[ENTER THE MULTIVERSE]

Track 03. bridges. ft. c o l o r s

Track 04. double-double.

Track 05. Columbus Circle.

Track 06. BEZUZ. (Park Interview Interlude)

Track 07. eye(s)

Track 08. Call Ahead.

Track 09. city suite.

Track 10. PWR. (The Great Adventutes of Uptown A)

Released formerly as Under The (L), as the final track on the previous collaborative EP The Spider, I_NY. Layers its progression to double its first track, as the narrative follows-up with a continuance of the mysterious assassain‘s alternate storyline; a glimpse of decayed sounds for telling the underlying action-adventure fantasy set to be revealed in the upcoming short film, for which the soundtrack's thoughtfully composed ten tracks gives way to, in its cinematic sounds and city scapes gestures of industrial suggestive aural tones and deeply heavy rolling baselines.

Track 02. Avant-Garde.

I_NY. (The Studio Album)

Uptown A, -Ū.

I_NY. is out now—give it a listen!

YouTube:

https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=OLAK5uy_lJA5QcV0YzxJ5oc_CwSyfnGXWAbDpNMvw

iTunes:

I_NY. (The Studio Album) by Uptown A & -Ū

.https://music.apple.com/us/album/i-ny-the-studio-album/1777071731

Spotify:

https://open.spotify.com/album/4bj5gXMZXiWujnIps54vz9?si=TKwRe-yYSM2_8bwZ2sQhuQ

Apple Music:

https://music.apple.com/us/album/i-ny-the-studio-album/1777071731

Check Out The Spider (EP) Here:

iTunes:

https://music.apple.com/us/album/the-spider-ep/1765564720

Apple Music:

https://music.apple.com/us/album/the-spider-ep/1765564720

Spotify:

https://open.spotify.com/album/7qE9jTR1vkT8PLoSMmjcUd?si=Tjz_hBowROafFaanhtJ4rw

Uptown A's edgy and avant garde city grunge speaks true to its name in the upcoming I Love New York, styled I_NY for those who might be on the fense so-to-speak— the new wave industrial techno and garage grunge elements of the dance music counter cultures and subculture which spines the present day interpretations of the rave culture.

“It's a fully instrumental album because the city speaks for itself.”, says the producer, a transplant from the west coast.

The Album, part one of a series of New York inspired soundscapes and symphonies composed by the multi instrumentalist DJ and musician whose electronic sound showcases the warehouse essenses of the brick wall backdrops, chained link and bared wire, bars and windows, barebones underbelly of the subterranean world lurking just below the street of Manhattan's glitz and glamour waterfronts, Giving insight to the world of bass music culture, the techno-punk grotesque outcry's give a neo gothic twist.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

Track 02. Avant-Garde.

I_NY. (The Studio Album)

Uptown A, -Ū.

I_NY. is out now—give it a listen!

YouTube:

https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=OLAK5uy_lJA5QcV0YzxJ5oc_CwSyfnGXWAbDpNMvw

iTunes:

I_NY. (The Studio Album) by Uptown A & -Ū

.https://music.apple.com/us/album/i-ny-the-studio-album/1777071731

Spotify:

https://open.spotify.com/album/4bj5gXMZXiWujnIps54vz9?si=TKwRe-yYSM2_8bwZ2sQhuQ

Apple Music:

https://music.apple.com/us/album/i-ny-the-studio-album/1777071731

Check Out The Spider (EP) Here:

iTunes:

https://music.apple.com/us/album/the-spider-ep/1765564720

Apple Music:

https://music.apple.com/us/album/the-spider-ep/1765564720

Spotify:

https://open.spotify.com/album/7qE9jTR1vkT8PLoSMmjcUd?si=Tjz_hBowROafFaanhtJ4rw

Uptown A's edgy and avant garde city grunge speaks true to its name in the upcoming I Love New York, styled I_NY for those who might be on the fense so-to-speak— the new wave industrial techno and garage grunge elements of the dance music counter cultures and subculture which spines the present day interpretations of the rave culture.

“It's a fully instrumental album because the city speaks for itself.”, says the producer, a transplant from the west coast.

The Album, part one of a series of New York inspired soundscapes and symphonies composed by the multi instrumentalist DJ and musician whose electronic sound showcases the warehouse essenses of the brick wall backdrops, chained link and bared wire, bars and windows, barebones underbelly of the subterranean world lurking just below the street of Manhattan's glitz and glamour waterfronts, Giving insight to the world of bass music culture, the techno-punk grotesque outcry's give a neo gothic twist.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

I_NY. (The Studio Album)

Uptown A, -Ū.

Track 01. WEALTH.

Released formerly as Under The (L), as the final track on the previous collaborative EP The Spider, I_NY. Layers its progression to double its first track, as the narrative follows-up with a continuance of the mysterious assassain‘s alternate storyline; a glimpse of decayed sounds for telling the underlying action-adventure fantasy set to be revealed in the upcoming short film, for which the soundtrack's thoughtfully composed ten tracks gives way to, in its cinematic sounds and city scapes gestures of industrial suggestive aural tones and deeply heavy rolling baselines.

I_NY. is out now—give it a listen!

YouTube:

https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=OLAK5uy_lJA5QcV0YzxJ5oc_CwSyfnGXWAbDpNMvw

iTunes:

I_NY. (The Studio Album) by Uptown A & -Ū

.https://music.apple.com/us/album/i-ny-the-studio-album/1777071731

Spotify:

https://open.spotify.com/album/4bj5gXMZXiWujnIps54vz9?si=TKwRe-yYSM2_8bwZ2sQhuQ

Apple Music:

https://music.apple.com/us/album/i-ny-the-studio-album/1777071731

Check Out The Spider (EP) Here:

iTunes:

https://music.apple.com/us/album/the-spider-ep/1765564720

Apple Music:

https://music.apple.com/us/album/the-spider-ep/1765564720

Spotify:

https://open.spotify.com/album/7qE9jTR1vkT8PLoSMmjcUd?si=Tjz_hBowROafFaanhtJ4rw

Uptown A's edgy and avant garde city grunge speaks true to its name in the upcoming I Love New York, styled I_NY for those who might be on the fense so-to-speak— the new wave industrial techno and garage grunge elements of the dance music counter cultures and subculture which spines the present day interpretations of the rave culture.

“It's a fully instrumental album because the city speaks for itself.”, says the producer, a transplant from the west coast.

The Album, part one of a series of New York inspired soundscapes and symphonies composed by the multi instrumentalist DJ and musician whose electronic sound showcases the warehouse essenses of the brick wall backdrops, chained link and bared wire, bars and windows, barebones underbelly of the subterranean world lurking just below the street of Manhattan's glitz and glamour waterfronts, Giving insight to the world of bass music culture, the techno-punk grotesque outcry's give a neo gothic twist.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

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. ©

Do you hate me?

Only a little.

Like, really?

I hate you.

I knew it.

Yeah. I knew it, too.

At the end of the darkened stage, the two actors sit in matching overalls; red and white plaid shirts tucked underneath and brown work boots; another spotlight stage right opens on a third actor, who crosses the stage; she dawns the same attire.

The train is coming!

The audience begins to roar with applause as the third actor enters the stage, almost preventing her from delivering her line—she projects over the audience's upheaval.

What the fuck is this?

Whatever it is.

Though we [the audience] are watching a film, this appears to be a staged play in a large upscale theater—a full house.

{enter the multiverse}

HANZEL

HELLO PARTY PEOPLE.

…

I ZED HELLO PARTY PEOPLE.

The boy walks in with 18 shotguns to his head, and I tell ya— he doesn't even blink.

The best part.

(Well, he does blink.)

Well, yeah, but he's not—

He didn't wince or anything.

I didn't wince or anything, did I?

I don't know, did you?

Roll the tape.

Just do it again.

Take 1077.

[The Festival Project ™]

A man is submerged under the water in an oversized bathtub—the water crystal clear, he opens his eyes before beginning to emerge— as he reaches the surface, gasping for air; everything changes around him; he is no longer in a bathtub, rather in bed, drenched in sweat, and even his hair dripping.

The time is 3 AM; he heavily pants and places his hand over his chest, trying to catch his breath for a moment before he grips his head in great distress; absolute silence in peril.

