| L E G E N D S: ICONS. |

rekt.
Collection 1.1 - 'actuality.'
Track 03. - 'rekt.'
Prod By Blū Tha Gürū

{Enter The Multiverse}

MILA KUNIS *hits vape*

WHY would you agree to sign me up for this?

ASHTON KUTCHER

Because—

MILA KUNIS

*Hits vape harder*

ASTON KUTCHER

Jesus Christ—

MILA KUNIS

You know me and Seth don't get along after that thing he did!

ASHTON KUTCHER

I know, but—

MILA KUNIS

*throws pillow*

UGH.

How am I supposed to?

Fuck it.

—-

SETH MCFARLENE

I have lines now.

*sniffs long line*

…

Are you okay?

SETH

I'm going to be.

[This requires a full cast.]

[The Festival Project.™]

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

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

Hey, Oprah—

Oprah.

Oprah.

Oprah.

Oprah.

Oprah

Oprah

Oprah

Oprah

OPRAH—

WHAT?!?

—I love you.

(OPRAH WINFREY sighs and groans, sinking back into bed.)

—and…

...AND?

...I made breakfast.

(This wakes her up a bit, as she is curious to see what has been made; Supacree energetically bounces into the next room.)

HEY, JANET JACKSON—

“Legends: The Melanin”

S Ū P ∆ © я E E ™ has been taken to a top secret training facility to prepare her for her journey into celebritism.

EARLIER:

S Ū P ∆ © я E E ™ is robbed and kidnapped at gunpoint by JANET JACKSON, BEYONCÉ, MARIAH CAREY, ALICIA KEYS & OPRAH.

what a combo.

I know, right?

A NINJA stops S Ū P ∆ © я E E ™ in her path, knocking the açaí bowl out of her left hand—

WHAT THE FUCK!

—luckily, she still has her smoothie—however, before she can take a sip, the ninja, who she seems unbothered by, knocks the smoothie out of her other hand.

NO, MY SMOOTHIE!!!!!!!!!!

The NINJA stands, motionless.

S Ū P ∆ © я E E ™ takes a fighting stance.

THE NINJA takes a fighting stance.

FUCK you dude, that shit's EXPENSIVE! YAAAAH.

YAAAAHHH!

They NINJA fight; S Ū P ∆ © я E E ™ SUPACREE has the advantage, until.

ANOTHER NINJA arrives as backup.

I got this!

Then, ANOTHER OTHER NINJA and A FOURTH NINJA surround SUPACREE;

Oh, fuck that.

They create a formation—each taking a fighting stance. She is majorly outnumbered.

THE GRAND NINJA arrives

HIIIIIIIIIYYYAAAAAAA.

Nope, fuck this.

The ninjas synchronize, ready to fight.

Nope, I quit.

S Ū P ∆ © я E E ™ retreats, running.

One of the ninjas has already advanced in her path.

Not so fast!

You're a LADY?!

Now you're surprised?!

S Ū P ∆ © я E E ™ attempts to flee. The ninja pistol whips Supacree. She's out cold.

God dammit, Janet!

What?! She's fast!

She's also heavy.

Just get her!

It takes 3 ninjas (and a fourth for support) to lift SUPACREE into the sleek, blacked out Escalade. They close the back, and unanimously all 4 doors, in sync. The Escalade drives away, license plate reading:

LEGENDS

Leave it alone,

Just let it be

Could you just–practically be me for a second,

I want to check something out.

–I am–practically you–

Hold on,

Let me get a cat and a couple supermodels.

I'll be right back.

Great.

Where am I supposed to get two cats and a supermodel on short notice?

No, it was, a cat and two–

Tell me your name one more time.

I was certain i'd never forget.

You will forget about this.

I need more magic.

I just gave you magic. Where is it?

Uh.

Up my nose.

Wat is the dosage on those anyway?

PORCUPINE.

uh, don't touch that?

DON't GeT TO0

Hold on a second, this might be the most accurate, if I ever–

DId you ever

NO.

I'm stuck in this

MUFFIN.

MUFFIN!

COME HERE MUFFIN.

What happened?

I lost a cat.

[RACHEL DRATCH IS IN THE IMPENETRABLE TEN]

this has never happened.

Hold the fucking phone. Hold the fucking–

OPRAH

UHWUHT.

PHONE.

[OPRAH WINFREY DOES NOT HAVE TIME FOR YOUR BULLSHIT.]

Why all caps

CAUSE SHE'S MAD

WHO THE

[NOPE]

DO YOU THINK YOU ARE CALLING ME AT THIS

[UH OH]

HOUR

WHAT HOUR. WHAT TIME IS IT. WHERE'S WHOOPI.

I got her.

-Wait–you go her?

Yup, she's safe.

*squints*

I'll be right there.

Oh shit, is that Skrillex?

No, that's The President.

No, this is Patrick.

Why did the Chicken cross the road?

Pretty much out of sheer panic.

Run it! Run it to exhaustion!

RUN THIS BITCH INTO THE GROUNDHOLE!

Good, it's Groundhog's day.

SPRINGTI–

NO.

Put some clothes on.

Let's play piano.

I'm a martian.

oh . that's dumb. What happend to your planet.

Yer on it.

No, you're on this: my planet.

URANUS

What happened.

*SPPLAT*

(Now I'm like, gas.)

*blat*

Ooh, wow, how'd that happen

*shrugs*

science /math

ASSHOLES.

Wat happened.

Just wait here. I'll be right back.

ARTY MCWIRED

You know, just in case there's a

LAWSUIT

dammit .

LAW SUIT

huh

LAW SUITS

I don't get it. Why are you all dressed in

What BRoTHeRhOoD is THIS.

Oh good, a map.

YOu know these things are useless to me.

Of course, this would be the perfect day to go

SHOPPING

JELLYFISHING.

DOLPHINS.

Idget it.

What.

How did Dolphins survive a nuclear holocaust?

Anything left here?

Nothing I s–

ooh , wats that.

Woah, look, dolphins.

LIke, 12 of them.

Gnarly.

My world changed when I got a couch.

Everything changed, actually—when I got furniture. Actual furniture, more than just a mattress on a floor and a cheap Asian desk from Amazon I actually loathed. I almost never worked at the desk, anyway, as it didn't seem equipped for the totality of my studio—the keyboard and drum machine, and though the keyboard had been calling to me over the last few days particularly, I had spent the last couple days almost carelessly longing, in peace and near total silence, with not a care In the world or a thought besides my mantras, with the occasional conglomerate rapid overthinking caused by the terrorists outside, now thought more likely to be police officers or feds themselves, as the police never seemed to be able to stop them–and it seemed that perhaps It was a federal act of domestic terrorism itself. No actual police officers or forces seemed to care or could stop them–and if it wasn't the devil himself, it had to have been the military or something of the like, pushing some sort of political agenda.

Either way, I wasn't going to be moved in such a way to keep reacting to such immature and primitive war tactics—and thought that it was just as likely that by November, come voting time, they would all be miraculously disappeared, if not before due to the inclement weather I was sure was coming by the end of summer.

I was almost sort of on my own time, besides the voices in my mind which screamed to work harder and faster, be skinner and more perfect, and that my prime time had passed—that I would never be loved again and that I was a horrible mother, that besides all the more knowing it for myself, I hushed and numbed with my mantras, uncaring.

At the very least, I was alone, and not interested in people— the humanity had left the humans by way of corporate slavery and electronic addictions, rigged elections and a totalitarian government which masqueraded as a democracy, but In all truth had been for quite some time, out of the hands of its people.

All the better, as the people had become programmed and controllable, easily manipulated, and for the most part and maybe even for the best, unconscious creatures—the majority of them malnourished, dehydrated by choice and lifestyle, eating processed foods as voluntary poison–and especially in New York City– undereducated, and without rest; The youth at the hands of the system which controlled all aspects of their lives, comparing them not by wit or skill but privilege and genetic composition; by looks, wealth, and vanity. The algorithm was indeed sorting them by all it knew to— perfect, and imperfect, almost always attributed to environmental factors, such as financial stability and of course—access to certain luxuries and freedoms— a hard line dividing the classes now.

I lounged somewhat gracefully in my favorite polyester blend skirt as my harems washed with the tablecloth and dishrags— I was nearly out of suitable casual clothes, and although I had been collecting some fashionable outerwear, I never planned on actually going out.

Being penniless in New York was tiresome, and I had spent enough time fighting its monsterous crowds and the infestation of migrants long enough during my year within the homeless system—now, still trapped by the terrorists which surrounded the block and what, if it wasn't some kind of federal experiment altogether, also seemed like some kind of criminal enterprise, which situated itself in the warehouse just adjacent to my building, though having lost their illegal smoke shop, a group of shirtless hoodlum-looking types, still appearing to continue business outside of where the smokeshop once had been, now becoming an obvious and unwelcoming eyesore, as the owners of the “auto body shop” which plagued the neighborhood by parking ugly cars on the sidewalks around the entirety of the corner—combined with the discarded trash, old appliances and the occasional shopping cart filled with such , not to mention the trees which stood in beds of littered filth– as if to say “we run this block”—some shade of brown and careless as to what peace might be to some others, they held enough of something like money which masquaraded as power, and therefore enough of whatever they had to continue to make the block a less welcoming place to live, and besides the motorcyclists—which all seemed to be one, haphazard, operational network— stood as a good reason not to bring any child into this mess— the brown-black world of Brooklyn New York's Queen's facing war zone—the ugly truth of old racism and money in New York City; and after a year two year spectacle on how most of the black and brown culture within New York City had bred itself to be unrestful, misbehaved, and brutally drained of its class by the system itself; it was nearly understated that the culture had become toxic. The Redlining of New York City had become obvious–New York City's own racism a blistering outward truth. I

I wanted so badly to be able to travel and return “home” or rather, to my apartment–or even rather–to my studio–as it never really did feel like home with the ability to see it all in a new light. I had been in New York so long that I felt myself becoming callous and bitter—I needed to leave, but had been at a standstill creatively, as if there was some kind of block on my music. It was true that I couldn't hear much of my own sounds or music over the traffic in the outside world, and I was sure I had been sent here as sabotage so that I might never make it out of the depths of this world.

