Alien Night Club - Show 34?

Alien Night Club <the transcripts>

Apr 18, 2025

If you’re just discovering this (Hi!), begin with The Pilot HERE.

New episodes every Saturday morning @ 9:09 a.m. EST. Yay!

Show 34.

Real quick, a nugget from last night that I forgot to mention: the ultimate coward. AKA Hitler. Adolph Hitler. See, I read yesterday that he wanted to be a painter. An artist. But he couldn't get out of his own way. He couldn't overcome resistance. In his efforts to avoid painting, he became a murderous dictator psychopath asshole. And that’s an insult to assholes. Assholes are cute, soft little wrinkly things with a very important job to do: keeping the doodoo in until we're sitting on a toilet. Or squatting over a hole like they do in many parts of the world. Or whatever. They keep it in until we're ready to release it. And they’re good for sex stuff if you're so inclined. If you’re a person of the buttfuck persuasion – buu-uttfuck persuasion – or, less crassly and crudely, the anal love persuasion – anal love persuasion - and if you're not, you should be. Because its kinky and hot and opens up a whole new realm of possible ways to give and receive pleasure and, especially, to shift the power dynamic.

More on that in a moment. SB, I believe we have a song?

SB: Oh, yeah, we have a song. It's called Ode to the Brown-eyed Starfish. It speaks for itself. Put your appendages together as a show of love for the band that's grand, the group that's the soup, ladies and gentlemen, gentlewomen and men, nonbinary entities around the system and everywhere, if you're hearing seeing watching reading, share your love with The Hot Fudge Sundaes as they share their latest hit song Ode to the Browneyed Starfish. Hit it, gang!

Yes yes yes.

Hearing seeing watching reading

Solid liquid or gas

Finger kiss lick or ream

Fingerkiss liquorcream

Thank you, gentlemen!

The browneyed starfish hears sees watches and reads you. It knows all. It knows everything about you. Your innermost secrets wants and desires. It humbles you each time it opens. Something comes out, solid liquid or gas, doesn't matter, it has your full attention. If you like having it fingered kissed licked or reamed, it knows that, too. Fingerkiss liquorcream. That's tonight's tee shirt. Wear it proudly if you love and appreciate your browneyed starfish.

I'm wearing mine.

Fingerkiss Liquorcream. I don’t know what it is, but I love it. He’s got 2 first names.

It does sound delicious, though, doesn’t it?

That’s because we use it on many of our signature cocktails here at the one-and-only doubly-, no, triply-hyphenated Alien Night Club. If your favorite cocktail calls for a can of really high-quality whipped cream that you squirt onto the top of the cocktail, look no further than Captain Blank’s Fingerkiss Liquorcream. It’s new, from Captain Blank’s. Plus, you can add it to just about anything. Like a White Russian. Or a Captain and Coke if you’re a fan of rootbeer floats.

Fingerkiss Liquorcream. Available wherever premium whipped creams are sold. Pick up yours now. You’ll be glad you did. Point to a bag today. Mm, noodle soup.

Okay, let's try to recover from that and move on to the next nugget I forgot from last night's show notes.

Except…

One time, when I was in 5th or 6th grade, I went to summer school. It was for fun, not because I was stupid and had failed and had to go do remedial math or reading or because I had a discipline problem or was a repeat offender truant. Which means I didn't go to class, to school. I always went to class. I never skipped school. I didn't like missing school because I hated getting behind and missing out on whatever was going on. Missing school and haffing to do makeup work on top of that day's work was too much work. It was, and is, still, to this day, better to go to class and stay on top of stuff.

Point being that summer school was for fun. And we had this one teacher who was like the coolest, hippest, most fun grandma you ever met. She looked like a grandma but she spoke and moved and acted like a person in their 20s. And she had us do this experiment where about 20 of us stood in a circle facing the person in front of us. So we were back to chest. Crotch to butt. And she had us get closer and closer and closer. Then she told us all to sit down slowly. And as we did so, the person behind us became a chair. And they were supported by the person behind them. And that person was supported by the person behind them. And on and on perpetually because we were in a circle.

So, what’s the world record for the most number of people to complete a sitting circle?

And then what if you did a naked version? What would happen then?

Who would volunteer for it?

Also, before I forget, we need to talk about Emily’s stepmom, aggressive women, and if moving away is insulting.

Additionally, what about being gay and being afraid of being judged? What about you judging yourself because you're lying to yourself? When you lie to someone, and they know you’re lying, and they maybe even mention it and you still keep on lying, that's really bad.

Remember Ichiban Lipstick for Men? Chandler didn't watch the tape. But when Joey asked him about it, he lied. And then he lied several more times. And Joey knew it. We all did.

It's hard to forgive someone who lies to you. Because the trust required for a genuine relationship has been fractured. And it needs time to heal. And it may never fully heal. The person you lied to will always be just a tiny bit en garde, like what you say before fencing with your rapier.

So imagine the distrust and hurt internally when we lie about who we are. A lot of people kill themselves over that.

It's better to come out, transition, wear dresses to work, et cetera than to take your own life.

What about pedos and rapists?

That's different. Those are deviant impulses that should be ignored or rationalized out of existence, like John Nash realizing he was schizo and ignoring the people he thought were real.

Because pedoism and rape violates another person against their will. A child is unable to render consent and the person being raped absofuckinlutely does not consent. Their extreme lack of consent is a necessary component in the act. For some rapers, it’s probably the thing they like most. Doing someone who doesn't want you doing them is messed up. Maybe the raper is hoping the victim will come to enjoy it.

Some rape victims report their body responded physically. Their vagina got wet or their penis got hard.

And that fucks with their head.

Understandably.

Some people have rape fantasies.

What if there were an app called Rape Me, like Curt Cobain sang about. And it was like Waze. It showed you when other rape enthusiasts were nearby. And by being a member of the app, you’re basically open to raping or being raped. And you can toggle your status on or off, Busy or Lets Rock! Like if you're at the bank. It’s hard to get raped at the bank. But if you're walking up and down dark alleys alone at night and you have your status set to Let's Rock!, someone nearby will get an alert on their phone that you're within range and ready.

At that point it's a matter of doing it. And the so-called victim won’t know for sure if their quote unquote attacker is a member or if this is an actual rape. Which heightens, and is an integral part of, their experience.

You know those clinics where people go to get their prostate milked and it's all done under the guise of medicine? It's basically a brothel. A handjob house. Pretending to be a licensed medical clinic.

What's it like to work there?

When you go there for quote unquote treatment, surely they ask you if you prefer a male or female clinician. Right?

What if you want to work there? If the idea of jerking people off all day and massaging their prostate or watching them ride a Sybian is appealing to you, do you walk in with your resume in a manilla envelope and say, Hi, are you guys hiring?

What do you put on your resume?

Your C.V.

Your Curriculum Vitae. That’s Latin, by the way.

Confident self starter. People person. Loves jerking people off. Huge medical fetish. Bachelor's degree in Communications. 3 years working the front desk at Massage Envy. Doesn’t mind the smell of semen. Or poop. Willing to keep my mouth shut and pretend this is a real medical clinic and that we're all not just a bunch of horndogs gaming the system.

