15. WDE. [I_NY.]

Two waist trainers— Two sauna suits— One neoprene and one polyester— It's polyester? Damn. Well, at least it won't rip What exactly are you trying to achieve. I'm going to be 110 pounds. For what! I don't know. Jennifer Anniston makes it seem really appealing. JENNIFER ANNISTON opens a yogurt; Like, Ten dudes just crowd around and stare. See. Ah. I get it . I see what you mean. What exactly do you need ten dudes for to sit around and stare at you eat yogurt?! Ah shit, which friend is that? I don't know— let's see. This one's Chandler. Hi. And that's Ross. Hey. So this guy's—uh— JOEY UH… Give me a minute. JOEY You forgot my name? It's been a long time! No it hasn't! I saw you last week, at the Deli. It's been a long week. How do you forget my name in a week! I didn'! What do you mean “I didnt” I mean— I saw you just last week, at the deli, and I said “Hi Rachel” And you turned around to me and said “Oh, hiiiii——…“ [exaggerated gasp] YOU FORGOT MY NAME! What this show has a friends reuinionnin it! Just let me have one more day of bread and ice cream, and not giving a fuck, Will ya. Shhh! Quiet, will ya?! What come on! How am I supposed to believe you're actually getting clearance from not just NBC— —CBS— YES. — But all the networks?! What can I say? I'm a cash cow. You're an actual cow. Shove it. Everybody's going to want a slice of the best show on Telivision. So, check it out. You wagered a deal with— Uh huh— Let me see if I'm getting this right— Ah huh “The Illuminati” Uh huh! “The Illuminati!?” That's who you're signed to? “Signed” is like a relative term. …This is signed in blood. It sure is! Are you done downloading Final Cut yet? Not yet, I have to finish the album so I can offload Ableton first What-te-der—l— what do you mean “offload Ableton” Like get it off my computer. What does that mean. I don't have enough room for both things. So just get rid of it! —no. Just— Focus. I'm gonna do a magic trick. Okay. What kind of magic trick. I'm a eat all this crap. —okay. All this shit I like— Alright— For like a week. That seems normal. Then I'm gonna go back to being an uptight, no fun, war machine of a human being. How is that magic? You'll see. Yep. I reached my cap on New York. I'm fucking sick of people. I don't want to see another human being— ever. Fuck these fucking people. Fuck the gym. Fuck the grocery store. Fuck the internet— Just— NO. Get the fuck away from me. Don't be around me Don't talk to me Don't touch me. Period. Don't. Come, around. Here. Leave me alone— And I'll leave you alone— And when we're all done being alienated and isolated— Which is never— We'll see each other again; one day, maybe. Maybe not. I don't know. Wait. What. When's the Drew Barrymore show? Like next week maybe —you don't even have tickets. I'm sure somehow that if I do, however, get tickets— I'll be Illuminati skinny within the proper amount of allotted time— —You have four days. MORE ICE CREAM. Why the fuck is Selena Gomez naked? I don't know, Is she okay? I don't know. Oh look. A skeleton on a peloton. Whatever. I'm hot. I don't get it. What's the point of losing all this weight if still no one loves me? Did you say four days? *7 You said um. Look, I gotta take a detour from that whole Psy the Saige storyline, it was getting kind of dark. How do you mean? I don't. “Book III” Secrets Wasn't it? Idk I thought it was Secrets Lies Death Then what was book four Idk I'm suffocating under heavy bloat and heavily paralyzing social anxiety right now. I need a peloton and an equinox membership. Okay, that will be $Forever Dollars, please. Here you go. Hanging out at this frequency is kind of alright Inwardly I'm still vibrating at light speed, but outwardly all those honking horns and idiots don't really bother me as much-/ Because being this fat, I'm more like them than not! That makes sense, (On the outside) MORE ICE CREAM. Okay, but I get to pick the ice cream. We're talking about Hollywood and Alex Baldwin here! What?! ALEC BALDWIN I'm not going to jail. Jesus Christ. (Laughs, lights cigar) —filthy fucking rich! You expect me to believe Alec Baldwin isn't such a fucking leftie that he would actually sacrifice his entire career and reputation in order to promote the left's agenda on gun violence?! No, he actually killed somebody. I doubt that! ALEX/ that's a hilarious typo ALEC BALDWIN [staring off innocently with his sparkly blue eyes] I doubt that highly. Somebody tell me why this man is nearly 80 years old And still looks like a newborn baby. [dazzles] Yikes. Holy shit, there's like 90 fucking Baldwins. Since the Mayflower, baby! There's 10 fucking Wynans Wayne's? Wyan? Whatever Recovery + Time You know sometimes self care is more than just going to the gym every day, personal hygiene, and good housekeeping. Sometimes it's staying away from other people, trauma triggers, and the rest of the world knowing that whatever is supposed to happen is going to happen. You can't force