She's REAL! I'm telling you she is.
Sweetie, I know you have had a lot going on lately, but—
I'm serious! She was sitting in the audience! She had the same glasses on and everything!
The likelyhood that I might actually be belonging into a hive mind has recently kept me from furiously masturbating.
Bad news for the helicopter making a habit of hovering outside my window.
Here's hoping she's dressed this time!
A frustrated present day Drew Barrymore sees a familiar face in the audience of her hit daytime tv show—formerly thought of as her imaginary friend, from a very young age, Ms. Drew Barrymore has not seen the mysterious figure since her first major film role, after which she mysteriously disappeared— the creature, a time traveling and shapeshifting multidimentional tasked with the duty of bringing future celebrities from one realm into another—and even sometimes perhaps preventing obstacles or adversaries in their path along the way— must meet the future stars and alert them of their unique qualities, nurturing the intrinsic sense of charisma and charm that will supply value to the subject's career and lifetime achievements—
In attempting to convince a room full of New York's own fabrication of Hollywood TV People that a figure drew even thought herself to have supposedly re-emerged, she is met with judgement and dismissal, even by “her people”, during which a small piece of her spirit— “The Child Within” angrily breaks away from her adult self; in a sense, they are both invisible—as no one will seriously listen to Drew's rationalizations or theories, and reccomend more intensive mental health care and treatment—and as the child within, unseen and unheard loses her patience in the inevitable invisibility, she separates herself to presume her former mission; finding that ‘very strange lady' whom with she had beforehand seemingly adventures with timelessly.
So that's where I left off.
Whatever, I do have more things to do than I thought. I'll have to get back to it later.
I didn't write it—but I've been thinking about it, so there it is. Maybe—
I've been starting my days between 6 and 8 PM with very strong cups of coffee—
Compliments of the Television people, of course.
What about that other storyline— the one where she's like a spy or something?
You mean Charlie's Angeles!
No, I mean like actual CIA.
I don't know; looking mad serious in a blazer.
WHAT THE FUCK DOES THIS HAVE TI DO WITH SHARKS?!
Click a photo of you, when
I've been thinking of you
I heard my neck break at the end of the rope
I heard a gunshot in the distance
scratch and sniff, motion pictures
No more, if you would remain.
And yet, I have come to end thy reign.
I've done nothing in my right to mark tirade.
It's not as bad as you think.
It's worse than it was. Now there's stuff all over it.
I'd rather burn than buried.
–I'd rather burn than buried.
Or buried than burned, but gone at all.
GODDDAMN. YOu'RE SO DUMB.
You're so fucking–stupid.
Not for long! You're a dead man.
His highness's executioner; perhaps also yours.
–and tell no others of this.
Steady well in my greeting.
A lady upon a throne, not I, but still fair castel
Somebody just kill this poor fuck already.
L E G E N D S - ASCENSION
Listen, Potter; I don't know how you did this!
I don't know how I did this! I'm not Harry Potter! My name is Daniel Radcliffe, and–
This place should be spotless.
When you think you're hearing voices,
But you're actually telepathic.;
I think it's getting worse now;
I think I need a manager;
I think I need some magic,
I think I got a half an oz
Just sitting my my backpack
That's a lot of cocaine, man.
Just let me touch your face
The cage sits in a mailbox
And it withers with my divedends,
And laughs just as much hard as that
These marginal differences,
Marrying the thought of just l
Decapitating every nation.
To stand the wicked bodies
Oaths if over oceans stand as borders
For failures craving fortunes?
On your duty of my decaying
Stands as justice, and still this
For arrogance is the truest of humor
And wit to none, wiser thinking
Be stronger in the notion that
There is no other but himself!
Fight for festherwate for masterpieces
Cherished and forbaroned in the faithless,
Wise and withered none, but lying waking
Barking tides, wishes foul and ordinary;
There you wait for judgement,
Boundless as you found her
There you are in marked for God,
Seeking in the wate of judgement.
Fair and Farrows of the ache
To causing none but fortune,
Still truth waits in the ark you have tied us
Whatever the fuck that means.
Here's a cushion for your arse;
—I take cream in mine; two sugars.
[in almost no time, and some heavy clamoring through the beaded entry to the doorway, a teacup appears on the table in front of him; it slowly begins to swirl, filling with tea—it fills nearly to the brim, steaming, and trembles a touch.]
