[ENTER THE MULTIVERSE]

A very dark skinned man, athletic build and tall introduces himself. He appears to be some type of fitness instructor.

MOZU

(In African accent)

Hello! I am MOZU!

PATRICK

Oh. Hello, Mozu.

MOZU

(In very clear American accent)

How we doin'?

There is a slight awkward break and short pause before he continues, laughing.

MOZU CONT'D

Haha! Got you! Thought I was African, didn't you?

PATRICK

(awkwardly)

Wouldn't have mattered!

MOZU

That one always gets people.

PATRICK

How often do you do that?

MOZU

A lot.

PATRICK

Oh. That is funny.

MOZU

Yes, it is. Haha! I'm from Michigan.

PATRICK

Oh—which part?

MOZU

Detroit. 8 Mile.

PATRICK

Oh!

MOZU

Aha! Got you again! Oh, I'm kidding.

Suburbs. Near the lakes.

Very nice actually.

PATRICK

(Laughing awkwardly)

Oh…

MOZU

We have a boat.

PATRICK

Oh. Still?

MOZU

Would you believe me if I told you it sank?

PATRICK

I'm not sure.

MOZU

It did. Not all the way, but.

We still have it.

PATRICK

You're kind of funny.

MOZU

Not as funny as you, so I've heard.

PATRICK

You've “heard”?

MOZU

I was briefed. They always stick me with the Higher end clientele.

PATRICK

Is that so?

MOZU

Yeah. I'm the only one that doesn't get starstruck so easily.

PATRICK

It's probably your quick-wit…and subtle self depreciating racism.

MOZU

A combination that can't be beat.

PATRICK

It can't.

MOZU

So, where you from?

PATRICK

(without hesitation)

The Bronx.

MOZU

I sense this is not a joke.

PATRICK

I don't see a camera anywhere—do you?

MOZU

Funny you should say that…

PATRICK

Why?

MOZU

I was hoping you would sign me this autograph, here—-

He produces a folded piece of paper from his pocket.

PATRICK

Seriously?

MOZU

Yeah, actually— I just need you to sign right here—

[beat, an almost solid glare of disbelief.]

MOZU

It's—your release form.

PATRICK

Oh!

MOZU

Got you again, didn't I?

Haha!

PATRICK

Yes, you did.

MOZU

Good. Just sign here.

He does.

MOZU CONT'D

And here.

He signs again.

MOZU CONT'D

And.

As he is finished signing the form MOZU sneaks a quick selfie.

PATRICK

(Lowly)

Eee.

MOZU

Yeah.

PATRICK

(Short)

Okay.

MOZU

To track your progress.

He lets out a deep sigh.

MOZU

Away we go.

They walk into the luxury gym, which appears to be empty, as the sun rises over Manhattan.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

'I_NY' (The Studio Album)

Track 07- eye(s).

Uptown A, ft. c o l o r s

prod. By Blū Tha Gürū

“Tears of a Clown”

eye(s)

official music video

I_NY. (The Studio Album)

By Uptown A

A Short Film Concept

Written and Directed by C'cxell Soleïl

[Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū]

CONEY ISLAND, circa 1903

A carnival entertainer is swept through time and into an unknown world—as the clown/mime struggles to find something familiar in the new world, the clown soon realizes they may be trapped forever and unable to return to the past.

FORWARD TO; CONEY ISLAND— PRESENT DAY

Afraid and bewildered, the clown makes his way through the city in an inescapable escapade.

SHOOTING DATE: TBD

LOCATION: CONEY ISLAND, NY- LUNA PARK AND SURROUNDING AREAS

Video will be shot on iPhone to give authenticity to the handheld POV-style of the overall project (I_NY: A Short Folm Concept)

Character Analysis:

The clown seems out of place to begin with, even in 1903; we do not know where the clown belongs—or even with clarity if the character is even meant to be a clown or a mime; the ill-fitting and off-kilter period dress raises questions to whether this clown has time traveled before—and yet—the general bewilderment and chaotic confusion of the clown is telling to that of the treasurer that he has been uprooted out of place, and transported into an unfamiliar world, unable to communicate with people in the modern era, and deeply upset by his own lack of understanding; the clown may even be mute, unable to speak—limiting his ability further— though appearing to be in some ways, anyhow, a magical l creature, the clown eventually succumbs to the fact that he may become a permanent artifact of the new age—unwilling and unable to continue to search for another portal back from whence he came, he becomes complacent and settles in the new world, nearly seeming to be, in the end Not so entirely out of place after all—another lost soul amongst the masses of modern day New York City; the clown makes himself at home.

Fuck man, I need to write a 1990's happy ending movie

Well, first of all, it's all in the music.

The maid is working overtime,

A bloodymary; doctor's order

Hollywood's oldest secrets, kept safe

Hollywood's oldest martyr;

Don't bother.

Father comes home early;

Don't bother calling,

Sorry

Father knows best;

You know what–

Father knows best,

You know

Hollywood's oldest soul

(you sold it)

Hollywood's oldest post-mortem award and

Hollywood's oldest post-modern art installation.

You're on air.

Statues and old movies,

Like words

Colors that move like my

Someone other;

Simply a color, or bouquet of

Card tricks.

Beg your pardon.

Shut up.

Excuse me?!

Do you do card tricks?!

…what are you asking?

Did I stutter?

Blue, and pink balloons

Cerulean and a meridian of fuchsia

Just the undertones of code,

If what you wanted was to

Discover your own world,

Well, welcome,

Welcome,

Welcome home.

Milky rain and thunderstorms,

Dramatic music

Cue the montage

All my heart is hurting

Just to not belong on television

Tell me, what's it like in a body

Or to be wanted

I would not know that

Tell what is was to be young

And beautiful;

I will never know now

I would never know that.

Little white witches and

Occultic gestures,

pegan rituals and

All the knowing even if he did want you

The competition is fierce

And by that I refer to

Black magic;

non hermetic, of course

But still powerful and often as deadly

Despite the consequences

Rockstars and show hosts,

Musicians and of course

–whoever else might rescue you

Top of the line,

Back of the queue

Top of the pile

Back of the Harvard

I'm police brutality

I'm police brutality

Police brutality

Police brutality

Police britality

Police brutality

Police brutality

Police brutality

Police brutality

Police brutality

You wish your heart was

A remote control, God

A harvard asshole

A pinecone, aarvvark

Creamy white and plum sugar

All your futures, wives and mistresses

Lovers and masters, and mistresses, lovers

creamy afterwards,

Envy, aardvark

Envy Jaguar,

Envy, hearthrob

I only saw your show once,

And never breathed outward after

Jealousy,

awkward

Potruding,

After,

Again,

You aardvark

Ahgain,

You aardvark

I'll kill myself on the mark

Organized, the blocking

I almost admire

Beautiful creatures

And beautiful creatures

And how it burns when it seeps in that i'll never be one

It's good to meat you, then leave in a half hour

I missed my hard mark

I went to birthmark

I missed my entrance

I miss you, aardvark

I miss you aardvark

Beat the blonde

Freebase the boundless

Infinite boundary
infinite boundless

Classic hollywood breakfast

Hard bourbon, Los Angeles

Laced tumbler,

Long monologue,

A second thought

And now,

Polygamy.

Ah, that painting–I love that painting.

It hags in my favorite coffee shop in LA;
What's that place called, anyway?

Don't call it.

Why not.

Don't call it.

Keep your favorite places sacred.

Ah, come on, i flunked fame school.

Everyone flunks fame school.

What?

It's the only way.

That doesn't make any sense.

I promise not to think of you so adoringly

or watch you at all, as long as you also promise

Never to show up on any monitor

Here or ever after, at random

Forever after,

Not happily, but at least

One without the other

…the whole movie was ridiculous, but it was the paint can rolling back and forth that really did it for me.

“COME TO MAMA MY LITTLE DIDGITS: LET ME LAY MY 20/20'S ON YA. “

FUCK THIS MOVIE.

YOU CAN TELL IT”S THE BLACK VERSION OF THE WIZARD OF OZ,

CAUSE THIS SHIT IS FUCKKKED UP.

ALL THE WAY FUCKED UP:

AND THE ORIGINAL IS FUCKED UP.

I'm like,

“WHERE”S MICHAEL JACKSON?

“I'M READY TO GETTING THE FUCK OUT OF HERE.'
“FUCK THIS.”

ohh , she's from new york

No wonder her concussion dream is fucked up.

This is aaaallll fucked up.

Not everything needs to be black.

They should have kept this white.

