If there’s an Illuminati way back in 2016, a famous journalist, who I will not name…believed I was his reincarnated dead wife. His wife’s name was Butter.
She was called that because she had beautiful light blond hair. Thick, gorgeous, straight blond hair.
She wore it in a bob. It was the late 1950’s/early 1960’s.
They were rich. He was. Jew. She was not.
They lived in North Carolina.
Their house was very nice.
Okay, but like this house, but slightly bigger and in a better neighborhood. And, of course, this house has been renovated.
His family owned a business. Textiles or…something. It wasn’t a big business, but it was very lucrative and they were a rich Jewish family. Yes, kind of like in Driving Miss Daisy.
A reader: OK she’s not making these things appear and I think people need to grow-up and realize that they’re dealing with like Elliott Roosevelt’s wife being sadistically attacked. So, if there’s an Illuminati, it’s like seeing behind closed doors. You wonder how they keep power how they gain power it’s probably in all of our music and it’s probably not really like mind control because this doesn’t seem like mind control, but it’s probably more like they’re labeled as the leader. 
So Daisy is like Daisy from the Great Gatsby. But then the entities attacking her are trying to subliminally message us into thinking that she’s stupid.
And then…she’s just there. I mean, I don’t feel a great need to think highly of that family the way that I do with the Kennedys. I think the Roosevelt’s just kind of speak for themselves, except they’re definitely in my line of vision psychically. Like, I definitely can recognize that they’re a big deal, but I’m not- But, I’m not feeling like I have to think that. It’s more just that like I can tell that’s what they are. So I feel kind of sad for them today, because I am definitely voting Democrat to kick them in the ass, because I’m sorry, but as far as I’m concerned, today they are Republicans, because of Bobby.
*later*
A female Republican lawmaker: I’m not sure…I like Bobby.
No, seriously.
Just keep that in mind.
A reader: What about the way he shares truth?
A female Republican lawmaker: I mean, that’s why we took him seriously at all.
A reader: He was daring.
A female Republican lawmaker: Yes.
That’s exactly what I mean.
*she shrugs*
A reader: Do you realize what you’re implying?
A female Republican lawmaker: Do you realize what you’re implying!?!
A reader: *thinks*
He-
*thinks*
He’s telling us the truth, but he’s not as innocent as he seems, himself?
A female Republican lawmaker: Yup.
What else?
A reader: *he thinks*
He’s…telling you things you aren’t taking seriously.
A Republican lawmaker: Well…-
*she thinks*
I do. I work with operatives…who…care.
We rescue some kids. Some are actually killed…- But, they’re being saved.
Yes.
I’m trying.
…Not everyone is.
My advice is to stop making assumptions and do your research. Read your election literature today, and…pray. Ask God to lead you.
Listen to Hardwired by Stephen Wilson Junior and Miranda Lambert.
The thing is…Lacey isn’t Butter. …At all.
Butter…is like Lucy. And Bill, actually.
She’s…-
She cheated on Chris. That woman.
She did.
And she broke Satan’s heart…
Because, she wanted to marry well. Butter was one of those lucky Americans who had a gorgeous house. With a white picket fence. But…with a one car garage. 2,100 sq feet.
Chris…grew-up rich. Like, 1940’s opera membership rich. That kind of real wealth.
She married him because he had money. ALL the kinds of money.
She liked to rock.
And he LOVED her. He was…obsessed with her.
Meanwhile…Lacey…was being comforted by F. Scott Fitzgerald. Yes, thee ghost of Scott Fitzgerald.
Chris…NEVER was recognized by the Loebs nor the Guggenheims. Scott was. Lacey could have married one of them.
Meanwhile this famous journalist was accidentally/intentionally channeling Michael Rockefeller’s ghost. And so…he ended-up accidentally…conjuring Lacey Banks.
Listen to “Don’t Do Me Like That” by Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers.
She went to a book-signing. Thinking she was going to meet Micheal.
Micheal Rockefeller. Yes, thee Michael Rockefeller.
But she didn’t think that this person was Michael in a living physical sense, she just in her spirit somehow interpreted him as Michael. Because, this person had been trying to talk to her, using witchcraft in the Illuminati, to harass her. She thought that he had invented this weird way of talking because they were talking online and she thought that he had invented some strange way of “subbing” people that was also accidentally psychic.