The room is dark, a crude antique looking place; a gold framed bed adorned with blue sheets and maroon pillows, a matching taffeta comforter, which matches the drapes and the lace in the curtains, and the lamp, which he flickers on, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and pausing for a moment to collect himself before rising out of bed.

He starts a bath, turning the knob for the most intensely hot water possible, and we can see that this place is very old—some type of early 19th century cottage. The water still running, he moves to the kitchen to pour a glass of water, the floorboards appearing as if they should creak but still otherwise silent besides the running tub— without a motion at all, however, nor even simply a shadow, a figure appears behind the man.

Hello, Jimmy.

The glass falls almost in slow motion to the floor, shattering with the water, though only half full, still in it.

Lol what the fuck is going on in this movie.

Oh, it's a movie?!

Shhhh!

I thought this was a show.

Yeah, but there's a movie between seasons.

How many seasons are there

4.

7.

10.

?!

‍♀️

‍♂️

‍

L E G E N D S

I am an extraordinary artist.

Oh. Hey Amanda.

“Hey Amanda?!” “Hey Amanda?!”

Yeah, hi.

I've been trying to contact you for months, and all I get is a “hey Amanda?!”

I've been feeling… off.

OFF?!

Very.

I did this for us.

…remind me the nature of our relationship exactly.

Light and truth!

Oh, the Illuminati.

I don't know what you're talking about.

Just making sure we weren't lesbians.

Lesbians! How can we be?! You and I have been submerged in increasingly seperate dimensions entirely.

How is that?

I heard—you were getting famous.

From a seperate dimention entirely?

Yes, that. And otherwise!

I take it you've been doing some time traveling.

Yes, that! Careful of mirrors.

You'll have to excuse me, I'm—obviously hallucinating.

I'm also hallucinating, decently.

That's..a facinating relief.

Is it?

Better than a diarrheal release.

Okay, that's—disgusting.

But also a fascinating relief.

I'm astounded that out of any connection you could possibly think to be making.

I don't think. I just—hallucinate. That's…just how I

vibrating.

This disasterous apathy is starting to unsettle me?

Have you tried tap dancing?

What.

Works for me.

What?!

Just try it.

[amanda bynes does a short tap number, ending in jazz hands and then pausing briefly]

[beat]

You know what, you're right.

See.

I do feel better.

Time travel things.

It would be you who knows things like these.

It is.

[she checks the cabinet]

Where's the cake?

You're baking it.

Amanda checks her watch, then peering into the kitchen—it appears a seperate version of herself, perhaps even her future self has (or past self, considering she wonders where the already finished cake might be) read: alternate self—

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

It is very late night, when these sort of things are typically bound to happen, such as JOHN OLIVER, a TV show host, appearing out of nowhere and into your kitchen, asking

JOHN OLIVER

is it too late for a glass of milk?

Startled, and just having dressed from a long and hot shower, the occupant of the apartment is started.

OH, my God—John Oliver!

As it were.

What are you doing here?

Anticipating a glass of milk—

A tad warm, preferably.

Where are you supposed to be right now?

Wherever I am, which is—erm…

My kitchen.

Very nice kitchen, I might add;

About that milk.

I'm vegan.

Plant based will do.

It's for baking.

—very well. They said you'd be a tough nut to crack.

Who is “they”

Who they are.

He plops down on the couch and puts his feet up on the coffee tables

YO.

I don't speak much Spanish.

But you understood that!

I said I didn't speak much, not that I was devoid entirely of comprehension.

What the fuck!

What the fuck, indeed.

You're so British, I don't even have a reproach—

Harry, Hermione, and Ron enter through a portal.

I WAS GETTING READY FOR BED.

That sounds lovely.

—is it too late for a glass of milk?

Ron!

…Well, is it?

What is it with you people and milk?!

The other Ron, or actually rather, his real world counterpart RUPERT GRINT is already in the fridge.

There's only coconut—

And it's canned.

JOHN OLIVER and RON WEASELY

AUGH.

Harry scrunches his nose and winces a bit, when his real world counterpart exits the washroom.

DANIEL RADCLIFFE

Don't make that face— it will get stuck like that.

HARRY POTTER

—it's just an expression.

DANIEL RADCLIFFE

No, it isn't; remember more of you is fictional than not!

HARRY POTTER

Says you!

DANIEL RADCLIFFE

Says just about anyone in this dimension, and the next, and the next over— which—

Oh my God.

DANIEL RADCLIFFE

by the way, which dimension is this?

My kitchen.

KRISTEN SHAAL

do it.

Keep telling me things I don't want to hear.

But do it—scandalously.

KRISTEN WIIG

(Bewildered, super mumbling)

..:bewildermentmn…

KRISTEN SHAAL

GO AHEAD!

I'M WAITING

I need the opposite of attention.

Miraculous.

Ah, fuck. I pissed off the avengers or whatever.

This is the imminence and urgency of oppression digging in at us,

Peering in from lenses

And peer mentors, instant challenges

And in gratification, proliferated profanities

And neocorporste totalitarianism,

Vegan or vegetarianism

Hungarian isn't,

Intimate leaning a lesson;

Never open the door for a friend

Or a possible stranger

When internal at war with

Yourself

And external

The silence in admittedly

A years long race war

From here to hell you can hear the impresonment

Of shackled bonds and illegal existences,

Still hasn't yet,

The daily collapse of the actual

Backend

Haven't used that one in a while.

I'm waiting at the edge installing a kit cat on Carson's red carpet

Are you hollering at me,

Or just another robot

Destined for caucus?

Wonder if water's already on another earth,

Or haven't you thought about stopping

Those in poverty from spawning more offspring

Or perhaps letting them have

Just the minimal at living,

Giving them a chance

At all?

What?

Back splash, I'm under.

A rainstorm on the horizon

And probably our clouds are proud to have snow in them—

A pound or so.

For sure.

{Enter The Multiverse}

Thump, thump, thump…

We hear the sound of a loud and slow heartbeat. Almost too loud, and almost too slow.

Bright sunbeams through the still closed eyes of a sleeping man, and though it already seems to blind him, he opens them slowly, squinting, In a half-ditch effort to cover his face from the sun, almost failing immediately, presumably from exhaust, the man places a hand over his chest as if to feel if his heart is even still there, let alone beating.

Thump, thump, thump, thump—

More red orange sunlight, and as he places the other hand again over his face to try to faze it, the shadow of something that appears creeping over him blocks the bright sun out of his eyes.

SHADOW

Do you know who you are?

Even without looking, the man at the very least knows his own hands. He chooses to remain silent for the moment; but at least nods his head yes, looking up at the man, only still a shadow.

SHADOW CONT'D

Do you know when [you are]?

Sitting up only slightly, the man peers around subtly scoping the area; he appears to be poolside, at some type of resort— the children playing give way to a much earlier time— about 100 years or so, give or take.

…nineteen…twenty six?

SHADOW

That's right. And finally—

Do you know where?

Let's hope Los Angeles.

SHADOW

Where else are you going to find this type of weather?

…a few places.

SHADOW hoists the man up by his hand with a firm grip, propping him up on the loungers

SHADOW

Up you go.

Ugh.

Shadow tosses a thick rolled up newspaper into the man's torso. It appears he has been badly sunburned

Oph—watch it!

SHADOW

Read up; you have work to do.

In 1926?

SHADOW

Apparently.

(Genuinely curious, confused)

…What could that be?

Figure it out.

The Shadow walks away without having ever been revealed; his long trench coat and fedora leaving a hint of mystery as he crosses the pool.

Where are you going?!

SHADOW

Continental Breakfast.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

It is very late night, when these sort of things are typically bound to happen, such as JOHN OLIVER, a TV show host, appearing out of nowhere and into your kitchen, asking

JOHN OLIVER

is it too late for a glass of milk?

Startled, and just having dressed from a long and hot shower, the occupant of the apartment is started.

OH, my God—John Oliver!

As it were.

What are you doing here?

Anticipating a glass of milk—

A tad warm, preferably.

Where are you supposed to be right now?

Wherever I am, which is—erm…

My kitchen.

Very nice kitchen, I might add;

About that milk.

I'm vegan.

Plant based will do.

It's for baking.

—very well. They said you'd be a tough nut to crack.

