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Show 13! Show 13? Is it Show 13? It's certainly not Show 12. Show 12 is a pornographic musical nakedness extravaganza. So probably a lot of you didn't see it. Because we sorta had to censor it. Not censor, exactly, but it wasn't exactly family viewing so we put it behind a paywall.
We should probably burn it. Bleach Bit it. Put it wherever the Dunkacino spot went.
It was just an hour of me slowly masturbating in the shower.
Just kidding, it wasn't that.
Or was it?
Show 13! Lucky number 13. Did you know that in some parts of the galaxy, 13 is not a lucky or unlucky number? It hasn't had any human superstition smeared all over it like stink on shit. It's simply a number. A prime number. Which means it is divisible only by 1 and itself. And in some parts of the galaxy stroke Universe, it's not even that.
Did you guys enjoy yesterday's show? Or should I say the previous day's show? Given that the real yesterday is hidden.
The Real Yesterday. That’s a good title for a novel or a short story. What actually happened yesterday? Nobody really knows. Because we're all in a simulation. Watching Queen Maya battle with her desire for revenge juxtaposed against her desire to get on Chris Hemsworth. And what actually happened is what happened outside the simulation.
Or is it?
If you’re walking and you come upon an anthill, those ants are unaware of you. But is the greater reality outside of their nest the actual reality? Or is their reality equally valid? Which would mean that, likewise, our reality inside the simulation is equally valid.
No, it's not! No, it’s not! they're all screaming.
Maybe it is. Is perception reality?
What about the circus elephant tied up with a thin piece of rope? It could break the rope or pull the stake out of the ground easily. But it believes that it can't. Because when it was a baby, it was tied up with a chain. And no matter how hard it pulled against that chain, that poor elephant couldn't escape. It couldn't get away. It couldn't flee and go back to the wild and find its family and live happily ever after where it belonged.
So it gave up. It stopped trying. And once its keepers saw that, they swapped the chain for a rope. A rope the elephant could snap like a piece of licorice. Like the fuzzy handcuffs Chandler found in the closet that were definitely not Phoebe’s.
Thus, for that elephant, perception is reality.
And maybe that's how it is for all of us.
Did you guys watch The Good Place? We need Chidi to provide greater context via a lesson in philosophy.
Anyway, The Real Yesterday, lucky number 13.
No, wait, today is 13.
Or is it?
They're all screaming Yes, it is! No, wait, no, it's not. I don't know what the truth is, I just know you're wrong! Because you're part of the patriarchy. You cis male piece of shit!
Gee, thanks. That seems awfully judgemental, not accepting a person who was BORN a certain way.
Doesn’t it?
Isn’t that a cognitive dissonance?
You run around preaching and teaching tolerance but then when it comes to someone on the other side, you’re intolerant. You make a snap judgment and presume them to be ignorant enemy assholes who should give you all their money and their house and their car and any other profits, assets, or monies they may have…and then kill themselves. Or find the nearest Black Panther whom they will beg to let them lick their boots.
Anyway…
Welcome to the Alien Night Club. I am your host, Captain Blank.
Here’s a series that you can stream after watching this week’s episode of Queen Maya on To Die of Happiness: it’s a modern re-telling of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson. For anyone not familiar, that story is about a scientist who does experiments in his lab and sort of accidentally but pretty much totally deliberately turns himself into a psycho. Like Christian Bale in American Psycho. Minus the chainsaw. Or perhaps more like the Hulk. Because part of the time he’s a nice, normal guy. And part of the time he’s the monster: Hyde.
Or maybe it’s Jekyll. I forget which is the normal guy and which is the psycho. Pretty sure Jekyll is the normal guy and Hyde is the psycho.
Doesn’t matter.