Like you know like when you’re subtly subliminally like referring to somebody else that you’re in a beef with on Instagram. And he was doing that intentionally to mock her because he didn’t think that she knew what was going on and he was too unfortunately intellectually backward and stupid to realize that it actually wasn’t funny, because how would someone know what was going on? But he was “reading her” as this woman named Butter. So he wasn’t completely aware of the fact that he was really trying to screw-over a genuinely nice person, Lacey, who was just totally misunderstanding him because he keeps channeling the energy of Michael Rockefeller. 
He thought he was being funny because he thought she was probably just a terrible person and no one could see that. Because he took becoming “illuminated” very seriously, and he started to think that most people were just absolute idiots compared to him, and his friends.
So…Lacey has had to fight for her life. Because he got carried away.
A reader: What are you trying to do to Butter?
This journalist: Ha!
*he laughs*
I was trying to…bring Butter…into…reality. She totally missed the plot with me. Back then. I really am…everything she ever wanted. Everything she ever needed.
Satan: So you were going to obliterate Lacey, like in a movie?
This famous journalist: If…necessary.
I wanted her to confess. I needed her to confess.
A reader: You’ve been trying to get her to confess for ten years?
This journalist: Yes.
A reader: Confess what!?
This journalist: You know what I’m talking about.
A reader: Refresh my memory.
This journalist: You know what Butter does to people.
A reader: No, no- I don’t know what to say to that.
What do you think butter does to people?
This journalist: *he laughs*
A reader: What do you think that Butter does to people?
This journalist: You seem like you’re trying to help me, sir. And I appreciate your work, but I don’t find that funny.
A Russian psychic: *laughs*
This journalist: I’m not amused.
A reader: Well, I’m- I’m just- Can you help me try to understand what it is that she did? I’m not your friend. I don’t know.
This journalist: Yeah, you were there that night. What did you see?
A reader: How, about this? You tell me what you think happened and I’ll try to remember what I saw.
This journalist: She was there!
She was there.
I dropped her off at 4:30 to do her hair-
A reader: Yeah OK? And then when did they start serving drinks?
This journalist: *cries*
A reader: I mean, I was already drunk when I got there. My wife drove-
This journalist: *looks confused*
No, who are you? Sure, I know you. I don’t- I don’t- I’m not placing you. I’m sorry. 
A reader: I’m Brian.
This journalist: Oh that’s right, I know who your mother is.
A reader: Yeah, I saw her walking around talking to a lot of people. Which is why you need to tell me.
I’m sorry if that bothers you.
This journalist: Am I involved with the mafia in this conversation?
Tom Banks: Yes.
A reader: Don’t worry about it!
Really!
This journalist: I mean, she slept with him…
I’m not sure when, but I know she did.
*he looks very angry*
A reader: How did you find out?
This journalist: Yeah, you are a double agent. You know it was when she walked into the back bedrooms of their house… and I was expecting you to remember what they were doing before that.
A reader: I’m gonna tell you. I really wasn’t paying that much attention. I was drunk. My wife drove me.
But I can try.
This journalist: Did she seem-
*he cries*
Did she-
*he cries*
Did she seem to know this man?
A reader: Kinda.
This journalist: Gawl.
She was a bitch!!
A reader: You’re talking like my mom.
This journalist: Yes Brian, I do think it’s a white conspiracy.
A reader: That’s not what happened.
We thought your wife was a Jew because she was married to you and we knew that you were fucking her.
It wasn’t just like a complicated marriage.
You were in love with her.
She was your wife, she was putting out for you. She was a Jew.
And maybe I don’t know. But that’s how we saw her. And, I almost think that’s part of what happened, if you want me to be honest with you.
Lem: This was a posh, upper middle class, upper class party, one beautiful sunny afternoon at someone’s house. And it just was a lot of really rich people getting very drunk and just sitting around partying. In the early 60s. And they were all real adults.
People used to do stuff like that more back then. They really did.
This journalist: I know. I didn’t go!
I didn’t like getting involved in activity like that, back then.
A reader: So you think that I’m not going to catch the fact that you’re ignoring what I’m saying?!?
No, we thought your wife was loose…because you’re Jewish.
This journalist: You’re making me want to cry.
And, I can’t handle that.
A reader: I don’t give a shit.
Grow-up!
If you’re gonna make this an international event…I’m pretty sure you have to fucking get over it, princess.