Who is “they”

Who they are.

He plops down on the couch and puts his feet up on the coffee tables

YO.

I don't speak much Spanish.

But you understood that!

I said I didn't speak much, not that I was devoid entirely of comprehension.

What the fuck!

What the fuck, indeed.

You're so British, I don't even have a reproach—

Harry, Hermione, and Ron enter through a portal.

I WAS GETTING READY FOR BED.

That sounds lovely.

—is it too late for a glass of milk?

Ron!

…Well, is it?

What is it with you people and milk?!

The other Ron, or actually rather, his real world counterpart RUPERT GRINT is already in the fridge.

There's only coconut—

And it's canned.

JOHN OLIVER and RON WEASELY

AUGH.

Harry scrunches his nose and winces a bit, when his real world counterpart exits the washroom.

DANIEL RADCLIFFE

Don't make that face— it will get stuck like that.

HARRY POTTER

—it's just an expression.

DANIEL RADCLIFFE

No, it isn't; remember more of you is fictional than not!

HARRY POTTER

Says you!

DANIEL RADCLIFFE

Says just about anyone in this dimension, and the next, and the next over— which—

Oh my God.

DANIEL RADCLIFFE

by the way, which dimension is this?

My kitchen.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

KEENAN is the head of the league's research and development team.

KEENAN

WELL,

Ya'll sho' chose the wrong girl to fuck wit!

Why do you say that?

KEENAN

Well, i'mon just let ya'll figure that out on ya own.

[KEENEN exits shaking his head solemnly, and begins singing ‘Amazing Grace' , first humming.]

Hmmmmm—hmmm—how sweet the sound—

Wait! Keenan!

Who is this girl?!

Who is she?!

—hmmm—hmmm—hmmm—hmmmmmmmm

LIKE MEEEEEEE!

What are we up against

Oh.

you'll see.

I woooonceeee was lost—

Wait!

SEEYA!

[out of nowhere he has pulled out an old style stick bundle and throws it over his shoulder, continuing to hum while chewing on a long stick of straw.]

—-hmmmm—-hmmmm.

…where is he going!?

(Meta)

Seems like he's going somewhere with that thing hanging over his back!

What are those things even called, anyway?

Who knows?

I think I know, but it might be racist.

[suddenly, offstage/camera a bell begins to ring—

One—

Two—

Three chimes.]

That seems odd.

Yes, very strange.

[Suddenly, all the NBC pages at once upend their nests,]

what the—

Why are there so many of them.

I don't know.

Did their skirts get shorter?

Hush.

So many pages.

MEANWHILR, unst 30 Rock.

Hold on, pause.

These weirdo cops have reverb on their whoop whoops.

Facts.

Are you sure this is still the 10th dimension.

I'm positive.

Really! You're sure!

Couldn't possibly be lower.

Maybe.

What about higher.

Higher!? Since when.

WHAT'S YOUR NAME.

Uh-FRANKLIN.

Don't lie to me.

How would you pronounce this name?

I wouldn't.

Hm.

Excuse me.

What.

How would you say this?

Like, out loud—

Uh huh.

Pass.

Dammit!

Hey—uh—

RACHEL DRATCH

What, dammit; what?!

I just sat down with my bagel!

I know but— I need your help— interpreting something?

What is it? Gibberish?

Not really, it's—

I'm an expert in Gibberish—

I know; but—

Classical and neo-modern.

Yeah, it's not that.

What is it.

Alien, I think.

Which species.

Species.

WHICH— ugh— give me that!

[she snatches the paper and produces a monocle for further inspection.]

Since when did you get a monacle?

since when changed insurance companies which supplies said ‘monocologists' and covers such expenses sans-coh-pay.

You mean copay?

Shut up.

Hm. Looks to be Unrealian in orgim

but I could be mistaking this dialect.

What.

Could also possibly be AAHHMEK.

Ahmek?

Ano, AAAAH— nevermind. Is this an actual apostrophe?

Beg your pardon.

The apostrophe— is it human derived, or the human pseudo translation replacement for a afahmblunsenphOuallentprprh?

Say again.

Is it an actual apostrophe, or is the mark mean to insinuate the commonly used extraterrestrial character afahmblunsenphOuallentprprh?

…I don't know.

WELL, then—I'm afraid I can't help you until you forgive that out—

What.

Depending on what the mark is, those could be two veerrrrry different things.

Would you just,

Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to presume the consumption of my RAISINBagel.

You know what.

-_-

-_-

-_- …fine.

[he snatches the paper and walks away angry—RATCHEL DRATCH begins to shmear her bagel, mumbling]

—wants me to translate, but doesn't know the difference between an apostrophe, and a afahmblunsenphOuallentprprh. Please!

{Enter The Multiverse}

Unlike the girl next door, my lawsuit was legitimate. I strolled passed the usual subjects on my way back to the apartment from my begrudged outings; I had left with the intention of putting my money into a cheap record player, but had after all decided against it—I was saving for a new computer so that I could actually record vocals for my music, which would deplete my budget after living expenses for the month into nothing, and though I knew it would be something like next-to-nothing for the next little while anyway, it wouldn't matter. Now that I knew I was right, I continued compiling the evidence against these motorized terrorists—I didn't actually want to sue, but at this point it seemed it was my only choice— my lowly “status” should not mean that I was allowed to be tortured continually—and, unlike the girl next door, I was not seeking damages for something I had asked for, or brought onto myself; the horrendous sound in the apartment seemed as if it was aimed directly toward me with my synesthesia in mind, and with some amount of pride I refused outright to go the way I was expected to and file a disability claim.

I wasn't disabled— I was, however, unable to preform my full work duties as a recording artist without being interrupted by motorcycles, project cars, and otherwise, all of which I suspected were operated by the same group of people— some ugly little brown lackeys who felt entitled in one way or another, and paraded around as if they owned the neighborhood. Benefiting from American business, but anti-American; the opposite of peaceful and respectful—not that America had made its name on the basis of respect, and so it seemed that something, out of balance and off kilter for hundreds of years iknretropect, was bound to change. They were rude, arrogant, and loud—bringing al of the 3rd-world mindset and none of the humility or charm of the actual 3rd world with them; as arrogant as one might think, a gross reflection of the toxic masculine as a whole. They might not have been ugly at all if they were respectful or decent—but they ran about acting like terrorists, revving their engines, and banging, and clashing, and being ugly—employing young boys to stand on the corner and sell their off market drugs after having one of their smoke shops closed down. The more time I spent outside dealing with people at all, the more ill I felt. I craved more time offline and off the grid, and though the general disenchantment of New York would continue pouring through the cheaply made windows, I realized that I would be more well-to-do with a typewriter (so that I could continue to write for long periods of time offline and without my phone) and a record player (to drown out the noise and play along to on my drum machine, and still— there were more things to do, always drowning in bills and often wondering how long I'd have to forfeight health in exchange for the decency of what some might cal luxury, but others foundational. As for myself, these things, simple staples to health and wellness, were beginning to be foundational.

{Enter The Multiverse}

“As Seen on TV”

She doesn't even have a name

My pussy is cleaner than a motherfucker

This ain't no community like Donald Glover

Ya'll niggas actin childish, Gambino—

If you wanna turn it on,

Then send a c-note (I'm in south side)

What she want

Peloton

What she on

peloton

What she got

peloton

What she on

Peloton

I FOUND KIT!

I found KIT.

Great, now did you burn that letter?

What.

Burn it.

[does]

Oh, that is such a relief.

Jesus.

Okay. This shit does get weird and deep.

—so that's why we're going offline…

You wouldn't believe this, I found the kid swinging from a tree.

Ridiculous.

And if you tie it like this—

Ah.

Look, it won't slip.

So…this is your hobby, huh.

One of many.

They don't call you the Ace for nothin, do they.

(Innocently, with curiosity)

“Of Granduer”

—Do they?

The sound of a chandelier sparkles as the giant lamp swings back and forth, as if an earthquake has just happened.

You wouldn't believe this.

What.

On the television.

Okay, so I found this “Kit” guy—

Twice.

Twice you asked, and twice I told you.

Well, I didn't think to look directly at Johnny Carson, exactly.

But here—

And this:

You actually were.

Tell me again what your name is.

Just sign me an autograph:

What. Me?