How much does it cost to go there? Is it like a massage? $49? Or you can buy membership and accumulate points for each visit? Each time you go, they punch your card and after 9 handjobs the 10th one's free.

Your friends are all like, Hey, wanna come see a movie with us?

And you’re all like, Um, yeah, but I can't right now, I'm on my way to have a hot fitness chick in a sports bra, yoga pants, and latex gloves jerk me off under the pretense of medical necessity.

And then your friends are like, Oh, okay. Hey, how much does that cost, anyway?

And you go, 49 dollars. But I'm a platinum member so mine average out to 28.50 a pop. No pun intended.

How many of them will bail on the movie to come with you? To literally come with you.

Is there a couple's room?

Hey, honey. Look what I got us for our anniversary. A 45-minute Sybian ride.

Imagine if you were a federal agent involved in a sting operation and it was your job to go in there with a hidden recording device in order to get audio and video of what goes on in there.

Did you ever see Rush? Really good drug movie with Jennifer Jason Lee and Jason Patrick. They’re narcotics officers who go under cover. In order to gain the trust of a drug dealing kingpin, he makes them shoot up. Both of them. Jason had done it before but she hadn't. So the dealer insists she do it, too. If she doesn't, their cover will be blown. She must. So she does. That scene is crazy. She winds up horribly addicted. The next thing you know, she's at home on her hands and knees digging through the carpet hoping to find some drugs she can cook up in a spoon and put in a syringe so she can shoot it.

So imagine that you are the agent assigned to go into the handjob house and get the evidence.

But you wind up liking it.

A lot.

And you're in there every day. Twice a day. You go straight for Platinum.

And you love it so much that you can't imagine doing your job and shutting this place down and sending everyone in there to jail. Especially the nice clinician Emily who you're secretly desperately in love with.

Best handjob this side of the lingerie.

And pretty soon the 2 of you are each driving an hour and a half to go to H Squared together, which is a rival handjob house. It's not quite as nice as the place she works and where you met, Juiced, but it's the closest one. You're doing couples sessions far from where you live because you don't want to bump into anyone you know.

And then one day you guys go inside and you bump into your parents.

Awkward.

And your mom is the most excited. And not pretend excited like when Phoebe was going to move in with Gary, but actually excited.

Side note: he, Michael Rappaport, was in True Romance and he was awesome. If you haven't seen that, you should.

He was awesome in Louie, too, with Louie CK. Before Louie was castigated for all that jerking off bologna.

All of Balogna. The whole country.

Hey Louie!

And Louie goes, Yeah!

Go to Balogna and jerk everyone off?

Everyone?

Just the ones who want it.

And Louie goes, Okay! I'll see you guys in about 6 months!

Why? Do you think you can do it in 6 months?

No. It's because that's how long it'll take for you guys to get worried and come looking for me.

So you can jerk us off, too, right?

Of course. But not for free. You haff to pay me. I haff to know what I'm worth to you guys.

Also, if you go low carb, your libido goes out the window. It flies away and shouts, Eat some carbs. I'll be back.

And you're like, Fuck. I can't do that, I'm on a diet.

And your precious winged libido keeps on flying. It goes, Well, have fun feeling like shit.

If you work standing up and wish you could make a living sitting down, be careful what you wish for. I do and it's so hard to keep from getting fat. I'm trying and I'm failing. If I weren't trying, I'd be fucked.

Hey Louie?

Whaddya want? I'm kinda busy. I'm jerking off half of Bologna. It's a big place.

Okay, I don't want to keep you, I just want to say that what you’re doing, jerking off half of Bologna, is like snow on the beach: Weird but fuckin beautiful.

Also, make sure you're good at sex. I'm not talking to Louie, I'm talking to all of you guys. Louie, too, but mostly to you guys. Make sure when you lay with someone, you blow their mind a little. Keep some in reserve. But let it rip.

Here's one for all the fellow leg lovers: Sexy Centipede. A Marvel Villain. Villainess. With 100 legs. 50 pairs of perfect legs.

And she's wearing heels and stockings and garters. Black ones. 50 pairs of them. And she owns her own fantasy club. And it's all about her private life and relationships when she's not entertaining everyone as the sexy exotic centipede lady.

Who could pull that one off? ScarJo?

You guys ever have your heart stop? Literally. For about 6 or 7 seconds. You feel it not beating and you're like, What the fuck?

And then it starts again.

And you're like, What the fuck was that?

And your heart just shrugs and says, Meh. Whatever. Just felt like taking a break.

And you’re like, You can’t take a break. You stop, everything stops.

And your heart takes a deep breath, lets out a deep sigh and is like, Okay.

So let’s take a moment to say thank you to our hearts for doing such a good job. Good job, hearts! Thanks for being so good at beating.

It occurred to me that the parent-child relationship is a partnership, not a dictatorship. Because when your kid won't comply, your life goes to shit.

Okay, getting back to Emily’s stepmom, remember how she hit on Ross in London?

What was that about? She told him that he was absolutely delicious. She smacked his ass in front of her husband and said, Call me. She called him monkey. Monica, Rachel, and Chandler saw the whole thing.

And Emily was paranoid about and jealous of Rachel. When her own stepmum was grabbing her husband’s buttocks and actively trying to get Ross into bed.

She was an aggressive woman. For all you people who say you don’t care for a woman being aggressive, what the hell is wrong with you? Guys, there is nothing sexier than a woman letting you know that she wants you. Because then you have no doubts. You’re able to take her at her word. If you pursue a woman relentlessly and she eventually says yes, how do you know she actually wants to be with you? She might be with you because you were persistent. And she interprets that to mean that she can trust you, that you wont run around on her and cheat on her. Maybe she’s been cheated on before and that’s why she’s standoffish. But if she initiates the relationship, that’s a great sign that she genuinely likes you and that YOU can trust HER. Because women get hit on constantly. They always have opportunities to cheat. And if you can’t trust her, your life will be miserable. That constant fear and doubt will consume you from the inside out and it will destroy you.

Is moving away insulting? Do people get offended when you move away? Because by moving you’re saying that you don’t want to be there any longer, you don't want to live there. And your relationship with them is not sufficiently meaningful to get you to stay. You are not willing to stay for them. So they interpret your moving to mean that you don’t care about them. So then why should you be surprised when you don't hear from them anymore? You left. Why would you want to hear from them? That’s what they’re asking themselves. If you gave a shit, you would’ve stayed. The moral of the story is if you are someone who has moved around a lot, don’t be surprised when you realize that you don’t have any friends.

There was something else I wanted to say about Ross and Emily and Emily’s stepmum. But I forgot. This shall therefore be a test to see if it comes back to me, if I remember it. If it does and I do, I’ll write it down immediately.

Oh, blessed and sacred Muses, please invigorate my mind, body, and spirit with your eternal wisdom and share with me, and with us all, what was so behind the scenes subplot hilarious about Andrea Waltham trying to get it on with Ross. Thank you.

Overcoming Resistance may require the Costanza Doctrine.

Ergo whenever you want to do something and you experience that moment of excitement as the Universe says, Hey, look what we've got for you. It's yours if you want it!

