Worth knowing.
I operated on a public server using Google as my. Main browser, our of incognito—
This meant everything I search on Google I knew to be public, and did so soaringly, and cautiously.
I told you more than once not to mess with that fucker!
I wasn't!
For the most part; however—
That fucker was messing with me!
Why! Who are you?!
I don't know!
Ugh. Ten seconds on the ground and I wanted to die.
Fuck this place.
Just get in the boat, Keenan.
No, I won't.
Just get— in the boat.
Forget it. I'm not going to your—
You don't dont even know what it is!
Whatever is is.
It's a function!
If I didn't start making decisive moves around the map— and quick— I could be made to look like anything, or anyone. The media had ways of turning things into monsters—assuming all in all that the political agenda had overall become some short of holy war. I wasn't safe, especially sitting still— entire crowds moved around me as I emerged from days long stretches of speaking to and looking at no one; the more I resisted to conform, the more hostile the monster became— I was vanishing decently from one world and into the next, and on my absence there was a gaping hole needing to be filled but instead, opening into an inescapable void: being something for others as I presumed that I presently was not: I was not a pawn, or a worker, or a sim— I had escaped a matrix that was nearly entirely built on perception, and had adjusted to the understanding of the illusion of this grid. It was an impractical solution, silence and isolation; eventually I had to communicate with other people, and could not hide.
But I would not be forced to do anything or speak to anyone I didn't want to— and so I began tricking the system before it could gather information to go about tricking me.
After all, I was keeping more to myself than I was sharing or even writing about— I wrote often about race and sociopolitical injustice; however; these things were at a surface level. The things I pondered upon deeply, I kept to myself— I knew that my Google documents were comprised by the way that on the ground level— the simulation level— people had been hacked and sorted based on things I had put into the aglogithmic clouds. Anyone with a cell phone had become a biohazard, because they were socially and psychologically compatible with being technologically programmed to be moved about in any way the controllers saw fit— and who were the controllers using such as humans as devices? The very war mongers who saw this level as none other than that of a game, and people in no sense more than as numbers—a place which my conciousness did lie, and however— my physical body, almost entirely seperate, risided here amongst the all too common. And it was here that I was more likely to die, physically, anyway, than anywhere else because i wanted to. The frequency shift was severe enough that it bubbled and spewed inside of me not as hatred, but anxiety. Not fear, but nautiousness; I was no longer so compatible with the masses that I could normally function as such; an elitist mindset, but only out of elitist practice. I ate well, trained hard, and focused my energy on a higher mindset—
It became obvious that if I didn't decide what I was, I was going to be told what I was, or painted in a certain way as percepted, and this I found limiting. If I decided what I was and made it somehow apparent so that others could not cast any judgement upon me, then I could at the very least, later, change it— if it differed too drastically from whatever it was my true purpose and intention. Easily enough, I found the devil worked through almost all things and people around me in such a way that it was best to remain apart from these things and people and to find my way to being surrounded by others who were in fact, shielded by light. Strength in numbers, and what was here something dark enough had torn through that almost all of them were dark as well, and so almost any time at all with that force made me ill.
I'm so sorry.
No, you're not— but that's okay,
Because I'm sorry enough for the both of us.
A SPECIAL DETECTIVE, recently promoted to captain from VICE gives the go-ahead on the immidiate detention of a subject with whom multiple units have been preoccupied with over the course of several months.
This is… pure cocaine.
It appears so…
I've— I've never seen anything like it.
— that pure?
Like— pharmaceutical.
In fact…
It was pharmaceutical.
Ah great. Why is Tom Hanks back in the movie?
[breaking forth wall]
Uh— because
I was in the front of the movie—
And in the middle of the movie—
And because this is the same movie.
Uh…
Oh, by the way, you're in a movie.
No!!!
Wake up.
Fuck.
COSMIC AVENGER
Snapdragons!
Double fuck.
Double double indeed.
The cosmic avenger has a way of not swearing that is almost
trademark to his—
What does he do again?
Nothing.
Oh. You're so fucked now…!
JIMMY FALLON is arrested and charged with
MANSLAUGHTER.
WHY! WHAT DID I DO?
…nothing.
What were his other catchphrases?
I have no idea.
Well, get a fucking idea.
Why is it That you're so— fucking mean.
What? I'm supposed to be what you think, the little man in the box is?
I was hoping?
At all times?
Sometimes, at least.
Joke's on you.
No Fallon, the joke's on you.
You're supposed to be funny.
Haha.
Goddammit, I hate you.
You fucking suck.
That's my sparring partner.
Yep.
What did I do?!
You fought like a man—
And won.
