Madonna wants to be a movie star, huh
Well I just want to be Madonna
Maybe we could help each other out, huh
Maybe that's why God's been calling out
And your call will be answered
Kaskade made two of my favorite songs of all time ever.
One at the very begginning of his career…
Wherever he was a couple years ago.
JAMAICA, QUEENS, NEW YORK.
WHAT, I have to fight MYSELF.
You've been fighting yourself the whole time!
Shut the fuck up, Kaskade!
*eats popcorn obnoxiously*
Whatever. I'm in the winners circle.
Woah: uh oh. What happened.
SAD NEIL DEGRASSE TYSON has no formal education.
He sees multitudes of equations as synergetic values swirling in his mind as he rides the bus , appearing to be in a mindless daze, however, still a genius, trapped in the confines of his own mind, stuck at a dead-end job.
*bully smacks pizza to the ground*
*sighs deeply, attempts to pick up pizza*
Birds swarm the pizza, and a passerby steps on it*
This brings a single, aolitary tear to his eye.
Suddenly, the hunger struck me.
MEANWHILE, at the eye of NOWHERE, whereas in the multiverse Jamaica, Queens resides—AT BLINK FITNESS.
Father said, Skrillex (Mixed—Have a seat)
[Blū fails to raise the bench press]
Or maybe it was the Skrillex.
[a group of men rush to blu's aide—the entire gym, all men besides the workers, erupt into laughter.
Do you ever finish these episodes?
Meanwhile, Dillon Francis is the biggest dick ever.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
You know what! I like you!
Can you not say things like that?!
Things like what?! Things like me?! I thought you liked me!
What?! What Dillon Francis?!
Try to remember this is all just a dream.
I'm going to count backwards from three—
Lightning strikes— he claps his hands in time with the thunderclap—Sunni Blu immediately falls asleep—he watches them with a meniacal look in his eye, whispering into their ear, snapping one time—
I'm going to count to three: when I clap my hands you'll wake up from this dream and into another—this world is my world— and in my world, from now on, whenever you hear the sound of a clap, you will remember who you are; and you will remember the sound of my voice.
[He claps—Sunni Blū remains asleep in this reality—but suddenly, in a cross-dimensional parallel, CC wakes up in bed, holding instead of a handgun, a banana—startled and still appearing to be soaking wet, though drenched in sweat rather than rain, she draws the banana outward, tumbling out of bed and looking over her shoulder, cursing.]
GODDDAMIT IT, DILLON FRANCIS.
Cut back t Dillon Francis drags Sunni Blu's body into a Holda Civic
So just make it a Nissan.
[in the closest parallalell dimension, it is a Nissan.]
Did it work? Is she here?
Suddenly, a blue dot appears on the map.
Suddenly, the dot turns from blue to red.
Suddenly, the red dot turns purple.
The dot then splits into two dots
I've never seen this before
The two dots each split into two dots—now there are four dots—a green, a blue, a red, and a yellow dot—they begin to blink and swirl in a mesmerizing pattern, before dissipating and dissappearing entirely.
This has no logical fucking explaination whatsoever.
The screen goes black. The map dissappears.
It IS impossible. It's the most impossible impossibility fucking EVER.
The screen returns—the map is blank—the four dots reappear, each changing in color sequences and shapes quickly and drastically, dancing and swirling around the screen—the map reappears,
the dots each spread to a separate corner of the map: north east south and west— the trails of the colors spelling out in the center of the map
Then exploding into candy coated sparkles and confetti.
*exasperated, under breath*
It's fucking…Dillon Francis.
ITS FUCKING GODDAMN DILLON FRANCIS. FUCK!
As he exits the base and enters his living room, he opens the outer door to find that l the entire living room is covered in candy coated confetti and sparkles; he slips into a puddle of strange gellatenous goo.
The other two hackers come running o it from the lair, one also slipping in the goo, and the other stopping short at the door, in awe of the disaster.
On a speeding bullet to nowhere,
Comb out my hair for a moped
Or hope of a slow rush to
Some sorry apartment I pour all my art into
It's cold, but she needs the attention—
I need the move that she gets from it anyway
Dismissal of seasonal effective—
A positive adjustment suggests that
The entrance of pumpkin spiced
Knitted sweaters and puffed jackets
Are just as perhaps as attractive in essence
To those in possession of
As progressed in possessions,
The payment was lovelessness
[Loading semi-automatic rave weapon]
Madonna just walked in with Bob Saget.
And they're about to do a B2B.
Has to match the boots, hasn't it?
Still, she works hard at it
Happened to stand at the platform,
^immensely bright shiny light*
Yeah, okay, now turn it off.
