“The Golden Rule”
I finally did it.
I finally set my house on fire.
You don't know.
I've lived there two years;
I just now did it.
This amazes me that just how.
Here's how it happened.
So I'm in my kitchen, cooking.
I just worked out for like, three hours so I'm cooking everything.
Everything.
I put the soup on, but by the end of the workout, I'm not sure the soup is going to be enough.
So, I thought to myself,
“You know what, I'm going to make some tortilla chips”
A few days before I made the dopest salsa.
I couldn't get enough of it.
It was the best salsa ever. I was like “gosh” so every day,
Tacos for three days,
Just to put the salsa on top,
And on the fourth day, I'm like
“Nah, soup.”
So,
I put the soup on and I go workout,
But the soup, you see has roasted vegetables in in,
You know?
So what I had done was,
I had roasted the vegetables on a pan, but the pan is a little worn, so i put them on parchment paper…
…
Yeah, but here's what really happened,
Is I took the vegetables off of the roasting pan, and I was about to throw away the parchment paper,
And I thought
“Wait. No! There's still so much oil on this!”
And I didn't want to be wasteful.
So I turned the oven back on,
And I took out the tortillas I had—
There were four of them—
I took out two,
Just in case I wanted two actual tacos later—
Cause you know,
I really love this fucking salsa.
So good.
Anyway—
I take out two of the four tortillas,
And I quarter them,
And I flip them in the leftover oil from the roasted vegetables,
And I'm thinking—
This is going to be so good
Roasted vegetable flavored
Corn tortilla chips—
I brush on a little bit of coconut oil,
I drop some lemon juice on them,
I put on a little salt—
And I put them in the oven—
I turn the oven to broil,
And then I start the dishes;
Dishes takes about ten minutes,
This should take about ten minutes—
So I start doing the dishes,
And cleaning up,
And putting them away,
And this is the most ironic shit in the world,
I start thinking to myself
Particularly about this comedian that I like
And I start thinking to myself
“Wow, so you're a comedian;
Comedian things happen to you;
You're a real comedian.
I must not be a real comedian—
Because comedy things don't happen to me.”
And right at that moment, I just so happen to look into the oven,
And all I see is flames.
Like, open flames.
Big, flames.
So I open the oven;
More flames.
I'm like
“Oh no.”
So now I'm panicking because I've never had an apartment with a gas stove before,
So I don't know how quickly flames turn into massive explosions.
And it's honestly funny how suicidal I am,
Until I see open flames and I'm like
“No, but— not like THIS!”
So I freak out,
I hit the breaker.
I turn off everything in the place
I'm not looking to see which switch is “gas”
I turned turned them all off,
Click, click, click, click
Put on my slip ons, and grab my phone and I'm out the door.
And I'm thinking to myself
“See this is why you need a phone,”
Because honestly sometimes,
I don't feel like paying the bill.
I feel like having toilet paper,
Or soap,
Or water—
And I just
“Whatever”
But lately, I've been looking for more work because I like having toilet paper, and soap, and water AND a phone— so I keep the phone on,
Which, even in the moment is like
“Oh yeah, wow, I have a phone”
Like I'm in astonishment at how handy it is because if it's handy for anything,
This is it.
So I'm out the door, and I'm dialing 911 as I hit the staircase;
Whoosh, I'm out the door and in the long before the operator even picks up,
And I'm in the lobby, on the phone, and the operator gets the address and I'm just standing there —
Mind you, I didn't even grab my keys on the way out, so I'm assuming the door is locked,
And I think to myself about the size of the flames and the fact that they were coming from the oven which is connected to a gas line which is connected to the rest of the building, so I don't know how any of that stuff works,
And then I start thinking.
“Should I warn my neighbors?”
I hate my neighbors.
Or rather,
My neighbors hate me.
But I'm thinking of the flames and the smoke and the danger and how, if it was me, I'd want to know if the apartment next door to mine was on fire and possibly about to explode.
You know; the golden rule.
So I'm like “fuck it”
I don't get along with these people but I don't mean to blow them up.
So I run back upstairs,
And I knock on their doors;
Not everyone's doors, just the two doors in what I assume would be the blast area.
I knock on their doors,
And only one of them answers—
The one that answers is, of course,
The one that's been stalking me.
So this is ironic at least twice, now,
And she answers the door,
And I explain to her the situation
“Look, my apartment's on fire whatever
The fire department's on the way, I'm locked out…”
As I turn the knob, I realize,
I'm not locked out.