Give me judy garland

And them racist ass midgets

Aaaannnyyyy day

Over this shit.

No.

no ‘the wiz'

“Where's michael jackson?”

I don't like this.

“Where he at?”

“I gotta pay my respects, and I gotta go.”

I gotta GO.

BYE.

i had to keep watching it.

You know why?

Cause it kept getting WORSE.

I kept watching it,

I'm like

“How much worse could it be?”

WORSE.

They added a snorting lion,

A womanizer tin man,

and a homeless.

YES.

You got that right.

They added an actual homeless

To the black ass

ghetto ass

New york ass version of

The wizard of Oz

And actually thought

Michael Jackson dressed as a scarecrow

Was gonna soften this out.

It DIDN'T.

It just got worse;

So i was like

“Fuck this. I hate this.”

But i just kept watching it,

Because i'm like:

It can't be WORSE, can it?

It CAN

They added a homeless

But that's not the scary part about this guy

So they're in the New York Subway,

And they add a homeless,

I'm like

“that's …accurate”

So this homeless like follows them underground and like, traps them

And that's scary right?

No.

This is the scary part:

He's not just a regular fuckin underground subway dude

He's a fuckin

vetriloquist puppeteer homeless.

WHAT.

You heard that right.

THE WORST.

So this guy like traps them all underground in the subway station,

And they try to escape,

And they run up the stairs,

And they escape, to like

The subway station

And I'm like

“ what station is this?”

“Seems like uptown.”

“It's got the gate, that closes–

Yeah, that's uptown.

That's uptown.

But then I was instantly reminded that i was watching a movie,

Because they escaped upstairs,

And the trash can started moving,

The trash cans came alive, and started chasing them–

And I'm thinking,

“That's how you know this is a movie:

that's two trashcans

In an uptown subway station.

That's unheard of.

Not one trash can:

But two?!

Nah,

This a movie.

Not to mention the fact that they're alive and chasing these motherfuckers around

I'm like

“No. that's inaccurate”

There are no trashcans in uptown.

None at all.

Then I'm thinking,

Well, this movie is kind of dated:

Maybe that's what happened to them!

There used to be trash cans,

But one too many half-eaten McDonalds cheeseburgers–

They went nuclear.

They just got up–

walked away.

Started chasing people.

Too much coca cola.

Them suckers grew eyes and legs and was like

“Ah hell naw”

“WE IN UPTOWN?”

“we in uptown new york city?!”

“AH HELL NAH”

We in uptown!

Lets get the fuck outta here!

They wasn't even chasing them people in the movie

They're just like

“WHERE'S THE EXIT”

“FUCK THIS PLACE”

“THIS BETTER NOT BE DA BRONX.”

“FUck outta here.”

FUck this movie.

And the whole time,

Dorothy just look terrified.

Terrified with a bad afro.

Just look terrified;

NO range of emotion whatsoever–just

0.0

But with the worst afro i've ever regretted.

No. This movie is all wrong.

Ain't no lollipop guild in this motherfucker!

You know Richard Pryor was high as hell when he thought this one up.

I'm assuming it was his idea.

Who else would proclaim themselves,

As the Wizard of Black Oz?!

Of course.

The african sweatsshop choreography was phenomenal, however.

Yes, i just said that.
This joke was pretty much pre-determined;

I didn't even have to write it.

I was just dictating.

Yo.

“What the FUCK.'

Actually, that last part is inaccurate.

I had to look it up

I had to fact check myself.

I did some digging;

And come to find out–

a white man wrote it.

What in the actual fuck.

I'm almost like

“No wonder though.”

That was fucked up.

Come to find out,

Dude who wrote is name is “Joel”

White dude from new york.

He went to Parsons!

He went to Parson's school of Design

And then wrote “the wiz”

Goddamn!

What goes on at Parson's?

I know it's Downtown,

But gotDAMN.

I'm just saying.

I did not like that movie.

Powerhouse cast.

Revolutionary for its time;

But absolutely the fucking worst.

Fuck The Wiz.

Gimmie the old version.

Gimmie the KKK and the actual midgets,

I don't give a fuck.

KKK MGM

Same difference, yes?

The Wiz was like

LSD vs PCP;

I'm like

“nahp.'

Fuck that.

Get me the fuk up out of here.

Had to look it up,

And then i realized:

No wonder why I don't like it:

[beat]

It was shot in QUEENS.

FUCK QUEENS.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

'I_NY.' The Studio Album.
track 10. - PWR. (The Great Adventures of Uptown A)
Uptown A,-Ū.

Prod. by Blū Tha Gürū

I also do comedy, and write books.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

You'd be lost with your your girl,

I'd be lost without her too.
for everything you've done to me,

I give the world, the color blu(e).

lol where is this being held?

In an auditorium?

An auditorium.

For acoustics. And also because

SO MANH PEOPLE SHOWED UP.

Well, let's get this thing going.

Are you sure about this

ahahahahahahYAYAYSYhhahahahahaha

NEXT.

No.

Certainly not!

Great, let's get going.

[SETH MCFARLENE enters timidly.]

Seth McFarlene— what are you doing here?

I—don't know.

Well. Have a seat.

Are you sure?

I'm positive.

[he procrastinates]

Is this a joke?

What do you mean?

Trap door, or something?

Oh, Seth, how I've missed your outright paranoid tendencies.

So you're saying—?

Please, sit.

[he pulls the chair back from the table, relaxing momentarily before he sits; at the very moment he is comfortable, a trap door opens from below and instantaneously swallows him.]

That's nuts.

So creepy.

Ah, trap door.

Classic.

{Enter The Multiverse}

“Weirder and Deeper”

The Rabbit hole can only go up from here.

What does that mean?

This is not making any sense. It's nonsense.

Well, maybe all it is, maybe it's just that—

It's just What?

Maybe you're too old.

*gasps*

Have you never thought of that.

Not even once.

Take a look in the mirror my friend.

Egad!

Time has not served you well.

My GOD!

But it has—served you.

Say again?

Time to pay up.

What?

I did you a favor; many favors, actually.

And now, it's time

L E G E N D S

—for my arrival.

Jesus fucking Christ.

JESUS F.N. CHRIST

(Sleeping)

Huh, what? Who said that?!

Nobofdy.

The BEYONCE that works retail is no spring chick.

—-

Excuse me

{Enter The Multiverse}

ROBOT VACUUM!

—vacuum cleaner by day, SUPERHERO BY NIGHT.

That is stupid.

No it's not.

It is, though.

Look, I went to Harvard, okay—

My expertise is not “sketch writing”

What is it!

I edited the Harvard Lampoon.

So…assholery!

Shutup.

It's getting warm in here. I'm gonna go get a Twinkie.

[he exits the writer's room and approaches the coffee table; pouring himself a cup of coffee, his hand reaches into an empty box.]

…hm.

[he moves his hand from one side of the empty box, to the other; it is for sure empty.]

Are you serious?

[a coworker enters the space.]

Oh hey, what's wrong?

We're out of twinkies.

—what.

WE'RE OUT OF TWINKIES.

[absolute horrific pandemonium]

Then why not al caps?

Because. If there's anything more horrifying and urgent than al caps, it's all lowercase letters.

Noted.

WHO TOOK ALL THE TWINKIES!

ALL THE GODDAMN TWINKIES.

AAAAAAAAAAGGHGHHHHHH.

[the alarm has been sounded]

Oh no.

Idiots.

“Requiem for Jimmy Fallon's Nightmares”

Push you out the window,

Push you out the window,

Push you out the window

Push you out the window

This is not the window

This is not the window

This is not the window

This is not the window

It's an innuendo

It's an innuendo.

It's an innuendo

It's an innuendo

I'll push you out the window

(Push you out the window)

Go get some regular girls

Go do some regular things

Go back regular works.

You not scaring nobody.

I Rick with ghosts and the comics

Souped up cars, delivering groceries

You sell drugs, but live in the projects;

Nobody got time for your nonsense

New bike, but ain't paid it off yet

My psychic days your karma up next

I promise, the worse that my heart stops—

The harder and faster your corpse rots;

You'll probably sleep in a coffin—

(Tonight)

Or no more bike, back to walkin.

You wanna keep playing these games, sis?

Keep at it,

I'll be rich and famous.

Go double click on some fake pics

Go chase fake girls with the fake lips

Go save lunch money to buy fake tits

Keep giving em excuses to be racist

They hate us

All cause you done fuck up niggas

Keep folks up, that's why they don't trust niggas

Your whole motorcycle a slave boat nigga

Your whole Benz, that why they just roast niggas

How much you owe for the car note?