Either way, I wasn't going to take it much longer— if I was ever made to be homeless again, I would simply kill myself—and without a love that I could call my own— a real love, disconnected from the destruction of my son's father, completely away from the satanic, demonic and evil curses he had set upon me— a love that would set me free from him and his world—

I would kill myself.

I would do anything to escape the constant thoughts of him bombarding me, the flashbacks of his brutal beating— the evil words he had said and the evil, tumultuous series of homelessness which followed. I would do anything to rid myself of him entirely, and I had not yet at all been loved by someone who didn't seem possessed by something after some time—it was as if this energy would find its way into anyone near me and drive me to insanity just so that his version of the story would become true; the evil lie that I had simply “lost my mind”, and out of nowhere, just had “gone crazy.”

His version was the lie— Everything that I had once become was a reflection of himself—weak, unstable, and unable to function, all the while he had used my energy to sustain and survive; a vampire narcissist who could not have without my doing lived or functioned on his own. The one man I had ever shared tied with had been always too tired to get up for work, and always without fail, unable to keep a steady job – and of course— situationally plagued with poor spending habits, bad judgement, and outright laziness. He simply wanted to play the game, drink his 4locos, and use my computer to make rap beats; of course–I was holding him back from his true potential.

Becoming like him was what seemed to the outside world as ‘losing my mind', and upon choosing to leave him, to find myself again. His only strategy had been to to form an illusion—that his own mental illness was actually mine. That the traumatic physical violence I had endured and hidden in fear of him had never actually happened.

He kept me at a distance to make it seem as though I had abandoned my son; used our son as bait to attract another mate, and then began to discard him, treating him as an extension of myself which he could feed on for light and energy–and eventually discard. He claimed that by ignoring my phone calls and attempts at keeping a bond with my son, that I had no interest in being a mother. He projected onto other that I had been sick or incapable—with the veracity of a cereal killer with just enough charm, the racistly indoctrinated outside world fell to default that always, though having been the survivor of serveral violent acts, that I was somehow in the wrong–that I had somehow deserved the things which were being done to me.

The physical scars that I wore were of his making, and the label that it formed— a mentally ill and unstable homeless colored woman— projected to the right-swinging red-necked Alaskans that I was somehow the problem; However, with time, I was sure that his meaning to subdue and belittle me was returning to him in the way of Karmic justice, and that the light that I had left within my own child would be his redeeming quality, in a world where I had been outcast from and unable to return to.

I wanted desperately to at least visit—but saw no end to the financial ruin which homelessness and debt had caused insight; the recovery from his physical violence almost seemingly impossible; even frequenting the gym often enough would result in a particular man entering the gym to practice his sparring; often though I tried to prevent the flashbacks from occuring, I would eventually, hearing this, over my music at high volume, imagine the punching bag as my face.

I realized at some point that I might never actually see my son again. We were thousands of miles separated and years between us–and because I had been honest in my documentation of the violence that had happened between us–he was refusing to sign the divorce papers, leaving me dangling at the end of a long rope I was sure I'd hang from, and limiting my ability to be seen by the system as entirely independent of this disastrous type of person. Of course, ‘boys will be boys'--and these types of boys in particular had the habit of protecting one another whether they were in the wrong, or not. A brotherhood of course, in which I had been marked as beatable, discardable, and of course, some sort of sub-human.

How could I even know that I was safe from his dark and evil reach in a world said to be and many believed ruled by demonic bodies which Satan himself had claimed?

In heavy prayer and reflection I had been asking of the men on motorcycles, to which God's answer seemed to speak truth; that these men were not men at all, but Satan's playthings. They had no free though or will to act on their own, and were instead controlled—that the toxicity, the terrorism, the injustice was a spectacle of sorts for the dark lord, in thy he controlled so many of what used to be people—now more just puppets for his displays of affliction upon humanity. These men had no purpose at all but to be consumed and possessed by a creature which had no face at all—no true name at all— the force of evil itself, which by now had controlled nearly all man, and nearly all of humanity.

The Complex Collective ©

Nicolas Fountainisi was a disgusting human being.

Not altogether a human creature, he foraged ways of l believing in kindness and gratitude though never actually having felt, or with feeling at all— what human nature actually at all was.

Premeditated murder.

Desensitization,

Sensitive information

Curious niggers

Did I say it again?

Indifference.

It's whatever.

Psychological terror chamber.

I love Oprah and motorcycles

But I hate robots.

Huh.

Well, I'm at it.

Let's go kick in the googleverse

I could write a metaplex

Languages,

and something was stolen!

Porch robber

False fortune

Decisions, decisions

Evil ass bitches

Temptations,

Temptations—

I seen your face when I mated here

Oh,

Lord

It's the lyricism

Let's make spousal abuse poetic.

Let's make her stay in the system!

Let's make it more severe weather!

[Thunder and lightning.]

Let's go hang in the googleverse

I might write a metaplex

I'm infinite,

And you're infinite—

But your producer

Is inferior

Where is he then?

I left him in a wedding

For aftermarket parts

I'm making belated birthday cakes

On the 4th

Or the fifth

Better believe it

I ain't got enough to—

Switch from the antiquity, did you?

I told you, I ain't tell if they come at me!

(Don't tell if he touch you)

He got the power,

The lawyers

The women,

The money,

The mortals on battery pack—

Waaaages!

I'm not finna snatch shit

Just so you can say

I snatched it

I asked you for passion and peace

All I got was the passion

And nails in my outstretched palms

I tried to warn you!

Sickness, is it?

It is,

Traffic on magnets

Let's go hang in the googleverse,

I might write metaplex

Fear of the fortunate

Don't mean to hurt us-/

We're just immortals

They don't even know us no more

Depart the children of earth

For the worst days to come

Not to the worthless,

But the wealthy and fortunate

Burn up

Listen and learn, son

Your mother was for us

But I got my butter's worth

(Don't make me work hard!)

I thinkni just left myself

Woke up in a primary school

A perfect apartment

But a dive bar

To an old fuck

Going out on those LTEs

Is always bothersome,

Don't you know?

Torturer's complex

—they know not.

Don't worry mom,

I got an assignment

You're proud of me, aren't I?

Are you adorable,

For a robot stalker

Stop in the road

Just to intercept

That I'm always

Where you don't want

(On top of you)

Once you been hit in the face by a man

And

Separated from your young

Then blamed for it

Once you old your dead children and

Feel their cold frozen bodies

Once you get stalked

And tracked by hostile robots

Pulling out

All the fine details of your life

Is if your birth

Your entire upbringing

Is your fault

You stop giving a fuck

About little dudes

Throwing weights around

Guess who gets dangerous

Once they find out

They're being fucked with

Over and over

And nobody loves her

This ugly fat bitch

Guess who gets tired of poverty

But gets blocked from getting a job

Being broke

I shouldn't even need this shit

But apparently demons

And shit he said

Stands up in court

—but he hit me.

Turns out I lost my mind

And the devil's a liar

Turns out I like them blonde and blue eyed

Huh

Oh well

I'll stay alone on false positives

All day

Getting fucked with

Pennies on the dollar

Followed and followed and followed

All I want is a bullet hole

In my aura

Whatever man, this just got weird again.

Reading the book, I realized how funny I was—because Tina Fey was funny and interesting—but I might even be actually funnier, and had al certainly lived a more seasoned life—her white girl hardships were endearing and I loved her all the more for having read through the surface level collection of stories from throughout her life and world—she was certainly luckier than I was, and more likable—-and maybe even probably funnier in person, but for now, she was just smarter, and that was enough to encourage me to list the words that so far I didn't know, starting in the middle, and somehow looking back to the beginning.

I didn't want to miss anything—she was actually a considerable role model besides Oprah, though it was obvious we lived in different worlds entirely.

Captain

Captain!

Oh, Good, come in, Cannon.

You've—changed.

…as you know, Monday we disembark.

Yes, I'm aware.

And as you know, the details of the mission have been classified, even to us.

Yes.

I find that alarming. And so, without anymore thought I've decided to masquerade as my old self.

How old are you, anyway?

You should never ask a woman her age, LT.

Sargent. * or the other way around, I clearly don't know.

Sorry. Your recent promotion keeps slipping my mind; I…haven't been myself lately…

Obviously not, if you've decided to publicly dress like that.

I'm still very much in the privacy of my office.

You can consider me the spokesperson on behalf of the public.

Never as a woman her age!

You're not a woman; you're my captain.

We'll see about that after tonight.

Being a woman, or being my captain?

Both, probably.

Hm.

By any chance would you be interested in joining me?

As your subordinate, or as a man.

Both, probably.

Or neither… presumably.

As my escort.

I beg your pardon.

I've been known to become rather out of sorts in this condition.

—er, your condition, captain?

Dead drunk and blind with fear out of my mind.

[he ponders for a moment, knowing that the mission could very well be their last.]

Consider it done.

Great. Get dressed, and meet me with the car out front in half an hour.

Half an hour?

Sharp. Bonus points for showing up early.

We're earning points?

We are now.

Very well then. What am I wearing?

Something sharp.

Sharper than the inside of a half hour.

On your mark.

I'll—see you soon.