Anyway, it was written in the late 1800s by Robert Louis Stevenson at a time when chemistry was coming into its own during the Industrial Revolution and people thought you could do all kinds of stuff with potions and science stuff, including surgery, which is how we got Frankenstein, by the way, which was written by a woman named Mary Shelley. She and her friends all went away to a fabulous Airbnb for the weekend. Somewhere in England. But right after they got there, a crazy thunderstorm rolled in, trapping them all inside. So they decided to play a game in which each of them would go off and spend a few hours writing a short story. And then that night, they would all gather ’round the fire and read their stories. And the story Mary came up with was Frankenstein. Frickin Frankenstein.
Legend.
Anyway…
In this reimagining, we have a young woman who is a chemist stroke activist by day and a cum-guzzling orgy slut whore by night.
And through watching her be tossed about on the stormy waves of that admittedly effed-up juxtaposition, we all learn something.
Think about it: during the day, she goes to work in a lab. Her lab. In her startup. It’s a DNA testing company like 23andMe except they test sex and gender. She is highly respected, she makes tons of money, more than all of the stupid cis males who work there combined. She flits about in her white lab coat and pink pussy hat, quietly organizing protests and flash mobs on her phone while she waits for the compounds to titrate or the centrifuge to finish centrifuging.
And then at night she transforms into the cum-guzzling orgy slut whore.
I realize that sounds offensive, but that’s how or what she identifies as. She goes to orgies, has sex with lots of people for money, with whom she negotiates beforehand – and believe me, she drives a HARD bargain – and she loves swallowing semen.
You guys think Kristen Bell would be interested in that role?
I don’t know if she and Maya are friends but imagine if their shows were taping in sister studios right next to each other, so the sets are close together, so Maya and Kristen are able to hang out a lot and talk while they wait to be called to set. And Maya is wearing a space suit and lots of gold befitting a queen and Kristen is wearing her lab coat and pussy hat…or…whatever you wear at an orgy. Probably not much. Probably a lot of prosthetic semen. Some really nice earrings. Really great eye makeup. Smudged mascara. Crunchy hair, because when semen dries it gets crunchy and hard.
Which show do you think would have better ratings? More streams? More minutes?
Unless Chris and Maya are boffing every episode. Or Maya, Queen Maya, is off boffing some Martian, exacting revenge, while Chris is back at her place baking brownies, patiently waiting for his queen to work out her karmic journey and come back to him when she’s ready to settle down.
Chris, how do you feel about full frontal? Arnold did it in Terminator. He got paid seventy-five grand, by the way, from what I heard. There was lots of that — full frontal — in Game of Thrones. The Boys, too. Maybe we call the prop master or costume department people from the Vacation remake and get our hands on that prosthesis you had to wear. I heard you were a tad uncomfortable with the whole thing. Which is understandable. But believe me, it played great. It was very funny. It was very, very funny. That and the hot springs with the ear, and the rat, were probably the best parts of the movie. And it had a lot of great moments. Like the car screaming in Japanese. Was that real Japanese or just gibberish? And if it was real Japanese, what did it say? Has anybody translated? Can we get our hands on the shooting script? Or a copy of the version that was released in Japan that has Japanese subtitles? Then we could simply read what the car said.
Here’s a joke I wrote in my sleep, meaning I woke up with it somehow: What language do they speak on planet Gibber?
Gibberish!
Ha. Ha. Ha.
But getting back to penises, to full-frontal male nudity, is there a not-so-covert campaign to normalize the seeing of the male member in order to demystify and subjugate it, thereby further fucking the patriarchy?
Or is it my imagination?
It may very well be my imagination as to the not-so-covert campaign but it’s definitely not my imagination that I’ve been inadvertently seeing a lot more penises on TV the past several years. A lot more. And, to be honest, I don’t really wanna see them. So why is there no trigger warning for that at the beginning of the show? There are trigger warnings for suicide and self harm. There are trigger warnings for flashing lights so people with epilepsy can be forewarned. Which is to be forearmed, as the saying goes. So why am I not being forewarned about all the dicks? Is that not a microaggression?
Anyway.
Welcome to Show 13 at the Alien Night Club. I am Captain Blank, pseudo host extraordinaire.
Not sure what to talk about next.
We never got to 2 plus 2 equals 5. It doesn’t seem as funny now. It had something to do with certain folks saying math is racist.