But you immediately talk yourself out of it, you hear that little voice that says, Nah, that's dumb. It will never work. It's too hard, anyway. Besides, there's probably a bunch of people already doing it so forget it.

And so you forget it.

And so the muses take the idea and give it to someone else. And that person takes action on it and succeeds. The same success you would've had if you had taken action.

But you didn't.

So now you have no choice but to sit and watch that person enjoy their success built on your idea.

Again, ergo, the next time that happens, use the Costanza Doctrine. It is very simple:

Do the opposite of what you would normally do.

Because if sitting on your ass and doing nothing is wrong – and, clearly, it is – then, to quote Jerry Seinfeld, the opposite would haff to be right.

So here's what you do: Get a notebook or a piece of paper or a tablet or your laptop or your phone or whatever device feels right and make a few notes about how you might go about getting from point A to point Z in doing the idea you have. And then subdivide it into as many smaller parts as seems appropriate. That way, each step is small and easy to do. So all you need to do is complete 1 or 2 or 3 or 4 small steps each day or every few days or per week.

And eventually you'll get there.

And if you feel yourself getting overwhelmed and beginning to experience that icky feeling, like you're stupid or this is dumb or it'll never work, stop for a minute or 2, say to yourself, Don't think about that; the joy is in the DOING. And then turn your attention to the action plan you created, the notes you made that very first day. Reread them. From the beginning up to where you are now and what comes next. And something will pop. Something will open up. A new idea will come. Some new insight will come. You'll get another idea.

Like in Rocky when Rocky and Apollo and Mickey and Paulie and everyone are at the big press conference to announce the fight and one of the reporters asks Rocky about his nickname The Italian Stallion.

And Rocky says, I invented that about 6 years ago while I was eatin dinner.

See?

A 2-bit self-described ham n egger gets a shot at the title because Apollo was looking at all the possible guys he could face in his next fight and he came across The Italian Stallion and he knew it was perfect.

So imagine if Rocky had come up with the idea of calling himself The Italian Stallion and had then said, No, that's dumb, I'm a nobody and always will be so I don't need a cool fight name like that.

And then he just kept working for Gazzo collecting money from gamblers or he lived out the rest of his life working in the meathouse where Paulie works.

Or if Apollo had come across that name – The Italian Stallion – and initially liked it and saw the possibilities but had then said, No, that's dumb, he's a nobody and probably always will be, even with a cool fight name like that.

And he skipped over Rocky completely, fought someone else, won, had a few more fights, won all of them, and then decided to retire as the best there ever was, what today we usually call the Goat, which is an acronym that stands for Greatest Of All Time.

If either of those events had taken place, we wouldn't know and love Rocky et al at all.

And by the way, predictive text and autocomplete and spellcheck et cetera is to writing what calculators are to math and arithmetic.

Being a great writer used to involve knowing lots of words and how to spell them and knowing what order to put them in in order to tell a story.

Software now helps with a great deal of that.

I've had several songs come to me. But I lost them because I never did the work to learn an instrument and to learn the language that is music. If I had done that work, when those songs came to me, I would've known what to do. I'd have been able to write them down.

But I didn't so I couldn't.

I wish I had so I could’ve.

And I still can so maybe I still could.

I could've been a world-renowned singer songwriter for the past 15 years. Maybe. Who knows?

But I'm not.

Because I never did the work.

When that cool idea came, instead of jumping out of the shower – which is where I was – and doing my best to write it down, even if only by describing it in layman's terms by comparing it to certain parts of other songs or by humming it into a recording device, instead of doing any of that, I listened to the devil on my shoulder and told myself that I'm not a musician, that I'm not talented, that no matter what I do, I can never be a musician because it simply isn't in me, and it's as fixed and unmalleable as my height and body composition. Meaning that I had as much chance of being a musician as I did being a 7 foot tall professional basketball player. Or a 5 foot tall jockey riding the winning horse in the triple crown.

Both of which are impossible.

But that's all bullshit.

Because all that is required to become a musician is to grab an instrument and have fun messing around with it, figuring out how it works.

Connor MacGregor once stated that he has no talent; that it’s nothing more than hard work.

Ever heard the expression Child’s Mind? It simply means to approach something the way a child would. Ever seen a kid pick something up and play with it? They’re not thinking about how stupid they are and how they’ll never be able to figure it out and what an idiotic retard failure they are and always will be.

They’re playing.

It’s the very same reason why kids always seem so good with electronics. You pick up your new phone or tablet or whatever and you think, Fuck, this is so hard, I don’t know how this thing works. What do all these buttons do? How do I increase the brightness? Why didn’t my alarm go off this morning even though I absolutely 150fucking% set it last night moments before I went to sleep?

It’s because to you, it’s an impenetrable fortress of unknowable technology.

To them, it’s a cool new gadget. And figuring out how it works is fun. Pure joy.

To you it’s a hassle. You have laundry to do and you’re hungry and you just need to send this email but you fat-fingered the keyboard and the screen changed and now you don’t know where the email went and you’re pissed because you spent an hour on it and now you’re thinking you’re going to have to rewrite the stupid thing and it is not going to be as good. Certainly not as comprehensive. Because you have laundry to do and you’re hungry and you kind of need to poop

fuck you forgot to buy toilet paper today.

Fu uh uh uh uh uck.

You’re going to haff to wipe your ass with the bathroom rug like Will Ferrell did in Stepbrothers.

That movie scared the shit out of me, by the way.

Did it scare you?

It hit very close to home for me.

Yes, it was funny and I loved it. But I was a 30-something dude who was very much like those stunted losers who had failed to launch.

The sad truth is that boys are – and have already been – being left behind. If you dig into the metrics, study the data – trust the science – what you find is that boys are being left behind. And boys grow up to be men. Men who never learned how to be men. So you have husbands and fathers who rely on their partner for everything the way a child does.

And that trend is going to continue and become ever more pervasive over the next few decades. That’ll be fun.

Anyway….

We were talking about child’s mind.

You know what it is.

So the next time you want to do something, put yourself in that frame of mind when you begin. Just have fun. Click buttons. What does this do? What does that do? What happens if you do this? What happens if you combine these 2 things? Ever seen a 6 year old draw on a tablet with a stylus? They’re not fretting over the fact that they aren’t Picasso or Van Gogh or Michaelangelo or…

Who are the most revered female painters?

Why don’t we ever talk about them?

Everyone knows the 3 names I just mentioned.

Name 1 super-amazing, world-famous painter who was a woman.

I can’t even do it.

So here’s a list just to get the ball rolling:

Artemisia Gentileschi (1593–1656) ...
Élisabeth Vigée Le Brun (1755–1842) ...
Mary Cassatt (1844–1926) ...
Hannah Höch (1889–1978) ...
Frida Kahlo (1907–1954) ...
Louise Bourgeois (1911–2010) ...
Georgia O'Keeffe (1887–1986) ...
Yayoi Kusama (born 1929)

You think it’s hard for you to get off your ass and write a song or a novel or a nonfiction book or a poem or code an app or start working out or finally – FINALLY! – learn guitar?

Bullshit.

We have it so easy.

Try being a woman in the year 1600 and telling your family, I’m going to be a painter! Like Michelangelo Buonarroti of Caprese!

