In each of the three previous worlds, humanity was destroyed by destructive practices and wars. In the most common version of the story the Spider Grandmother (Kookyangso'wuuti) caused a reed to grow into the sky, and it emerged in the Fourth World at the sipapu, a small tunnel or inter-dimensional passage. As the end of one world draws near the sipapu appears to lead the Hopi into the next phase of the world.[10]
Why do the spirits call upon me?
To bring about a The New World.
I told you, it's The fourth world.
Oh. I just thought I was the 4th Skrillex.
I told the spider I'd write it!
What are you writing, anyway?
Ugh, I'm behind on my studies.
Don't forget about that deadline.
I mean, maybe; Does that mean I get a free pass at this?
Writing to Skrillex helped me mull-out a disastrous amount of Fantasy and Science Fiction.
And writing to deadmau5 helps me write–uh–what is this? A memoir, I guess.
A memoir? I'm not dead yet.
And increasingly ancient.
The Universe's Expansion.
Oh, shit–did we ever figure out exactly what Pasquale wants out of this?
You just so happen to be an nflammatory racist.
I'm not racist! Blue eyed people DO lie more than everybody else! It's not racist; it's a statistic!
I don't know! Maybe cause they can usually get away with it!
What do those cards say again?
First of all, nobody's claiming to be the living incarnation of Jesus.
Except all these guys over here:
And like, a handful of rappers.
Maybe that's what's so unattractive to me about black men.
I can admit I was always more beautiful inwardly than outwardly attractive.
I always wanted to ride in a DeLorean.
Ir gets real cold at night,
We've all been spread too thin,
I'm not trying to fit in, really;
I don't even make ends meat…
Goddamnit, just went vegan
But I still won't buy or eat these chips
—even if I could afford it.
This life ain't worth it ;
Pictures are worth 1,000 words, they said
Mother of Earth isn't worthless—
Damn, all this trash, and this damage, but—
But still wake up and do this,
Like this 28 cents bout to turn into something
You could call it undercover
Lost my love somewhere around here
Hope somebody picks it up;
I wondered what a fortune was,
I don't feel so special anymore, no
I don't feel so special anymore, though
I had slept all day—that is, from around 8 AM until 9 PM; and though it had been weeks since I had set any alarms, I always woke up exactly when I needed to—so I figured I must have needed to, and considered that if I didn't, I didn't need to for some, or any eesson whatsoever.
After falling asleep for just moments before waking up to scarf down my cold tater tots, accompanied by a green smoothie, I had agreed with myself that living the way I was, wherever in Los Ángeles or anywhere else was simply unsustainable—I no longer had the motivation or energy to spend 80 hours working for people who I could only imagine had it so much better than I did, calculating the numbers as I worked between the mimimum wage salaries I was being paid, the amount of inventory which was kept in each store, and the horrible working conditions of 2 out of the 5 stores total which I had been employed, not even accounting for the 6th store, which I had “obstinately” dissappeared from once my intelligence had been insulted past the point of beyond repair, and having my schedule changed to a midday jaunt that only allowed for a window of 2-hours of sleep on either side, which—turned out to be either less-or-none, with four roommates, one of them who had quit both her jobs and never left the room anymore, taking the justice of using her ex boyfriend's credit card to pay for her stay, and focusing on her “art”, which apparently meant scrolling all day through social media and shining her phone's flashlight in my face whenever I did begin to finally rest. At that point, I was almost entirely too tired to remember to tie the bandana I wore daily over my eyes as a block to the sunlight and her other shenanigans, plus any of the clamoring of the other two roommates—I had learned by now to, however, always keep my ears tightly plugged with foam, as she also liked to talk on the phone, and again, hadn't left the room in seemingly days, besides to get junk food to eat in bed—not that I had room to judge—I hadn't another place besides bed to comfortably eat, either, however, nor did I have the luxury of a boyfriend's credit card to afford my stay, and thus, kept working a full and steady full time, for so much less than I was worth that I couldn't stand myself, let alone afford the things I needed and God forbid the things I wanted. I needed a lot, actually—all of my bills were overdue, and my measly paychecks only had added up to barely afford me the 4-bed-shared dorm, which I had realized was more than luxurious and at the very least clean, which was the highlight of it—and as my 22-year-old-bunk mate became clearly rather depressed and irritating, she had become messy and careless, my empathy an offset, and my lack of time accumulating with the disorganization of hating a less than 100-square-foot with at least 3-busy people and one entitled brat, became an overwhelming push to move rooms and downsize even more than I had; now, the entirety of my belongings fit neatly into the back of a Prius with no qualms—but, understsnding the endless cyclical poverty of Los Ángeles, and though I was no longer truly homeless, paying upwards of $2,000 a month to share a space with four strangers, but still unwualifled to rent an apartment for even $1,000 a month, the minimum income for such being $3,500 a month, and falling short by far of the lump sum needef for the application fee, deposit, first, and last months, I had become desperate to leave again, however not to Mexico, or any other 3rd world country where I might be able to afford a cozy space alone, but would be unable to make money at all, by comparison, and would have to fight constantly not to be taken advantage of.