Did you guys ever see that movie with Patrick Stewart where that guy shows up claiming to be his long-lost son? And they are thrust together and forced to look at the admittedly-convincing evidence while they wait for the actual scientific genetic test results to come back.
That’s Kristen Bell’s job in her lab: genetic testing to tell people what percentage male and female they are. Where they land on the spectrum of sex and gender. But, if gender is just a construct, some metal bullshit we all invented in our minds or, more likely, had unknowingly forced upon us at birth, then how can it be that science is able to identify a genetic component? Because science, right? Is that not yet another colossal dissonance of the cognitive variety? Make it make sense. The same way two plus two equals five.
Anyway, in that movie, Patrick Stewart saves his fingernail clippings in a glass bowl. It looks like a brandy snifter. One of those glasses that is kind of big at the base and narrower at the top, and it has a stem on the bottom so you can hold it between your fingers and let the heat from your hand gently warm the brandy in order to bring out all the rich flavors and aroma. Or so I’m told. I may literally have never had brandy ever in my life.
Point being that in the movie, Patrick Stewart accidentally drops the glass full of fingernail clippings. So it’s a nice albeit kinda gross metaphor for his past shattering, forcing him to let go of it and embrace the present. I won’t tell you the results of the genetic testing, by the way. No spoilers. I hate that. I’ve had whole movies RUINED for me because some dumb-ass on the radio or TV or wherever blurted out the ending. Remember The Village by M. Knight Shamalamalon? Sorry, M, I know that’s not how you pronounce your name. I’m just not sure how to spell it. Point being that I knew the premise going in. That movie is CRAZY. But I didn’t get to enjoy it because someone ruined it for me.
Anyway, do we have a name for Kristen’s show? To Die of Happiness and…what?
Grab Me By the Pussy?
Or is that too on the nose? And too triggering?
You probably can’t say pussy in that context. Unless we put the emphasis on ME.
What if she’s a crazy cat lady, too? Or is that offensive to crazy cat ladies? I don’t think they’re actually crazy, by the way. There is an hypothesis that crazy cat ladies are indeed a little crazy because they have toxoplasmosis, which is a brain-infesting microbe parasite they get by interacting with the cat poop in the litterbox. Hence crazy cat lady. Historically, however, that’s just what people call them because it’s easier to mock them and dismiss them than it is to see them as a human being, an actual person like you, and to understand how they came to live alone in a tiny apartment with X number of cats. More than two, probably, but hopefully fewer than 10. It makes sense, though: a person beaten down by society and asshole guys who used them for sex. Of course they’re going to retreat into themselves and spend most of their time at home with their cats where they are doing what?
Protecting the pussy.
The pussy they were somehow unable to protect from all the asshole guys who took them to dinner, had sex with them, and never called them again.
And going to orgies and having sex with lots of people is a way of reclaiming the pussy. Of reclaiming agency and sovereignty over their own bodies. Same with tattoos and piercings, by the way. Agency or sovereignty which they feel was lost or taken or stolen or somehow otherwise not preserved the way it should’ve been. And the more pain she is in, the more fun she has at the orgies. And even though we understand the pathology of it, we still want to see it.
What does that say about us?
That we are a bunch of voyeuristic degenerates? A bunch of degenerate voyeurs?
She also has a kick-ass dragon tattoo on her back. And the show was going to be called The Boy Who Fucked the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. And each time she attends and participates in an orgy, she’s hoping he’ll be there so she can get revenge on his dumb ass for sleeping with her and then never calling her.
And she’s got a plan to get even with him: she’s going to screw him to death.