[as he raises his finger with a timid objection, the cup of tea plumes with a cloud of cream—and while his eyes widen with amazement, drawing him closer to the cup, two cubes of sugar splash into the tea; two tiny drops of tea ricochet into his right eye, which he palms with a wince, his other eye still wide with awe; the woman re enters the parlor, carrying a traditional tea tray, a decadent silver platter adorned with an assortment of sweets, and a tea set. She places the platter at the center of the table, and the table sets itself; the table is now set for four, and the teapot pours itself at the head of the table, into the woman's teacup.
Of course it worked; it always works.
I see you got my message.
[still distracted and in a sort of wonder by the whimsical uproar, the man's attention is aimed at the two empty places at the table. ]
Are you expecting company?
I'm always expecting company…
My hands are tied behind my back
You solid wasted time for facts;
And steady drawing love for oaths
Something seems off about her
There is something strange, no doubt.
Distant In the calling for forests—
Tears as raindrops, though drought has fallen
Then reflected in words of others,
weeping for something else
Heavy hearts as service ended
Nothing left my ions, clouds
Mercury, women, blood drawn
Sad strange, headless, gasping
Incapable of telling fortune;
And still there was love there, and then
There was love there all along,
For there to had ever been
Nothing‘S for the best now!
And the evidence is adding up
Or a sliver under my nail
Or a silver in your hair,
Nor silver moon, or moonlight
Rolling around in my mind, for days
Nevermind the rest of it,
It's what we said in the beginning
It's been my move for four decades.
I have not dismissed you yet
And the last party at your entourage.
I don't encourage any carbon dating
I've got a lesson, for ye—
Still foggy on my upbringing,
Wind moves in all directions
All skies move, without notice
All is known but never is not
And scared laying asking not to call out
I heard you yelling with only a whisper
Moving steady for forwards
From another superimposed,
The shit that falls out of me with just a look.
We've all got jobs to do, and as it turns out— it might be really all the same.
One job, different tasks, but for one, it's for certain—
I want the peppermint swirl.
You should not have taken those promotional photos wearing my eyes, man.
I am not very photogenic.
I could give you the whole
Moon and it still wouldn't be enough;
I'm home and still there's no roof over my head
Hanging on to the edge of a ladder
And I don't want to go there
And I can't read negatives
And minutes turn to nothing
Levitating on so secretly
“God, Donald, you're on your own”
But heavy greetings wash out
All who were away at your essence
Careful not to wake the sound of
She's a partial obsessive…
You were tricked into writing all this.
Tricked willingly, anyway.
You thought you were special.
I realized I had to be when I saw the same thing twice on both ends —
I'm just doing my rounds.
Try not to lay next to me eating;
Try not to stand here on such a heavy plane
There was no actual plan in this
I was just playing by ear.
Somebody nail me to a cross and tell me what the Fallon equivalent to Skrillex following me from LA to Brooklyn just to leave me in a homeless shelter to rot—
And though eventually I came up kind of okay on the other side affects, the paralyzing realization that I never wanted anything but proper mating.
Now with this looming Over my grave I'm sure I've yet something else to worry about just
I was told to keep my mouth shut.
I wasn't really interesting in meeting someone seriously— in fact. As it turned out, I still had a little more muse to milk out of the last one, but even the tarot was being a stickler— I could risk ending it all and putting a nail in the coffin by actually watching the tonight show—but there would be a possibility it all would backfire and it would just reignite that spark, or worse—I'd become fully engulfed in flames by whatever it was that seemed to appear—and it seemed to appear so vividly and with rapid strength that it couldn't be stopped or controlled.
A serious amount of money had to have been implemented to my paying attention to this, and beyond that— it all had to have been carefully premeditated. While at least now at the bookshop I was drawn to books from Oprah's book club, what had occurred couldn't possibly be ignored—actually, it couldn't be, at all— but instead of eating at me in its usual way, I had more just began to realize that there must have been in play some purpose.
Feeling faraway from my actual creative self, there seemed to be something missing at all generating even a general sense of understanding of what normalcy was— when had actually been the last time I had been touched at all in a way that might make me feel as if I was still human— as if I was normal— but I knew I wasn't.
The thought of being with someone, especially just anyone, was bizzare.
I gave up on love a lot of times;
But this is when it became official.
