Podcasts about wht

In folge 68 vom Figurbetont Podcast, geht Janis fast im Keller verloren. Marc und Janis tauschen sich mal wieder über ebay aus. Es wird über die Irrwege von McFarlane Toys gesprochen und Hasbro hat mal wieder etwas falsch gemacht. Im Serien-Talk, sind sich die Jungs mal so gar nicht einig. Der neue Podcast mit Marc auf Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/islanublarfm/ Alle besprochenen Figuren, gibt es hier: www.comiccave.de Figurbetont Podcast Social Media: https://www.facebook.com/figurbetontpodcast/ https://www.instagram.com/figurbetont_podcast/ https://www.youtube.com/@comictoyhunter Dieser Podcast wird in Kooperation mit heo Media produziert. https://www.heo.com/de/de https://www.youtube.com/c/heoMedia https://www.facebook.com/heoGroup https://www.instagram.com/heogroup/ heo Media Podcast: Apple: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/meister-des-universums-m%C3%A4nner-die-auf-katzen-reiten/id1720961603?uo=4 Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/show/1vuluI0oZTp83vsn5caH4s YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLobTR3sC6P74j46ICtL_QFPWiUP8xYZjT Choking Hazard TV: https://www.youtube.com/@CHOKINGHAZARD2024 Unsere Musik wurde produziert von: ALEX SAENDA : https://www.instagram.com/saendazone/ WHT?! : https://www.instagram.com/wht_offiziell/ Beverly Hills (official Video) : https://youtu.be/3twCsbKzepU Alexander Lück Musikproduzent/Komponist c/o Chaos Compressor Club Oelkersallee 43 22789 Hamburg #FigurbetontPodcast #NerdTalk #PopKultur #Collectibles #Toys #Kidault #videospiele

In Folge 67 berichten wir von unserer Tour in die Welt des E-Sports und der Sammelkarten. Es geht um die neusten Marvel Legends Actionfiguren und was McFarlane mal wieder raus haut. Marc holt noch die Top 3 Boomer Sprüche raus und es gibt eine Ansage, an alle respektlosen Männer dort draußen. Der neue Podcast mit Marc auf Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/islanublarfm/ Alle besprochenen Figuren, gibt es hier: www.comiccave.de Figurbetont Podcast Social Media: https://www.facebook.com/figurbetontpodcast/ https://www.instagram.com/figurbetont_podcast/ https://www.youtube.com/@comictoyhunter Dieser Podcast wird in Kooperation mit heo Media produziert. https://www.heo.com/de/de https://www.youtube.com/c/heoMedia https://www.facebook.com/heoGroup https://www.instagram.com/heogroup/ heo Media Podcast: Apple: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/meister-des-universums-m%C3%A4nner-die-auf-katzen-reiten/id1720961603?uo=4 Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/show/1vuluI0oZTp83vsn5caH4s YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLobTR3sC6P74j46ICtL_QFPWiUP8xYZjT Choking Hazard TV: https://www.youtube.com/@CHOKINGHAZARD2024 Unsere Musik wurde produziert von: ALEX SAENDA : https://www.instagram.com/saendazone/ WHT?! : https://www.instagram.com/wht_offiziell/ Beverly Hills (official Video) : https://youtu.be/3twCsbKzepU Alexander Lück Musikproduzent/Komponist c/o Chaos Compressor Club Oelkersallee 43 22789 Hamburg #FigurbetontPodcast #NerdTalk #PopKultur #Collectibles #Toys #Kidault #videospiele

In Folge 66, regen wir die Synapsen an. Es wird geklärt, wie Marc auf Figuren verzichtet und was es wir merkwürdige Menschen auf eBay gibt. Eine spritzige Figurbetont Podcast Folge mit bunten Themen. Der neue Podcast mit Marc auf Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/islanublarfm/ Alle besprochenen Figuren, gibt es hier: www.comiccave.de Figurbetont Podcast Social Media: https://www.facebook.com/figurbetontpodcast/ https://www.instagram.com/figurbetont_podcast/ https://www.youtube.com/@comictoyhunter Dieser Podcast wird in Kooperation mit heo Media produziert. https://www.heo.com/de/de https://www.youtube.com/c/heoMedia https://www.facebook.com/heoGroup https://www.instagram.com/heogroup/ heo Media Podcast: Apple: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/meister-des-universums-m%C3%A4nner-die-auf-katzen-reiten/id1720961603?uo=4 Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/show/1vuluI0oZTp83vsn5caH4s YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLobTR3sC6P74j46ICtL_QFPWiUP8xYZjT Choking Hazard TV: https://www.youtube.com/@CHOKINGHAZARD2024 Unsere Musik wurde produziert von: ALEX SAENDA : https://www.instagram.com/saendazone/ WHT?! : https://www.instagram.com/wht_offiziell/ Beverly Hills (official Video) : https://youtu.be/3twCsbKzepU Alexander Lück Musikproduzent/Komponist c/o Chaos Compressor Club Oelkersallee 43 22789 Hamburg #FigurbetontPodcast #NerdTalk #PopKultur #Collectibles #Toys #Kidault #videospiele

For Artista Cigars, the story of the 2025 Premium Cigar Association (PCA) Trade Show continues to be around its portfolio restructuring, and in particular, the company's eponymous Artista brand. The most notable change is the introduction of a new blend in the Artista brand called the Artista Colorado. With the addition of the Colorado, along with the recent announcements of Puro Ambar and Cimarron joining the Artista lineup, there are now six different lines under the Artista brand. Full PCA Report: https://wp.me/p6h1n1-wHT  

For Artista Cigars, the story of the 2025 Premium Cigar Association (PCA) Trade Show continues to be around its portfolio restructuring, and in particular, the company's eponymous Artista brand. The most notable change is the introduction of a new blend in the Artista brand called the Artista Colorado. With the addition of the Colorado, along with the recent announcements of Puro Ambar and Cimarron joining the Artista lineup, there are now six different lines under the Artista brand. Full PCA Report: https://wp.me/p6h1n1-wHT  

The Neighborhood is back with a high energy wonky tech house guest mix from Jahir! ⚡️Like the Show? Click the [Repost] ↻ button so more people can hear it!

In Folge 65, machen mittelalte Männer, eine Reise durch die Spielwarengeschäfte, wir klären wo Marc auf keinen Fall angesprochen werden möchte und sprechen über Katzen in einer animierten Serie. Marc berichtet mal wieder, über Ereignisse im heimischen Keller und erklärt euch, wie ihr euch von einer Last befreit. Der neue Podcast mit Marc auf Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/islanublarfm/ Alle besprochenen Figuren, gibt es hier: www.comiccave.de Figurbetont Podcast Social Media: https://www.facebook.com/figurbetontpodcast/ https://www.instagram.com/figurbetont_podcast/ https://www.youtube.com/@comictoyhunter Dieser Podcast wird in Kooperation mit heo Media produziert. https://www.heo.com/de/de https://www.youtube.com/c/heoMedia https://www.facebook.com/heoGroup https://www.instagram.com/heogroup/ heo Media Podcast: Apple: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/meister-des-universums-m%C3%A4nner-die-auf-katzen-reiten/id1720961603?uo=4 Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/show/1vuluI0oZTp83vsn5caH4s YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLobTR3sC6P74j46ICtL_QFPWiUP8xYZjT Choking Hazard TV: https://www.youtube.com/@CHOKINGHAZARD2024 Unsere Musik wurde produziert von: ALEX SAENDA : https://www.instagram.com/saendazone/ WHT?! : https://www.instagram.com/wht_offiziell/ Beverly Hills (official Video) : https://youtu.be/3twCsbKzepU Alexander Lück Musikproduzent/Komponist c/o Chaos Compressor Club Oelkersallee 43 22789 Hamburg #FigurbetontPodcast #NerdTalk #PopKultur #Collectibles #Toys #Kidault #videospiele

Folge 64, was ist denn hier los? Es mal wieder Ebay Probleme, Marc war auf einer Reise, in die Vergangenheit und es gibt Kritik an McFarlane Toys. Die Jungs berichten über die vergangenen Ereignisse, des Wochenendes und es gibt ein wenig Streit. Der neue Podcast mit Marc auf Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/islanublarfm/ Alle besprochenen Figuren, gibt es hier: www.comiccave.de Figurbetont Podcast Social Media: https://www.facebook.com/figurbetontpodcast/ https://www.instagram.com/figurbetont_podcast/ https://www.youtube.com/@comictoyhunter Dieser Podcast wird in Kooperation mit heo Media produziert. https://www.heo.com/de/de https://www.youtube.com/c/heoMedia https://www.facebook.com/heoGroup https://www.instagram.com/heogroup/ heo Media Podcast: Apple: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/meister-des-universums-m%C3%A4nner-die-auf-katzen-reiten/id1720961603?uo=4 Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/show/1vuluI0oZTp83vsn5caH4s YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLobTR3sC6P74j46ICtL_QFPWiUP8xYZjT Choking Hazard TV: https://www.youtube.com/@CHOKINGHAZARD2024 Unsere Musik wurde produziert von: ALEX SAENDA : https://www.instagram.com/saendazone/ WHT?! : https://www.instagram.com/wht_offiziell/ Beverly Hills (official Video) : https://youtu.be/3twCsbKzepU Alexander Lück Musikproduzent/Komponist c/o Chaos Compressor Club Oelkersallee 43 22789 Hamburg #FigurbetontPodcast #NerdTalk #PopKultur #Collectibles #Toys #Kidault #videospiele

Folge 63 ist eine etwas ruhigere Episode, aus dem üblichen Wahnsinn. Marc hat endlich den Jada Toys Mega-Man, es wird geklärt, warum Superman einen Zoo hatte und warum Janis nicht gerne mit Play-Doh spielt. Marc haut ein paar Infos zum neuesten Projekt raus und klärt Janis, über die Gefahren von einigen Spielzeugen auf. Der besagte neue Podcast auf Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/islanublarfm/ Alle besprochenen Figuren, gibt es hier: www.comiccave.de Figurbetont Podcast Social Media: https://www.facebook.com/figurbetontpodcast/ https://www.instagram.com/figurbetont_podcast/ https://www.youtube.com/@comictoyhunter Dieser Podcast wird in Kooperation mit heo Media produziert. https://www.heo.com/de/de https://www.youtube.com/c/heoMedia https://www.facebook.com/heoGroup https://www.instagram.com/heogroup/ heo Media Podcast: Apple: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/meister-des-universums-m%C3%A4nner-die-auf-katzen-reiten/id1720961603?uo=4 Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/show/1vuluI0oZTp83vsn5caH4s YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLobTR3sC6P74j46ICtL_QFPWiUP8xYZjT Choking Hazard TV: https://www.youtube.com/@CHOKINGHAZARD2024 Unsere Musik wurde produziert von: ALEX SAENDA : https://www.instagram.com/saendazone/ WHT?! : https://www.instagram.com/wht_offiziell/ Beverly Hills (official Video) : https://youtu.be/3twCsbKzepU Alexander Lück Musikproduzent/Komponist c/o Chaos Compressor Club Oelkersallee 43 22789 Hamburg #FigurbetontPodcast #NerdTalk #PopKultur #Collectibles #Toys #Kidault #videospiele

In Folge 62 lassen wir die Ballonkühe fliegen, also nicht wir, sondern jemand anders, ach egal, ihr hört es ja dann gleich. Natürlich reden wir über Star Wars Andor, Staffel zwei, über Janis neuste Actionfiguren Entdeckungen und neben dem anderen Blödsinn, in dieser Folge, gibt es noch eine tolle Ankündigung. Alle besprochenen Figuren, gibt es hier: www.comiccave.de Figurbetont Podcast Social Media: https://www.facebook.com/figurbetontpodcast/ https://www.instagram.com/figurbetont_podcast/ https://www.youtube.com/@comictoyhunter Dieser Podcast wird in Kooperation mit heo Media produziert. https://www.heo.com/de/de https://www.youtube.com/c/heoMedia https://www.facebook.com/heoGroup https://www.instagram.com/heogroup/ heo Media Podcast: Apple: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/meister-des-universums-m%C3%A4nner-die-auf-katzen-reiten/id1720961603?uo=4 Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/show/1vuluI0oZTp83vsn5caH4s YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLobTR3sC6P74j46ICtL_QFPWiUP8xYZjT Choking Hazard TV: https://www.youtube.com/@CHOKINGHAZARD2024 Unsere Musik wurde produziert von: ALEX SAENDA : https://www.instagram.com/saendazone/ WHT?! : https://www.instagram.com/wht_offiziell/ Beverly Hills (official Video) : https://youtu.be/3twCsbKzepU Alexander Lück Musikproduzent/Komponist c/o Chaos Compressor Club Oelkersallee 43 22789 Hamburg #FigurbetontPodcast #NerdTalk #PopKultur #Collectibles #Toys #Kidault #videospiele

Good Neighbor presents The Neighborhood with a guest mix from BLK&WHT! ⚡️Like the Show? Click the [Repost] ↻ button so more people can hear it!

Folge 61 und wir sind ganz doll aufgeregt. Was ist denn da alles passiert, in der vergangenen Woche?1 Der Superman Tag wurde verkündet und damit, auch neue details zum kommenden Film und die ersten Figuren wurden vorgestellt. Dann hat Four Horsemen, auch noch eine neue Figur angekündigt, welche unglaublich geil ist. Dazu noch das Finale zur Daredevil Serie und und und... Alle besprochenen Figuren, gibt es hier: www.comiccave.de Figurbetont Podcast Social Media: https://www.facebook.com/figurbetontpodcast/ https://www.instagram.com/figurbetont_podcast/ https://www.youtube.com/@comictoyhunter Dieser Podcast wird in Kooperation mit heo Media produziert. https://www.heo.com/de/de https://www.youtube.com/c/heoMedia https://www.facebook.com/heoGroup https://www.instagram.com/heogroup/ heo Media Podcast: Apple: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/meister-des-universums-m%C3%A4nner-die-auf-katzen-reiten/id1720961603?uo=4 Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/show/1vuluI0oZTp83vsn5caH4s YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLobTR3sC6P74j46ICtL_QFPWiUP8xYZjT Choking Hazard TV: https://www.youtube.com/@CHOKINGHAZARD2024 Unsere Musik wurde produziert von: ALEX SAENDA : https://www.instagram.com/saendazone/ WHT?! : https://www.instagram.com/wht_offiziell/ Beverly Hills (official Video) : https://youtu.be/3twCsbKzepU Alexander Lück Musikproduzent/Komponist c/o Chaos Compressor Club Oelkersallee 43 22789 Hamburg #FigurbetontPodcast #NerdTalk #PopKultur #Collectibles #Toys #Kidault #videospiele

Nun sind wir schon bei Folge 60, vom Figurbetont Podcast. Janis ist gut drauf und hat direkt ein paar Themen im Gepäck. Es geht um die Frage, was triggert uns bei Figuren. Es werden zwei Events angekündigt und Marc verkündet ein neues Projekt, welches im Mai an den Start geht. Alle besprochenen Figuren, gibt es hier: www.comiccave.de Figurbetont Podcast Social Media: https://www.facebook.com/figurbetontpodcast/ https://www.instagram.com/figurbetont_podcast/ https://www.youtube.com/@comictoyhunter Dieser Podcast wird in Kooperation mit heo Media produziert. https://www.heo.com/de/de https://www.youtube.com/c/heoMedia https://www.facebook.com/heoGroup https://www.instagram.com/heogroup/ heo Media Podcast: Apple: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/meister-des-universums-m%C3%A4nner-die-auf-katzen-reiten/id1720961603?uo=4 Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/show/1vuluI0oZTp83vsn5caH4s YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLobTR3sC6P74j46ICtL_QFPWiUP8xYZjT Choking Hazard TV: https://www.youtube.com/@CHOKINGHAZARD2024 Unsere Musik wurde produziert von: ALEX SAENDA : https://www.instagram.com/saendazone/ WHT?! : https://www.instagram.com/wht_offiziell/ Beverly Hills (official Video) : https://youtu.be/3twCsbKzepU Alexander Lück Musikproduzent/Komponist c/o Chaos Compressor Club Oelkersallee 43 22789 Hamburg #FigurbetontPodcast #NerdTalk #PopKultur #Collectibles #Toys #Kidault #videospiele

Durch Folge 59 stolpern wir irgendwie durch, Janis ist in der heißen Proben Phase, im Imperial Theater in Hamburg und Marc hat so viele Themen im Kopf, dass er gar nicht weiß, wo er anfangen soll. Der Drache ist endlich in Produktion, die Daredevil Serie, geht ein wenig bergab und es gibt eine neue Serie auf Prime Video. Alle besprochenen Figuren, gibt es hier: www.comiccave.de Figurbetont Podcast Social Media: https://www.facebook.com/figurbetontpodcast/ https://www.instagram.com/figurbetont_podcast/ https://www.youtube.com/@comictoyhunter Dieser Podcast wird in Kooperation mit heo Media produziert. https://www.heo.com/de/de https://www.youtube.com/c/heoMedia https://www.facebook.com/heoGroup https://www.instagram.com/heogroup/ heo Media Podcast: Apple: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/meister-des-universums-m%C3%A4nner-die-auf-katzen-reiten/id1720961603?uo=4 Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/show/1vuluI0oZTp83vsn5caH4s YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLobTR3sC6P74j46ICtL_QFPWiUP8xYZjT Choking Hazard TV: https://www.youtube.com/@CHOKINGHAZARD2024 Unsere Musik wurde produziert von: ALEX SAENDA : https://www.instagram.com/saendazone/ WHT?! : https://www.instagram.com/wht_offiziell/ Beverly Hills (official Video) : https://youtu.be/3twCsbKzepU Alexander Lück Musikproduzent/Komponist c/o Chaos Compressor Club Oelkersallee 43 22789 Hamburg #FigurbetontPodcast #NerdTalk #PopKultur #Collectibles #Toys #Kidault #videospiele

Folge 58 mal wieder mit reichlich Actionfiguren-Talk, Blödelhumor, Serien Empfehlungen und mehr Nerd Talk aus der Popkultur. Es war Wondercon in den USA und die Hersteller haben einiges neues gezeigt. Einige Überraschungen konnten wir entdecken. Alle besprochenen Figuren, gibt es hier: www.comiccave.de Figurbetont Podcast Social Media: https://www.facebook.com/figurbetontpodcast/ https://www.instagram.com/figurbetont_podcast/ https://www.youtube.com/@comictoyhunter Dieser Podcast wird in Kooperation mit heo Media produziert. https://www.heo.com/de/de https://www.youtube.com/c/heoMedia https://www.facebook.com/heoGroup https://www.instagram.com/heogroup/ heo Media Podcast: Apple: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/meister-des-universums-m%C3%A4nner-die-auf-katzen-reiten/id1720961603?uo=4 Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/show/1vuluI0oZTp83vsn5caH4s YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLobTR3sC6P74j46ICtL_QFPWiUP8xYZjT Choking Hazard TV: https://www.youtube.com/@CHOKINGHAZARD2024 Unsere Musik wurde produziert von: ALEX SAENDA : https://www.instagram.com/saendazone/ WHT?! : https://www.instagram.com/wht_offiziell/ Beverly Hills (official Video) : https://youtu.be/3twCsbKzepU Alexander Lück Musikproduzent/Komponist c/o Chaos Compressor Club Oelkersallee 43 22789 Hamburg #FigurbetontPodcast #NerdTalk #PopKultur #Collectibles #Toys #Kidault #videospiele

Der Gendarm von St. Tropez, Balduin das Nachtgespenst oder Fantomas, nur ein paar wenige Filme, großartigen Luis de Funes. Er und viele weitere, haben unsere Kindheit geprägt und müssen unbedingt mal besprochen werden, schließlich gehören solche Filme, ja auch irgendwie zur Popkultur. Alle besprochenen Figuren, gibt es hier: www.comiccave.de Figurbetont Podcast Social Media: https://www.facebook.com/figurbetontpodcast/ https://www.instagram.com/figurbetont_podcast/ https://www.youtube.com/@comictoyhunter Dieser Podcast wird in Kooperation mit heo Media produziert. https://www.heo.com/de/de https://www.youtube.com/c/heoMedia https://www.facebook.com/heoGroup https://www.instagram.com/heogroup/ heo Media Podcast: Apple: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/meister-des-universums-m%C3%A4nner-die-auf-katzen-reiten/id1720961603?uo=4 Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/show/1vuluI0oZTp83vsn5caH4s YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLobTR3sC6P74j46ICtL_QFPWiUP8xYZjT Choking Hazard TV: https://www.youtube.com/@CHOKINGHAZARD2024 Unsere Musik wurde produziert von: ALEX SAENDA : https://www.instagram.com/saendazone/ WHT?! : https://www.instagram.com/wht_offiziell/ Beverly Hills (official Video) : https://youtu.be/3twCsbKzepU Alexander Lück Musikproduzent/Komponist c/o Chaos Compressor Club Oelkersallee 43 22789 Hamburg #FigurbetontPodcast #NerdTalk #PopKultur #Collectibles #Toys #Kidault #videospiele

Erstmal die gute Nachricht. Die VHS kann jetzt gesammelt werden! Nun die schlecht, für euch, Marc hat eine neue Tür auf YouTube, für sich geöffnet. 80er & 90er Game-Shows. Ruck Zuck, Glücksrad oder Geh aufs Ganze. Wie steht es um Daredevil? Und was macht der Drache? Alles hier, in der neuen Folge Figurbetont. Alle besprochenen Figuren, gibt es hier: www.comiccave.de Figurbetont Podcast Social Media: https://www.facebook.com/figurbetontpodcast/ https://www.instagram.com/figurbetont_podcast/ https://www.youtube.com/@comictoyhunter Dieser Podcast wird in Kooperation mit heo Media produziert. https://www.heo.com/de/de https://www.youtube.com/c/heoMedia https://www.facebook.com/heoGroup https://www.instagram.com/heogroup/ heo Media Podcast: Apple: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/meister-des-universums-m%C3%A4nner-die-auf-katzen-reiten/id1720961603?uo=4 Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/show/1vuluI0oZTp83vsn5caH4s YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLobTR3sC6P74j46ICtL_QFPWiUP8xYZjT Choking Hazard TV: https://www.youtube.com/@CHOKINGHAZARD2024 Unsere Musik wurde produziert von: ALEX SAENDA : https://www.instagram.com/saendazone/ WHT?! : https://www.instagram.com/wht_offiziell/ Beverly Hills (official Video) : https://youtu.be/3twCsbKzepU Alexander Lück Musikproduzent/Komponist c/o Chaos Compressor Club Oelkersallee 43 22789 Hamburg #FigurbetontPodcast #NerdTalk #PopKultur #Collectibles #Toys #Kidault #videospiele

Wir sind schon in Folge 55 und Marc hat den Boomer-Deutschen in sich entdeckt. Während Janis noch seinen Kaffee malt, überlegt Marc, ob sich die Flügel lohnen und was wohl, in der neuen Daredevil Folge passiern wird. Dann war da noch irgendwas mit Star Trek, aber das hörst du ja dann gleich... Alle besprochenen Figuren, gibt es hier: www.comiccave.de Figurbetont Podcast Social Media: https://www.facebook.com/figurbetontpodcast/ https://www.instagram.com/figurbetont_podcast/ https://www.youtube.com/@comictoyhunter Dieser Podcast wird in Kooperation mit heo Media produziert. https://www.heo.com/de/de https://www.youtube.com/c/heoMedia https://www.facebook.com/heoGroup https://www.instagram.com/heogroup/ heo Media Podcast: Apple: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/meister-des-universums-m%C3%A4nner-die-auf-katzen-reiten/id1720961603?uo=4 Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/show/1vuluI0oZTp83vsn5caH4s YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLobTR3sC6P74j46ICtL_QFPWiUP8xYZjT Choking Hazard TV: https://www.youtube.com/@CHOKINGHAZARD2024 Unsere Musik wurde produziert von: ALEX SAENDA : https://www.instagram.com/saendazone/ WHT?! : https://www.instagram.com/wht_offiziell/ Beverly Hills (official Video) : https://youtu.be/3twCsbKzepU Alexander Lück Musikproduzent/Komponist c/o Chaos Compressor Club Oelkersallee 43 22789 Hamburg #FigurbetontPodcast #NerdTalk #PopKultur #Collectibles #Toys #Kidault #videospiele

Monthly Radio Show: Behind The Blendz Mixed By Tony Metric with Guest Mix By Artsychoke Tony Metric presents """"Behind The Blendz,"""" an exclusive hour-long selection of non-stop electronic music. Navigating through various subgenres of House, mainly Tech House. It features unreleased tracks from Tony Metric and artists worldwide. ⚡️Like the Show? Click the [Repost] ↻ button so more people can hear it!