And this is her famous line: Til Death Do Us Fuck. Because eventually she finds him and seduces him and he’s such a colossal asshole that he doesn’t even remember her; he literally does not remember meeting her at Starbucks and saying something stupid about how all the coffee cups are actually the same size and hold the same amount of coffee and she’s all like No, way. And he’s all like, Way. And he buys one of each and pours two of them in the garbage and then dumps the coffee from the Grande into the two other cups and proves that they’re the same size even though they are taller and look bigger. But they’re actually also narrower. So the volume of liquid they can hold is actually the same. And she’s kind of enamored by a person smart enough to figure that out because she views herself as a pretty intelligent, educated, pretty well-informed person but she never knew that. So when he asks for her number, she gives it to him. And he texts her later and asks her to meet him someplace where they can get food, probably sushi, because he’s an asshole pervert and wants to see her pick up the chopsticks and put a big piece of salmon skin roll in her mouth. Because if she can work chopsticks, she can work his dick. And if she can shove that entire piece of sushi in her mouth, she’ll let him shove his entire dick in her mouth and down her throat while he grabs the back of her head and pushes it down until her lips are touching his abdomen and she can’t breathe. And if she’ll eat raw fish, she’ll eat anything, including his ass.
But she’s not aware of any of this. She thinks he’s a smart guy who likes sushi. And she’s a smart girl who likes sushi. So maybe they can be smart sushi eaters together and maybe he’ll take her home to meet his parents and they’ll be amazing, kind, accomplished people who will totally welcome her into their home and even into their family. And there won’t be alcoholics sneaking into her room in the middle of the night and raping her. And the fact that she had an orgasm while her dad raped her will finally stop haunting her.
But in reality, this guy is even worse. Because he’s pretending to be nice so he can abuse her with his dick. At least her asshole alcoholic rapist quote unquote father was upfront about what he wanted.
And she’s a cutter. She has a big David Bowie knife and she drags the blade slowly across the inside of her thigh every now and then, because it provides some sort of sexual relief she doesn’t fully understand but is unable to resist.
And in the first show, she goes to the orgy and she’s wandering naked through the sea of naked bodies and it makes Eyes Wide Shut look like a Canteen Boy sketch. And some people see the scars on the insides of her thighs from the cutting and they’re all like, Man, this chick is nuts, this poor girl needs help. And then someone else is like, Fuck that; she’s here; let’s get some.
And again, it’s compelling because you’re not sure how you feel about the whole thing. On the one hand, the majority of you knows it’s wrong. But at the same time, Kristen Bell at an orgy with blood-red hash marks on the insides of her thighs is hot in a LiveLeak, deep web, disturbing kind of way. It’s like one of those Flat Earthers who build their own crap-ass rocket so they can launch themselves high enough to see for themselves if the Earth is round or flat: you know it’s a bad, bad idea but you still wanna see that dumbfuck proceed with the countdown and actually launch themselves into the air, even though you know it’s all going to go horribly, horribly wrong.
In the show, Kristen Bell’s character’s name is Maggy Cutter. Doctor Maggie Cutter, PhD.
And THAT is the actual name of the show: Maggie Cutter.
I bet that would be a good show.
You’d probably want to watch it first. And then watch To Die of Happiness second. Because Maggie Cutter is going to be heavy. And watching Queen Maya bang dipshit Martian dudes would be light and kinda funny.
It’s the same reason Jeopardy was always followed by Wheel.
I could definitely see a whole bunch of Golden Globes for Kristen for Maggie Cutter.
And the winner is… Kristen Bell for Maggie Cutter.
And every year Kristen is going up there to get her award. And we all love her for doing that show. Because we haven’t seen anything quite like it since Millie blew us away playing 11 in season 1 of Stranger Things.
And after, like, 13 seasons, there’d be a montage of Kristen walking up the steps to get her award: Kristen Bell, Kristen Bell, Kristen Bell…Kristen…Bell, once again, Kristen Bell for Maggie Cutter. Maggie Cutter. Maggie Cutter. Maggie Cutter.
Maggie motherfuckin Cutter.
Maggie fatherfuckin Cutter.
Sammy?
SV: Maggie fatherfuckin Cutter.
And every time she’s at an orgy and she gets a guy off, she makes him cum so hard and so good he literally almost fuckin dies. And he’s like, Who…who are you? Because his dumb ass thinks he’s in love.
And she’s all, I’m Maggie Cutter…P-H-D…bitch.