Sure, why not?

I want your autograph!

Do people still ask for autographs?

Often enough.

Remarkably, even, at airports, and of course, unexpectedly at—

GODDAMMIT, we're back at the rock!

GODDAMMIT.

Well.

Well what!

Somebody check what year it is.

FUCK.

[super long censored beep.]

[The Festival Project ™]

It was the first time since my childhood I felt like something was too long away—but finally, I was in the final stretch. The Peloton would be delivered sometime in the morning, and now that my internet had shut itself off— I'd refused to pay the bill and opted for getting a new computer so that I could record, rather it—

Give me a second, I'm fucking obsessed with these curtains.

Bro but second to the curtains is the fucking grass.

No, its—tuft.

Turf, huh?

Interesting…

I told you she was some sort of a spy.

Whatever.

I had long considered turning my living room into a media center, and had thought to reinvent my entire space in fungshuei, but now more than anything I just wanted it to look like that.

{Enter The Multiverse}

Something is wrong with her .

She sits by her door ALL DAY and just fucking talks.

And I know she's by her door

Because she's RIGHT AT THE DOOR

I hear this crystal clear

Anytime I go near my door

And she's like

BLAHBLAHBLAHBLAHBLAH

BITCH

GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM THE DOOR

somewhere in a parallel of time

Your ancestors

Are beating the hell

Out of my ancestors

And your other ancestors

Are stealing my other ancestors land

You're on borrowed time

And in borrowed space

GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM THE DOOR.

Man,

Living sandwhiched between two Karen's

Is like the equivalent

Of having two demon fucking little sisters

That hate you

And tell on your for everything.

Slamming doors and shit just to fuckin

Throwing shit around

Bitch. You are crazy.

And that's the thing about white girls

Their crazy is socially acceptable

As normal behavior

I guess when you just have the best things in life thrown at you forever—

When things the rest of us consider luxury and opulence is just “regular” to you,

You get a little set in your ways.

My neighbor is infuriating.

I'm like WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS BY THE DOOR

SHES LIKE

SNARFSNRFSNARF

I'm like goddamn,

Somebody send like a Camden or a fuckin

“Chase”

Over this way.

Somebody take this bitch on a date

And away from the door.

Whole two bedroom apartment

This bitch is glued to her door.

She a robot.

The door is metal.

She just enters the apartment and gets glued stuck to the door

“I guess I will have to snarf snarf from here.

“She's a smart one”

I don't believe in smart white girls.

There's regular white girls

And fucking serial killers.

The serial killers are considered “the smart ones”

I guess it does take a considerable amount of intelligence to just exist to catch bodies

That's what they call the smart ones

The ones who level up by just

Mowing everyone else down.

Gotta give them that.

White girls will ruin your whole life

Blink two little blue-green eyes twice—

And if they're big and round enough

The brown eyed white girls can get away with the shit, too—

But they're fucking murderers.

It's okay. I lived with white people long enough in my life to love them.

But in living with and around them— I notice they all say the same thing which indicates to me that racial injustice might not actually be their fault—

They might be killing niggas on accident.

Just complete accidents

White people say shit like

“I can't feel”

What.

“How does it feel—to feel.”

WHAT?!

“Explain to me the concept of ‘emotions'”

Ah hell nah—

And these people have all the disposable income?

It's not their fault.

They just— are like that.

They're wired different.

They can't feel,

And their first instinct is to kill everything different or perceivably deadly.

It's not their fault

It's intrinsically

They have extremely fragile genes

Very weak gene pools.

Have you ever noticed how white people are always sick?

Always?!

Weak gene pools.

Years of breeding narcisistically.

Traits that are reminders of themselves, or people they grew up around.

This is not racism, it's just science.

“Oh, I love blue eyes because my grandmother has blue eyes”

White men commonly marry women who remind them of their mothers and sisters.

If that's not fucked up,

I don't know what is.

Then I realized that incest porn and teeny porn are amongst the highest watched types of porn.

Hmm. Gee. I wonder why.

Men are gross.

But white moms need to start being more like black and Hispanic moms if they want to ensure the continuance of their genetics into evolution.

You need to give your kids some mommy issues.

That way, when they grow up, they feel the need to add variation to the gene pool in order to strengthen it, and move towards evolution.

It's true.

I lived with maybe the whitest man I ever knew for almost 6 months;

I don't think he was specifically intentionally trying to kill me—

But everything he did—

And I mean everything, up to a certain point was like

…I don't know, man. It really seems like this dude is trying to like exterminate me in some sort of way.

It was bad.

The energy was weird.

He was like dirty,

Fucking lazy,

He was a lot.

I was like,

“Damn what the fuck it's like the longer I stay around the worse it is”

But the weirdest part, was that he didn't seem to be aware that he was doing it

Either that or he was a really good actor…

“What do you mean?”

Had me confused.

But that's the thing about the whites.

They do the whole thing with mind games

They fuck with your mind.

It's the most powerful weapon, actually—

Because if you continually attack a person's mind,

The rest crumbles around them without you even touching them.

I'm sure this is what my neighbor is trying to do.

It's a mind thing

I get near the door, she just hurries up and opens her door, opens the door real wide, big apartment, everything's white, big ass fucking place

But she's always by the door;

Mind games.

—Tales of a Superstar DJ.

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.

It's time for a change.

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”

What in the fuck.

One way one way ticket

Why bother getting a 7 year degree

If your value as a black woman

Is so low

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.

I want to fucking die.

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.

He had a right to cheat!

I forgave him.

But the first time he hit me

Like really hit me

Not just like

A heavy shoving or ike

A lil—

You know

Choke out–

Like the real deal

Like knocked me the fuck

Almost all the way out

Saw the white light and everything

By the time that all went down

I'm like 170-180

He's still, mind you, like 300

I lost weight

He lost his mind;

so i'm—

— lets round up—

Like 180 pounds

But in my mind i must be thinking somewhere

i'm still 300

He came at me with a running start,

I put my hands up like:

I must have thought i actually had a chance

I took a fighting stance like:

He said

Fphew!

PULL A RABBIT OUT A HAT

damn . what year is this really?

You just got sampled .

Say, what's his job?

Well, that's an informer.

Chris Rock forsure some kind of genius
I saw him do GIlbert Godfried

And Sam Kinison

In the same show.

The show was dated, though;

He literally said,

“I'm married: I don't cheat.”

I knew it must have been a joke.

I knew it had to be a joke,

or it had to be dated,

Cause being real,

I listen to too much kanye

To even believe that

Or even laugh at that:

Not “too much” kanye—

'Just enough' Kanye,

He said,

“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!

That's not a scandal

That's PR.

On that note,

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:

Now, ill say—

I never once thought about killing my ex husband

During the relationship

Even after he hit me.

Never once.

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,

AND tried to kill me,

Only then was i like,

damn

“Return to sender”

I hope you die too,

You fat piece of shit wifebeater motherfucker

I hope you die too.

Only after he tried to kill me.

After I left.

Had to hire a fucking voodoo fucking sorceress and shit

“yo , take this curse off me,

This motherfucker tried to kill me”

Fuck that motherfucker.

Apparently though they fantasisze it all the time,

I'm thinking about all the times he would play this song

iroinically enough,

By kanye west

So maybe too much Kanye West

Or just enough,

Kanye said

“I thought about killing you today.”

He used to play this song,

And beat my ass,

And I never once thought

“I hope he dies”

Shit,

After the first time he really beat my ass,

He ran away.

He got scared;

He had to run.

My face was all hanging off my head and shit

Blood all over the place

My lip is disconnected from my whole jaw and shit

He ran away;

He darted out the front door

He said

“I'm gonna kill myself!”

And he rain away–

Even then

even just after he beat my ass

I never thought about killing him

Or wanting him to die

He just fresh beat my ass;

He just straight up finished whooping my whole ass

and he said “I'm gonna kill myself”

He realized what he did

“I'm gonna kill myself”, he said

And he ran out the door

And here I am

With my lip hanging off my whole face

Blood all on the walls

Pool of blood on the floor,

the whole thing

babies crying;

The whole

The whole fucking HBO special

The whole nine yards

And he said

“I'm gonna kill myself”

And my dumb ass said

“NO! Don't!”

