“The Golden Rule”

I finally did it.

I finally set my house on fire.

You don't know.

I've lived there two years;

I just now did it.

This amazes me that just how.

Here's how it happened.

So I'm in my kitchen, cooking.

I just worked out for like, three hours so I'm cooking everything.

Everything.

I put the soup on, but by the end of the workout, I'm not sure the soup is going to be enough.

So, I thought to myself,

“You know what, I'm going to make some tortilla chips”

A few days before I made the dopest salsa.

I couldn't get enough of it.

It was the best salsa ever. I was like “gosh” so every day,

Tacos for three days,

Just to put the salsa on top,

And on the fourth day, I'm like

“Nah, soup.”

So,

I put the soup on and I go workout,

But the soup, you see has roasted vegetables in in,

You know?

So what I had done was,

I had roasted the vegetables on a pan, but the pan is a little worn, so i put them on parchment paper…

…

Yeah, but here's what really happened,

Is I took the vegetables off of the roasting pan, and I was about to throw away the parchment paper,

And I thought

“Wait. No! There's still so much oil on this!”

And I didn't want to be wasteful.

So I turned the oven back on,

And I took out the tortillas I had—

There were four of them—

I took out two,

Just in case I wanted two actual tacos later—

Cause you know,

I really love this fucking salsa.

So good.

Anyway—

I take out two of the four tortillas,

And I quarter them,

And I flip them in the leftover oil from the roasted vegetables,

And I'm thinking—

This is going to be so good

Roasted vegetable flavored

Corn tortilla chips—

I brush on a little bit of coconut oil,

I drop some lemon juice on them,

I put on a little salt—

And I put them in the oven—

I turn the oven to broil,

And then I start the dishes;

Dishes takes about ten minutes,

This should take about ten minutes—

So I start doing the dishes,

And cleaning up,

And putting them away,

And this is the most ironic shit in the world,

I start thinking to myself

Particularly about this comedian that I like

And I start thinking to myself

“Wow, so you're a comedian;

Comedian things happen to you;

You're a real comedian.

I must not be a real comedian—

Because comedy things don't happen to me.”

And right at that moment, I just so happen to look into the oven,

And all I see is flames.

Like, open flames.

Big, flames.

So I open the oven;

More flames.

I'm like

“Oh no.”

So now I'm panicking because I've never had an apartment with a gas stove before,

So I don't know how quickly flames turn into massive explosions.

And it's honestly funny how suicidal I am,

Until I see open flames and I'm like

“No, but— not like THIS!”

So I freak out,

I hit the breaker.

I turn off everything in the place

I'm not looking to see which switch is “gas”

I turned turned them all off,

Click, click, click, click

Put on my slip ons, and grab my phone and I'm out the door.

And I'm thinking to myself

“See this is why you need a phone,”

Because honestly sometimes,

I don't feel like paying the bill.

I feel like having toilet paper,

Or soap,

Or water—

And I just

“Whatever”

But lately, I've been looking for more work because I like having toilet paper, and soap, and water AND a phone— so I keep the phone on,

Which, even in the moment is like

“Oh yeah, wow, I have a phone”

Like I'm in astonishment at how handy it is because if it's handy for anything,

This is it.

So I'm out the door, and I'm dialing 911 as I hit the staircase;

Whoosh, I'm out the door and in the long before the operator even picks up,

And I'm in the lobby, on the phone, and the operator gets the address and I'm just standing there —

Mind you, I didn't even grab my keys on the way out, so I'm assuming the door is locked,

And I think to myself about the size of the flames and the fact that they were coming from the oven which is connected to a gas line which is connected to the rest of the building, so I don't know how any of that stuff works,

And then I start thinking.

“Should I warn my neighbors?”

I hate my neighbors.

Or rather,

My neighbors hate me.

But I'm thinking of the flames and the smoke and the danger and how, if it was me, I'd want to know if the apartment next door to mine was on fire and possibly about to explode.

You know; the golden rule.

So I'm like “fuck it”

I don't get along with these people but I don't mean to blow them up.

So I run back upstairs,

And I knock on their doors;

Not everyone's doors, just the two doors in what I assume would be the blast area.

I knock on their doors,

And only one of them answers—

The one that answers is, of course,

The one that's been stalking me.

So this is ironic at least twice, now,

And she answers the door,

And I explain to her the situation

“Look, my apartment's on fire whatever

The fire department's on the way, I'm locked out…”

As I turn the knob, I realize,

I'm not locked out.