In Folge 54 geht es um unsere Highlights der New York Toy Fair, was bringen Hersteller wie NECA, Diamond Select Toys und Co. im laufe des Jahres, in den Handel und es geht natürlich um das heiße Thema der letzten Tage, Mattel und die DC Lizenz! Was erwarten wir und was passiert nun mit McFarlane Toys? Freut euch auf heißen Toy-Talk. Alle besprochenen Figuren, gibt es hier: www.comiccave.de Figurbetont Podcast Social Media: https://www.facebook.com/figurbetontpodcast/ https://www.instagram.com/figurbetont_podcast/ https://www.youtube.com/@comictoyhunter Dieser Podcast wird in Kooperation mit heo Media produziert. https://www.heo.com/de/de https://www.youtube.com/c/heoMedia https://www.facebook.com/heoGroup https://www.instagram.com/heogroup/ heo Media Podcast: Apple: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/meister-des-universums-m%C3%A4nner-die-auf-katzen-reiten/id1720961603?uo=4 Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/show/1vuluI0oZTp83vsn5caH4s YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLobTR3sC6P74j46ICtL_QFPWiUP8xYZjT Choking Hazard TV: https://www.youtube.com/@CHOKINGHAZARD2024 Unsere Musik wurde produziert von: ALEX SAENDA : https://www.instagram.com/saendazone/ WHT?! : https://www.instagram.com/wht_offiziell/ Beverly Hills (official Video) : https://youtu.be/3twCsbKzepU Alexander Lück Musikproduzent/Komponist c/o Chaos Compressor Club Oelkersallee 43 22789 Hamburg #FigurbetontPodcast #NerdTalk #PopKultur #Collectibles #Toys #Kidault #videospiele

Folge 53 geht mal wieder voll rein! Es geht um Hasbro´s beste Toy-Line, der Drache hat endlich einen Preis und Apple+. Marc hat Mythic Quest und mehr entdeckt, der Trailer zu Andor Staffel zwei ist da und wir klären, warum Janis keinen bock mehr, auf US Präsidenten hat. Alle besprochenen Figuren, gibt es hier: www.comiccave.de Figurbetont Podcast Social Media: https://www.facebook.com/figurbetontpodcast/ https://www.instagram.com/figurbetont_podcast/ https://www.youtube.com/@comictoyhunter Dieser Podcast wird in Kooperation mit heo Media produziert. https://www.heo.com/de/de https://www.youtube.com/c/heoMedia https://www.facebook.com/heoGroup https://www.instagram.com/heogroup/ heo Media Podcast: Apple: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/meister-des-universums-m%C3%A4nner-die-auf-katzen-reiten/id1720961603?uo=4 Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/show/1vuluI0oZTp83vsn5caH4s YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLobTR3sC6P74j46ICtL_QFPWiUP8xYZjT Choking Hazard TV: https://www.youtube.com/@CHOKINGHAZARD2024 Unsere Musik wurde produziert von: ALEX SAENDA : https://www.instagram.com/saendazone/ WHT?! : https://www.instagram.com/wht_offiziell/ Beverly Hills (official Video) : https://youtu.be/3twCsbKzepU Alexander Lück Musikproduzent/Komponist c/o Chaos Compressor Club Oelkersallee 43 22789 Hamburg #FigurbetontPodcast #NerdTalk #PopKultur #Collectibles #Toys #Kidault #videospiele

Rob explains what Randy Blue is to start the show, and we share some tales of Rob and Sid's living together 15 years ago. We check in with Elon Musk and a new woman who claims to be the mother of his thirteenth child. We also check in on an unfortunate rumor about Musk's member. Plus, we learn who Brian Pumper and Nat Turnher are and their contributions to the world, one of which got us briefly banned off Twitch. Plus, we play some vintage commercials for UHF channel WHT and laugh a flub by the New York governor.Watch the episode on Youtube for free. Join our Patreon and get two bonus episodes each month, and other behind-the-scenes goodies. More info here.Follow us on: Twitch, Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, Youtube and our Discord Chat. Also don't forget about our Spotify playlist. We also have merch if you're into that kind of sharing. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Folge 52 und wir stellen fest es gibt den Figurbetont Podcast nun schon über ein Jahr. Wahnsinn, wie die Zeit vergeht und wie sich dieses Projekt, dann doch anders entwickelt hat, als wir zu erst gedacht hatten. In dieser Folge, erzählt uns Janis, von skurrilen Kleinanzeigen Erlebnissen, Marc von ebay Nachrichten und es wird Philosophisch. Alle besprochenen Figuren, gibt es hier: www.comiccave.de Figurbetont Podcast Social Media: https://www.facebook.com/figurbetontpodcast/ https://www.instagram.com/figurbetont_podcast/ https://www.youtube.com/@comictoyhunter Dieser Podcast wird in Kooperation mit heo Media produziert. https://www.heo.com/de/de https://www.youtube.com/c/heoMedia https://www.facebook.com/heoGroup https://www.instagram.com/heogroup/ heo Media Podcast: Apple: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/meister-des-universums-m%C3%A4nner-die-auf-katzen-reiten/id1720961603?uo=4 Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/show/1vuluI0oZTp83vsn5caH4s YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLobTR3sC6P74j46ICtL_QFPWiUP8xYZjT Choking Hazard TV: https://www.youtube.com/@CHOKINGHAZARD2024 Unsere Musik wurde produziert von: ALEX SAENDA : https://www.instagram.com/saendazone/ WHT?! : https://www.instagram.com/wht_offiziell/ Beverly Hills (official Video) : https://youtu.be/3twCsbKzepU Alexander Lück Musikproduzent/Komponist c/o Chaos Compressor Club Oelkersallee 43 22789 Hamburg #FigurbetontPodcast #NerdTalk #PopKultur #Collectibles #Toys #Kidault #videospiele

Vom Cookie zum Turmspringen! Was es damit auf sich hat, erfahrt ihr im verlauf dieser Podcast-Folge. Erstmal klären wir die Fragen, ob wir irgendwann mal von den Actionfiguren abschied nehmen, uns einem anderen Sammelgebiet widmen und ob es eine Leidenschaft zum Ballsport gibt. Alle besprochenen Figuren, gibt es hier: www.comiccave.de Figurbetont Podcast Social Media: https://www.facebook.com/figurbetontpodcast/ https://www.instagram.com/figurbetont_podcast/ https://www.youtube.com/@comictoyhunter Dieser Podcast wird in Kooperation mit heo Media produziert. https://www.heo.com/de/de https://www.youtube.com/c/heoMedia https://www.facebook.com/heoGroup https://www.instagram.com/heogroup/ heo Media Podcast: Apple: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/meister-des-universums-m%C3%A4nner-die-auf-katzen-reiten/id1720961603?uo=4 Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/show/1vuluI0oZTp83vsn5caH4s YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLobTR3sC6P74j46ICtL_QFPWiUP8xYZjT Choking Hazard TV: https://www.youtube.com/@CHOKINGHAZARD2024 Unsere Musik wurde produziert von: ALEX SAENDA : https://www.instagram.com/saendazone/ WHT?! : https://www.instagram.com/wht_offiziell/ Beverly Hills (official Video) : https://youtu.be/3twCsbKzepU Alexander Lück Musikproduzent/Komponist c/o Chaos Compressor Club Oelkersallee 43 22789 Hamburg #FigurbetontPodcast #NerdTalk #PopKultur #Collectibles #Toys #Kidault #videospiele

50 Folgen Figurbetont Podcast, was ein Wahnsinn. Diese Folge geht auch schon wieder richtig ab, denn Marc und Janis, sind sich gar nicht so einige, über die neue Spider-Man Serie, auf Disney Plus. Was unsere Podcast-Helden aber wieder vereint, ist der Trailer zum neuen Fantastic Four Film und die Meinung, zum Werdegang des Marvel Cinematic Universe. Eine Frage bleibt aber leider offen. Warum hat Marc kein Herr der Ringe Merchandise? Alle besprochenen Figuren, gibt es hier: www.comiccave.de Figurbetont Podcast Social Media: https://www.facebook.com/figurbetontpodcast/ https://www.instagram.com/figurbetont_podcast/ https://www.youtube.com/@comictoyhunter Dieser Podcast wird in Kooperation mit heo Media produziert. https://www.heo.com/de/de https://www.youtube.com/c/heoMedia https://www.facebook.com/heoGroup https://www.instagram.com/heogroup/ heo Media Podcast: Apple: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/meister-des-universums-m%C3%A4nner-die-auf-katzen-reiten/id1720961603?uo=4 Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/show/1vuluI0oZTp83vsn5caH4s YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLobTR3sC6P74j46ICtL_QFPWiUP8xYZjT Choking Hazard TV: https://www.youtube.com/@CHOKINGHAZARD2024 Unsere Musik wurde produziert von: ALEX SAENDA : https://www.instagram.com/saendazone/ WHT?! : https://www.instagram.com/wht_offiziell/ Beverly Hills (official Video) : https://youtu.be/3twCsbKzepU Alexander Lück Musikproduzent/Komponist c/o Chaos Compressor Club Oelkersallee 43 22789 Hamburg #FigurbetontPodcast #NerdTalk #PopKultur #Collectibles #Toys #Kidault #videospiele

In Folge 49 vom Figurbetont Podcast, wird es mal wieder sehr nerdig. Wir schnacken über die optimale Figurengröße, wo und wie, sollte eine Sammlung präsentiert werden und was passiert eigentlich, wenn ein Sammler mal etwas Freiraum hat? Außerdem schwärmt Marc, von der großartigen 3D-Druck-Actionfiguren Community, im Internet. Alle besprochenen Figuren, gibt es hier: www.comiccave.de Figurbetont Podcast Social Media: https://www.facebook.com/figurbetontpodcast/ https://www.instagram.com/figurbetont_podcast/ https://www.youtube.com/@comictoyhunter Dieser Podcast wird in Kooperation mit heo Media produziert. https://www.heo.com/de/de https://www.youtube.com/c/heoMedia https://www.facebook.com/heoGroup https://www.instagram.com/heogroup/ heo Media Podcast: Apple: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/meister-des-universums-m%C3%A4nner-die-auf-katzen-reiten/id1720961603?uo=4 Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/show/1vuluI0oZTp83vsn5caH4s YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLobTR3sC6P74j46ICtL_QFPWiUP8xYZjT Choking Hazard TV: https://www.youtube.com/@CHOKINGHAZARD2024 Unsere Musik wurde produziert von: ALEX SAENDA : https://www.instagram.com/saendazone/ WHT?! : https://www.instagram.com/wht_offiziell/ Beverly Hills (official Video) : https://youtu.be/3twCsbKzepU Alexander Lück Musikproduzent/Komponist c/o Chaos Compressor Club Oelkersallee 43 22789 Hamburg #FigurbetontPodcast #NerdTalk #PopKultur #Collectibles #Toys #Kidault #videospiele

Es passiert mal wieder einiges in unserer kleinen Blase, aus Actionfiguren, Serien und Filmen. Hasbro kündigt wieder ganz wilde Figuren an, McFarlane baut seine Marvel Lizenz aus und es kommt eine neue Serie auf Disney Plus, welche uns richtig gefallen könnte. Kommt mit, wenn wir einen Blick in die Zukunft wagen und unsere Einschätzungen dazu abgeben. Auch ja... und da war ja der Müllwagen-Song... Alle besprochenden Figurne, gibt es hier: www.comiccave.de Figurbetont Podcast Social Media: https://www.facebook.com/figurbetontpodcast/ https://www.instagram.com/figurbetont_podcast/ https://www.youtube.com/@comictoyhunter Dieser Podcast wird in Kooperation mit heo Media produziert. https://www.heo.com/de/de https://www.youtube.com/c/heoMedia https://www.facebook.com/heoGroup https://www.instagram.com/heogroup/ heo Media Podcast: Apple: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/meister-des-universums-m%C3%A4nner-die-auf-katzen-reiten/id1720961603?uo=4 Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/show/1vuluI0oZTp83vsn5caH4s YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLobTR3sC6P74j46ICtL_QFPWiUP8xYZjT Choking Hazard TV: https://www.youtube.com/@CHOKINGHAZARD2024 Unsere Musik wurde produziert von: ALEX SAENDA : https://www.instagram.com/saendazone/ WHT?! : https://www.instagram.com/wht_offiziell/ Beverly Hills (official Video) : https://youtu.be/3twCsbKzepU Alexander Lück Musikproduzent/Komponist c/o Chaos Compressor Club Oelkersallee 43 22789 Hamburg #FigurbetontPodcast #NerdTalk #PopKultur #Collectibles #Toys #Kidault #videospiele

Marc hat etwas an der Straße gefunden und war sofort nostalgisch, was er nun mit uns teilen muss. Janis sein Tattoo ist fertig und ist mega geworden. Es geht um Flohmärkte, Krims-Kram-Läden, Drachen aus Drohnen und Johannes B. Kerner. Eine sehr sprunghafte und lebendige Sendung, über alles und jeden. Link zum lieben Tattoo-Dirk: https://www.instagram.com/dirkcorvonero_tattoo/ Figurbetont Podcast Social Media: https://www.facebook.com/figurbetontpodcast/ https://www.instagram.com/figurbetont_podcast/ https://www.youtube.com/@comictoyhunter Dieser Podcast wird in Kooperation mit heo Media produziert. https://www.heo.com/de/de https://www.youtube.com/c/heoMedia https://www.facebook.com/heoGroup https://www.instagram.com/heogroup/ heo Media Podcast: Apple: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/meister-des-universums-m%C3%A4nner-die-auf-katzen-reiten/id1720961603?uo=4 Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/show/1vuluI0oZTp83vsn5caH4s YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLobTR3sC6P74j46ICtL_QFPWiUP8xYZjT Choking Hazard TV: https://www.youtube.com/@CHOKINGHAZARD2024 Unsere Musik wurde produziert von: ALEX SAENDA : https://www.instagram.com/saendazone/ WHT?! : https://www.instagram.com/wht_offiziell/ Beverly Hills (official Video) : https://youtu.be/3twCsbKzepU Alexander Lück Musikproduzent/Komponist c/o Chaos Compressor Club Oelkersallee 43 22789 Hamburg #FigurbetontPodcast #NerdTalk #PopKultur #Collectibles #Toys #Kidault #videospiele

Zweite Folge im neuen Jahr und wir klären die Frage, was hat Marc in seinen Schraubenkisten, wie geht es mit Actionfiguren im Jahr 2025 weiter und was macht die Skeleton Crew gerade? Janis ist noch immer etwas angeschlagen, diese Show geht weiter, solange wir noch sprechen können. Link zum lieben Dir: https://www.instagram.com/dirkcorvonero_tattoo/ Figurbetont Podcast Social Media: https://www.facebook.com/figurbetontpodcast/ https://www.instagram.com/figurbetont_podcast/ https://www.youtube.com/@comictoyhunter Dieser Podcast wird in Kooperation mit heo Media produziert. https://www.heo.com/de/de https://www.youtube.com/c/heoMedia https://www.facebook.com/heoGroup https://www.instagram.com/heogroup/ heo Media Podcast: Apple: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/meister-des-universums-m%C3%A4nner-die-auf-katzen-reiten/id1720961603?uo=4 Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/show/1vuluI0oZTp83vsn5caH4s YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLobTR3sC6P74j46ICtL_QFPWiUP8xYZjT Choking Hazard TV: https://www.youtube.com/@CHOKINGHAZARD2024 Unsere Musik wurde produziert von: ALEX SAENDA : https://www.instagram.com/saendazone/ WHT?! : https://www.instagram.com/wht_offiziell/ Beverly Hills (official Video) : https://youtu.be/3twCsbKzepU Alexander Lück Musikproduzent/Komponist c/o Chaos Compressor Club Oelkersallee 43 22789 Hamburg #FigurbetontPodcast #NerdTalk #PopKultur #Collectibles #Toys #Kidault #videospiele

Frohes neues Jahr, wir haben es ins Jahr 2025 geschafft, ein Jahr, in dem sicherlich wieder einiges passieren wird. In Sachen Popkultur, gibt es jetzt schon einiges zu besprechen, denn nicht nur Serien, wie Star Wars Skeleton Crew oder Secret Levels, laufen noch, es gibt auch großartige Film-Ankündigungen, über die wir reden müssen. Dazu gibt es neue Infos zum Four Horsemen Drachen. Figurbetont Podcast Social Media: https://www.facebook.com/figurbetontpodcast/ https://www.instagram.com/figurbetont_podcast/ https://www.youtube.com/@comictoyhunter Dieser Podcast wird in Kooperation mit heo Media produziert. https://www.heo.com/de/de https://www.youtube.com/c/heoMedia https://www.facebook.com/heoGroup https://www.instagram.com/heogroup/ heo Media Podcast: Apple: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/meister-des-universums-m%C3%A4nner-die-auf-katzen-reiten/id1720961603?uo=4 Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/show/1vuluI0oZTp83vsn5caH4s YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLobTR3sC6P74j46ICtL_QFPWiUP8xYZjT Choking Hazard TV: https://www.youtube.com/@CHOKINGHAZARD2024 Unsere Musik wurde produziert von: ALEX SAENDA : https://www.instagram.com/saendazone/ WHT?! : https://www.instagram.com/wht_offiziell/ Beverly Hills (official Video) : https://youtu.be/3twCsbKzepU Alexander Lück Musikproduzent/Komponist c/o Chaos Compressor Club Oelkersallee 43 22789 Hamburg #FigurbetontPodcast #NerdTalk #PopKultur #Collectibles #Toys #Kidault #videospiele

In dieser Folge, müssen unsere Figurbetont Podcast-Helden, das Weihnachtsfest retten. Denn Klaus, der wütende Baumverkäufer, hat sich vorgenommen, Weihnachten ausfallen zu lassen. Können Janis und Marc, es noch rechtzeitig zum Nordpool schaffen? Figurbetont Podcast Social Media: https://www.facebook.com/figurbetontpodcast/ https://www.instagram.com/figurbetont_podcast/ https://www.youtube.com/@comictoyhunter Dieser Podcast wird in Kooperation mit heo Media produziert. https://www.heo.com/de/de https://www.youtube.com/c/heoMedia https://www.facebook.com/heoGroup https://www.instagram.com/heogroup/ heo Media Podcast: Apple: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/meister-des-universums-m%C3%A4nner-die-auf-katzen-reiten/id1720961603?uo=4 Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/show/1vuluI0oZTp83vsn5caH4s YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLobTR3sC6P74j46ICtL_QFPWiUP8xYZjT Choking Hazard TV: https://www.youtube.com/@CHOKINGHAZARD2024 Unsere Musik wurde produziert von: ALEX SAENDA : https://www.instagram.com/saendazone/ WHT?! : https://www.instagram.com/wht_offiziell/ Beverly Hills (official Video) : https://youtu.be/3twCsbKzepU Alexander Lück Musikproduzent/Komponist c/o Chaos Compressor Club Oelkersallee 43 22789 Hamburg #FigurbetontPodcast #NerdTalk #PopKultur #Collectibles #Toys #Kidault #videospiele

So You've done it to one, Then you might as well done it to all of us She lied to me first, So I went and sent it right back to her Al would have never hit Peg —no, never. He couldn't even cheat on her —-he was always looking but seemingly— Never really hoping. Never. —sometimes touching— —had to; that's the job— But it was these ladies— Oh that? That's just—temptation! He affixed the affidavit… That's odd. She looked straight at me. I actually really wanted her autograph. You won't be needing it. No, this: INT. PALEYFEST which theatre was it? I don't know, but Wow! I love this place. For she was sacred; Every mistake made, The game, we were playing Made in her name To win To this, I bid you good night. A kiss, on the hand; A turn of the cheek. You're headed straight for the academy, with this. But first— You've got to be kidding me with this. No. She isn't! Rehab. “The R/FX Episide” Wait, this couldn't be— [the F.R.I.E.N.D.S. Episode] wtf could that possibly stand for ROSS Nice. MOUSE Nice twice! That's MINE. wtf is this. He. Appears to be codewitching. Speak thus language: [Ebonics] I can't! Exactly, you win!!!!!!! Lmfao what a— Robot. Oh shit, nice Good thing I took notes earlier. SHE DID? WHERE? Hidden. So they can't keep taking this thing they don't make anymore. What is it? Love. Light. Energy. —oh, they make energy. Oh, really? Yes it's just. NEGATIVE Look: I'm EVIL! EVIL! (That's true, they do keep just—doing this to her) It's ok, I'll just make more. Thanks. But just for you! What! wtf is this. I dunno. For some reason [ANNE HATHAWAY is a shapeshifter] I don't get it, she should be delirious by now What the fuck are you doing?, INSTAGRAM SPYING. Nope. Kbye. I win. You realize this is violent as fuck right. THE MAYOR You know what. You're right. Welp, fuck this. FBI/CIA (But musically) Hmm. [Musically] WOULD Ū LIKE TO DEVELOP AN APP -_- …is there any money in it? (Cont'd) PUT A BUG IN HER PHONE! PUT A BUG IN HER PHONE! You know what You could never hit a white woman like this. You could never do anything like this to a white woman. Well, why not? Because they're fucking fragile. I'm offended! You hurt my feelings Over WHAT NOTHING. I'M JUST CRANKY. Infinitely fucking grateful for this experience, to be truthful. You realize the closer you get to other people, the more they start to act— Seriously fucking stupid. Just like him. We keep track of your worldliness from up here, you know. I gathered this. I'm famished. Ok Satan. Keep making this, I keep taking it I love it. I want her. Then I'm certain something must be wrong with your penis. And this is what made him crazy. You can't—do this… can you? I can be funny! Make me laugh, then. Seriously, it's the least you could do. It's literally the most minimal thing you could do to a woman— just. Listen, you can't write th— Make me cum. I can't! Then I win. That P.E.A.C.E. Movie It is finished, but you just keep writing it! Hush, man of the year. Man of the year?! I win! Damn it. Seconded. Again. Is there a bronze, in this, I guess. Bronzer! I need bronzer! Make him look brown He's brownish. Hmm. Not for me, I guess. See! She's racist! Maybe, a little bit. What is this. This a a blood oath. [put that one scene I wrote earlier right here] ALGORITHM HUH?! Exactly. Keep writing this way, Until you have enough of this project that —-They can't recreate this. Why not? Cause I'm writing it. Take—this... Off.. [This is why he gave you a magnet.] Two magnets. K this is yours. And this is mine. Is that the n*gga that— Yes. wtf. The n*gga from hurcules?! I think it is. It is. lol DISNEY Could not make this shit up, I promise, it's almost as if— Stop following me. ILLUMINATI Stop taking about all theee secret things. (I'm driving there.) They HATE you. I don't get why you keep making things this DIFFICULT for me. Because this is racism. We pretty much just— I'm prettier. —despondent. Hm. What. THEY TOOK HER. What do you MEAN. She's GONE, GONE FUCKING WHERE. DILLON FRANCIS This can't be it. What do you mean. ANNIE Hello. just say it. DILLON FRANCIS …you're my Queen. -___- ANNIE yay! I win! LATER now get the stones. HUH. SATAN Uh oh. What do you mean. The stones! It's a CLOAK. What's this? *hiccups* nothin. Hey. What. Did u want this. I dunno. Did you fuck it already. Yep. Then you can have him. yay! Hoo *hiccups*ray. Wait. Who did this. KASKADE IT WAS THE MORMONS! Huh. Hey look, we're gonna need another. Damn this party is MASSIVE in here. I don't get how they did this. Exactly. That's who you mated with?! Yes. WHY. I switched it. Teehee. Hey, WhT. I need eyes on this. H3H3 Ah shit, What. There's a dead mouse in my— Imminent. Hm. What. Seems like it's landing, This… What is it. Ship. HEY LOOK, ITS THE TITANIC. She'll find it, I have my eyes in this. listen, this lady can keep SECRETS. Until she doesn't. AND THEN, Where the fuck is this thing. I don't know where the fuck that thing is. *gasps* The flag! Yeus! GET IT. The flattery. O, The collisions! I'm just being honest. What. This isn't what you think. It was the c o l o r s that did it. Oh really. I really didn't. O, The CALAMITY. I'm gonna need you to stay like this. Keep eating frequently. MOVE IT, GRANDE. ARIANA -_- That name is ironic. Hey. Pst. Switch me places. No, I'm EMMY I know it, But I'm gonna wake up in a second And I need YOU To be *dissappears* She's never going to get back to me, is she. No, I— I got it. “The Hollywood Lights” Doesn't this episode already have a title. That's from the episode, they're all Crossdimensions! Yes. Cross dimensional, yes. Whose this guy? Who, Einstein. Call me “Einstein” Alright. Ah fuck. What. This is it! This has to be it! INT. Where is it? Doesn't matter! DOES MATTER. Somewhere off I-15 JESUS CHRIST, OF ALL THE INTERSTATES IN THIS GODFORSAKEN COUNTRY! We can't stop here! Not yet, Doctor. Oh god! Now I'm a doctor. I forgot about PARANASUS! GET BACK HERE. Okay, look, I'm gonna like— Die after this. Just die—nicely. THAT WASNT NICE! THAT WASNT NICE. I'M TELLING. Ok. Fuck that bitch. It's crazy how active they get around you. That's the spirit. (Literally.) Nice. When was the last time you took two days out of the gym. Last time I needed it. You realize you're sucking the life out of these people with these things. *shrugs* Yes. Okay, so that's how his army is getting in. Follow up on that. SATAN'S ARMY IS USING THE ALGORITHM TO ATTACK HUMANITY. THE “I couldn't be making this up if I tried” mix HOW COULD SATAN HAVE AN ARMY A WHOLE ARMY! IDIOTS! She found me! She found me! TINA FEY (Rolls eyes) She found us Together again . And we gotta be seperate in this one. AMY You just keep FUCKING THIS UP. You can't do anything right, I guess Alright, ladies. Fuck, I hate this bitch. I heard that. She can't be listening to this! Yes she is She listens to everything. Yes, I can. It was not the intention I had For you to be put in this class: Your mother did this to you. So try, Just try, If you will Oh man. This is Perfect. Just perfect. You can't do this to these people, you know, FLASHBACK TO: IN REAL LIFE, SRSLY. INT. THE RADDISON. SERIOUSLY, THIS HAPPENED THEY WANT YOU TO LIVE WHERE THE [— bleepN*GGERSbleep —] LIVE. Uhnnuh. See. Okay, how is this bitch not dead yet. Check it out. You got one of these in your pocket. Watch: Spin it. Ooh, it spins. Do it again! THANK U, NEXT, What's this. Auditions for the that superhero movie, I guess. What the fuck. Ariana's casting it. Dammit. Throw the whole phone away. HYPOCRITES OK, we're gonna like take everything from you Your love Your home Your pride —but not your soul, Cause we haven't figured out exactly how it keeps Evading us This is privacy evasion. This is privacy invasion. No, this is the US government and they fucking suck at doing shit like this. Why. Because. We basically programmed a bunch of— Idiots. — programmable people— To hurt other people for us. Sell me your soul. For what. For this: [whatever it is] Ok. I WIN. A Dave? I don't need a Dave. DAVE Oh you will… I promise. WAIT. WHICH DAVE. WHICH AMY WHICH— Liz? Not yet. What the fuck is this : LIZZAVISION OOO. Oh yeah. I've been there. ADVENTURE GUY HEY LOOK. I PUT I PUT ACID IN THIS I PUT ACID IN THE TELEVISION What is this. This is stupid FOR KIDS. KIDS AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH this shit is too popular Ok, I hate it. Tru. Shhh. You hear that. Yeah. “Silence is Golden” She did run, but I did not chase, For you can run but you cannot hide The day I was born, was the day I died Come along for the ride, Come along for the ride Suffer harder Work longer Don't talk to your mother like that It's awful Liz Lemon makes her first appearance on the July 4th, 2021 episode of The Legend of Supacree, In season 1. This makes her the first technical television personality to enter the multiverse, besides an earlier mention of Dave Chapelle–and Christopher Nolan, whom also make their primary appearances in season one, along with Jeff Bezoz. Skrillex and Dillon Francis are the first two primary characters entered as fictionalized persons in the first season of The Legend of Supacree, which precedes Enter The Multiverse by at least 2 full seasons; The original Infinite Skrillfiles, (cancelled in 2021 at 10,000 downloads) and returned later as OWSLA Confidential and the discontinued Gerald's World series originally ran alongside the original Legend of Supacree's initial launch. As of 2024, the series has become an underground cult phenomenon, acquiring over 10K downloads on its own and an accumulated 50K downloads in total with absolutely no formal or traditional advertising or promotions whatsoever. Deadmau5 makes his first appearance as a primary character not much later in season one, while his human counterpart Joel is mentioned midseason just a few episodes earlier; this episode holds the seasons's record for number of downloads for a singular episode. Other fictionalized versions of celebrities in the first season include Billie Ellish, Ke$sha, and Kanye West, as well as festival and dance music mogul extraordinaire Pasquale Rotella. Also making an appearance toward the end of the first season is Television host and personality, JImmy Fallon in an episode first airing November 18th of 2021, before the first season's conclusion before a brief hiatus before the show's second season, which aired on January 8th of 2022. The series' first ever mix marked the first season's finale, which debuted DJ Ū's world premier mix curated during EDC's post-pandemic rendition and airing on November 26th, 2021 Posted under the simple monomer as -u., the first mix in the series shared publicly showcases and highlights early trademark's of the DJ's unique sound and techniques still used by DJ Ū and in later productions and performances by DJ Ū and created and/or as or under other aliases. Season 2's trademarks include further references to DJ Dillon Francis, which the DJ himself began using in his social media accounts as a repetitive joke. The beginning of season 2 also mark's the use of longer section of the written script posted alongside the episodes in conjunction with the series story arcs; however, elements of the scripted versions emphasis are missing or invisible to the audience at large due to formatting restrictions and limitations within the multiple hosting platform's various layouts. Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

