[ENTER THE MULTIVERSE]

TAYLOR SWIFT is replaced by KATY PERRY as captain of the WHITE BITCHUS.

OHH. That's what happened.

Because let's be honest, what is scarier than either of them?

Answer: their even whiter fan bases.

THE SWIFTIES form a small militia and revolt the decision to overturn the organization and reinstate TAYLOR TWIFT to her former position, which she has made clear; she does not want.

Her fans, the swifties, however, do not seem to actually care genuinely about Taylor, her opinions, or outlook on things and not remarkably or surprisingly at all, just kind of have their own agenda and previously instilled beliefs—

The Katy Perry fandom, though slightly more aged and less willing to participate in an all out war, begin to stage a defensive coup in order to protect their chosen leader.

I liked Miley best as captain.

NOBODY WANTS THIS JOB,

I likes It.

Fuck this.

No.

Are you kidding me.

No.

Look, I'm sorry! Nobody else wants to do it.

Gee, I wonder why!

How about lady Gaga?

She's not eligible!

(My mom helped write this joke.)

JIMMY KIMMEL

[an escalating crescendo]

AssaaaaagggggggggGggggghhHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHGGGGGGGGHHHHH

!!!!!!

I wanna run through marina del ray

I want a house in the Palisades

But I

Knew that 5 years ago

I knew that five years ago

I want a shack out in Malibu

Just to surf the ocean blū

But I

Knew that five years ago

I knew that five years ago

Before it all burned

I hope we all learned our lessons

Surf

God has a sense of humor

But I was the butt of the joke

I want a Condo in Santa Monica

Invite my friends over for Barbie volleyball

Throw my whole world in the fire pit

But I knew that five years ago

I knew that five years ago

When you realize

The world is your instrument

But it still hasn't earned you a cent

You're still in the hole

Warning back what you spent

By the microinscremwnts

The city people are you as excrement

But you just laugh and you sample them

Play them like instruments back

Perhaps flattery begs them to listen

Suddenly you're visible

Museam world—

Exhibitions

Entertainers

Comedians

Mice and men

Interesting remienxe

Should I even be in this language

Or should I make it more intimate

With melodies?

I hit play on a classic

And my peloton becomes the office

I'm suddenly at work, God

Petulance for relevance spanning generations

Thank you!

Still it takes enough to get it in to you

As out of you

Can't help t but agree to that

Eyeliner!

I like it thick around the freckles faces

And light ashy eyelashes

Over moonlike eyes

You know

I like it

Long hair!

Headliner!

Why am I inside you?

Better yet—

Why have I died?

Eyeliner, headliner

I like it thick around moonlight eyes

I like it

Old timer, headliner—

I like it thick around eyes like Zion

Eyeliner,

I like it

Ashes

You're the worst;

There are circle k's and 7/11s

How was my run on Broadway?

Who's the pope now?

I hope you choke now

There are subway central's

And sauces and really hard bosses to fight

But I don't want to

I'm in south central

And I'm still with you

From always to oblivion

I've been moving for at least an hour

But I have no power here

Drop a house on me

In the hills, if you will

And if the winds change,

There's still New York

What a page turner

I live at Rockefeller Plaza

There's an apartment above my office

There's a notebook

For every love I've ever known

In the oak

There's a something caliber gun in my slumber

I clutch with the crutches I took from the hospitals

Can't hop the turnsltyle now

Can't hop the turnstyle now

Hahaha

Who art thou,

Art monster

Who are you now that I care too much to notice

The problem was

The doves only flew up or a moment before landing on my shoulder

That was awkward

They were supposed to fly away

TV HOST

HEY!!!! HEY!!!! HEYYYYYYYY!

But which host is it?

All of them.

All of us are running for our lives

All of us are running after Carson, and Paar

All of us are stars,

But on polaroids not often captured

Gone and then away into disaster

That's the effect of the Cannon

Canon cameras?

James Canon?!

Laugh harder cause you have to!

