I can't fall for this again—

Another rich and handsome man—

A dream he wants to be my friend

A dream he wants to hold my hand

Oh look,

Another dance for anthem

Look,

I'm just another fan

No, I can't fall for this again

—but they would go against the plan

A simple programming error,

Lips the color of a pomagranite

Circle on the palm,

And then , of course,

We press the center

And look, here we are again

Another life,

Another love

A new wife—

Another husband

Honest?

I'm just good with fucking

—aha

I just want to fuck you

I got love, but what it good for

Look at me, or look at nothing!

Look,

I'm just good with fucking

Check the news for new engagements

Fucking sick and fucking tragic

Nothing more than actors,

DJs, drinks and addicts

Look,

I'm just a happy accident—

I still hate Dillon Francis

And I never wanted Skrillex:

That shit never even happened!

Have you had enough yet?!

Carrot cake does sound good

Ten karat long engagement ring—

Is that a lot?

I'm just a homeless

Look, I'm just another DJ

Some fake model stole it

Some would call it occult Magic

—honest?

I just want some dick, man

Fuck it

—aha

I just want to fuck you

I got love, but what it good for

Look at me, or look at nothing!

Look,

I'm just good with fucking

You know why you like me?!

Yes, I know why I like you—

Cause I'm rich!

—no, actually—it's because you're smart.

Where in the fuck are you going?

I don't know yet.

Well, know faster—we have company.

Fuck.

Destroy every bit of evidence.

Ok.

—and make sure nobody sees you.

Yeah, right!

YO.

Why the fuck are you here, Timmy?

I told you, I'm not Timmy.

I don't give a fuck who you are—where's my money?

It's— it's on the way, I promise.

I'm don't take well tk promises, Timmy.

What do you take well to?

Money.

FUCK.

What!

FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!

What?!

We're too late, she's gone!

Goddammit.

—She was already here!

FUCK.

FUCK.

FUCK!

>>> FUCK!

How do you know?

—there's glitter, everywhere.

Is it gone?

It's gone?

ALL OF IT.

TIMMY TRUMPET plays a SKRILLEX.

Etto, Timmy?!

Oh shit, another Timmy.

That's weird. I was just thinking he about Skrillex.

Why.

Timmy, put a shirt on.

That's it.

What.

You can't be hot and play the trumpet.

Why.

One thing's gotta go.

THE DEVIL takes away Timmy Trumpet's ability to play the trumpet.

WHAT.

Can't have both.

Well, I don't really need both now, do I?

When I'm in a tough spot I have to listen to deadmau5

—something about the precision and frequencies out my brain somewhere between auropilot and dead space.

I don't know.

I've done just about everything you can think of listening to deadmau5.

Almost.

But, I noticed—

Working out to deadmau5 is strange.

It puts me in some kind of vibration where people notice me—

Not just notice me.

People are suddenly “impressed” with whatever it is I'm doing.

And it's usually something regular as fuck—

I'm just doing it to deadmau5.

And for some reason, people are like

“Wooooow!!”

Okay, whatever.

I used to work out to Skrillex.

Actually.

I used to work out to only Skrillex.

I don't know if its just because I was fat, or cause I liked Skrillex.

Now its like running a serrated knife up my spine.

I started to figure out I was kind of famou—

Kind of—

When I showed up at the gym and Skrillex songs kept coming on

I'm like

“This is what I get for doing nothing but free trials”

But hey,

You try finding a gym in the shitty areas of New York worth paying for.

It's very hard.

The crazy thing about this story is—

There's a lot of crazy things about this story, actually.

EXT. BASKETBALL COURT. DAY.

Alright— shirts and skins —Shirt—Skin Shirt,Skin—

Uhh! Nah. I wanna be “shirts”

Why dude?! Your girl's mad hot!

So?!

So I know you got it goin on! Look at you!

I'm mad rich!

Yeah—but girls always cheat on flabby rich dudes! With hotter dudes.

My girlfriend might be cheating on me!

Yeah—She's not, though.

How do you know?

Cause I tried!

Yeah. Take your shirt off.

No—uh! How do you know she's just not into you!

Because! He tried—

HE tried!

You sell out.

And Andre tried—

[ANDRE is tall (about 6'9 dark, and handsome]

—you too, bro?

[ANDRE shrugs nonchalantly]

That's an NBA player—

What the FUCK, YO.

—and she said NO.

ANDRE

Yup. Shot me down.

Oh really—from all the way up there?!

Face it, man! You're fuckin hot!

I don't like the way that sounds coming from you—

Take your shirt off!

Were you this aggressive with my girl?!

Don't be like that…

Nah— fuck you!

Yo! C'mon, man—

And you three!

You're holding up the game getting mad over nothing. It's Hollywood!

It's Beverly Hills!

—Exactly my point!

You're new here—you'll catch on.

You know what!

I'm shirts—you're skins—Game on.

[SUNNI BLU goes beast mode and plays the dirtiest, most whoopass game in history—out of spite and anger of the toxic masculinity; this of course earns SUNNI BLU even more respect as a “man's man”]

Later: as the owner of the clippers, sunni BLU trades “Andre” to the worst basketball team in history.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

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ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.