me my mind is reeling and screaming, like a desperate unearthed fortune of unknown. Barely breathing, and shallow in the dark of the luminescence of the moonlight night, my loyalty overwhelms my pride and brotherhood. “What did he say?” Now his eyes fill with the pain and begging for the mercy of truth, as he whispers almost with a whimper, even in his strength and grace. In all those prayers not once had I even the ounce of nerve to think that he had uttered my name— now looking into him but huddled under him in heaps and ruins, I could not remember a time more when I wanted to disacknowlege the unknown and send a heap of words into the capes and canyons of his holy ears, though these things I knew for any time but especially this, I could never speak. “He who?” I can't wake up, I'm a rockstar Can't wash it off And I'm just so high on drugs That no matter the cost I just don't want to come down Don't want to want you anymore Relax. Think about it never or none And wonder what the world becomes when Weather tides and moon songs are no more Remember, then the dolphin And temperment to want what of course All of us covet But still, waking up in a dungeon. What a curse. Also, however What a cure, as you wander up The slithering road that parts Los Angeles from all the north of her Southern coast, If you want specifics The Pacific is at most And much admires Where you are, No matter how far you wander I want I want I want And I get I get I get I'm a rockstar. Maybe after all those times Being just the girl that all might have died to have been And getting mad over it You wake up to find yourself A stalker Who doesn't Leave the apartment And just watches the come up Of the songbird Who just wishes She had've gone To Harvard Not for law school But the arts, You know You lost a fortune That wasn't clever You wrote a hospital long report And look what you got! A suffix And later on an honorary doctorate But look at Letterman Hardly recognizable And after all The stopwatch just starts over at one Doesn't it Doesn't it? I'm a rockstar And what you wanted Was no subtle front But a surfboard and a ping pong table Writing your fables in the quiet of the night With the ocean steady lapping under the docks And not Collapsing her whole structure What a thunderous wave If you think it's time Then you haven't caved yet I offer all the pleasures of the golden science And as alchemy concerned Its really only valuable on this planet As it stands the liquid gold mines here Haven't budged an ounce— There's an overflow of all you've ever wanted With a pungent odor Or wrongdoing done And lemonade To pucker And to ponder over S'mores for supper, anyone? I thought not -KR. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū. DJ NAMES: -Ū. | Happy Accidents! [H∆!], c o l o r s, Uptown A GENRE TAGS: ACID, ELECTRONIC, EXPERIMENTAL, DANCE, DUBSTEP DESCRIPTION: Prepare for sonic seismic activity! "Freaky Fridays" with the enigmatic -Ū. is about to detonate on the airwaves, bringing you the biggest bass explosion since the Big Bang itself! Climb aboard the mothership every Friday from 11 AM to 1 PM and launch your weekend into orbit with a mind-bending blend of clever soundwaves and subterranean bass frequencies that stretch from infinity and beyond. Forget the surface – the sound of the underground is pure fire and untamed heat with DJ -Ū. at the helm. This mononymous maestro, sometimes materializing under the mysterious and mesmerizing aliases Happy Accidents, c o l o r s, or even the warehouse tycoon Uptown A, is a sonic enigma. Though a Californian beach bum at heart, with a soul steeped in ocean vibes and sunshine, this DJ has found a home for her dance-fueled chaos in the industrial heartland of dance music, Brooklyn. Get ready for a swift punch of chaotic wonder as -Ū. seamlessly blends the Hollywood movie magic of her homeland – think swaying palms and suave vibes – with the gritty twists and turns from the bunkers of bass music: dubstep, UK garage, techno, new wave, drum-n-bass, and genre-bending mind-fluxes that defy categorization. But wait: There's More! -Ū. isn't just about the bass. This sonic time traveler digs deep into generations of music history, unearthing classic rock anthems, psychedelic soundscapes, trance-inducing rhythms, and those precious b-sides and rarities – forgotten gems from the stage, silver screen, and even the epic realms of fantasy, action, and adventure from blockbuster hits to obscure and insane. -Ū. is a one-of-a-kind Pandora's record box, unleashing a thrilling mix of sonic atrocities and unexpected delights – the sounds you didn't know you were craving. So, relax, strap in, and prepare for a sweet ride filled with magic, wonder, and jaw-dropping surprises as this time-traveling tycoon hits the radio waves with the freakiest, Friday-est, no-holds-barred, anything-goes sound the world has been waiting to hear! Tune in every Friday from 11 AM to 1 PM for literally 'whatever, man.' with your affectionate Captain, Blū Tha Gürū (-Ū.), and keep your ears peeled for guest appearances by [Any Alias Whatsoever.] Peace + Love. FREAKY FRIDAY 005. LIVE Originally Aired July 11th, 2025 Brooklyn, New York

True History: Eyes Aloft 9/7/42 NBC, Cavalcade of America “Yankee Doodle Debbie” 9/26/50 NBC.

Western: Have Gun, Will Travel “Strange Vendetta” 11/23/58 CBS, Frontier Town “Five Gallons of Poison” 4/2/49 Syndicated.

Variety: Continental Celebrity Club “Guest: Ann Rutherford” 1/12/46 CBS, Birds Eye Open House “Guest: Groucho Marx” 2/21/46 NBC.

Crime: Lux Radio Theater “Johnny O'Clock” 5/6/46 CBS.

Comedy: People Are Funny “The Con Man” 1/5/54 CBS, Bob Hope Show “Guest: Gracie Allen” 3/25/52 NBC.