Laugh stronger cause the studio is frozen,

And you want to go home now!

It wasn't as fun as you throught

And the set is much smaller in real life

Now clap and hold for applause

Big smiles

Big smiles

Extra points if you run miles before you show up-

Now that's a shiny after thought;

Not your average robot

Or prototypical tourist!

No! A nonconformist and

Kimmel can't sing for shit,

So he can just hum this verse.

(Sorry, I peaked—

No homo)

Now, I dissect Holiday,

I was sure I inspired the Broadway show

But who doesn't inspire a rock opera

I conspire to conspire, unpire, emporer

I studies Agamemnon

I wasn't really sure but the frog in my throat said

Go on, go on—

So I just cried and sucked in my stomach harder

I don't want a—

SETH MEYERS

I don't want a tuna sandwhich!

Just take the tuna sandwhich.

Yeah, buddy

!

I DONT WANT A TUNA FUCKING SANDWHICH

DO I LOOK LIKE I EAT TUNA TO YOU?

Um.

Woah, I sense hostility.

We can't see you—

And we don't know who you are, anyway.

Apparently “someone we know”

Tsh.

Psh.

ITS HOT IN THIS BOX.

Ooh, hotbox.

That sounds like a plan.

Dispensary delivery?

The move.

YO,

Dissection numero dos;

I think I know how to make those sounds

I think I have that reverb

I need herb

Or probably a new location

With no probes

It's only temporary

The peloton office

But I want a home

Me and my family aren't from here

Oh, look, more purple

— we just show up to rock

And then go somewhere farther

Forgive me father for I have—

No.

What?

No. No.

What— why?

Just— no. Not you. Not today.

But—I have sinned!

Of course you have!

But father—

No.

What—?

Keep it to yourself.

But.

Excuse me.

—-

{Enter the Mtiverse}

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2025 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

[REDACTED]

Worth knowing.

I operated on a public server using Google as my. Main browser, our of incognito—

This meant everything I search on Google I knew to be public, and did so soaringly, and cautiously.

I told you more than once not to mess with that fucker!

I wasn't!

For the most part; however—

That fucker was messing with me!

Why! Who are you?!

I don't know!

Ugh. Ten seconds on the ground and I wanted to die.

Fuck this place.

Just get in the boat, Keenan.

No, I won't.

Just get— in the boat.

Forget it. I'm not going to your—

You don't dont even know what it is!

Whatever is is.

It's a function!

If I didn't start making decisive moves around the map— and quick— I could be made to look like anything, or anyone. The media had ways of turning things into monsters—assuming all in all that the political agenda had overall become some short of holy war. I wasn't safe, especially sitting still— entire crowds moved around me as I emerged from days long stretches of speaking to and looking at no one; the more I resisted to conform, the more hostile the monster became— I was vanishing decently from one world and into the next, and on my absence there was a gaping hole needing to be filled but instead, opening into an inescapable void: being something for others as I presumed that I presently was not: I was not a pawn, or a worker, or a sim— I had escaped a matrix that was nearly entirely built on perception, and had adjusted to the understanding of the illusion of this grid. It was an impractical solution, silence and isolation; eventually I had to communicate with other people, and could not hide.

But I would not be forced to do anything or speak to anyone I didn't want to— and so I began tricking the system before it could gather information to go about tricking me.

After all, I was keeping more to myself than I was sharing or even writing about— I wrote often about race and sociopolitical injustice; however; these things were at a surface level. The things I pondered upon deeply, I kept to myself— I knew that my Google documents were comprised by the way that on the ground level— the simulation level— people had been hacked and sorted based on things I had put into the aglogithmic clouds. Anyone with a cell phone had become a biohazard, because they were socially and psychologically compatible with being technologically programmed to be moved about in any way the controllers saw fit— and who were the controllers using such as humans as devices? The very war mongers who saw this level as none other than that of a game, and people in no sense more than as numbers—a place which my conciousness did lie, and however— my physical body, almost entirely seperate, risided here amongst the all too common. And it was here that I was more likely to die, physically, anyway, than anywhere else because i wanted to. The frequency shift was severe enough that it bubbled and spewed inside of me not as hatred, but anxiety. Not fear, but nautiousness; I was no longer so compatible with the masses that I could normally function as such; an elitist mindset, but only out of elitist practice. I ate well, trained hard, and focused my energy on a higher mindset—