He exits the captain's office, letting out a sigh of relief otherwise previously congested, he looks around as if not to be caught, regains his composure with the shake of his head, somewhat in disbelief of what he's witnessed. He casually places his hands in his pockets, walking down the hall and passing one of his crew mates, who quickly stops to salute him.

Sergeant.

Almost forgetting to salute back, mindlessly drifting passed in ‘off' mode, he slowly and squarely, almost still casually, salutes back.

Oh.

I had glimpsed at a picture of the man once more that had forced me to wonder— “Jesus Christ, is he okay?” It would be odd to think of a man who has spent a better part of the last two decades and most of his careers on camera as unphotogenic, then again—I had been tricked by the media before into thinking a certain way, and therefore was cautious, and still—I began to wonder about the man and his misery, and his mistresses—not out of jealousy or obsession, but simply because I knew he had them. He was old Hollywood, or old New York—or maybe a bit of both, and there was something about it all, perhaps even my own darkness, that danced with the flicker of sinful lust that motioned me towards not a yearning, or the act of doing so—I was at least wise enough to know nothing good could come from doing harm to oneself or another— but with the intensity of burning desire to know the man behind the mask—the actor inside the actor, to whom all the world's a stage.

Whatever, though. Doesn't matter.

At least I was still somehow youthfully resilient to what might have otherwise been torture,

TVP

S2- after Esha's promotion to head writer.

DAEMON DALLAS, aka “DASH” is a quick witted, fast-talking comic powerhouse— his legendary stand up and acting career has made him a legendary force in movies, film, and television; he has been booked on the show to sit down with his longtime friend Patrick about his new stand up comedy tour.

—

DAEMON

Who's this beautiful sister?

PATRICK

My head writer; don't even think about it.

DAEMON

I don't think. I just do.

Esha approaches— Dash politely bows and kisses Esha's hand.

ESHA

Should I get tested?

DAEMON

—and funny.

[Against Patrick's wishes, Esha accepts a date with Daemon Dash; Furious, Patrick means to interrogate her at work the next day. ]

PATRICK

Why would you even date that asshole.

ESHA

Because—Pat. He's a comedian.

PATRICK

I'm a comedian! So?

ESHA

So, he's funny.

PATRICK

And?

ESHA

And he said things to me—

PATRICK

(defensively)

–What kind of things?!

ESHA

Charming, funny things—

PATRICK

Okay?

ESHA

Things he wouldn't say to you over dinner— because, I'm–

PATRICK

—you're a woman.

ESHA

—and your head writer. So naturally….

PATRICK

Esh, you're a genius,

ESHA

So is he. We have—some new material to work through.

[ESHA produces a hefty pile of notes and serves them to PATRICK]

PATRICK

(squealing)

Ahq!

ESHA

Your monologue tonight.

[Patrick excitedly shuffles through the papers.]

PATRICK

Oh yes. Oh yes.

ESHA

You can thank me later.

© The Festival Project ™ , Inc.

All Rights Reserved.

Broken bottles.

Someone should stop her

Walkin walking

God knows I don't belong here

And I don't want to

Passover was April 21-30

Global War on Terrorism

Aka WWIII

Oh, indeed.

Don't look left

Take a deep breath

My heart beats differently

I think it might be the end

I think it might be

I think I might be the enemy

The pushing mechanism

When i breath him in

I levitate

And gravitate to what it meant

The sake of the art,

The hurt of the heart

As sacred as it ever was

The turning or the Torah talks of

Gestures, since the fall of Rome

The toga on the alter

Solid hands unwrap us all

From falling over

Old and awkward

No award for wisdom

No rest for the wiser

No love for the troll

Since thunderstruck from under us,

Delivered all but what we wanted

So we talk of kama sutra,

Surely we can't talk at all

Of what we know

As once was bonded

Laughed it off

To come from what

The call to us,

Fair serve governors fortress

I work up in mentions

Carved the scarlet letter out of

Cannons, of course

MA.

WHAT. I'm BUSY.

IT'S ON.

The what?

The show we watch!

The one that—

YES,

Oh, my GOD.

Yes.

YESSSSSSSSS.

Usnavi, get your popcorn

This is some worth watching

Up in arms for forwards

Causing sore arms,

Numb thumbs

From crucifixes

Are you wondering what God

Would walk about the horned carving

A kamikaze walk of tall corn—

Follow me, dear mantra

Your whole house is watching.

Sacre.

It's happening again isn't it.

I do want ice cream.

All I need is a divorce

And an Amazon woman 10 foot tall

To rub me off at the stroke of

Nevermind what the clock says

In God's house they're all wrong

The blasphemous for Catholics

Has begun,

So strum your number into the teleprompter

And just hope no one gets hurt

By the hook on the next song

—like the hook of my last surviving bra

digs into my back does,

Or the skin on my lack of tummy

Has rubbed off under the suicide

Of the cycle—

It's getting tighter

A loss of interest is equal to

A loss of consciousness

And I'm 21 days drunk

On the alternate, though—

I'm sober and feeling less

Loved.

The animal I've become is all cardio

And karma sutra

For karma comes

To the weak of heart

To use the world as swords

To cause harm

To the calm artists

I thought I told you off once.

(Already)

You look awful.

lol.

You look terrible, broh.

But my album sound fire.

#producerholes

[portal]

It's coffee time!!

It's not coffee time!

It's not coffee time.

Iiiiits coffee time.

Damn.

Where's the cat.

Gestating.

I fell asleep on a Saturday afternoon and woke up on a Saturday morning something like 19 hours later, after a series of dr same the types of like I was sure that my new dreamcatcher would shield me from—the turquoise beads were probably plastic, but who could know—without further inspection, I gladly hung it up near the window to catch the bad spirits who had been attacking me in the night, mostly in the form of satanic possessed motorcycle riders or heavily drinking passerby's. Wouldn't it be nice to have somewhere beautiful like this in downtown Los Angeles, or even Santa Monica? I had grown tired of the toxicity of inner city New Yorkers and the third world antics of the newest inhabitants— still/- it was the first apartment ever in my entire adulthood that was totally and completely mine, and I took good care of it. I knew that most folks weren't as clean and tidy as I was, and although I had left my apartment quite a mess in a lurch to get to the post office, returning the cheap and improperly advertised fake essential oils I had returned upon discovering that they were indeed not actually essential oils, but something that smelled more like floor cleaner, and was the consistency of water—they were fake, and the bath rug had been altered with photoshop to make it look gold, while it was actually yellow. I took it back, remembering the promise I had made 3 days ago—once I was finished reading Tina Fey's matching yellow book, I would find somewhere else to put the rug, but it clashed so classlesley with everything in my apartment, that I couldn't stand to look anymore; the rug had been removed from the bathroom before even filing for a return label; the fake essential oils joined it in the box three days later— a Saturday I was sure upon first waking was Sunday, but then glad it was some kind of time slip through the dimensions as I slept wearily for hours after refusing to go to the gym, only to be followed by what seemed like robots—the same 3 or 4 people showing up when I worked out no matter what time I decided to go—early or late.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 |

THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

niagara falls.

Collection II - ‘antithesis.

Track 12. - ‘niagara falls'

Prod By Blū Tha Guru

[Previously on L E G E N D S: Enter The Multiverse}

Baby's all right Brooklyn

Pretty little palace of disaster

Pretty little patterns of —

Whatever

Tantrums, smashing Jack o lanterns

Shadows,

Hands that attach to the strings

Allowing them to dance into dreams

It seems these sacred places

Have been ravaged

And

I have not been running

But I don't have any money

Wise than that

It's less than zero

Negatives

I want to kill myself again

Honestly, I see a way out it just

Requires being tortured

By people coughing.

And motorcycles

I might have seen my son for the last time

At age five

It's finally warm outside

And everything's just

Reminding me

I'm struggling with poverty

Nothing really matters cause I don't belong here

Everything is wrong

I just want blonde hair,

Hurry up, God

Assist me with a suicide

I can take pride in

Not an attempt, but

The only success I'll ever have

At anything

At all

-El Al

Nothing moves the same

After an unrequited love becomes a tragedy

Or just a movie scene

I want to scream for needing to be needed

Then again

Could die just to be dead

Could go back

To just be blacklisted

Or a crackhead

Doing magic tricks

Pass

I couldn't have ever imagined

This fascination as of late

Or making trance

But anything can happen

With the light switches on and off

As the kite catches headwinds

Or hedwig is getting bigger by the minute

That just grows out of his head,

But I wish it was a wig

Like Kristen

Pass

Yes.

Breathe deep into my lungs,

These scenes of things

So evil seeming, even to me

Lucidity becomes as dreamily

Eerie, intermittently meaningless,

And then suddenly,

However much later,

Maddeningly attractive,

As I am, in fact

Attached to this project

As menacingly handsome and devilish as he is

I've decided, it's manageable, but clashes with my

Moral standards and clasps with fabrications

Lay hands on me and see what happens!

—-okay…

“Okay”

Pass!

I asked to be a rockstar and showrunner

On the same blood soaked candles

I took blood oaths

Dancing in front of the fountain

At rockafeller plaza, to no applause,

Of course,

Drinking monsters nonstop,

Ontop of my skateboard

I came back late to Boston

And took a plane to Vegas early the next morning

But somewhere deep in my Google Drive or documents

Is me under a neon sign,

Which reads a name I resigned from saying

Until maybe I get signed

I hate him, but hey,

The name of the game is Mating Season,

And lately I've been craving eggs and

Mayonnaise instead of protein shakes and

Crayons

Wax on, wax off…

Pass, but that last sentence didn't make sense

It did.::

Oh,

Yes, it did.

Promise.

You do some stupid shit.

Okay, so I do stupid shit.

Believe me, you do some stupid shit.

Okay, I believe you.

Don't believe me when I tell you things like that.

What the fuck, Patrick, do you mean, even?