Michelangelo was born in Caprese, Italy in 1475. So he was 17 when Chris Columbus set out in 1492 to sail the ocean blue. Chris’s impending shenanigans and general fuckery notwithstanding, imagine being 17 and hearing about that? It’s like being 17 and watching someone you admire do something great. Never mind that that person you admire is human and thus subject to flaws and will go on to do some fucked up shit, all of which history will gloss over, by the way, in order to focus on the bigger picture even though that picture is also deeply flawed when taken at face value. But that’s what history does. It obscures shit. And pretty soon, people believe stuff that’s straight-up wrong.

Like the fact that a woman can’t be a painter.

Of course she can. Give her a paintbrush, paint, and a canvas and watch her paint. Boom: she’s painting. She is therefore a painter.

But that didn’t happen often back in the day. Like in 1600. Women were expected to be wives and mothers. And they lived under the rule of their fathers until they were married, after which they were expected to obey their husbands.

Unless their parents didn’t have the money to pay the marriage dowry. So they sent you to a convent to be a nun, which was cheaper. God’s boarding school was cheaper than marriage. It wasn’t exactly Hogwarts. You weren’t learning Defense Against the Dark Arts per se. But we might say that the underlying philosophies are similar.

Point being that some of these convents allowed women to do cool stuff. Like paint. And we therefore have people like Plautilla Nelli, Sofonisba Anguissola, and Levina Teerlinc. Sofonisba and Levina weren’t nuns. Sofonisba’s dad was a cool guy. Not a lot of money but had enough cool sense – cents? – to make sure she got a kick-ass education and to encourage his little girl’s interest in painting. And she wound up being asked to paint an official portrait of King Phillip the 2nd of Spain. That’s like when Barack Obama was president if he’d asked some promising female painter to come to the White House and paint a portrait of him while he’s pretending to stick his dick in the mouth of Andrew Jackson’s bust.

That would be hilarious.

That portrait Sofi did – we can call her Sofi, right? As a sign of affection? – was later attributed to some dude, by the way. And that douchebag – let’s assume he knew but never said anything – got the credit for her work. For 200 years. She was doing self-portraits long before Rembrandt made it cool, by the way. She’s the OG of selfies. We can all thank her for that much loved and much maligned art form. She also was the oldest of 7 kids. And 4 of her sisters were also painters. Imagine how much fun they all had together growing up, painting their asses off, probably chasing each other with paint brushes. The Keira Knightly movie writes itself.

Keira? You want to executive produce?

Oh, wait, Sofi was Italian. Should it be Italian actors?

We can call it Il Bacetto, which is the 2 kisses on the cheek Italians give to people they know well. Or is it Al Bacio, which means As good as a kiss.

Sofi also painted a portrait of her teacher, Bernardino Campi, painting a portrait of her, Sofi. And when the expert art historians and restoration specialists cleaned it not so long ago, they even found an arm reaching toward Bernardino’s brush, as if the student were accepting the mantle from the teacher. But she appears to have varnished over it. This painting within a painting is called a mise-en-abyme. She painted it in the 1550s, by the way. Over 500 years ago. That’s what an OG she is. She even painted Bernardino – Bernie? – round and lifelike while she painted his painting of her the more typical, idealized way that people liked to be portrayed in a portrait, sort of flat but also more regal and perhaps even angelic.

She seriously knew what she was doing.

She wasn’t allowed to study – and therefore to paint – nudes. Which was required to be able to paint religious or historical paintings. Gosh darn patriarchy.

Imagine if she had been allowed to do so?

Imagine if she’d sat nude before a mirror, bathed in sunlight, clothed only in fine silk and beautiful pearls, with a table beside her beset with wine and bread and cheese and fruit. And in the background, barely visible but definitely noticeable, 2 dudes, naked, asleep in bed, with the space between them empty save for one of her garments.

Imagine the outcry.

It would’ve been epic.

Here’s this chick, this total upstart who doesn’t belong in the world of painters – the world of MEN! barf! – and just because her parents had money – which, to be fair and accurate, they did – and knew the right people, SHE gets to paint? Not only that, she paints herself?

We must alert the town elders!

And not only that, she paints a man painting her?

Heresy!

And not only that – and this part is made up, for the movie, and just to push more buttons, because it’s so fun – and so unbelievably, downright comically easy to do – she then has the audacity, the nerve, the pomposity, the impudence, the insolence, the arrogance, the temerity to paint herself – gasp! – n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n……

nude.

Cue the shrieking and women fainting or pretending to faint. Drama queens. Manipulative drama queens. That’s what those women are.

It’s not, Hey, girl, good job! You nailed 2 guys at the same time? Good for you. Did you make them serve you dinner and do the dishes and clean up the kitchen before pleasuring you? Yeah, of course you did.

Instead it’s shock and awe.

Is there a more politically loaded term in the contemporary lexicon?

Point being that Sophi paints herself, buck naked.

By the way, Buck Naked was going to be the pornstar name of George Costanza. Remember that and have a good laugh next time you invoke the Costanza Doctrine and create something great we all needed even though we didn’t even know we needed it.

So Sofi paints herself naked in front of a mirror, wearing only a bit of fabric, something difficult to paint, such as shiny red silk or shiny red velvet, and jewelry. Because a naked woman wearing jewelry has always been hot. And she has lots of good wine and snacks on the table next to her, so she can enjoy sipping a nice glass of wine and eating freshly-baked bread and really good cheese, maybe a sweet, juicy pear. And there’s fine silverware, too, because she has taste. And because she knows it’s hard to paint shiny stuff – just like the silk or velvet – so when other painters see her painting they’re going to think, Fuck, I suck.

And compared to her, they’ll be right.

And they’ll also be thinking, Man, I wish I could’ve been one of those dudes passed out in the background. I wonder what she did to them. It’s late morning or even midday, judging by the sunlight Sofi has so eloquently and accurately and miraculously and mysteriously rendered. And she’s awake but those 2 guys are still passed out. You can tell by how they’re sprawled out across the bed, arms and legs akimbo. One dude is on his back and yes we can see his thing, because Sofi painted that, too, with the same amazeballs realism she used for the sunlight, silk, fruit, and pearls.

That’s the name of the recently discovered painting that was found in an attic somewhere in Whales: Sunlight Silk… Fruit. And Pearls.

And for centuries people have been arguing over the name and what it means. Because Sofi painted the title very clearly on the back. So it’s unmistakable. And she signed her name and put the date. And then she painted a little flower in her own unique style. And she lacquered over it so it wouldn’t fade. And she also clearly took great pains to paint each of the dudes to show that each one is wearing a pearl earring. We can’t see their faces. One is lying on his back and one on his stomach, showing his perfect, round, juicy, edible buttocks. But you can see his ear, too. And both dudes are clearly wearing a pearl earring.

Sofi’s meaning is thus unmistakable.

Which makes it as hilarious in meaning as it is mindblowing in mastery.

When you and your people sit down together to stream a show or a movie or an entire season, and you're at home in your house and you have unfettered access to the kitchen, the microwave popcorn, and the microwave, and you guys pop popcorn to enjoy during the movie, do you share?