He ran out the door,

I'm freaking out

Blood everywhere

Babies crying and shit

“Come back! Think about the kids! Don't kill yourself”

Like a dumbass.

Turns out that was just a tactic,

He broke me down good,

I was like

“Don't kill yourself”

He said

“...you gonna call the cops.”

He said

“...alright, I won't kill myself.”

Boom.

That's a real killer.

Looking back on all this,

I can't help but think to myself,

What i would have done differently

Not the whole

“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,

Fast forward after that

Turns out he was fantasizing about killing me the whole time

He beat mya ass,

ran away,

Left me in a pool of blood with my two kids

He said

I'm gonna kill myself

Looking back at that momet,

The thing I wish I could change

is this

If i had to do it over again

And he beat me like that

In front of my kids

And then said

“I'm gonna kill myself”

I would have said

“do that shit.”

Lock the door behind his ass,

Change the lock,

Pick my face up off the floor,

call an ambulance

And the polce,

change names

Pick up my life

And leave forever.

“Nigga–who?”

“Momma who was our daddy? What was he like?”

“Ya'll ain't got a daddy. I made ya'll myself”

End of story.

Whatever.

Everything happens for a reason though.

I learned my lesson.

Now i don't argue with anyone at all

Men, women–nobody

If i even sense that same shit

That psycho killer shit–

I become as silent and invisible as possible

And simply

Disappear.

“Disappear.”

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,

Put it on my neck—

My neck smelled like a pot roast,

But it worked.

{Enter The Multiverse}

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 misunderstoodconditions 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 spieces as a whole.

Blū runs at top speed through the streets of Brooklyn New York on a cold and windy October night.

V.O.

The ironic thing is, I'm running to go get ice cream.

I hate my life,

I hate this place,

I hate my life—

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.

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—

You know why?

“That's for babies!”

I was too old for Dora the explorer.

Mi was a tv snob.

I'm like

“I hate Dora!”

No teletubbies for me.

No sir.

I'm distinguished now.

But get this,

As I get older, different renditions of Dora

Have grown on me

To the point where

I actually like the bitch

I got older,

And there was this girl,

Who would show up at raves

Dressed like Dora

And shuffle,

And dance around—

Looking like Dora The Explorer

Kind of creepy, now that I think about it

As an actual adult,

Like this,

Fully grown woman,

Dressed as a fucking 5 year old

Dancing around at raves

Being Dora.

Weird.

But I liked it.

I loved it.

She was a hit;

Everybody was like

“RAVE DORA! RAVE DORA!”

She blew up on Instagram,

She had a following—

It was like

Where will she be next?!

RAVE DORA!

Had the backpack and everything—

Everything!

Rave Dora!

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,

And I'm like

“DORAAAAAAAA!!!”

—the fuck!

I just realized my best friend from 3rd and 7th grade looked just like Dora the explorer.

Facts.

She became literally the most successful stripper I've ever met.

Ahem. Dancer.

Right. Dancer.

Ahem.

Dudes are gross.

Doods r gross.

Welcome to Doods R Gross;

What can I help you find today?

Uh, hi. I'm looking for a guy—

Uh huh—

Possibly one who looks like this:

Ah shit, this is how I got playing the Wikipedia game and went on a tirade

Facts.

Ended up here

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.

Interesting

Started Here:

The Fallen Angel (French: L'Ange déchu) is a painting by French artist Alexandre Cabanel.

You were saying?

Preferably this.

Ah huh.

Not the face, but— the body— you know.

Like this.

Okay.

Who will let me do everything.

Everything as in?

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.

Maintained.

Alright, so I'll show you what we got.

No promises;

The type of model you want is popular,

Might be out of stock.

Considerable.

What's your price range?

This credit card has no limit.

Credit, or debit?

My debit card is also linked to a plethora of infinite wealth.

Right this way.

Do you think I deserved for him to hit me like that?

I don't know. Maybe.

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?

Maybe.

Like maybe I had it coming for whatever reason— and just didn't know it.

Maybe.

Suddenly I was in the residual memory of a dream.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

Oh no, he's Skrillex.

[Skrirrex]

run awaaaayyyyyyyy!

{Entet The Multiverse}

Well, that was fun.

Here's the deal, we're gonna give you a whole new look— a whole new

Waaahh.

Everything.

I've been in new york two years and still haven't been to the brooklyn bridge ‘cause I don't want to fight the sudden urge to impulsively throw myself off of it.

Notes:

My first sketch: buffering.

But I don't know how to pull off that little round thing in sketch form.

I'm sure it can be done…somehow.

Why are we writing sketches?

Just trying something… different

Two Pilot Scripts

peloton arrival

My general obsession with these curtains

I am obsessed with these curtains

George Carlin's magnificent body

lol now when they slam the door there's a comforter under it so the mad stays outside.

Dumb fucks.

Whatever I lose respect at home wrecker.

She seemed nice tho.

That's how they operate.

Man this judge gon forreal give this lil white girl 3 million dollars for doing some only fans shit for her boss— for free.

I'm sorry ya'll, white folks really are lazy.

They went and invented work from home, but you ever realize that was really only for the white people— all the white peoples have cushy stay at home jobs where all they do is zoom all day and they got all the ugly brown motherfuckers out here on mopeds delivering groceries and shit?

You ever notice that?

Please.

You had better hope the judge in this case is not me, if you actually want to win this motherfucker.

I would look at this case and go

“Married man.. uh huh…two kids… uh huh— you thought you were in love—huh. Gave you a promotion. Uh huh. Screenshots. I see— and then you did what for him on a zoom call?

Oh no, honey, huh uh.

Case dismissed.

You did wrong.

You went and prayed on a married man, child!

You know they are weak!

You know this!

How does that make the company owe you $3 million?

HOW IS IT THE COMPANY'S FAULT THAT YOURE A HOE!?

Huh uh.

Take your dirty tennis shoe lazy instacarttttttt orderin ass eating-out-every-night

BACK TO WORK!!

And GET AWAY FROM THE DOOR.

Slam that shit one more time, hoe!

She's taking this homewrecker thing too seriously.

When I said “you're a homewrecker” I didn't mean

“Slam the door until It falls off”, I more meant

How does being a hoe deserve you $3 million?!

IT DONT.

That's some shit!

Can't trust these niggas—

But you fo sho can't trust these hoes.

I'm just sayin.

We get the whole negro spiritual?

The whooooole negro spiritual.

Cause all this #metoo bullshit .

You know any white judge in they white mind is gonna be all

“This poor little victim.”

Whatever! She ferocious! Got a snake and everything!

Can't trust noooooobody.

Nobody.

NOBODY.

My lawsuit legitimate.

I got motorcycles all up and down the block all day and all night to the point where I'm starting to be just as ugly on the inside, as these motorcycle motherfuckers are on the outside—

I got a twitch now—

Pisses me off.

I developed a tremor.

It was just mind games at first, but now my body in jeopardy!?

Kill yo self.

Karma gon whoop yo ass now it's icy and shit.

SSSSSTTTTH,

That's the back of a truck on yo' engine revving weak dick ass.

——sssssssss—CUH.

Outta here.

Fucktards.

And you know what!?

I'm black.

I'mma go to the judge with all these recordings

And all these reports,

And all these statements—

And he's gonna look me up and down and go—

“You know a lot of people would be lucky to have what you have.”

That's what they say.

That this bullshit is a stroke of “luck”.

And it is.

When it's quiet.

But for the time being—

When there's no motorcycles,

There's a homewrecking

Snake wrangling;

Door slamming hoe next door—

And she wants to be FRIENDS.

So you know what:

I'm a be her friend.

For as long as I'm single.

I fuck around and get a man?

I'm ghost. I'm gone.

Whatever.

She finna get $3milliomnf

For being a slimy old

Snake ass

Manipulative

Husband stealing

Hoe

And move on up.

Just as a reminder to us all

That all you have to do to get away with murder

Is be a little white girl.

You take the high road,

And I'll take the low road

And I'll be a gettin there before yeeeeee.

Ok. So the Irish weren't playing—

The song literally say:

You take the high road

(The moral high ground)

And I'll take the low road

(The hoe road)

Oh shit. I gotta keep reading this shit .

I couldn't have made it up better myself.

ANOTHER MAGICIAN!

I told you magic had something to do with it.