This journalist: OK, OK-
*he cries*
You told her to be there at just the right time for him to show-up-
*he nods*
A reader: You think that’s how things happen, Jew boy?
This journalist: *looks very intent, intense, and serious*
A reader: *laughs*
No, shit… come on… COME ON!
The journalist: Oh, OK. Fine!
You know so much about so much.
You tell me.
A reader: I got there at around six, according to my wife.
When I was there, your wife who might’ve actually been named Marsie. Yes, I’m a ghost and they’re channeling me. We called her Butter, but her real name might’ve actually been Marsie.
Marsie was talking to two men.
They were just talking listening to records…and that’s it.
I think what happened that you’re angry about probably happened, according to my wife, around 6:30 or 7:00. She probably went into one of the back bedrooms with one of those men.
Do you know which one it was?
This journalist: And this is why I have to confront you.
You know so much?
Right?
What were you as grown men and women doing!!? Allowing a married woman to just walk into a back room with another man!?!
In the middle of the day, even.
It’s not even in the dark! It’s not even before you go to sleep. It’s just in the middle of the day.
Wow!
And…you just let them do that. Just walk into a back room.
*he looks disgusted*
A reader: Yeah, because she was a grown woman.
I’m not going to step into that. You expect me to stand-up, drunk, and go stop those people?
This journalist: You know what!?
Yeah, I do.
Because, that’s what Jews might do for each other, if they really cared…even for another grown adult.
A reader: Well, the thing is, I’m not Jewish.
OK?
And it wasn’t my wife and it wasn’t my sister-
The journalist: *looks absolutely disgusted*
A reader: So anyway, that’s what happened. She went into a back room and I don’t think they came out for the rest of the night. 
Another American reader: Why are we investigating Butter’s sex life in 1962, on Election Day? This is really important?
This journalist: OK.
OK.
You’re telling me a lot. This is more than you guys have probably told me in a while. What I want to know… is why you never told me then.
A reader: Because, you’re kind of a kike!
This journalist: *weeps*
No, I’m…not.
A reader: YEAH.
I know what she told me.
*he says, racist, rich, Southern, and white*
*he’s from 1960 something*
*he died in the late 1980’s, married, happy and…nice*
The journalist: *smiles*
I’m not Jewish, anymore. *he says, with some sort of sense of victory*
*and at that…he wants to stab himself in the gut with a sharp knife*
A reader: *cries*
FUCK!!! *he yells at God, in anguish*
Listen to “Hearing” by Sleeping At Last.
The song plays.
A reader: COME ON!!! *he yells at this journalist*
2:31
This journalist: No.
I loved her.
2:55
A reader: *chokes on blood, eyes rolling back into his head, as he deserves*
3:00
A demon emerges from him. Flying out…into the…Earth…and then…down…into Hell.
3:53
The song ends.
The man sits on the sofa. Calm. Smiles. Breathes…easier.
Listen to “Blue Jeans” by Lana Del Rey.
Tom Banks: *smiles*
Lucy: *contemplates if Jane Austen still loves her*
2:01
Jane Austen: I’m sorry…Jane.
*she rolls her eyes*
The song plays.
Listen to “La Ciudad” by ODESZA.
A reader: I was glad to be able to help that man, but he’s dead in Purgatory, most likely and you’re alive. Which is really weird.
So you’re either reading him like I just did and you’re getting confused or something like that, or that’s actually you.
This journalist: I’m not Butter.
A reader: That’s all you took from that?
This journalist: No, and yes.
Elliott: *nods and laughs*
The song ends.
Listen to “Dancing In the Dark” by Cannons.
Elliott: So, you decided to become evil like butter to try to one up her instead of holding her accountable? Hypothetically.
1:22
This journalist: I mean, I-
If there’s reincarnation, God told me not to come back but that I could if I really wanted to, because he thought it was stupid, but I just wanted to come back and just process through what had happened… and I’m just learning about-
*he looks too upset to keep talking*
The song ends.
A Jew in his 60’s: You know I don’t know about that. I’m not sure this was really a good idea.
This journalist: You know, sometimes I think I just came back because I missed her, and I thought I could just be here and find her somehow… and just and just be here. You know…just be here.
She really was a bitch! I’m almost positive that she was just trying to find someone better than me who had more money or who was cooler than me or something.