It became obvious that if I didn't decide what I was, I was going to be told what I was, or painted in a certain way as percepted, and this I found limiting. If I decided what I was and made it somehow apparent so that others could not cast any judgement upon me, then I could at the very least, later, change it— if it differed too drastically from whatever it was my true purpose and intention. Easily enough, I found the devil worked through almost all things and people around me in such a way that it was best to remain apart from these things and people and to find my way to being surrounded by others who were in fact, shielded by light. Strength in numbers, and what was here something dark enough had torn through that almost all of them were dark as well, and so almost any time at all with that force made me ill.

I'm so sorry.

No, you're not— but that's okay,

Because I'm sorry enough for the both of us.

A SPECIAL DETECTIVE, recently promoted to captain from VICE gives the go-ahead on the immidiate detention of a subject with whom multiple units have been preoccupied with over the course of several months.

This is… pure cocaine.

It appears so…

I've— I've never seen anything like it.

— that pure?

Like— pharmaceutical.

In fact…

It was pharmaceutical.

Ah great. Why is Tom Hanks back in the movie?

[breaking forth wall]

Uh— because

I was in the front of the movie—

And in the middle of the movie—

And because this is the same movie.

Uh…

Oh, by the way, you're in a movie.

No!!!

Wake up.

Fuck.

COSMIC AVENGER

Snapdragons!

Double fuck.

Double double indeed.

The cosmic avenger has a way of not swearing that is almost

trademark to his—

What does he do again?

Nothing.

Oh. You're so fucked now…!

JIMMY FALLON is arrested and charged with

MANSLAUGHTER.

WHY! WHAT DID I DO?

…nothing.

What were his other catchphrases?

I have no idea.

Well, get a fucking idea.

Why is it That you're so— fucking mean.

What? I'm supposed to be what you think, the little man in the box is?

I was hoping?

At all times?

Sometimes, at least.

Joke's on you.

No Fallon, the joke's on you.

You're supposed to be funny.

Haha.

Goddammit, I hate you.

You fucking suck.

That's my sparring partner.

Yep.

What did I do?!

You fought like a man—

And won.

Agh.

Good luck, kid.

What other way is it to fight?

MEANWHILE, on BAD GIRLS CLUB

Stop pulling my hair!

TANISHA

I'mon pull these tracks out whether you like it or noT!

U

THESE AINT TRACKS!

That's my hair!

The whole room stops for a moment, frozen in a silent confusion.

TANISHA

Whatchu say?

U

This— is my HAIR. It's ATTACHED TO MY HEAD.

TANISHA

Wh—how'd you get on bad girls club?!

I don't know! I must have wished for it at some point or something?

Wishes?!

WHAT THIS GOT TO DONWITH MY ISNES.

Witches?

She said wishes.

Hm.

I'm stuck in the tv in like a movie or something? I don't know, it's very meta— all my wishes get granted—

its fucked up.

That is fucked up.

[everyone just kind of agrees]

— but that's your hair?

Yeah, or— whatever's left of it and not under your fingernails.

But these is acrylic.

I figured.

And these is BRAZILLIAN REMY.

Okay.

—

and my eyelashes came off a Clydesdale!

Why!

Cause that shit is majestic as fuck!

I…agree with you.

Alright. Now sense we agree on this— um…comradrie.

— agreement.

Let's figure out about this— what you say it was?

A movie.

A movie— but this is a show.

A show inside a movie.

Okay.

Okay.

Okay.

…so let's…cut to commercial, or—?

I don't know I thought

No wonder I'm fucking depressed…

And now, it was obvious that someone in the media— the actual media, had read my work.

