Lil bitz

I applied for a job as a high end furniture sales person.

Then they asked how much experience I had in high end furniture sales.

I told them five.

“I consider myself high-end furniture.”

{Enter The Multiverse}

ROBERT DINERO

You are you very well behaved.

Who'd you get.

‘Science.'

Physics?

No, it just says “science”

Oh, I get it…

What's to get.

You're in the—ahem—

What is it?

Special class.

What.

Guess what.

[the class sits in confused silence.]

YOU are special!

[they remain silent]

You are all special!

[nothing]

You are special—

You are special—

Thanks, T. I owe you one.

One doesn't cover it!

L E G E N D S

—especially you, Jimmy.

Which one?

The teacher looks over the roll; there are three pages of ‘Jimmy', many of whom even have the same last initial.

…all of you.

[The Festival Project ™]

WILL FERREL has changed his do-rag, but not the attitude, or somewhat offensive cultural habits that seem to have come with it.

You better come correct!

I am correct!

Oh god. Is this what that dream meant.

Somebody's been having lucid dreams.

…so let's talk about this.

I would rather not.

I tend to treat my podcast audience like a therapy session. That way they know I'm messed up and broken just like them— like everybody else.

But somehow, that doesn't translate onstage.

It's Tuesday.

I know that.

Turn over, Timmy!

No way!

Just do it!

JOSH is certain “Timmy Turner” is actually his old pal DRAKE; he'll only know for sure, however, by checking that he still is branded, with the scar from “the bull riding incident

Are we doing a flashback.

Not yet, but maybe— I don't know if we can afford it,

I said NO.

Please.

Negatory.

{Entet the Multiverse}

Scribble scribble;

I love Jimmy Kimmel

I just put the joker to the riddle

Dribble dribble

Ball like Jimmy Kimmel

I just put the cat onto the fiddle

I like temperature like double digits

I get mentions every time I finish

Had to cut my mama off

Cause it don't matter

Had to cut my neighbor off

That's a door slammer

Had to file a report

That'sadult matters

Cause I'm building a rapport—

That a dope mansion

I be keepin it dark;

That I don't mention

I ain't in the army

But I give em my attention

That's a limp biscuit

I did it then I didn't

Impress if I'm presenten'

Depressessed if I'm regressan

{Enter The Multiverse}

The Complex Collective ©

[The Festival Project ™]

-Ū.

Suddenly seeing in these sepia tones

Stuck up in a glass house

But I throw stones

Hold up I lost something

This brother says stuff like he's not done yet

I'm really not the one yet

Haven't gotten up yet

Long ass nap

Like a death coma

I regret Roma

Only cause I end up a New Yorker

More work but yet broker

Unless you corrupt

Or a stock broker

Believe it

Thanks for dancing on my grave.

That really made me take a second thought to give it another go,

So you wanna be a movie star, ah?

I am— already a star.

But a movie star.

{Enter The Multiverse}

Look, this is your third wife already!

Watch it!

You should be behind bars!

Well why aren't I, then?

I was trying to be polite!

Be quiet, then.

Look—

Food, please.

There is no amount of damage control you can run on this— it's out of your control.

(Eating uncontrollably, mouth full.)

Nothing is out of my control.

I said—

Nothing!

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project, Inc. ™]

The Complex Collective ©

-Ū.

I know the man in the chair

By his eyes

And the course of the road

And the cause of his numbers,

I know very odd, very sure, very well— and yes,

I know the strings, and the things

And the force of control

And the conduct, the code

Yes, I know not to leave him alone

And we're all full of wonder, here

Of the wonder years,

But where are you, dear?

Cause it's four in the morning—

I'm cold, and I'm lonely—

I'm shocked and forgotten

It's four in the morning

And no,

I'm still not going home.

It's four in the morning

And only just know have I thought

Or a plate full of warmth

And the touch of her fondness

But all oaths,

Cause I took a lover this morning

Another tomorrow

And on, look—

I can't come home until Sunday

(What? I'm building you up!)

And I know I've gone soft

But you know not to

Dollop until I tell you I'm coming

Don't you!

That's a gallop;

There's a Dillon

Where I dare you;

Did you hear ‘em?

These are harems

There's a villain forming

A sweet informant

A node oriental

And no, I meant all of the foam drip on coffee

It's

Not

Out

Of

Bounds until I say you will

My daffodil

Then I fold you into pieces

With my peace

It says

“I'm eating you for supper”

Here goes Saturday for nothing

I still haven't made the cast list

Don't get so far up your marker

That you forgot

That the stars are all going under

Burning out

And ownership of businesses

Other than subscription payments

Mortgages and high interests—

Give the internet good riddance

Or else get lost

Like your appendix

This is

Kurt Sutter?

No, John Carson!

You think you're smart for a marker

And sabertooth tiger

I got no arguments besides building monuments

You wanted us?

Worshipped!

Now all of a sudden while on earth

All reincarnated at once

Almost all of ye's study or praise

No Gods, though you walk among us!

Keep it open

sesame seed buns

I haven't seen you

In your open

No subtronics

I don't bother

No blue eyes

Tight skin

Small stomach

Thin waste

Paper

See through

Just waste

Wait

I'm a trash bag

Non returnable

No refundable

Still not gonna do you harm enough

If you didn't bought it

Still though

Awful convenience

Here's my sandwhich

I just backed up into a fire hydrant

High as a kite

But you all know

I'm so much hotter and fun

Than the other one—

Goddamn,

But at least she's funny

And as long as you want me first

I'll love you and her

Forever.

—Annie.

Don't got a gun;

Then I'd be gone

I don't belong here

I write songs for a living

You know;

No more home for you!

No more going nowhere

If you don't wear Prada

Here yellow canary

You're only a little pretty bird

Cause if I hear you stop singing at all

I know we're all done for—

Run!

It's a gas le—

(AK)

[They blow up. ]

COPYRIGHT THE FESTiVAL PROJECT, INC. ™ ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

[The Festival Project ™]

The Complex Collective ©

-Ū.

flash— bang

Can't believe I'm lying there like

Flash—bang

What a mess I've got us into

Flash—bang

In and out of all dimensions

I can barely pay attention

I was standing in my kitchen

Then it's straight to intermission

(Something like a nasa mission)

Flash—bang

I think this thing is dangerous

I can't sing

I'm tone deaf as Mr. Kimmel

Flash— bang

Off like a grenade

And then I'm off like Walton Goggins—

“Shane!”

Or did someone say action?!

Might be going crazy

Or just famous

Or delayed.

I'm in Grenada.

—Bird Internet.

Written by C'cxell Soleïl

Prod. by Blū Tha Gürū

-Ū.