Would you watch that?
I would so watch that.
Did you see Kristen on Hot Ones? I think it was her second time, to try new sauces to kick off a new season of both shows: Hot Ones and Maggie Cutter. Her husband Dax joins her. They wind up eating so much hot sauce that it triggers something and they wind up having an orgy of their own. And Sean, the host, keeps saying, Be careful around your eyes, you don’t want to get hot sauce in your eyes.
And Kristen is like, And other places, too. Right, babe?
And Dax is all like, Yes; that is correct. Have a firehose handy.
And Kristen goes, I’ll show you a firehose.
And she jumps on him and screws him half to death right there on the Hot Ones set, right on the black tablecloth. And Sean and everyone are like, What do we do? And they’re like, Watch, I guess.
And at the end, Dax is on the floor, pants around his ankles, unconscious, and everyone looks at Kristen as she casually goes back to eating the rest of the wings and literally drinking Last Dab straight out of the bottle.
And someone on set goes, Who ARE you?
And she turns to camera, face covered in hot sauce jism goo glory and she goes, I’m Kristen Bell…bitch.
And then she does a mic drop with the empty bottle of Last Dab and walks out. And Dax is still just lying there, blissfully unaware.
So. Should we do show notes? All this stuff we talked about I made up just now. None of that was from show notes.
Okay, show notes. News Flash: I forgot most of them. There’s a thing about grabbin dicks. Like, grab em by the dick. And people who like grabbin dicks.
But back to that in a second.
First, you guys know now Prince coughs at the beginning or Raspberry Beret? And they put it in the music video, too? Why do you suppose that was? There are probably people on Earth right now who know the actual answer to that because they were in the room when it happened or they were part of the making of that album and heard the cough, asked about it, and got the answer. And here we are today, on a spaceship stroke station. And Prince is gone. Stupidly, in my opinion. All these people dying on accident because they popped a pill and had a drink? That shouldn’t KILL you.
Honestly.
I’ve got a lion in my pocket and baby he’s ready to roar.
Shall we get back to grabbin dicks?
Okay. Because we have grab em by the pussy, we also have to have grab em by the dick. So if you’re someone who — like Maggie Cutter — likes grabbing a dick and who — like Maggie Cutter — has grabbed a lot of dicks, or maybe has only grabbed a few dicks but you grabbed them a lot, or if you’ve only grabbed one or two, or maybe you haven’t grabbed any yet but you want to, for all of you, what is it that you like about it?
What makes you want to grab that dick and squeeze it and jerk it and put it in your mouth and have it inside you and get up on it and ride the heck out of it? Is it a genetic drive to procreate? To perpetuate the species?
Or is it merely a construct?
And if grabbing dicks is genetic, nature over nurture lest we humans eventually die out, if it is genetic and has been proven scientifically because, you know, science, then isn’t that true about grabbing, dot dot dot, other things?
By the way, check out tonight’s shirt: On the front it says, Enjoy the Silence.
And then underneath that in parentheses it says, of floating through deep space.
It definitely is quiet here. There’s no wind. At least not when you’re inside. Solar winds notwithstanding, I suppose.
There’s a rain shower in my shower, though. I always seem to not have sufficient hot water but the rain shower shower head is nice. Probably not as nice as a supercar shower, a supercar Huracan shower. Unless the Lamborghini shower, while cool, doesn’t inspire me to want to have sex in it.
Remember, everyone: THAT is the goal.
Whomever is getting into this nitch, the goal is to make a place that is elegant and upscale but most of all it inspires you to hump in there. You’re already naked so it shouldn’t be that hard. But think about the elements of humpability: form and function.
Form is how it looks. Does it look upscale the way a Ferrari does?
Second: function. How easy is it to have sex in there? Can you engage in multiple positions in there? Are there grab bars and a place to sit down? Perhaps to lie down? Because what happens after you shoot your proverbial load? You become unbearably sleepy because you just gave up some of your life force. So you need to rest in order to recharge it. Also, there’s a cascade of neurotransmitters splashed all over our little male pea-brains during climax. And it makes us go unconscious. But there’s also an energy component. Some may say it’s a little too woo. But it seems nonetheless true. Life force. Which is why there’s a flash of light at the moment the sperm and the egg meet and join forces. They’re creating life. Life.