Point being that I need to hold my own serving of popcorn. To properly enjoy the movie, in order for me to have the epic and cinematic moviegoing experience I seek, I must have a large bucket of popcorn in my lap. I do not want to be reaching over and trying to grab handfuls out of your bucket the whole time.

Precise people know how to use the microwave. They understand 5 seconds matters.

DSNY.

There’s a scene in Don’t Look Up when our erstwhile protagonists are walking in the big apple. They’ve just been sloughed off by the White House and are on their way to spill the beans to a bunch of masturbating byliners. The camera shows us a glimpse of some sanitation workers emptying typical residential silver Oscar The Grouch garbage can single use capitalism into the back of a trash truck. The 2 men are wearing work coveralls. On their backs are large, stenciled letters screaming what must be an expensive inside joke: DSNY.

Department of Sanitation New York.

Just like when Ross went out with the dirty girl and had to do it, as Joey ordered, in the mess. The slice of bologna Ross found is the dirty girl’s meat. The black sludge Ross finds on his fingers is him soiling himself by choosing to proceed. Or it’s a simulacrum of her poo he’s going to experience when he does her in the butt later.

Getting back to Don’t Look Up, however, D-S-N-Y.

Say it out loud.

DZNEE.

Is that a slice of bologna or a coinkidink?

Who can tell?

If you're an atheist, would you please help me better understand that belief or that point of view?

Because I've always felt that something is out there. Out there somewhere. Some invisible allpowerful interwoven thing that is quite large and vast, and it feels to me like some sort of superorganism. And we're a part of it. Us collectively, on Earth, our species. But also each of us individually. Each of us is a node. A drop of water in a vast ocean. A beautiful twinkling light on a string of Christmas lights on the seemingly bioluminescent roof of the one and only lampooner himself, Clark W. Griswold, Jr.

I've been studying paranormal phenomena my whole life. Have experienced a fair amount of it directly. So I've been inclined to think, after much consideration, skepticism, and scrutiny, that a great deal of it is real. Not all of it, most likely. There are a lot of charlatans out there. But I think the X Files did a good job of presenting the situation. Crazy shit happened. Sometimes Fox saw it, sometimes he didn't.

That is us. Each one of us is Fox Mulder.

Crazy shit is happening all around us. All the time. Probably not every day but a lot. And it's mostly a matter of 2 things: 1, did we see it? And 2, how did we choose to interpret it?

Here's a little test to help you see where you are:

If you're outside, perhaps in your car at a red light, or you're out for a run, or you're sitting on a bench somewhere, whether it be in New York, maybe even in Central Park, or on a beach in California or anywhere in between and it's a lovely day. Or maybe it's a shitty day. Maybe you're not sitting on a beach jerking yourself off over how much Vitamin D you're getting. Maybe you're walking out of the building that until a few minutes ago you used to work in. And you step in dog shit. Because you were carrying a box of your office stuff just like in a movie and you didn't see the fresh, steaming pile of dog crap until it was too late. And you almost slipped and fell. And you look down and it's all over your shoe. And as you stand there staring at the brown and orange dog poop, wondering what that inconsiderate motherfucker feeds their dog, a pigeon shits on your shoulder. There's a distinct tapping sound as it lands on you. And you're fairly certain you felt a cool, wet sensation on your cheek so you might have disgusting white bird shit on your face and not even know it.

Point being that it is, I think you would agree, a shitty day.

Especially if you have goddamn fucking Crohn's or IBD and are in the middle of a flare-up. In which case every day is a shitty day.

We've got millions of young people with god-forsaken infections in their intestines. They can't leave the house because they don't know when they'll need to shit, and they won't be able to control it when they do. So they run around in diapers.

What the fuck is happening to our planet and our environment and our food supply and our digestive systems? Because it seems like things are getting worse. As science and chemistry and pharmacology and medicine and microbiology evolve, we get new and amazing, ever more successful treatments and therapies and protocols. And they treat or cure millions of people.

Lives are saved. Without question.

So why does it seem like there are always new illnesses and diseases?

Have the illnesses and diseases always been around and it's only now that most of us are learning about them?

Or are they new?

Because they are environmental.

As our biosphere goes, so goes our microbiome.

And if our microbiome goes, we go.

If our biosphere goes, we also go.

So you see, it's like that superorganism. All of us and the planet and everything we see are interconnected psychospiritually or even physically.

So when you're outside, as described in any of the scenarios we discussed a moment ago, and a ladybug lands on your shoulder, what do you do?

How do you react?

What do you do next?

This has already happened to me so I already know what my reaction is.

But I'm not going to tell you because this isn't about me; it's about you.

How do you interpret that ladybug?

Is it a sign from God or the angels or a loved one or the Universe?

A sign trying to tell you that you are not alone. That you are loved.

Or is it a disgusting insect and you're horrified and disgusted by it no matter what other people say about how cute they are? Because you saw a gigantic one on that show Bug Hunt and they're fucking terrifying. And the only reason they don't eat people is because they're too small.

Point being

– oh my God stop saying point being!!! –

Okay, sorry, I'll try.

Did you guys ever watch Dream On on HBO?

That's me.

Anyway, do you say, Oh, hello cute little ladybug.

And you smile and feel happy and calm. And you sit and watch the little ladybug crawl around on you.

And…

…it's wonderful.

And you know – again – that things are as they should be and come what may it's going to be okay. You'll get through it. And you are not alone. Not really. And you never were. And you see that now. You understand. And you feel lighter. And you know things are going to come up and this feeling won't last. But you feel it right now. And whatever happens, you're one step closer.

The little ladybug is so cute.

And it's wonderful.

Or do you flick the ladybug off you with a shudder?

Get that disgusting thing off me! I saw it on Bug Hunt with Chris Pratt. Those things are nasty! And the only reason they don't go around eating people is because they're too small.

And the atheists are all, Hey, dickface, I can still marvel at ladybugs without deluding myself that there are telekinetic superorganisms out there trying to get my attention, and your superstitious provincialism would be endearing if it weren't so easily manipulated and weaponized.

Perhaps.

The point is that there are many things similar to the ladybug on your shoulder.

When I see rays of sunlight shining through the clouds, I see something bigger and older and wiser. And it makes me happy.

Even if it is mere programming and the sappy triggering of my easily-weaponized provincialism.

Another thing, I can look at a sunset and see God while also realizing that it's not a good idea to use God as a justification for doing fucked up shit to other people. Often other nations.

Because make no mistake: Karma is savage.

Yes, it's a cat purring in your lap because it loves you and stretching like a G D acrobat.

It's also entire generations of people who hate you because of where you're from even though they don't know you and have never met you. And if the two of you wound up sitting next to each other on a plane, you'd enjoy a friendly chat.

Taylor, what's your cat's name? The one purring in your lap on the weekend. Let's make a show called Acrobat Cat and your kitty will be the star.

Now, getting back to the ladybug on your shoulder that came to say Hi, what if it's a fly that lands on you instead of a ladybug?

You shoo it away, right?

What if it's a bee? Or a wasp?

You freak out and run like hell, right? Because that bee could sting you. It won't. But it could if you make it defensive by trying to kill it.