I was listening to a rap album I had never heard before
And in this rap song, he said
“This hoe got a 7 year degree and still selling pussy”
Why bother getting a 7 year degree
If your value as a black woman
You can get a 7 year degree
And still have to be a prostitute
What the fuck is the point.
It goes the other way, too.
What is the point of selling pussy without a 7 year degree?
She's gonna make more than me in all the professions.
I gave up on love at all.
That right there is how low value we are, not just to the black man, but any man.
7 year degree and you can charge more an hour, but you're still a technical hoe.
When I married my ex I was pregnant with twins;
When i got pregnant with the twins I was about 350 pounds.
So by the time we got married,
I was 6 months pregnant with twins.
But the first time he hit me
Saw the white light and everything
By the time that all went down
He's still, mind you, like 300
But in my mind i must be thinking somewhere
He came at me with a running start,
I must have thought i actually had a chance
I took a fighting stance like:
damn . what year is this really?
Well, that's an informer.
Chris Rock forsure some kind of genius
I saw him do GIlbert Godfried
The show was dated, though;
“I'm married: I don't cheat.”
I knew it must have been a joke.
I knew it had to be a joke,
I listen to too much kanye
“If I pull up with Kerri washington,
That's gon' be an enormous scandal”
I might have Niomi Campbell,
Still might want me a stormy daniels
And ya'll tried to get trumps supporters to turn against him
By exposing that he fucked this bitch?
That's like an achivement.
That's like a status symbol.
I'm sure these idiots praise him for that.
He might have even gotten more popular
I think Chris Rock was the very guy
Who made me decide to stay single forever
He talked about the way, apparently,
men want to kill their wives;
The way they fantasise killing us
When we're in the relationship
I never once thought about killing my ex husband
The only time i started wishing a karmic death upon this person
was when I left the relationship
And he stopped fantasizing about it
And actually tried to fucking kill me
Once I realized this was happening
Only then did I start to think
“Oh damn, i hope that motherfucker just drops the fuck dead”
This motherfucker beat me,
You fat piece of shit wifebeater motherfucker
Only after he tried to kill me.
Had to hire a fucking voodoo fucking sorceress and shit
“yo , take this curse off me,
This motherfucker tried to kill me”
Apparently though they fantasisze it all the time,
I'm thinking about all the times he would play this song
So maybe too much Kanye West
“I thought about killing you today.”
He used to play this song,
After the first time he really beat my ass,
My face was all hanging off my head and shit
My lip is disconnected from my whole jaw and shit
He darted out the front door
even just after he beat my ass
I never thought about killing him
He just fresh beat my ass;
He just straight up finished whooping my whole ass
and he said “I'm gonna kill myself”
“I'm gonna kill myself”, he said
With my lip hanging off my whole face
Pool of blood on the floor,
The whole fucking HBO special
“Come back! Think about the kids! Don't kill yourself”
Turns out that was just a tactic,
“...you gonna call the cops.”
“...alright, I won't kill myself.”
Looking back on all this,
I can't help but think to myself,
What i would have done differently
“I should have left before any of that happened”
I was the mother of two young children;
I wanted to try after the cheating to make things work,
Turns out he was fantasizing about killing me the whole time
Left me in a pool of blood with my two kids
Looking back at that momet,
The thing I wish I could change
If i had to do it over again
Lock the door behind his ass,
Pick my face up off the floor,
“Momma who was our daddy? What was he like?”
“Ya'll ain't got a daddy. I made ya'll myself”
Everything happens for a reason though.
Now i don't argue with anyone at all
If i even sense that same shit
I become as silent and invisible as possible
I had a migraine and I knew it was from pressure buildup and stress, so I thought to get rid of it I ought to make one of those hot-compresses with rice.
But the only rice I had was jambalaya flavored—
But the headache was obviously really bad,
So I was like, “fuck it.”