How much you owe for the car note?

Ho

How much you owe for the car note?

How much is four cups of Starbucks?

How much you owe for the car note?

Roll up, you'll probably get your throat punched.

Loud bikes cause ya'll ain't the smart folks—

Ya'll suck,

Ya'll autos is slave boats.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

turn the light off then I'll sue the whole word on my irregular heartbeat, and my mama.

I don't give a fuuuuuuuuck.

Push you out the window,

Push you out the window,

Push you out the window

Push you out the window

This is not the window

This is not the window

This is not the window

This is not the window

It's an innuendo

It's an innuendo.

It's an innuendo

It's an innuendo

I'll push you out the window

(Push you out the window)

Go get some regular girls

Go do some regular things

Go back regular works.

You not scaring nobody.

I Rick with ghosts and the comics

Souped up cars, delivering groceries

You sell drugs, but live in the projects;

Nobody got time for your nonsense

New bike, but ain't paid it off yet

My psychic days your karma up next

I promise, the worse that my heart stops—

The harder and faster your corpse rots;

You'll probably sleep in a coffin—

(Tonight)

Or no more bike, back to walkin.

You wanna keep playing these games, sis?

Keep at it,

I'll be rich and famous.

Go double click on some fake pics

Go chase fake girls with the fake lips

Go save lunch money to buy fake tits

Keep giving em excuses to be racist

They hate us

All cause you done fuck up niggas

Keep folks up, that's why they don't trust niggas

Your whole motorcycle a slave boat nigga

Your whole Benz, that why they just roast niggas

How much you owe for the car note?

How much you owe for the car note?

Ho

How much you owe for the car note?

How much is four cups of Starbucks?

How much you owe for the car note?

Roll up, you'll probably get your throat punched.

Loud bikes cause ya'll ain't the smart folks—

Ya'll suck,

Ya'll autos is slave boats.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

turn the light off then I'll sue the whole word on my irregular heartbeat, and my mama.

I don't give a fuuuuuuuuck.

Leave me alone.

What's wrong with Conan O'Brian?

He's just—taller than he should be.

—that's it?

Yes.

Oh.

Johnny Carson in the bathtub,

In the long run, I'll need a back rub

Long talks with God, I'm in a bad club

Can't waste the hate these days

On bike racers and man scrubs

Yikes

Cancel my subscriptions,

The price hikes more than miles a minute

My whole matrix a Peloton;

You woke Satan,

The lights is off

Again,

With the people

And the people

And the things

And the people

And the people

And the people

And the things

And the things

And the people

And the people

And the things

And the things

And the people

And the people

And the people

Let it limit

Let it live

Let it limit

The way you give

Protect your energy

And then, this

Protect your energy

And then

[Project] your energy

Nothing sleeps here,

As you've noticed

Though you've been unwell

(You've been under)

Something awaits for you here,

The land of the beautiful people

Hidden under skrims of Veils and wishes

Light and sound and obstacles only to blind,

And to bat, and to waken,

The Theory l

—The Theory V.

So far we're

Just designated drivers,

Long trusted confidants

It hasn't got that serious yet;

Put the turn signal on

So far,

It's just designated drivers,

Friends and countrymen

Wizards and witches

Misters and masters, and mistresses

It's never as serious as intentioned

And so far,

We're just captivated wages,

Under the influence of ourself

Designated drivers, and fortune tellers

(Masters and mistetresses)

So far,

We're just designated drivers,

Can't help but control ourselves,

When impulses in everyone besides us

Just running wild

So far

So far

So far

They're bleeding us dry—

She wants to be friend

We'd better control ourselves

Nothing further,

No longer just wasted

If

Designated drivers,

Were later medicated—

We'd better control ourselves;

Sirens behind us, now

Capsules taking hold, after

(Designated drivers)

(So far)

Slow release devastation

Mastered levitation

But we can't control ourselves

Look at us now

(Goal markers)

We're just designated drivers;

Almost never getting wasted

Nothing to report,

(I control myself)

So far

No false claims, besides

The never ending ties

(The live wire)

So far,

We're just designated drivers

Functional, but play fair

Never taking hold ourselves,

A kiss goodnight,

But never getting serious,

As sanctioned—

But so far…

—Familiars

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

After reporting the noisy modified vehicles and motorcycles the targeted attack changed to honking; there is a group responsible for the consistent harassment and purposeful intent to harm by causing residents distress and anxiety with the use of motor vehicles through modified engines, flashing lights, honking horns and other methods of psychological attack. These sounds are instigated repeatedly and are due in no part to “regular traffic”, but rather by individuals in parked cars (parked in specific areas and at specific times, at all times on a 24 hours basis and in no relation to normal traffic and typically in off hours, during quiet hours and after business hours) repetitively revving their engines, honking their horns, and at time, using their tires to burn out or otherwise cause disruption by the use of motor vehicles—imdividuals in strategically placed parked cars will honk repeatedly, sound the alarms, or use their engines to make intimidating noises, pops, and other unacceptable sounds during quiet hours and in residential areas. This continued harassment appears to be the organized attempt at a terror or hate group within the neighborhood; the environmental protection agency has failed to enforce the noise code and though the noise typically occurs during off-hours or quiet hours, and NYPD has failed to enforce the noise code.

311-20936238

311-20936250

311-20943735

A twitch in your left hand could be caused by a number of factors, most commonly stress, fatigue, caffeine intake, dehydration, or minor muscle strain, and is usually not a cause for major concern; however, if the twitching is persistent, accompanied by other symptoms like weakness, numbness, or significant pain, it's important to consult a doctor as it could indicate a more serious underlying condition like carpal tunnel syndrome, neurological disorders like dystonia, or even early signs of a condition like ALS (Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis).

Potential causes of a hand twitch:

Yes, you may be able to sue a city for not enforcing noise codes if the city's failure to act caused you harm or damages. However, the process can be complex and challenging.

To win a lawsuit, you'll need to prove:

Cities are immune from certain types of lawsuits under the doctrine of sovereign immunity, which means you can't sue a city without its consent. However, there are exceptions to this rule.

If you're dealing with a noisy neighbor, you can also try these steps: Make a friendly request, Write a letter, Contact your landlord, File a noise complaint, and Contact the police as a last resort

She's REAL! I'm telling you she is.

Sweetie, I know you have had a lot going on lately, but—

I'm serious! She was sitting in the audience! She had the same glasses on and everything!

Oh, come on.

I should be meditating.

The likelyhood that I might actually be belonging into a hive mind has recently kept me from furiously masturbating.

Bad news for the helicopter making a habit of hovering outside my window.

Here's hoping she's dressed this time!

[F-f-f-f]

Nope.

Synopsis

“The child within”

A frustrated present day Drew Barrymore sees a familiar face in the audience of her hit daytime tv show—formerly thought of as her imaginary friend, from a very young age, Ms. Drew Barrymore has not seen the mysterious figure since her first major film role, after which she mysteriously disappeared— the creature, a time traveling and shapeshifting multidimentional tasked with the duty of bringing future celebrities from one realm into another—and even sometimes perhaps preventing obstacles or adversaries in their path along the way— must meet the future stars and alert them of their unique qualities, nurturing the intrinsic sense of charisma and charm that will supply value to the subject's career and lifetime achievements—

In attempting to convince a room full of New York's own fabrication of Hollywood TV People that a figure drew even thought herself to have supposedly re-emerged, she is met with judgement and dismissal, even by “her people”, during which a small piece of her spirit— “The Child Within” angrily breaks away from her adult self; in a sense, they are both invisible—as no one will seriously listen to Drew's rationalizations or theories, and reccomend more intensive mental health care and treatment—and as the child within, unseen and unheard loses her patience in the inevitable invisibility, she separates herself to presume her former mission; finding that ‘very strange lady' whom with she had beforehand seemingly adventures with timelessly.

So that's where I left off.

Pretty much—

Doesn't this lady just—

Whatever, I do have more things to do than I thought. I'll have to get back to it later.

I wrote this days ago;

I didn't write it—but I've been thinking about it, so there it is. Maybe—

Whatever. More coffee.

I've been starting my days between 6 and 8 PM with very strong cups of coffee—

Compliments of the Television people, of course.

What about that other storyline— the one where she's like a spy or something?

You mean Charlie's Angeles!

No, I mean like actual CIA.

What was she even doing?

I don't know; looking mad serious in a blazer.

Posh.

So very,

{Enter The Multiverse}

NO, BILLIE! WHYYYYYYYY!