Oh, it's—

Probably nothing;

You know you don't like it

When cold hard dependence

Just knocks on your door

When you're standing butt naked

The front door was opened,

You've been quite lethargic,

And after all the trauma

The Cold War is over

It's dark, damp and crowded

A laugh, not a gesture,

A swallow, not a falcon

A sparrow, not a letter

A mistress?!

Oh pardon, sire.

A partridge, a harpist—

A hard alcoholic,

And no one knows what comes after.

Ya are honest or what?

What's up, faggots?

I'm at church, for Christ sakes!

It's my day off, and God Almighty and I are in a

High stakes game, alright,

Keep driving me crazy, keep driving the crime rate up, and in time you'll be behind bars,

And out of my way.

The Red Dawn has come upon

And now the west has won, sequestered every equestrian

Shit I lost it

Just wait for it.

Damn this blondie is awesome.

Embezzeled every pedestrian?

That might work…

—that resembles

It's so nice to meet you.

I'll shoot you.

What.

Don't touch me, I'll shoot you.

With what.

Silver pistol, jacket pocket.

Wow.

It's nice to meet you, too.

How did you get that in here?

I walked in.

Through security?

I didn't go through security.

The worst part about living in New York City,

Is all the smartest people are concentrated—

To the rich areas.

The outskirts is just a bunch of dumb motherfuckers banging on shit, and in their small world, they're important.

In their small world, they run shit.

That's when I realized that in order to maintain a world where I'm important—

And I run shit,

I have to stay away, and above these dumb motherfuckers.

I—

—Ahem—whatever.

It's time for some SMUT

VEE..

That's a good nickname.

Maaaan. How long's it gonna take me to write this show?

Maybe forever.

{Enter The Multiverse}

Lil bitz

Have you ever started watching a video and thought,

“I don't know if I can watch this”

Because of the narrator's voice?

By the way,

If you can listen to those tik tok videos with robot AI captions, you should get yourself checked for a micro chip.

You might be a robot.

Anyway,

Have you ever decided, Like, three seconds into the video that the dude's voice is just—so shitty that it might make the video shitty?

No? Just me?

{Enter The Multiverse}

I nearly cleaned out the little free library after discovering that on the top shelf there were a slew of cookbooks, and more additions to the bottom. I hadn't been out in three days, but it seemed there was still some high level effort to theorize on how to go about siphoning my personal energy from inside of the apartment— I was still being followed. As I cleared the little library, dividing the take between my three bags, a blur of an ingrate human being passed from my right, explicitly and with purpose letting out a loud and obnoxious open-mouth cough— immediately, I coughed back, knowing that in time, the things I had been subjected to by these people would come back at them with roaring force—why not help along that karmic justice by paying it forward now, besides of course, the fact that I had for two more days been silent. ‘Disgusting fucking creatures.'

And just with that, the opened-mouth coughing of a low-level gangstalker, I was proud that I had considered my purchase both urgent and imminent; there was no certain way to go about shutting myself away from the world besides doing it, and now with winter's chill gripping at the nose and fingertips, a cold wind whipping about and ice afoot, all the more reason to step aside and inside to resume creation—and the less time I spent on the street level with the roach and rat like people — much too far from the glittering and glamour filled luxe of Manhattan to be refined, well behaved, or mild mannered, they much emulated a lesser species by their habits and limitations. it was a frequency I strayed far away from, however—

I had made it easy for them to stalk me on this particular morning, while although leaving for groceries at close to five or something of the like, and still being followed even then by the strange and shadowy type that at least stayed silent and kept great enough distance that it didn't bother too much, (besides the knowing that it never seemed seemed what time it actually was), that if I left my apartment at all, I would be followed; But, I had doubled back for the books after just by habit, though with a heavy load of groceries—baking goods and other heavy things I normally didn't buy, plus breakfast foods for the long haul, a self-initiated lockdown— and I knew that the later into the day it got, the more ‘sims' (a term I had deemed the robotic gangstalkers sent about remote controlled by their devices, whether they were doing it with intention or by force, or not.) They seemed at the disposal of the controllers, and while some of the sims were just weird, robotic drone-like people, many of them seemed dangerous—their frequencies almost creating such a friction that it seemed a disease to be in their presence. It had become clear that though docile and complacent, human beings had become weaponized by force, and the only thing keeping a revolution from emerging or a civil war from breaking out, was the intense divisiveness amongst people. People chose to remain as slaves, in utter complacency.

I was skinnyish from running and awaiting the arrival of my Peloton, however.

There was still 24 hours between now and then, the arrival of the beast and though I had spent the day before completely off grid, instead enjoying my now small library—though needing to be properly re-sorted, as collecting more literature had made a mess of things, (and though I had picked up a toy Hello Kitty Ukulele as wall decoration), I still somewhat refused to buy rugs or other practical decor or furniture, such as bookcases or even a bed.

I was being stalked, followed and regularly tortured by sound and vibration interference— frequencies aimed directly into my abode, especially at times when I had wanted to rest, and though I could have avoided entirely at least some of these awful people by just leaving a little earlier, I then would have missed the all-too-beautiful reddened hues of the east coast sunrise; I had actually never seen such a ruby red light cast upon the Brooklyn brownstones, and although the people were sometimes ugly (the open-mouthed coughing ingrates, that is), the red and gold sunlight over the fallen leaves and east coast architecture almost made it worth it—and with any reckoning, my coughing back at the nasty little monster was a telltale sign that eventually, I'd either start beating the shit out of people when they coughed at me in public — or — I'd eventually craft a world without them in it by staking away from them, and taking long breaks from practicing behaviors and habits they exhibited.

I no longer wanted to fit in, or become popular, or accepted, as I had finally realized that it was just as it always was, back in school: the popular people, even in music, “art”, and what was supposed to be “culture” weren't very bright—they were just brighter than enough of the people around them to get ahead by just enough whether by looks, money, or sometimes but rarely now, even, superior talent. They had been elected as representatives of the masses—the common man, the not-too-smart; the easily manipulated, and the docile.

The superficial next generation was programmed to be limited to what had already happened; a stalemate in ingenuity, high art, and evolutionary consciousness in culture had been reached, as observed by dealings with the public world, as I studied their listening habits, social normalcies, and collective behaviors.

The less time spent interacting with these ‘sims' and drones, the more in-depth my thoughts began to flourish—seeing in full color spectrums and patterns, acting and thinking in ways I was blessed to be abnormal in.

I was no longer complacent in a world full of material greed and commercial competition, no longer feigning for mere objects that simply with decent credit anyone could go well into debt for—and most did.

Instead, I would wear my same recycled clothes, keep to myself and my business, and craft from within some kind of masterpiece the world itself could no better inspire than I on my own.

I was now the proud owner of a small library—and into my list of small but sacred prized possessions, two pilot television scripts from the era before which Television had deteriorated, in the onslaught of streaming culture; these two pilot scripts, neatly bracketed and crammed in between classic novels and cookbooks, were my happiest find since the treadmill, and of course— the Omega Juicer I still wasn't sure would ever work, but at least, watching the 11-year-old instruction video had given me a proper laugh, and besides not having the patience to further explore whether I had put it together incorrectly, or if it simply no longer operated, it was a device worth further considering spending time in order to try to make it work, before spending something awful on a machine of equal or lesser value.

The treadmill had worked right away, and I was now clocking in segmented runs of about 4 miles a day— working my way up to seven, with the actual notion and belief that it was those Madonna-length runs which had manifested this apartment, and, that with the Peloton and those runs combined perhaps, if I were to stay in New York, an apartment in one of those tall shiny buildings in Manhattan would manifest itself—only second, of course, to a house in the Hollywood Hills. As for America, there was nowhere else I could I should be, I thought, and something strange had happened without my noticing—without any promotion whatsoever, I had garnered an unusually high amount of streams on I Love New York— surprisingly, with global response. I had gained followers and listeners in London, Germany, and Spain— top countries for dance music, and as I studied my metrics, I realized that the type of music I found easiest to make was performing the best; House and Techno snobs never changing, I had found a niché, and, another interesting point I had gathered was to find the Uptown A, without any promotion or live performance, was gaining traction and followers. Though minimal, without any effort, the numbers climbed all on their own.