I had deconstructed the Strike force 5 as such

Hmmm.

CBS

HBO

NBC

NBC

…

That's 3 of the big five but I'm almost entirely sure I

‘ missing something.

Where's Kimmel?

CBS

Colbert?

HBO

The NBC twins are on my last and ever living but still dying nerve

So..

So—

So I'm missing precisely one strike force member

And arguably two out of the big five…

That's— a relief.

Considering I think Fox is in the big 5, sure.

Don't want to attract the wrong attention.

Or the right attention, with pun Intended.

Whatever. If anything at all from this last election and current growth spurt slash quarter life crisis, I was a moderate conservative however benefitting more than probably from liberalized…

Actually? The more I thought about it, this seemed private. I knew that most people who had spent any time at all in New York homeless shelters ended up in equally fitting project housing, but somehow, I had been spared— and though I had picked up two pairs of decent walking shoes, and maybe even raving shoes—definitely skateboarding shoes—

But no running shoes,

And I needed new running shoes to actually run; my current running shoes had been used nearly to their fullest extent…

Not that I was running anywhere. My treadmill seemed just as entirely sick of my apartment as I was becoming…

STEFON

Batatas.

Suddenly I had remembered with some strain of course, that Bill Hader existed in a legendary and almost mythical sense. Way more mythical than anyone else in this story— even Seth Rogen, who was apparently at some point eventually

OH MY GOD.

WHAT IS THIS.

HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?

— like, what, hot glued to each other at that party.

SETH MEYER(S)?

I said no.

What.

SETH MEYERS

I'm not doing it.

See, the greatest thing about the festival project, besides it being a corporate sponsored money grab that was growing in value enough to be competable against the superhero franchises

DISNEY

Hahaha, you wish.

That's who I'm missing—Disney.

DEADMAU5

No, you're not.

I'm not.

DEADMAU5

—no….

There's a reason why that dude, in his fragile old age is still touring.

DEADMAU5

I'm literally like ten years younger than literally everyone else you just mentioned.

(But still touring.)

(Read: ☠️ )

—so, you were saying.

Oh— the best thing about this whole thing is

Wait, how is this Disney?

BEFORE:

DISNEY

You can't Mickey Mouse.

MAU5

CAN.

DISNEY

CAN NOT, and we'll sue you, then kill you, then cryogenically freeze you, bring you back to life — THEN— when your catalogue has doubled in value, sue you again, and then kill you again—

And repeat that process infinitely until the end of what is known on earth as “time”

Oh, is that what happened to him?

I've been wondering.

DISNEY

Unless…

CUT BACK TO:

Besides that,

The best thing about this project is it features so many standard white savior type protagonists, that if anybody disagrees to this project( they can just be replaced and or characterized by an actor that looks and sounds just like them and their name slightly changed or altered to reflect one which doesn't technically trigger any copyright claims.

Can you do that?

Yep.

0.0

what's up Seth ROGONE, JOMMY FALOON

Sup.

Sup.

See.

[The Festival Project ™]

lol Stefon's dungeon.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2025 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

This is as cool as my fucking socks.

…you wear socks.

Bright.

HE WEARS SOCKS.

___

nNNNNAaaaaaaaaHHHHHHH GetaWAY, You're from HEEEEEEEEEELLLL

What are you for?

If i just wish on a star,

Would they all fall out the sky?

I ponder

Drop in the bucket;

Or whatever that was

Before i lost it

How long can you handle?

Awhile,

Now that I'm up, i'm up

And now that i've died,

I'll prosper.

Phospherous and suns

Won't you want us all

Just to fall over

A sphere obit rolls the ball

But then,

Something comes along to stop it

I finally learned my lesson in kinetics after all

Mathematic and magnets,

But it just tastes like magic

Sprite or Orange Crush Soda?

Flat, and not sparkling water at all

Holy shit, i never thought i'd have to say this;

Never thought there was a need,

But I just got Daft Punk'd.