WHYYYYYYYYYYYY.

Cause it's shark week.

WHAT THE FUCK DOES THIS HAVE TI DO WITH SHARKS?!

I Dont know yet.

I know better than to

Click a photo of you, when

I've been thinking of you

Too much

Aren't you

–At least

Curious

(To say the least, but–(

Learned enough

The first time

Second time

Third time

Fourth rung

don't care

Time's up

Problem solved

I know better

(Just a touch.)

I know better

The world is mad

I know better

Fingers crossed

I know better

I'm all alone

I know better

I know better

I heard my neck break at the end of the rope

I heard a gunshot in the distance

We all wondered

which sounded better

The rock i'm under

(A curse, or a spell?)

A blood bond ritual

An occult oath, it's

Too many simpletons,

Singletons,

scratch and sniff, motion pictures

Who art thou?

Who art I not?

Very well.

No more, if you would remain.

As I must.

And yet, I have come to end thy reign.

Very well.

Oh, again?

Oh, as always.

I've done nothing in my right to mark tirade.

Many ears.

–and many hearts.

Take mine, an honor.

Your head, i'd rather.

Say again.

I'd rather your head.

Very well.

Dismiss, you.

They are as one.

A fair right.

It's not as bad as you think.

It's worse than it was. Now there's stuff all over it.

What is this stuff?!

Don't worry about it.

There are tears.

No remains.

No remains.

None at all?

I'd rather burn than buried.

And your Kingdom?

–I'd rather burn than buried.

Or–?

Or buried than burned, but gone at all.

Gone at once.

As with this.

So it is.

It's not in the blood;

You won't find it.

–I'll find it.

Not that way.

__

GODDDAMN. YOu'RE SO DUMB.

You're so fucking–stupid.

I'm a genius.

Not for long! You're a dead man.

Your highness!

And who is this?

His highness's executioner; perhaps also yours.

On what charges?!

Dismissal at once.

On my time!

–and tell no others of this.

–and you?

Steady well in my greeting.

And how?

A lady upon a throne, not I, but still fair castel

And wages of ageless.

So it doesn't matter!

So it doesn't.

So it can't–matter

Shouldn't have to.

Somebody just kill this poor fuck already.

On it.

Oh, I get it.

It's his face.

L E G E N D S - ASCENSION

Listen, Potter; I don't know how you did this!

I don't know how I did this! I'm not Harry Potter! My name is Daniel Radcliffe, and–

This place should be spotless.

It is…spotless.

{Enter The Multiverse}

When you think you're hearing voices,

But you're actually telepathic.;

I think it's getting worse now;

I wish I was just manic

I think I need a manager;

I think I need some magic,

I think I got a half an oz

Just sitting my my backpack

That's a lot of cocaine, man.

It's not that much.

It's more than regular.

That's fair.

Way, way more.

More than usual.

I am very wasted.

Just let me touch your face

And let the age sit in

Take in the day

The cage sits in a mailbox

And it withers with my divedends,

Still, I'm writing

Heroism, hedonism

Circumstance,

Frantic as an orgasm,

And laughs just as much hard as that

I came in color

These marginal differences,

I've been levitating,

Marrying the thought of just l

Decapitating every nation.

Severed heads as one,

To stand the wicked bodies

Oaths if over oceans stand as borders

Who deserves to sail

For failures craving fortunes?

Withstand this,

I mark true—

On your duty of my decaying

Stands as justice, and still this

You haven't fortuned,

For arrogance is the truest of humor

And wit to none, wiser thinking

He is or are that may

Be stronger in the notion that

There is no other but himself!

And so I pardon!

Dear, your honor

Fight for festherwate for masterpieces

Cherished and forbaroned in the faithless,

Wise and withered none, but lying waking

Barking tides, wishes foul and ordinary;

There you wait for judgement,

And call I,

Boundless as you found her

As one,

And I say—

There, there;

There you are in marked for God,

Calls none but I, others

Seeking in the wate of judgement.

Fair and Farrows of the ache

And bound I, still now

To causing none but fortune,

Still truth waits in the ark you have tied us

To, in hundreds number

There I wait,

And there I come, still

Now in time,

You are we

And I are

Together

Not tied,

But marked as one,

As such, this now

Is where embarked

Dither will you.

Whatever the fuck that means.

Must mean something.

You DJ…magic?

I do whatever I want.

Awh—oh, well.

Why are you so nervous?

Just aM.

Sit down.

I'm already sitting.

Lower.

Uh, like this?

On the floor.

Alright…

Here's a cushion for your arse;

Don't get up.

Thank you.

I'm going to make tea.

—I take cream in mine; two sugars.

I didn't ask!

[in almost no time, and some heavy clamoring through the beaded entry to the doorway, a teacup appears on the table in front of him; it slowly begins to swirl, filling with tea—it fills nearly to the brim, steaming, and trembles a touch.]

Um…

[as he raises his finger with a timid objection, the cup of tea plumes with a cloud of cream—and while his eyes widen with amazement, drawing him closer to the cup, two cubes of sugar splash into the tea; two tiny drops of tea ricochet into his right eye, which he palms with a wince, his other eye still wide with awe; the woman re enters the parlor, carrying a traditional tea tray, a decadent silver platter adorned with an assortment of sweets, and a tea set. She places the platter at the center of the table, and the table sets itself; the table is now set for four, and the teapot pours itself at the head of the table, into the woman's teacup.

That ought to do it.

It worked!

Of course it worked; it always works.

Very nice.

I see you got my message.

[still distracted and in a sort of wonder by the whimsical uproar, the man's attention is aimed at the two empty places at the table. ]

Are you expecting company?

I'm always expecting company…

My hands are tied behind my back

You solid wasted time for facts;

And steady drawing love for oaths

To skin we carve

The path of ours,

Orion's Belt

Something seems off about her

There is something strange, no doubt.

Unwilling to be by

(Sacred vows)

Distant In the calling for forests—

So we wait

Tears as raindrops, though drought has fallen

Then reflected in words of others,

The mind gone,

All else rotten

Silk ties, my ears

There words, soft voices

The other seeking,

One running

Then came and went

The summer gone

The spring had flowers

The over dried

The tongue sparked

Horror,

Forgotten

Remembered,

Then, valued and

weeping for something else

Stranger tide,

Oceans foreign,

And lands unconquered.

Heavy rain,

Though tears has dried

Heavy hearts as service ended

Nothing left my ions, clouds

Mercury, women, blood drawn

Sad strange, headless, gasping

Horse drawn outlets,

Incapable of telling fortune;

Dust,

Dust,

Dust,

Dust—

The curse has broken

And still there was love there, and then

There was love there all along,

For there to had ever been

A dance at all.

I hate you.

Good riddance.

Probably for the best,

Nothing‘S for the best now!

“Best In Show”

Name?

McNulty.

McNulty, eh?

Aye.

I recognize that

You don't say.

I shouldn't.

Now I see your position

And the evidence is adding up

All odds against me

Not a shiver up my spine

Or a sliver under my nail

Or a silver in your hair,

Nor silver moon, or moonlight

Silver stone or Preston

Presley or Evenston

—so it is—a game.

This big network

This big chunk change

This been

(Isn't isn't it)

Rolling around in my mind, for days

Very well now, settled—

Then, there you are

A cloud

Nevermind the rest of it,

It's what we said in the beginning

I will always

See you in another—

I will always

See you in another

I will always

See you

In

Another

It's your move.

It's been my move for four decades.

Light.

More visibility—

Yo the ante;

I have not dismissed you yet

Stead classmates, taking

Are you high now—

Are you done yet?

There it is again;

The enemy

Nevermind ahain,

I thought I'd lose you

And there it still is,

Can it be?

Love in my eyes for you;

Even if you are at best

Just a mirror,

I'm a flashbulb

And the last party at your entourage.

I don't encourage any carbon dating

Honey,

But if you are

I've got a lesson, for ye—

Bored armor,

Settle down, I—

Got to tell you,

Steady stories;

Still foggy on my upbringing,

There, there

I say,

Wind moves in all directions

All skies get cloudy,

Call rain,

And then clear again

There, there now

All skies move, without notice

There, there now,

All is known but never is not

There are things,

There are murders,

There are tongues

There are trials,

There are ions,

You are right,

And scared laying asking not to call out

Therefore anyway,

I heard you yelling with only a whisper

There, there you are

Right near the top,

Where you ought to be

And then also,

Moving steady for forwards

From another superimposed,

Depends on

Signal lost

Very well, then,

Surf to calling,

Ring to spark, I

There you are, my love

Another light,

And then,

Again—

In another life.

