LYRICS

Youre such a super entitled, sick

Son of A Gun

But don't you forget --

you're still the one with the gun;

you're such a super entitled, sick Son

of a Gun--

but don't you forget:

you're still the one with the gun!

(you're so stuck in your world,

you're so stuck in your world,

you're so super entitled, so suicidal)

you're a super entitled sick son of a gun

(son of a gun)

you're a super entitled sick

son of a gun (son of a gun)

you're so stuck in your world.

ARTWORK:

the artwork depicts a near headless suited individual who appears to be a man with a 2D hand holding a gun pointed at his head, which is portrayed as a television set; the placement of the artists name at the center of the screen suggests that this is a reflective interpretation of oneself, and the lyrics suggest that the figure holding the man at gunpoint is another incarnation or person of the man himself, or of the artists depiction of the sense of self being separated entirely from what is truth, or what is known--and what is felt.

Just shoot him in the foot. Let's go.

[a bullet rings out from the gun and ricochets onto the light future and around the room before hitting a wall.]

Bullet proof loafers!

Yessir!

Who does that.

They're steel toe!

You, my friend, have enemies.

And who says I have friends.

Ah, shit, that's right.

What, what happened?

I gotta kill this guy before aa

Listen to me, and listen to me good, okay?

Ok, Robbie.

This shit—

Is priceless.

I believe you.

Then why don't you act like it?

I don't act like anything!

What is this?

I'm not an actor.

You're not— listening to me.

What, are you speaking in code.

Use your eyes, Dillon! Your eyes!

What in the actual fuck.

How dare you!

Great, now I gotta kill all these guys.

Why. What for?

Look. There's something you should know about shapeshifting.

What's that.

There's really no way of getting in, and then getting out all the way…

So you mean.

DANDELION! DANDELION!

What— is that a safe word?!

DANDELION.

Ice cream. Ice cream. Gotta get.

Are you looking for ice cream.

Yeah, I— yeah.

…I know where to find ice cream.

Well yeah, but.

I got ice cream.

Yesteryear was long and fowl…

Your show makes me very unhappy.

My show makes you unhappy?

Yes.

So does yours. So— I think we're even.

What! My show makes you unhappy?

Yes, I hate it.

You hate the tonight show? How can you hate the tonight show?

I don't. I hate you.

I—what?

I hate you.

Okay?

Okay.

Why!

You ruined SNL.

I what.

Killed the whole show.

Excuse me?

You're excused.

Wh—

I gotta go— be mediocre.

What?

You know the feeling.

I—

[exits]

…

…

[lights turn off]

*the festival project ™

Believe it or not,

It's not about you

I dream up my perfect man

And he's Lilly white

And he's all for me

And without a name

And he's ten foot tall

And he don't like blonde

And we're all from God

So believe it or not, my muse

I'm blū

This is not about you;

I just wrote a love song

I am an Amazon man

An Amazon man

I am an Amazon man

An Amazon man

Why, hello Alice!

That's right, I'm Alice!

Alice?

Well, yes, hello!

Why, no! I was just the Cheshire.

Right you are!

And right you were!

My idea, of.course,

And yours!

I had intended to pay for today's ride…

BLŨ fluidly jumps the turnstile.

Uh—

But the train was approaching as I got to the station, and the bass music ringing in my ears was telling me.

Well, I just don't have time to waste today…

Night, Benga

Oops.

I did intend to put the five specially marked bills— ‘my comedy dollars, into the machine and onto my Metro Card. Into the machine– because they were marked— onto my Metro Card, because I was sick of jumping the turnstile.

V.O.

Whatever makes gross demon people want to sit down next to me on the subway, though, is beyond me. I was. A particular stone, however, forced me to wonder—

Is she your type?

You will learn.

Aiming a bit low for someone perched so high.

V.O.

It was the Capsulous Illuminatus— because the Illuminatus Mondi had been captured, by, well…

THE COSMIC AVENGER

THE STONE IS MINE! NOW I SHALL RULE THE WORLD!