SUCKA.

Well, the Helmets don't help.

How…is this a thing?

Impersonators.

LIL BITZ

I got clickbaited this video on youtube

And I thought Daft Punk had gotten back together

But as it turns out

It's just two dudes in helmets

Playing Daft Punk live

And the band is still broken up

My heart is broken a little

I tried to get tickets

And saw that their tour was all european and I was like

That's not fair! Daft Punk is back together! This should be global!

I'm in New York, how do you not have a show in New York

And then i look closer

At their website,

And their website says–

“DAFT PUNK TRIBUTE BAND”

And i was so fucking tired

And so fucking cranky

It almost shook me.

I was livid.

I was pissed.

I was like “how in the fuck is it possible that you could even make a living doing something like this?”

Those two dudes are still out there–they're still alive.

It's not like an Elvis impersonator,

Or Michael Jackson:

Daft Punk broke up like YESTERDAY

And you guys are making money putting on helmets

And impersonating THEM?!

Fuck that!

Give me a break!

And then, that's when i thought about it for the first time maybe ever in my life.

That's it!

I'll just be deadmau5.

[Enter The Multiverse}

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved.

C'cxell Soleïl

While I thought you were alive…

Did I also die?

Are we dead in dreams?

So what does this mean?

Must I ride the wave?

Are we all the same,

Tell me have I died?

Are we all alike?

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved.

C'cxell Soleïl

Till I Die:

Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū

Lyrics/Composed: C'cxell Soleïl

Again and again—

Till I Die

Again and again—

Till I Die

Again and again—

Till I Die!

Still figuring out how to mix vocals and produce at the same time lol whateva

-Ū.

He is a genius who makes decisive action.

There is no way on just some fluke that this man can fly off the handle with no purpose. Human, sure— and famous, yes— but in what world does this just happen.

It seemed a cry for help.

I was upset, but I didn't know why.

I am upset.

I stayed throughout the day deep cleaning and heavy thinking. I thought Joel was sober— but before long, this shock sent me into a panic of deep chaos. Was my son okay? Was his father drinking again. I wasn't thinning clearly or on any level really, besides just upset.

I scrubbed everything from the walls to the baseboards, every reach of every corner, every windowsill… still upset.

I sent out texts checking on my boy. It had been months since I had spoken with him— and because I had chosen to dissapear, things were somewhat calm. For once, the world hadn't always felt like something was trying to kill me; maybe his father already thought I was dead. The longer I laid low, the better things got; I couldn't let myself cry over Joel— but I could cry over that, right?

I needed to cry about that, apparently. I missed my son. Something needed to be done. I needed a job. But reentering the workforce at entry level? No amount of things I could do in New York City ever seemed enough, and as far as actual deadmau5 was concerned, my music was just not adding up. I was not on par.

But what the fuck was going on!!

Perhaps I had just been Google alerted to my doom in just the way I was supposed to have gone in the weeks before in the wake of things. But instead this hurt in a way that was not supposed to feel the way it did. Deadmau5 was my friend, and so Joel was something attached to it. Perhaps it had just been dragged out of proportion. Perhaps it had just been publicity. Was there another album. I separated the deadmau5 from the Joel momentarily— typically he was precise and in control. Drunk and stumbling around at Coachella wasn't his forte.

Joel Zimmerman was a top-notch, class act. Period. There wasn't much to do or say about deadmau5 besides that it was my next to near favorite thing— as a DJ— which made Joel one of my next to near favorite people. Without looking too closely, I began to wonder whether just having a good time could have been made to look like something else, however— last I understood, Joel was comfortable in his sobriety. 'Jesus Christ,' then. ‘What happened!‘

Tales of a Superstar DJ.

Let me mask that pain

Let me watch and feed you

Let me die again

Let me let you live a little

Let me lie let me lie

Let me— lie inside you

Let me be your flame

Let me— walk behind you

Let me die, die, die

Let me— rot in chorus

Watch me lie lie lie

Watch me harpsichord (this)

I'm in so much pain

Pick me up,

And throw me overboard

I shooted you a solution for your

Writer's block on the plaza

Watch me talk talk talk

Now let me lie a little

Watch me cry cry cry

Now let me die a little

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved.