Poured it into a gym sock
And popped it in the microwave,
My neck smelled like a pot roast,
There was something in my lungs, forcing me to breathe deeply, with a raspy wheezing wind out of my lungs, and with a steady cough, I was able to offload whatever it was waiting in my chest to be released, along with it, at least part of the pressure that was making even just sitting and reading nearly unbearable, collecting into a harsh migraine paralyzing each and every other breath with a sharp pain underneath the back of what seemed to be somewhere below my ear canal and somehow, a pressure somewhere behind my eye, probably a result of the excruciating process of shoving earplugs into my ears in order to drown out the outside noise, which paired with that of my seemingly devoid neighbors, often became wildly unsettling, and while lately the clamoring had created not only an uneasy tremor in my left hand, but also apparently a sudden onset of occasional vruxism, the anxiety overall seemed to be surmounting into what could only be described as something trying to kill me, for which I could no longer ignore not as delusions or paranoia, but absolute fact. As I had learned, modern psychology might have been the equivalent of what one could even be certain to be the devil itself, unable to distinguish patterns often associated with creative genius, self manifestation, and psychic abilities and intuition, as delusions of grandeur, paranoid thinking, or worse— diagnoses as psychotic.
However, my grandiosity was neither imagined nor delusional—my podcast series alone had been read and listened to all over the world, translated into foreign languages and transcribed, and had been downloaded hundreds of thousands of times since its publishing; though not a technically recognizable figure, I had realized that I had in my own right become somewhat famous, if even off of the back or even under the umbrella of another famous individual, to whom the series itself had been entrusted. Receiving though not by mainstream media standards upwards of at least 10 downloads per episode, the series had no actual gauge or marker for its actual success and polularity—without being able to see information from a major streaming platform—Spotify, and without being able to measure the amount of downloads which had then been duplicated and shared otherwise, I started to recognize with a certain understanding what a cult following was, and the minimal phenomenon that even at this level, fame started to become apparent.
It had also become apparent that science itself had yet to truly understand the phenomenon of creative energy as a whole, and that many with these capabilities and gifts were considered to have a plethora of mental health disorders and medicated with what one would consider targeted attacks on the psyche, the illusion of mental illness often standing as the actual delusion in itself! Creating, and then medicating these intrinsic abilities ass illnesses whereby the “neurotypical” individual might only be considered as such due to ability to adapt, confirm, or follow diections in a systematic manner, and furthermore, that the misdiagnoses of such misunderstood cobditions often even relied on bias, poor judgement, racism, social class, and economics had certainly deconstructed any faith or belief formerly held in the modern state of psychology, and most of the articles or public medical journals read more like science fiction and fantasy rather than cold hard facts; indicating a moral and ethical flaw within the entirety of the human species—man's own inability to understand God, and therefore himself, in any creative process. Diety and creativity combined were simply a mystery, and had plagued entire generations of the human species as a whole.
Blū runs at top speed through the streets of Brooklyn New York on a cold and windy October night.
The ironic thing is, I'm running to go get ice cream.
I fucking hate this shit.
I'm trying really hard not to kill myself.
Like really, really hard.
Sudden onset bruxism and hand tremors and I can't help but wonder if it has anything to do with the constant mottoeycle traffic or sleeping in a sea of vehicles which at any given moment could sound off, start up or honk the horn alarm over the last 9 months.
I'm fucking exhausted all the time and everything around me just fucking draining.
https://www.tracklib.com/pricing
Yo, you know how I know I'm aging?
I hated Dora The Explora when I was a kid—
I was too old for Dora the explorer.
As I get older, different renditions of Dora
I actually like the bitch
Who would show up at raves
Looking like Dora The Explorer
Kind of creepy, now that I think about it
Dressed as a fucking 5 year old
She blew up on Instagram,
Had the backpack and everything—
But now I know I'm getting old,
Because I'm fuckin around online,
And I see in the advertising little sidebar video
Like, a new version of Dora The Explorer,
I just realized my best friend from 3rd and 7th grade looked just like Dora the explorer.
She became literally the most successful stripper I've ever met.
Welcome to Doods R Gross;
What can I help you find today?
Uh, hi. I'm looking for a guy—
Possibly one who looks like this:
Ah shit, this is how I got playing the Wikipedia game and went on a tirade
Unicameralism (from uni- "one" + Latin camera "chamber") is a type of legislatureconsisting of one house or assembly that legislates and votes as one.[1] Unicameralism has become an increasingly common type of legislature, making up nearly 60% of all national legislatures[2] and an even greater share of subnational legislatures.
The Fallen Angel (French: L'Ange déchu) is a painting by French artist Alexandre Cabanel.
Not the face, but— the body— you know.
Who will let me do everything.
Well, as you know, dudes are gross…
Hence the name of this store, good sir.
I am in no way good, nor am I a “sir”, and for all intensive purposes, my employment at this store signals my deep indirection in life and may also be an indication of more serious issues.