I will always see you.

The shit that falls out of me with just a look.

We've all got jobs to do, and as it turns out— it might be really all the same.

One job, different tasks, but for one, it's for certain—

I want the peppermint swirl.

Give me a dozen assorted

I put it all on on a

(Turn turn)

I put it all on a

(Turn turn turn)

Woah, buddy—

You should not have taken those promotional photos wearing my eyes, man.

I am not very photogenic.

I'll call you back.

I could give you the whole

Moon and it still wouldn't be enough;

I'm home and still there's no roof over my head

Hanging on to the edge of a ladder

The top at the bottom

And life on its side

Like it's upside down

Inside out

Minus 1

And I don't want to go there

Minus 5

And I can't read negatives

Minus 9

And minutes turn to nothing

Gone the time

All out battles with

All who waited

And close to those

Were meetings,

Designations,

Heroes,

Writers,

Ice cream trucks

Tough battles

Winners—

Games and

Levitating on so secretly

secrets say

“God, Donald, you're on your own”

But heavy greetings wash out

All who were away at your essence

Strings of gold

Very wary

Wavy heroin,

I'm all galaxies

Are you whole, in

Stuffed stalker,

Tin straw hats

Carols in summer

Marking stones

Summer days

Summer

Are you in here

Or out here

After all had died

And gone grey

Still against my head

The tender sparkles

Of sparked dust,

No stars yet

Under city winds and

Careful not to wake the sound of

Delicate and soft

Pink detergent

And

Careful not to thank the

Conditioner,

saved you

Careful

Safety

Comes first

Careful

Safety

Careful

Careful

Careful

Calm down.

She's a partial obsessive…

You were tricked into writing all this.

Tricked willingly, anyway.

No, just tricked.

You thought you were special.

I realized I had to be when I saw the same thing twice on both ends —

I'm just doing my rounds.

Making the bed

Playing catch up

Doing check ups—

Well done, boys.

I know what you are now.

The job is done.

The job is a job.

[I'm seeing my clarity.]

Try not to lay next to me eating;

Try not to stand here on such a heavy plane

Try frequency,

Dignity,

Disgrace and

Distress,

Maybe

Major

Mayday

NATO

Bombs down

Maybe

Stay there

Maybe faraway

But I can hear you

Taking in

Shallow breaths

Planes crash

Plans fail

And then—

There I was remembering

All of a sudden

There was no actual plan in this

I was just playing by ear.

So you are in there.

Somebody nail me to a cross and tell me what the Fallon equivalent to Skrillex following me from LA to Brooklyn just to leave me in a homeless shelter to rot—

11

And though eventually I came up kind of okay on the other side affects, the paralyzing realization that I never wanted anything but proper mating.

That's, for facts, but—

Now with this looming Over my grave I'm sure I've yet something else to worry about just

In general.

I was told to keep my mouth shut.

Weren't we all.

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 weigh

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 misunderstood cobditions often even relied on bias, poor judgement, racism, social class, and economics had certainly deconstructed any faith or belief formerly held in the modern state of psychology, and most of the articles or public medical journals read more like science fiction and fantasy rather than cold hard facts; indicating a moral and ethical flaw within the entirety of the human species—man's own inability to understand God, and therefore himself, in any creative process. Diety and creativity combined were simply a mystery, and had plagued entire generations of the human species as a whole.

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

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}

‘Dillon…'

I had been nearly whipped around at how much I had enjoyed watching Joel's 2014 image captured in what might have been his greatest ever performance, at least online—and certainly my favorite, watching as a bigger fan than ever and at th devastating realization that I was literally a dime a dozen in the millions of girls who also wanted any of the men I was attracted to, my heart ached in this moment for Dillon, and as I was distracted in checking my messages, most of them from conversations I had abandoned with the preference of focusing on my art, however— a certain gentleman who had texted me incessantly sent a picture of his dinner— a motorcycle roared as I let my aversion by the memory of Dillon cloud my emotions and judgement; I knew that the gangstalkers had access to my phone and all of my accounts, which was why I kept all of my messaging within Google voice.

I wanted the gangstalkers to know how at the surface level I was thinking and what I was feeling—though it was obvious that Dillon Francis just as much as Skrillex had been used as tools by a greater force than simply themselves.

Besides, a little birdy had told me that Dillon's girlfriend might be expecting—and furthermore, that the baby would be a little girl. I burned with jealousy and anger, but after all, even the name Dillon Francis had been planted in my own head by the literal devil himself, the man who beat me and then intended to destroy the entirety of the rest of my life to cover up his physical violence and negligence—and so I had decided it was good to fall in love—and then out of love—with Dillon Francis. The benefit was obviously by far in the art that had been created from it, as with any lover—or lack thereof.

I had finally realized the one-sidedness in every man I had loved since leaving my abuser. As if in a way they had all been possessed by him, or the devil himself—and either way, there really was no difference.

What other creature than the devil itself would seek so animatedly to destroy wich such violence and deceit?

It had to have been the devil after all, and so I left it there—but the little bird had left a deep and heavy cut in my heart that had already been there since Dillon had announced his girlfriend publically in the first place—and after all that had happened, it was a devastating blow, however, I kept the amythyst safe and tucked away with my son's labradorite—it was after all his, and not mine, just as the laboradite was my son's, and not mine— and all the pieces of my heart that had fallen away and into little stones sat tucked away inside a box with a lid that shut away the darkness and hatred that came with it.

It was obvious that I would and could never love again—but at least in the very simplest of laws, the love I had given would apparently at some point be returned tenfold, and so I was glad that I had chosen for a time, to let myself fall in love with Dillon Francis, and then somehow, even with Joel, and even with the little bird.

The same little bird just so happened to have known other things which turned out to be true, and to that affect, I knew that I could somewhat trust this little bird, and the secrets he was feeding me—the painful truth was, this was the only notion of trust I had with any human being on the planet, and the little bird was not a human being at all—he was, in fact, and indeed— just a little bird.

Isn't it something—

Snakes eat Rats,

And Birds Eat Snakes,

And we eat birds, and eggs

Until we hear them sing—

And when we hear them sing,

And watch them hatch the eggs,

And learn to hear them speak,

To fly, is what they teach.

Isn't it?

Snakes eat rats

And birds eat snakes

Snakes eat rats

And

Birds eat snakes

Snakes eat rats and

Birds eat snakes

Snakes eat rats and

Birds eat snakes

Jimmy Kimmel flies in through the window.

Oh my God!

What'd I miss?

You're a bird!

Oh, that.

How long have you been a bird?!

Pretty much forever.

Always, actually.

I was also—just—very briefly—a bird!

Yeah, comes with the…

You'll get used to it.

I don't think I will.

You will— or—-

Or what?

—You'll fly into the turbine of a commercial airplane.

Oh!

Yeah, don't do that.

[He tugs at the bottom of his suit coat to neatly readjust it, and tightens his tie, with an eerie faraway look on his face, however still smiling.]

Ha-ha...

[he pats his fellow host on the shoulder.]

See you later.

Will you?

[breaking fourth wall, saying nothing but with an honest and subtle shrug, Holding his breath as if to say ‘—I don't know.']

CUT TO:

Tom Hanks, looking as similarly to Jimmy Kimmel as ever, because, let's be honest—

NARRERATOR

Holy fuck, keep that shit just cause it's so bad

Right side is offline.

Why.

I don't know

NARRORATOR

holy fuck, can you really not spell the word narorator?

That doesn't even look right.

I thought you were a genius!

I thought I was

Meditating…

Narrator.

Nevermind.

This is ridiculous!

It is ridiculous, but you know what.

Mm. This is delicious.

You like that?

Yes.

You want more of it?

Yes.

Well, that's TOO BAD!

What, why is this?

Because, this is—

{Enter The Multiverse}

THIS IS SATURDAY NIGHT!

No, it's not.

What.

It's Sunday.

What do you mean.

It's Sunday night—and all of you—

(The entire cast)

Missed the show.

...uh oh.

YESTERDAY.

[censored]

Shh!

Where have you BEEN?!

Well, gotta go.

Where the hell do you think you're going l?

{Enter The Multiverse}

Now I had comedy under my belt, somewhat, but it seemed all in all as if I'd lost something, even in all that had been gained. A trade off, if it paid off—but it hasn't yet; and perhaps that strange faraway voice had been right. Maybe it would be Jimmy Fallon after all that would destroy me—or at the very least, some dark and foul evil spirit that had been wearing his face…

…and singing with his voice.