C'cxell Soleïl

Future People

Starring: Tina Fey and Jimmy Fallon

Scene: A slightly overgrown hiking trail in upstate New York. The late afternoon sun casts long shadows.

Characters:

(SCENE START)

TINA and JIMMY are breathing heavily, standing over a suspiciously lumpy pile of leaves and poorly concealed branches.

JIMMY: (Wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand) Okay. Okay. Deep breaths. Nobody saw us. Right?

TINA: (Staring intently at the leafy mound) Unless that squirrel with the judgmental eyes is a witness, I think we're in the clear.

JIMMY: That squirrel did look pretty judgy.

TINA: Jimmy. Focus. He… he just slipped. Right? One minute he was behind us, talking about his artisanal mayonnaise collection, the next – thwack. Head meets rock. Lights out.

JIMMY: Totally dead. You checked, right? Like, really, really checked?

TINA: I felt for a pulse, Jimmy! And frankly, the way his eyes rolled back, I'm pretty sure his soul has already booked a one-way ticket to the great beyond.

JIMMY: This is bad. This is so, so bad. Lorne's gonna kill us.

TINA: He's not going to kill us. Because he's not going to find out. This was an accident. A stupid, horrible, unbelievably ill-timed accident that happened during a team-building “nature walk” I organized to foster inter-office harmony.

JIMMY: Which you only organized because I said Seth was giving me the stink-eye during the monologue rehearsal!

TINA: Well, he was looking at you funny! Like you stole his last gluten-free bagel.

JIMMY: He probably did! Anyway, what are we gonna tell Lorne? About Seth?

TINA: That he… got a sudden case of… Lyme disease? Very sudden, very aggressive Lyme disease that required immediate and silent evacuation by a top-secret medical team?

JIMMY: (Gesturing wildly at the leafy pile) No! About this! About… you know.

TINA: Oh. Right. That he… slipped.

JIMMY: And?

TINA: And… tumbled into a… very conveniently located… unmarked ravine?

JIMMY: There are no ravines here, Tina! We're practically on a putting green!

TINA: Okay, fine! He slipped… and then he… kept slipping. Down a… surprisingly steep and leaf-covered… gentle incline.

JIMMY: So we just left him at the bottom of a gentle incline? Lorne's gonna ask questions!

TINA: Okay, okay! He slipped… and then he… kept slipping… and then… he somehow… burrowed underground? Like a startled mole person?

JIMMY: Tina!

TINA: What?! We panicked! It was a stressful situation! He's the new Weekend Update guy! If he's suddenly gone, people will ask questions! Especially after you kept muttering about how he was “encroaching on your desk space.”

JIMMY: He was! His ergonomic keyboard was practically in my personal bubble!

TINA: Look, Lorne is a rational guy…

JIMMY: Yeah, I'm sure he'll understand that our new colleague spontaneously decided to take an unscheduled dirt nap after a minor tumble.

TINA: He'll understand that accidents happen! We were just trying to… bond!

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved.

C'cxell Soleïl

TIMELINES V: Summary

[Seasons 1-4 {Enter The Multiverse, Pre-Legends}

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved.

C'cxell Soleïl

“FRED BITES”

INT. WINNEBAGO - DAY

The inside of a beat-up WINNEBAGO hurtles down HIGHWAY 101. FRED ARMISEN (40s, looking deceptively sweet, a glint of manic energy in his eyes) is behind the wheel, foot pressed firmly on the gas. The speedometer needle is way past the limit.

In the passenger seat, a frazzled-looking BAND MEMBER #1 (30s, anxious) grips the dashboard. In the back, BAND MEMBER #2 (30s, spacey) stares blankly at the ceiling.