My door didn't even lock,

I didn't notice it didn't lock,

I just ran,

So I'm like

“Nevermind I just wanted you to know the fire departments on the way and not to panic”

And she just gives me this look

With her wombat face

—she has wombat face.

She looks like a—

Like a rabid wombat.

Like a—

Like a really fucked up,

Possum.

Like a wombat-possum.

And we've been having some—problems.

She's my stalker.

She's been stalking me;

And I've noticed so,

It's really awkward that I'm at her door warning her like “hey, don't freak out or anything, the fire department's coming by”

And she just looks at me with those beady little eyes and a shrug that tells me

If her apartment was about to explode

She'd just let me incinerate.

,

“Whatever, fuck you.”

I know I'm a good person,

Cause I would want to know— so I let you know

There may be danger here!

Whatever.

So she's like “whatever”, and shuts the door like a normal, sane person

Cause my problem with her is that

For the past year

Every time I take a bath or shower,

This wombat looking rabid possum bitch

Slams the door.

Not just her door,

The stairwell exit door,

Which is located adjacent to my door.

So every time I take a bath for the last year—

BOOM.

BOOM.

Fuck that.

Theres's more to the story but you get the point.

She's a white supremacist wombat with a door slamming habit.

That's that story, this is another story.

So anyway.

And I just realized, I'm not locked out at all, and so I go back into the apartment not knowing if it contained itself, or if it got worse—

I don't know, the whole place is just filled with smoke, and then the super,

Who I also called and also don't like,

Shows up before the fire department,

And he comes in, and he opens the oven, and just—

Plumes of smoke—

Then the fire dudes rush in,

I'm like, “Oh God” I just worked out for three hours and looked wombat girl right in the face,

Like, right in the eyes

Now I probably look like a wombat

That shit is contagious,

Fuck that.

“”let me put on some sunglasses”

So I put on some sunglasses,

And three fire dudes walk in in full gear with canisters and shit,

Masks;

The whole thing.

But the super already opened the oven,

There's no more flames,

No more fire,

Just smoke—

And a bunch of mad crispy

Ashes.

No tortilla chips,

Just—

Ashes, on a cookie sheet.

Just—

Ashes,

But still, smoke everywhere so they have to follow the procedure,

And the procedure is,

Moving all my shit by dragging it across the floor;

Ok, that's cool, I guess,

Boom.

One of them starts running water down the sink,

Alright,

Another one just rips down the curtains.

I'm like

“That's hot.”

(It was so hot)

Slides back the couch, opens the window.

I'm astonished that something as simple as a man pulling down your curtain rod with no regards to giving a fuck can be so exhilirating.

I'm like “oh!”

Then after all that,

They're just standing there.

Just,

In full gear,

Looking at the oven like

“Well, that's it.”

They're like

“K. Bye.”

I'm like “that's it?”

They're like

“Yeah”

I'm like l,

“I don't need to do anything?”

They're like

“Just open the window, keep the door open till the smoke comes out”

I'm like “that's all”

They're like “yeah”

I'm like “my bad.”

They all just shrug like “whatever”

Like, in unison, shrugging like to give no fucks at all,

Still in full gear.

The only thing I can be sure of is that all three of them are hot and if the super wasn't there,

I'd inidiate a gangbang.

Almost positive.

But five's a crowd, or whatever, so I'm like

“Well, thanks guys, sorry about that” and they all just leave, almost disappointed like there wasn't a burning building to actually show up to.

I'm just relieved I didn't explode and the solace I can take from this is that

And 3. Three firefighters entered and exited the apartment head to toe in full gear with heavy ass metal canisters and did not slam a single door.

FUCK YOU HOE.

Very respectful servicemen.

I had called the landlord about her harassing me in the shower and the bathtub.

You know she's doing it every bath and every shower for over a year she's doing it on purposes

I started making formal complaints;

The property management's like

“Are you sure she's doing it on purpose?”

THREE

Fully grown men decked head to toe in full fireproof outfits, helmets, and masks entered and exited the building on one day and in ten minutes more quietly than she has at any given point over the last year.

THREE FULLY GROWN MEN.

WITH CANISTERS.

If they can enter and exit with less noise than a 150 lb wombat—

She's doing it on purpose.

End of story.

Well, end of that story,

Or like two stories but

Here's the end of this one.

So finally after the dust settles

And I hit the gym again

Because nothing is a better preworkout

Than adrenialine,

(Especially when you've already had preworkout)

I come back and now I'm extra famished and the Amazon guy came in all that fuss

And now I have canola oils

So I've been soaking some potato wedges

And I decide,

“Hey, I got wedges. Let's do that”

So I heat the oil, and as I'm heating the oil, I realize…

I still have two tortillas.