Wasn’t THAT a great movie, by the way? It’s called Life.
By the way, how’s the assimilation going?
Anyone who’s been mentioned, and a bunch who probably will be mentioned, I hope it’s going well. It’s not me doing it, by the way. I have nothing to do with it. I know nothing; I am merely the messenger.
I had two nuggets but I lost them. I hope they come back. I’ve been negligent with so many gifts that have gone on to someone else and blossomed under their love and affection. And because of that, I’m trying to be more diligent about receiving those gifts and giving them the necessary love and affection. The track record of the material speaks for itself. It’s an eternal flow. The flow state, perhaps. Is that what people are talking about when they talk about flow and the flow state? It’s tapping into that eternal river of energy and light and creativity? It’s like a flowing river of rainbow light. And it’s bright and colorful and warm and cool and soft and hard. And you can have as much as you want. But if you pull something out and don’t use it, it will naturally return to the river and flow to someone else. Which is why you have an idea that you never execute on. You never pull the trigger the way you know you should.
And what happens?
A little while later, a few years, maybe, you see that same idea implemented somewhere out in the world by someone else. And it’s incredible how good it is and the success they’re having with it. Because it’s real and it resonates. And people recognize it immediately when they see it.
So if you’ve had some pearls and gems in your hand and you didn’t nurture them and they left you and went to someone else who DID nurture them, and now you’re a tiny bit envious and pissed at yourself, what have you learned?
Friggin nurture them! The next time you get one, hang onto it. Immediately, within 10 to 15 seconds, write it down, type it out, do something to document it. And then work on it for a bit and refine it. And keep going until it feels like it’s pretty much done. And then let it sit for a little while. And then come back to it later, after you’ve forgotten some of the specific details of it. So when you see those specific details, you’ll know if they’re as good as you thought they were at the time.
And you might just find that they are.
Or just do it as fast as you can and share it in all its glorious messy glory before the forces of darkness convince you that it’s crap and that you can’t do it. Don’t listen to those assholes.
Point being that I had two gems. But, alas, no little dry erase board. So I lost them. One was bigger than the other but they were both good. Both were hilarious. They were predicated on the grabbing of the dicks. Which means that they flowed from that original idea. Or were somehow inspired by it. I think they had something to do with Feminism. Something about female empowerment.
On a separate note, separate but related, I did get confirmation on the perception-is-reality motif we talked about before. So that was cool. Been getting a lot of confirmations lately. Not as many as I have in the past at times, but enough that it’s definitely obvious. One time, years ago, I saw 5 praying mantises on the same day. None the day before and none the day after. But 5 on the same day. They were everywhere. They were near my car, near the front door of my apartment. Five times that day, I encountered a praying mantis. Always green. And they were totally looking at me. I stopped and said Hi to them.
What does a praying mantis portend? That you’re gonna get laid and then have your head eaten off? One of those things may have happened that day. The other thing did not.
I always rescue spiders in my house, when I find them. I put them in a cup or something and take them outside and set them free. I’ve done that with a couple of snakes, too. Little tiny black baby snakes. They looked like worms. It was difficult to get them to crawl onto a piece of printer paper and then keep them there until I could get outside and release them to a safe place. And then I later saw adult black snakes, so I like to think the one I found in the bathroom stuck around and kept an eye on the place.
Speaking of spiders, here’s a gem from several days ago: your inner circle.
We all have inner circles. Everyone we know is in one of those circles. It’s like we’re a giant dartboard with rings around us. Concentric rings that get smaller and smaller as they get closer to us. Which means there is room for fewer people. And then you get down to the last two. The outer one has your closest, most trusted people in it: spouse, significant other, maybe a parent or a sibling or one friend.