I was becoming a loser in her eyes. I’m- I’m not sure how? But, I think she started to think I was a loser.
And the thing is, now- now as- as this person, who I am now, I understand her. And, I think, “Wow, I get it. I get it. I get your psychology. I get it.”
She was cutthroat. It wasn’t personal. You know, it wasn’t like we never made love. It wasn’t like nothing had ever happened between us. No, no, no, no. It’s that she just was determined-
Another living Jew: What was she determined to do?
This journalist: She was there to kick ass and take names. She was determined to be my equal, if not my superior. She wanted me to respect her.
She wanted me to think she was “the shit”. She married into our family and we impressed her with our wealth, I’m sure we did make her feel inferior.
I think she came back- Excuse me. I think she did what she did…to try to better herself. And I don’t understand how I’m supposed to be not OK with that, now that I understand.
Lem: But that’s not my wife, sweetheart. Butter isn’t my wife. …That’s not Lacey. That’s not what you’re supposed to take from that experience. The education you’ve had, over the the last 10 years.
This journalist: No, but I’ve screwed-up so much in the last 10 years that I’m starting to realize that she could’ve just really fucked-up.
*Lacey sees her lamp light flicker, out of nowhere*
Butter: I have not existed…because God was so mad at me. And, I’m back momentarily to tell you this.
I was in love with you.
*the journalist smiles in response to what she just said*
I was in love with you…and then I fell in love with him.
This journalist: *nods, in peaceful understanding*
Why?
Butter: OK, fine! OK, fine! Because, he drove a station wagon to the party.
And it was new and it was different, and he looked really rich. And I was shallow. I thought it was sexy.
Chris, I grew-up very poor. I mean we had money when my father started working for the company, when I was seven. But before that, we were just living on the farm with granddad and we didn’t even have a house, Chris.
I just wanted to be something extraordinary.
And he had a station wagon. And when he pulled-up, I thought, “This man has kids… and he’s tall… and he’s handsome. …Dammit, I didn’t do that well for myself.”
Lacey: So you decided to sleep with him to validate yourself, or something like that?
Butter: *nods yes, to Lacey*
This journalist: I may not remember, please refresh my memory. Why didn’t we have kids?
Butter: Because, I-
Because, I couldn’t have children.
This journalist: So, you’re a dog. *he says to Butter*
You wanted to go steal another woman’s life, by stealing her husband… because I helped you.
Butter: Yeah, but see… all of that was not my heart intent.
His wife? His wife, wasn’t even something I was thinking about at all.
I wasn’t jealous of this man’s wife.
His wife never even entered my mind, at all. I was thinking entirely of myself.
I thought of you a few times, but I told myself that I needed to do what was right for me. …Do you remember how I used to read Ayn Rand?
I wanted to do what was right for myself first and foremost, and so I decided that I didn’t care. I didn’t care! I was just going for it. And it was never going to be my life, but I would be the second wife to a great man and maybe I could decorate the house really well…-
*she thinks and rubs her lips together, lost in memories*
I wanted to look really pretty…and who knows? Maybe…he might even run for governor someday! And I might be the governor‘s wife!! And then I might even be something more than that! Like Jackie Kennedy.
I could- I could be like her. I could be old…and yet… be like her.
And then…- And then…- And then…- And then, I guess, what I maybe told myself Chris, is that…maybe you would like it. I told myself that you would like it, because then I would be famous, as the President’s wife, and you would have been the former husband…of the First Lady.
You would be the First Lady…before. You would be that woman before she met the US President. Well, maybe he’s not President, but he better- *she bites her bottom-lip* I bet- He’s a really great man. Because, he’s definitely- *she shuts her eyes, in pain* There’s no way with that man he wouldn’t become- That…the former husband of that woman was- *she finally finds the right words* He must’ve been a really great man.
*she cries, finally*
I’m Dutch and German and slightly French, like Lacey. But, if you were to have seen her in person, you would’ve known that you were full of shit. You should’ve spent so much more time investigating this. …I’m not related to her, but I look like her. That doesn’t make me her.
This journalist: You think I would’ve wanted you to be the First Lady, instead of just being my wife? No! I wouldn’t have! Because, I wanted you.
*he thinks*
Dammit.
Is Brian OK?
Butter: Yes, he’s fine, but I can see why you might be asking.