Maybe that was the whole point!

I'm being a pussy, making tortilla chips,

In the oven, on parchment paper,

Like a little bitch! So I'm like

“Alright, cool,

When these wedges are done, the oil should be the perfect temperature for the tortilla chips

To be made the old fashioned way

The RIGHT way!”

So I wait, I do the wedges, and I drop the tortillas,

And I wait for them to get golden brown, I drain the oil,

I put them out to cool; I do the dishes while they cool, whatever,

I grab the salsa container out of the fridge, I take the bowl into the studio so I can watch YouTube while I enjoy my chips,

I plop down,

Turn on the you tube

I open the salsa container—

And it's empty.

There's no more salsa.

I put the container in the fridge empty.

Silly me.

“You're a comedian, comedy things happen to you.”

Suddenly, as I looked up from my makeshift workspace, where I had been toiling away for hours at seemingly nothing—I realized the world was full of everything I'd ever wanted to fuck; something primal and ancient had been awakening within me and I was left in a dangerous volitile position, drifting somewhere between reckless promiscuity in a sexual escapade—and the pseudo-conservative now-only partially celibate maiden form of fantasy—there wasn't anything I could do but wait inside my tragic box for some unassuming old soul to finally open the gate—and allow whatever devious and fiending hedonistic godbeing —though never fully lying dormant, entrapped and imprisoned in a loveless and sexless prison.

You might recognize me.

You Know, I was one of the original Kings of comedy.

If I put my heart inside a box;

Maybe I'd forget how cold it was

Or how far you are

Or how much it hurts

There's no harm in God,

If there ever was one

Then, reality sets in:

God was my only friend

No armor on,

I'm at the end

Or a long, long walk

I'm off again

And on again

Nothing's impossible—

stop at the alter and scoff a bit

I left my coat on,

I left my heart on the rooftop,

A sacrifice, love

At the alter,

I wonder a song,

Or a sonnet

A song,

No, what's wrong?

Something off a bit

God, I woke up in a coffin once

Isn't that awful

The rest or the song wrote itself,

At the alter

No, I can't stop and talk

Got to get off,

Cause I've never been on

I've never belonged in the world

I'm breaking down, jim boy

Don't you know?

That this show blows my mind

But it's stuck in my head

Don't you know

That this show

Blows my mind

Like a firework

But it's still

Stuck in my

Head

The context is that I want you

From the mustache

Down to your tonsils

But I'm Locke inside of a box

Every day I feel poorer and poorer

The product says something is wrong to me

I'm supposed to just stop at the stop sign

And look both directions

Before crossing over to

Comic nights

At the salad bar

What a cosmic waste of time

And an epic waste of space

Am I in your internet history

I'm dead

You surely are in mine,

But I'm right behind you

I'd be lying for trying to say

I'm not binded

Clutch bag,

Nut-thins

Nailed to the cross

With the arches doubled over

The crossword

Above old Missouri

Missoula and Arkansas

All saw us run out of gas

But I probably should just get going

You're so drunk that I don't hope you sober up

Understand that our little talks

Were just buffered

By sunrise

Or sunset

And two more cocktails,

Shirley temples and

Surely none of this ever even happened

I only know you by the misery in my belly.

The heartache in my ribcage.

The cry I hold in silent

I only know you as

Remarkable I,

House of cards

Ace of wands

Down to one

Card of hades and

Spare me the spade

I'll be drifting in the outline and ink of it forever

It's the Fourth of July and I'm just waiting on an Amazon order for water

If that's not freedom I don't k me what is

The elevator music

Of my ascension

The attitude of attraction,

Gratitude, it's so unusual

Fight to lose,

In a room full of fools;

The fuse, and the matchbox—

Futile—amusing—

Tunes from a hatchback

Keys in the lockbox

What you want,

From the problem solver?

That's enough;

Now she's out of the box

In just socks,

And they laugh at her—

But also wonder

Where her shoes might have gone to

There's a lot of ways to get out of a big black duffel bag,

You just have to ask, actually

But there's only one

To get out of the coffin,

Or “Box” as they called it,

That she was locked up in

Futile—amusing—

Tunes from a hatchback

Keys in the lockbox

What you want,

From the problem solver?

That's enough;

Now she's out of the box

In just socks,

And they laugh at her—

But also wonder

Where her shoes might have gone to

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project™ ]

{Enter The Multiverse}

L E G E N D S:

ICONS

Tales of A Superstar DJ

The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū

Ascension

Deathwish

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