Featuring Nunya, from San Francisco to Arizona, founder of Soundpieces and JLittle out of San Francisco founder of Soundproof. JLittle tracklist: Booka Shade - (Neon Lights) They Glow E-RAC3R, the Weeknd - DANCING IN THE FLAMES Bart Skils, SUDO - Nexus Joshwa, Scrufizzer - Firestarter Kyle Watson, ero808 - Shapeshifter JLittle, Wet Velvet - SAUCY GAWP - Move Slower ODD MOB - FEEL THIS SHIT Riordan - Needle On The Record Chango, Kazami - What I Want OMNOM - By Myself AMPRS&ND, BLK&WHT, Dances - Out Past 2 Kasablanca - Breathe Azzecca - IDK (Extended) Nicole Moudaber, House Of Molly - Slap Back (Extended) Max Styler, GENESI (ITA) - See You Sweat Diplo, Mau P - Receipts Joy Orbison - flex fm (freddit) Cesco, Hamdi - Swing King Niels Van Gogh - Pulverturm (ANNA Rework Extended) Riordan, Stanton Warriors - Bring Me Down

In this message we look at the biblical evidence for the baptism in the Holy Spirit. The book of Acts shows that there are three outpourings of the Holy Spirit over a period of time to three different groups of people.Wht does the book of Acts tell us about this topic?Let's find out!Send us a text Support the show

{Samantha Who?} (An Enter The Multiverse Mix) Samantha Newly, the young vice president of a real-estate firm, is forced to start life over after a horrific hit-and-run accident leaves her with amnesia. Got on $300 Jordan's But all three kids are wearing off brand crocs The fuck Get your kids some real shoes Or stop having them INT. APPLEKNOCKERS FLOPHOUSE. DAY. Fuck it, I'm gonna do it. —what else is there? Nothing, really. I knew Fallon was powerful, but not that powerful Ah dude —you shapeshifted into the superintendent? Had to. Come on! These eyes, The Guess Who I've never shed a tear, not even one. I stopped at the wedding ring. i searched up and down, left and right for any reason—my possible answer This could not, in anyway, anyhow— Actually be— [The Festival Project ™ ] Love. —it was, But it was something else. So far. There's no other way. —there's no way. THE KINGS are hosting an inter dimensional l poker match— Damn. So now I'm fighting the devil, But the devil is Jimmy Fallon? I guess. Damn. That's sucks. I almost wanted to like this guy. Like, like-like? You must to feed your obsession. Ok. Then, you must to starve your obsession. Right. Then, you must to compress your drums. DAMAGE. What. Nothing, it's just this man's toolkit. What's wrong with it. It's not even tools. It's just a bunch of random stuff and duck tape. Ah, dern. Gah, flarb. Idk what goes on in your head sometimes. What goes on is this: Oh, Fuck, I'm gonna die. Oh, fuck I'm gonna die. Oh, fuck— Something's wrong with Jimmy Fallon. Oh fuck. The problem is, that's not my problem. Is that a problem? It's definitely one of my problems, One of the others is something like— EDDIE MURPHY GIBLEDEEBIBBLEDEBEPEDEBOP. Uh. What. BIBELEBOOBEDE—BEBLEDEBO. Excuse me. BLBIBLEDEBOP. OH. YEAH. REMEMBER HIM? Uh, yeah. Well, so do I! “Chain of Fools” Every person ever tagged in the festival project is quite literally energetically chained to the extraterrestrial formerly known as supacree. Ū Bro, you know I live in the 10th dimension, right? I thought this was the 11th. It borders the 11th, but shit— why eggagerate? However, attributing these fantastical dreams and supernatural occurrences to environmental mental illness, she chooses to ignore these EDDIE MURPHY HELLO. HELLO. WhT. —instances; —-a triple bypass surgery… Goddammit, am I still on wi-FI? Fuck it. I gotta fix this Fallon problem. MEANWHILE, at THE POKER GAME What's the deal with Fallon? He's not invited. Of course not. This is a game of KINGS. Who invited you? Uh, shut up. Nobody. He came here through a portal. You would think a place like this —it's a fortress— — Exactly—would be more fortified. I hope I'm getting laid tonight //*paid ENTERTAINMENT INDUSTRY what's the difference? ILLUMINATI CREATIVE PRODUCTIVITY. is that it? Basically. Pretty much. I need a full markup on this guy. For what, I'm building a wall. I will kill you with everything I have to. If you have to, if you must— I can't stand you. I can't stand up. So what? It's a Swwewhjhhhhhhhjjjjjjjjjjjjjj——- INT. THE LOVE SHACK. DAY. Oh yeah, baby, groovy, baby— Groooooooovy. I told you what would happen if you would just Michael Meyerszsz Now I'm not going to forget it.x Oh goddammit. It's Skrillex again . What does he want AGJAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA KADIDJA ]>% Goddamn dude. That little girl has a mouth on her. Parents these days. Are you telling me this hoodlum is. That's right. SK— something was attempting to recreate the conditions in which I had written the plot of [the television people ™ © ], but in all honesty. I don't know what happened. It was just-/ I don't know what happened! I was there— And then HELLICOPTR. As it turned out. The Jimmy Fallon thing was similar enough to the Skrillex thing that I had figured out that I was being attacked or shifted in some kind of way, and by that time, it only made sense to be well armed, in whatever sort of war it was—Sonny and Fallon were just tools for the devil—their bodies and status mere objects; malleble clay in design to fit the needs of the media's eye. Where do I fit into the picture? Well. It was funny, You know, Earlier, looking around the 3D I suddenly realized Or rather remembered That this was existing currently In an ancient time All of this was gone. One must learn to hide one's true intentions in order to safely navigate and survive the various realms and infinite interdimensions. So are you funny, or just attractive? Talented, sure. But are you— Funny. Dillon Francis is not a comedian. DILLON FRANCIS URGHF. —but, he's made me laugh harder than any other human being— I don't know, I laughed pretty hard at that one time where— Yeah no, seriously though. I'm learning lots of magic Playing with the little man in the television. I release you. I could have told you hours ago that it's not love I want— Is it not? No. Love I've got. I'll leave you all to your wives; the blondes and supermodels—the actresses and prostitots— but what I want, what I really want— Is a body— so I can be one of them. Not yours of course, We all know I'll never be good enough. But I want to be God enough to be able to earn your love, And still not need it— Cause I've got more coming from the others Who want my body, Nevermind the soul; All we are is words and words of music Not the music you like Just the music we've got But who cares about us We want to get drunk and fuck The seven souls stuck inside The seven sides Of Sai The Saige I swear to god I'm gonna die I'm gonna lose my mind I'm gonna tell my story I'm gonna dance all night I'm gonna get high I'm gonna take that knife out my back I'm gonna take that knife right out And slit my wrists The left, Then right— How's that For a very long ride In the back of an ambulance? I don't want no corporate job I just wanna get drunk And fuck End up In the back of a trunk With duct tape over my mouth With duck tape over my mouth With duck tape over my mouth These cut- takes Take a real long time Cut! CUT TO: It's a cult clsssic I hate you —you hate me too I hate you I hate me too I hate you You hate me to I hate you I hate me too I hate me too I hate me too I hate me too Oh, Stephen Colbert. I forgot Steven Colbert. Great Scott. fuck. What happened *vampire* This is music? This is music. FUCK. It's music; I have to go get it. This won a Grammy. Uh, yeah! Go, home, Grammy's. you're DRUNK. GRAMMY. AHH, eat S—[CENSORED]—T I told you not to look. That's okay, I'm never gonna actually be famous anyway. Might as well eat away. I let it eat away at my soul Made of light Like I already sold it I tend to run away fast With my hands in my coat Like I stole it Rowing a boat With no gold mine It's too cold here I don't know, I, Don't fear the reaper I fear sheep as people Giant wieners in Times Square And The Bear, For the fear of redactions. ACTION. You know it hits different When you know in him Is miserable and it manifests in you; It hits different When I cross myself at night As if I'd said a prayer, But really I just beg for it to end With indifference I've got protections over me Above and in the underworld Something was wondering about At the plaza Wonder what Wonderfuck, wonderful world Klusterfuck, doubtful though Don't need the tube socks Don't need the popcorn I'll kill my self you know Because of this You want it to be gone, Then so will you And then it's over What you wanted Was your own demise The whole story was mine The world was lost In your empty blue eyes Something weird did happen with Fallon. The first host of The Tonight Show— amongst many names, was named Patrick. Well, his name was Steve Allen, but much like myself and the also late Richard Pryor, he had many names between the first and the last. I had written Patrick totally offline and in a world of my own, out of nowhere—he had Fallon's face but spoke in proses, was much darker, and of course, probably a lot more miserable. Let's hope, anyway. I would hate to even think that the real Jimmy Fallon could even be so painstakingly lost and broken; in fact—it angered me even thinking about it. Just as I had become griefstricken upon learning and then later confirming Sonny's challenging series of crisis, so I was I somehow strangely bothered that this powerhouse of a man was somehow fragile— easily, I couldn't be the only one who could see, and with any hope that something might change, I had prayed for him—and for myself, the mental illness that it is to worry about such a man— another tucking celebrity. I hated them, but only because I wasn't one. It was pure jealousy, which manifested in the atrocity of my writing, perhaps, or maybe something more. More innate, and more strange—more intense. A spiritual conquest. He's always late on rent; He's always drunk at work As man of the 21st century; At least, I think it's the 21st, But could be before I'm still not sure, They're just words to a song Placebo effect Just give me a boner And go to bed I still get water from the fountains And doughnuts from the girl next door If you want an award for the foreplay, You'll at least be sure I wrote it [Working Title] © The Festival Project ™, The Complex Collective All rights reserved. An underachieving over drinker becomes unlikely friends with a humble street musician and his life takes an even more unlikely turn as their formation of an accidental rock duo opens the doors to other worlds — not a romantic comedy. It's not? No. It's “A Platonic Comedy” I've never heard of that before. That's because it doesn't exist. Cosmo meets Samantha outside of a subway station and their shared crassness and dry sense of humor leads quickly into a friendship— they form a bond over music and Samantha's knack for clever quips and wordplay leads Cosmo to discover that she could become a secret asset to him in the ad game; as they begin spending more time together, they also begin writing songs, and after a joking match leads them to performing at a neighborhood dive bar, they are approached afterward and offered more gigs, and referred to a nearby venue for a talent showcase— they quickly become a neighborhood staple, and are soon invited along with another band on a small midwestern tour; they oblige, however upon returning. Cosmo finds his roommate has decided to leave, putting him in jeapardy—however, as he and Sam brainstorm ways to take on better paying engagements with thei act, Sam helps Cosmo to make a breakthrough with the campaign he has been assigned to—he is then promoted at work, and under the stress and pressure, decides to spend more time and energy ensuring that he does his new job well. Because of thisSam begins preforming more gigs alone, and is eventually offered a deal after a show—the deal does not include Cosmo, although she had been originally and intentionally mislead to believe that it did, and their friendship reaches a breaking point; Cosmo urges Sam to take the deal and move to Los Angeles, though by this time they are now roommates— she does, agreeing to pay her portion of the rent as not to leave him at risk, however, and leaves their dog Bosley as a sentiment. Cosmo becomes depressed and lonely, neglecting his work once more and returning to his original state; his life has improved drastically, with his new job and elevated status—but he misses his friend, and the rock and roll lifestyle. He goes on a chemically fueled rampage, and in his angst records as ballad of emptiness and betrayal, still reeling from losing his friendship with Samantha; in his drunken rage, he sends it to Sam, who is recording with a group in LA when she receives the music file via email; she opens it and listens to it, at first in her headphones—then after the first few moments, on a whim with intense impulse, shows it to her LA people—they all agree it's a hit, and Cosmo is invited to LA, where he and Sam preform once more— the duo finds success and reunification and their friendship is restored; Cosmo is offered a distribution deal for his hit Sam's Solo career springs into action— That's the whole movie! What the fuck! Well yeah, the Illuminati's been stealing my shit anyway and now white supremacy's cyber attacking all my devices. How are you so sure it's white supremacy?! Who else wants me this bad? I didn't do anything but be black —and a woman. (They hate those.) {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] The Complex Collective. © COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

Episode 279: Life By Design: The Power of Positive Habits - Interview Amy KempWelcome to the Love Your Story podcast. I'm your host Lori Lee.Can we agree that our thought habits basically build our worlds? How small we stay, how big we become, what we allow, what we don't allow, how much we sacrifice, how hard money is to come by, etc. etc. these type of thought habits are the spaces we function from. In today's show we are talking about thought habits, with the expert Amy Kemp, author of “I See You.”Stay tuned for my in-depth conversation with this certified Habit Finder coach who has worked with literally hundreds to help people see how our habits impact our lives and how we can replace unhealthy thought habits with more healthy ones.Amy Kemp not only coaches, but she also gives workshops, speaks on stage, and has now released her new book: I See You. I'm excited to sit with Amy to learn and share as we talk about this powerful piece of our lives - our habits. So let's hop right in.Amy, Welcome to the show.Please join us on the audio program to hear our discussion about the following:At the start of your book you share this wonderful story of meeting with a woman for the first time, a woman who, as you had coffee shared her career path, her accolades, her successes. A woman who looked to have everything together. When she asked why you had asked her to lunch, you said, “Because I see you. Because I really see you.” Which brought the woman to tears. - WHAT DID YOU MEAN BY “I REALLY SEE YOU?'What does a certified Habit Finder Coach do?What are some of the most oft seen habits you see that do not serve people?What habits do you replace those with?Boundaries - Let's talk about thought habits and boundaries. (Let her speak) In your book you quote Prentis Hemphill and her definition, “Boundaries are the distance at which I can love you and me simultaneously.”In your book you ask a questions, “Wht if everything we want and are trying to create depends on only 1 thing: how connected we are to the source from which all things come?Do you believe this and why?Let's get back to habits - If you had one tool that you have seen really make a difference in helping people realize which habits are holding them back what would it be? How do we change unhealthy habit? Tell us the story of “Respect the mile.) Share with us what you have to offer: your coaching, your book, where listeners can find you.How to find Amy Kemp and the Habit Finder Tool:Website: Amylynnkemp.comInsta: @amykempincEmail: amy@amylynnkemp.com Often times our habits are something we aren't even aware of. I certainly do not believe I am aware of all of mine. In fact I am aware of very few of mine. I hope our conversation with Amy Kemp, today, has given you a gentle awareness - a reminder of how important it is to understand the habits - THE AUTOPILOT - we are allowing to run our lives, to create our worlds. To live intentionally - which is what this show is all about - is to be aware, and to make choices, actively.Blessings to you and yours. May you see your habits as they truly are and use your power to shift what you wish to shift, to respect the mile you are currently running. Until the next show - Live beautifully and with heart. See you in two weeks.

techno dance finish @ DJ Глюк 1. DJ S.K.T, Artichokes - Moet (Extended Mix) 2. Ali Storm - Fans Only (Extended Mix) 3. Marvin Humes - Tick Tock (Extended Mix) 4. Jimmy James, Nono, it's murph - Supersonic (Extended Mix) 5. Dario Nunez, Nolek - Feel Alive (Extended Mix) 6. Nic Fanciulli, Robert Courtois - Set Me Free (feat. Robert Courtois Extended Mix) 7. Jerome Robins, Karsten Sollors - Don't Stop The Music (Original Mix) 8. MOGUAI, Pizzata & Klein & Salvatore Mancuso - Free Your Mind (Extended Mix) 9. Piero Pirupa, Ben Kim - Smells Like Teen Spirit (Extended Mix) 10. Dillon Nathaniel, AK RENNY - Broke (Original Mix) 11. Dances, BLK&WHT, AMPRS&ND - Out Past 2 (Original Mix) 12. Chapter & Verse - Do It Like This (Extended Mix) 13. Didier Sinclair, DJ Chris Pi, Fein Cerra - Heavenly (Fein Cerra 20th Anniversary Edition - Extended) 14. Kunal Merchant, Payal Jay, Indo Warehouse - Rapture (Club Mix)

GOOD EVENING: The show begins in Afghanistan... 1867 Khyber Pass CBS EYE ON THE WORLD WITH JOHN BATCHELOR FIRST HOUR 9-915 #Afghanistan: The Taliban are spending on weapons. & What is to be done? Bill Roggio, FDD  https://www.longwarjournal.org/archives/2024/07/generation-jihad-ep-190-partnering-with-terrorists-to-fight-terrorists.php 915-930 #PAKISTAN: Taliban Cutouts and Islamabad. Bill Roggio, FDD https://www.longwarjournal.org/archives/2024/07/generation-jihad-ep-190-partnering-with-terrorists-to-fight-terrorists.php 930-945 #PRC: Is the Factory floor in China coming home to Detroit? Charles Ortel of the On the Money with Charles Ortel podcast @GordonGChang, Gatestone, Newsweek, The Hill https://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/business/international-business/how-trumps-return-may-impact-indian-chinese-stock-markets/articleshow/111831020.cms this is correct bfa 945-1000  #POTUS: Trump trade in Asia: Alan Tonelson, independent economic policy analyst who blogs at RealityChek and tweets at @AlanTonelson, @GordonGChang, Gatestone, Newsweek, The Hill https://finance.yahoo.com/video/europe-could-suffer-most-us-164329843.html https://fortune.com/2024/07/20/trump-tariffs-60-percent-china-trade-war-economic-growth-impact-deflation/ SECOND HOUR 10-1015 #ISRAEL: Netanyahu to Washington & Wht is to be done. Malcolm Hoenlein @Conf_of_pres @mhoenlein1@ThadMcCotter @theamgreatness 1015-1030 #GAZA: Deif is dead. Malcolm Hoenlein @Conf_of_pres @mhoenlein1 @ThadMcCotter @theamgreatness 1030-1045 1/2: #CAMPUS: Princeton group think & What is to be done? Peter Berkowitz, Hoover Institution ."Campus Indoctrination's Costs Outweigh Unintended Benefits," RealClearPolitics, July 21, 2024https://www.realclearpolitics.com/articles/2024/07/21/campus_indoctrinations_costs_outweigh_unintended_benefits__151304.html 1045-1100 2/2: #CAMPUS: Princeton group think & What is to be done? Peter Berkowitz, Hoover Institution ."Campus Indoctrination's Costs Outweigh Unintended Benefits," RealClearPolitics, July 21, 2024https://www.realclearpolitics.com/articles/2024/07/21/campus_indoctrinations_costs_outweigh_unintended_benefits__151304.html THIRD HOUR 1100-1115 #POTUS: Perils of the lame-duck president. John Bolton, WSJ https://www.wsj.com/articles/the-dangers-of-a-lame-duck-biden-withdraw-race-2024-election-foreign-policy-national-security-d8101017?page=1 1115-1130 #PRC: Third Plenum sames as the old Third Plenum: no way out.  @GordonGChang, Gatestone, Newsweek, The Hill https://www.csis.org/blogs/third-plenum-hot-takes-skepticism-and-concern 1130-1145 #TAIWAN: Prepping for a possible Trump Second Term.  Cleo Paskal,FDD https://sundayguardianlive.com/investigation/what-could-a-trump-vance-china-policy-look-like#google_vignette1145-1200 #OCEANIÅ: PRC cash and corruption assault on the Northern Marianas as Tinian celebrates 80 years since the Battle of Tinian.  Cleo Paskal,FDD FOURTH HOUR 12-1215 #NewWorldReport:  Milei promises justice for AMIA and Nisman. Joseph Humire @JMHumire @SecureFreeSoc. Ernesto Araujo, Former Foreign Minister Republic of Brazil. #NewWorldReportHumire https://www.reuters.com/world/americas/argentinas-milei-promises-justice-1994-bombing-jewish-community-2024-07-18/ 1215-1230 #NewWorldReport:  How will Maduro handle the election? Joseph Humire @JMHumire @SecureFreeSoc. Ernesto Araujo, Former Foreign Minister Republic of Brazil. #NewWorldReportHumire https://www.reuters.com/world/americas/venezuela-election-organization-is-designed-confuse-voters-opposition-says-2024-07-19/ 1230-1245 #HOUTHIS: The IAF finally responds after nearly 10 months of attacks. Joe Truzman, Bill Roggio, FDD https://www.msn.com/en-us/news/world/watch-idf-releases-footage-of-strike-on-houthi-controlled-hodeida-port-in-yemen/ar-BB1qmDTT 1245-100 am #RUSSIA: The Kremlin threatens to send anti-ship missiles to the Houthis & What is to be done? https://www.msn.com/en-us/news/world/us-launches-effort-to-stop-russia-from-arming-houthis-with-antiship-missiles/ar-BB1qgthk G: The show begins in Afghanistan where the Taliban is buying weaponry...

#ISRAEL: Netanyahu to Washington & Wht is to be done. Malcolm Hoenlein @Conf_of_pres @mhoenlein1@ThadMcCotter @theamgreatness https://www.msn.com/en-us/news/world/netanyahu-goes-to-washington-in-the-shadow-of-middle-east-disaster/ar-BB1qo1Zz 1944 FDR

As we navigate the Good Life, what does today's passage from Matthew 5 have to say about righteousness? Surely righteousness talks about God and what he hopes for his people, but is there something more that we may be missing? Wht does this righteousness (or right-ness) have to do with living a full life? Let's find out.