(Not that I wasn't at least in some way doing so in Los Ángeles, in an of course, slightly less-hostile way.)
All of my coworkers were tired, overworked, and miserable—complained of the horrid work conditions and high expectations of the minimum wage position, which of course provided only accessories for the many spectrums of dependency the city had to offer—besides oil burners, of course, which didn't keep away the methheads looking for them, calling about them, or buying nectar collectors as replacements—by any means.
It was almost comical, the daily happenings of each store—and each of the 10 employees were sent between the storefronts sprinkled across the downtown Los Ángeles metropolitan landscape; It was the darkest tragedy-turned-comedy I had ever lived, or written, as I jotted down only the most perfect and seemingly divinely inspired occursnces—from crackheads snatching bags of chips, to gangster rappers and their ghetto fabulous entourages—and of course, the ever mystifying magicians which seemed to use the shop as a portal into my Inter dimensional madterpiece simply by being, accompanied of course by the occasional celebrity just in at the top of the midnight hour to by whippets—which one would think could be delivered, however—I was only grateful for the chaotic collision of wonderful imaginary circumstances which might cause one to have to write about it.
When Timmy turned about 16, he started wishin for weird shit, ma —does line/takes shot, hits vape
Cosmo, you should slow down, man.
What? I can get more whippets!
[the other fairies leave hurriedly, leaving Cosmo alone, deflated]
Man, he's just not the same since Wanda left, man.
It be that way sometimes.
Oh, are we still on this timeline?
I dunno, I gotta find something cool for Emma Watson to do, I guess.
INT. KREAM. NIGHT AS FUCK.
Three mysterious figures enter the storefront, adorned with dark Ray Bans Sunglasses.
Two customers follow behind as they slowly walk through the store.
Holy shit, is that Emma Watson?
I dunno, looks kinda like her…
The three mysterious shoppers continue browsing, unaffected. The first customer approaches the only female of the trio.
An awkward silence, without movement; Blū quietly observes, standing at the register.
UH, nevermind. Let's go, dude.
I told you it wasn't hers
The two customers exit the store, leaving BLŪ and the mysterious trio in the store.
BLŪ squints over the golden rims of her sunglasses—suddenly, a large van with no windows screeches to a stop outside the door.
(We've been on the Harry Potter Timeline since like Season 1)
Okay. There's three hours on my shift left. I'm sure I'll come up with something.
What are you doing with any of this?
I don't know, I publish some of it on my podcast—
But lately I've been trying to figure out how to get to the top of the U.S. Bank Tower.
NATALIE is attempting suicide by jumping from the roof of the U.S. BANK TOWER
Okay, so, what's going on?
They'll figure it out. If I get plagiarized again without getting paid for it…
I don't know. No more suicides.
So whatever. Just copyright it.
This whole project costs lots of money.
I guess. I mean— I know what happens after…
THE DEVIL gives SUNNI BLŪ their soul back
What—*gasp* IS THAT MY SOUL?