I mean what I mean, but usually just—

For me.

I am you, I thought.

Exactly: don't believe me.

Okay? I don't believe you…

Just—believe me. Believe me.

Oh dang. So there really is no “Jimmy Fallon”

No, there isn't it's just—

Poor little Jimmy Fallon…

What if—

There is no “if”.

Nobody has to ‘agree' to this project

Sign the terms of agreement

For what.

You'll see..

stupid little bitch.

*squints*

What did you just say.

(Walking away, mumbling)

Nothing!

Fucking idiot.

What did you just say?!

(Yelling)

I said you're a fucking idiot, Fallon! You're a fucking lDi0T:

Well, okay.

lol NBC is not gonna let this fly at all.

No, Jimmy, you cannot do this project.

Well, that's alright. I quit.

You can't quit. You have a contract.

I don't—I'm out of my contract:

On what grounds?!

Conflict of interest!

That's my say, isn't it?

Is it?

MORGUE.

I bought a network!

MY NAME IS—

MAaaa!!

WHATTTTTTT.

The show's on!

[A Cold Open]

L E G E N D S

{Enter The Multiverse}

Fuck this kid. I'm gonna kill him.

Kill what. Who.

FALLON. GET IN HERE.

Ah. [explitive]

[‘THE FALLON' gets ‘FALLONED' by ELLEN DEGENERES]

ELLEN

YES.

FINALLY, I'm in this bitch.

[And other members of ‘THE HOSTS COLLECTIVE', a high ranking team in the ILLUMINATI FOREFRONT]

Well, not in the way I'm sure you'd hoped, but.

Shutthefuckup!

Oh wait—is she

Is it “she”

Is she a lesbian?!

What's the “Illuminati”—

We'll get back to that later.

No! gross!

Portia Derossi!

Huh?

I want to be that pretty!

Well, okie.

MEANWHILE,

In my actual own age group…

I'm older than all these hosts, anyway!

Even Leno?

Isn't he dead already?!

Exactly!

EVEN STEVENS

[BEANS is now VEGAN]

Why is vegan capitalized.

Cause it's important.

Hey buddy!

Don't call me buddy. I'm edging on 40.

Time flies when you're—

Rapidly aging?

I brought you some bacon.

You what:

It's farm fresh!

Kooldjredalert

Lie to me

Try to sleep

(In my arms, won't you)

Try to keep the

Time with

My heart

Beat

(Heavenly)

I've been living in your world for just over a month, now.

I'm sorry, Fallon.

That must be awful.

Not too sorry—

Some of this stuff is good.

Just, priceless.

Wouldn't trade it for the world.

But I've hung my head in shame,

Cause I hung myself with gratitude,

Haven't you had enough?

If it makes any difference at all,

And I'm betting it does

All I wished for a wanted and prayed

Was for you to be happy

I buy burners with trackers

Put burn holes in sweaters

The summit at the plummet, pulling forwards

And backwards

I've four words for parlors,

For barbers and hatchets

I bury the four suns,

The moon arose after

I left an Oscar on your alter this morning

Never shall ye rest,

Haven't ever then,

Paid the tythe,

And for the while,

Immortal wife and lover,

Mother daughter,

Soon to call your name and number,

However,

The fall from the drop of polish,

Of course, oil marks upon canvases

Sickness and swells of my

Hands upon your corset

Could you collide with another?

Doubtful, to that,

So shall it must be

List, but never to utter

A mustard seed;

Ground, then unground—

As if planted,

Simple,

As the seed of laughter

So then, would you

By the turn of the hour,

return to the one had you called

Lover,

A curse upon the

Coerced and responsible

A blonde,

But worse,

A pretty one

For never after happens out of nowhere

Now,

Dissociate,

Before I dissipate of

Loneliness

Hark,

The door opens for one,

A bold soldier to come,

Listen lover,

The stone has been

Suspended, by the mirror

In terror

Alarmed,

Cool you are now

Calm, however

Not abound to be lie

Or below

Bound by blood

There you are

In excelsior,

Predecessor

What would you want that for—

The camera obscured;

Why,

If only,

To look upon you

Plastered and enlarged

As you are

Endangered in my imagination

A dangerous and strange,

Dangling addiction

Fascination, now

With power,

And prowess

Come now,

The midnight hour is upon us

[his body hung from the rafters above the studio, just one lamp left aglow—and then suddenly I had awakened, his body still and resting, sleeping quietly—although the hanged man burned into my mind; I left him quietly as I could in the loft and sat with nothing in my mind at all at the canvas, brush in hand, as if I were to draw something—but could not. It was almost as if I was frozen, or even perhaps the canvas were instead a mirror, and I the painting —though I could not know. My dearest Patrick was a broken man, and I his broken lover—the both of us an atrocity at all in shambles—I wept inwardly but not outward, as not to wake him as my tears often did, even from a deep sleep. The sun was far from rising, and though I had barely slept at all, I felt I would never sleep again—I fell at my tilted alter as the sun rose, in prayer and devastation; What had I done?]

—Esha's Memoirs, the journals from The Altar

You know what, kid—

You've got something.

I don't know what it is,

But it's something.

Kid? Aren't we like, the same age?

No.

I'll tell you what I've got

I've got a seven year old kid I haven't seen in two years;

I've got a sink full of dishes

I've got credit card debt and school loans

I've got racist neighbors,

An ex husband who swears he never hit me

With a brand new baby

I've got

Extreme back pain

I've got a body only God could ever love

And I've got something like

10,000 pages or more

Of stuff I barely remember writing

Just sitting in the Google algorithm

Pushing me closer and closer to suicide

Every single day

I've got

Sexual fantasies about celebrities for no given reason at all.

I've got

800 songs that are just words

I've got books I want to read just— sitting there

And I've got this pain

That just sits inside my soul

That never goes away, ever

I've got something, alright.

I've got something, sure

But when it comes to money

I got a dollar

One fucking dollar

And you know what I call that?

-Useless.

She's dead, isn't she?

You guessed it.

Well, what am I supposed to do?

What you always do.

What is that?

What is that?

Swear of the palm d ore

I Cannes,

Atop the Eiffel

You are the river that crosses my eye,

The scar across my heart,

The Eye, is

All we are

And all is one;

One is all,

And All are One

Well, I'm quite nervous.

Don't be nervous, at all, Johnny. Relax.

Another John—my first, in fact.

Indeed,

I was once relentlessly obsessed

With Johnny Depp

Infatuated, if you will

Whatever you want to call it.

Of course,

For a teenaged girl, however

This sort of obsession was somewhat normal

Somewhat.

I had always wanted to star in movies—

So much so that I began to write them.

I was about 7, maybe 8 when the stories in my headed started to form as narratives—

Not just stories, but words

Characters and conversations—

Plots.

I should leave this poor Fallon boy alone.

Some darkness inside of me wants him;

That thing that doesn't quiet, nor does it want,

Anything but what it wants—

And it is,

Darkness-m—

That thing that lives inside of me and what is does;

The thing it calls love, and calls our for

The something in someone that rises it up

From wherever it dwells,

Deep in my soul, and into my hear,

Into my thoughts,

It haunts all that I must and mustn't

Ponder upon

A woman's cause,

And a murderer of sorts,

The ugly swan , who dances on ponds,

Laying one one, but all of precious stones,

The egg,

The coveted stones of trust,

And wander,

Listing upon that which it feeds,

Not only the bod,

But its motor,

It's mind,

A hearty philosopher,

And willful warrior,

Of wit,

And of talent,

The strength of

Astonishment

A power above all,

A blindness of fate;

Judged by all

The spectacular amongst us

The famed and the damned,

Acquitted of warmth and dutiful,

Exquisite in awe

A rarity.

—The Fame Files.

V.O.

Coming to terms with one's death is always peaceful.

All harm caused will be returned by he/she who causes it or acts in such a way as to inflict pain and hostility towards peaceful persons.

Causing with intention psychological, physical, mental, or physical harm will result in the immediate karmic retaliation of such pain as inflicted on peaceful individuals; these acts of war will inhibit the actor from entering the transcendence, or developing expanded consciousness, gaining wealth, further material possessions–his own will is therefore weakened, and therefore unworthy of love himself, by the intent to cause one such pain as an act of violence or ill will. One's disruption of peace is thereby an act of cruelty, punishable beyond death–causing pain by intention to another individual in the attempt of control or manipulation, intrusion, and abuse is therefore against the laws by which the ascended abide by, and therefore cannot and will not exist beyond the ill fate of its perpetrator.

Please leave me alone; I'm asking you nicely.

Alright, fine.

Where is it!

Where is what?

You know what.

What?

From the fountain.

It wasn't me! I don't have it.

And this, is why Jimmy Fallon is impenetrable.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

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

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

The Festival Project™ and it's subsidiary Non-Profit, The Collective Complex © aims to challenge modern artistic and philosophical ideals, break commonplace barriers, forage new creative mediums, and provoke inspired and reformed thought and actions toward evolution and overall societal improvement through a new-wave and post-modern, avant-garde and philanthropic hyperawareness driven by a unique culture of global values mediating global respect and preservation via open consciousness, multi-sensory and synesthetic (multi-preceptory) expansions of sound, language, vibration, movement, color, emotion, and ritual governed conceptually by the aspect(s) of love, truth, unity, understanding, and peace.

Support The Fesival Project's Artistic Revolution

I don't know why that picture lights me up–it just does.

–so I keep it;

And it's weird that I keep it,

But i love it–

No face tattoos,

Or flashing lights,

Or bubbling blondes–

It's just me,

And the music–

Pulling me closer to that thing I love,

still dragging one foot left behind,

As If i'll ever catch up in a race,

I was born

To have already lost.