But every time a bee comes near me I try to stay calm and friendly and I've never had a problem.

But what if it's a mosquito trying to suck my blood? To literally feed off of me? Then I go after her with murderous intent.

It's much worse than the squirrel. The squirrel was already dead. My sole objective is to kill the mosquito before it can ingest my blood.

Point being that things are often contextual or relative. Not always but sometimes. And sometimes we believe 2 incompatible things.

Is this cognitive dissonance?

Taylor, what if Acrobat Cat is a travel show? You and your cat travel the world, visiting a different city each week. In each city, you do a little sightseeing with a guide, sample some local cuisine, and then your cat does its acrobat performance. We string 2 parallel cables between really tall buildings, across the grand canyon, over Niagara Falls, and similar locations in L.A., New York, Paris, London, Rome, Tel Aviv, Dubai, Beijing, Tokyo, Sydney. And everyone watches you explore, have fun, make everyone laugh, eat yummy and weird food, and then your cat walks across the cables. And it cuts back and forth as the cables are being rigged, so it feels like a live TV event, like That's Incredible. And then after your cat, the acrobat, completes the walk, you do a small concert. Or a big concert. It's up to you. But the highlight, and hence the name, is Acrobat Cat. And don't worry, walking across the cables will be easy. For a cat, having 2 cables is basically a bridge. It won't be a problem at all. And then we celebrate the walk and relieve the tension with you singing. People will love it.

What does badass mean? What is its etymology? How did the notion of a donkey who’s being a lazy dick get conflated with a studly person who does killer shit? Like when Phoebe wrote that note for Ross to help him protect his sandwich. After everyone read it – we didn’t get to, more on that in a second – they commented and Monica said, Phoebe, you are a badass.

Someone who’s tough. And could probably kick your ass. And for those of you who are the one who would kick ass in a fight, because you do jiu jitsu or box or whatever, think about who you consider to be a badass.

I’d like to see a poll of everyone on Earth in order to see who we all collectively consider to be the biggest badass of all time, past or present.

Like… legit badass.

I’m not much of a fighter myself. I’ve trained some. A year of kenpo, a semester of aikido, a couple years of kickboxing. That’s it. Nothing impressive but more than nothing. I’m kinda sloppy and wild in my style. But I’m big. Bigger guys move differently because of physics. If you doubt me, ask a physicist. Or look up what would happen if we built actual Jaegers from Pacific Rim. Those things are SO big and SOOOOO heavy, each footprint would destroy the ground.

Anyway.

I’m not one for formality. I think it’s kinda fuckin stupid. I wanna hear Jack Nicholson, Christian Slater, and Matt Damon impersonating Christian Slater doing his best Jack Nicholson. And I want them to say, I think it’s kinda fuckin stupid.

Let’s put the 3 of them together. How about the 3 of them travel all around the world together. And the reason these 3 obvious chums will be traveling the world together is so that they can visit specific various amusement parks. And you can probably guess why you’re going to amusement parks, fellas. It’s because you’re going to be riding roller coasters together. The 3 of you together. Riding roller coasters of all sorts. And we’re going to crowdsource the coasters you guys are going to ride. Your 2 tasks while at the park are thus: ride coasters and eat food. Eating food is the other component to this. Pizza, churros, burgers and fries, ice cream, warm pretzels, bags of popcorn, cotton candy if you want some. We’re talking the works. Because that’s a big, big part of the joy of amusement parks: the food. The parks know this. It’s why the food is so overpriced. $15 for a tiny little veggie burger at Pecos Bill’s? Damn. And then they pulled the endless guac from the buffet. Shifted it to little black plastic to-go cups with a plastic lid.

So, anyway, that’s the show. It’s you guys riding a rollercoaster and walking around eating yummy free food and shooting the shit and talking trash and discussing roller coasters or women or climate change or movies or directors or whiskey or great female painters or whatever you want.

And as a gimmick, because we gotta have a gimmick, because you always gotta have a gimmick, here’s our gimmick: we find a way to say gimmick as many times as possible every episode. Just kidding. Unless you really want to. It would be funny. But no, the real gimmick is that every week you guys invite a guest. There’s 3 of you, right? Well, coasters are usually ridden in pairs. So 4 people makes more sense.

So every week, you guys are going to do the following. You’re going to find out on Twitter what park people want you to visit and what coaster is at that park that is the one they want you to ride. These are probably going to be the best coasters in the world, by the way. So you are some lucky emm effers. You get to get paid to travel around riding roller coasters and talkin shit.

After you find out where you’re going, you go there. We get some of that, too, for flavor. When you get to the park, you have a choice: you can either ride the coaster immediately and get it over with and then spend the rest of the day strolling through the park and eating and relaxing and riding anything else you’d like to ride, too, by the way.

Or you can put it off for a bit. You can eat and prepare. Say you haff to ride a crazy coaster that week. Like one of the brand new insanely fast ones in China, for example. Or Japan. And you look it up on YouTube and you almost shit your pants when you see it. And when you get there and lay eyes on it, you really almost do shit your pants. Because that thing is huge. It goes 128 miles per hour. It can make you pull 3 G’s at the bottom of the first hill. And when it first opened, people kept passing out on it. Random everyday people were literally losing consciousness. On a rollercoaster. That’s not supposed to happen. You’re supposed to have a good time. It’s supposed to be fun. You’re not supposed to black out. So the engineers and ride experts turned it down. They toned it down. They decreased the speed of the train and made sure people weren’t passing out any more. But today, you emm effers are going to ride it the way it was meant to be ridden: Full Tilt. No brakes. No magnetic deceleration of any kind throughout the course of the ride. Only at the end when you obviously need them to stop once the ride is over.

The point is that they’ve been testing it at top speed for the last 3 days and they’re getting average speeds of between 145 and 151 miles per hour. So it’s considerably faster than normal. No one’s ridden it yet. They’ve just been using sandbag dummies with sensors on them. But you 3 are the sandbag dummies now. Your job is to test the coaster. That is why you are actually here. It is your job to ride the ride, experience it for yourself, and then make a recommendation to the International Rollercoaster Safety Review Board if there is such a thing as to whether or not this particular ride is safe for the general public.

You are the Sandbag Dummies.

This week, on Sandbag Dummies….

Jack: Hello, I’m Jack, that’s Matthew, and that’s Christian and we are the Sandbag Dummies. Matthew, would you be so kind as to tell us where we are going for this week’s show?

Matt: Jersey.

Jack: Jersey? Jesus Christ, I could ride my bike there. Why? What’s there? What are we riding now? A goddamn rhinoceros?

Christian: I know: Kingda Ka.

Jack: What the fuck is Kingda Ka?

Matt (impersonating Jack PERFECTLY): What the fuck is Kingda Ka?

Jack (eyebrows up to the fucking sun): Are we going to be doing that every week, Matthew?

Matt impersonates Jack again and spits on himself laughing so hard, Are we going to be doing that every week, Matthew?

Christian impersonates Jack, also perfectly, Are we going to be doing that every week, Matthew?

Matt: Yes, we are.

Jack to camera: You guys see what I have to put up with? Wonderful. Christian, will you please tell us more about Kingda bloody Ka?