My door didn't even lock,
I didn't notice it didn't lock,
I just ran,
So I'm like
“Nevermind I just wanted you to know the fire departments on the way and not to panic”
And she just gives me this look
With her wombat face
—she has wombat face.
She looks like a—
Like a rabid wombat.
Like a—
Like a really fucked up,
Possum.
Like a wombat-possum.
And we've been having some—problems.
She's my stalker.
She's been stalking me;
And I've noticed so,
It's really awkward that I'm at her door warning her like “hey, don't freak out or anything, the fire department's coming by”
And she just looks at me with those beady little eyes and a shrug that tells me
If her apartment was about to explode
She'd just let me incinerate.
,
“Whatever, fuck you.”
I know I'm a good person,
Cause I would want to know— so I let you know
There may be danger here!
Whatever.
So she's like “whatever”, and shuts the door like a normal, sane person
Cause my problem with her is that
For the past year
Every time I take a bath or shower,
This wombat looking rabid possum bitch
Slams the door.
Not just her door,
The stairwell exit door,
Which is located adjacent to my door.
So every time I take a bath for the last year—
BOOM.
BOOM.
Fuck that.
Theres's more to the story but you get the point.
She's a white supremacist wombat with a door slamming habit.
That's that story, this is another story.
So anyway.
And I just realized, I'm not locked out at all, and so I go back into the apartment not knowing if it contained itself, or if it got worse—
I don't know, the whole place is just filled with smoke, and then the super,
Who I also called and also don't like,
Shows up before the fire department,
And he comes in, and he opens the oven, and just—
Plumes of smoke—
Then the fire dudes rush in,
I'm like, “Oh God” I just worked out for three hours and looked wombat girl right in the face,
Like, right in the eyes
Now I probably look like a wombat
That shit is contagious,
Fuck that.
“”let me put on some sunglasses”
So I put on some sunglasses,
And three fire dudes walk in in full gear with canisters and shit,
Masks;
The whole thing.
But the super already opened the oven,
There's no more flames,
No more fire,
Just smoke—
And a bunch of mad crispy
Ashes.
No tortilla chips,
Just—
Ashes, on a cookie sheet.
Just—
Ashes,
But still, smoke everywhere so they have to follow the procedure,
And the procedure is,
Moving all my shit by dragging it across the floor;
Ok, that's cool, I guess,
Boom.
One of them starts running water down the sink,
Alright,
Another one just rips down the curtains.
I'm like
“That's hot.”
(It was so hot)
Slides back the couch, opens the window.
I'm astonished that something as simple as a man pulling down your curtain rod with no regards to giving a fuck can be so exhilirating.
I'm like “oh!”
Then after all that,
They're just standing there.
Just,
In full gear,
Looking at the oven like
“Well, that's it.”
They're like
“K. Bye.”
I'm like “that's it?”
They're like
“Yeah”
I'm like l,
“I don't need to do anything?”
They're like
“Just open the window, keep the door open till the smoke comes out”
I'm like “that's all”
They're like “yeah”
I'm like “my bad.”
They all just shrug like “whatever”
Like, in unison, shrugging like to give no fucks at all,
Still in full gear.
The only thing I can be sure of is that all three of them are hot and if the super wasn't there,
I'd inidiate a gangbang.
Almost positive.
But five's a crowd, or whatever, so I'm like
“Well, thanks guys, sorry about that” and they all just leave, almost disappointed like there wasn't a burning building to actually show up to.
I'm just relieved I didn't explode and the solace I can take from this is that
And 3. Three firefighters entered and exited the apartment head to toe in full gear with heavy ass metal canisters and did not slam a single door.
FUCK YOU HOE.
Very respectful servicemen.
I had called the landlord about her harassing me in the shower and the bathtub.
You know she's doing it every bath and every shower for over a year she's doing it on purposes
I started making formal complaints;
The property management's like
“Are you sure she's doing it on purpose?”
THREE
Fully grown men decked head to toe in full fireproof outfits, helmets, and masks entered and exited the building on one day and in ten minutes more quietly than she has at any given point over the last year.
THREE FULLY GROWN MEN.
WITH CANISTERS.
If they can enter and exit with less noise than a 150 lb wombat—
She's doing it on purpose.
End of story.
Well, end of that story,
Or like two stories but
Here's the end of this one.
So finally after the dust settles
And I hit the gym again
Because nothing is a better preworkout
Than adrenialine,
(Especially when you've already had preworkout)
I come back and now I'm extra famished and the Amazon guy came in all that fuss
And now I have canola oils
So I've been soaking some potato wedges
And I decide,
“Hey, I got wedges. Let's do that”
So I heat the oil, and as I'm heating the oil, I realize…
I still have two tortillas.