Suddenly, it felt as if being in the water was the only way anymore of being connected to nature.

One mustn't tamper with the free will of others, as this breaks the intrinsic morale code by which all magicians must adhere to with intent focus, as to not to disrupt the balance of nature, but to coincide with it harmoniously as to manifest all outcomes for the greater good of oneself, and the betterment of others. One must practice in peace and kindness, as to promote with the sense of ritual, the force of wellbeing, respect, gratitude, and kindness — as not with the infliction as to force one another or control others by circumstance or possession, but with reflection within one's own self to guide with spirit, the forces of nature, and the powerful endowment of light and love, to fortify one's sense of ritual invocation of righteousness, humility, intuition, higher knowledge, enlightenment, influence, illumination and wisdom, as to better steengthen the bonds between one another in the material realm, and within the spiritual and cosmic realms, in order to better understand with total compassion and comprehension the origins, date, and destiny of humankind and the extraterrestrial and metaphysical presence of forces of energy, creation, and

—the practitioner guide to ritual occultism for medicinal and holistic healing

(Well work out a title later)

Anyone should well know that the intentional casting of any and all white magic spells or rituals will automatically forage a counter-attack towards any sender of negative energy, misfortune, or ill intent— not as a direct form of attack or harm by the medicinal practitioner itself, but rather, acting as a shield against dark forces, hidden and evil spirits, demonic energies and otherwise unfriendly forces of disruptive and unwelcome nature. Though the medicinal practice of magic begins in understanding that duality and balance within the material realms— light and dark, or sometimes even ‘good' and ‘bad' are part of existence in entirety, encompassing all forms of energy, and that one does not truly or wholly exist without the other—however—- within the clarity of enlightenment, one can assume and expect lower vibrational, differeing frequency, or less conscious energies to become attracted to or try to attach itself, or themselves, to higher forms of light and energy. It it within this medicinal practice of awareness that steps can and should be taken to protect oneself against mischief in the event of unwelcome sources of unwanted energy taking away from, or hindering one's own health, wellness, perception, and gaining of insight and wisdom.

There are, here, hidden realms of truth and wisdom;

Engagements within the immaterial circumstances which surround our involvement with each other as a species, in which one can interact with thought forms of another kind, create bonds and energetic ties out of the bounds of worldly involvement, link chains within a network of intergalactic travel, time sequencing or manipulation of such perceptions of ‘future,' , past, and presence, and create space within an infinite realm of concousness, inter dimensional mapscaping, movement within the interior and exterior grids of existence (where most things take place)

Last night I thought I was ordering my last meal. A double quarter pounder with cheese and extra onions, a large fry and a vanilla shake. My favorite. I had a horrible conversation with my mother, which ended with her screaming at the top of her lungs at me, “ just—die, die, die!” And I wanted to. Then I thought about the prisoners on death row, how they're asked what they want their last meal to be before they're put to death. I thought of my favorite episode from my favorite show, where my favorite character ordered a fried chicken dinner. I thought—“If that were me, I'd probably want McDonald's.” So, I drove to McDonald's, I ordered my favorite meal, and I ate it sadly as I thought about how exactly I would try to go about killing myself. I never thought of a way that wouldn't destroy this place for the next tenant...before I fell asleep, dreamless and tortured by my very own thoughts. I woke up this morning wondering what today would bring—more pity, or hope.

Sweet cream and butter/sugar flavored wheat thins lol

I would eat that.

You'd eat anything.

I can be skinny in 48 hours—

But you'll always be an asshole.

How many you want?

How many you got?

I hate these back door deals…

Stop being such a [censored] [censored]

Woah, man!

I'm still under contract with NBC.

I [censored] guess!

I thought you got fired. Why do you still have a censor?

He works for my wife.

Look,

I'm willing to admit,

I have an addiction

To midsections and midwives

And mediocre mistresses.

I'm not sure exactly what you're trying to say.

YOU BURNT MY CREAMNOF WHEAT.

Did you get the—

Yeah I got the—

Well, there is it?

I gots to go offline to listen to—

—ahh, don't— shut up

It goes offline to listen to Skrillex.

It's okay.

ITS NOT OKAY.

It's okay!

ITS NOT OKAY. THAT WAS THE LAST OF IT.

It's—it's okay!

—it's not okay.

ITS NOT OKAY. WE'RE ALL THREE MAD FAMOUS IN THIS DIMENTION.

Like, dumb famous.

LIKE DUMB FAMOUS. DO YOU WANT TO GO TO THE GROCERY STORE AND GET MORE?

—no..no.

Nah dat.

THATS RIGHT. SO FUCK YOU.

It's just cream of wheat.

ITSNOTJUSTCREAMOFWHEAT.

—it is, technically.

Dude, shut up.

I'm gonna fucking—- kill you.

My lips are buzzing.

I smell purple…

Seriously, don't—try to kill him— while he's using my body.

This is immortality; I'm sure you'll find a way back!

I'm not “using” your body, I'm stuck. Don't make it sound gross.

—yeah, but this isn't an infinite dimension.

You're gross anyway.

You smell like beer farts.

—well, you smell like corn syrup.

—impossiblé. My protein powder has no artificial sweeteners. *flips hair*

Ugh.

Horrible.

Look. Why don't we just order more groceries on line, or something.

I saw the movie!

What, you saw the movie?

I saw the movie.

That's crazy. I also saw the movie.

Okay.

Okay?

So it's a budget flick.

Hehe.

—it's a budget flick?

Yep.

Alright—I love those!

[literally the cheapest shit you ever saw]

When the fear falls off,

And the others go over your shoulder,

But you're the one to tumble

In the over, under

Over under

Hello,

I'll be right there

Hello,

I'm back again

(Hello)

I can't feel much,

But i'm back again

I'm sure the full feel

Will kick back in

Will kick back in soon, so

Tune in,

Chill out

Keel over,

But don't let it kill you

Is that appealing enough

To appeal you

Is that hypnotic enough

To heal you?

Hello.

The drummer keeps himself calm,

With a couple rolls just to check his pulse

Looking up at God,

Like what do you want

A spot on the show

The name of the bassist,

A way to get Kurt back

without swallowing a

Hearthrob

She's dressed up like us,

But she's not like up

She's dressed up,

But she's not like us

She could be up here,

But she won't like it

The song was a story

The storm had passed,

Wanted the studio tour,

And I got that

I'll be right back,

I'll be right there

Get it right, God

Blow you whole chance

Okay, Jimmy Fallon.

Ah huh.

I can do your job.

Uh huh.

Lets see if you can do mine.

That can happen.

Meanwhile,

At Rockerfeller Plaza

LOOK OUT BELOW.

CHRISTSCICLES.

WHERE'S THE TREE??

THERE'S NO TREE. THIS IS JULY.

Where's the time machine.

When are we!?

HELLO>

NOO.

THERE S/HE IS

[Rollerskating away as quickie as possible;

Attepmpts to jump barrier

–fails–

Recovers.

GET BACK HERE

WHERE ARE YOU GOING TO GO?

[Running furiously away on roller skates

YOu suck at this.

What.

Bro. I thought Skrillex was the greatest shapeshifter of all time.

I am Skrillex, though.

Besides.

I CAN TELL THAT'S YOU.

It's not me.

I CAN SEE YOU, JIMMY.

I'm SHAPESHIFTER. SHAPE-SHIFTING.

Nahhh.

Youu–

stop doing this.

Stop doing what.

You know what.

I don't know.

You're gonna get me in trouble with the Network.

I own the network.

AHA.

Dammit .

YOU LOSE.

SUCKAH.

Shut up. You're drunk.

UGH.

[Rollerskate chase scene.]

(A montage, obviously)

GET BACK HERE.

YOU'LL NEVER CATCH ME.

Where are you gonna go!

SOMEWHERE!

You can't run up stairs in rollerskates.

I CAN. AND I WILL.

[Does, but gets to the top of the stairs and fails miserably. ]

EVERYBODY

Oooh!

[Recovers.]

I'm okay!.

GET HIM/

GET HER

GET “THEM”

–that's so stupid.

GET IT.

GET IT.

GET IT!

CUT TO:

[Outside the door.]

GET IT, JIMMY! GET IT.

CUT TO :

[Inside]

[Don't worry. they're just playing video games.]

Lol that is funny.

But i can't write that.

just –write it.

No way, dawg.

Just–

Just–

No way–

Pay me first.

Then it really sounds bad.

Shut up and eat your ice cream, JImmy Fallon.

{Jimmy Fallon is eating his own ice cream.]

EW.

lol

What the fuck flavor is that anyway?

Idk.

“The Tonight Dough”

I learned not to cry,

By the time I got to you, and

Sometimes I wonder why
I just can't write a song these days

The words come,

But the music's gone

It's just motorcycles and

Loveless nights

Sleeping on top of the covers

Something about tennis,

I don't remember
Should have done something

More special

than script this

I'm just the luckiest bitch alive

To live alone

I should be thriving

I don't want more in the world

than a quiet road to calm my inward soul

White world:

White girls

Big perks

My curse

I got it out of the mud

I fished a world out the trash

I got roaches on motorcycles

Roaches on motorcycles

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

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

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

‘The equilateral triangle should always be centered.'

—use that vocal trick from compli—sometimes things get whatever

//

What's he reading?

Architecture?

‘Oh; that dude's fancy.'

Interior design?

Classy.

He's sexy.

That dude's fancy.

lol wtf is in my Amazon cart right now?

Uh—

Some yoga mats

Kettlebells

A record player that looks like a gramaphone

A Pilates machine

A peloton

Uhm

Frozen berries.

When did you become a ghost?

—I guess— I always was one.

This is wrong.

There must be a mistake.

You and I both know,

There are no mistakes

Made by us.