Alright, so I'll show you what we got.
The type of model you want is popular,
This credit card has no limit.
My debit card is also linked to a plethora of infinite wealth.
Do you think I deserved for him to hit me like that?
I mean—the cheating is a given; I was really really fat..:but do you think like, him getting violent was some kind of karma for something?
Like maybe I had it coming for whatever reason— and just didn't know it.
Suddenly I was in the residual memory of a dream.
I had been nearly whipped around at how much I had enjoyed watching Joel's 2014 image captured in what might have been his greatest ever performance, at least online—and certainly my favorite, watching as a bigger fan than ever and at th devastating realization that I was literally a dime a dozen in the millions of girls who also wanted any of the men I was attracted to, my heart ached in this moment for Dillon, and as I was distracted in checking my messages, most of them from conversations I had abandoned with the preference of focusing on my art, however— a certain gentleman who had texted me incessantly sent a picture of his dinner— a motorcycle roared as I let my aversion by the memory of Dillon cloud my emotions and judgement; I knew that the gangstalkers had access to my phone and all of my accounts, which was why I kept all of my messaging within Google voice.
I wanted the gangstalkers to know how at the surface level I was thinking and what I was feeling—though it was obvious that Dillon Francis just as much as Skrillex had been used as tools by a greater force than simply themselves.
Besides, a little birdy had told me that Dillon's girlfriend might be expecting—and furthermore, that the baby would be a little girl. I burned with jealousy and anger, but after all, even the name Dillon Francis had been planted in my own head by the literal devil himself, the man who beat me and then intended to destroy the entirety of the rest of my life to cover up his physical violence and negligence—and so I had decided it was good to fall in love—and then out of love—with Dillon Francis. The benefit was obviously by far in the art that had been created from it, as with any lover—or lack thereof.
I had finally realized the one-sidedness in every man I had loved since leaving my abuser. As if in a way they had all been possessed by him, or the devil himself—and either way, there really was no difference.
What other creature than the devil itself would seek so animatedly to destroy wich such violence and deceit?
It had to have been the devil after all, and so I left it there—but the little bird had left a deep and heavy cut in my heart that had already been there since Dillon had announced his girlfriend publically in the first place—and after all that had happened, it was a devastating blow, however, I kept the amythyst safe and tucked away with my son's labradorite—it was after all his, and not mine, just as the laboradite was my son's, and not mine— and all the pieces of my heart that had fallen away and into little stones sat tucked away inside a box with a lid that shut away the darkness and hatred that came with it.
It was obvious that I would and could never love again—but at least in the very simplest of laws, the love I had given would apparently at some point be returned tenfold, and so I was glad that I had chosen for a time, to let myself fall in love with Dillon Francis, and then somehow, even with Joel, and even with the little bird.
The same little bird just so happened to have known other things which turned out to be true, and to that affect, I knew that I could somewhat trust this little bird, and the secrets he was feeding me—the painful truth was, this was the only notion of trust I had with any human being on the planet, and the little bird was not a human being at all—he was, in fact, and indeed— just a little bird.
And we eat birds, and eggs
And when we hear them sing,
And watch them hatch the eggs,
And learn to hear them speak,
To fly, is what they teach.
Jimmy Kimmel flies in through the window.
How long have you been a bird?!
I was also—just—very briefly—a bird!
—You'll fly into the turbine of a commercial airplane.
[He tugs at the bottom of his suit coat to neatly readjust it, and tightens his tie, with an eerie faraway look on his face, however still smiling.]
[he pats his fellow host on the shoulder.]
[breaking fourth wall, saying nothing but with an honest and subtle shrug, Holding his breath as if to say ‘—I don't know.']
Tom Hanks, looking as similarly to Jimmy Kimmel as ever, because, let's be honest—
Holy fuck, keep that shit just cause it's so bad
holy fuck, can you really not spell the word narorator?
That doesn't even look right.
I thought you were a genius!
It is ridiculous, but you know what.
It's Sunday night—and all of you—
Where the hell do you think you're going l?
Now I had comedy under my belt, somewhat, but it seemed all in all as if I'd lost something, even in all that had been gained. A trade off, if it paid off—but it hasn't yet; and perhaps that strange faraway voice had been right. Maybe it would be Jimmy Fallon after all that would destroy me—or at the very least, some dark and foul evil spirit that had been wearing his face…
…and singing with his voice.