Maybe that was the whole point!
I'm being a pussy, making tortilla chips,
In the oven, on parchment paper,
Like a little bitch! So I'm like
“Alright, cool,
When these wedges are done, the oil should be the perfect temperature for the tortilla chips
To be made the old fashioned way
The RIGHT way!”
So I wait, I do the wedges, and I drop the tortillas,
And I wait for them to get golden brown, I drain the oil,
I put them out to cool; I do the dishes while they cool, whatever,
I grab the salsa container out of the fridge, I take the bowl into the studio so I can watch YouTube while I enjoy my chips,
I plop down,
Turn on the you tube
I open the salsa container—
And it's empty.
There's no more salsa.
I put the container in the fridge empty.
Silly me.
“You're a comedian, comedy things happen to you.”
Suddenly, as I looked up from my makeshift workspace, where I had been toiling away for hours at seemingly nothing—I realized the world was full of everything I'd ever wanted to fuck; something primal and ancient had been awakening within me and I was left in a dangerous volitile position, drifting somewhere between reckless promiscuity in a sexual escapade—and the pseudo-conservative now-only partially celibate maiden form of fantasy—there wasn't anything I could do but wait inside my tragic box for some unassuming old soul to finally open the gate—and allow whatever devious and fiending hedonistic godbeing —though never fully lying dormant, entrapped and imprisoned in a loveless and sexless prison.
You might recognize me.
You Know, I was one of the original Kings of comedy.
If I put my heart inside a box;
Maybe I'd forget how cold it was
Or how far you are
Or how much it hurts
There's no harm in God,
If there ever was one
Then, reality sets in:
God was my only friend
No armor on,
I'm at the end
Or a long, long walk
I'm off again
And on again
Nothing's impossible—
stop at the alter and scoff a bit
I left my coat on,
I left my heart on the rooftop,
A sacrifice, love
At the alter,
I wonder a song,
Or a sonnet
A song,
No, what's wrong?
Something off a bit
God, I woke up in a coffin once
Isn't that awful
The rest or the song wrote itself,
At the alter
No, I can't stop and talk
Got to get off,
Cause I've never been on
I've never belonged in the world
I'm breaking down, jim boy
Don't you know?
That this show blows my mind
But it's stuck in my head
Don't you know
That this show
Blows my mind
Like a firework
But it's still
Stuck in my
Head
The context is that I want you
From the mustache
Down to your tonsils
But I'm Locke inside of a box
Every day I feel poorer and poorer
The product says something is wrong to me
I'm supposed to just stop at the stop sign
And look both directions
Before crossing over to
Comic nights
At the salad bar
What a cosmic waste of time
And an epic waste of space
Am I in your internet history
I'm dead
You surely are in mine,
But I'm right behind you
I'd be lying for trying to say
I'm not binded
Clutch bag,
Nut-thins
Nailed to the cross
With the arches doubled over
The crossword
Above old Missouri
Missoula and Arkansas
All saw us run out of gas
But I probably should just get going
You're so drunk that I don't hope you sober up
Understand that our little talks
Were just buffered
By sunrise
Or sunset
And two more cocktails,
Shirley temples and
Surely none of this ever even happened
I only know you by the misery in my belly.
The heartache in my ribcage.
The cry I hold in silent
I only know you as
Remarkable I,
House of cards
Ace of wands
Down to one
Card of hades and
Spare me the spade
I'll be drifting in the outline and ink of it forever
It's the Fourth of July and I'm just waiting on an Amazon order for water
If that's not freedom I don't k me what is
The elevator music
Of my ascension
The attitude of attraction,
Gratitude, it's so unusual
Fight to lose,
In a room full of fools;
The fuse, and the matchbox—
Futile—amusing—
Tunes from a hatchback
Keys in the lockbox
What you want,
From the problem solver?
That's enough;
Now she's out of the box
In just socks,
And they laugh at her—
But also wonder
Where her shoes might have gone to
There's a lot of ways to get out of a big black duffel bag,
You just have to ask, actually
But there's only one
To get out of the coffin,
Or “Box” as they called it,
That she was locked up in
Futile—amusing—
Tunes from a hatchback
Keys in the lockbox
What you want,
From the problem solver?
That's enough;
Now she's out of the box
In just socks,
And they laugh at her—
But also wonder
Where her shoes might have gone to
{Enter The Multiverse}
[The Festival Project™ ]
{Enter The Multiverse}
L E G E N D S:
ICONS
Tales of A Superstar DJ
The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū
Ascension
Deathwish
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