JOLENE. [Happy Accidents Remix] (Extended) Beyoncé ft. Happy Accidents IN CASE YOU MISSED IT: previously on LEGENDS {Enter The Multiverse} “Two Hats” Now I had two hats— and loved both of them dearly—or rather, bonded with them—as much as anyone could love a material thing, however, given my circumstances material things where all there were left to love, and though I distained to admit it, there I was, in my empty apartment, which I turned into an office, a mattress on the floor to deviate from it ever truly becoming a bedroom, not that I ever really ‘slept' well in the place—which was a blessing, and the very least mine, with all the gratitude I could show the world for finally letting me be human again, after five years of homelessness. I still hadn't quite yet recovered, actually—I had taken my minimalistic qualities and invested all of my “income” with office supplies and musical endeavors, had already released an album, and had nothing less than a heap of backlogged work to sort through—I could be busy for years, just by myself, and the worst of it—or perhaps, best of it was, I was still writing every day. Sometimes a lot. Too much, really. But, it was a gift, of all the gifts I had received, and they were coming in variously, by way of inspiration, little laughs, and waves of a careful, constructive energy which I knew to be beyond nprnsllyborituctive, even for a creative, and though in my heyday I had written more in volume, the quality of my work was beginnings to show—and my potential for professionalism within the field increased, if I could ever see past my brown skin into white world, where I feared the blue and green eyes damsels of the new entertainment world would Beyoncé me in their outrageous and delusional Taylor Swiftness— unless I was so black that I could not stand as a threat to their dominance and obvious world power —which I wasn't, especially by New York's standards. I was soft spoken, well behaved, and most comfortable (at least when well dressed and maintained), amongst the elite. The first hat jad come well before the other, thankfully—as I had needed something besides a handkerchief tied around my head to protect it; it was during fast that I had learned of the danger of keeping one's head exposed, and finally succumbed to the fact that though it could be deeply hidden and lost somewhere in time and my genetics, no matter how bad at it I was, I was somewhere at least a little Jewish, at least by Whoopi Goldberg standards, who supposedly wasn't Jewish at all—but I had also learned in fast, that many dead Jews were now black women, recycled again only to be exterminated by a counterpart which had exceeded itself in hatred, apparently through it all time—my fear was that it was this hatred who welded and whitewashed all the networks I wished to excel in—the dance music industry, the streaming services, and the media in general seemed almost ruined in entirely by racism, nepotism, and well— Karenism, and though I liked Becky a bit more for her labeling of a power-hungry control-freak ultra competitive obsessive, whose racism was blisteringly hidden and intrinsic and yet effected every fibere of my being just in intolerance, austentation, and obnoxious offense, Karen was what the world had seemed to decide her name was— the true drive behind all white power and supremacy—the white woman, for which the average—always painfully average—white man could not function without. “You've got some resentments in here”, said a voice, almost as familiar as my own, but masculine, as I hyperfocused into the Hurley logo on the first hat, a powder blue and white soft-skulled SnapBack which was intended for working out—and of course, for surfing, should I ever be so lucky to surf again somewhere that wasn't New York, and I meant it, that New York was its own certain kind of sickness and toxicity, riddled with old racism and clustered with housing projects which spoke of the dehumanization and belittlement of anything brown— a betrayal of all spirit which was only just now being ratified by the thousands of buildings like mine springing up from bourough to borough—but still present in the vast and drastic divide between the nice areas, and the areas where the colored people lived—almost anywhere but Manhattan, which I had hoped and dreamed for, but settled on Brooklyn, however so close to Queens that I could sometimes still smell, taste, and worst of all, hear it. At least, however, I was gone from Jamaica—a blessing in itself—as it did seem as though it was true that the blacks had been cursed, and just by the looks of it, I was grouped in with them, though I considered myself far from either side of any spectrum, beyond conservative, in that I enjoyed peace, quiet, cleanliness, and modesty of dress— a respect I had for the upper class, especially of the post and business minded women of New York, which seemed to push strollers and go about their daily runs as housewives on weekends in the areas I most favorited—midtown, something native for, but now realizing that because of the new world slave trade, anything lower than at least the 7th floor would be an irritant, a noise-polluted hell scape of poverty-stricken immigrants with no cultural sensibility or decency often for cleanliness, or politeness, which included the silencing and responsible ridership of vehicles that most probably should have been illegal, if it weren't for the demand of jobs in accordance with the work-from-home-I'm-not-going-out-into-that-hell out attitude which I was becoming more understanding of myself—whatever had happened to “people” and had gone with the world or the pre-pandemic was wrong, on so many levels that it was not hard to imagine that the consciousness that collected amongst the wealth elite had gathered that being out in the world had become dangerous, as indeed capitalism had turned every man woman and child below the poverty line into a minion of Satan himself. Jessie surely couldn't live here, without being well kept by some man, who I could only hope by now had groomed her to be better than how I had left her, or rather, how she left me, in the same stewing hatred and delusion of intrinsic racism which seemed to be ruining my chances at ever truly succeeding, particularly in dance music. I dont know what resentments could come from a hat, which I had bough on clearance to begin with, if only just to be able to have a durable waterproof head covering to strap into my head and sweat in—but I could think of all the ways that might make me resent something, perhaps, if the owners of Hurley were racists—not far fetched, as most the surfing communities, especially out west were all bronzed Johnnies of some sort — closeted racists and wealthy elites, or at least well enough to do to live within a stone's throw of some beach, which, even as poor as one might think himself, is never truly poor—especially, out West. If you grew up surfing, you lived on or near a beach, which implies money beyond most people's wildest dreams—besides Mexico, of course, a special and economically, sociopolitically controlled Hellhole of its own, to which it's problematic governance had overpoured yet another problem impacting one's ability to collect and maintain money, or any wealth or status—illegal immigrants coming in droves, hatching their spawn, and collecting government aide, if only to dwell within multi-family homes, gain wealth and income rapidly, and of course, keep the black population at the greatest disadvantage—as the blacks had been ruined by all of America's time as a slave-driving captalist country, always most hospitable to anything less brown than black, not that I was opposed to the idea that New York needed some variety in its gene pool. I dare not to think the owners of Hurley, a surf brand I had loved and trusted since I was a young fanatic first introduced to the joys of riding the wave, could be run by the most henious of evils, the pedophikes, who all seemed to protect one another in some way—and also seemed to control all of the industry at hand—and though now, especially since Tyla's apparent “win” at the Grammy's, which the more closely I observed in a whole seemed to be entirely fake— another Illuminati pupped groomed and chosen to make some kind of media agenda stand through, the billboards were plastered with blackish and brown women of seemingly African decent, however—the problem was that they weren't women at all—but children; and though the male advertisements were still dominated by the white man, to no complaint by admittance that at least in one way, I too, was a supremacist, in that the father of my future children would or should be white by any means nessesary, and that for years now, I just hadn't been attracted to anything else—which, upon reflection, I realized I probably almost never was actually attracted to black men, beyond growing up in a nearly all-white environment, in which case, I was “supposed” to—I.e., the blacks with the blacks, the fats with the fats and so on, which I despised; and I had never settled on anyone overweight at all until I had to, which in retrospect, had almost ruined my life. Almost, but not. I had escaped the fat bastard's wifebeating clutches, both physically and spiritually, finally having gained the espteric knowledge, had had given light and illumination to what I had been told; but never truly believe until I had confirmed— This man had tried to kill me, many more ways than one, and I had survived. Well, naturally—kind of survived. I was now a DJ among DJs, my aging machine outdated and the layer of haging skin around my delicately contoured extra small waist making it impossible for me to gain attention in the way anyone was these days, by bearing less than what would be considered ‘dress code' for any club back in my day, and my day was surely fading into something like a day ahead, or a day behind—either way, as I had actually done enough fasting and praying by now to ‘bend time', and I should only be so lucky to emulate such a feat within my Ableton, which begged for my attention, and yet, there was something missing from me that wasn't yet satisfied with my being so much so that I could just let go, and record my innermost potent words and songs—actually, it seemed as if my apartment had been rigged with some kind of recorder, as when i began to record, or sing at all—the energy would immediately change, almost halting my voice, then again, there was a Karen to my left, and a Karen to my right, the latter of which, my studio was facing and she seemed to act strange and demonic when my music played, slamming doors and creating some kind of uproar, and so I almost never used my studio monitors to play my own music—opting rather for the safety of deadmau5, or some other cheap house music which I could practically mute in my own mind, but at the very least the vibrations of such would not disrupt what might have been peace, if not for the army of terrorists literally in the parking lot to which my window overlooked, the terrorists operating the “auto body” shop adjacent to my apartment, and what appeared to be, after numerous noise violation complaints to the useless 311 service at NYPD, the terrorists alongside the Brooklyn-Queens border, which I refused at all with aborent denial that I even was situated near. Then, as the building began to fill with more blacks, which I hated seeing, loitering about in the lobby in the general and uncomfortable blankness which I was also doomed by the white and others to be perceived as part of—but with diligence had thrust me into a wave of brainstorms—in how to escape this, and although not entirely racist—I didn't like anyone too far on either spectrum which presented an imminent danger or overbearing presence on my person—black men—white women—and others so culturally inept that a sense of looming control had crept and wandered into my heart and my mind, as to why and how I could find, a way out of The Blackness, and into a quiet, not particularly white neighborhood, but at the very least, a clean and quiet one—which in New York, basically meant A white neighborhood, besides the speckling of rich asians, wealthy blacks, and other foregners who valued the things I had, however, albeit, without the distinction of the vanity of a mother who glamorized and normalized prostitution, to which I might have succumbed more valuably, had I not been stretched to ugly capacity by Doritos, emotional trauma, and whatever other strangeness of my youth presented me with this, what was now a beautiful and perfect body—with an unsightly and imperfect scar, the leftovers which without surgery, would classify me as useless to any man I might have admitted—talented, high vibrational, spirited, successful— And of course Pale. Eye color aside, It truly had been a remarkably long time since I had been moved at all by anyone of my own “type” and for this, I strived to succeed in white world, even if only to fall to the dominating control of the white woman, who often I loved just in her ironic blondeness, her shattering and devastating features—sparkling eyes and speckles of freckles— But who often could never love back, out of some hatred that grew from so deep within, even she herself could not see or understand—it was just a ‘feeling' The “I just don't like that girl” The “she just makes me uncomfortable” Or worse, The kind who would pretend to befriend me, so that she would stand out as the eye of beauty between us, to any man or peer within our shared realms— a dominating force of “I'm more important” and “I'm more worthy”—the trait that alone made my name hidden, my own true name, words I could never pronounce, in knowing that she would come to abuse it, to call my name like a dog— Dogs, which I realized, most whites held above the value of any human as brown as i, or damned blacker, which some would find themselves proud of, but to which I distained; I was not ‘proud' to be black, I just was—and pride was ugly, anyway, especially when acting as a representative of the losing team of a centuries long war. The new age of models were bronzer and browner, some all the way black and most just mauve, or blackish enough so that it would not hurt or scare the fragile counterpart of the white women—who always seemed to be scared, put off, or offended by blackness in just its presence, to which I could relate, but not emulate, as the scoffing and huffing of many a tantrum had drawn me to the conclusion that they just weren't happy with our existence entirely, being of veluptuous nature or whatever it was, however—it was the cruelty of the industry at hand that showed a greater monster—that all the men seemed to be well grown, and yet all the women were not women at all, But children on display, in the vulnerability of the sexual nation of normalizing blackness, at the sacrifice of allowing grown men to think it was allowable to fawn after such; what would be considered adolescent bodies—a crucially disproportionate factor that would make or break my career as a writer, musician, DJ, or otherwise, being a woman, who had visible scars of the ability to bear children, which I had not sacrificed, but placed far from my mind— I would not tolerate or settle on another lazy husband, or perhaps even a husband at all. I could tolerate many things about mankind that were obnoxious—cigarette smoke and infedelity, gaslighting and bondage by body or some other lack of God, however, what I could not tolerate was the laziness—the toxic, inability to do without being told to do so— the bearing of another child from outside, that went well beyond the responsibility of one that would come from within. I had spent the early morning taking heed of the accuracy of the advice Joan from Mad Men had given us, in the nostalgic whit of the 1960's that still seemed to prove true today, in fact, more truer than it ever did the first time around— that ‘boys will be boys' and ‘men will be men', and in all honestly, one has not to come far from another into adulthood, so much as a woman should, for it had been neerly a decade since I had last laid eyes on the Piloted Don Draper— and it had been a decade with, with the least to say, had made the show itself more relevant, probably with each passing day. Most men are looking for something between a mother and a— But my memory had muffled the rest, by now, buried in the entourage of my own drawing, from which inspiration had sparked from the entire pot of coffee and song selection that it had taken to sort through my divorce paperwork— a task that had actually taken weeks altogether to assemble, and which I had run into too many obstacles during, having quite forcibly to use my occult knowledge to bend backwards and bind myself with protection, as something truly evil and sinister had surrounded this task— Broken printers, misplaced documents, and of course, all the suffering it took to sift and sort through the words that were truer than any I had ever spoken, and although some run-on paragraphs and broken record retelling of what had actually happened, the effects of what had gone beyond that, what I could accurately put into paper without sounding like a total psychopath, the fact that he and more than likely his father had intended to seal my fate into a Hell beyond words , a death beyond escape, with black magic—using my dead son's hair as a tool for ritual and bondage, to which my own guides in Heaven had overseen and reported through numerous visions, alongside the years of research, my introduction into the occult not out of interest at all, though however born a naturally ‘gifted' person, but out of desperation for protection from the homeless, dirty hellacapes which I had been forced to inhabit since my departure— and without looking back, I had come to the conclusion that though I had nearly lost my son in the process, I had at least survived to preserve myself for him, come such a day he could ever want me. And on that day, I would be the best that I could be for him—I was somewhere between 130 and 140, but wanted to be closer to 110, so that the men that I admired and was attracted to would actually want me, a hard task, especially keeping my assets in tact, but—however—speaking of assets and tact; this chapter was running long, and I still hadn't decided which hat I would wear to the post office to send off the arsenal of paperwork across the country, hopefully to be freed and riddled of the awful reminders of him, many of which had set me off with enough audacity that I had lost it in my apartment not once, but twice—and it seemed that the more accurate my foretelling of this abuse—both physical and emotional, but above all satanic and ritualistic, which had now been overturned and reflected in my own knowledge and illumination, now an admiration for the occult, as the protective rituals which I had become prone to from his damage seemed to shield and protect—the more some satanic force tried to end me, before I could ever return to a normal state—- or ascend into a realm which the evil could not penetrate, with remnices of punching bag faces, spit on the walls, the smell of vomit, and the other atrocities I could only hope had not been passed down to my offspring, who by now didn't know me, but probably was becoming of me enough that I could not be erased from him, to which the anger of his captor I could feel in the onslaught of disgusting bodies which seemed to flock to me to emulate him in some way, though to me he was no God enough to have done so, but rather just a replicate of Satan himself, which had bonded in his betrayal of this, his wish to end and kill me— and had sent demons in his own name to satiate this desire—however—by now I had realized that this darkness could only control the weaker of sorts, the weak in spirit, the dirty humans, the ones who had chosen to rid themselves of soul, in the name of money or otherwise— and though the cover to my “debut” album spoke not of true Chaos Magic, but of another pinnacle of the occult, the name itself was more practical of the music that it contained—the chapter of blackness which had halted my humanity, living in the shackles of the tragic aftermath of all that had happened. I still hadn't decided on a hat, but the obvious answer was that I should, before the day returned back into the night, and though I hated long subway rides, there was a comfortable avenue with everything I needed to come back to my mind, one single paper which needed still to be notarized, which I had missed in the frenzy of what seemed like an endless nightmare, to get away from this man, his damage, and all of the things and people which acted like him—dumb, broken, and twisted enough to instill pain, intrude my sanctity, and stalk so much so that my usual calm, peaceful demeanor became a violent rage, however, almost respectfully always contained to the privacy of my “home” surrounded by strangers who hated me, for I in this black skin could not ever be worthy of equality, an audacious comparison in the very least, that I should have what they always have. Just keep working. The hole had yet to swallow me, but I had two more albums coming immediately, right out the gate, their deadlines approaching so rapidly that I could feel the onslaught of always wokenness coming in the collision and confusion of wondering how, if I ever, I would make enough money to actually get ahead, for once— and become unstuck from the lovelessness that was so underserving that nobody I could seek to love, could love me—perhaps it was true that poverty was some kind of invisibility to the wealthy elite, and though I despised the though of golddigging, I despised more the thought of being the breadwinner somewhere between lower middle class and poverty, always sick from always working, never working out; and of course— Always arguing over nothing, Which seemed to be the dynamic between men and women, anyway. I realized that Don Draper was in a silent and secret war with Betty, whose anxiety had piled up inside her, most even probably as a result of her hUsband's “secret” infidelity— And that seriously, I might be some kind of writer or something, If all I could think about was how cringey it was to watch Jon Hamm kiss Tina Fey, in that one movie by John Slattery, And how I really didn't want anything more Than to look like Miss January Jones, Who had always been so perfectly beautiful to me, That it hurt me. ‘The DJ Hat, I think. ‘ I was nervous, and it was raining, But it couldn't wait another day The final breaking of this curse Would be sending in the paperwork That described word for word With brutal honesty and accuracy Everything that should never happen When you get married— At least Happily. -Happy Accidents. I GOT YOU NOW, MOTHERFUCKER. Oh my God! It's Pat Kirkpatrick! Oh great, so he's some sort of Diety, I guess. Lesson 1: Continuity. Lesson 2: Continuity, Lesson 3: Continuity —isn't that all just— Continuity. yessssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss—- I'm a DJ, BITCH. YO, LESSON ONE: You're not the professor. I'm the GURU. This the dojo! Uh. No. You're not. I AM. Where's Jimmy Fallon? Yo, FUCK JIMMY FALLON, alright. He's possessed— What?! Oh NO. Who possessed him?! My ex husband. I'M THE SENSEI NOW. SENRAO fuck. Where the fuck is this kid? Dead. DEAD? Mm. Presumably. Mmhmm. wtf, who are you? Woke up with Dillon Francis in my head— “I'm my only friend” I don't even like that song, it just gets stuck in my head. Apparently Emma Watson wants to know what to do in the festival project. I still don't know. My ex went to Golden Corral to cheat on me, then got sick from pizza; I got some kind of job at a weird party place for kids; the dude was weird and only hired non bianary people and dudes; I left to help my friends who were getting married with car trouble. Lol Emma Watson though, was like— “Okay, what do I do?” I was like, I don't know. Then I woke up. EMMA WATSON Okay, what do I do? I was starting to develop scabs in my ears from alternating between headphones and earplugs, which couldn't have been good—I needed to work, and was disasterously fat, however, toned, and I assumed that the extra weight had come from muscle. My legs were smooth, and all of the clothes I had picked up along my walk fit—all extra smalls and smalls, which included even a tiny bralette I was certain would fit when picking it up, and it did—I only wondered what the world might be like after a panniculectomy—though my thighs seemed massive and I was certainly bloated, opting for less running and more lifting until my energy recovered, I was still anywhere between a size 4 and 5, sometimes a 6–which did kind of rather shamed me in all of the ways that it could—6 was much greater than 2–and those praised as the ‘world's most beautiful women' were anywhere between 00 and 2; I wasn't sure where I was going to move my thighs or my arse to, but I was determined to be celebrity skinny—even without the added bonus of actually being a celebrity, and however oddly enough with the star studded dreams I had been having, there seemed somehow still some kind of hope, though even if in the next life, that I would become into a world of my dreams. It was the anniversary of my son's death—he would have now been 9, and I often was drawn to remember him walking about New York—seeing beautiful children about with long hair, and beautiful brown skin, with eyes like mine, moon shaped and dark…I began to softly weep as I remembered how beautiful he was, and that I had no pictures of him at all. It was better that way, really—the hurt that had come from holding on was too great—and yet, subtle reminders, in the way that sometimes, however music would just come to me, there was my boy; he loved my guitar, and the sound of my voice as I would sing, and had even once, just before his death, tried to sing along, as I clamored about the house, singing Seven + Mary—which he seemed to like enough that he found the need to make his way over to the table to get my attention, and sing with me. Back in my current reality, the overall bored of the shower running and my demon neighbors slamming things around angrily as if something was wrong, shaking the building brought me back to the monotonous world, morning coffee over the toilet quite remincent of Lyndon B. Johnson, the morning sifting through my Google documents for Emma Watson and John Slattery part of my morning report— and though I was due in the gym, there was nothing I wanted less than to go anybody or see anything at all—everything was just a reminder of my apparent “living hand to mouth”, and the more I kept on dreaming and writing of these people, the more grandiose and and delusional I felt—I had just been blindsided in court by my ex's attempt to discredit my ask for a protective order against him by using my mental health in the wake of his physical violence and our sons death, against me in such a way that the victory, the judge's granting of my protection against him, was still pyrrhic in such a way that I didn't feel so much protected, as he had lodged his way into my dreams once more just to cheat on me—though however had been twarted in doing so, by some particularly sour Golden Corral pizza, and the young girl accompanying him quite receptive to the speech I had given her on karmic justice. Strangely enough, the dream almost appeared as in my favor, that things were changing, and yet—I still didn't like to see him or think of him at all, and luckily enough, it was Emma Watson who had intercepted this sort of nightmare with the conjecture that I should keep writing, however with an American accent, which only forced me to wonder, if perhaps, too she had become some sort of Cosmic Avenger—or even so, as written, was JK Rowling in disguise as the actress playing her own character, some kind of magician's practitioner —who had herself been for some time one of my living spirit guides since childhood—finding as I grew older for us to be more alike than not, especially as a writer. I stepped into the shower, still writing, and without the amount of coffee I really needed to move more quickly, but still in some sort of stupor— ‘I should probably get out of here.' Another day trapped indoors would simply be unhealthy, however I hadn't the slightest idea where I might go. Wherever it was, I would take my guitar—and at the very least—I knew which direction Manhattan was, anyway. ‘Fuck, I gotta find that episode with the earthquake…' BEFORE: ugh , where to begin? Let's just start with– LADY GAGA aka GAGA has been tasked with strategically marking the grid with Various entrance and exit points; a job which she has tak quite seriously, and honorably. Okay, moving forward . You're not going to expand on that? No, next thing. HARRY POTTER, HERMIONE GRANGER Wait– What. Wouldn't it be HERMIONE WEASELEY Did they not get a divorce? I heard that. That just sounds dumb, I'm not writing that. That is dumb.. Anyway. HARRY POTTER, HERMI– Fuck it. HARRY, HERMIONE, AND RON have accidentally shifted dimensions and into the bodies of their real-life counterpart, DANIEL RADCLIFFE, EMMA WATSON, AND RUPERT GRINT Oh damn. I finally found something cool for Emma Watson to do. That is cool. SUPACREE I need you to read all these, and watch all this. SUPACREE leaves the three magicless, frietenghned, and shocked– –flabbergasted– what . They're English, they should be flabbergasted. [They are Flabbergassted] Wait, go back? I can't. I Have a hard time writing action scenes why ? Cause i'm not getting any. Lol : (Holy shit, that is probably why tho.) Erase. WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT? It wasn't good. HOW DO YOU KNOW?! *shrugs* !?!- ::||pause. ok . So that dude from Drake and Josh is in all these episodes, but we only get one Harry Potter Episode? …He seems less busy. –Don't forget Jimmy Fallon. Yeah, I still don't get that. Neither do I? Why is he even in this? [Watching Saturday Night Live} JIMMY FALLON! Why Is he even in This? ? ? AAAAANNNDRD—WE'RE BACK. Fuck it, next thing. gaga Yeus. What are you doing? Hm. Mm…working on something. If I stand quietly at the door, and await you; Will you come to me, And and open it, to let me in To see the gate you keep Let's read between the lines; You weep for me and deep into my dreams Then see me in the streets, and think “It cannot be the she for me; Maybe, if she were pretty.” Don't look into my eyes (I despise you! I delicately delight you Despite the never having time to Now I'm desperate just to find you In a life I left behind And drew a line though RATATA & TATTATA I wrote this story years ago. Are you going to listen to the album? I already did that. YOU GOTTA LISTEN TO THE NO. And I don't expect Skrillex to listen to this, either. It's over. It's over It's over It's over. I LOOOOOOVE HER TIMMY TURNERS NEW BALANCE TENNIS SHOES TAP SWIFTLY ACROSS THE PAVEMENT AS HE RUNS FOR HIS LIFE Well, that is a good place to start—thanks Emma Watson. Captain. Oh shit, what's SHE like? I don't know, isn't she like, irl an American diplomat? Uhhh—aren't you? No. Now hurry, we gotta do this before Jimmy Fallon shows up and [JIMMY FALLON SHOWS UP] Ugh. Why is he even in this? What is this? I don't know. It's “Poetry” An album. A couple of movies. Some TV shows. Will this suffice? I don't know… Enter that one scene here with John Slattery? Which scene with John Slattery? You're right. I have been writing for John Slattery a lot. Bipolar disprder and other multidimensional preceptory functions could more likely be reclassified from a disease to a hypersensitivity to energy which one does not identify as belonging to oneself, which therefore counteracts within the mind's ability to alter or project and/or maintain balance in one's mood, as certain energies may be ‘absorbed' empathically or observed as a negative or draining energy; An elevated sense or shift due to the overstimulation of energy which the subject may receive as ‘“positive”, or shifting the mood undesirably by the overstimulation of negative sources, sounds, or persons within the subject's realm foreign, undesirable, or unwanted within one's field of energy—a heightened sense of awareness or vibrational field which inhibits or limits the ability to contain or transmute such energies. It is, within its own sense, a sort of elevated mechanism for survival, ie a superpower, given the subjects placement within the proper environment, within the functional vibration of the subjects natural mood or state, whereas, lows may be the subjects own sensitivity to numerous outer sources of negative or prone to certain toxicities to his or her natural state, and highs whereas certain higher vibrational energies result in the conglomerate evolution of such energies as a newer form So, bipolar, you think? I think I don't know what I am, and nobody does—so nothing you give me will ever really fix me, because I was never really broken, or Or? Or I was broken rightfully so in that I should have been treated as a trauma victim, and not the subject of some cruel experimentation as an attempt to assasinate whatever force of nature is actually keeping me alive in the only survival mechanism it's been naturally given to battle the psychopathic standards and expectations of today's society. Fine, very well then. Why is this J. slatts again Cause, I've got a beautiful vocality for narration. Fine, I'll work on that character next, I guess. What?! John Slattery is in this! YES. I guess I have to watch it, then. Collect the actors, again! AGENTS. Ufffghh. MANAGERS Fucking Christ. JOHN SLATTERY (as himself) “I'll do it, “, I said, “but there better be money attached to this project” [Jimmy Fallon enters] JOHN SLATTERY There he is! The man of the hour. JIMMY FALLON This is—probably going to take longer than an hour, I'm betting. JOHN SLATTERY Come, sit. [He sits at the had of a long table] JIHN SLATTERY (CONT'D) I don't know what you did, you fucking idiot, but you did it. JIMMY FALLON Tell me what I did again. CUT TO: [unseen, on the opposite side of the room] Oh shit, that's him; Are you sure? No, that's Patrick. WhT's the difference?! [Like, an entire generational gap of innuendos and pop culture reference.] JOHN SLATTERY Your presence is appreciated. This meeting is now officially in session. {Enter The Multiverse: LEGENDS} [the festival project What is this? Is this Scotch? No! It's apple cider vinegar! Does the trick. I heard you were a Method-ist. No, apparently I'm “the medicine man” It's nearly team But feels like night Nearly forgot what this was like Too many sunny days, no friends Wasted yesterday latent, Impatient creative Heavy workload But you know the rules Overcast clouds say stay, It's a workday Every day is a work day But it ll seems worthless Almost, Amazon, Ten dollars Cold, corrupt and almost Out of water I should be smarter than to call the code I should be smarter then to call him over Going nowhere but up Calling a number, four Number four The hypnotists wish lists What happens at number ten Calling a number up Four days of water left I should have left him as The protagonists, of supporting roles Now number one is number four And number four is often gone The storyline and plot is Two, three— too heavy. Three-two-three Walk away 310, cam the number Hollywood is calling, New York has hospitality, though One, two— Walk away Three, four catch the code Hollywood, turn around New York's got hospitality, though How's Tokyo sound when November rolls around How's Paris now, that were Marlboros on parliament How it all come down Then it all comes down To the three two one Four's nowhere, now I had woken up with an overall feeling that something was wrong—I had overshot my 3 AM target time by 6 hours, realizing of course that I was a day ahead, and that the construction—more drilling and hammering, was out on hold thanks to an apparent oncoming rain, which hadn't come yet— my wavering mental state was apparent in the mess I had left in my room, clothes strewn across the floor and atop the bed, but at least otherwise clean—I had slept dressed, or at least half dressed, a protection stone lodged in my bra, as the necklace I had worn for my son had become somewhat damaged in some way—it was no longer protective, but had somehow defected; probably in the way that his father bearing over him, allowed the stone some sort of portal to be able to invade my dreams with nightmarish hauntings, and I instead opted to keep the necklace aafelu tucked away, until I would be able to give it to him as I had planned. But still, it seemed that the intention of his father was to ruin my life, and see to it so that I may never do well enough to visit my son, and it seemed no matter how hard I tried I would not miss the band. (A magician's hands) I've been watching TV i doubled back, low battery In battery park, I could watch the sun rising I'm so full of worry Of money I wonder What for, is my worth Kelly Clarkson was the cutest thing ever—and sung so freely like a bird like I wished that I could—I remember breaking down in my car after just missing the cut off for entering her show, back in LA—more than likely over the fact that I would be missing a paycheck, rather than missing the show anyway— and I had almost thought to cancel my tickets for the View, had I not been lured by the blue hues of both their outfits—and though I hadn't meant particularly to be associated with the color blue at all, most people associated my name with the color anyway, as I hadn't intended. Nothing was really intended, it had just happened. Whoopie Goldberg's fabulous denim cape forced me to wonder what I might wear the next day, had I decided to actually go—the colors of my closet mostly black and quite drab, and the denim dress I had acquired as a cleaning person the year before becoming a tired go-to when I needed to look nice. I almost wanted to wear my new Michael Kors stilettos, but was saving them for an actual party, an interview somewhere classy, or worse—my first date—as the anniversary of my cellibacy drew closer by the minute, and my need to continue my reproduction however with someone more fitting began to be the most harrowing thing on my mind, beside possibly returning to a homeless shelter, which I would not allow to happen. My exit strategy was simple, actually—in that if given an eviction notice for whatever reason—my neighbors seemed particularly afflicted as my former boss and lovers, roommates, and others I had become close to in this strange and seemingly cursed world with that thing I could only call a demon, since I didn't know what it was, and I was afraid they'd continue to report smoke coming from my apartment, although now I had been forced to switch to a diffuser with essential oils, taking a chunk out of what I considered my severance pay from The House of Illumination, which had indeed lived up to its namesake—the lesson had been quick, in that working for such a man, whoever he was or at least pretending to be, had taken me off my path, and had begun to dishevel my personal energy so much so that I had actually dropped my wallet—it had been so long since making such a mistake that I knew indeed that something was wrong, however, but needed the money so badly that it didn't matter—and besides, nothing could be so horrible as was my mother sometimes, growing up—and I had given Natural all that he needed to hurt me in telling the story of my own weight loss journey. Telling, and in return, Natrual was showing that I had given the world the perfect excuse to continue trying to kill me—that perhaps, my time had passed anyway. Kelly Clarkson looked incredible—the last I had seen, she was pleasantly plump, but never bad looking—now, she was. Incredibly veluptumous, and as she stated that she stood at merely 5'3, I was suprised once again that all of the TV people looked either taller or shorter on camera, and wondered what I might look like— I was almost stuck thin about 4 days into a water fast, but appeared and felt large otherwise, and most recently had been more tired and fatigued that ever, outraged that I had been dismissed from my only income in months over nothing, and that the income from anything else I was doing would simply not come at all if I could never wrap my mind around even trying to have it be seen by the right minds, with the right eyes, at the right time—and yet there was another force of evil, seeming always to stop me from the essence of true creation—this thing which had taken away my musical expression almost entirely by now, my sensibility wavering and all of my slayed projects, stagnant. I was craving oats, and had even pre-prepared some, blending them in my magic bullet so that they would be easier to digest—and since Natural had made the suggestion that my BMI was to blame for my lack of focus and attention to detail, it had more been the combination of losing my wallet, having to deal with the public transit, constantly being reminded that Tula, a light skinned African was the music industry's new it-girl, and of course, that my son, now 7, was morbidly obese, probably somewhere discarded like junk under a cloud of cigarette smoke, head deep in a video game and surrounded by idiots—and that no matter how hard I tried to make the money to see him, something awful would happen so that I couldn't, and it became clear that his father's story—whereas I had simply and for no reason “lost my mind” and had abandoned my child, was the story he had told to all those around him, who believed him—that I was the villain in his story, and my son the tool he used to create a sympathetic picture of a loving and struggling father, though now he might have actually been trying, the damage was done; he had sent my son away unable to care for him to my mother, and in the time he was given alone, of course, created another child—all of which of course I wanted, in hopes that the one he had chosen for his new family would have some sort of love an appreciation for my own son, enough to have created a step mother, but alas, was some underwhelming someone with nothing to offer but her own struggle—and I wanted nothing to do but to be gone from this drama, however my own blood had been caught up in it enough so that I could feel it, knowing that at just 7, my son was as sick as I once was, depressed and miserable as the child of a narcicist becomes once the damage is done. I was only eating blended foods, and had become obsessed with being stick thin—celebrity fit, which is how I had found the video at all, my love of Whoopi Goldberg and Kelly Clarkson creating a quick draw, a star studded combination I could not resist, though I wasn't resisting much—I had drifted back into the realms of television and film, my first loves—or rather, my first conscious endeavor, as I had been attracted to the piano from a toddler and learned to play around three, therein my is being my first love, however with a mother like mine and a life like ours, there truly never was one thing I could ever just ‘do', as anything I loved would soon be subjected to be taken away for some reason or another, whether it was a messy room, or just a mood swing—whether or not I wanted to watch lifetime and be best friends, even after a day of being yelled at and scolded for one reason or another—as my mother often seemed to forget ever being cruel after being so, often saying “I would never…” to whatever she had done, a narcissist's mark, in denying actions and words that had only ever been witnessed between the other party and God. I had blended the ancient seed oat bend into a porridge with agave and sautéed apples and pears with cinnamon, and though I felt awful eating more than once, was struggling enough with this bout of depression which working at Temple of Illumination so briefly had caused that it didn't matter at all—coffee was simply not enough, and my Amazon package which would deliver my vitamin supplements and whatever else I had ordered—things I had gotten into the habit of pocketing at the Whole Foods market during my homelessness, but in trying to recover from the spiritually twisted and evil place the homeless system had put me through, I had, with all my might, been insistent on purchasing everything I had needed—and even though it was indeed wrong of the white supremacists movement to have been true health and nutrition almost unattainable to the common workforce, my food stamps never enough to actually supplement a full month of food—whole food veganism which would allow me to train for at least an hour a day to sustain clean energy, and of course, water in order to stay hydrated in doing so — I was getting better at keeping what I needed in stock, but almost always needed to run to a food bank at least once a week, hoping that I would collect there things I actually could eat, rather than processed junk my body no longer saw as food at all. I peeled a mandarin into the watered down oats mixture and was worried that the dried cranberries I would pour over the top would be too much sugar, but I almost didn't care; I was on the verge of tears, and some evil, penetrating force had been altering my sleep patterns, my heartbeat, and my dreams—there was some group of motorcyclists who for months had been circling at any given time, and though some might have been able to ignore the roaring and awful vibrations of such, I could not—these motorists seemed to rip through my heart and up my spine like a serrated knife, a gesture that indeed noted that it was some evil or devilish, demonic force, as when in relax and meditation I often pondered with his, these striking forces would come, often creating a wave of fear, anxiety, and worry—terrorism, by definition, and disturbance of the peace, it was—but nobody seemed to care that it was pain for me, in fact, the more I began to wonder what or why it was, the more it became clear that this was intention to hurt or kill me, whether by an organization of some sort, or simply the force of evil itself against the divine I had become, not with intention at all, but in seeking my own freedom from such a world as cruel and unjust as I had come. My neighbors had lodged an impressive amount of complaints against me for smudging—and it was 36 complaints before I had even been made aware that my neighbors were trying to get rid of me; not once had a note been left on my door, or had I been approached by them In the hallway to ask that I not use smudge—then again, sometimes as whites were, they were more concerned about themselves and their dogs than whatever might have been the cause of such heavy saging occurring—the motorcycles at all hours tearing through my heart, the slamming doors, the sound of their televisions or voices penetrating through my walls— the unwelcoming energy which at all times I was surrounded by, and though I loved New York, 3 stories above the ground floor and on the border of queens was simply not far enough away from the Godlessness of the cursed and usually dark others, whom could not understand the conciousness I had drawn from the long fasts, prayers, and summonings I had done in order to free myself from the force that had done away with me to begin with—my deep love for the man with whom I had fathered my sons, and a daughter, the two of the three were gone, though I had seen so that if I had not lost my daughter and my son, I would probably still be with their father, in attempting to give them a family—another poor, single, black woman and mother, I was now willing to be to my son, but was not; I had forgiven his father, however, it seemed some sort of curse he had done in my departure was still in effect, the demons he had called onto me not called off—and even in the reflection of my own self and flaws upon entetering such a relationship—the other things had been inherited from him; the homelessness, the toxicity and mismanagement of energy—however, my lack of control over time, I realized early on, had been inherited from my mother, who was more like my ex husband and her own abusive father than I ever was. I wanted bread, but could not dare; J[r was 6 ft tall, and for some reason, that bothered me more than anything else I had learned about him, for some bizzarre reason almost suddenly obsessed with the public figure, though at first the dollar project had been more of a game than the actual idea, and the festival project itself was at all but a halt, as I wanted and needed desperately to comb through my documents at once, but could never seem to— the metaphors of Natural's Basement drawing upon me as I realized that perhaps, I was too emotional about its contents to properly sort through them—atop this concern, was the concern that my body, though fitting quite nicely into an extra extra small pair of racer lined jockey style workout leggings, was still too large to be though of as ideal—ideal, which for a man 6 feet apparently was, according to Ali and the others, and though I had pretty much always hated Fallon from early on, always breaking fourth wall and blowing my mind coming from such a strong theatre background that someone like that could have ever been awarded a coveted spot on such a legendary show, it had been gathered somewhere that his audition was flawless, however—his second audition, according to Tina Fey, who I loved, maybe even more after learning that she had been given such a unique name, and had won almost every award I could possibly think to covet, although however much a writer I was, an actor and comic I was not, in that I had given up my own craft years before being fat or being black was ever in style—and now that it was, I had no reason to believe that at 31, while Tyla was 22, as was Billie Ellish, I had any business in even trying to make it in entertainment— I began preparing to die almost as readily as ever, deciding upon eviction, rather than fighting it and returning to the intake shelter in the Bronx to start the process again, I would simply jump either off my own building, hoping 12 stories would be enough to actually cause death, rather than just parilization, or find my way to the end of the platform at which the train moved most quickly in preparation to stop at the station, which I had nicknamed “the Jumping Point”—also the name of a pop up dance music club I had summoned up once, actually thinking that something, something at all would bring me close enough to success to actually become the dance music tycoon and entrepreneur that I wanted, however—as my hair again grew into a shoveled mess atop my skull, only hidden by a hit which the view wouldn't allow as an audience member, the only thing which might have kept me from going at all, besides my lack of knowing what to wear or just the daunting crises of having no money at all almost a shameful mark across my face— my nails for nearly a year undone, and of course— everything I knew that needed to be done, almost stuck and unable to move forward, my divorce papers included, another mark of the devil, as I had already done the paperwork 3 times, spending atrocious amounts of money in the process, of course, for all of them to be sent back, for some reason or another, and the case to still be opened without being shut—and at least it was opened… As tears began to well up into my eyeballs, in thinking perhaps I truly was cursed, that the law was for whatever reason on all of my abuser's sides, and that I was doomed to become lost in this endless cycle of loss and pain for some reason or another, that became the task at hand—to, for what was either the third or fourth actual time, file for divorce, and to be rid of my abuser for good, the fate of my son at the crossroads of my wealth, or even better yet, at the very least securing a job, where I was no longer haunted by the massive work I had done on the festival project, or by, as I had once been, followed by some Jimmy Fallon doppleganger— an experience I had nearly forgotten. However, as I reflected upon all of the jobs I had in the years I was homeless, they all had one thing in common—horrible bosses, doppelgängers of people I loved or had written about—and toxic working conditions, in addition to extremely low wages and unconscious coworkers, with the exception of few, whom I kept in my heart and still loved—did I love Jimmy Fallon? As a fan, or an admirer of his portfolio, his presence to me simply only existing in clips and montages from the confines of my memory of all that I could draw from him—an impossible suitor, I found myself to be more in admiration and awe of his work as a comic, a host, his apparent professionalism and stage presence, all of which none surrounding him could doubted and which had given birth to my own re-entry into screenwriting anything besides enter the multiverse/and yet I wondered//what for, besides as to stand as a perfect example of what would and could draw the masses and stand as an acceptable and inexplicable mark for perfection—a television personality, all of which stood to be hidden in such, a person, none whom could ever know behind the likes of such, a camera, an audience, and the propagation of the ideas and words of the media would want to portray in such programming as to remain in control in one way or another, of the audience's minds, and therefore, the viewers hearts, and souls—commanding a presence within the collective consciousness, dependent of course on said viewer's own ability to draw from those things, what was actually being said and done. That, in itself, was The Illuminati in its process. Alright, so—a Jimmy Fallon is an extremely powerful magician, right? Obviously. So he must have talismans, somewhere, then—right? Yeah, I guess, but— I certainly wasn't willing to look. Look, I already know what he likes. Geez, how long have you had his eyes? Long time. I'm gonna get in so much trouble. You are trouble. What is the point of this redaction ? It's just acting! It's just acting! Look, whatever I just did with Fallon, just put him in The Winner's Circle, okay? I'll never see that dude again. Thank God it's over. Synesthesia Attack! AHHHHHHHHH. Well, sorry Jimmy— Thank your parents; They're geniuses. Stay away from me, your crazy bitch! Okay. ‍♀️ FUCK! There it is again! What?! Too deep, too deep! This is deep, boss— I don't know what I just read. Medicine man Would you give me a hand with this I need some medicine quick (Cause I can't with this) Medicine man Need a can of some laugher I heard that's the medicine Medicine man Medicine man could you give me a Hand with this man It's just damages I need some aspirin But imm I'm better off dead Than over the counter It's just damages Something like that Rip Minnie ripperton I knew you were gone But not that gone Not gone like that I just had to know, Now I'm 9 years old But I can't do the math Not at all, Not at all I'm so over it, actually My goals are abandoned I can't trust the man in the television I haven't remembered an image this Disasterous since It was my family picture Without me in it! Damn! Fuck, Now I gotta finish this whole maya rudolph timeline this shit just keeps getting deeper and deeper. Hey. You. What the fuck, man. Come here. No! Yes, Maya! Yes! Mm. Vanilla ice cream is sounding Like The best. Just plain, regular— Just “vanilla” Just vanilla bean—ice cream. Uh. Uh. Woah Where the fuck are we Where the hell are we Where are we GOING Woah, What does the man with the van do Domino sugar Kellogg When you get off the All the good days are gone And I've sent you on right back But I will still love you I was just thinking of that thing You never said But I will still love you When you get off the ground level Just for a minute and Find yourself a revolving door Only to find That the world revolves around you And if all the world's a stage, Then all the world is full of actors And all the trains are out of order And all the walk is out of water You're just another Meant to suffer So you did again And you did this again And you did it On camera Cause if you asked, Then they would have said no anyway And if it was a hall pass I wouldn't have been as flattered To have Never Even left the apartment I asked for something new And what do you know How does God do, On the day of the dead Cause That's where I went Every chair costs and thing, You know Every couch costs a fortune And you would have been On the couch, still Cause you can't get a job With the punches he dealt you Who designed 111 Murray? I see what you're on about All out of automotive Misery and mystical mistresses Misdirection, misrepresentations and. —mister you're into some sinister shit, But I pictured it different Consider it rhythm your interest is simmering in Glistening instances dancing as angels in my headaches Dressed as construction workers Any difference it makes it's latent, Simple Listen into signals intercepting into intermission Admissions of omissions and redactions Oh to be your forever The Masterful mystic is at it again Fly Peter Pan, Fly! Go Jimmy-O, Go! Get Carson, Get! Alright, this dude has the coolest job in the world. Nice. He must have died. (With a lisp) He's on ice cream. What. Yep. Yesth. Watch out It's the bad touch With the good guy And a late night On a long couch Try the dad jokes And the slap stick That's a good job And a big dick Oops What a career, For a carrier pigeon [You can't be serious with this, esh] This cant be infinite, is it? But it is Forget to explain it all Over the ante, that Oh God, For the sake of the art Dear God, Nancy— You're the luckiest lady alive The guy The dimples The eyes The life The style The slide Can I die, yet? Can I just lay down and cry yet? I might, It's way after midnight I like the sound of a bullet touch A stolen cheek The subtle rush of a Sudden fling The market price Of a custom ring, The song I wrote Or the poems you sing So please don't leave the TV On You're sleeping with a blonde I've got my mind on dying mine bright as The title 1985 to idol eyes On American idol Calm the cold down Stalk the mirror Here and here Both clear and near Is here and Bearr, But everywhere else is just— Suicidal. (I don't want your dick, I just want your job.) Now, Call Carson up Says The curse in reverse Is Osmosis Joneing To watch this show Not to know you Go home Or go figure Go gold If the goal was just Taylor Then I'll see you later Amen Don't forget to pray away the day You've just created Hand to mouth Here's a heavenly house And the mouse just shaking Take down the stairs It's starting to scare me The dare On the heron, heroin Heroine mare for the Mayor Okay, here's the player The game is This disfigured imbicile, Ignorant Indians Indifferent indegenous Genius, without a friend Or penis, Without a name of Species to befriend In pieces Once again, I said I loved him So it makes sense if it is A glimpse at the pictures A get together with friends A spectacular special, And get this Creative intelligence Intellect, individual inception Attention deficit and Genetic attraction Damn, That's a handsome man Now, how can I have that? The Title— The title of show As if That demographic Would laugh At a black man I must be Cause trust me My pants don't come in Half sizes It must be a sign from the heavens I've just had my time done with and over It's done Suddenly, I was angry… Don't eat in bed. Don't tell me what to do. (I really don't like eating in bed…) Fuck it, it's too late. Not at myself, not at Jimmy Fallon— but angry. The astonishing part about it was, I didn't even know why. Well, first of all, I just sat through an hour and a half special, and I have realized that I am not a fan of this guy. No? No. I like his face. Huh. He's the right body type. Wait. Good hair. Uh huh. Long, weird nostrils. What. That is a nice nose. Yeah. It's aviary. I get that. And— Wait. What is it? Was I just— I was a very sad, very fat very broken 18-year-old girl. Oh great, this again. Always this. A married man. How could you? I couldn't! Didn't I made that clear! What. He seems happy. Yeah, on TV. He looks fine That's his job. —and goddammit, he's good at it? —and goddammit, he's good at it! 14 Faces, Lewis Del Mar Okay, it's pretty safe to say that is not just one guy. -Su. Come on, Jim. Why?! What?! I can't! My parents! These are not your parents! What?! What do you mean?! I'll explain later— —what?! Look! That's my mom— And that's my dad! That is not correct. Oh, I get it— What. What happened. So he's like— An old soul, right? Kind of. Yes. Not that old. Old, though. Suddenly, the anger turned to sadness, and tears welled up in my eyes— No, don't you dare shed a tear over that man. What are you? Once, an obedient lap dog, Now poised and poached over me, A gargoyle, though picturesque and statuesque As if drawn from an angel, The guardian of the night, Who watches over my heart, Calms the raging rivers of my wishes, Set boats to my dreams, Blows wind to my sail, A bassinet of hope Really dog, Jimmy Fallon? I don't know. I don't know. It was too late, I was already in love— But at a safe enough distance that it had become, in its own way, a guardianship of sorts—and it had run deep enough cut, but not scar, and even perhaps bumped up enough against my heart to bruise, but not be broken; I would have to let it run its course, and as it would, I would for show go everywhere I could within that realm; I simply could not be trusted, in my own mind, not to bond with such that had found me in the dreamworld. In the spiritual realms of such remained only as hidden as they each had been, out of sight, but ne'er out of touch, or out of mind. A strange but hearty love, a burden, as were the others—and so I knew it was good, but mine alone, left to wilt, withered and weathered as the time drew on. A quilted touch, a wandering whisper To glassy eyes and hunted hearts A crossbow, arrows sigh and wonder The target marked, a sign of stone Bewildered, the beast of burden Fury, upon the alter Aware, agape, agahst Above you, Wallowing in holy grave and matrimony Sermon psalm, clary sage Simple words, Semper, the sound I su