That's right, you don't know how.
I don't know how to do that.
-*huge scary monster appears out of darkness
With a snap, they instantly CHARGE into THE VOID.
And other things like it—
So why is that a problem.
These dark things can't be satisfied— they'll take all of your light, until there's nothing left
There are far worse things—
Far worse. Things that will not only devour your light, but absorb you, and make you into a ravenous darkness—entrapped within the deepest realms of the outer worlds—a nothingness in which light cannot dwell—where no light can penetrate—no light is known—and you become such darkness
so how multidimensional is she.
Like, way multidimensional.
Way, multidimensional, dude.
I don't know if you want to take this on.
This is beyond a challenge, dude. This is, like—
This could be career suicide.
DILLON FRANCIS has a flashback to the most miserable moment in his career.
…I'm willing to risk that.
You're fucking crazy, man.
Crazy is good. Let's do it.
He slaps the table, cracks open a bottle of water and leaves, seeming bizzarely chipper.
What's all this supposed to mean.
I thought we were getting fat.
We were each other's imaginary friends.
What's that, a coping mechanism?
What's that, a calling card?
I think the point I was making is I can't even touch Beyoncé.
I'm not gonna pay for a front row ticket to Fangirl Beyoncé.
I thought you were fangirling me.
Japanese Lady badly singing on the train
Tempting, but—I'll just keep this moment to myself.
[literally the star of a movie]
Besides, I want to know what she's saying.
How are you ever gonna know what she's saying.
Meanwhile, at Ultra Japan
PASQUALLE ROTELLA is the head of the EDMADFIA
Fuxk, now I want Pop-Tarts.
THE ELECTRONIC DANCE MAFIA
Wearing sleek black mysteriously dark attire, only ever so rarely accented by red as to notate the higher ranks of the most organized *possibly criminal* organization
Wait, does the mafia still exist?
THE ELECTRINIC DAISY MAFIA
These flamboyant motherfuckers dress in purple with accents of pink, electric blue, and neon shades of yellow, green, and orange—but are highly mysterious, though almost obnoxiously
Lol. This bitch is literally singing on the train.
Wasn't that you just earlier?
EARLIER, (but not that part:)
She seems to have taken a sudden interest in the occult.
[literally battling demons]
[in agreement and solidarity]
The thing that was sudden, was that I started to notice that something about my voice changed the energy in any room, depending on the way I used it—it became important to notate exactly how the energy changed, and also—
What kind of people arrived at the sound of my voice—
Who was I calling to. What was the nature of this force, and
Why were they following me?
Alright, I'm signing off.
You pushed it at Beyoncé.
You and points. Explains the tattoos.
The bright light which once illumated the space between them fades out.
It is a simple room, where the two archangels meet to discuss their ongoing journey through the inner and outer worlds—they are, in essence, twin flames, perhaps, as to be described as one soul, split to display spectrums of opposite, which together signify balance— and apart exemplify chaos, confusion, and dissasemblance; imbalance, impurity, and unsynchronistic—not yet true Gods but dieties of a higher existence, escaping often between realms and plains to telepathically banter in a battle of wits; they are alike because they are one another—they are seperate because in order to fulfill all duties of the higher calling, they must remain as opposites until the day is called that they must forge their powers for the betterment of humanity, and become as one.
A dark blue couch illuminated by a bright light, unseen but acting as the fourth wall, an old TV screen which displays a silent staic.
Because she should be here.
THIS Is the land of the dead.
Yes it is! I just died this morning.
Look, you said “SUPACREE”, right?
And you just died, right?
*he shoots him through the heart*
[he is speechless, bleeding out]
Do you know how many times supacree died to be supacree
[he gasps for his final breaths, gushing blood]
*crying from cuteness overload*
so what did you do after you graduated Fame School.
In fact, I almost starved to death
In fact, if it hadn't been for Whole Foods Market, I probably would have.
Were they one of your sponsors?!
[braking* fourth wall, looking directly into camera]
DILLON FRANCIS is the worlds most inconspicuous psychopath since Ted Bundy—his charm, fame, and status has kept his devious use of coercion, hypnotism, and lust for paysical and material possession under wraps for—
Meanwhile, wherever this is at:
See. Haha. This is fun. Adventure time.
What do you want, Dillon Francis.
I don't know yet. Haha. We'll see.
At this point, he's just fully meniacal.
This turnt up 8000 levels, bruh.
I just feel bad for Dillon's mom.
Don't worry— I am Dillon's mom.
Aww. You hijacked his mom?
I hijacked his everything.
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