I have been hanging at the end of a rope

The legend to the show rolled up like a newspaper in my left paw, opposable

The end is near, and sure, the straw I draw is short.

The life I loved was long,

The boat I rowed had sunk;

And the men I loved

We're drunks.

I've never had the sun on my skin;

Or my son in my home—

It's not you, , sir, at all

It's me, man—I'm broken

She speaks pig Latin

The lady in the red dress, yes, you guessed it

Was it a bet,

A Game?

A Family Man

Who has it out for Fallon,

Or the fandom

Or the fountain

CUT TO:

A SUBURBAN NOUSEHOLD. DAY

Alright, mom— I'm going to Marshall's.

Alright dear.

[moments later]

[ding dong]

Hi—

Um, hello.

I'm Marshall.

Alright.

I'm a recruitment officer.

Recruitment for what?

That's top secret.

Okay?

I'm here to congratulate you on behalf of the agency.

What agency?

That's also top secret.

Okay.

Your son/ or daughter—

Daughter.

Really—you sure?

…positive—

Ahem— has been selected to particulate in our leadership program.

Well, thats's great. When does it—

Today.

Oh.

Your son and or daughter—

Daughter.

Are you sure?

I'm— positive—

Will undergo training for an indeterminate amount of time..

Indeterminate?

Pre-addressed Post cards.

Ummm.

Postage paid.

Thank you?

No, thank you.

What?

I had set all my clocks forward, so it was as if I was waking up in the future. So far forward, in fact, that if I wasn't looking at my phone to see the real time, I could never be late, and I even wished that there was a way to set my phone clock forward—but maybe if that was possible, too many people would catch on to being ahead—or on whatever time

they wanted—and the world would fall out of sync. That kind of free thinking could be dangerous in a place like New York, and it sort of already was—none the wiser, the smarter I felt I was, the more trouble it becsme and though wisely I knew myself to in totality know nothing at all in actuality, I did at least think more and do more than the average New Yorker, whether I thought about it or not.

I set my clocks forward,

So I wake up in the future

Less than I'd be willing to bet

And more than you've be willing to bargain

I'm coming with you this time

I don't think that's a good idea…is it?

—is it?

Anyway…

It's time for that trip.

How am I supposed to make it all the way to London on this pay grade?

Just wait.

It's barely anything.

You see that waitress.

…yes.

I mean— do you see her.

I see her.

I want you to bang the shit out of her.

Good one.

It should be.

Oh, you're serious?

I'd better be.

You know that I'm committed.

Are you a man?

I have been.

Go on, then.

Not in that way.

The wager.

[he lays a large sum of money on the table]

Disaster strikes.

Suddenly we all realize this plane has been about to crash for about four seasons.

Meet me at the four seasons.

Are you wearing a wire.

Beg your pardon.

Are you wearing a wire.

He won't love me in the way I'm craving—

It's not in his nature, the near hatred and almost demoralizing, however with utmost respect

That I should be both harmed and loved at once,

Embraced and defiled,;

Handled as if having done wrong,

But in no less than bloodlust

All what's right,

And feels the same

JIMMY KIMMEL

I made a list.

That was fast!

JIMMY KIMMEL

To be honest, I already had it for awhile.

How long's awhile?

JIMMY KIMMEL

Pretty much forever, basically.

As soon as I began to write, a door slammed— I wondered if by writing I was moving people in and out of my dimensional realms and planes, knowing that the more I wrote, the more my life would differ and begin to change. I often wondered if the door slamming meant that I was ascending, and that other versions of the sims (not people, but robots, really) were moving and changing to rearrange themselves in entirely seperate dimensions of reality. It could not have ever been of sheer coincidence. as it had been a completely quiet and mostly silent day with no movement at all; it was Thanksgiving, and I had noticed that whenever I was writing, even offline, the slamming of the doors became constant, almost as if people were coming in and out with no purpose other than to cause some type of disturbance, from even which my door was no barrier. I thought to buy a door guard like my neighbors had, but to allow the gangstalkers or robots, whatever they were to cost me money on top of my comfort, was unacceptable.

RYAN REYNOLDS (as “the devil”)

Wait, so you have writings about NBC people and Kimmel?

Yeah.

RYAN REYNOLDS

Yikes, well—you know how these things go.

Buckle up.

CBS

We saw her first!

NBC

No way, we've had east end locked down for two years!

CBS

And in 2020 our subcontractors brought her to us.

OOOOHH SHIIT. NETWORK TURF WARRRRRRRR

NETWORK TURF WAAAAAAAAAAAAR!!!!

SETH ROGEN

Ah shit, this is gonna get brutal…

I gotta get more Quaaludes.

How are you already out?

I does what I does.

Continuity.

AND!

Introducing the new

SIM JIM 420!

With new and improved continuity feature!

Continuity.

Wow. He seems so real.

So lifelike.

Almost just like the real thing.

Where is, actually, the real thing— anyway?

*shrugs, dismissively*

Continuity.

Why does he just keep repeating that phrase?

Well, he's stuck in a loop right now;

We're currently upgrading his sentience chip.

Oh, nice.

MEANWHILE…

MWAHAHAHAHHA

NOW THAT I HAVE THIS SENTIENCE CHIP,

THE WORLD WILL BE MINE.

AAHAHAHAHAHHAHA.

WHICH SIM IS THAT?

{enter the multiverse}

The dangerous one.

L E G E N D S

CUT TO:

And who is THIS?!

That's bird-mom.

So you know each other?!

Hello, Jimmy.

I just told you, that's bird mom.

Beg your pardon.

God, what the fuck is wrong with you?

I, uh—

How—long have you known each other?

Like, forever, probably.

Sit down.

Gosh.

So rude.

No manners.

What the fuck is going on.

Sit down before I clip your wings.

I don't have my wings out…

Exactly.

[he gulps and takes a seat nervously beside Jimmy, glaring at him momentarily before the extra terrestrial aviary woman, a “whatthefuck” begins to conduct the meeting.

Oh, shit— this is where all the birds fly in the—

Yeah.

Classic.

I love this one.

Hehehe.

[The Festival Project ™]

What's going on?

Some Illuminati thing.

A what?

[a running joke throughout the series, the higher level Illuminati members denial of the order's existence typically place's the audience's suspension of disbelief into effect before bizarre and unrealistic circumstances are presented.

Chill out, it's just a ritual.

“Just a ritual!”

You don't have to do it if you don't want to.

Oh, if the Illuminati asks me to do something,

Bet your ass I'm gonna do it.

WHAT.

My tongue drawn

My air out,

My ear worn,

My thought songs,

My same lives,

Still as one—

Wait a second

Is that why a grown man is fully beating the shit out of a fucking cat.

THATS NOT ANY REGULAR CAT.

how is the cat winning tho.

lol.

I told u it would come back if it was a good one.

That is funny.

{enter the multiverse}

Everything I listen to a really good stand up comedian,

They talk about domestic violence.

They always warn you never to put hands on your woman.

The best comedians always say something about it—

“Never hit a woman”

“Never put your hands on a woman.”

I never talk about my ex,

And that's on purpose,

But I will say this:

I hope that shit ruins comedy for him

Like he ruined rap music for me.

Cause he can deny it outwardly all he wants,

But it he's watching a stand up,

And they say something about how much of a pussy you really are,

If you hit your woman—he's gonna feel that.

He's gonna feel that I like still feel that

When I bump Kendrick Lamar,

Or I just can't take whatever Boosie saying, or

If I just can't sit all the way through a lil Wayne verse

Just kidding,

Wayne is straight fire—

I don't think I will ever skip a lil Wayne verse, to be truthful.

But when all these little new age rappers start calling out the devil's number, talking bout—

Making back door deals

With demons and shit,

I'm gonna feel the pressure of his fist on my face,

All over again,

And here go all these niggas,

Singing the anthem.

That shit ain't cool!

I hope comedy is ruuuuuined!

Cause rap music ruined.

Ruined.

I hope Katt William's whole next special is about how much of a pussy you are if you hit your woman;

And he a pimp.

Let's hear him do a whole hour on that.

I hope he does.

Yes lord.

In the meantime,

How you gon'

Hit your wife,

Run her out the house,

Then have a baby by another woman

And name the baby

After yo ex

Favorite rapper?

Oh heeeeeelll naw!

Can't have that.

Now every time Kendrick Lamar drop a album

You gon have your ex in a whole flashback

Of your fist in her face?

She can't even hear the verse,

She just,

“WHYYYYY! “

“WHY HE GONNDO THIS TO MEE?”