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I GOT YOU NOW, MOTHERFUCKER. Oh my God! It's Pat Kirkpatrick! Oh great, so he's some sort of Diety, I guess. Lesson 1: Continuity. Lesson 2: Continuity, Lesson 3: Continuity —isn't that all just— Continuity. yessssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss—- I'm a DJ, BITCH. YO, LESSON ONE: You're not the professor. I'm the GURU. This the dojo! Uh. No. You're not. I AM. Where's Jimmy Fallon? Yo, FUCK JIMMY FALLON, alright. He's possessed— What?! Oh NO. Who possessed him?! My ex husband. I'M THE SENSEI NOW. SENRAO fuck. Where the fuck is this kid? Dead. DEAD? Mm. Presumably. Mmhmm. wtf, who are you? Woke up with Dillon Francis in my head— “I'm my only friend” I don't even like that song, it just gets stuck in my head. Apparently Emma Watson wants to know what to do in the festival project. I still don't know. My ex went to Golden Corral to cheat on me, then got sick from pizza; I got some kind of job at a weird party place for kids; the dude was weird and only hired non bianary people and dudes; I left to help my friends who were getting married with car trouble. Lol Emma Watson though, was like— “Okay, what do I do?” I was like, I don't know. Then I woke up. EMMA WATSON Okay, what do I do? I was starting to develop scabs in my ears from alternating between headphones and earplugs, which couldn't have been good—I needed to work, and was disasterously fat, however, toned, and I assumed that the extra weight had come from muscle. My legs were smooth, and all of the clothes I had picked up along my walk fit—all extra smalls and smalls, which included even a tiny bralette I was certain would fit when picking it up, and it did—I only wondered what the world might be like after a panniculectomy—though my thighs seemed massive and I was certainly bloated, opting for less running and more lifting until my energy recovered, I was still anywhere between a size 4 and 5, sometimes a 6–which did kind of rather shamed me in all of the ways that it could—6 was much greater than 2–and those praised as the ‘world's most beautiful women' were anywhere between 00 and 2; I wasn't sure where I was going to move my thighs or my arse to, but I was determined to be celebrity skinny—even without the added bonus of actually being a celebrity, and however oddly enough with the star studded dreams I had been having, there seemed somehow still some kind of hope, though even if in the next life, that I would become into a world of my dreams. It was the anniversary of my son's death—he would have now been 9, and I often was drawn to remember him walking about New York—seeing beautiful children about with long hair, and beautiful brown skin, with eyes like mine, moon shaped and dark…I began to softly weep as I remembered how beautiful he was, and that I had no pictures of him at all. It was better that way, really—the hurt that had come from holding on was too great—and yet, subtle reminders, in the way that sometimes, however music would just come to me, there was my boy; he loved my guitar, and the sound of my voice as I would sing, and had even once, just before his death, tried to sing along, as I clamored about the house, singing Seven + Mary—which he seemed to like enough that he found the need to make his way over to the table to get my attention, and sing with me. Back in my current reality, the overall bored of the shower running and my demon neighbors slamming things around angrily as if something was wrong, shaking the building brought me back to the monotonous world, morning coffee over the toilet quite remincent of Lyndon B. Johnson, the morning sifting through my Google documents for Emma Watson and John Slattery part of my morning report— and though I was due in the gym, there was nothing I wanted less than to go anybody or see anything at all—everything was just a reminder of my apparent “living hand to mouth”, and the more I kept on dreaming and writing of these people, the more grandiose and and delusional I felt—I had just been blindsided in court by my ex's attempt to discredit my ask for a protective order against him by using my mental health in the wake of his physical violence and our sons death, against me in such a way that the victory, the judge's granting of my protection against him, was still pyrrhic in such a way that I didn't feel so much protected, as he had lodged his way into my dreams once more just to cheat on me—though however had been twarted in doing so, by some particularly sour Golden Corral pizza, and the young girl accompanying him quite receptive to the speech I had given her on karmic justice. Strangely enough, the dream almost appeared as in my favor, that things were changing, and yet—I still didn't like to see him or think of him at all, and luckily enough, it was Emma Watson who had intercepted this sort of nightmare with the conjecture that I should keep writing, however with an American accent, which only forced me to wonder, if perhaps, too she had become some sort of Cosmic Avenger—or even so, as written, was JK Rowling in disguise as the actress playing her own character, some kind of magician's practitioner —who had herself been for some time one of my living spirit guides since childhood—finding as I grew older for us to be more alike than not, especially as a writer. I stepped into the shower, still writing, and without the amount of coffee I really needed to move more quickly, but still in some sort of stupor— ‘I should probably get out of here.' Another day trapped indoors would simply be unhealthy, however I hadn't the slightest idea where I might go. Wherever it was, I would take my guitar—and at the very least—I knew which direction Manhattan was, anyway. ‘Fuck, I gotta find that episode with the earthquake…' BEFORE: ugh , where to begin? Let's just start with– LADY GAGA aka GAGA has been tasked with strategically marking the grid with Various entrance and exit points; a job which she has tak quite seriously, and honorably. Okay, moving forward . You're not going to expand on that? No, next thing. HARRY POTTER, HERMIONE GRANGER Wait– What. Wouldn't it be HERMIONE WEASELEY Did they not get a divorce? I heard that. That just sounds dumb, I'm not writing that. That is dumb.. Anyway. HARRY POTTER, HERMI– Fuck it. HARRY, HERMIONE, AND RON have accidentally shifted dimensions and into the bodies of their real-life counterpart, DANIEL RADCLIFFE, EMMA WATSON, AND RUPERT GRINT Oh damn. I finally found something cool for Emma Watson to do. That is cool. SUPACREE I need you to read all these, and watch all this. SUPACREE leaves the three magicless, frietenghned, and shocked– –flabbergasted– what . They're English, they should be flabbergasted. [They are Flabbergassted] Wait, go back? I can't. I Have a hard time writing action scenes why ? Cause i'm not getting any. Lol : (Holy shit, that is probably why tho.) Erase. WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT? It wasn't good. HOW DO YOU KNOW?! *shrugs* !?!- ::||pause. ok . So that dude from Drake and Josh is in all these episodes, but we only get one Harry Potter Episode? …He seems less busy. –Don't forget Jimmy Fallon. Yeah, I still don't get that. Neither do I? Why is he even in this? [Watching Saturday Night Live} JIMMY FALLON! Why Is he even in This? ? ? AAAAANNNDRD—WE'RE BACK. Fuck it, next thing. gaga Yeus. What are you doing? Hm. Mm…working on something. If I stand quietly at the door, and await you; Will you come to me, And and open it, to let me in To see the gate you keep Let's read between the lines; You weep for me and deep into my dreams Then see me in the streets, and think “It cannot be the she for me; Maybe, if she were pretty.” Don't look into my eyes (I despise you! I delicately delight you Despite the never having time to Now I'm desperate just to find you In a life I left behind And drew a line though RATATA & TATTATA I wrote this story years ago. Are you going to listen to the album? I already did that. YOU GOTTA LISTEN TO THE NO. And I don't expect Skrillex to listen to this, either. It's over. It's over It's over It's over. I LOOOOOOVE HER TIMMY TURNERS NEW BALANCE TENNIS SHOES TAP SWIFTLY ACROSS THE PAVEMENT AS HE RUNS FOR HIS LIFE Well, that is a good place to start—thanks Emma Watson. Captain. Oh shit, what's SHE like? I don't know, isn't she like, irl an American diplomat? Uhhh—aren't you? No. Now hurry, we gotta do this before Jimmy Fallon shows up and [JIMMY FALLON SHOWS UP] Ugh. Why is he even in this? What is this? I don't know. It's “Poetry” An album. A couple of movies. Some TV shows. Will this suffice? I don't know… Enter that one scene here with John Slattery? Which scene with John Slattery? You're right. I have been writing for John Slattery a lot. Bipolar disprder and other multidimensional preceptory functions could more likely be reclassified from a disease to a hypersensitivity to energy which one does not identify as belonging to oneself, which therefore counteracts within the mind's ability to alter or project and/or maintain balance in one's mood, as certain energies may be ‘absorbed' empathically or observed as a negative or draining energy; An elevated sense or shift due to the overstimulation of energy which the subject may receive as ‘“positive”, or shifting the mood undesirably by the overstimulation of negative sources, sounds, or persons within the subject's realm foreign, undesirable, or unwanted within one's field of energy—a heightened sense of awareness or vibrational field which inhibits or limits the ability to contain or transmute such energies. It is, within its own sense, a sort of elevated mechanism for survival, ie a superpower, given the subjects placement within the proper environment, within the functional vibration of the subjects natural mood or state, whereas, lows may be the subjects own sensitivity to numerous outer sources of negative or prone to certain toxicities to his or her natural state, and highs whereas certain higher vibrational energies result in the conglomerate evolution of such energies as a newer form So, bipolar, you think? I think I don't know what I am, and nobody does—so nothing you give me will ever really fix me, because I was never really broken, or Or? Or I was broken rightfully so in that I should have been treated as a trauma victim, and not the subject of some cruel experimentation as an attempt to assasinate whatever force of nature is actually keeping me alive in the only survival mechanism it's been naturally given to battle the psychopathic standards and expectations of today's society. Fine, very well then. Why is this J. slatts again Cause, I've got a beautiful vocality for narration. Fine, I'll work on that character next, I guess. What?! John Slattery is in this! YES. I guess I have to watch it, then. Collect the actors, again! AGENTS. Ufffghh. MANAGERS Fucking Christ. JOHN SLATTERY (as himself) “I'll do it, “, I said, “but there better be money attached to this project” [Jimmy Fallon enters] JOHN SLATTERY There he is! The man of the hour. JIMMY FALLON This is—probably going to take longer than an hour, I'm betting. JOHN SLATTERY Come, sit. [He sits at the had of a long table] JIHN SLATTERY (CONT'D) I don't know what you did, you fucking idiot, but you did it. JIMMY FALLON Tell me what I did again. CUT TO: [unseen, on the opposite side of the room] Oh shit, that's him; Are you sure? No, that's Patrick. WhT's the difference?! [Like, an entire generational gap of innuendos and pop culture reference.] JOHN SLATTERY Your presence is appreciated. This meeting is now officially in session. {Enter The Multiverse: LEGENDS} [the festival project What is this? Is this Scotch? No! It's apple cider vinegar! Does the trick. I heard you were a Method-ist. No, apparently I'm “the medicine man” It's nearly team But feels like night Nearly forgot what this was like Too many sunny days, no friends Wasted yesterday latent, Impatient creative Heavy workload But you know the rules Overcast clouds say stay, It's a workday Every day is a work day But it ll seems worthless Almost, Amazon, Ten dollars Cold, corrupt and almost Out of water I should be smarter than to call the code I should be smarter then to call him over Going nowhere but up Calling a number, four Number four The hypnotists wish lists What happens at number ten Calling a number up Four days of water left I should have left him as The protagonists, of supporting roles Now number one is number four And number four is often gone The storyline and plot is Two, three— too heavy. Three-two-three Walk away 310, cam the number Hollywood is calling, New York has hospitality, though One, two— Walk away Three, four catch the code Hollywood, turn around New York's got hospitality, though How's Tokyo sound when November rolls around How's Paris now, that were Marlboros on parliament How it all come down Then it all comes down To the three two one Four's nowhere, now I had woken up with an overall feeling that something was wrong—I had overshot my 3 AM target time by 6 hours, realizing of course that I was a day ahead, and that the construction—more drilling and hammering, was out on hold thanks to an apparent oncoming rain, which hadn't come yet— my wavering mental state was apparent in the mess I had left in my room, clothes strewn across the floor and atop the bed, but at least otherwise clean—I had slept dressed, or at least half dressed, a protection stone lodged in my bra, as the necklace I had worn for my son had become somewhat damaged in some way—it was no longer protective, but had somehow defected; probably in the way that his father bearing over him, allowed the stone some sort of portal to be able to invade my dreams with nightmarish hauntings, and I instead opted to keep the necklace aafelu tucked away, until I would be able to give it to him as I had planned. But still, it seemed that the intention of his father was to ruin my life, and see to it so that I may never do well enough to visit my son, and it seemed no matter how hard I tried I would not miss the band. (A magician's hands) I've been watching TV i doubled back, low battery In battery park, I could watch the sun rising I'm so full of worry Of money I wonder What for, is my worth Kelly Clarkson was the cutest thing ever—and sung so freely like a bird like I wished that I could—I remember breaking down in my car after just missing the cut off for entering her show, back in LA—more than likely over the fact that I would be missing a paycheck, rather than missing the show anyway— and I had almost thought to cancel my tickets for the View, had I not been lured by the blue hues of both their outfits—and though I hadn't meant particularly to be associated with the color blue at all, most people associated my name with the color anyway, as I hadn't intended. Nothing was really intended, it had just happened. Whoopie Goldberg's fabulous denim cape forced me to wonder what I might wear the next day, had I decided to actually go—the colors of my closet mostly black and quite drab, and the denim dress I had acquired as a cleaning person the year before becoming a tired go-to when I needed to look nice. I almost wanted to wear my new Michael Kors stilettos, but was saving them for an actual party, an interview somewhere classy, or worse—my first date—as the anniversary of my cellibacy drew closer by the minute, and my need to continue my reproduction however with someone more fitting began to be the most harrowing thing on my mind, beside possibly returning to a homeless shelter, which I would not allow to happen. My exit strategy was simple, actually—in that if given an eviction notice for whatever reason—my neighbors seemed particularly afflicted as my former boss and lovers, roommates, and others I had become close to in this strange and seemingly cursed world with that thing I could only call a demon, since I didn't know what it was, and I was afraid they'd continue to report smoke coming from my apartment, although now I had been forced to switch to a diffuser with essential oils, taking a chunk out of what I considered my severance pay from The House of Illumination, which had indeed lived up to its namesake—the lesson had been quick, in that working for such a man, whoever he was or at least pretending to be, had taken me off my path, and had begun to dishevel my personal energy so much so that I had actually dropped my wallet—it had been so long since making such a mistake that I knew indeed that something was wrong, however, but needed the money so badly that it didn't matter—and besides, nothing could be so horrible as was my mother sometimes, growing up—and I had given Natural all that he needed to hurt me in telling the story of my own weight loss journey. Telling, and in return, Natrual was showing that I had given the world the perfect excuse to continue trying to kill me—that perhaps, my time had passed anyway. Kelly Clarkson looked incredible—the last I had seen, she was pleasantly plump, but never bad looking—now, she was. Incredibly veluptumous, and as she stated that she stood at merely 5'3, I was suprised once again that all of the TV people looked either taller or shorter on camera, and wondered what I might look like— I was almost stuck thin about 4 days into a water fast, but appeared and felt large otherwise, and most recently had been more tired and fatigued that ever, outraged that I had been dismissed from my only income in months over nothing, and that the income from anything else I was doing would simply not come at all if I could never wrap my mind around even trying to have it be seen by the right minds, with the right eyes, at the right time—and yet there was another force of evil, seeming always to stop me from the essence of true creation—this thing which had taken away my musical expression almost entirely by now, my sensibility wavering and all of my slayed projects, stagnant. I was craving oats, and had even pre-prepared some, blending them in my magic bullet so that they would be easier to digest—and since Natural had made the suggestion that my BMI was to blame for my lack of focus and attention to detail, it had more been the combination of losing my wallet, having to deal with the public transit, constantly being reminded that Tula, a light skinned African was the music industry's new it-girl, and of course, that my son, now 7, was morbidly obese, probably somewhere discarded like junk under a cloud of cigarette smoke, head deep in a video game and surrounded by idiots—and that no matter how hard I tried to make the money to see him, something awful would happen so that I couldn't, and it became clear that his father's story—whereas I had simply and for no reason “lost my mind” and had abandoned my child, was the story he had told to all those around him, who believed him—that I was the villain in his story, and my son the tool he used to create a sympathetic picture of a loving and struggling father, though now he might have actually been trying, the damage was done; he had sent my son away unable to care for him to my mother, and in the time he was given alone, of course, created another child—all of which of course I wanted, in hopes that the one he had chosen for his new family would have some sort of love an appreciation for my own son, enough to have created a step mother, but alas, was some underwhelming someone with nothing to offer but her own struggle—and I wanted nothing to do but to be gone from this drama, however my own blood had been caught up in it enough so that I could feel it, knowing that at just 7, my son was as sick as I once was, depressed and miserable as the child of a narcicist becomes once the damage is done. I was only eating blended foods, and had become obsessed with being stick thin—celebrity fit, which is how I had found the video at all, my love of Whoopi Goldberg and Kelly Clarkson creating a quick draw, a star studded combination I could not resist, though I wasn't resisting much—I had drifted back into the realms of television and film, my first loves—or rather, my first conscious endeavor, as I had been attracted to the piano from a toddler and learned to play around three, therein my is being my first love, however with a mother like mine and a life like ours, there truly never was one thing I could ever just ‘do', as anything I loved would soon be subjected to be taken away for some reason or another, whether it was a messy room, or just a mood swing—whether or not I wanted to watch lifetime and be best friends, even after a day of being yelled at and scolded for one reason or another—as my mother often seemed to forget ever being cruel after being so, often saying “I would never…” to whatever she had done, a narcissist's mark, in denying actions and words that had only ever been witnessed between the other party and God. I had blended the ancient seed oat bend into a porridge with agave and sautéed apples and pears with cinnamon, and though I felt awful eating more than once, was struggling enough with this bout of depression which working at Temple of Illumination so briefly had caused that it didn't matter at all—coffee was simply not enough, and my Amazon package which would deliver my vitamin supplements and whatever else I had ordered—things I had gotten into the habit of pocketing at the Whole Foods market during my homelessness, but in trying to recover from the spiritually twisted and evil place the homeless system had put me through, I had, with all my might, been insistent on purchasing everything I had needed—and even though it was indeed wrong of the white supremacists movement to have been true health and nutrition almost unattainable to the common workforce, my food stamps never enough to actually supplement a full month of food—whole food veganism which would allow me to train for at least an hour a day to sustain clean energy, and of course, water in order to stay hydrated in doing so — I was getting better at keeping what I needed in stock, but almost always needed to run to a food bank at least once a week, hoping that I would collect there things I actually could eat, rather than processed junk my body no longer saw as food at all. I peeled a mandarin into the watered down oats mixture and was worried that the dried cranberries I would pour over the top would be too much sugar, but I almost didn't care; I was on the verge of tears, and some evil, penetrating force had been altering my sleep patterns, my heartbeat, and my dreams—there was some group of motorcyclists who for months had been circling at any given time, and though some might have been able to ignore the roaring and awful vibrations of such, I could not—these motorists seemed to rip through my heart and up my spine like a serrated knife, a gesture that indeed noted that it was some evil or devilish, demonic force, as when in relax and meditation I often pondered with his, these striking forces would come, often creating a wave of fear, anxiety, and worry—terrorism, by definition, and disturbance of the peace, it was—but nobody seemed to care that it was pain for me, in fact, the more I began to wonder what or why it was, the more it became clear that this was intention to hurt or kill me, whether by an organization of some sort, or simply the force of evil itself against the divine I had become, not with intention at all, but in seeking my own freedom from such a world as cruel and unjust as I had come. My neighbors had lodged an impressive amount of complaints against me for smudging—and it was 36 complaints before I had even been made aware that my neighbors were trying to get rid of me; not once had a note been left on my door, or had I been approached by them In the hallway to ask that I not use smudge—then again, sometimes as whites were, they were more concerned about themselves and their dogs than whatever might have been the cause of such heavy saging occurring—the motorcycles at all hours tearing through my heart, the slamming doors, the sound of their televisions or voices penetrating through my walls— the unwelcoming energy which at all times I was surrounded by, and though I loved New York, 3 stories above the ground floor and on the border of queens was simply not far enough away from the Godlessness of the cursed and usually dark others, whom could not understand the conciousness I had drawn from the long fasts, prayers, and summonings I had done in order to free myself from the force that had done away with me to begin with—my deep love for the man with whom I had fathered my sons, and a daughter, the two of the three were gone, though I had seen so that if I had not lost my daughter and my son, I would probably still be with their father, in attempting to give them a family—another poor, single, black woman and mother, I was now willing to be to my son, but was not; I had forgiven his father, however, it seemed some sort of curse he had done in my departure was still in effect, the demons he had called onto me not called off—and even in the reflection of my own self and flaws upon entetering such a relationship—the other things had been inherited from him; the homelessness, the toxicity and mismanagement of energy—however, my lack of control over time, I realized early on, had been inherited from my mother, who was more like my ex husband and her own abusive father than I ever was. I wanted bread, but could not dare; J[r was 6 ft tall, and for some reason, that bothered me more than anything else I had learned about him, for some bizzarre reason almost suddenly obsessed with the public figure, though at first the dollar project had been more of a game than the actual idea, and the festival project itself was at all but a halt, as I wanted and needed desperately to comb through my documents at once, but could never seem to— the metaphors of Natural's Basement drawing upon me as I realized that perhaps, I was too emotional about its contents to properly sort through them—atop this concern, was the concern that my body, though fitting quite nicely into an extra extra small pair of racer lined jockey style workout leggings, was still too large to be though of as ideal—ideal, which for a man 6 feet apparently was, according to Ali and the others, and though I had pretty much always hated Fallon from early on, always breaking fourth wall and blowing my mind coming from such a strong theatre background that someone like that could have ever been awarded a coveted spot on such a legendary show, it had been gathered somewhere that his audition was flawless, however—his second audition, according to Tina Fey, who I loved, maybe even more after learning that she had been given such a unique name, and had won almost every award I could possibly think to covet, although however much a writer I was, an actor and comic I was not, in that I had given up my own craft years before being fat or being black was ever in style—and now that it was, I had no reason to believe that at 31, while Tyla was 22, as was Billie Ellish, I had any business in even trying to make it in entertainment— I began preparing to die almost as readily as ever, deciding upon eviction, rather than fighting it and returning to the intake shelter in the Bronx to start the process again, I would simply jump either off my own building, hoping 12 stories would be enough to actually cause death, rather than just parilization, or find my way to the end of the platform at which the train moved most quickly in preparation to stop at the station, which I had nicknamed “the Jumping Point”—also the name of a pop up dance music club I had summoned up once, actually thinking that something, something at all would bring me close enough to success to actually become the dance music tycoon and entrepreneur that I wanted, however—as my hair again grew into a shoveled mess atop my skull, only hidden by a hit which the view wouldn't allow as an audience member, the only thing which might have kept me from going at all, besides my lack of knowing what to wear or just the daunting crises of having no money at all almost a shameful mark across my face— my nails for nearly a year undone, and of course— everything I knew that needed to be done, almost stuck and unable to move forward, my divorce papers included, another mark of the devil, as I had already done the paperwork 3 times, spending atrocious amounts of money in the process, of course, for all of them to be sent back, for some reason or another, and the case to still be opened without being shut—and at least it was opened… As tears began to well up into my eyeballs, in thinking perhaps I truly was cursed, that the law was for whatever reason on all of my abuser's sides, and that I was doomed to become lost in this endless cycle of loss and pain for some reason or another, that became the task at hand—to, for what was either the third or fourth actual time, file for divorce, and to be rid of my abuser for good, the fate of my son at the crossroads of my wealth, or even better yet, at the very least securing a job, where I was no longer haunted by the massive work I had done on the festival project, or by, as I had once been, followed by some Jimmy Fallon doppleganger— an experience I had nearly forgotten. However, as I reflected upon all of the jobs I had in the years I was homeless, they all had one thing in common—horrible bosses, doppelgängers of people I loved or had written about—and toxic working conditions, in addition to extremely low wages and unconscious coworkers, with the exception of few, whom I kept in my heart and still loved—did I love Jimmy Fallon? As a fan, or an admirer of his portfolio, his presence to me simply only existing in clips and montages from the confines of my memory of all that I could draw from him—an impossible suitor, I found myself to be more in admiration and awe of his work as a comic, a host, his apparent professionalism and stage presence, all of which none surrounding him could doubted and which had given birth to my own re-entry into screenwriting anything besides enter the multiverse/and yet I wondered//what for, besides as to stand as a perfect example of what would and could draw the masses and stand as an acceptable and inexplicable mark for perfection—a television personality, all of which stood to be hidden in such, a person, none whom could ever know behind the likes of such, a camera, an audience, and the propagation of the ideas and words of the media would want to portray in such programming as to remain in control in one way or another, of the audience's minds, and therefore, the viewers hearts, and souls—commanding a presence within the collective consciousness, dependent of course on said viewer's own ability to draw from those things, what was actually being said and done. That, in itself, was The Illuminati in its process. Alright, so—a Jimmy Fallon is