I have been hanging at the end of a rope
The legend to the show rolled up like a newspaper in my left paw, opposable
The end is near, and sure, the straw I draw is short.
The life I loved was long,
The boat I rowed had sunk;
I've never had the sun on my skin;
It's not you, , sir, at all
The lady in the red dress, yes, you guessed it
Who has it out for Fallon,
A SUBURBAN NOUSEHOLD. DAY
Alright, mom— I'm going to Marshall's.
I'm a recruitment officer.
I'm here to congratulate you on behalf of the agency.
Ahem— has been selected to particulate in our leadership program.
Well, thats's great. When does it—
Your son and or daughter—
Will undergo training for an indeterminate amount of time..
Pre-addressed Post cards.
I had set all my clocks forward, so it was as if I was waking up in the future. So far forward, in fact, that if I wasn't looking at my phone to see the real time, I could never be late, and I even wished that there was a way to set my phone clock forward—but maybe if that was possible, too many people would catch on to being ahead—or on whatever time
they wanted—and the world would fall out of sync. That kind of free thinking could be dangerous in a place like New York, and it sort of already was—none the wiser, the smarter I felt I was, the more trouble it becsme and though wisely I knew myself to in totality know nothing at all in actuality, I did at least think more and do more than the average New Yorker, whether I thought about it or not.
So I wake up in the future
Less than I'd be willing to bet
And more than you've be willing to bargain
I'm coming with you this time
I don't think that's a good idea…is it?
How am I supposed to make it all the way to London on this pay grade?
I want you to bang the shit out of her.
You know that I'm committed.
[he lays a large sum of money on the table]
Suddenly we all realize this plane has been about to crash for about four seasons.
Meet me at the four seasons.
He won't love me in the way I'm craving—
It's not in his nature, the near hatred and almost demoralizing, however with utmost respect
That I should be both harmed and loved at once,
Handled as if having done wrong,
But in no less than bloodlust
To be honest, I already had it for awhile.
Pretty much forever, basically.
As soon as I began to write, a door slammed— I wondered if by writing I was moving people in and out of my dimensional realms and planes, knowing that the more I wrote, the more my life would differ and begin to change. I often wondered if the door slamming meant that I was ascending, and that other versions of the sims (not people, but robots, really) were moving and changing to rearrange themselves in entirely seperate dimensions of reality. It could not have ever been of sheer coincidence. as it had been a completely quiet and mostly silent day with no movement at all; it was Thanksgiving, and I had noticed that whenever I was writing, even offline, the slamming of the doors became constant, almost as if people were coming in and out with no purpose other than to cause some type of disturbance, from even which my door was no barrier. I thought to buy a door guard like my neighbors had, but to allow the gangstalkers or robots, whatever they were to cost me money on top of my comfort, was unacceptable.
RYAN REYNOLDS (as “the devil”)
Wait, so you have writings about NBC people and Kimmel?
Yikes, well—you know how these things go.
No way, we've had east end locked down for two years!
And in 2020 our subcontractors brought her to us.
OOOOHH SHIIT. NETWORK TURF WARRRRRRRR
NETWORK TURF WAAAAAAAAAAAAR!!!!
Ah shit, this is gonna get brutal…
I gotta get more Quaaludes.
With new and improved continuity feature!
Almost just like the real thing.
Where is, actually, the real thing— anyway?
Why does he just keep repeating that phrase?
Well, he's stuck in a loop right now;
We're currently upgrading his sentience chip.
NOW THAT I HAVE THIS SENTIENCE CHIP,
I just told you, that's bird mom.
God, what the fuck is wrong with you?
How—long have you known each other?
What the fuck is going on.
Sit down before I clip your wings.
I don't have my wings out…
[he gulps and takes a seat nervously beside Jimmy, glaring at him momentarily before the extra terrestrial aviary woman, a “whatthefuck” begins to conduct the meeting.
Oh, shit— this is where all the birds fly in the—
[a running joke throughout the series, the higher level Illuminati members denial of the order's existence typically place's the audience's suspension of disbelief into effect before bizarre and unrealistic circumstances are presented.
Chill out, it's just a ritual.
You don't have to do it if you don't want to.
Oh, if the Illuminati asks me to do something,
Bet your ass I'm gonna do it.
Is that why a grown man is fully beating the shit out of a fucking cat.
THATS NOT ANY REGULAR CAT.
how is the cat winning tho.