Adventure: Lives of Harry Lime “The Golden Fleece” 10/12/51 Syndicated, Screen Directors' Playhouse “The Fighting O'Flynn” 4/7/50 NBC.

Science Fiction: X Minus One “At the Post” 3/27/57 NBC, Two Thousand Plus “Worlds Apart” 11/15/50 MBS.

Drama: Theater Guild on the Air “The Old Maid” 12/15/46 ABC.

Your Good Friend Jimbo and King discuss the new Washington Commanders "Super Bowl Era" uniforms, which are just the Redskins uniforms with the Commanders lackluster "W" logo replacing the "John White Calf" logo. Does this move signal a possible move back to the previous team name so many love and wish to return to? Also, the Saints revealed their new white alternate helmets, and FOX Sports has agreed to lucrative contract extensions with Erin Andrews and Charissa Thompson, despite Thompson's admission to making up halftime reports with coaches. ▪︎Donation Station: http://www.BuyMeACoffee.com/STSports ▪︎Visit Our Merch Store: http://stay-tuned-sports-merch.printify.me ▪︎Join The Discord: https://discord.com/invite/7H3xJSksxJ  

Mystery: New Adventures of Sherlock Holmes “The Uneasy Easy Chair” 5/13/46 MBS, Box 13 “The Clay Pidgeon” 8/7/49 Syndicated.

Collection Curios #7: Granby's Green Acres 7/24/50 CBS, Take a Note (excerpt) 4/17/39 MBS, Front Page Drama 8/29/36 Syndicated.

Sitcom: Adventures of Topper “Topper Pretends He's Dead” 8/30/45 NBC, Smiths of Hollywood “The Trailer” 2/14/47 Syndicated.

Horror: Suspense “The Wax Work” 5/1/56 CBS, Inner Sanctum “The Death Deal” 4/18/49 AFRS.

Western: Fort Laramie “Shavetail” 3/4/56 CBS, Gunsmoke “Cara” 5/1/54 CBS.

Series: Adventures by Morse “The Cobra King Strikes Back” Part 8 6/9/46 Syndicated, One Man's Family “The Book of Teddy – Book 78 Chapter 24” 10/5/50 NBC, Yours Truly, Johnny Dollar “The Alvin Summers Matter” Part 3 10/26/55 CBS.

Hot Money will be back on July 15.See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Science Fiction: Exploring Tomorrow “The Mimic” 3/19/58 MBS, X Minus One “One Thousand Dollars a Plate” 3/21/56 NBC.

Mystery: Night Beat 7/31/52 NBC, Box 13 “Killer at Large” 1/10/49 Syndicated.

Horror: The Whistler “Death Demands a Payment” 12/19/43 CBS, Haunting Hour “Death By Request” 9/8/45 NBC Syndication.

Drama: Screen Directors' Playhouse “Thelma Jordan” 3/15/51 NBC.

Independence Day Special: Makers of History “Declaration of Independence” 1935 Syndicated, Voice of the Army “The Star Spangled Banner” March 1949 Syndicated, Yankee Yarns “Fourth of July” 7/1/51 Syndicated, Lum and Abner “Fourth of July Picnic” 7/4/45 ABC.

Independence Day Special: Our Miss Brooks “4th of July Weekend” 7/3/49 CBS, Cavalcade of America “The Stolen General” 3/5/40 NBC.

Drama: Best Plays “Craig's Wife” 12/14/52 NBC.

Science Fiction: X Minus One “The Trap” 2/13/57 NBC, Suspense “The Man Who Went Back to Save Lincoln” 2/11/62 CBS.

Your Good Friend Jimbo and King discuss the Cleveland Browns getting $600M from the State of Ohio to build a new enclosed stadium in Brook Park, OH, despite the City of Cleveland trying to fight to keep the Browns within the city borders. We also discuss the Jalen Ramsey/Minkah Fitzpartick/Jonnu Smith trade between the Dolphins and Steelers, and who (if anyone) won this trade. ▪︎Donation Station: http://www.BuyMeACoffee.com/STSports ▪︎Visit Our Merch Store: http://stay-tuned-sports-merch.printify.me ▪︎Join The Discord: https://discord.com/invite/7H3xJSksxJ 

Mystery: Adventures of Sam Spade “The Report on Edith Hamilton” 4/17/49 CBS / AFRS, Adventures of Ellery Queen “The Scarecrow and the Snowman” 1/20/44 NBC.

Collection Curios #8: Flair with Dick Van Dyke April 1963 ABC, Meet the Press “Guest: John F. Kennedy” 1/14/54 NBC.

Sitcom: Great Gildersleeve 6/11/44 NBC, Mel Blanc Show 6/6/47 CBS.

Horror: Quiet, Please “Symphony in D Minor” 9/13/49 Syndicated, Escape “Casting of the Runes” 11/19/47 CBS.

Series: Adventures by Morse “The Cobra King Strikes Back” Part 7 6/2/46 Syndicated, One Man's Family “The Book of Teddy – Book 78 Chapter 23” 10/4/50 NBC, Yours Truly, Johnny Dollar “The Alvin Summers Matter” Part 2 10/25/55 CBS.

Western: Have Gun, Will Travel “Love Bird” 8/30/59 CBS, Six Shooter 3/14/54 NBC.

Comedy: Milton Berle Show 2/10/48 NBC, Jack Benny Program 4/25/54 CBS.

Western: Lux Radio Theater “The Westerner” 9/23/40 CBS.

Variety: Royal Gelatin Hour “Guest: Ed Wynn” 12/3/36 NBC.

True History: Tomorrow 10/17/56 Syndicated.