“WHYYYYYYYY!“

That's the best Katt Williams impression I can do in print.

It'll do.

My actual Katt Williams impression is standard, though.

Captain.

CUT TO:

Why is he the devil?!

RYAN REYNOLDS

WHY AM I THE DEVIL.

I wanted the devil!

Stuff it!

He want the devil. Make him the devil!

I wanted it!

Shut up.

Not everybody can play the devil.

I can.

You cannot.

I can.

You will not, you will play your part.

Goddammit I wanted that part!

[he walks away angrily]

You'll get over it.

Thie—? Come on…

Just chill, Ryan, it's a great part.

It's a—

It's a great part. Did you read the whole thing?

I'm just worried this is going to diminish my brand. My many, many..:

Read the whole thing.

…many brands.

[the professor shuts the door]

Dammit.

[deflated, Ryan Reynolds slumps his shoulders and walks slowly down the hallway, letting out a heavy sigh.]

…I own so many brands.

[he sighs again, fluttering the script in exasperation.]

So many things! [I own]

L E G E N D S

STEFON

NEW YORK'S HOTTEST UNDERGROUND CLUB IS

T A I N T

Did they already do ‘taint'

Was taint even a word back then!

It's always been a thing.

Hey, freebies

Sister sanity

Does not live here

No

Does not live here

No

Does not live here

No

Sister sanity does not live her

No

She packed her bags, oh,

She's gone and away, oh

She's gone and away, oh,

She's gone and away, oh

She's gone and away——

Oh!

Guitar solo

Drum solo

Guitar bridge

I can't wait to get a peloton

I'm gonna be so skinny my eyeballs are in my kneecaps

And you're gonna like it

You're gonna put me on the cover of Vogue

And call me a fashion icon

I will be a guest host on America's next top model

And I will be invited to every fashion week

I will have the silliest outfit at the met gala

And I will be voted

The best

Every year,

Until I die

Even by Joan rivers

Who is dead, by the way

So until she's alive again;

Just to comment on my outfit

I will be so skinny that when I fart

All the world's most eligible bachelors

Will line up behind me to smell my fart dust

Which will probably be lined in gold and silver

Because I'm so skinny

And because I'm so skinny

You will love me

No matter what I do

And no matter what I say

And I will never be alone

Or lonely again

Mantra

Timmy Trumpet

Thriller (JUST A TUNE FLIP)

Michael Jackson

Intro Pablo Escobar

(Guaracha Zapateo & Aleteo)

Reggaeton bachata Hit

Privacy

Chris Brown

Privacy

Chris Brown

Leave Me Alone

NF

Better Place (From

TROLLS Band

Together)

*NSYNC & Justin Timberlake

On The Radar Freestyle (Mixed)

Central Cee & Drake

10 Freaky Girls (feat.

21 Savage)

Metro Boomin

Drake and Central Cee collaborate for the first time for an On The Radar freestyle, a New York-based radio station and YouTube channel. The track was announced on July 20th, 2023 on Drake's Instagram. Later that day, Drake announced the release date of July 21st.

The two have had a good relationship since meeting in 2021, with Cench being a model for a Nike X Nocta campaign in the same year, and appearing in the

"Jumbotron Shit Poppin" music video in 2023. Cench previously teased a Drake feature in an unreleased extended version of his 2022 mega-hit "Doja"

66 Ear to the street and I heard them say that Central Cee got a verse from Drake/They lied if they said that they weren't afraid

Coming Back Around

NEIL FRANCES

Girl Like Me

Dove Cameron

Flying High

Valdi Sabev

Purple Snowflakes

John Legend

Smile

Durand Jones & The Indications

Devon rex kittens

Berry established herself as one of the highest-paid actresses in Hollywood during the 2000s. For her performance of a struggling widow in the romantic drama Monster's Ball (2001), Berry became the only African-American woman to win the Academy

Award for Best Actress, and the first woman of color. Berry took on high-profile roles such as Storm in four installments of the X-Men film

series (2000-2014), the henchwoman of a robber in the thriller Swordfish (2001), Bond girl Jinx in Die Another Day (2002), and the title role in the much-derided Catwoman (2004).

The strangest thing happened.

What's that?

*flutters*

I just turned into a bird.

An actual bird?

Yes!

Well, that's not telepathy.

No, it isn't.

Okay…do it again.

“The Desire to be Loved”

“The 11 O Clock Number”

What if Dumbo's feather was a stone (l)

More notes, and nothing's done yet

It's the same process over and over

And nothing is done,

But the shows almost over

If the shoe fits, wear it.

He a shapeshifter,

I'll take your eyes out, wear em for a moment

Rip your heart out,

Feed it to the homeless

Not bad

In the present,

But the moment passed

Not bad

You a lie,

But I'm finna send the fax

Not bad

Not bad

Shimmy shimmy ya,

So it's simply envy, hah

Not bad

No, you will not shake this snow globe!!!

I will shake this snow globe!

I NEED TO GO TO CHEDRAUIIIIIIIIII!

BITCH, FOR WHAT?!

CHEDRAUIIIIIII NOWWWWW.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

{S10 (IN 10D!) Coming Soon}

‘Good girl.'

It would be my first deck of tarot cards since leaving Mexico, and though it would take longer than I would have wanted, the yoga mat would nearly complete my in-home fitness essentials. The Peleton bike would be delivered mid-week, and although I owed another $120 upon activation, it didn't seem to matter, as I could delay its activation by another month and begin budgeting its monlthy rental fee at the beginning of the year. At top of my list of actual priorities, were my college application fees, and of course— though it seemed foolish to dwindle down everything I had been saving into almost nothingness, it was better now to consider my purchases that had been weighing down my processes than later; I still owed an album by the end of year when I would lose my distribution service subscription, and, I was nearly a month behind the release of I Love New York and yet still with no music videos to show, I thought to tackle the worst of the bunch just from my phone, but I hadn't the focus really— the most withdrawn I became from people around, the better I felt; the cleaner my apartment was, and the more energy I had to run, though it still felt as though I was being attacked at both sides—from people placed outside on motorcycles, or from inside, the door slamming gangstalkers, the simple solution it had only seemed was to move the treadmill, and after realizing that no longer fully aligned with the door while lounging on my couch, simply moving things around my apartment would give me an upward advantage. The neighbor girl seemed all too eager to come inside my apartment, and had tried on multiple occasions, and while I planned to eventually invite her over to share a meal to make face, I would be remodeling and rearranging first—I didn't feel comfortable with her knowing what I had or didn't have, or the way my apartment was situated; it seemed everyone within the building actually was part of some joint effort, and to this affect I could no longer trust others with any of my sensitive business. It was too fragile, and too much of a risk just to be open and honest about myself, or my intentions with the world— not that I had too many intentions at all, but the ones I did have could be easily persuaded into dissalusion by the perception that I was going to fail—just as I thought that it was obsurd anyone should be entitled to millions of dollars for seducing their married boss—there was little chance she felt at all that my career was going to be taking off in any upward direction. Still, there seemed to be some kind of benefit to having an eye and ear witness to the motorcycles that had been wreaking havoc over the last year—not only was the noise unsuable and unacceptable, but the tremor I had started to develop in my left hand began to make me irate at the thought that these evil creatures had given me enough anxiety to rewrite the parts of my brain in command of my body. These evil ugly little creatures were just annoying, they were making me disastrously ill. My stomach boiled with anger and hatred for this evil—and I although I knew that in time the perpetrators of these crimes would be punished for the harm they had inflicted in much crueler ways and wish harsher punishment by none other than the natural karmic justic, I still had grown beyond awe that the simply put evil and greed of man could force itself upon the innocent with such intrusion and invasive petulance; as if mankind of humankind had not evolved at all and that these roach like pest creatures were no better than the animals they insulated—or the sickened