I told u it would come back if it was a good one.
Everything I listen to a really good stand up comedian,
They talk about domestic violence.
They always warn you never to put hands on your woman.
The best comedians always say something about it—
“Never put your hands on a woman.”
I never talk about my ex,
I hope that shit ruins comedy for him
Like he ruined rap music for me.
Cause he can deny it outwardly all he wants,
But it he's watching a stand up,
And they say something about how much of a pussy you really are,
If you hit your woman—he's gonna feel that.
He's gonna feel that I like still feel that
When I bump Kendrick Lamar,
Or I just can't take whatever Boosie saying, or
If I just can't sit all the way through a lil Wayne verse
I don't think I will ever skip a lil Wayne verse, to be truthful.
But when all these little new age rappers start calling out the devil's number, talking bout—
I'm gonna feel the pressure of his fist on my face,
And here go all these niggas,
I hope comedy is ruuuuuined!
I hope Katt William's whole next special is about how much of a pussy you are if you hit your woman;
Let's hear him do a whole hour on that.
Then have a baby by another woman
Now every time Kendrick Lamar drop a album
You gon have your ex in a whole flashback
Of your fist in her face?
She can't even hear the verse,
“WHY HE GONNDO THIS TO MEE?”
That's the best Katt Williams impression I can do in print.
My actual Katt Williams impression is standard, though.
He want the devil. Make him the devil!
Not everybody can play the devil.
You will not, you will play your part.
Goddammit I wanted that part!
Just chill, Ryan, it's a great part.
It's a great part. Did you read the whole thing?
I'm just worried this is going to diminish my brand. My many, many..:
[the professor shuts the door]
[deflated, Ryan Reynolds slumps his shoulders and walks slowly down the hallway, letting out a heavy sigh.]
[he sighs again, fluttering the script in exasperation.]
NEW YORK'S HOTTEST UNDERGROUND CLUB IS
Did they already do ‘taint'
Was taint even a word back then!
It's always been a thing.
Sister sanity does not live her
I can't wait to get a peloton
I'm gonna be so skinny my eyeballs are in my kneecaps
You're gonna put me on the cover of Vogue
And call me a fashion icon
I will be a guest host on America's next top model
And I will be invited to every fashion week
I will have the silliest outfit at the met gala
So until she's alive again;
Just to comment on my outfit
I will be so skinny that when I fart
All the world's most eligible bachelors
Will line up behind me to smell my fart dust
Which will probably be lined in gold and silver
And because I'm so skinny
And I will never be alone
Thriller (JUST A TUNE FLIP)
(Guaracha Zapateo & Aleteo)
*NSYNC & Justin Timberlake
On The Radar Freestyle (Mixed)
Drake and Central Cee collaborate for the first time for an On The Radar freestyle, a New York-based radio station and YouTube channel. The track was announced on July 20th, 2023 on Drake's Instagram. Later that day, Drake announced the release date of July 21st.
The two have had a good relationship since meeting in 2021, with Cench being a model for a Nike X Nocta campaign in the same year, and appearing in the
"Jumbotron Shit Poppin" music video in 2023. Cench previously teased a Drake feature in an unreleased extended version of his 2022 mega-hit "Doja"
66 Ear to the street and I heard them say that Central Cee got a verse from Drake/They lied if they said that they weren't afraid
Durand Jones & The Indications
Berry established herself as one of the highest-paid actresses in Hollywood during the 2000s. For her performance of a struggling widow in the romantic drama Monster's Ball (2001), Berry became the only African-American woman to win the Academy
Award for Best Actress, and the first woman of color. Berry took on high-profile roles such as Storm in four installments of the X-Men film
series (2000-2014), the henchwoman of a robber in the thriller Swordfish (2001), Bond girl Jinx in Die Another Day (2002), and the title role in the much-derided Catwoman (2004).
The strangest thing happened.
I just turned into a bird.
Well, that's not telepathy.
What if Dumbo's feather was a stone (l)
More notes, and nothing's done yet
It's the same process over and over
But the shows almost over
If the shoe fits, wear it.
I'll take your eyes out, wear em for a moment
But I'm finna send the fax
No, you will not shake this snow globe!!!
I will shake this snow globe!
I NEED TO GO TO CHEDRAUIIIIIIIIII!
COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024
{S10 (IN 10D!) Coming Soon}
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