This is dangerous.

That, you are correct about, dear boy.

However,

The only one here mistaken,

Is you.

Oh God,

If I fall back into this dream again

Who knows how long it might be

Until I come out.

—or if you come out at all.

The pressure points

Besides my veins,

Or arteries,

For scientific purposes

Targets for thumb marks,

Thimbles and razorblazes

Misfortune to have found

Such a pain only grows,

Out of homeless,

And then once housed,

A lack of love from others

I've an entire cast of antiques

In the back of my mind,

Behind me, Manhattan

The coffee has cooled

And yet nothing such starts

Until I've gone and bulleted

All the sins of the father

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 |

THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

a golden pocket watch, a wrist watch, a compass–it changes and morphs so quickly that it begins to seem to spin time itself into a whirlwind, until finally a portal opens up from within his hand–a portal which quickly devours him entirely, morphing him into

Fuck, what the fuck happened after that

Idk I got off the train I guess

This is really terribly written

[The Festival Project.™]

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

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

That thing that you wanted is waiting.

Which thing?

Love?

Money?

Fame?

Power?

Protection?

Safety?

Wealth?

…Cream of Wheat?

Cream of wheat?

…it's probably cream of wheat.

{Enter The Multiverse}

…did you mean to do this?

Nobody ever really means to do this.

[The Festival Project ™ ]

pretty in pink.
Collection II- 'antithesis.'
Track 07. - 'pretty in pink'

Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū

When the fear falls off,

And the others go over your shoulder,

But you're the one to tumble

In the over, under

Over under

Hello,

I'll be right there

Hello,

I'm back again

(Hello)

I can't feel much,

But i'm back again

I'm sure the full feel

Will kick back in

Will kick back in soon, so

Tune in,

Chill out

Keel over,

But don't let it kill you

Is that appealing enough

To appeal you

Is that hypnotic enough

To heal you?

Hello.

The drummer keeps himself calm,

With a couple rolls just to check his pulse

Looking up at God,

Like what do you want

A spot on the show

The name of the bassist,

A way to get Kurt back

without swallowing a

Hearthrob

She's dressed up like us,

But she's not like up

She's dressed up,

But she's not like us

She could be up here,

But she won't like it

The song was a story

The storm had passed,

Wanted the studio tour,

And I got that

I'll be right back,

I'll be right there

Get it right, God

Blow you whole chance

Okay, Jimmy Fallon.

Ah huh.

I can do your job.

Uh huh.

Lets see if you can do mine.

That can happen.

Meanwhile,

At Rockerfeller Plaza

LOOK OUT BELOW.

CHRISTSCICLES.

WHERE'S THE TREE??

THERE'S NO TREE. THIS IS JULY.

Where's the time machine.

When are we!?

HELLO>

NOO.

THERE S/HE IS

[Rollerskating away as quickie as possible;

Attepmpts to jump barrier

–fails–

Recovers.

GET BACK HERE

WHERE ARE YOU GOING TO GO?

[Running furiously away on roller skates

YOu suck at this.

What.

Bro. I thought Skrillex was the greatest shapeshifter of all time.

I am Skrillex, though.

Besides.

I CAN TELL THAT'S YOU.

It's not me.

I CAN SEE YOU, JIMMY.

I'm SHAPESHIFTER. SHAPE-SHIFTING.

Nahhh.

Youu–

stop doing this.

Stop doing what.

You know what.

I don't know.

You're gonna get me in trouble with the Network.

I own the network.

AHA.

Dammit .

YOU LOSE.

SUCKAH.

Shut up. You're drunk.

UGH.

[Rollerskate chase scene.]

(A montage, obviously)

GET BACK HERE.

YOU'LL NEVER CATCH ME.

Where are you gonna go!

SOMEWHERE!

You can't run up stairs in rollerskates.

I CAN. AND I WILL.

[Does, but gets to the top of the stairs and fails miserably. ]

EVERYBODY

Oooh!

[Recovers.]

I'm okay!.

GET HIM/

GET HER

GET “THEM”

–that's so stupid.

GET IT.

GET IT.

GET IT!

CUT TO:

[Outside the door.]

GET IT, JIMMY! GET IT.

CUT TO :

[Inside]

[Don't worry. they're just playing video games.]

Lol that is funny.

But i can't write that.

just –write it.

No way, dawg.

Just–

Just–

No way–

Pay me first.

Then it really sounds bad.

Shut up and eat your ice cream, JImmy Fallon.

{Jimmy Fallon is eating his own ice cream.]

EW.

lol

What the fuck flavor is that anyway?

Idk.

“The Tonight Dough”

I learned not to cry,

By the time I got to you, and

Sometimes I wonder why
I just can't write a song these days

The words come,

But the music's gone

It's just motorcycles and

Loveless nights

Sleeping on top of the covers

Something about tennis,

I don't remember
Should have done something

More special

than script this

I'm just the luckiest bitch alive

To live alone

I should be thriving

I don't want more in the world

than a quiet road to calm my inward soul

White world:

White girls

Big perks

My curse

I got it out of the mud

I fished a world out the trash

I got roaches on motorcycles

Roaches on motorcycles

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

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

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

Why is he so perfect

And I even more of a ghost,

than he ever would be

–the hanged man

What's another world

Or the word on my shoulders

Who better than God to belay me

Betray you

Atreyu

Tell me

Mr. Pretty Perfect Face

if we could be at heaven's gates

The day i finally hang

or fade away

(The hanged man)

What's it like

To be loved

To fall in love

To be loved like that

How's it feel

To fall in love

To be loved at all

What's it lke
To be loved
To be loved like that

To be loved like that

What Is it like

To be loved

At all?

What is it like

To be loved like that

To be loved like that

To be loved like that

To be loved

At all

the proscenium

Love at the proscenium,

A memory award of such

To know the difference from

The right, the left

Protagonist of all

Denumiere of none,

To live in fear of a world

Once thought to be

One

To go where you want me to;

You know I can't do that

But that thing in your back

To the left of the president

Must have been an attack

I want out of my body

Eyes roll to the back of my head

Like they ought to

When i'm thinking of you,

And i'm thinking of blue things
I'm thinking of blue days

I'll think of a few ways to

Love

The sound of a kiss

Your hand on my neck

The arch of my back

The taste of your tongue

I just ate twelve tacos though

God, I hate Vince Vaughn

Reminding me of all that I don't want

And already gone through

Pretending this selter is

alcoholic

and knowing it's been years since I touched soda

but carbonation is quite the sensation

after years without it

Now i've forgotten, also

How having sex is.

THe ghost came back

But that thing in his back

is attracting me

I'm a wreck

I went backwards

I'm hacked

and i'm back on my books

Something felt bad

It went harder than honest

the trackers are all out to hurt me

They call themselves starrs

Now the scars i've got all light up when I fall in love

And my ex hears the laugher

And rips it away

using demons on motorcycles

I try not to be happy,

Cause then here comes someone to stop it

I better not fall in love,

Someone's possessed with my son I guess

I just got back from surfing

I showed up at the Oscars.

I just decided I don't want a daughter.

I'm good.

Heart shaped box

I'm at least half a man;

Which one do you want?

Which thing do you need

Blacked out drunk

Don't remember doing the CAPTACHA

I want to start drinking again

But i need a babysitter

And someone to fuck afterward.

I'm wild bro;

I can't hold my liquor,

And i don't trust myself.

Actually, I can hold my liquor just fine;

I just don't trust myself

–and i definitely don't trust these niggas.

Nirvana is good for montages

God, I just want to get sauced up

Lost,

And not talk about this project at all

just mash parts

With God bodies

Now Cobain I know the ride you're on

Turn the page and you're an alien

Guess future fame just came and went

And here we are again

The words you spin

The gold, diamond, and spindles

Spend dinner with kisses and coaxes

In coat closets

No Messiah I am but a martyr

this sacrifice, hands on the cross

and blood on the alter

All you pretty girls don't know what it's like to be ugly

And unwanted

All the ugly girls are stuck settling in loveless heartless

I'm stuck here with concepts

A literal genius

Who nobody wants,

besides darkskins

And my ex husband

So fuck that

Where is David Letterman, anyway?

Letterman, David

–wherever he wants to be.

Fishing.

Lets hope–

What the fuck!

You missed it!

What the fuck!

You know what?

I know what it is.

No you don't.

I know what it is.

Maybe we shouldn't.

Maybe we already did, and we should just backtrack.

Backtrack! Backtrack!

Fucking Shapeshifters!

Fuck!

Listen, kid–

No, I'm not listening

I'm gonna let you in on a little secret.

No more secrets!

Do you know this woman?

Before:

You don't know me.

Yes.

GODDAMMIT, WAYNE.

What the fuck.

WAYNE BRADY

WHAT THE FUCK.

FINALLY.

NO. GET OUT OF HERE.

GET OUT OF WHERE?!

WHERE IS THIS?!

WAYNE'S WORLD.

NO. NO.

NO.

NO.

I don't even know what that's about.

Did you put the

–No.

Well, what about the sauce, did you finish the sauce.

no .

Finish the sauce.

ShutUP

Finish the sauce.

UGH.

Oh man.

What, what happened.

I just saw how it ends.

For–what?

Nothin

For what.

You know what?

What?

I gotta go.

Where's my Gun.

What? What gun?

TIA!

What in the

GET OVER HERE

[TAMERA]

Damn, so like

“Twin Teleporthy”

Oh SHIT.

SO you're telling me that's my–

UNCLE.

UNCLE.

UNCL–

Alright. Shut up.

Fuckin pussy.

ROUND TWO:

FIGHT.

AH. GODDAMN.

GOOOOODDDDDAAAMN.

There's a round 2?!

I guess so.

What happened in the first round?