Agh.
Good luck, kid.
What other way is it to fight?
MEANWHILE, on BAD GIRLS CLUB
Stop pulling my hair!
TANISHA
I'mon pull these tracks out whether you like it or noT!
U
THESE AINT TRACKS!
That's my hair!
The whole room stops for a moment, frozen in a silent confusion.
TANISHA
Whatchu say?
U
This— is my HAIR. It's ATTACHED TO MY HEAD.
TANISHA
Wh—how'd you get on bad girls club?!
I don't know! I must have wished for it at some point or something?
Wishes?!
WHAT THIS GOT TO DONWITH MY ISNES.
Witches?
She said wishes.
Hm.
I'm stuck in the tv in like a movie or something? I don't know, it's very meta— all my wishes get granted—
its fucked up.
That is fucked up.
[everyone just kind of agrees]
— but that's your hair?
Yeah, or— whatever's left of it and not under your fingernails.
But these is acrylic.
I figured.
And these is BRAZILLIAN REMY.
Okay.
—
and my eyelashes came off a Clydesdale!
Why!
Cause that shit is majestic as fuck!
I…agree with you.
Alright. Now sense we agree on this— um…comradrie.
— agreement.
Let's figure out about this— what you say it was?
A movie.
A movie— but this is a show.
A show inside a movie.
Okay.
Okay.
Okay.
…so let's…cut to commercial, or—?
I don't know I thought
No wonder I'm fucking depressed…
And now, it was obvious that someone in the media— the actual media, had read my work.
I had deconstructed the Strike force 5 as such
Hmmm.
CBS
HBO
NBC
NBC
…
That's 3 of the big five but I'm almost entirely sure I
‘ missing something.
Where's Kimmel?
CBS
Colbert?
HBO
The NBC twins are on my last and ever living but still dying nerve
So..
So—
So I'm missing precisely one strike force member
And arguably two out of the big five…
That's— a relief.
Considering I think Fox is in the big 5, sure.
Don't want to attract the wrong attention.
Or the right attention, with pun Intended.
Whatever. If anything at all from this last election and current growth spurt slash quarter life crisis, I was a moderate conservative however benefitting more than probably from liberalized…
Actually? The more I thought about it, this seemed private. I knew that most people who had spent any time at all in New York homeless shelters ended up in equally fitting project housing, but somehow, I had been spared— and though I had picked up two pairs of decent walking shoes, and maybe even raving shoes—definitely skateboarding shoes—
But no running shoes,
And I needed new running shoes to actually run; my current running shoes had been used nearly to their fullest extent…
Not that I was running anywhere. My treadmill seemed just as entirely sick of my apartment as I was becoming…
STEFON
Batatas.
Suddenly I had remembered with some strain of course, that Bill Hader existed in a legendary and almost mythical sense. Way more mythical than anyone else in this story— even Seth Rogen, who was apparently at some point eventually
OH MY GOD.
WHAT IS THIS.
HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?
— like, what, hot glued to each other at that party.
SETH MEYER(S)?
I said no.
What.
SETH MEYERS
I'm not doing it.
See, the greatest thing about the festival project, besides it being a corporate sponsored money grab that was growing in value enough to be competable against the superhero franchises
DISNEY
Hahaha, you wish.
That's who I'm missing—Disney.
DEADMAU5
No, you're not.
I'm not.
DEADMAU5
—no….
There's a reason why that dude, in his fragile old age is still touring.
DEADMAU5
I'm literally like ten years younger than literally everyone else you just mentioned.
(But still touring.)
(Read: ☠️ )
—so, you were saying.
Oh— the best thing about this whole thing is
Wait, how is this Disney?
BEFORE:
DISNEY
You can't Mickey Mouse.
MAU5
CAN.
DISNEY
CAN NOT, and we'll sue you, then kill you, then cryogenically freeze you, bring you back to life — THEN— when your catalogue has doubled in value, sue you again, and then kill you again—
And repeat that process infinitely until the end of what is known on earth as “time”
Oh, is that what happened to him?
I've been wondering.
DISNEY
Unless…
CUT BACK TO:
Besides that,
The best thing about this project is it features so many standard white savior type protagonists, that if anybody disagrees to this project( they can just be replaced and or characterized by an actor that looks and sounds just like them and their name slightly changed or altered to reflect one which doesn't technically trigger any copyright claims.
Can you do that?
Yep.
0.0
what's up Seth ROGONE, JOMMY FALOON
Sup.
Sup.
See.
[The Festival Project ™]
lol Stefon's dungeon.
{Enter The Multiverse}
[The Festival Project.™]
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