BAND MEMBER #1 Slow down, Fred. Seriously.

FRED (Grinning widely) Nah.

Fred reaches down and cracks open a tall can of FOUR LOKO. The sickly sweet smell fills the cramped space.

BAND MEMBER #1 Is that a Four Loko? It's barely noon!

FRED (Taking a long swig) Shut your face. Road sodie.

The Winnebago swerves violently.

BAND MEMBER #1 YO! BE CAREFUL, DAWG!

FRED (Chuckling) I'm… careful. In my own way.

He lets out a wild laugh. Band Member #1 and #2 exchange terrified glances.

BAND MEMBER #2 (Looking around) Hey, uh… why are there no windows in here?

BAND MEMBER #1 Yeah man, what the—

The Winnebago swerves again, even more dangerously this time.

BAND MEMBER #1 AGHHHHH!

CUT TO: INT. GENERIC OFFICE - DAY

CONAN O'BRIEN (60s, unmistakable red hair) sits at a desk, a half-eaten slice of pizza the size of his head clutched in his hand. He shoves a massive bite into his mouth, cheeks bulging.

OFF-SCREEN VOICE (V.O.) Meanwhile, in that other thing…

OFF-SCREEN VOICE (V.O.) (CONT'D) Where rational thoughts go to die, apparently.

OFF-SCREEN VOICE (V.O.) (CONT'D) Or just get really hungry.

Two WRITERS (30s, sarcastic) watch Conan with a mixture of amusement and disgust.

WRITER #1 I hope you croak.

WRITER #2 You should choke on that, honestly.

Conan finishes chewing, licks his greasy fingers with exaggerated relish.

CONAN (Mouth full) I didn't.

CUT BACK TO: EXT. PRIVATE BEACH - DAY

The Winnebago screeches to a halt just off a pristine beach. SUNNI BLŪ (30s, cool and unimpressed) stands near the water, looking annoyed.

FRED (Grinning, stepping out of the van) …hi Sunnï.

SUNNI BLŪ What up… C-list show people… Plus two skags?

Band Member #1 and #2 wave awkwardly from the open van door.

FRED We got you a Winnebago! Surprise!

SUNNI BLŪ …for what? Is this some kind of bit? Because it's not funny.

FRED (Eyes gleaming) Don't you want to take… a closer look—?

Sunni takes a step towards the van, a flicker of curiosity on their face. Suddenly, Fred's demeanor shifts. His sweet smile vanishes, replaced by a primal intensity.

FRED (Snarling, voice low and menacing) —ah shit— Seth Meyers?

He lunges at Sunni with surprising speed, grabbing a drumstick from behind his back and jamming it against their head. Sunni cries out, collapsing.

FRED (Animalistic growl) JUST GET IN THE VAN!

Fred and the band members quickly grab Sunni, who is now limp, and hoist them up. They carry Sunni, tied up with what looks suspiciously like floral garland, like a luau pig towards the Winnebago. They toss Sunni unceremoniously into the back.

Fred hops back into the driver's seat, cracks open another tallboy, and chugs the rest of it, littering the empty can out the open door before starting the engine.

SUNNI BLŪ (suddenly alert, from inside the van) YO! DID YOU JUST LITTER ON MY BEACH?!

BAND MEMBER #1 (Looking horrified) Not cool, bro.

BAND MEMBER #2 That was wrong, man. Seriously uncool.

Fred slams on the brakes. He gets out of the Winnebago, a look of pure fury on his face. He stomps over to the discarded can, picks it up, and then gets back in the van, restarting the engine and speeding off down the road, even angrier than before.

FADE OUT INTO ORANGE CALIFORNIAN SUNSET.

L E G E N D S

[The Festival Project ™]

{Enter The Multiverse}

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved.

C'cxell Soleïl

You've got some issues

And that's totally hot

I'm totally spoiled rotten

I am

Totally thought

I want to be free

That's what I want

I want to be free

Two, one

I want

I want I want

Dime a dozen

Shoes for dollops

Cost and markets

Hot sauce

Call the cops on em

What you wanted

Dratch

Knee highs

Strawberry milkshake

“Delicious looking drink”

Check out big Jimmy!