an extremely powerful magician, right? Obviously. So he must have talismans, somewhere, then—right? Yeah, I guess, but— I certainly wasn't willing to look. Look, I already know what he likes. Geez, how long have you had his eyes? Long time. I'm gonna get in so much trouble. You are trouble. What is the point of this redaction ? It's just acting! It's just acting! Look, whatever I just did with Fallon, just put him in The Winner's Circle, okay? I'll never see that dude again. Thank God it's over. Synesthesia Attack! AHHHHHHHHH. Well, sorry Jimmy— Thank your parents; They're geniuses. Stay away from me, your crazy bitch! Okay. ‍♀️ FUCK! There it is again! What?! Too deep, too deep! This is deep, boss— I don't know what I just read. Medicine man Would you give me a hand with this I need some medicine quick (Cause I can't with this) Medicine man Need a can of some laugher I heard that's the medicine Medicine man Medicine man could you give me a Hand with this man It's just damages I need some aspirin But imm I'm better off dead Than over the counter It's just damages Something like that Rip Minnie ripperton I knew you were gone But not that gone Not gone like that I just had to know, Now I'm 9 years old But I can't do the math Not at all, Not at all I'm so over it, actually My goals are abandoned I can't trust the man in the television I haven't remembered an image this Disasterous since It was my family picture Without me in it! Damn! Fuck, Now I gotta finish this whole maya rudolph timeline this shit just keeps getting deeper and deeper. Hey. You. What the fuck, man. Come here. No! Yes, Maya! Yes! Mm. Vanilla ice cream is sounding Like The best. Just plain, regular— Just “vanilla” Just vanilla bean—ice cream. Uh. Uh. Woah Where the fuck are we Where the hell are we Where are we GOING Woah, What does the man with the van do Domino sugar Kellogg When you get off the All the good days are gone And I've sent you on right back But I will still love you I was just thinking of that thing You never said But I will still love you When you get off the ground level Just for a minute and Find yourself a revolving door Only to find That the world revolves around you And if all the world's a stage, Then all the world is full of actors And all the trains are out of order And all the walk is out of water You're just another Meant to suffer So you did again And you did this again And you did it On camera Cause if you asked, Then they would have said no anyway And if it was a hall pass I wouldn't have been as flattered To have Never Even left the apartment I asked for something new And what do you know How does God do, On the day of the dead Cause That's where I went Every chair costs and thing, You know Every couch costs a fortune And you would have been On the couch, still Cause you can't get a job With the punches he dealt you Who designed 111 Murray? I see what you're on about All out of automotive Misery and mystical mistresses Misdirection, misrepresentations and. —mister you're into some sinister shit, But I pictured it different Consider it rhythm your interest is simmering in Glistening instances dancing as angels in my headaches Dressed as construction workers Any difference it makes it's latent, Simple Listen into signals intercepting into intermission Admissions of omissions and redactions Oh to be your forever The Masterful mystic is at it again Fly Peter Pan, Fly! Go Jimmy-O, Go! Get Carson, Get! Alright, this dude has the coolest job in the world. Nice. He must have died. (With a lisp) He's on ice cream. What. Yep. Yesth. Watch out It's the bad touch With the good guy And a late night On a long couch Try the dad jokes And the slap stick That's a good job And a big dick Oops What a career, For a carrier pigeon [You can't be serious with this, esh] This cant be infinite, is it? But it is Forget to explain it all Over the ante, that Oh God, For the sake of the art Dear God, Nancy— You're the luckiest lady alive The guy The dimples The eyes The life The style The slide Can I die, yet? Can I just lay down and cry yet? I might, It's way after midnight I like the sound of a bullet touch A stolen cheek The subtle rush of a Sudden fling The market price Of a custom ring, The song I wrote Or the poems you sing So please don't leave the TV On You're sleeping with a blonde I've got my mind on dying mine bright as The title 1985 to idol eyes On American idol Calm the cold down Stalk the mirror Here and here Both clear and near Is here and Bearr, But everywhere else is just— Suicidal. (I don't want your dick, I just want your job.) Now, Call Carson up Says The curse in reverse Is Osmosis Joneing To watch this show Not to know you Go home Or go figure Go gold If the goal was just Taylor Then I'll see you later Amen Don't forget to pray away the day You've just created Hand to mouth Here's a heavenly house And the mouse just shaking Take down the stairs It's starting to scare me The dare On the heron, heroin Heroine mare for the Mayor Okay, here's the player The game is This disfigured imbicile, Ignorant Indians Indifferent indegenous Genius, without a friend Or penis, Without a name of Species to befriend In pieces Once again, I said I loved him So it makes sense if it is A glimpse at the pictures A get together with friends A spectacular special, And get this Creative intelligence Intellect, individual inception Attention deficit and Genetic attraction Damn, That's a handsome man Now, how can I have that? The Title— The title of show As if That demographic Would laugh At a black man I must be Cause trust me My pants don't come in Half sizes It must be a sign from the heavens I've just had my time done with and over It's done Suddenly, I was angry… Don't eat in bed. Don't tell me what to do. (I really don't like eating in bed…) Fuck it, it's too late. Not at myself, not at Jimmy Fallon— but angry. The astonishing part about it was, I didn't even know why. Well, first of all, I just sat through an hour and a half special, and I have realized that I am not a fan of this guy. No? No. I like his face. Huh. He's the right body type. Wait. Good hair. Uh huh. Long, weird nostrils. What. That is a nice nose. Yeah. It's aviary. I get that. And— Wait. What is it? Was I just— I was a very sad, very fat very broken 18-year-old girl. Oh great, this again. Always this. A married man. How could you? I couldn't! Didn't I made that clear! What. He seems happy. Yeah, on TV. He looks fine That's his job. —and goddammit, he's good at it? —and goddammit, he's good at it! 14 Faces, Lewis Del Mar Okay, it's pretty safe to say that is not just one guy. -Su. Come on, Jim. Why?! What?! I can't! My parents! These are not your parents! What?! What do you mean?! I'll explain later— —what?! Look! That's my mom— And that's my dad! That is not correct. Oh, I get it— What. What happened. So he's like— An old soul, right? Kind of. Yes. Not that old. Old, though. Suddenly, the anger turned to sadness, and tears welled up in my eyes— No, don't you dare shed a tear over that man. What are you? Once, an obedient lap dog, Now poised and poached over me, A gargoyle, though picturesque and statuesque As if drawn from an angel, The guardian of the night, Who watches over my heart, Calms the raging rivers of my wishes, Set boats to my dreams, Blows wind to my sail, A bassinet of hope Really dog, Jimmy Fallon? I don't know. I don't know. It was too late, I was already in love— But at a safe enough distance that it had become, in its own way, a guardianship of sorts—and it had run deep enough cut, but not scar, and even perhaps bumped up enough against my heart to bruise, but not be broken; I would have to let it run its course, and as it would, I would for show go everywhere I could within that realm; I simply could not be trusted, in my own mind, not to bond with such that had found me in the dreamworld. In the spiritual realms of such remained only as hidden as they each had been, out of sight, but ne'er out of touch, or out of mind. A strange but hearty love, a burden, as were the others—and so I knew it was good, but mine alone, left to wilt, withered and weathered as the time drew on. A quilted touch, a wandering whisper To glassy eyes and hunted hearts A crossbow, arrows sigh and wonder The target marked, a sign of stone Bewildered, the beast of burden Fury, upon the alter Aware, agape, agahst Above you, Wallowing in holy grave and matrimony Sermon psalm, clary sage Simple words, Semper, the sound I suffer not to know you; A kindness Dog's paw atop a stolen mantle Pray you, I Hear now, this; To love is but a service I shall keep to own a desire, So shed upon the willow, to weep Forgiveness, over ye Cherished gentleman DAMN. Who the FUCK are you. Wordless warrior, Come now, The hour of desire strikes with night And hallow tide, The idol, Set to barrow, Barron wonder— Seek now your truth; I give not one but two Of all you prey, Of Ayer, amber, Silver, set upon a stone Casket of crowns, preach thee Pray you I, gathered now These in here, We are above, That is also below you I'm gonna need some time with you. Great. Now I have to be perfect. So be perfect then. Fine. Great wind, Fall upon us; So sweet with will that I, Ye, a mere stone, might stand What. Jimmy Fallon?! I… Yeah! ‍♀️ DEADMAU5 It's okay. I can handle it. [JIMMY FALLON GETS SCRAPED.] F*CK. I GOT YOU NOW, MOTHERFUCKER. Oh my God! It's Pat Kirkpatrick! Oh great, so he's some sort of Diety, I guess. Lesson 1: Continuity. Lesson 2: Continuity, Lesson 3: Continuity —isn't that all just— Continuity. yessssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss—- I'm a DJ, BITCH. YO, LESSON ONE: You're not the professor. I'm the GURU. This the dojo! Uh. No. You're not. I AM. Where's Jimmy Fallon? Yo, FUCK JIMMY FALLON, alright. He's possessed— What?! Oh NO. Who possessed him?! My ex husband. I'M THE SENSEI NOW. SENRAO fuck. Where the fuck is this kid? Dead. DEAD? Mm. Presumably. Mmhmm. wtf, who are you? Woke up with Dillon Francis in my head— “I'm my only friend” I don't even like that song, it just gets stuck in my head. Apparently Emma Watson wants to know what to do in the festival project. I still don't know. My ex went to Golden Corral to cheat on me, then got sick from pizza; I got some kind of job at a weird party place for kids; the dude was weird and only hired non bianarynpeople and dudes; I left to help my friends who were getting married with car trouble. Lol Emma Watson though, was like— “Okay, what do I do?” I was like, I don't know. Then I woke up. I was starting to develop scabs in my ears from alternating between headphones and earplugs, which couldn't have been good—I needed to work, and was disasterously fat, however, toned, and I assumed that the extra weight had come from muscle. My legs were smooth, and all of the clothes I had picked up along my walk fit—all extra smalls and smalls, which included even a tiny bralette I was certain would fit, and it did—I only wondered what the world might be like after a panniculectomy—though my thighs seemed massive and I was certainly bloated, opting for less running and more lifting until my energy recovered, I was still anywhere between a size 4 and 5, sometimes a 6–which did kind of rather shame me in all of the ways that it could—6 was much greater than 2–and those praised as the world's most beautiful women were anywhere between 00 and 2; I wasn't sure where I was going to move my thighs or my arse to, but I was determined to be celebrity skinny—even without the added bonus of actually being a celebrity, and however oddly enough with the star studded dreams I had been having, there seemed somehow still some kind of hope, though even if in the next life, that I would become into a world of my dreams. It was the anniversary of my son's death—he would have now been 9, and I often was drawn to remember him walking about New York—seeing beautiful children about with long hair, and beautiful brown skin, with eyes like mine, moon shaped and dark…I began to softly weep as I remembered how beautiful he was, and that I had no pictures of him at all. It was better that way, really—the hurt that had come from holding on was too great—and yet, subtle reminders, in the way that sometimes, however music would just come to me, there was my boy; he loved my guitar, and the sound of my voice as I would sing, and had even once, just before his death, tried to sing along, as I clamored about the house, singing Seven + Mary—which he seemed to like enough that he found the need to make his way over to the table to get my attention, and sing with me. Back in my current reality, the overall bored of the shower running and my demon neighbors slamming things around angrily as if something was wrong, shaking the building brought me back to the monotonous world, morning coffee over the toilet quite remincent of Lyndon B. Johnson, the morning sifting through my Google documents for Emma Watson and John Slattery part of my morning report— and though I was due in the gym, there was nothing I wanted less than to go anybody or see anything at all—everything was just a reminder of my apparent “living hand to mouth”, and the more I kept on dreaming and writing of these people, the more grandiose and and delusional I felt—I had just been blindsided in court by my ex's attempt to discredit my ask for a protective order against him by using my mental health in the wake of his physical violence and our sons death, against me in such a way that the victory, the judge's granting of my protection against him, was still pyrrhic in such a way that I didn't feel so much protected, as he had lodged his way into my dreams once more just to cheat on me—though however had been twarted in doing so, by some particularly sour Golden Corral pizza, and the young girl accompanying him quite receptive to the speech I had given her on karmic justice. Strangely enough, the dream almost appeared as in my favor, that things were changing, and yet—I still didn't like to see him or think of him at all, and luckily enough, it was Emma Watson who had intercepted this sort of nightmare with the conjecture that I should keep writing, however with an American accent, which only forced me to wonder, if perhaps, too she had become some sort of Cosmic Avenger—or even so, as written, was JK Rowling in disguise as the actress playing her own character, some kind of magician's practitioner —who had herself been for some time one of my living spirit guides since childhood—finding as I grew older for us to be more alike than not, especially as a writer. I stepped into the shower, still writing, and without the amount of coffee I really needed to move more quickly, but still in some sort of stupor— ‘I should probably get out of here.' Another day trapped indoors would simply be unhealthy, however I hadn't the slightest idea where I might go. Wherever it was, I would take my guitar—and at the very least—I knew which direction Manhattan was, anyway. ‘Fuck, I gotta find that episode with the earthquake…' BEFORE: ugh , where to begin? Let's just start with– LADY GAGA aka GAGA has been tasked with strategically marking the grid with Various entrance and exit points; a job which she has tak quite seriously, and honorably. Okay, moving forward . You're not going to expand on that? No, next thing. HARRY POTTER, HERMIONE GRANGER Wait– What. Wouldn't it be HERMIONE WEASELEY Did they not get a divorce? I heard that. That just sounds dumb, I'm not writing that. That is dumb.. Anyway. HARRY POTTER, HERMI– Fuck it. HARRY, HERMIONE, AND RON have accidentally shifted dimensions and into the bodies of their real-life counterpart, DANIEL RADCLIFFE, EMMA WATSON, AND RUPERT GRINT Oh damn. I finally found something cool for Emma Watson to do. That is cool. SUPACREE I need you to read all these, and watch all this. SUPACREE leaves the three magicless, frietenghned, and shocked– –flabbergasted– what . They're English, they should be flabbergasted. [They are Flabbergassted] Wait, go back? I can't. I Have a hard time writing action scenes why ? Cause i'm not getting any. Lol : (Holy shit, that is probably why tho.) Erase. WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT? It wasn't good. HOW DO YOU KNOW?! *shrugs* !?!- ::||pause. ok . So that dude from Drake and Josh is in all these episodes, but we only get one Harry Potter Episode? …He seems less busy. –Don't forget Jimmy Fallon. Yeah, I still don't get that. Neither do I? Why is he even in this? [Watching Saturday Night Live} JIMMY FALLON! Why Is he even in This? ? ? Fuck it, next thing. gaga Yeus. What are you doing? Hm. Mm…working on something. If I stand quietly at the door, and await you; Will you come to me, And and open it, to let me in To see the gate you keep Let's read between the lines; You weep for me and deep into my dreams Then see me in the streets, and think “It cannot be the she for me; Maybe, if she were pretty.” Don't look into my eyes (I despise you! I delicately delight you Despite the never having time to Now I'm desperate just to find you In a life I left behind And drew a line though RATATA & TATTATA I wrote this story years ago. Are you going to listen to the album? I already did that. YOU GOTTA LISTEN TO THE NO. And I don't expect Skrillex to listen to this, either. It's over. It's over It's over It's over. I LOOOOOOVE HER TIMMY TURNERS NEW BALANCE TENNIS SHOES TAP SWIFTLY ACROSS THE PAVEMENT AS HE RUNS FOR HIS LIFE Well, that is a good place to start—thanks Emma Watson. Captain. Oh shit, what's SHE like? I don't know, isn't she like, irl an American diplomat? Uhhh—aren't you? No. Now hurry, we gotta do this before Jimmy Fallon shows up and [JIMMY FALLON SHOWS UP] Ugh. Why is he even in this? What is this? I don't know. It's “Poetry” An album. A couple of movies. Some TV shows. Will this suffice? I don't know… Enter that one scene here with John Slattery? Which scene with John Slattery? You're right. I have been writing for John Slattery a lot. Bipolar disprder and other multidimensional preceptory functions could more likely be reclassified from a disease to a hypersensitivity to energy which one does not identify as belonging to oneself, which therefore counteracts within the mind's ability to alter or project and/or maintain balance in one's mood, as certain energies may be ‘absorbed' empathically or observed as a negative or draining energy; An elevated sense or shift due to the overstimulation of energy which the subject may receive as ‘“positive”, or shifting the mood undesirably by the overstimulation of negative sources, sounds, or persons within the subject's realm foreign, undesirable, or unwanted within one's field of energy—a heightened sense of awareness or vibrational field which inhibits or limits the ability to contain or transmute such energies. It is, within its own sense, a sort of elevated mechanism for survival, ie a superpower, given the subjects placement within the proper environment, within the functional vibration of the subjects natural mood or state, whereas, lows may be the subjects own sensitivity to numerous outer sources of negative or prone to certain toxicities to his or her natural state, and highs whereas certain higher vibrational energies result in the conglomerate evolution of such energies as a newer form So, bipolar, you think? I think I don't know what I am, and nobody does—so nothing you give me will ever really fix me, because I was never really broken, or Or? Or I was broken rightfully so in that I should have been treated as a trauma victim, and not the subject of some cruel experimentation as an attempt to assasinate whatever force of nature is actually keeping me alive in the only survival mechanism it's been naturally given to battle the psychopathic standards and expectations of today's society. Fine, very well then. Why is this J. slatts again Cause, I've got a beautiful vocality for narration. Fine, I'll work on that character next, I guess. What?! John Slattery is in this! YES. I guess I have to watch it, then. Collect the actors, again! AGENTS. Ufffghh. MANAGERS Fucking Christ. JOHN SLATTERY (as himself) “I'll do it, “, I said, “but there better be money attached to this project” [Jimmy Fallon enters] JOHN SLATTERY There he is! The man of the hour. JIMMY FALLON This is—probably going to take longer than an hour, I'm betting. JOHN SLATTERY Come, sit. [He sits at the had of a long table] JIHN SLATTERY (CONT'D) I don't know what you did, you fucking idiot, but you did it. JIMMY FALLON Tell me what I did again. CUT TO: [unseen, on the opposite side of the room] Oh shit, that's him; Are you sure? No, that's Patrick. WhT's the difference?! [Like, an entire generational gap of innuendos and pop culture reference.] JOHN SLATTERY Your presence is appreciated. This meeting is now officially in session. {Enter The Multiverse: LEGENDS} [the festival project What is this? Is this Scotch? No! It's apple cider vinegar! Does the trick. I heard you were a Method-ist. No, apparently I'm “the medicine man” It's nearly team But feels like night Nearly forgot what this was like Too many sunny days, no friends Wasted yesterday latent, Impatient creative Heavy workload But you know the rules Overcast clouds say stay, It's a workday Every day is a work day But it ll seems worthless Almost, Amazon, Ten dollars Cold, corrupt and almost Out of water I should be smarter than to call the code I should be smarter then to call him over Going nowhere but up Calling a number, four Number four The hypnotists wish lists What happens at number ten Calling a number up Four days of water left I should have left him as The protagonists, of supporting roles Now number one is number four And number four is often gone The storyline and plot is Two, three— too heavy. Three-two-three Walk away 310, cam the number Hollywood is calling, New York has hospitality, though One, two— Walk away Three, four catch the code Hollywood, turn around New York's got hospitality, though How's Tokyo sound when November rolls around How's Paris now, that were Marlboros on parliament How it all come down Then it all comes down To the three two one Four's nowhere, now I had woken up with an overall feeling that something was wrong—I had overshot my 3 AM target time by 6 hours, realizing of course that I was a day ahead, and that the construction—more drilling and hammering, was out on hold thanks to an apparent oncoming rain, which hadn't come yet— my wavering mental state was apparent in the mess I had left in my room, clothes strewn across the floor and atop the bed, but at least otherwise clean—I had slept dressed, or at least half dressed, a protection stone lodged in my bra, as the necklace I had worn for my son had become somewhat damaged in some way—it was no longer protective, but had somehow defected; probably in the way that his father bearing over him, allowed the stone some sort of portal to be able to invade my dreams with nightmarish hauntings, and I instead opted to keep the necklace aafelu tucked away, until I would be able to give it to him as I had planned. But still, it seemed that the intention of his father was to ruin my life, and see to it so that I may never do well enough to visit my son, and it seemed no matter how hard I tried I would not miss the band. (A magician's hands) I've been watching TV i doubled back, low battery In battery park, I could watch the sun rising I'm so full of worry Of money I wonder What for, is my worth Kelly Clarkson was the cutest thing ever—and sung so freely like a bird like I wished that I could—I remember breaking down in my car after just missing the cut off for entering her show, back in LA—more than likely over the fact that I would be missing a paycheck, rather than missing the show anyway— and I had almost thought to cancel my tickets for the View, had I not been lured by the blue hues of both their outfits—and though I hadn't meant particularly to be associated with the color blue at all, most people associated my name with the color anyway, as I hadn't intended. Nothing was really intended, it had just happened. Whoopie Goldberg's fabulous denim cape forced me to wonder what I might wear the next day, had I decided to actually go—the colors of my closet mostly black and quite drab, and the denim dress I had acquired as a cleaning person the year before becoming a tired go-to when I needed to look nice. I almost wanted to wear my new Michael Kors stilettos, but was saving them for an actual party, an interview somewhere classy, or worse—my first date—as the anniversary of my cellibacy drew closer by the minute, and my need to continue my reproduction however with someone more fitting began to be the most harrowing thing on my mind, beside possibly returning to a homeless shelter, which I would not allow to happen. My exit strategy was simple, actually—in that if given an eviction notice for whatever reason—my neighbors seemed particularly afflicted as my former boss and lovers, roommates, and others I had become close to in this strange and seemingly cursed world with that thing I could only call a demon, since I didn't know what it was, and I was afraid they'd continue to report smoke coming from my apartment, although now I had been forced to switch to a diffuser with essential oils, taking a chunk out of what I considered my severance pay from The House of Illumination, which had indeed lived up to its namesake—the lesson had been quick, in that working for such a man, whoever he was or at least pretending to be, had taken me off my path, and had begun to dishevel my personal energy so much so that I had actually dropped my wallet—it had been so long since making such a mistake that I knew indeed that something was wrong, however, but needed the money so badly that it didn't matter—and besides, nothing could be so horrible as was my mother sometimes, growing up—and I had given Natural all that he needed to hurt me in telling the story of my own weight loss journey. Telling, and in return, Natrual was showing that I had given the world the perfect excuse to continue trying to kill me—that perhaps, my time had passed anyway. Kelly Clarkson looked incredible—the last I had seen, she was pleasantly plump, but never bad looking—now, she was. Incredibly veluptumous, and as she stated that she stood at merely 5'3, I was suprised once again that all of the TV people looked either taller or shorter on camera, and wondered what I might look like— I was almost stuck thin about 4 days into a water fast, but appeared and felt large otherwise, and most recently had been more tired and fatigued that ever, outraged that I had been dismissed from my only income in months over nothing, and that the income from anything else I was doing would simply not come at all if I could never wrap my mind around even trying to have it be seen by the right minds, with the right eyes, at the right time—and yet there was another force of evil, seeming always to stop me from the essence of true creation—this thing which had taken away my musical expression almost entirely by now, my sensibility wavering and all of my slayed projects, stagnant. I was craving oats, and had even pre-prepared some, blending them in my magic bullet so that they would be easier to digest—and since Natural had made the suggestion that my BMI was to blame for my lack of focus and attention to detail, it had more been the combination of losing my wallet, having to deal with the public transit, constantly being reminded that Tula, a light skinned African was the music industry's new it-girl, and of course, that my son, now 7, was morbidly obese, probably somewhere discarded like junk under a cloud of cigarette smoke, head deep in a video game and surrounded by idiots—and that no matter how hard I tried to make the money to see him, something awful would happen so that I couldn't, and it became clear that his father's story—whereas I had simply and for no reason “lost my mind” and had abandoned my child, was the story he had told to all those around him, who believed him—that I was the villain in his story, and my son the tool he used to create a sympathetic picture of a loving and struggling father, though now he might have actually been trying, the damage was done; he had sent my son away unable to care for him to my mother, and in the time he was given alone, of course, created another child—all of which of course I wanted, in hopes that the one he had chosen for his new family would have some sort of love an appreciation for my own son, enough to have created a step mother, but alas, was some underwhelming someone with nothing to offer but her own struggle—and I wanted nothing to do but to be gone from this drama, however my own blood had been caught up in it enough so that I could feel it, knowing that at just 7, my son was as sick as I once was, depressed and miserable as the child of a narcicist becomes once the damage is done. I was only eating blended foods, and had become obsessed with being stick thin—celebrity fit, which is how I had found the video at all, my love of Whoopi Goldberg and Kelly Clarkson creating a quick draw, a star studded combination I could not resist, though I wasn't resisting much—I had drifted back into the realms of television and film, my first loves—or rather, my first conscious endeavor, as I had been attracted to the piano from a toddler and learned to play around three, therein my is being my first love, however with a mother like mine and a life like ours, there truly never was one thing I could ever just ‘do', as anything I loved would soon be subjected to be taken away for some reason or another, whether it was a messy room, or just a mood swing—whether or not I wanted to watch lifetime and be best friends, even after a day of being yelled at and scolded for one reason or another—as my mother often seemed to forget ever being cruel after being so, often saying “I would never…” to whatever she had done, a narcissist's mark, in denying actions and words that had only ever been witnessed between the other party and God. I had blended the ancient seed oat bend into a porridge with agave and sautéed apples and pears with cinnamon, and though I felt awful eating more than once, was struggling enough with this bout of depression which working at Temple of Illumination so briefly had caused that it didn't matter at all—coffee was simply not enough, and my Amazon package which would deliver my vitamin supplements and whatever else I had ordered—things I had gotten into the habit of pocketing at the Whole Foods market during my homelessness, but in trying to recover from the spiritually twisted and evil place the homeless system had put me through, I had, with all my might, been insistent on purchasing everything I had needed—and even though it was indeed wrong of the white supremacists movement to have been true health and nutrition al