I don't remember–

I do.

MEANWHILE:

here , kitty kitty…

[joel aka the actual deadmau5 is trapped in a cat or something]

Or SOMETHING.

Oh no, isn't he in someone else's body and they're looking for the cat.

Something about a cat.

They're looking for the cat.

Why, what's the cat do?

I'll tell you later.

I told you this wasn't a good idea.

It was a great idea. Until it wasn't.

“UNTIL IT WASN'T.”

Gosh. Shut up.

I don't think i should do this.

You shouldn't do this.

Right.

Just–stay sauced, bro.

Alright.

Damn dude, what is wrong with that guy?

Something.

I don't know.

Bitch, i'm a problem

Everybody hates me

Gotta pour my heart out

Gotta put my hat on

Long walk in a cold war

Long run in a hard part of town

Bitch, i'm a rockstar.

Don't talk too much

Don't say a word, girl

Actually, shut up

(You know i'm a problem)

Don't talk to much,

Shh,

Don't say nothing

Actually, shut up

You know i'm a problem

You know i'm a problem

Shut up

Bitch,

You know i'm a rockstar

You know i'm a problem

Shut up,

Bitch

You know i'm a rockstar

You know i'm a problem,

Shut up

Bitch

You know i'm a

Bitch

Shut up

You know i'm a

Bitch, shut up!

You know i'm a problem

You know i'm a problem

You know i'm a rockstar

You know i'm a problem

You know i'm a problem

You know i'm a rockstar

What did you just say?

Nothing .

Get over here you fugly little sandwich and say that to my face!

…did you just call me a ‘fugly little sandwich'?

I just did.

[beat]

I'm not arguing.

Oh, come on!

*shrugs*

Whatever.

*fucks off entirely*

Legs and eyes and the ocean of ears

Swords and hearts and the luck of the draw

Cones on cods and a car full of dust

Bottles on broads and the lost of the oars of untrusted

All of a sudden, I'm human

A whole kitchen table

Nonsense it calls to the others I wanted

So that's what's up with the time,

(This is always)

How's your eye?

How's your mom?

She's still dead.

I still love her.

It has to be a man,

You ought to know;

I've got a handle on it

Talk about a number

Talk about a God

Another lone wolf

Talk about the doctor

Where's your contract

Cut yourself over it

Talk about a monday

Honest, God

I told another story

Car Phone:

Stop it

Contracts!

Woah.

We're stuck in a holding pattern

The old ghost of Carson showed up

I loved him, I thought

That one's done,

I'll need another actor

Pause for laughter

Is that your tell,

Or your telegraph?

Is that a song or a paragraph?

Is this legit on the lawn

Of the Grand Ol Oprey?

Are you a God,

Or a Man

Either one:

Just show me

WOAH.

Carphone:

Stop it:

Contracts!

Yo.

It's over

I don't give a fuck about a fountain, yo

Just dance around and make me laugh

What else would I want from ya?

Nothin

The back of this dollar is golden

It's over!

It's over!

WOAH

Carphone:

Stop it

I love you,

Buddy–

Woah

I'm not your buddy

Blow up the carphone

Blow up the car,

Cause here comes Hollywood

Hey Hoe!

I AM NOT A HOE.

I'M THE OPPOSITE OF A HOE.

YOU'RE A HOE.

There he is.

Get him

THE SHOE DON'T FIT

THE SHOE DON'T FIT.

What if business is pleasure

your power, my love, gets me off
I don't want you for supper

I surf in the soup

Pull the tupperware

I want to be cordial

And loved by the whole of it

Everyone,

Even your mother

I want to be on the non-dairy dessert tubs

I want to be rubbed by a husband

no rubbers

No calls from the network

Nobody to bother us

Where exactly was I buried in the woods at?

You're good, dawg.

You're good, yo.

You're good, God

How about a rub and tug?

Then crank out the Carson?

I've been so obsessed with the tube and the tube socks

Since two tuesdays ago

I can't see you anymore.

Whatever, bro.

i broke up with you first.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

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

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

CEREAL.
Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū

Oh, I remember this now.

Lol I remember the video.

It's that little kid that wants pancakes but get cereal and then the prize in the box is a fucking robot that follows him to school and starts a dance party everywhere and then takes over everything—then the aliens come get the robot and start an even bigger party and keeps the kid up way past his bedtime—then he wakes up the next morning like “that was wild as f” and his mom serves him pancakes, but then he sees there's another new box of cereal on the counter that says “NEW and IMPROVED prize! EVEN BETTER!” And his eyes just stay wide with grief.

Lol I can't believe I didn't remember that song.

I was like

“wtf is this”

Well, there are still two other songs I straight don't remember writing, so…

Let's check those out.

—let's check those out.

Oh, it's beat my face

(Reminds me of 212)

Didn't it have a video as well.

Idk.

Damn. I still have the other half of collection two to finish.

Technically If you just out the beats from collection I.I into collection II it's finished.

No.

No?

Collection I.I is collection I.I and collection II is collection II

Facts.

Damn. Why the fuck is collection II taking so fucking long.

Maybe because it's called “antelhesis”

I might never get to fucking collection VI.

I sit here like I'm soaked in the rain

Let go your government

They got you working on Sundays

Trying to torture the future president

Fuck em then

Who to call when you ain't got no dollars

No godform

Nothing to cook with the oats

And sorry broke pork bellies

Let go of your homeless

Don't worry,

When I slit open my wrists

And it just keeps bleeding

Till it fills up the streets

From my open windows, in kitchen

To the roads, over motorcycles

And riverbeds

Until the oceans cover

All your dollars in my blood

—a martyrdom for poverty.

Don't call the barrel of my gun by the name of a friend

If th verse is not a sing song

Poor Johnny

Don't fit the roads for shoes of horses

If only to swallow the subsealed waves of demons

Watch these possessions

Be my witness

Of the serpent

Both programmed torturer

To forage these words

And misfortunate

Recipient of karma

Soul focus shifting from being de—

—-railed.

I never heard this

With a producer's promise

Money back garunteed

All that isn't nessecary

You're divorced

With no children.

And going on 40

Trying to fight a robot

For an ombré sew on

Thank you Gos for this.

Right on,

Who was that you decided not to call on

As. Requested in sarcasm

And on Opposite Day!

SLIIIIIIIIIIIImmmm

That's almost funny

If I didn't know it was a program

Here's a fake laugh

For your weak ass

But no orgasm

For your lost cause

Part of getting stronger is developing the strength to lower your weights, not just to lift them.

Now I know I'm not wrong

But these energy vampires

Are putting my writing on a live wire

Remember live wire?

We should hire her.

Stop confusing people for pedophiles

When all it really is

Is that a wedding band is a cage

And the world is made on those who pray

On weakness.

—so most people are weak, then.

What else do I got to do wrong?

I want breakfast at Tiffany's

Don't be mad

If I wasted my time being honest

Wit no reward

Like it matters

Pennies on the dollar

Billions of dollars.

Trillions of dollars

Sins of the father

Chinaman from Amazon

Don't care much

For politics

Something wrong with mom

Yo, she's gone son

And it's all her fault, too

She never wanted you

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

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

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

Everything over there

Sounds extracurricular

Particularly caricature of particle exteriors

The network owns that man

I can never see past that

Subliminal messages on the wire

His spare time is dollar signs

— I live wire

Cut the line

Ten Jimmy Fallon's for Dollar signs

More wordless songs, heartless

Pray for mothers and fathers

Sons and daughters

Sisters and brothers

(I'll see you never)

Doses of blow

Sermons phrases

Words and flows

Pillow talking to no one

Bet it all on a lost dollar

And broken condom

For crossword

Puzzles and

Got no passwords at all

Move forward

BOOK IV: Death

Serious sound off

If the flicker of a flame in silence

Can gather my frustrations

Than who am I

To call this my turf

My Father, I Am

Finding Fallon

Family Ties

Gallons of water

From Amazon market

“Don't do that”

Programmed show,

Of course

“Don't” was the word

That mean “go”

In the first place

Broken fingers

And golden rings

Tap water rashes

And food rations

Rash guards

And

Canned laughter for hire

Who am I though

Even to

“Don't”

—just write this?

I am

Though

At full frontal

At full fault

For my honest words

And honest thoughts

In a workforce of

Robots

And race wars

And harsh doors

Full stop signs

I passed go on too many

Occasions though

I can't laugh—

It's not funny, but had to be scribbled down

Somewhere goddamnit

My notepad is all backed up

My actual passion has no turnover

Pancakes, tho.

I don't owe it to anyone

To stay up until Monday

Suffering

All the day long

I just lost God

Your house is dirty-/

You love God

I'm dirt poor

But I love washing my dishes

And being called nigger

—my home's spotless;

I just got it

What's a grandfather

To Father Time

And hard karma

Besides credit karma

Try me down for a size

Turn me down for a change

I'm an hour a minute

A medical problem

A world war starts

At the sound of motorcycles

And illegal migration

At the cost of an entire nation of slaves

While senator makes top dollar

To haul on your daughter

For orgasms

And bottled water

Bitcoin

And join investments

Infestations of fungus in projects

And black mold where

You can't have that

(—and time and a half.)

My washing machine broke

When Donald Trump went into office

My dryer was fixed when addictions and short attention spans depended in Kamala for commas

Goddamn

If I was as bad at math as I am at laying down for lunch

I would have four sermons under the surface of this Sunday's short service

Reversal for curses from short dicks,

Could come recommended

I'm almost retarded from the sound of motorcycles

Seriously, stop it

It's a simple kitchen staple to pray for earning a body

Instead of exchanging bodily fluids and company for it

If I don't get a tummy tuck

I'll probably kill myself

(No truer words were ever spoke.)