No, he's kind of mean.

The networks work for the advertisers;

The advertisers work for the corporations

The corporations work for the politicians.

Who do you sponsor?

Who do you sponsor?

I don't know; I just like this brand of soap.

Gets the job done.

SETH MaYERS sits backstage clutching his golden spiraled notebook nervously and schoolgirlish, looking into the audience.

Oh my gosh. It can't be!

MeanWhile,

ADAM SANDLER finds the real life version of the remote control from Click. And it works.

…okay…

He clocks “mute” everything does.

ADAM

This is fucked up.

MAYA RUDOLPH does not like space travel.

MAYA

I want— to go—home now.

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved.

C'cxell Soleïl

I missed valentines,

Easter

Consumer holidays

I had stamps for the aunt

Then I woke up,

They went away

Then again

Consumerism,

Then again

It's just a spending trick

Do you need this?

Gürū delivered

Put out music as Blū Tha Gürū?

Might be easier to find.

I always thought of Blu Tha Gürū as just my producer name— not the name that I would be known by— but -Ū. Was nearly, even the way it was stylized—

ED

WOAH.

—impossible to find. Unless for whatever reason I really was being shadow banned. All of my work seemed almost invisible. I knew there were hackers dedicated to this sort of thing— but then, logically and logistically speaking: why was I being targeted? To whom did I appear important or a threat? And— why allocate precious resources to belittling my efforts? I had tried everything else and was no longer trying to get noticed; I was just making what I was making without a having-to-do with who to impress or for what, but I was still minding my manners…and my business.

I gotta see if anyone made my golden shower joke.

What.

Bro, if you do the whole house in gold does this not include the shower.

There ought to be a golden shower.

Please god almighty if someone didn't make this joke and I have to make it myself…

It is a wonderful time to become a comedian. Probably even the best.

This guy is hilarious. Anybody else think so?

NO.

Oh. Let me shut up, then.

Shh, be quiet.

Kks.

Things move fast in the industry.

New news and new happenings.

Are you or are you not of out caliber?

Non.

Are you, or are you not a reporter

Or

Journalist

Anchorman

Showhost?

..

apparently, the boat is real .

Apparently,

Give me those.

What.

You lost— give me those.

No. Those are my coins.

Not your coins. I'm the winner. Give me.

What!

Yo! That unreasonably tall leprechaun just jacked my coins.

What!

That's what I said.

These are not my cards;

The third king has fallen!

I've missed christmases, birthdays,

And cursed days

Inside of a helmet

Check the Talmud;

The author are I

Hathor, in living color

No more, word from

Spiderdust fallen

And no one was chosen

The golden number.

The golden number.

But look, I don't love her.

High priestess in the opposite

Repent your oppression.

The withered weather calls for nothing

Are I?

Not one!

Doctor.

Heart of swords

Typical prototype

Insolent intergers

Recently?

Listen, pentagram

I have had you

In another form

But ugly in the one I lost

With luck your daughter cometh forward

With work and towards the dumb apocalypse

Listen, shattered soldiers

Be you weakened my my fury

Doctor

Chaos

Springfield

Listen here, your art

Has come apart at us

The radio tower

Radio tower

Radio cities

And radio tower

Radio tower

Radio tower

Radio frequencies

Radio tower

Ephiphany!

Promises!

Sir Jyre!

Primroses.

I give you my artform.

Or none.

Or artword.

Will you?

Starfire.

And then some.

Has he wakened?

Chatterboxes, chatterboxes.

You are a psycho.

Where did you get that word from.

…the lower realms.

I like it, what means you?

Nothing hither left to succumb.

Then.

I are— psycho.

Well. Close enough.

Why I love white peopl:

White people words.

Scadattle.

Banboozled.

Finagled.

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved.

C'cxell Soleïl