change— You can— But primarily this happens from within. Which means Fuck that, I'm not going to the gym— I swear to god they have these fucking people following me. that's fame. No it is NOT. Fame means I make enough money to show up at the Equinox on occasion, At 5 in the morning, when only the cool people are there— Or late at night, after almost everyone's left ON OCCASION Because I have my own state of the art equipment In my workout room So I can burn off the nonsense 5 feet away from my fucking sleeping quarters— And go to work SOMEWHERE ELSE Being surrounded by people of MY CHOICE And not these coughing, hacking, sniffling, sneezing, diseased ass weight throwing weak dick phone scrolling motherfuckers— That's fame. This isn't fame . It's gangstalking, or some kind of serious indication That's something is fucking wrong with people, And I'm about to either lose my mind, Or take into consideration the heavy amount of karma which institutes from participating in fucking stalking someone until they get fucking sick and thrown off course— Fuck that. Fuck all these people in New York since day one have tried to fuck me over in some way Which includes My neighbors Every since roommate I had at the homeless shelter, And every single other mother fucker possessed by some low-quality- demonic, residual idiot vibration that keeps attacking me. All this to say? I WANT ICE CREAM AND BREAD, AND AFTER THAT, I'M GETTING A PELOTON. KELLY (From Shoes) FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUUCKK YOUUUUUUUUUU. Somehow for the first time in a long time, I was suddenly in alignment with time and synchronicity—the time was 10:10, and after a failed attempt at an early enough gym time that I thought mother escape whatever had been plaguing me, I was once again followed directly into the gym, and I no longer or at all found it a coincidence, as all of the people who arrived just shortly after I did, appeared to be dressed in the same kind of attire, almost as if some kind of dress code or uniform. Unwilling to share the space, after spending the day fighting a pressurized crluater migraine from out of the back of my neck and behind my eye, I was intolerant to waste even further energy on attempting to reclaim the focus I had barely gathered through the day, my week of gym training sessions shortened to simple one mile runs, between 10 and 15 minutes on the stationary bike, and minimal lifting and yet, I had with some intention been eating out of my usual bounds, indulging on bread, store bought jelly—against my summer long habit of making my own, and even ice cream. Still, the ice cream I had bought the night before had come entirely freezer burnt and was unappetizing, not that I needed an excuse for even more ice cream, but somehow the tantrum of rage that had resulted from yet again being followed into the gym had also resulted in not just returning to my apartment to sulk in hatred and disdain for the human species, but darting like a bullet to the grocery store with a a fiercely careless and blinding fury in collecting not only the items I needed to gather—but some extra; things I wanted, and not just needed, and though deviating from the specific diet I knew that I intended to follow throughout the week, granted I might have the chance to finally visit as an audience member of the Drew Barrymore show, which I had attempted while in shelter and, getting lost on the way to the studio somewhere in Manhattan, has simply never achieved, and rather remembered quite vividly rather, spending the day exploring restaurants in the city, and looking for a doctors office—as my intolerance to cold had sent me about on a wild goose chase in thinking that while in shelter I would have ever ended up with a private sleeping quarters; now, something like a year later or whenever it was, and though I had been met with the blessing of at least doors which closed out the physical presence of other human beings with any luck, there was still the constant reminder of the world's chaos and restlessness, and something in me shattered at knowing that with the ability to create, there was almost no escape at all from the overwhelming boundary of insanity always in and about the building, and now about myself. The headaches returned within minutes of my return to the building, almost as if it was the building itself that needed to be removed from my lists or triggers and stressors, and though the building was nice itself, the noise had become debilitating. I finally had realized after taking time and research that I did indeed have the grounds for a lawsuit—and the evidence to prove it. The only question really was; who was I suing? “A Statement Piece” Look who's here! No, I'm not here, actually— it's— this is not who you think it is. Do you know who I am? Uhh…DREW BARRYMORE? WRONG— you're WRONG AGAIN. As always. Ū attends the Drew Barrymore Show. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©