This journalist: DAMMIT!
Nancy: *nodding*
Yeah.
So this is why you tempted me to have an affair with a ghost of F. Scott Fitzgerald?
The Illuminati: We are very dysfunctional in this situation, so yes.
This journalist: I’m not interested in you being the First Lady, and yet at the same time, if I’m being honest with you, you were in love with me, I actually might’ve liked that, but I didn’t- I mean, you can’t. You can’t do that, Butter-
Butter: I didn’t want to ruin it for you.
I knew I wasn’t crazy. I knew you needed to learn the hard way, or you’d never believe me that you actually really wanted me to be the First Lady. And that that was not something that you-
This journalist: OK but, we could’ve made it. We could’ve made it.
I could’ve- I could’ve settled up. I could’ve buckled down. I could have made it work.
I had a whole industry.
No, I did think about my uncle. We could’ve made more money. I could’ve- I could’ve gotten us into at least, New York society, within 10 to 15 years. We could’ve just been living in New York.
Butter: But, I wouldn’t be First Lady. Yes, I would be living the same life as Mary Tyler Moore in the Dick Van Dyke Show. I used to love that show…
Yes, I could have been living here life but better. I could’ve been her rich friend with no kids, because we were so rich. But you know, the thing is sweetheart, that still isn’t First Lady.
Bud, yes, his name might have been Bud. Yes, Bud and Butter. I know that’s stupid. We never thought about it.
Bud was capable of being the President.
This journalist: No, he wasn’t.
Butter: You, don’t think so?
This journalist: I really, really doubt it.
Butter: I think I was also scared of how much you loved me.
This journalist: *cries*
Listen to “How Did I Get Here” by ODESZA.
*later*
Peggy Flanagan: Yes, I’m busy, but I have a moment. What are you thinking?
Lacey: What do you mean?
Bill: You can’t have it all. *he says to her, mockingly*
Peggy: What!?
Michele: *looks frustrated*
Lacey: OK you guys I’m not Buttet and I have absolutely no idea what you’re all talking about. So please stop expecting me to read your mind OK?
*they flip-out*
Michele: *nods finally, in some understanding*
*later*
Lacey: What do you want?
A hater: Doesn’t that story speak to you? Aren’t you Butter?
Jim: No. Our family actually is old money.
Lacey: Or did you mean in some other way?
A hater: I imagined you were like her. I’m not going to get into the specifics. It’s…not safe, for me, because it’s Election Day and I know I was just jealous of you.
Lacey: Okay. Cool.
I’m not that woman though…
Casi: Not at all?
Lacey: *thinks*
It depends.
If you mean it in an evil way? No.
If you mean it in a good, smart, healthy and honest way? Yes. Proudly.
The journalist: I hear you.
*he smiles*
A male hater: What’s the healthy way?
Lacey: Not getting impregnated by pieces of shit.
A male hater: *looks sad*
Lacey: What!? You don’t find my bluntness hilarious? It makes some people crack-up laughing.
*she sincerely smiles*
Casi: That’s not funny, Lacey!
Lacey: *just stares at her*
Casi: We know those men! Some of them are our fathers.
Lacey: You’re the ones who brought it up. ago fuck yourselves? I mean, what are you even looking for!?!!
It’s not that I don’t care. I do.
And I’m not judging people. But you’re obviously setting me up for an attack, so I’m just being silly. Although, I’m also being honest.
The male hater: Fine. I can’t succeed.
Lacey: What fricken world is he living in?!? Succeed!?
Casi: I’m a hick. I had no idea who I was talking to back then. I probably still don’t.
A real (American) hick: Do we have a beef?
Lacey: What a vile thing to ask.
A real (American) hick: I don’t feel like we naturally do, at all.
Lacey: I grew-up around hicks. …Sometimes they can be very well-bred, for real.
I try to let them call themselves…in the perfume community to let them…feel…like they’re not complete crap.
A real (American) hick: You swear to get through to them.
Lacey: YES. They still hear that…
*later*
Casi: Yeah. Okay. I’m not well-bred.
But, every identity can be good or bad.
Laura: *rolls her eyes*
Listen to “Watching The Detectives” by Elvis Costello.
The male hater (from the perfume community): I can’t laugh at Casi. *he says, very seriously*
Lacey: Why?
The male (from the perfume community) hater: *a few moments later*
Because she’s dumb.