And then there’s the other one. The innermost one. You’re in there alone. Like Taylor said, You’re on your own, kid; and you always have been.
Because in that inner circle is you and your private thoughts and experiences and emotions and interpretations of all those private thoughts and experiences and emotions. And it’s very much part of your core identity. Because we all have things we’ve never told another living soul
Oh! I got one! I just remembered one of the gems, except this is another one: Skeleton Patriot. We’ll come back to it in a second.
That inner circle is just you and your thoughts and all those things you’ve never told anyone. It’s you and your mind.
And then if you smoke some weed, what happens?
You’re not alone in there anymore.
Someone else is in there with you. Talking to you.
The White Widow. Dining with the White Widow.
It’s a dinner party. An intimate dinner. Just the two of you. Which is why you always get the munchies. Usually you talk for awhile. You listen. You listen good, too, because sometimes she blows your mind with her wisdom.
Where does that feminine wisdom come from? Mother Earth? It was her leaf upon which the White Widow came to party with you.
And here’s another one…
Crap, I just forgot it again.
Let’s talk about a Skeleton Patriot and what that is. From what I understand, and this is a new one on me, too, so bear with me if I butcher this, but from what I understand, a skeleton patriot is basically a zombie skeleton stroke corpse stroke ghost of one of the founding fathers. It’s like the New England Patriots mascot logo except instead of the little guy, it’s a skeleton. Like the one at the beginning of Pirates of the Caribbean before you go down the first drop.
And the Skeleton Patriot represents the founding virtues of the country. Namely freedom and equality and don’t tread on me. Freedom of speech.
And when you say Freedom of Speech, someone always says, Well what about hate speech???!!!
And they’re super bitchy and angry about it when they say it. Like you’re automatically a fucking stupid asshole piece of shit just because you said the words. You could be reading the ingredients in a cupcake recipe and if it called for 2 cups of flour, 2 cups of sugar, 2 sticks of butter, 3 eggs, and 2 cups of freedom of speech, and they’d still freak the fuck out. Even if that was code for putting THC in the mix in order to make them special, magical cupcakes that will help you see the truth. Because when you eat one, the White Widow would pop into your inner circle and she would invite you into her lair, which is a dark cave filled with gigantic curtains of spider webs that flutter in the breeze. And the whole place is a little offputting but this is where the wisdom is, this is her house, and you certainly don’t want to insult her.
Hate speech is different because it violates the don’t tread on me part of the equation.
Anyway, I guess a Skeleton Patriot is someone who has always believed in the good, righteous morals of the country. And even though it has a lot of problems, and those problems seem to be extremely magnified right now, the foundation is still fundamentally strong and good. And as long as the foundation is solid, you can build great things upon it.
So when the White Widow fixes her gaze upon you and you look into those glowing, emerald-green eyes, listen to what she has to say. Don’t waste her time.
In the Den of the White Widow.
That’s a dangerous place. She can mess you up if she wants to.
Also, there might be some more gaps in the show numbers. I have a feeling there will be more private shows. So if you’re still outside the paywall or the content is just simply not available in your region yet, just sit tight and hopefully you’ll get it soon. Assuming you want to watch that. I’m Maggie Cutter, bitch.
But, yeah, those two nuggets, those two gems, were sex things. I think. Grab em by the dick was one. It dovetails nicely with what we said last night about calling your partner and telling them you love them and that you want to get naked with them as soon as possible.
They should respond to that. They really should.
And then give them a hot oil massage. A hot oil massage that evolves into sex. So you’re inside them while you’re massaging them. Or they’re inside you while you’re massing them. As long as someone is inside someone else and there is hot oil and a lot of rubbing and massaging and moaning, things are going in the right direction.
And if you’re one of those couples who likes to go and get couples’ massages, maybe try implementing a little hot oil of your own. At home. Invest in a massage table maybe, too. Set the scene. Candles, music, a warm room that’s warm but not too hot. Nor too cold. Because you can’t enjoy a massage and sex when you’re freezing your ass off.