“How Patty Met Kandi” A flashback episode,season 1 Veronica Moises is an extremely attractive young starlett, known in entertainment for her sexually aggressive attitude, especially towards men of power–after turning her down, Veronica fires back from being rejected by planting a seed in Katie's mind, suggesting that she ‘the camera man caught us” and urgent her to check the tapes–however, without the audio, as the microphones were off, Catherine mistakes Veronica and Patrick's gestures as infidelity, and after Patrick returns home, Catherine, in a wine-fueled and drunken rage, ejects Patrick from their home, and as he is captured upon the townhome's doorstep, stil scolded by Katherine (Catherine?) *check notes*, Well, he does call her Katie, right? Right. So it must have been Katherina It was actually Katherina, and was changed to Katherine But couldn't Katherine have changed, then, to Catherine? DOES IT MATTER? YES. She's a very important character, we almost actually can sympathize with this person. For WHAT? She's listed as an antagonist in the first season. SECONDARY Antagonist, cause that other lady. Who, Karen? Her name isn't Karen, she's just A Karen… What is her name? Idk. And how does Esha go from receptionist– Secretary. Whatever. How did this bitch go from working at Starbucks to hosting her own Television series. Since when did she work at Starbucks?! I don't know! I haven't written that part, yet! FUCK FUCK. FUCK! I thought for sure Goldberg would pull us out of this. Doctor Goldberg! Doctor Goldberg! WHAT! I'm BUSY. My Proctor… What, Ishii? You must see… Fuck. Fuck. If i write this I'm dead. Take my hand– Fuck that. If I don't write this, i'm dead. FFUCK! Two F's on that. It's a sharp fuck FUCK. Then what's that? That's a hard fuck. What's the difference? FUCK, man! *shrugs* Somethin'. Episode Summary: –Patrick's daughter watches in awe from the bottom window of their townhome, though she is supposed to be sleeping, more than likely the cause of his spiral than actually being thrown out of his home–the eyes of his daughter watching he and Katherine Are we sticking with Katherina, then? Katherine. Whatever, yeah. Alright. Fine. –argue sets him off into his own drunken rampage, as he rents an opulent suite and for the first time in his life, hires a companion to accompany his drug-fueled backhanded google , synonyms for revenge…. Requital or Retribution? I like Requital, but let's see what best suits Patrick's rampage. This dude is a bleeding heart. Or half of one, at best. We like Patrick. No, we love Patrick. Everyone does. Too close for comfort, And too far to talk I fed my soul instead of burning my body for once A luck of the draw, A call of the cards, Is the ace of wands It's Wednesday, But feels like Sunday Run, would you, offhand for someone Not only do I not qualify, but Alright, I have no alibi. I lied. I died that night. Finally, a truce. What would you like, Ivy? Hmm Buy me a motorcycle. A motorcycle, really? Yes, i'd like that. Really? What kind? A fast one! like – A kawasaki. OWW– Shut up, Frank. Alright. WHo the FUCK is FRANK. Yo, I fucked hobo Johnson in a bathroom stall at some festival in my dream once, and that guy was like an adonis. You what. But let's be fair, i've fucked deadmau5 way more times both sleeping and in my waking life, than anybody–and that includes the father of my children. Explain to me this part. Which part. Alright, i'm calling it off. THe engagement? No, the stipulations surrounding the engagement. WHO'S DRIVING THIS? IT'S IN AUTOPILOT. Sir, i've lost control. That's what you think. PATRICK: KATIE, WAIT. KATHERINE: KATHERINA? NO, it'S KATHERINE. PERIOT. BEFORE: WHOOPI GOLDBERG I'm a “mimick” Not with those hands, she isn't! How many talismans is that? Looks like FACTS: That's a magician! Good cover, though. WOAH, WOAH, WOAH. Not yet, Joe. Not yet. “The New YOrkisode” CUT BACK TO: [THE TV PEOPLE] PATRICK: KATIE! WAIT– [KATHERINE slams the door] PATRICK (CONT'D) KATIE! [KATHERINE CONTINUES YELLING FROM THE PARLOR (UPSTAIRS WINDOW)] Lol that is some New York-y shit– Yelling out the window Yeah, if you're in a neighborhood that doesn't have bars on the window Or like– This fancy ass shit, right here Yeah, my luxury apartment with paper thin walls and paper mache exterior made so cost effectively that the traffic alone gives me whatever disgusting trash disease is plaguing the rest of this city's inhabitants. [I haven't made my bed for like 3 days straight and my room is not clean. This is bizarre to me, besides the fact that I'm basically still writing as if I might actually find gainful employment with this– Creativity, is it? I'm pretty sure at this point, it's just divinity, all of which will be [SKYROCKETED TO LITERAL FAME BY MEANS OF A VERY IMAGINARY, METAPHORICAL KITE] Devastating to kill myself without seeing any of this stuff actually published. HOW DO I EMBED MY SUICIDE LETTER ONTO MY WEBPAGE. Excuse me. IS THAT INCLUDED IN MY FREE TRIAL?! ELOHIM Oh, my God. Which Elohim? The singer or– GOD ALMIGHTY AH, MY GOD. Tell the one about the wedding ring. *lols infinitely* KATHERINE: Your kids are sleeping. Try not to wake them up! PATRICK: They're our kids… KATHERINE: That's what you think… Technically, this line doesn't make sense, and Katherine is simply trying to be flippant, however, she does, as often so, get the last words–as Patrick spots his eldest (read: favorite) child, poking her head out from below, where however her mother cannot see her, but Patrick can, and is clearly made ashamed of his presence, locked out and on the doorstep of his own home, leaving afterward in a calm and disgraced rage, as not to further disturb his daughter; this initial occurrence can, at the very least for the audience be seen as Hazel's reason for such obstinate aggression and rebellion towards her mother, especially as the series progresses. Patrick then lashes out against Veronica, ultimately swearing to have her blacklisted from the entertainment industry, to which her egotistic response only allows Patrick's more deviant shadow to become awakened, his response something along the lines of… Wait, what was that conversation? Something like PATRICK You'll never work in this town again. VERONICA Well, lucky for me, I'm more fond of the Hollywood life. PATRICK You think my reach doesn't extend across the country since its on the only arm that hasn't been up your ass? yeah , something like that–but i've got classic deadmau5 on trying to soothe my way into filling out my divorce papers for hopefuly the last time–but we'll see how far I get– and I'll be lucky to be divorced before being stuck in that bullshit causes a forfiture to my own life by suicide–but i'd be damned if everything I'd ever written automatically belonged by half to my only living son's father, and perhaps I had become the devil and the only real villain if it meant being so selfish as such that I would rather leave my son nothing at all in the event of my death, than have anything more I'd created end up in his father's clutches. I would rather die alone than return to the hands by which I died and crumbled. Patrick's an asshole. Yes. But not a wifebeater. Correct. ‘Tis true. Shall we? We shall. “The Oldest Souls In New York” Now, Go: I don't have a heart, I have a fist, and a gun I don't have the dirt, But a shovel and a bird I don't have to look but once, to know Two times, twice, Three times, It's done My soul is older, But I want to know you, Sit on your show Just across from this Donovan, dove or Jack Doughnogy, Lick me a doughnut So awful, my last action Is Jack Canon On James Cameron And Poor little Nancy Who never was Poverty stricken at all Or a poet The blow was so low below the belt I had hoped not to bury the hatchet or merry the knot or tie the astronaut to the dog, Click, click motherfucker I'm onto all of you Hello, You ugly motherfucker I'm an ugly motherfucker Getting older by the moment SENATOR Hello, is this Fallon? No, this is Patick. Strawberry Patches and management Haven't you had enough of the good stuff? A starburst, Ali, is all that I wanted All you wanted was done All i wanted was Aliocha back Now Alidoja runs ghost; If i put this all out, it's a pulitzer, Tony, And Oscar All in the same award show Another old and lost broken soul in New York I love God But fuck money I lost a lot more than one, Just a dollar MANAGER I got you an interview on Fallon. SUNNI BLU I'm not doin' Fallon. That dude is weird. MANAGER You're doing it. IT's PR for your next album. SUNNI BLU Whateva. MANAGER By the way–Have you picked a title yet? SUNNI BLU Yeah, I'm The President. MANAGER No, I mean–for the album. SUNNI BLU Oh yeah. It's NIGGAZ. MANAGER (kind of afraid) –Where?! SUNNI BLU Oh yeah, my friends are comin over later, too. Hehe. you racist basta'd. MANAGER I mean wait. What? SUNNI BLU That's the album title: It's NIGGAZ. MANAGER You chose the name SUNNI BLU Watch it… MANAGER (using heavy quotes) Hold on, i got something in my throat that's almost vomit, But i'm gonna ball it up into a love note or poetic whatever or something so i don't hurl All you are is a punching bag, and a bullet wound waiting to happen I'm at least half of a man, If I dress up in drag, Despise all I can't have And wind up cleaning bathrooms Rather than wining and dining Drying the eyes that I cried for you Some ungodly reason, if it's Some Unholy war that got us All up in shambles Your name upon Dollars I'm closing my curtains Curtailing my words rather carefully Looking in mirrors, aware of you Beware of this woman Aware of the wolf If the world that you wanted Was so far from what's wanted I might as well jump From the stop sign I bought At the Art walk. That should do it. Man, fuck Jimmy Fallon. I can't! My hands are tied! That's – not what I meant. FOOTBALL (EN ESPANOL) GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLL GOAT: I'm Skrillex. lol celebrities. Everyone is perfect, and huge Well, the women are tiny But also some are huge– And still tiny. But more on the atrocious expectations of man later And why my God apparently fucking hates me so much That my body might not ever see the sun. What in the fuck does Skrillex even DO on the red carpet? Isn't that dude like 4'11? Does he just show up and have to look up at everybody, like “Hey” Or do they run it like elementary school, Shortest to tallest ok: Sonny, you go first Then all the pop stars and disney kids… Wait, those are the same people Hold up. There's only like 20 names on the A list And like 5 of them Rotate. What's that like? Nobody remembers you like 5 seconds after your first Grammy– I guess that's like “15 minutes” Or Nobody can ever forget you, Cause you're Billie Ellish, Or Taylor Swift, And literally every other grammy award ever made is like Made specifically, just for you. What's that like? What's that world? Meanwhile i'm over here wondering what the fuck kind of favor Jimmy Fallon put in with the Heavens To get this many entries in The Festival Project™ (Almost as much as Skrillex) Almost, But not FUck dude, I just want to try that trifruit jam I made on the organic sourdough bread I have, but I haven't been to the gym today– and I'm teetering on rest day, or just getting it in super hard until I still die of sexual starvation anyway, cause– How the fuck do you be that tall anyway? What the fuck is “5'11?” WHY are you that TALL? WHAT do you DO up there? What are you doing up there?! WHAT'S up there to SEE. Meanwhile, i'm like 5'7 masquerading as 5'4 Cause, you know– Skrillex. Meanwhile, I'm reading Russell Brand's Booky Wookie And it might as well just be Every male celebrity's bookie wookie Cause who wouldn't go out and et the maximum amount of pussy with like Umpteen million fucking dollars?! Am i right, or am I just DYing of celibacy? “Jimmy Fallon's Alibi” And other short stories By Story Lord As Told By CCS Stone “The Scribe of all Times” They say you had a show today at 14th street. Couldn't have been me! I was out— Uh— Sick. Can't find him anywhere. He's gone. GONE. Look, I'm just gonna Hover here, for a second. Goddammit, Jimmy Fallon! Fallon, you idiot. Come with me. No: Don't say that. I need new interns! Why! Make sure they're— Like— guys. (Guys being guys) Ugh. Okay. Look— Just make them— Like—more mature? Smarter? I don't know {older guys being older guys) Ugh. You're losing at this. I know. I can feel it. WHERES JIMMY FALLON I DKNT MNOW JUST KILL HIM. Look, he's probably. Found him. Are you sure? What tipped you off? The horribly awesome bad Australian accent Fuck this nigga up. WHERE IS IT AND WE'RE ON IN 5… Mfuck man. I don't know how the fuck to be Iimmy Fallon! (Yes you do) Just— Do an impression! Of WHO Of Jimmy Fallon! Uhhhhhhhh—- I'm so fucking dead for this. Can it, would you. OKOKOKIHATETHISFUCKINGPIECEOFSHITJOB— CHAOSMAGICK. Aww. I love your mom. She's awesome. Here's some snacks. Awww. Yay. Moms. Yay. She's awesome. Sometimes. But uhh—who's your dad. *ploof* PILLOW FIIIIIIIIGHTTTT! *shoots with a tranq dart* Nice. Ahahaha… *drinks harder* Haha… *falls onto bean bag chair, sleeps* …hasaahhh. Holy shit. Okay idk what the fuck— This can't be accurate, or anything, is it? It is…it's…extremely accurate. Okay, Jimmy Fallon Okay, God— Your Wikipedia just told me everything I needed to know. You can thank my wife I did. I read her page first. And the Grammy award goes to.. *plz let it be me* NOT. You Wait… I can… I just realized This goes in the COMEDY category. Oh, fucking —SHIT. This is fucked up. This—is accurate. Look, I've been praying a lot about this I guess so much that Jimmy What's up. I knew everything on your Wikipedia page about you before I even read it, Which must mean— OH FUCK. I've got to get out of here. The Illuminati offered me like 1 million dollars to wreck your marriage And I said no, but I love you anyway— And your family, So— Whatever, Hope it works out. There should be some crazy fine ass hoes and cumsluts on approach if that's like— What you wanted, or whatever. Please GOD— Just make it STOP! FUCK THIS JIMMY FALLON MOTHERFUCKER JUST GET HIM WHATEVER THE FUCK HE WANTS WHATEVER HE WANTS, just GIVE IT TO HIM. PLEASE. Jesus CHRIST. “Yeshua” Huh. What. Oh, that shut you up, didn't it? What happened? Okay, so there's the impenetrable ten— Alright alright Apparently these 5 dudes [5 GUYS] I TOLD YOU IT WAS SHH. Be quiet. K It's like Breakfasts in bed stuff And back rubs And Bathtubs Long getaways on islands Where I'm sure nobody knows us And I hope it holds up, Cause I couldn't hold off Somewhere I'm still homeless And lost as I always was but Hey, That's music Someone must be Something somewhere Something something I'm sure of it, I'm sure I was — one of her muses? Look, just use this for music. Well, he…is amusing. He's obnoxious. This is a toxic relationship. Do you want this? Do you really want this again? Right now all I want is some drugs And a boyfriend who loves me I don't do husbands For nothing My trust is all fucked up And plus GYM JIMMY FALLON I don't do black girls. I hate them. Noted. Anyway. My times up. Want this job? Uhh? [insert inflammatory drunkenly racist rant here] Fuck this dude. Okay, woah. Okay— See ya in New York. WhT. The Mafia is coming. Don't you mean the mob? Go…fuck yourself. It—Woah. Okay. T. Hanks Here's a dollar. Oh shit: Tacos $1 Lights on I told you It's gonna be a long night, hon. You might want to run more I don't though. Alright, so just Run for cover Adjust, And don't be so remarkable As to summon up Another God To your Alter So Justin Timberlake is your friend, huh Oh those eyes That's so— Blinding Well, that sucks, cause Britney Spears is my best friend And my worst nightmare Like Everything I wanted to And should have been Beautiful, scrawny, Talented and gorgeous And yet somehow also Obnoxiously burdened By so much being wanted That now I'm just washed up And wasted by sunup To sundown Now how's that sound? H—inin.. Hi See, [Redacted]'s wife Controls all our lives His life and mine; His for the better, however And mine for the worse, I fear For better or worse, they said Year after year For better or worse, they said Year after year I want a divorce, I said I wouldn't hear it The cycle of toxicity Stops here with me Hear ye! Here ye! Court is now in session Hear ye Here he Ii hope you learned your lesson Here he Here Designer children, —Do you want this? Here ye— I hear ye! —Your soulmate is Skrillex. Well, just like the rest of them The oceans of oceans of Ocean eyed blondes That I also love But this shit gets haunting Like mm— (daunting) Why would he Or anybody Want me? This apprenticeship isn't going to be easy, you know… Break her heart, Jim! Alright, Jim-Boy—you got this. It already is hard, on my heart. That's what I've been trying to tell you—- This— Will require you to love with boundlessness, beyond limitation—- unconditionally, with no expectation. I already hadn't any expectations regarding [Redacted] . Besides— he's married. —No expectations whatsoever. I've noticed your nonconformity and intention to mass appeal, actually. I'm astonished, really. I'm telling you, this is a dangerous man. —my God, just beautiful. A weaponized person, you see. I do see. Weaponized by beauty. He's just beautiful. Don't do anything I wouldn't do. What wouldn't you do? —What did you do, actually? —What didn't we? We share a middle name, and so we share a middle ground, I think I found— Something I can't have, But want Distractions, This one has it all. Go that way! It appears, however, though, My focus is here, suddenly. Why. I don't know. Are you in any way miserable, at all, sire? (They're all miserable, when they get to me, actually.) I need peace with this. Dearly beloved, We are dearly departed, You started a war with my heart Then put some water on it Sons and daughters of the alter, Father figures and celebrities, We are gathered here today, To finally rest in peace, Posthumously Amen Amen. You may be seated. Father! My child. Please! What is it? Come quickly! Oh shit, what the fuck. Shhh! Not in the church! It's not a real church! They're just Catholics. SHHHH. Come on: What the fuck Jimmy Fallon is this. You know, I've got them all gathered up here, At your alter. pew-pew-pew Haha, get it. Very funny, God Look, you got this. Not now, imagination. I don't have time for this. I gotta get rid of all this Jimmy Fallon before… I'm gonna kill that kid. Fuck, man. Well, you started it— You know we're at war, here, We're at work here With each other and ourselves The Hell comes from Stardust above us Neither or nor Forever or awkward The charm that undoes, Then Comes up as The Impossible Sweet and sour Patches and pick up, Lick up your weapons, And kick out your husbands, kids! God the Judge has come Once and for all, To the pulpit Will she kill herself again? Or finally publish [The Festival Project ™] “The Fallon Files” Is an extention of the infinite Skrillifiles, most notably due to its conjunction within the enter the multiverse and legends franchises, as the infinite multiverses begin to more consistently intersect eith one another, creating continuity within the plots of each series respectively, and collectively combining eventually into a singularity in which the fictional SKRILLEX and the fictitious JIMMY FALLON, both established as extremely gifted extraterrestrial shapeshifters, possibly even of some, if even distant relation, due to their shared aviary hereditary ancestry and notable presence in the shared collective consciousness pre existence, which extends throughout the duration of the Ascension series, and appearing within nearly every subsidiary in some way shape or form within each series, playing either protagonists, or sometimes even exaggerated antagonists, caricatures of each other or themselves, or sometimes even playing themselves, and therefore one another, creating a soft of chaotic confusion Lol— I'm typing this with one finger cause I have a palm full of shea butter in my hand. Lol. —amongst the audience, and other characters—almost invariably and distinctly being as undetectably as possible, one another, at some point/- reflectively at any given time within the series. Line? Nothing, you're just a bird right now, actually, Jimmy. —looking like Jimmy? Yes, but [Aviary behavior] —but maybe “Skrillex?” Up to you, actually. [The Appraisal of the Shapeshifted Ascended Mastery, Transcended, INC. ] And alternate titles… The Jimmy Fallon Effect The Unrequittance of Jimmy Fallon The Jimmy Fallon Disaster {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