— or at least, the greater social economy.

PASSERBY

Gross!

COSMIC AVENGER

AHEM, pardon me.

[the cosmic avenger has shapeshifted into a very grotesque New York BUM for the purpose of this exercise]

V.O.

(Um, what is the purpose of this exercise?)

COSMIC AVENGER

Neveryoumind!

[beat]

COSMIC AVENGER (CONT'D)

DOG!

DOG

Yessir.

COSMIC AVENGER

Lend me your vessel.

Why?

Because you're a talking dog, which is just above “ragged bum” on the hierarchy, and I need to transition back to my body.

[a passerby stares at the bum and the talking dog]

DOG

I mean, …

“Bark”

Darnit.

Ugh!

DOG

Find somebody else to do it. Like an actual bum's dog; I live, mind you in the Upper East Side and by the way, i told you I'd do this so you'd tape $20 on my collar so the Wag guy thinks my owner tipped him well—

COSMIC AVENGER

—or at all—

DOG CONT'D

Or at all— and feeds me more!

COSMIC AVENGER

(desperately)

You know what? Fine.

DOG

I got a buddy— Darnell, up in the Bronx that might do it,

COSMIC AVENGER

His name is Darnell?

DOG

Nah, it's ‘Buddy', but Darnell is his “friend”

COSMIC AVENGER

(Understanding)

Hence the talking–

DOG

Are you not fully caught up to speed in the dynamics of shapeshifting?

COSMIC AVENGER

Not all the way, no.

DOG

Which is why this is dangerous.

COSMIC AVENGER

I second!

DOG

Now, put $25 dollars in my collar, and walk me up to the Bronx, and then back to the Upper East Side so I can fetch with my Wag guy and eat steak tartare!

COSMIC AVENGER

Steak tartare?!?!

DOG

And not in that order — put the $25 on my collar last, actually—

Like in the safety and comfort of my crate—

COSMIC AVENGER

You said $20!

DOG

And now I'm saying $25, because this guy stinks, and not in the way that I like.

COSMIC AVENGER

You're right.

DOG

Because I'm better than you.

COSMIC AVENGER

But not really.

DOG

Yes, really.

COSMIC AVENGER

$25!?

Are you not a millionaire, shapeshifter??

COSMIC AVENGER

Fine! Gosh!

Now, let's —

Suddenly I was rush with the anxiety of performance— it was Bedford Avenue ona Saturday morning— which reminded me… it was Saturday, and I had been doing weird shit on Saturday, almost ritualistically.

l…. Somehow, automatically, I seemed to get off of the train with no trouble at just the right stop.— writing was a time jump forward.

I slowed my roll to catch my breath after the stairs and kept speed behind a sea of beautiful dogs and beautiful children's families. Ugh. The good part of town— I wanted to live somewhere like this, but alas…

Apparently something was wrong with me.

It was an excellent exercise in energy, but l it was also the music telling me to run, instead of walk— I was still being stalked— some cheap bottle blonde was sent in front of me, mocking.

This always happened in the good part of town— the [redacted] effect.

Yo, get that thing away from me

I hate your guts

Get away from me

I start counting on the way out

20, 40, 60

I start counting all my time

And all my dimes on the way out

Alright, where's Seth Meyers?

Why?!

Whose asking?

I

Am.

Why?

Don't repeat yourself

Cause this dude's really starting to piss me off.

The old man waits at the crosswalk for the next walk sign l—

I still double back to make sure he's golden;

Fox knows this is where we all go,

We both know how slow and how old he is, and so I double back

My heart can't take it and anyway.

I card the sleek and shiny Mercedes Benz for a second time

What a fine automobile.

I love New York, by Madonna

-Ū.

[The Festival Project ™]

The Complex Collective ©

| COPYRIGHT 2018-2025 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

lol the Pasquale Rotella action figure is to scale.

I died.

-U.