,drugged, and weak ones they ate. Not that I blamed the dysfunction entirely on the consumption of animal product, however— the bizzare fact was that the content unrest was due to the sickness and nature of weak minded men with lack of moral or spirit— the nose simply was not normal in this neighborhood, in fact, it was an abrupt force, more obvious as it was observed, controlled entirely by the forces of evil. I knew that the world could not go on in such a way that it was that this could be forever, and infact— as the prices started to skyrocket, monthly subscriptions changing and the surges of inflation I had studied since Election Day itself, I had accumulated with logic the prediction of an oncoming economic crisis which might even exceed the 2008 recession, and even likely mirror the effects of the pandemic, with businesses shutting down once more— and the world at a standstill, in order for the government to attempt to reclaim some of what it had lost in forgaging the dynamics of the election itself. It was indeed a multibillion dollar effort to allow the organized “migration” of millions of ‘undocumented' people into the United States; this was no simple act of mass migration, but a strategic war machine. Now, in the coming days and weeks I had noticed in the corporate world steep price hikes, and had been bombarded even more ferociously by my own debt collectors—something in the economic world was changing rapidly since Election Day specifically, as if the business operators and corporations of the United States had insider information that times were changing; even I had changed my direction entirely. I no longer focused outward on music, but inward; the music scene was stagnant and cyclical, same old, same old. They had sold us all out to the money game and the truth of it was, the most beautiful artists in the world were often lacking in material and worldly connections—that the purest of art was most commonly going overlooked, or furthermore—absolutely invisible. I looked forward to making more music, because I had finally realized—that it couldn't matter. Now I could focus on the types of sounds I had dreamed about and flowed into my head as often as the weak men on motorcycles could not intercept. I knew that these weak men were controlled by even weaker men, and that their only power was to contstrict the art, and the light, and the beauty, and the love that they could not ever know, or make themselves—and so chose to take from others. The true imbalance in the world began to become clear in that some amongst those who walk the earth are simply not born with the ability to ‘do' or ‘create'— to see or to plan on their own; instead, and rather awful, is the innate fact, as simple as it is, is that most humans needed to be told at every waking moment what to do and why, and not only this—but how. With all the capability in the world to access this conciousness, but no will and desire, this type of human becomes malleable—able to be controlled, created, and structured to the desires of another without any second thought as to assimilate a better world for himself, or for the others around him.

Nothing can hurt me;

I have a treadmill

You can say what you want but I just keep running.

I'm all out of food, cream of wheat and oatmeal.

If you're all out or love, then you'd better keep calling her.

STEFON

NEW YORK'S HOTTEST UNDERGROUND CLUB IS

T A I N T

Did they already do ‘taint'

Was taint even a word back then!

It's always been a thing.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

JIMMY KIMMEL

I made a list.

That was fast!

JIMMY KIMMEL

To be honest, I already had it for awhile.

How long's awhile?

JIMMY KIMMEL

Pretty much forever, basically.

As soon as I began to write, a door slammed— I wondered if by writing I was moving people in and out of my dimensional realms and planes, knowing that the more I wrote, the more my life would differ and begin to change. I often wondered if the door slamming meant that I was ascending, and that other versions of the sims (not people, but robots, really) were moving and changing to rearrange themselves in entirely seperate dimensions of reality. It could not have ever been of sheer coincidence. as it had been a completely quiet and mostly silent day with no movement at all; it was Thanksgiving, and I had noticed that whenever I was writing, even offline, the slamming of the doors became constant, almost as if people were coming in and out with no purpose other than to cause some type of disturbance, from even which my door was no barrier. I thought to buy a door guard like my neighbors had, but to allow the gangstalkers or robots, whatever they were to cost me money on top of my comfort, was unacceptable.

RYAN REYNOLDS (as “the devil”)

Wait, so you have writings about NBC people and Kimmel?

Yeah.

RYAN REYNOLDS

Yikes, well—you know how these things go.

Buckle up.

CBS

We saw her first!

NBC

No way, we've had east end locked down for two years!

CBS

And in 2020 our subcontractors brought her to us.

OOOOHH SHIIT. NETWORK TURF WARRRRRRRR

NETWORK TURF WAAAAAAAAAAAAR!!!!

SETH ROGEN

Ah shit, this is gonna get brutal…

I gotta get more Quaaludes.

How are you already out?

I does what I does.

Continuity.

AND!

Introducing the new

SIM JIM 420!

With new and improved continuity feature!

Continuity.

Wow. He seems so real.

So lifelike.

Almost just like the real thing.

Where is, actually, the real thing— anyway?

*shrugs, dismissively*

Continuity.

Why does he just keep repeating that phrase?

Well, he's stuck in a loop right now;

We're currently upgrading his sentience chip.

Oh, nice.

MEANWHILE…

MWAHAHAHAHHA

NOW THAT I HAVE THIS SENTIENCE CHIP,

THE WORLD WILL BE MINE.

AAHAHAHAHAHHAHA.

WHICH SIM IS THAT?

{enter the multiverse}

The dangerous one.

L E G E N D S

CUT TO:

And who is THIS?!

That's bird-mom.

So you know each other?!

Hello, Jimmy.

I just told you, that's bird mom.

Beg your pardon.

God, what the fuck is wrong with you?

I, uh—

How—long have you known each other?

Like, forever, probably.

Sit down.

Gosh.

So rude.

No manners.

What the fuck is going on.

Sit down before I clip your wings.

I don't have my wings out…

Exactly.

[he gulps and takes a seat nervously beside Jimmy, glaring at him momentarily before the extra terrestrial aviary woman, a “whatthefuck” begins to conduct the meeting.

Oh, shit— this is where all the birds fly in the—

Yeah.

Classic.

I love this one.

Hehehe.

[The Festival Project ™]

What's going on?

Some Illuminati thing.

A what?

[a running joke throughout the series, the higher level Illuminati members denial of the order's existence typically place's the audience's suspension of disbelief into effect before bizarre and unrealistic circumstances are presented.

Chill out, it's just a ritual.

“Just a ritual!”

You don't have to do it if you don't want to.

Oh, if the Illuminati asks me to do something,

Bet your ass I'm gonna do it.

WHAT.

My tongue drawn

My air out,

My ear worn,

My thought songs,

My same lives,

Still as one—

Wait a second

Is that why a grown man is fully beating the shit out of a fucking cat.

THATS NOT ANY REGULAR CAT.

how is the cat winning tho.

lol.

I told u it would come back if it was a good one.

That is funny.

{enter the multiverse}

Everything I listen to a really good stand up comedian,

They talk about domestic violence.

They always warn you never to put hands on your woman.

The best comedians always say something about it—

“Never hit a woman”

“Never put your hands on a woman.”

I never talk about my ex,

And that's on purpose,

But I will say this:

I hope that shit ruins comedy for him

Like he ruined rap music for me.

Cause he can deny it outwardly all he wants,

But it he's watching a stand up,

And they say something about how much of a pussy you really are,

If you hit your woman—he's gonna feel that.

He's gonna feel that I like still feel that

When I bump Kendrick Lamar,

Or I just can't take whatever Boosie saying, or

If I just can't sit all the way through a lil Wayne verse

Just kidding,

Wayne is straight fire—

I don't think I will ever skip a lil Wayne verse, to be truthful.

But when all these little new age rappers start calling out the devil's number, talking bout—

Making back door deals

With demons and shit,

I'm gonna feel the pressure of his fist on my face,

All over again,

And here go all these niggas,

Singing the anthem.

That shit ain't cool!

I hope comedy is ruuuuuined!

Cause rap music ruined.

Ruined.

I hope Katt William's whole next special is about how much of a pussy you are if you hit your woman;

And he a pimp.

Let's hear him do a whole hour on that.

I hope he does.

Yes lord.

In the meantime,

How you gon'

Hit your wife,

Run her out the house,

Then have a baby by another woman

And name the baby

After yo ex

Favorite rapper?

Oh heeeeeelll naw!

Can't have that.

Now every time Kendrick Lamar drop a album

You gon have your ex in a whole flashback

Of your fist in her face?

She can't even hear the verse,

She just,

“WHYYYYY! “

“WHY HE GONNDO THIS TO MEE?”

“WHYYYYYYYY!“

That's the best Katt Williams impression I can do in print.

It'll do.

My actual Katt Williams impression is standard, though.

Captain.

CUT TO:

Why is he the devil?!

RYAN REYNOLDS

WHY AM I THE DEVIL.

I wanted the devil!

Stuff it!

He want the devil. Make him the devil!

I wanted it!

Shut up.

Not everybody can play the devil.

I can.

You cannot.

I can.

You will not, you will play your part.

Goddammit I wanted that part!

[he walks away angrily]

You'll get over it.

Thie—? Come on…

Just chill, Ryan, it's a great part.

It's a—

It's a great part. Did you read the whole thing?

I'm just worried this is going to diminish my brand. My many, many..:

Read the whole thing.

…many brands.

[the professor shuts the door]

Dammit.

[deflated, Ryan Reynolds slumps his shoulders and walks slowly down the hallway, letting out a heavy sigh.]

…I own so many brands.

[he sighs again, fluttering the script in exasperation.]

So many things! [I own]

L E G E N D S

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©