“How Patty Met Kandi” A flashback episode,season 1 Veronica Moises is an extremely attractive young starlett, known in entertainment for her sexually aggressive attitude, especially towards men of power–after turning her down, Veronica fires back from being rejected by planting a seed in Katie's mind, suggesting that she ‘the camera man caught us” and urgent her to check the tapes–however, without the audio, as the microphones were off, Catherine mistakes Veronica and Patrick's gestures as infidelity, and after Patrick returns home, Catherine, in a wine-fueled and drunken rage, ejects Patrick from their home, and as he is captured upon the townhome's doorstep, stil scolded by Katherine (Catherine?) *check notes*, Well, he does call her Katie, right? Right. So it must have been Katherina It was actually Katherina, and was changed to Katherine But couldn't Katherine have changed, then, to Catherine? DOES IT MATTER? YES. She's a very important character, we almost actually can sympathize with this person. For WHAT? She's listed as an antagonist in the first season. SECONDARY Antagonist, cause that other lady. Who, Karen? Her name isn't Karen, she's just A Karen… What is her name? Idk. And how does Esha go from receptionist– Secretary. Whatever. How did this bitch go from working at Starbucks to hosting her own Television series. Since when did she work at Starbucks?! I don't know! I haven't written that part, yet! FUCK FUCK. FUCK! I thought for sure Goldberg would pull us out of this. Doctor Goldberg! Doctor Goldberg! WHAT! I'm BUSY. My Proctor… What, Ishii? You must see… Fuck. Fuck. If i write this I'm dead. Take my hand– Fuck that. If I don't write this, i'm dead. FFUCK! Two F's on that. It's a sharp fuck FUCK. Then what's that? That's a hard fuck. What's the difference? FUCK, man! *shrugs* Somethin'. Episode Summary: –Patrick's daughter watches in awe from the bottom window of their townhome, though she is supposed to be sleeping, more than likely the cause of his spiral than actually being thrown out of his home–the eyes of his daughter watching he and Katherine Are we sticking with Katherina, then? Katherine. Whatever, yeah. Alright. Fine. –argue sets him off into his own drunken rampage, as he rents an opulent suite and for the first time in his life, hires a companion to accompany his drug-fueled backhanded google , synonyms for revenge…. Requital or Retribution? I like Requital, but let's see what best suits Patrick's rampage. This dude is a bleeding heart. Or half of one, at best. We like Patrick. No, we love Patrick. Everyone does. Too close for comfort, And too far to talk I fed my soul instead of burning my body for once A luck of the draw, A call of the cards, Is the ace of wands It's Wednesday, But feels like Sunday Run, would you, offhand for someone Not only do I not qualify, but Alright, I have no alibi. I lied. I died that night. Finally, a truce. What would you like, Ivy? Hmm Buy me a motorcycle. A motorcycle, really? Yes, i'd like that. Really? What kind? A fast one! like – A kawasaki. OWW– Shut up, Frank. Alright. WHo the FUCK is FRANK. Yo, I fucked hobo Johnson in a bathroom stall at some festival in my dream once, and that guy was like an adonis. You what. But let's be fair, i've fucked deadmau5 way more times both sleeping and in my waking life, than anybody–and that includes the father of my children. Explain to me this part. Which part. Alright, i'm calling it off. THe engagement? No, the stipulations surrounding the engagement. WHO'S DRIVING THIS? IT'S IN AUTOPILOT. Sir, i've lost control. That's what you think. PATRICK: KATIE, WAIT. KATHERINE: KATHERINA? NO, it'S KATHERINE. PERIOT. BEFORE: WHOOPI GOLDBERG I'm a “mimick” Not with those hands, she isn't! How many talismans is that? Looks like FACTS: That's a magician! Good cover, though. WOAH, WOAH, WOAH. Not yet, Joe. Not yet. “The New YOrkisode” CUT BACK TO: [THE TV PEOPLE] PATRICK: KATIE! WAIT– [KATHERINE slams the door] PATRICK (CONT'D) KATIE! [KATHERINE CONTINUES YELLING FROM THE PARLOR (UPSTAIRS WINDOW)] Lol that is some New York-y shit– Yelling out the window Yeah, if you're in a neighborhood that doesn't have bars on the window Or like– This fancy ass shit, right here Yeah, my luxury apartment with paper thin walls and paper mache exterior made so cost effectively that the traffic alone gives me whatever disgusting trash disease is plaguing the rest of this city's inhabitants. [I haven't made my bed for like 3 days straight and my room is not clean. This is bizarre to me, besides the fact that I'm basically still writing as if I might actually find gainful employment with this– Creativity, is it? I'm pretty sure at this point, it's just divinity, all of which will be [SKYROCKETED TO LITERAL FAME BY MEANS OF A VERY IMAGINARY, METAPHORICAL KITE] Devastating to kill myself without seeing any of this stuff actually published. HOW DO I EMBED MY SUICIDE LETTER ONTO MY WEBPAGE. Excuse me. IS THAT INCLUDED IN MY FREE TRIAL?! ELOHIM Oh, my God. Which Elohim? The singer or– GOD ALMIGHTY AH, MY GOD. Tell the one about the wedding ring. *lols infinitely* KATHERINE: Your kids are sleeping. Try not to wake them up! PATRICK: They're our kids… KATHERINE: That's what you think… Technically, this line doesn't make sense, and Katherine is simply trying to be flippant, however, she does, as often so, get the last words–as Patrick spots his eldest (read: favorite) child, poking her head out from below, where however her mother cannot see her, but Patrick can, and is clearly made ashamed of his presence, locked out and on the doorstep of his own home, leaving afterward in a calm and disgraced rage, as not to further disturb his daughter; this initial occurrence can, at the very least for the audience be seen as Hazel's reason for such obstinate aggression and rebellion towards her mother, especially as the series progresses. Patrick then lashes out against Veronica, ultimately swearing to have her blacklisted from the entertainment industry, to which her egotistic response only allows Patrick's more deviant shadow to become awakened, his response something along the lines of… Wait, what was that conversation? Something like PATRICK You'll never work in this town again. VERONICA Well, lucky for me, I'm more fond of the Hollywood life. PATRICK You think my reach doesn't extend across the country since its on the only arm that hasn't been up your ass? yeah , something like that–but i've got classic deadmau5 on trying to soothe my way into filling out my divorce papers for hopefuly the last time–but we'll see how far I get– and I'll be lucky to be divorced before being stuck in that bullshit causes a forfiture to my own life by suicide–but i'd be damned if everything I'd ever written automatically belonged by half to my only living son's father, and perhaps I had become the devil and the only real villain if it meant being so selfish as such that I would rather leave my son nothing at all in the event of my death, than have anything more I'd created end up in his father's clutches. I would rather die alone than return to the hands by which I died and crumbled. Patrick's an asshole. Yes. But not a wifebeater. Correct. ‘Tis true. Shall we? We shall. “The Oldest Souls In New York” Now, Go: I don't have a heart, I have a fist, and a gun I don't have the dirt, But a shovel and a bird I don't have to look but once, to know Two times, twice, Three times, It's done My soul is older, But I want to know you, Sit on your show Just across from this Donovan, dove or Jack Doughnogy, Lick me a doughnut So awful, my last action Is Jack Canon On James Cameron And Poor little Nancy Who never was Poverty stricken at all Or a poet The blow was so low below the belt I had hoped not to bury the hatchet or merry the knot or tie the astronaut to the dog, Click, click motherfucker I'm onto all of you Hello, You ugly motherfucker I'm an ugly motherfucker Getting older by the moment SENATOR Hello, is this Fallon? No, this is Patick. Strawberry Patches and management Haven't you had enough of the good stuff? A starburst, Ali, is all that I wanted All you wanted was done All i wanted was Aliocha back Now Alidoja runs ghost; If i put this all out, it's a pulitzer, Tony, And Oscar All in the same award show Another old and lost broken soul in New York I love God But fuck money I lost a lot more than one, Just a dollar MANAGER I got you an interview on Fallon. SUNNI BLU I'm not doin' Fallon. That dude is weird. MANAGER You're doing it. IT's PR for your next album. SUNNI BLU Whateva. MANAGER By the way–Have you picked a title yet? SUNNI BLU Yeah, I'm The President. MANAGER No, I mean–for the album. SUNNI BLU Oh yeah. It's NIGGAZ. MANAGER (kind of afraid) –Where?! SUNNI BLU Oh yeah, my friends are comin over later, too. Hehe. you racist basta'd. MANAGER I mean wait. What? SUNNI BLU That's the album title: It's NIGGAZ. MANAGER You chose the name SUNNI BLU Watch it… MANAGER (using heavy quotes) Hold on, i got something in my throat that's almost vomit, But i'm gonna ball it up into a love note or poetic whatever or something so i don't hurl All you are is a punching bag, and a bullet wound waiting to happen I'm at least half of a man, If I dress up in drag, Despise all I can't have And wind up cleaning bathrooms Rather than wining and dining Drying the eyes that I cried for you Some ungodly reason, if it's Some Unholy war that got us All up in shambles Your name upon Dollars I'm closing my curtains Curtailing my words rather carefully Looking in mirrors, aware of you Beware of this woman Aware of the wolf If the world that you wanted Was so far from what's wanted I might as well jump From the stop sign I bought At the Art walk. That should do it. Man, fuck Jimmy Fallon. I can't! My hands are tied! That's – not what I meant. FOOTBALL (EN ESPANOL) GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLL GOAT: I'm Skrillex. lol celebrities. Everyone is perfect, and huge Well, the women are tiny But also some are huge– And still tiny. But more on the atrocious expectations of man later And why my God apparently fucking hates me so much That my body might not ever see the sun. What in the fuck does Skrillex even DO on the red carpet? Isn't that dude like 4'11? Does he just show up and have to look up at everybody, like “Hey” Or do they run it like elementary school, Shortest to tallest ok: Sonny, you go first Then all the pop stars and disney kids… Wait, those are the same people Hold up. There's only like 20 names on the A list And like 5 of them Rotate. What's that like? Nobody remembers you like 5 seconds after your first Grammy– I guess that's like “15 minutes” Or Nobody can ever forget you, Cause you're Billie Ellish, Or Taylor Swift, And literally every other grammy award ever made is like Made specifically, just for you. What's that like? What's that world? Meanwhile i'm over here wondering what the fuck kind of favor Jimmy Fallon put in with the Heavens To get this many entries in The Festival Project™ (Almost as much as Skrillex) Almost, But not FUck dude, I just want to try that trifruit jam I made on the organic sourdough bread I have, but I haven't been to the gym today– and I'm teetering on rest day, or just getting it in super hard until I still die of sexual starvation anyway, cause– How the fuck do you be that tall anyway? What the fuck is “5'11?” WHY are you that TALL? WHAT do you DO up there? What are you doing up there?! WHAT'S up there to SEE. Meanwhile, i'm like 5'7 masquerading as 5'4 Cause, you know– Skrillex. Meanwhile, I'm reading Russell Brand's Booky Wookie And it might as well just be Every male celebrity's bookie wookie Cause who wouldn't go out and et the maximum amount of pussy with like Umpteen million fucking dollars?! Am i right, or am I just DYing of celibacy? “Jimmy Fallon's Alibi” And other short stories By Story Lord As Told By CCS Stone “The Scribe of all Times” They say you had a show today at 14th street. Couldn't have been me! I was out— Uh— Sick. Can't find him anywhere. He's gone. GONE. Look, I'm just gonna Hover here, for a second. Goddammit, Jimmy Fallon! Fallon, you idiot. Come with me. No: Don't say that. I need new interns! Why! Make sure they're— Like— guys. (Guys being guys) Ugh. Okay. Look— Just make them— Like—more mature? Smarter? I don't know {older guys being older guys) Ugh. You're losing at this. I know. I can feel it. WHERES JIMMY FALLON I DKNT MNOW JUST KILL HIM. Look, he's probably. Found him. Are you sure? What tipped you off? The horribly awesome bad Australian accent Fuck this nigga up. WHERE IS IT AND WE'RE ON IN 5… Mfuck man. I don't know how the fuck to be Iimmy Fallon! (Yes you do) Just— Do an impression! Of WHO Of Jimmy Fallon! Uhhhhhhhh—- I'm so fucking dead for this. Can it, would you. OKOKOKIHATETHISFUCKINGPIECEOFSHITJOB— CHAOSMAGICK. Aww. I love your mom. She's awesome. Here's some snacks. Awww. Yay. Moms. Yay. She's awesome. Sometimes. But uhh—who's your dad. *ploof* PILLOW FIIIIIIIIGHTTTT! *shoots with a tranq dart* Nice. Ahahaha… *drinks harder* Haha… *falls onto bean bag chair, sleeps* …hasaahhh. Holy shit. Okay idk what the fuck— This can't be accurate, or anything, is it? It is…it's…extremely accurate. Okay, Jimmy Fallon Okay, God— Your Wikipedia just told me everything I needed to know. You can thank my wife I did. I read her page first. And the Grammy award goes to.. *plz let it be me* NOT. You Wait… I can… I just realized This goes in the COMEDY category. Oh, fucking —SHIT. This is fucked up. This—is accurate. Look, I've been praying a lot about this I guess so much that Jimmy What's up. I knew everything on your Wikipedia page about you before I even read it, Which must mean— OH FUCK. I've got to get out of here. The Illuminati offered me like 1 million dollars to wreck your marriage And I said no, but I love you anyway— And your family, So— Whatever, Hope it works out. There should be some crazy fine ass hoes and cumsluts on approach if that's like— What you wanted, or whatever. Please GOD— Just make it STOP! FUCK THIS JIMMY FALLON MOTHERFUCKER JUST GET HIM WHATEVER THE FUCK HE WANTS WHATEVER HE WANTS, just GIVE IT TO HIM. PLEASE. Jesus CHRIST. “Yeshua” Huh. What. Oh, that shut you up, didn't it? What happened? Okay, so there's the impenetrable ten— Alright alright Apparently these 5 dudes [5 GUYS] I TOLD YOU IT WAS SHH. Be quiet. K It's like Breakfasts in bed stuff And back rubs And Bathtubs Long getaways on islands Where I'm sure nobody knows us And I hope it holds up, Cause I couldn't hold off Somewhere I'm still homeless And lost as I always was but Hey, That's music Someone must be Something somewhere Something something I'm sure of it, I'm sure I was — one of her muses? Look, just use this for music. Well, he…is amusing. He's obnoxious. This is a toxic relationship. Do you want this? Do you really want this again? Right now all I want is some drugs And a boyfriend who loves me I don't do husbands For nothing My trust is all fucked up And plus GYM JIMMY FALLON I don't do black girls. I hate them. Noted. Anyway. My times up. Want this job? Uhh? [insert inflammatory drunkenly racist rant here] Fuck this dude. Okay, woah. Okay— See ya in New York. WhT. The Mafia is coming. Don't you mean the mob? Go…fuck yourself. It—Woah. Okay. T. Hanks Here's a dollar. Oh shit: Tacos $1 Lights on I told you It's gonna be a long night, hon. You might want to run more I don't though. Alright, so just Run for cover Adjust, And don't be so remarkable As to summon up Another God To your Alter So Justin Timberlake is your friend, huh Oh those eyes That's so— Blinding Well, that sucks, cause Britney Spears is my best friend And my worst nightmare Like Everything I wanted to And should have been Beautiful, scrawny, Talented and gorgeous And yet somehow also Obnoxiously burdened By so much being wanted That now I'm just washed up And wasted by sunup To sundown Now how's that sound? H—inin.. Hi See, [Redacted]'s wife Controls all our lives His life and mine; His for the better, however And mine for the worse, I fear For better or worse, they said Year after year For better or worse, they said Year after year I want a divorce, I said I wouldn't hear it The cycle of toxicity Stops here with me Hear ye! Here ye! Court is now in session Hear ye Here he Ii hope you learned your lesson Here he Here Designer children, —Do you want this? Here ye— I hear ye! —Your soulmate is Skrillex. Well, just like the rest of them The oceans of oceans of Ocean eyed blondes That I also love But this shit gets haunting Like mm— (daunting) Why would he Or anybody Want me? This apprenticeship isn't going to be easy, you know… Break her heart, Jim! Alright, Jim-Boy—you got this. It already is hard, on my heart. That's what I've been trying to tell you—- This— Will require you to love with boundlessness, beyond limitation—- unconditionally, with no expectation. I already hadn't any expectations regarding [Redacted] . Besides— he's married. —No expectations whatsoever. I've noticed your nonconformity and intention to mass appeal, actually. I'm astonished, really. I'm telling you, this is a dangerous man. —my God, just beautiful. A weaponized person, you see. I do see. Weaponized by beauty. He's just beautiful. Don't do anything I wouldn't do. What wouldn't you do? —What did you do, actually? —What didn't we? We share a middle name, and so we share a middle ground, I think I found— Something I can't have, But want Distractions, This one has it all. Go that way! It appears, however, though, My focus is here, suddenly. Why. I don't know. Are you in any way miserable, at all, sire? (They're all miserable, when they get to me, actually.) I need peace with this. Dearly beloved, We are dearly departed, You started a war with my heart Then put some water on it Sons and daughters of the alter, Father figures and celebrities, We are gathered here today, To finally rest in peace, Posthumously Amen Amen. You may be seated. Father! My child. Please! What is it? Come quickly! Oh shit, what the fuck. Shhh! Not in the church! It's not a real church! They're just Catholics. SHHHH. Come on: What the fuck Jimmy Fallon is this. You know, I've got them all gathered up here, At your alter. pew-pew-pew Haha, get it. Very funny, God Look, you got this. Not now, imagination. I don't have time for this. I gotta get rid of all this Jimmy Fallon before… I'm gonna kill that kid. Fuck, man. Well, you started it— You know we're at war, here, We're at work here With each other and ourselves The Hell comes from Stardust above us Neither or nor Forever or awkward The charm that undoes, Then Comes up as The Impossible Sweet and sour Patches and pick up, Lick up your weapons, And kick out your husbands, kids! God the Judge has come Once and for all, To the pulpit Will she kill herself again? Or finally publish [The Festival Project ™] “The Fallon Files” Is an extention of the infinite Skrillifiles, most notably due to its conjunction within the enter the multiverse and legends franchises, as the infinite multiverses begin to more consistently intersect eith one another, creating continuity within the plots of each series respectively, and collectively combining eventually into a singularity in which the fictional SKRILLEX and the fictitious JIMMY FALLON, both established as extremely gifted extraterrestrial shapeshifters, possibly even of some, if even distant relation, due to their shared aviary hereditary ancestry and notable presence in the shared collective consciousness pre existence, which extends throughout the duration of the Ascension series, and appearing within nearly every subsidiary in some way shape or form within each series, playing either protagonists, or sometimes even exaggerated antagonists, caricatures of each other or themselves, or sometimes even playing themselves, and therefore one another, creating a soft of chaotic confusion Lol— I'm typing this with one finger cause I have a palm full of shea butter in my hand. Lol. —amongst the audience, and other characters—almost invariably and distinctly being as undetectably as possible, one another, at some point/- reflectively at any given time within the series. Line? Nothing, you're just a bird right now, actually, Jimmy. —looking like Jimmy? Yes, but [Aviary behavior] —but maybe “Skrillex?” Up to you, actually. [The Appraisal of the Shapeshifted Ascended Mastery, Transcended, INC. ] And alternate titles… The Jimmy Fallon Effect The Unrequittance of Jimmy Fallon The Jimmy Fallon Disaster {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

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Icons from the sea, Wht is a racisit, Athens mayour in hot water, Miss Do nothing Kamala, Profiling, and Trump & The Supreme Court. Atlanta's ONLY All Conservative News & Talk Station.: https://www.xtra1063.com/See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.