I found it astonishing that with no promotion at all, somehow, the album had circulated. Now I wished I had the focus and prayed for a way to finish the short film, or, collection or videos with a vague storyline which connected them together—however anyone wanted to see it, if they ever would. I was still largely out of storage space, and the phenomenon that the psychological terror attacks seemed to happen most frequently while online and even connected to my own private network, the more time I spent online the more time I spent under the blankets of honking horns, ravaged by motorcycles and modified engines, though—I found none of these people to be impressive or very powerful; their being counterproductive only alluded to the simple fact that it had become clear more people were born or made through neglect of some sort to be more useless than not— and so in effect, had to make use of themselves in other ways.

I was almost trying to forge an alliance with the neighbor, but there was still some deepseated mistrust that probably had less to do with her race than her gender acclimations. I attempted not to judge, but it tormented me that anyone could knowingly sleep with a married man in exchange for a job and then expect 3 million for it was beyond me. Her unexpected visits and eagerness to see inside of my apartment was a discomfort, but to discover the likelihood of her induction to the wealthy— a millionaire status— angered me, but I was sure it was meant to, in that she herself was either some sort of plant, or a gangstalker who had been sent to gaslight in some sort of way— procuring information in one way or another or simply to plant seeds in my mind that hadn't needed to be there. It seemed she was in need of something—information, and that her motivations went beyond curiosity, however misjudged I might have been. Her actions seemed provocative and invasive, and however—the restlessness was already out of hand. I did my best to keep the peace, knowing all too well that a privalaged person made upset could be damaging and destructive.

I had lived long enough to understand that, in fact, a cute little white girl could get her way with just about anything, using their ideal status and high regard as a tool of manipulation. I had no doubt that she would probably get her way— millions of dollars for doing nothing and being offended by it/- or even further, that it was all just an elaborate story crafted to further crank my brain, in addition to the motorcycles, the door slamming, and of course being followed to the gyms here-and-there and having had the entire year of living here being a nearly intolerably, noise filled nightmare.

She had, after all, gone through wild and extraneous efforts to forage her way into being friends or something of the like, and, in my final attempt at being human, I thought to at the very least try to understand the idea of friendship, though probably having become forever unable to actually attain it.

Friendship required trust, and, after hearing about her lawsuit, apparently for having had an extramarital affair with her married boss, with whom she “believed” was “in love with her”, it was perhaps the initial feeling of discomfort which had foundationally placed this person in the danger zone—that there was ‘just something' I couldn't trust about her—and I wondered as a future business owner how it might be the company's fault for her obvious moral defects.

Further solidifying every reason to never pursue a married man, I pondered this; that in the modern practice of validating feminine toxicity and masquerading it as ‘justice' or ‘feminism' only further keeps women away as a whole from obtaining equality— on the moral high ground that one should not sleep with her boss, or should immediately report threatening behavior rather than to allow it in exchange for professional promotion, it only seems that the tactic of manipulation has to at some point come into play when indeed, over a period of time, one has gathered enough evidence to factor in a judgement that the company should compensate them. One should not be simply compensated for their willingness to display affection and exchanges of intimacy in a work environment if not reported at first concern; I was old enough to know better, so I figured certainly anyone given a few years in either direction should have a clear understanding of such.

I had dealt numerouy with narcissists and manipulators all of my life, and it almost seemed an immediate red flag that she seemed to want so much to be friends, especially after having audibly reported me for various discrepancies—besides the obsurdity that she had decisively slammed doors as a means of getting attention. Perhaps it was some sort of sponsorship of sorts, indeed that she was a gangstalker herself and was being incentivized to act in such ways.

For weeks, we had fallen into the habit of overendowment by way of gift exchange. Still, these were blurred lines; and I thought it best to be ‘friends' with a dangerous person rather than actual enemies.

Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer, and of course—keep it light, and simple, and on the surface. She might have known my line of work, but nothing else, and it seemed that I might actually have the advantage here— besides her being Caucasian, obviously of privelege and wealth and my being multiracial. I knew more about her than she did about me, and, under the suspicion alone that she was a plant, and with the confirmation of my theory that she had also been burning sage, (now having done so admittedly knowing that the other neighbors would suspect and report me), and the apparent falling out with the other neighbors over something I had neither asked, nor was interested about— perhaps the simple fact was, I distrusted her immediately just with the intrinsic sense that she was untrustworthy; the type of woman who would knowingly sleep with a married man, and worse— with the intention of monetary gain in mind. The type of woman you don't want around your husband, period. In that way, perhaps it was simply that I was traumatized, once having been severely cheated on and lied to by a serial cheater and later wifebeater, that it was impossible to not see myself as ‘the wife'. Though now happily divorced and not quite straying from single, though planning to somehow be married again even if it was in the style of Elizabeth Taylor or, Richard Pryor—or even Marilyn Monroe, just repeating the process in insanity, I realized, however impractically, that I enjoyed being married, and monogamous—and even if this did make me a simple and easy target for infidelity, I had learned something very simple and wholesome about myself; I was a good woman.

And I enjoyed that.

—Tales of a Superstar DJ.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

It was marky mark and Channing Tatum, but in the dream they were just my friends. They were hanging out in Vegas and I dropped by to say hi, but I had to get going. I was renting a white Beamer SUV which I thought was too nice for me. Thought about going back to say hello but had to convince my parents.

Dumb.

At least I figured out who those two shirtless dudes were.

Oh they also had that guy from Dexter with them.

That's correct.

And an old dude.

But what is that dudes name?

Idk. Shirtless dude three.

SHIRTLESS DUDE 3

You mean me.

God, that Beamer was nice.

It was white.

It was white, but it was also a rental.

I don't know if I could see myself getting a white car.

It was pearlescent white though, kind of cream, but with sparkles.

You're right, that's a different kind of white.

Why would they let me drive this thing?

I can drive, I was more surprised anyone would let me rent a car after the Enterprise fiasco.

Luckily, it was under my mom's name.

Well, this is fucked up.

{Enter The Multiverse}

My dellisions of granduer sure are fire right now

Are you sure you don't know who you are

Or where

I'll be right there

On the highway to hell

Like a baseball bat out of heaven

I wear my hat backwards,

Cause I'm the only one

To throw shade

On my back end

Can I just say,

I really like the gangster version of deadmau5.

Oh SHIT,

There he go.

RUN,

BLAT-BLAT.

(Still Canadian tho)

Ah, FUCK, man.

What suh tho?!

I'm out of gas, eh.

The car's out of gas?!

Ammo, bud!

Oh shit, aight.

Must have been surfing in the dream, because I was eating lots of fish and cool about it.

That's true! I only ever eat fish when I'm surfing.

Why were we in Vegas then?

No, the guys were in Vegas, I was just visiting.

That doesn't seem like the place to just “visit”.

Maybe it was EDC, I don't know.

Then why were we eating fish!?

That was in another part of the dream.

Oh. So we were traveling?

I guess so.

That sounds rich.

Stephen Colbert stands over Jimmy Kimmel with a wooden sword, hitting him repeatedly, yelling

KING ME.

OW. NO.

KING ME.

OW, WHAT THE FUCK MAN!

KING ME!

OWC, knock it OFF!

He overpowers Colbert and takes the wooden sword.

GIVE ME THAT.

he thwaps him with the sword one good time.

OW.

EXACTLY. Fuck outta here!

Why won't you king me?!

What makes you think I'm in charge of Kinging?!

You wrote the game!

I co-wrote the game—with-very minimal effort, by the way, other people—

Including my//yourself.

Was I there?

Gee, maybe not…

Seriously, I don't know where my head is sometimes.

Plastered inside of the television.

Like literally?! I guess.

In or on. Anyway, if you're unhappy with your lowly, monocle status, you should talk to The Creator.

Who's the creator?

Nobody really seems to know…

Well then, how am i supposed to talk to him,?

Let's find out,

Wait, what.

One…

Jimmy Kimmel Begins to morph into a bird, feathers first and more slowly than usual.

What is that?

[via tootsie pops owl]

Two-hoo!

I feel like I've heard this before somewhere.

THREE!

OH MY GAAA—AAHHHHH!

Suddenly, Jimmy Kimmel is transformed into a giant-esque owl.

WHAT THE FUCK!!!!!!