Lacey: In a way you’re not?
Listen to “Let’s Go To Bed” by The Cure.
The male hater (from the perfume community): No.
Lacey: Yes! I can be stupid too.
I find human stupidity either very funny or very angering. Rarely both.
Listen to “Beat On The Brat” by Ramones.
A male (hater): Are you a brat?
Lacey: No!
If anything, you are, you fool.
*she smirks*
A male hater (from the perfume community): Are you okay?
Lacey: Unfortunately, I have to ignore that. Because that’s an insane thing to say right now.
Casi: How are we dumb in the same way?
Lacey: *thinks*
You-
*thinks*
Casi: Nevermind. There’s-
Laura: No! She should say.
Lacey: *thinks*
Do you ever feel like you genuinely miss the plot?
Casi: *closes her eyes*
Yes.
Lacey: Me too.
I feel like we could be in Dudleytown, Connecticut…and we’d both be…way too chill. And…it’s a strength. We’re both smart, in that way. But…why are we so BIZARRELY chill?
Casi: LACEY!
I honestly think we may both have dead lovers. We’re…connected.
Lacey: Fair. However, we still stupidly miss the plot.
Right?
Casi: *thinks*
It’s like our minds are always somewhere else.
Lacey: Yes. But…how is that not just an explanation for genuine stupidity?
Actually, no. No! That was it. Because…-
*she thinks*
Casi: *looks confused*
Lacey: I think-
*she looks confused*
*thinks*
I think there’s something there.
I really think we have a similar form of stupidity. In a way. But…it’s real. So I can…explain it. Easily, at least.
Casi: But you’re a genius.
Lacey: Yes. But…even a genius is likely to be dumb. It’s just human nature. I’m rarely dumb. Granted. But…I can be dumb.
Casi: *thinks*
And that’s what we’re laughing at together?
Lacey: Yes!!!
Casi, I once told off a flock of birds. As a little girl. And in a way it was brilliant. And I had good heart intent, but it was also dumb in a way I see you being dumb.
Casi: *laughs*
I think men like that. About both of us.
I think it’s a feminine form of stupidity.
Lacey: YES!
Casi: Yeah.
He doesn’t get it. But I’m sure whatever it is we’re doing…I can’t figure it out either.
Lacey: Dammit.
Casi: Yeah!
The Illuminati: Crap!
*later*
Bill: Was that post for me?
Lucy: Yes.
I’m teasing you.
Bill: Don’t do that.
No! I’m serious.
I’m not going to try anything stupid. And you know that. So what are you even doing!?!
Lucy: I’m having fun.
*she smirks*
Bill: DAMMIT.
Another woman: You’ll be fine.
Bill: I fucked-up!!!
Lem: *smiles*
You did.
I’m actually not stupid in the way Lacey is.
Are you stupid in that way?
Bill: No.
Lem: Yeah! That’s why you deserve to be miserable.
You were vile.
I’m not attracted to her. But…I hope you see it. And I hope you’re miserable.
Lacey: What post is this?
Lem: Bill is actually friends with Lucy on Facebook.
Lacey: I’m not surprised they still know each other. What happened?
Lem: She made a post.
Lacey: She reads this blog?
Lem: She made fun of a lot of people. And I think he was one of them. I’ll tell you more, off the blog.
*later*
The perfume community: WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON!??
A reader: We’re wondering if you were just jealous of Lacey’s family. Because you didn’t have kids with Butter.
The journalist: *can’t respond*
Bill: MESSAGE RECEIVED!!! *he yells at Lucy and Lacey*
Lucy: We haven’t been writing this blog together. No! That wasn’t the point of this whole…experiment.
Bill: Yeah. Right.
It’s the perfect revenge.
Lucy: NO!
It’s truly not the case.
Bill: You’re HOT AS HELL.
But…you’re not my wife.
I’m sorry… I… –
Harold Loeb: Lucy is the real Duff. She’s a real Brett Ashley.
Duff wasn’t.
I knew Duff.
Trust me.
*he thinks*
She’s not Marilyn Monroe. But… that’s not all there is.
Lacey: Exactly.
Listens to The Breeders “Cannonball”.
Lucy: What’s this one about?
The CIA: *shrugs*
Harold: Today. The 2026 Election.