Christian: I’d be delighted. It’s fast and it’s awesome. It’s one of the best coasters on Earth.

Matt: It’s that good? Wow.

Jack: So do you 2 clowns want to ride Kingda bloody Ka first and then eat or do you want to spend a couple hours shoving churros up your asses and then we ride it? And who are we bringing with us?

Matt and Christian: Churros first, definitely churros first.

Christian: And today, folks, our special guest, our honorary Sandbag Dummy is none other than…Madonna.

Jack: Oh Jesus H. Christ.

Matt to camera: This week’s episode of Sandbag Dummies is brought to you by…Jesus H. Christ popsicles. Now you can have your very own Jesus Christ on a popsicle stick. Right there in your very hand. See? I’ve got mine. Here I am holding it up in a dramatic fashion so I can really show it to you, so that the camera really gets a good shot of it. And of me holding it, smiling and looking happy, pretending I like this product and that I actually use it. That I understand what it is and that it’s a tangible object. You can hold it, you can feel it, you can even eat it. That’s the very point of it. To be enjoyed by eating it. By enjoying its subtle, sweet flavor. They’re available in Strawberry Jolly Rancher, Green Jolly Rancher, Watermelon Jolly Rancher, and Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans Booger flavor. And at Jesus H. Christ popsicles, they take your refreshment seriously. That’s why they personally guarantee that exactly 25% of the popsicles in every box of Jesus H. Christ popsicles will be that disgusting booger flavor. We asked J.K. Rowling if we could use that flavor and she never got back to us so we decided to use it. Just kidding, she said it was fine. But really, she didn’t actually say that. We’re not sure if she even knows. Or what’s going to happen if she finds out. We hope she’ll love it. We hope that maybe she’ll even come on the show so she can be an honorary Sandbag Dummy and she can ride a rollercoaster with us and eat pizza and stick churros places. And then we can all enjoy a delicious Jesus H. Christ popsicle. And one out of the 4 of us will definitely get a booger popsicle. Now, look, I’m a huge Harry Potter fan. I’ve read all the books. I read the whole series twice, actually. I have all the books in hardcover. Signed, hardcover, by the way. I own all the movies and I’ve seen them many times. We were talking about this earlier and Jack mentioned that his favorite book is Goblet. And I said I agree, even though a close second is book 1, Philosopher’s Stone. In the U.S. it’s Sorcerer’s Stone but Jo wrote it to be Philosopher's Stone. So as far as I’m concerned, that’s the real title. That’s what we should call it. So that’s how I refer to it. Point being – there, I said it, too – that it would be so cool – and very meta, that’s what people are saying these days – to have her come on here and eat a delicious popsicle that’s flavored after something she invented in one of her books. Now, I’ve eaten Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans. I’ve had an entire box of them. They’re Jelly Bellies. That’s a particular type of jelly bean by a particular jelly bean company. And they’re very good. They’re tiny, unlike the jelly beans made by other companies like Brach’s. Those are good, too, but they’re different. You almost shouldn’t even compare them because they’re so different. It’s like a Ferrari versus a Lamborghini. Sure, they’re both exotic Italian supercars or hypercars, and at their most fundamental level they’re both cars. They can get you from point A to point B. And you’ll have a lot of fun getting there. But they’re also distinctly different. I have owned Ferraris and I have owned Lamborghinis. And I loved them both. Each one had a couple little things here and there that I wasn’t sure about but overall they were amazing. Absolutely amazing feats of engineering. And when you got in one, it changed you. The best way I can think of to describe it is that it makes you horny. It makes you horny for the car. For the vehicle itself. And it’s like you, um, you want to have, um, make…um, you want to make love to it. You want to have sex with it. And you don’t do that by having sex in the car or masturbating in the car or doing anything like that.

Jack: Matthew, please, this is supposed to be a family show. That’s where the big bucks are. I would expect you to know that.

Matt: You’re right, you’re right I know. But I just need to explain to you and to everyone that when you get into a Ferrari or a Lamborghini, or any other automobile of a similar caliber, and there are too many to name, but when you get in one, something happens to you. You become one with it, You want to merge with it. To interface with it. To become one with it. And the only way to do that is to drive it. And when you get out on the road or better yet out on the track, and you open it up, it’s like nothing else. It’s a full sensory experience that you experience fully with all your senses.

Jack: With all your senses, not just a couple of them?

Matt: No, Jack, I’m talking about all of them. I’m talking about touch, feel, smell, sound, sight, touch, I already said touch. I’m talking about the feel of the car underneath you and all around you. The way it cradles you. The way it supports you. The sound it makes when you accelerate, when you ask it for more. It’s not just a car anymore. It’s a living thing. It’s like an animal or a creature of some kind. It’s not a dragon or a lion or a cheetah or a gazelle or anything like that. It is but it isn’t. Because it’s its own thing. And it’s alive. And when you step on the gas, that’s like having your foot in the stirrup and that movement tells the beast to go. And the brake tells it to slow down. And the wheel is the reins. And the paddles are their own thing that don’t seem to have an analog on a horse. I know I’ve gone off on a tangent here and the tangent alarm is probably going to go off any second now. But for everyone out there who thinks a Ferrari or a Lamborghini is stupid and that it’s a waste of money and people who can afford them should give money to charity, we do. Okay? We do. We give a lot of money to charity. Don’t we, guys?

Christian and Jack: Millions. And millions.

Jack: Giving away money sometimes feels like a full-time job. Some days it is literally the only thing I do. I wake up at the buttcrack of dawn, I drink a cup of coffee, I prepare a 2nd cup of coffee, I go to my office and I sit down in my nice comfortable ridiculously overpriced pseudo-ergonomic office chair and I take meetings with lawyers all fuckin day. And the only thing we talk about is giving money to charity. Which ones and how much. And can we trust them? Are they real? Are they legitimate charities or are they just more 5013C bullshit? Because I don’t want to give my money to those people. Now, sometimes people tell me that I shouldn’t discriminate like that. And that if someone goes to all the trouble of setting up a 5013C, they’re a legitimate charity no matter what they do. Even if they say they’re dedicated to making sure something stupid has enough money to allow it to happen. Like full-grown adults receiving funds every month from the federal government under the auspices of suffering from acute mental illness. Which would be fine if the acute mental illness weren’t going off 6 days a week to get half naked in the park and do pony play with their fellow pony play aficionado friends. And doing so while high as fuckin kites on the weed they bought at the dispensary also using a federal stipend. I’m sorry if your parents never cared for your poetry or if your college professor led you astray by convincing you to switch from Software Engineering to Liberal Arts. Life can really suck sometimes but that doesn’t mean you get to spend all day at the fuckin park fuckin naked prancing around like a fuckin horse with a bunch of your fetishized equestrienne so-called friends. The next time you need to move, call one of them and see if they’re willing to come over and help you load the truck. I’m guessing they’re all gonna be busy. Probably dancing around naked in a park dressed like a fuckin horse. They sure as hell are not going to come and help you move. Because you know what they say: friends help you move but real friends help you move bodies. Believe me, I would know. Now, where were we? Matthew, are you done jerking yourself off over Ferraris and Lamborghinis? Can we simply say that they are both nice but also different and that if I blindfolded you and had you sit in one of the cars, you'd be able to guess which one you were sitting in?