And if you’re the type who tends to masturbate, what do you think about when you masturbate? Do you require visuals of some kind? Like you have to be in front of a computer or have your phone or, God stroke Gawd forbid, a MAGAZINE…in order to get excited?
If you do, you have a problem. And it’s time to stop doing that. Because you will become dependent on that. And that stuff isn’t real. Plus it forces you to compare what you’re doing with what they’re doing in an effort to recreate what they do. Guys, shoving your dick down a girl’s throat and pinching her nose shut is quite possibly the opposite of love. It’s really rude and demeaning and just plain stupid.
Fucking ask her before you do that. Lest you wind up in an Alien movie and experience it for yourself.
Otherwise, keep your mouth shut when she does some shit to you that you weren’t expecting. Ladies, you know exactly what that is. If you haven’t tried it yet, now’s the time.
Unless it’s something shared only by you and the White Widow and this person is not in a sufficiently inner circle for you to make yourself vulnerable that way.
In which case, why are you having sex with them at all?
They’re obviously not right for you. You’re obviously not that into them.
If you hide your sexuality from your partner, that sucks.
But what if you tell them and they aren’t into it. Or they laugh. Or they tell everyone you know. And pretty soon, everyone knows and is asking you about it. And you’re mortified. But you try to play it cool like it’s not a big deal, that you don’t really care if everyone knows, that you’re not devastated by the fact that you shared something precious and sacred about yourself and that fuckin piece of shit blabbed. And now you know you can’t trust them with anything like that ever again. And maybe you shouldn’t even be together. But going through with the actual break up is too much to bear.
Then what?
Suffer in silence?
Try to enjoy the silence…
Of floating through deep space.
Like Ripley and her cat Jonesy at the beginning of Aliens. For 57 years.
Think she got toxoplasmosis being in an escape pod with a cat for 57 years? Is that why she was able to go all Commando on the Alien Queen? Because she was a little nuts? And she used a flamethrower. Throwing great spurts of fiery jism. And a great big phallic rifle. With a grenade launcher. Which she used to decimate the Alien Queen’s nest of egg-pod facehugger babies in an orgiastic display of pornographic empowered-female violence. I’m Ellen Ripley, bitch.
Here’s another thing: Can a universal translator be hacked?
A universal translator allows you to hear and understand and be able to speak to anyone from any planet.
But do some people hack their translators so they choose when they want others to be able to understand what they’re saying? Or is this practice outlawed for the sake of the greater good and transparency and less secrecy?
It is nice having the mute button on your end. Being able to say things others can’t hear. Reserving your comments for those in that particular circle.
Has anyone ever drawn or painted or tried to recreate what they see when they go into the den of the White Widow?
Who should play her in the live action? Angelina Jolie? Or would that be too much like Maleficent?
And if you’ve never experienced the mind-bending act of being penetrated, reach out to your significant other and ask them if they like being penetrated.
And if you’re the one being penetrated, ask your S-O if they’d like to be penetrated. Consent!
Because the thing about being penetrated is there’s nowhere to hide.
Being penetrated gets your attention.
Did you know that Raspberry Beret is about having sex in a barn? Prince is working at the five-and-dime store and his manager is a dude named Mister McGee. And Mister McGee is a straight-up racist. And he even tells Prince — more than once — that he doesn’t like his kind. Because his kind is a bit too leisurely. Which is funny because Prince talks about being at work and doing close to nothing. And it’s a part-time job.
But then she walks in. In through the out door. The titular sexpot. The wearer of the now-famous raspberry beret, the kind you find in a second-hand store.
And after they establish that she’s bigger than he is and that he isn’t going to hurt her and consent is rendered, they hop on his motorbike and go find a barn down by Old Man Johnson’s farm. And it’s gonna rain so they go into a barn to escape the thunder and the lightning.
And she kisses him. Because she likes to get her kicks.
And they totally get it on.
While the horses are watching. They wonder who you are. And you feel like a movie star.
Did she wear the beret the whole time?
Raspberry is pink, right?
That’s our show!
Thank you for coming!
Thank you and goodnight!
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