Lacey: That’s a good segue. And actually, a brilliant observation. I’m still dissecting it…
Harold: YES!
Politics as usual…
Lacey: BRILLIANT.
Harold: It really is though.
Lacey: I wondered.
*later*
The perfume community: I worry we didn’t understand you.
Lacey: Maybe not!
The perfume community: Oh dear God! No! No way.
God: What in Hell are you expecting for her to say to that?
The perfume community: You gotta get involved again!?
*rolls its eyes*
Yeah. Okay! I’m a miserable piece of shit!
There! HAPPY!?!
*laughs at Lacey*
*feels superior*
Casi: I never expect this from them either…
God: I know.
Casi: They know I was in the wrong.
Why do they keep doing this???
Lucy: I may have assumed the worst of Lacey.
Simply because they seemed…reasonable. Make sense?
Casi: I’m sorry, but it’s weird.
The perfume community: You don’t really think that… completely.
Casi: Yeah. The rest of what I think is bullshit. But…I’ll never say that.
The perfume community: Why?
Casi: Because!
I’m honestly in shock.
*later*
Tucker Carlson: *battling invisible wasps*
Are you JFK reincarnated!? …Because, if you aren’t, I’m fucked.
*later*
Lacey: No! I’m not.
How many times do I have to tell you all that!?
A hater: Do you really have a crystal chandelier?
Lacey: YES!
Schonbek is crystal. My chandelier is a vintage Schonbek.
A hater: A vintage Schonbek?
Lacey: Yup. Yuppy. Yup. Yup.
A hater: Schonbek.
Lacey: AYE!
Lem: They were founded in Bohemia in 1870.
Lacey: Oh! Were they really?
Lem: They’re considered impressive to some people.
Lacey: 1870!?
That’s like yesterday.
Lem: *laughs*
Not to a lot of people.
Lacey: No! That’s just last Thursday, I think…
Just last Thursday.
Lem: No!
We had a kid…who died. But…-
Lacey: That year!?
Lem: Yes.
Lacey: Well dammit. *she laughs* …If that’s even true.
Casi: Why do you feel so rejected by women?
Lacey: Because you all are bitches. Except for my children. And my family. And…a few other people. And okay, maybe some women.
But, honestly, women tend to treat me like absolute shit.
Casi: I did too, if I’m being honest.
Are men nice to you?
Lacey: YES!
Men are nice, to me.
I wish women treated me like another woman, but they often don’t-
Queen Elizabeth II: I did. Somewhat. And a lot of us would have in the past.
Bette Davis: Like me.
I would have adored you.
Lacey: What’s wrong with women today?
Bette: They’re mean. I don’t get along with them either.
Lacey: They’re always mad at me. They have been since I was a kid.
A Millennial woman: We’re not mean! *she says in a whiny, condescending, rude, violent voice*
Casi: Is she being serious?
God: Yes.
Completely. And no, she doesn’t lack self-awareness.
That’s really what that woman sounded like, too.
Harold: Stop obsessively looking for ways she could be secretly masculine or lesbian. Please.
Lacey is neither masculine nor attracted to women. At all.
Laura: Are we actually more masculine? No, I’m a woman. But I wonder…
God: YES!
And she irritates you all, a lot. You also feel very threatened by her innate femininity.
You can’t understand it and it truly scares you.
Another Millennial woman: Well…they were different people.
Bette Davis: YES! Why do you hate us so damn much?
Another Millennial woman: We’d hate you too?
Bette: YES!!
You have no idea. I’d really piss you off. Worse than Lacey. Far worse.
Lacey: Yes.
You irritated me. When I first encountered your energy. As a young teenager.
Bette: *nods*
Lacey: But then…it was like, “Just let go…and be yourself.”
Bette: Yes. You flipped a switch in your head, because you felt so rejected by them. And I seemed…like sanity.
Lacey: Yes.
And now I can’t undo it.
Bette: Yes. Because it’s you.
You’re not able to go back?
Lacey: I can’t. My head literally can’t… fix itself.
A man: Why do you do that!?!
Lacey: Do what!?
A man: That!?!
Bette: Ignore him. He’s an idiot.
Lacey: Why are you all violently attacking my gender identity tonight?
Tucker: Because we were betting on you being mean. Or a man. Or something.
God: That’s pathetic. Do you realize that?
Lacey: Oh well.
Right? *she says to God, partially*
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