Matt: Yes, yes, Jack, that’s brilliant, you’re right. We should definitely do that.

Christian: The blind supercar taste test or the pony play?

Jack: Not the goddamn pony play, Christian.

Matt and Christian: Not the goddamn pony play, Christian.

Laughter.

Matt: The point is that Ferraris and Lamborghinis are different. Even if you guys think I’m a stupid shill for things that don’t exist. These things exist. Supercars and jelly beans. Supercar Blondie, do you wanna expand your channel to also include the eating of delicious gourmet jelly beans while you review the latest and greatest, most beautiful, sexy, and expensive cars?

Supercar Blondie: Yes, I would. I simply adore Harry Potter and I, too, have eaten many booger-flavored Jelly Bellies and they really are disgusting. They really and truly are. So eating a gigantic one in the form of an entire popsicle is going to be mad!

Matt: Jesus H. Christ popsicles. Pick up a few boxes today.

Jack: Can we get back to the fuckin rollercoaster now?

Matt and Christian, Can we get back to the fuckin rollercoaster now?

Jack: I’m going to beat you two to death with churros, I swear to Christ. Madonna! Where the hell is Madonna?

Enter Madonna. The one and only Madonna.

Jack: Ms. Ciccone, would you mind giving us your 2 cents on the matter?

Madonna: What matter is that, Jack?

Jack: Kingda bloody Ka. It goes 151 miles per hour. One mile per hour for every percent proof in the 151 I’m ready to stick up my own ass so I can have the world’s greatest enema just so we can get this over with so we can eat a slice of pizza or 10. I’m fuckin starving.

Madonna: I’ll take a 151 enema, too.

They high-5.

Jack: Now, about the seating arrangements, who is going to sit where? I propose that Madonna sit with me in the 2nd row behind you guys. Otherwise if we sit in the front and you sit behind us, you’ll be screaming in my ear throughout the duration of the goddamn ride. And I don’t want to listen to that. I want to try and enjoy myself. If we’re going to be going 151 fuckin miles per hour, I’m going to have my shades on lest a junebug or a giant ladybug hit me in the face and I’m going to fuckin enjoy myself.

Madonna: I wanna sit in the front. But Jack’s right. If you guys sit behind us, I’ll be listening to you scream the whole time. And that will be really annoying.

Christian: No problem. You two sit up front and Matt and I’ll sit in the back. All the way back. At the very end. It feels faster back there anyway.

Jack: 151 isn’t fast enough?

Christian: 151 is plenty fast. But we’ll sit in the back the first time. Then we’ll switch. We’ll sit up front and you guys sit in the back. And then we’ll compare notes and see who thought it felt faster sitting in the back.

Jack: So we’re gonna ride it twice?

Christian: That’s correct. Yes.

Jack to camera: Oh, goodie, we’re gonna ride it twice.

Actually, you guys are going to have to ride it more than that. Everyone has to sit with everyone else. So for example, Madonna has to sit next to each of you at least 1 time. So you haff to ride it at least 3 times. If you want to ride it more to see if the front or back is faster, be my guest. The more the better, if you ask me.

Jack: Nobody fuckin asked you. Now we’ve got the guy on the fuckin space ship telling us what to do?

Matt: Well, it was his idea.

Jack: What, like nobody ever thought of riding a fuckin rollercoaster before? How do you think the goddamn things came into existence? They weren’t just invented this past week, were they? And if you tell me they were, it means we actually are in a goddamn simulation and I’m gonna kick Elon in the nuts so hard the next time I see him for putting all that simulation theory shit out there that I break my goddamn foot. And then I’m gonna hire the sleaziest fuckin lawyer I can find to sue him and I’m gonna get a judge to grant me a court order to have Elon put a Neurolink in my head immediately because surely that’s the only goddamn way to have even half a fuckin chance of getting out of this goddamn simulation! Now, let’s ride this fuckin thing. Madonna, you’re up front with me. You two jokers are in the back. Then we switch. Let’s get this over with, I want my fuckin pizza.

Matt, Christian, Madonna, I want my fuckin pizza.

And now a word from our sponsor: Bear Claw Coffee. Really tasty coffee served in extra-large mugs for people with big hands. Or for people with regular hands. You can drink it, too. Bearclaw Coffee, point to a bag today.

Feel free to go pee at this point if you need to. You won’t miss anything, I promise.

And then we cut back to Jack Nicholson and Madonna getting onto a rollercoaster together and pulling their restraint bar down so they don’t fly out.

Just kidding. We’ll wait until you finish going pee.

In the meantime, Jack, Christian, Matthew, and Madonna all just stand around, waiting for the production team to finish setting up the cameras and whatnot. So the four of them stand there, looking at their phones and stuff, shootin the shit and not really doing anything. Just chatting about the ride or about the pizza, what kinds they have other than cheese, and whether or not the churros are fresh. And Madonna goes, Who cares? Getting paid to walk around an amusement park all day, riding roller coasters and eating free food? That’s awesome.

Eventually, they’re told to board.

Madonna and Jack sitting there in their seats, strapped in and everything, talking about their careers, waiting for the ride to start. And Jack goes, I can’t believe I’m riding a roller coaster with Madonna.

Madonna: Is that a bad thing?

Jack: No, it’s not a bad thing. But how did I go from 5 Easy Pieces to this?

Madonna: I’d say it’s only because of great work like 5 Easy Pieces that you’re able to do stuff like this. You were chosen because we all love you. Not because you’re on the backside of your career and this is all you can get.

Jack: That’s a good point.

Madonna: Of course it is, I said it.

Jack: You certainly did.

And then Matt yells from the back of the ride: Hey, is your guys’s lap bar secure? Because mine won’t close all the way. Wait a second, somebody–

And then the ride starts with a bit of a jerk as the brakes release and the cars slowly begin to roll.

Jack: Wait, what did he say?

Madonna: Something about his safety harness being loose.

Jack: Do you think he’s going to fall out?

Madonna: I don’t know, I hope not.

Jack: Should we do something?

Madonna: What the hell can we do? We’re passengers now, just like him. This thing is moving. Gravity has us now.

Jack: Gravity has us now? Are you serious? We’re about to do 151 miles per hour, of course gravity has us now.

Madonna: We’re going to go a lot faster than that.

Jack: How do you know?

Madonna: Because. That was how fast it went with the sandbag dummies. We are the actual dummies. They’re going to crank it up even more just to make all of this even more dramatic. If we get through this first drop and everyone is still conscious and not throwing up all over the place, I bet you a million dollars that they’ll open this thing wider than Sharon Stone’s legs in Basic Instinct.

Jack: You’re on.

And then they shake on it. They literally shake on it just before they go over the edge of the first drop.

Madonna: You think Matt’s gonna fall out?

They put their arms in the air and Jack begins to shout as they are literally about to drop.

Jack: He fuckin deserves it for making me lose 20 million bucks on that magic internet money ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

That’s our show!

Thank you for coming! You’ve been a delight.

See you next time!

Remember to tip your waitress!