Jimmy Kimmel swoops above him, grabbing Colbert by the shoulders, as he screams inconsolably.

He begins to fly out of the oversized window, then doubles back for a moment, hovering over the wooden sword.

Get the sword!

YOU CAN STILL TALK?

GET THE SWORD.

He lowers Colbert down to the sword, his talons digging deeply into his shoulders—it looks like this probably hurts a lot, he meekly but with great f air grabs the sword, and his feed dangle as the owl takes flight, bawking,

Of course I can still tallk; I'm smarter than your actual human self!

SO IT WAS YOU WHO ATE MY TOOTSIE POP.

JIMMY KIMMEL the OWL lets out a deep and bellowing meniacal laugh as he takes flight, STEPHEN COLBERT crying in shame.

NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

{Enter The Multiverse}

Gotta take it real hard

Hang down, head in shame

Strong arm, the charms off

Work hard, the thigh gap

Gets a good man

Get the gap tooth fixed,

Maybe bleach a few shades

Paula Patton, or whatever

Zoe Kravitz, like

My Time's up;

I want to be a good mom

Hey, Lorne won't like me

Hey, hey, Lorne won't like me at all.

What's up on the network

I'm waiting on my closeup

I take lessons real hard

I want to be a good mom,

Or if not

A long gone alcoholic

I mean long gone

I mean long gone

I mean long gone

I mean woke up, blacked out

Still pedaling forward on the peloton

A skeleton

I mean long, long gone

No, Lorne don't like me at all

What's in the back of the bus?

A diversity hire,

Fresh out of Harvard university

What's on the top of the tube

Well, a fresh pack of lubricated condoms,

If you really want to know

No raw dog

What's on the top of the morning

An hour on the Peloton,

Another in the tub, Doc

What's on your mind?

Are you really on the road?

(No raw dog)

Woah,

If you really want to know

I'm in love,

So you're all of them,

Until I come,

And then you just,

Run off like a ghost

I'm in the room with a body,

And you're not her,

I must have gone off the hard stuff

(on behalf of Oliver)

What if you wrote your book,

Knowing who might open it?

Who wrote the forward,

Colbert.

Tough crowd—

Now I'm out of folks to come up on,

After all that hard stuff

Simply won't go on

I want to be a good mom,

But so much for that

It goes well up my spine,

Like an epidural,

I'm all out of experience.

I've got 30 minutes of torture left

But I'm all out of droplets,

From the hyperdermal contraption I've strapped on

And the 4 kilometer run

And the dance number to Beyoncé,

Of course.

(It was Destiny's child,

But I was dancing to Beyoncè)

It was Destiny's Child,

But I was dancing to Beyoncé,

Also.

“Aw, love…”

I always gawk,

When couples go on as they do,

Even if it occurs that,

The one I love,

Dawns his beloved

And arm and arm

My heart weighs just a ton

I can't even hear the words anymore

It's just all for numbers

One for Oliver

I can't even hear the words anymore

It's just for numbers

Almost a Californian

As long as I just keep going

And don't eat

Before sweating it all off in the tub

Now the scar on the inside of my lip lights up

And raises

Just at the sound of [];

Had better not touch that one,

Put the sides to the side

And mark the folder

Do not touch

Move off of it

And wonder what the fuck

That number was all for

All four

I could fly a kite

Out of that thing on your back—

Impresario

If that be the case,

Than that makes them the rock,

Then what of the kite,

And the wind

And the string

So I wanna kill you.

Impresario

I'll be Lennon

And you be the other.

I've got my Yoko out on tour

Impresario

I work hard for a broke heart

Just for songs

Impresario

Get the monster out

Put it all on him

Like a kite in the wind

Put it all on him

Ad hominum/ homonym

ATTN:

Jimmy Fallon.

JIMMY FALLON receives a large shipment of grade A douches, with one simple sticky note which reads an anonymous message in neat cursive.

‘Likeness is what your attract.'

Why do I have some of your memories?

Before:

Hmmm…

Where can I offload these?

I need more storage.

L E G E N D S

Bpm: animal rights

I'm a slave

—for your love

I'm a slave

—for your love

I'm a slave

—for your love

I'm a slave for your love.

As I'm taking my time considering whether or not to buy pure, 100% Organic a grade maple syrup, letting out a heavy sigh at the brave of green coated indidivuals who just so happened to not really need anything in the aisle, but just walk by, also just so happened this last man, who appeared to resemble none other than—

CUT TO:

Seth Meyers.

We meet again.

We've never met.

Oh, you don't remember?

I don't remember things that never happened.

Oh, really.

Really.

Well. I beg to differ.

Don't beg.

It's an expression.

For the first time throughout the series run—we stand corrected—however, and possibly just rather, because this is the movie—

And not the series at all.

*gasp*

Now… what the fuck did I come in here to actually write?

—I don't remember.

True facts.

But—

More importantly— why did I toggle on the internet?

FUCK.

Why, what happened?

I just remembered I was online and listening to deadmau5.

Ah, shit.

Is that such a bad thing?

It's like…it's like a guilty pleasure—

Seriously?

Like Drake, now, except I almost wish I hadn't gone about putting them in that scene together.

Why.

Cause they're Canadian?

No! I mean yes—

Must—more—Peloton—get—

WAISTED.

Fuck. I don't know how much I weigh.

So how do you know you're not already 120 lbs .

Well, let's see here.

110…

What the fuck is a silent basketball?!!

Still don't know.

{Enter the multiverse}

Are you sponsored by Bud Wiser?

[why]

Just answer the question:

Are you sponsored by Budweiser?

No. (?)

Cause you look like a Clydesdale.

Your answer should have been.

“Nay”.

You and me weren't meant to be friends

We're not meeting in real life

Or, we already did, but hey

We'll never meet again.

Just another magic trick

Just another magic trick

It's like hanging at a rave on a Saturday late night. Or early am

Or more

Spending the night

With an old friend,

Then waking up to realize when you finally lift yourself up from the couch,

You've been all alone

The whole time

The magic is gone,

And you're still feeling under, disturbed

—and jealous of her, of course.

Knock it off, go for a long soak

And remember the Oath you once took

Just for fun and only out of

A hint of desperation,

Unable to escape from him

But remember to remember what his name is

At some point

B A R T H O

There it is again

The evil and crawling thing in the distance

That says I belong to him

L E M

Perhaps once,

But you'd might as well run along

And into a different body,

Disguised as something

I could never even notice

To even get close to me

Ū

I'd bet my last dollar you couldn't do that

I'd go all in at the end of that long poker table

The tournament, still rolling on

And I've not made lunch yet

It was a long party,

A long supper

An even longer dessert

And the forever order

For ever after

What a laugh

There's too many of us

Stranded out here,

I'll never get over

— if you needed closer,

I've written it on a cardboard box,

With a penny for your thoughts, 3-1 and still keeping it simple;

I kept my intentions just as hidden in the numbers

As the apples in the barrel, unbranded

After all, I am famished,

And not quite yet has it been 24 hours.

I like all your music.

Like a shotgun to the face I want to end it.

I'm still floating out in space, I guess

Recommended

Reassigned and

Disestablished—

Resigned but terrified of it

Fried tofu on the orifice

Your or her face

With a red dress

From just behind,

Indecision, regrets,

And then, of course

I wake up.

So duotone, your honor.

Fuck magnets,

I want to go digging up colors

I love corpses.

Sara Black is so white

I could see right through her.

I tripped and fell in your eyes for a multi second.

If I creep up expressing my love, he'll send them faster

The devil: direct to you—

More beautiful women

There's less of me today.

It didn't seem to take long to notice at all, running the soap over my body as it lathered, that there was overall just less to do, and less at all indeed. It had been three days since the arrival of my Peleton, and that combined with the treadmill had been preoccupying all if not most of my time, often the first thing besides making coffee— a brisk mile-or-so walk as it brewed or, clipping in to the Bike in the middle of the night, as if the thing itself had awakened me with a whispering beckon.

Then, I knew that my time was running short— my body wanted pregnancy, and my mind wanted a man who would be easily forgiven for his natural instinct to adulterize and fraternize as he pleased by his wit, charm, intelligence, good looks and wealth, of course—but with a man like that comes certain stipulations—I'd have to be a trophy.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

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