NO, Devil. I'm rich and famous now.
Just take it! Okay?! Shit—you can keep it, you can keep—everything—just—fuck, man!
You can take whatever you want, you can keep all this shit—
—I just, don't want it, don't need it. Just take it.
It's a non-disclosure agreement.
I'm not having sex with you.
Yeah, but I don't want you to fuck me.
Can I get a notary in here?
[MORGAN enters, irritated]
DILLON FRANCIS is buried alive, after being kidnapped and placed into a wooden coffin.
He really is a good actor.
DILLON FRANCIS CAN SUCK MY NUTZ.
Why does everybody hate him.
Idk. He must really hate himself or something.
My roommate had been kind enough to give me a tarot reading before I left for new years weekend, exclaiming,
“There's a Capricorn entering your midsts, but you must give him permission.”
“Oh shit, the Capricorn?! Really? “
The rest of the reading became a humble lull in the back of my mind, as The Amethyst in my bra began to buzz unlike the way it had ever before; it had rang, pulsated, and even sometimes shook itself—but had never quite buzzed the way that it did this day, and so, impulsively, as she finished the reading, filling my mind up with what I was sure was nonsense about a greater love than I had ever known on the horizon with a mysterious Capricorn, I took the stone from my brazziere, holding it for a moment in my left palm, and placing it on the wooden post between our beds—her eyes widened as they drew to the stone, as I explained:
“I've carried this stone for a very long time—nobody touches it but me.”
“Okay”, she said, still fixated and almost enamored with the stone.
“You can touch it, if you want.”
“Cool,” I said, picking up my DJ equipment and exiting towards the rooftop to play.
“Hold onto it, I'll be back in an hour.” , I said. , reaching for the door.
“Okay”, she beamed with excitement.
“You got the Capricorn ; Now, tell me about the Libra. October 5th.” I said, opening the door and slowly exiting, my DJ equipment obscuring the door from closing.
After a string of robberies, TIMMY TURNER is apprehended and arrested near the scene of the crime…
THE DELOREAN arrives with a bang.
—in front of all these PEOPLE.
ITS THE END OF THE WORLD!
…it's just another night in downtown Los Angeles.
I can't help it! It's a DeLorean! It just “shows up” like that!!!
WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN?!
HELL! Pasquale, I told you!
I looked there. You vwerent there.
I wvas there. You just didn't see me. Here's this, by the way.
S/he produces the cloak of invisibility.
Yeah, literally, nowhere.
YOU HAD THIS THE WHOLE TIME.
Yes, dude, stop yelling at me.
Well. Find him, maybe, then everyone'll stop asking where he's at.
Looking for SKRILLEX. Duh. *hits vape* fucking assholes.
Yup. Just made captain. Fuck ya'll hoes.
This guy's house! Everybody, get in the car!!
The Hoes single file into the car.
SUPACREE hosts an ALL-MALE DISCO PARTY
Oh shit, are we still doing that one?!
BLŪ passes by a group of partygoers, turning for a moment to think
You can't just follow people to a rave these days;
But for the first time I'm years I felt as if I was missing something. Maybe I was.
Or maybe. It's part of me was there anyway…
After tearfully crossing the way, she passes the HORSE MEAT DISCO
SUPACREE has just hosted the horse meat disco.
Somewhere in The Universe, Yess.
At least in this Universe.
I don't have a way to feel about that.
ASHTON KUTCHER is a secret fan of THE LEGEND OF SUPACREE; and has recently discovered ENTER THE MYLTIVERSE; Now he devises a series of plots to be written into the show LEGENDS.
I'll be right back, babe— I gotta go to the ups store.
Wait—PICK ME UP AN ELFBAR.
That doesn't sound right.
We'll get back to that later.
‘It never stops for anything…'
Are you still stuck in that thing?
I just don't give a fuck!
I just don't give a fuck about love, hun
I gotta run from spot to spot—
None of these dudes wanna be just friends
I promise, I'm just tryna make ends
I need a room at the Wynn
Don't mean to be rude, but
What the fuck was the plan
Check out the fandom, then
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