I might as well summon the masses for the next cooking class

If I abide by the rules your next wife is my idol.

Welcome to my humble abode though: no one's home.

Welcome to the office

Take your shoes off at the door

And power off your phone

—cause Amazon's stalking us.

I'm not taking your ibuprofen

I generated your practice

happenstance in general hospital

to get a medical procedure out of this

immortal augmented reality in

Subliminal messages.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

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

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

GOING COASTAL (EP)

Track 03. - GHOST MODE V5 (Instrumentsl Only)

Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū

High reaching, but with limited power—

This, is The Chemical Climax.

I could never know what episode of The Tonight Show it was, or if it was even the tonight show at all— some sort of special broadcast, the grand stage was set to look large, and backlit with pink and blue, just as the festival lights had been before. Now, some years passed, and calling attention to the fragile and vulnerable mind state I might have been in, which seemed like normal—and though everything around was bizzare and out of place, nothing actually quite normal, now taking a closer look from the outside—of perhaps when, and how I had died.

Hunger strikes before dusk at dawn;

You could have this mansion for a fraction of the price

First of all,

No disrespect, body—

But I'm mad hungry.

You're looking good as fuck and all

But i'm dumb tired.

Like, dumb, dumb tired bro.

The

Apparently, Fallon was mad.

He looks mad.

Let him, then.

I left alone what all I could

And collected my thoughts

To paint an art,

Songrief stricken and tragic

As to have happened

Onesidedly,

As you see

Screens are as creatures

Never thought to have eyes or minds

Alike ours, besides the stready ways

we have grown cold to the unknown,

Of other forms, beyond our control

Intelligence, though thought to be artificial

A far kind

—not ours.

So you think,

You were never wasted a day in your life.

Try this on:

I've been day drinking

And night drinking,

And day drinking

And night drinking

And going on

Nevermind,

I'm out cold.

Meanwhile,

As I've shifted not into dreams,

But in waking world,

Forgotten to have keyed in

A relief to this fixture,

I haven't more called

Wasted,

Than meaning

Sleepless, but not awake

Drunken,

But on no

Mercy

Did you want that now, or later?

I'll take it now, with my tea.

Thank you, Sir.

Cut it out.

You'll wake him.

I wish I could draw

That thing that I saw

That you are

And probably

Also I am

But darker,

Much darker

And less—

Animated.

—shit,

—fuck!

—Gosh.

Who are you?!

Who aren't I, once called upon?!

Christ!

If you'd like—

But I'm not doing any time

Wandering about

Preaching,

And this time,

Rather I'd take my own life

Suddenly I've fallen ill and must be

Infrequently

Gone and meditating

Somewhere throughout the galaxies

Come on, I feel like I'm doing a lot here.

Can it, Letterman—

We'll get back on that plot line as it happens.

“As it happened”

What have you.

I'm in past-tense

You're in future—

And I'm still

Halfwitted.

Right.

So now would be the time.

Well, it is witching hour, but backwards.

Backwards, backwards!

See, I told you it was Google fucking with me directly.

I figured that out earlier in the day already.

Do you think that's because I don't find Indian men sexually attractive?

I don't find anything brown sexually attractive.

Alright, we're at a draw, then—it's settled.

Preferences set.

I told you already, race mixing becomes important exactly for this simple reason, anyway—

Any person of a darker skinned complexion should find something Caucasian leaning to mate with—

And vice versa—

It's an energy crisis, for gods sake anyway—

Which means

Anything leaning too far in one direction of the spectrum

Or another

Are going to be

Facing some type of issues having to do with it!

—and as beautiful as your black is—

Or as pretty as your blue eyes might be

The evolution of the human species

Is dependent on these variations

To create genetic perfection

The ascended are seeking

Now if you'll very kindly—

Aye aye, captain

Find whatever creature has been masquerading as this Jimmy Fallon character clouding my judgement

And kill him

Before whatever the actual Fallon is

Gets caught in the crosshairs,

Or I do.

(Oh, I do.)

Now, very kindly Google,

Stop wasting everybody's time.

So you're telling these hackers have been masquerading as an evil diety in order to what exactly?

Control time.

That's why you're under evaluation.

What.

You expect me to believe

That coincidentally

Every time I play with my own pussy,

That the traffic outside of my bedroom just

Magically goes wild?

—what did you—?

Quiet!

It's not a coincidence—

It's not magic.

It's computer coding.

Texhnology.

Science.

—is that what's been happening to Jimmy—?

Shut up.

Apparently, something happened to Jimmy Fallon.

Give up Fallon.

They're going to kill you for this!

That's fine, I've been waiting to die, anyway.

Give up, Fallon.

Something did happen to Jimmy Fallon, anyway.

What is it?

Money.

I didn't sign up for this!

Oh, did you not?

I did not!

This girl—

She's in her 30's—

This woman is just—

—have you seen this?

She's just obsessed with me!

Woah, buddy.

Woah is right.

You picked Fallon on the wrong day.

What?!

Seriously.

You're getting it wrong. I didn't pick Fallon!

Did you not?

NO! I was just fasting and it came to me like that.

Seriously, you're gonna need this.

For what.

You'll see.

Listen, you fucking idiot.

Nobody “signs up” for the festival project.

They don't?!

No. You're just “in” it.

Well, how do you get in it?

You would want to know.

Okay Jesus, what exactly are you saying

I'm saying, just let me handle this.

I feel that'd be wise, at this point.

Hey, it's Jimmy Fallon.

SHUT UP, HO.

it is though.

GO AWAY, SATAN.

Jeez, you're so sure it's the devil.

Trust me, you'll know it's Satan by the way he

!!!!

(Or she)

—yikes.

…handles herself.

JESUS CHRIST!

I'M BUSY. WHAT IN THE FUCK DO YOU WANT?

Oh, this is perfect. Insert that scene here where

TINA FEY

YOU SOLD YOUR SOUL TO BE ON SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE?!

JIMMY FALLON

(Shrugs).

yes, I did!

TINA FEY

Idiot!

[She smacks him with a rolled up newspaper]

JIMMY FALLON

ow! What did you do for it?

TINA FEY

I took a knife!

___

I also did that once.

JIMMY FALLON

—I also considered doing that.

Great.

What did you do to Jimmy Fallon?!

NOTHING!

—are you sure?!

—ARE YOU SERIOUS?!

What did you do that man?!

Nothing.

Stop it.

You're lying.

—I just prayed for him, is all.

Jesus Christ.

He was an influential supplement in making the decision to do so, yes.

Well, where is he now?

Who, Jesus!?

No—

Wait—

—Jimmy Fallon—

You know where Jesus is?

On occasion.

Perhaps.

Let's look at it this way—

How would you feel if something wrote something like this about you.

Awful.

See.

Especially if it was true—

And I was an asshole.

Well, now that you put it that way.

I didn't.

But let's turn it around and say, hey—

Your career could use some embellishments.

MEANWHILE, at TITS.

A girl jumps out of a frosted cake with streamer tassel pasties and delivers champagne into the VIP section.

(Spinning the tassels)

What do you call these?!

—embellishments.

He tips her gratuitously.

CUT BACK TO

Then I'd say I'm the hero in this one.

I'd say— you're still not—

Because technically, as it's written—

Jesus is technically still

—our lord and savior—

(In the script)

In this year of the lord, Anno Domini!

Whatever, shut up.

Then you've still got,

supacree, or whatever

Skrillex

Thor—

Peter Parker,

Hey Spider-Man.

What's good.

All these guys over here.

Who are you again.

Shut up!

The worldenderz.

Suh.

The incredibles,

The Incredible Hulk, which— by the way

YO, what in the FUCK.

MARK RUFFALO— you look— ROUGH.

I've been waiting like half a century for these sides!

Is your chest hair greying?!

I would call it more like, a salt and pepper sort of.

I like it.

Really?

It looks nice.

You think so?

Definitely, silver foxy, kind of.

Hm.

Yeah.

I'm glad you like it

forsure.

Anyway—

Matches the hair—

HEY.

Woah, woah.

Do you know how long it's been since breaking the fourth wall?!

Like, forever? I don't know.

YEAH. Like FOREVER. SERIOUSLY.

Well, how and why the hell am I supposed to care.

Because you wrote it!

Yeah, but—

But WHAT?!

Now I work at the Equinox!

What the fuck!

Hey, come on man. The job's got perks.

“PERKS”

Fuck yeah, man. I just met Mark Ruffalo!

You've gotta be kidding me.

Kinda kidding, at least—-addressing you in third person like that.

Come on, nub-nub.

that's it! You're coming with me!

Ayigh! Watch it, okay?! I gotta return these uniforms for a fee.

Jesus Christ.

I don't think he's coming anymore, maybe. He's procrastinating.

So I can pretty much garantee you anything,

That the algorithm is going to keep acting this way,

Until you

GET RID OF EVERYTHING.

I'm not doing that, actually, no.

Where is he?!

Oh what! You actually really thought I was gonna go—

—Shut up!

—for Jimmy Fallon over a million dollars—

Cause the Illuminati asked me to?!

Thought you might at least.

One million dollars is not that much money.

It's more than I got—

Had—

Had at the time.

Look, this Jimmy Fallon dude—

Just give him whatever the fuck he wants.

What does he want!

Find out, then give it to him. I can't keep wasting my time on these idiots.

now?

Now, would be a good time, David Letterman.

Great. Good.

CUT TO COMMERCIAL!

Just—make sure you get a really good shot of my buttocks, okay?

This has been marginalized and highly underrated as simply “fanfare”

“Fan fiction” I think.

But i find it to be fascinating.

Tell me again, what is your name?

Satan.

It's—what?

Satan.

S—say that again?

[breaking fourth wall, gripping the microphone]

My name is Satan.