Carmen

I love the opera Carmen by Bizet.

Carmen by Lana Del Rey plays.

(Adult Content Below)

The father who raised me was a supernumerary in a production of Carmen in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. During Vietnam… He is likely a real closeted gay.

“Do I sound gay?!” he’d ask in a million ways repeatedly of the mother who raised me and me. He was paranoid about seeming gay. Every little thing he did was his undoing. He couldn’t breath without being worried he sounded gay.

I was an only child. They were married for almost 30 years…

“You don’t have to marry for love. There are many other reasons to get married. You’ll see when you get married.” said the father who raised me to me when I was 14.

“I only want to marry for love. There is no other good reason.” I said, adamantly.

“No. There are many other good reasons to get married!” he said, arguing with me.

“No. That’s wrong. There aren’t.” I said.

Silence between us.

“Isn’t it evil to get married for other reasons?” I asked him as a Christian.

He was quiet for a second. “No, you’ll see. No. That’s not true actually. You’ll see.”

We couldn’t agree so we stopped talking.

American by Lana Del Rey plays.

Today Lacey is wondering. Is America secretly bankrupt? Are we in crippling debt? Are we “house poor?”

J. P. looks worried.

“Why?” asks Bobby.

“How much of our house do we even own anymore?” he asks, in possibly grave sadness.

Lem thinks with Lacey back to stories of English estates. Rotting. Without funds.

“Why did that happen?” asks Michael.

“Well, I think it was the decline of the country on the world stage.” says Lacey. “The more the country crumbled the harder it was to keep up the houses.”

“The White House was already struggling when we got there.” says Jack.

“That’s not quite the same thing.” says Joe Sr. to his son.

Gold Digger by Kayne West plays.

Lacey rolls her eyes. “I’m not a gold digger.” she says rolling her eyes, again.

Then as she listens to the lyrics…she laughs. She is picking her nose. She’s been sick. …And…she has a tiny nose. And…well…it’s a disturbing feeling.

“What is one supposed to do? To be polite.” asks Lacey.

Katherine Hepburn sighs. “I don’t know. You’re right. It’s like coughing.”

“You really aren’t after the money?” asks Desmond of Lacey, seriously.

“Of course not!” says Lacey.

“You don’t get greed. You get colonialism. But greed…baffles you.” says an English actress to Lacey.

“Yes. Colonialism is harsh survival. It’s…shit. But…greed? What is greed?” asks Lacey.

“Huh?” asks an American black man of Lacey.

“No, no. I understand what she means.” says an African.

“Really?” asks Lacey.

“Yes!” he says nodding his head. “It’s a different thing. You and I understand. They do not.”

…

Later.

“What the fuck?!” asks a white American man in regard to Lacey’s comment on colonialism.

“I mean it’s all shit. And the best we can do is try to make it work somehow. And I think she’s saying colonialism is less dysfunctional and possibly evil in a way than pure, meaningless greed.” says another white American dude.

“I think you just reminded everyone reading your blog of how dumb you are!” says a Boomer American businessman in the Illuminati to Lacey. “Colonialism is greed. It’s greed at its finest.” He scoffs self-righteously. He hears his compatriots complain. “No! What else would it be?!”

“It’s also the way those empires were built.” says Michael. “Not one man’s personal empire like my grandfather’s. A whole country.”

“True. And it was hellish. …But we survived. And…no nuclear wars. No end of survival forever.” says the African. “Our world wasn’t being turned into chemicals.” He seethes. “And for no purpose.” He calms himself. “We had so much hope for a while. We did. What now?! How are you all better than the colonial overlords?”

“I hear you.” says a woman in America who’s ancestors came over in the late 1800’s. To New York and then settled in Ohio and Pennsylvania.

“No, colonialism was evil. But…it made sense. It genuinely sustained a country and a continent. For a real, meaningful idealogical end.” says the African. “What is the meaning of American greed? The American Dream? That’s nonsense. It’s an oxymoron.”

“Oxy!” says a Sackler.

“Did you get jaded?” Lacey asks them.

Someone Like You by Adele plays.

“Yes.” says a dead Sackler? “A bit morbid.”

“You ever live in the hood?” asks a black American woman with a smirk.

“We didn’t care. We wanted to. But…it got…too tempting to stop caring and just…feel powerful.” he says. “We were too jaded. She’s right.”

It Was A Good Day by Snoop Dogg plays.

Mr. Blue dances.

He dances.

And dances.

And dances…

…And…dances?

“Are you an Irish slave?” Lacey asks him. “And yet you thought I was just sleaze trying to get rich by being with you.”

“It is weird. If it’s true.” says a dead Queen.

“Well, he had marginally more net?” asks Lacey.

“Okay, but…why not try?! Why just give-up and make the money? Even if it’s off drugs, essentially. …Why give in?” asks a white American man.

“True. But…it’s illogical and very insulting to you.” says a woman in Pennsylvania.

“And he went to an Ivy League school!” says another woman in Ohio.

“But she’s right. It’s bullshit.” says a dead Sackler. “Let’s not yet distracted in defending his ego.”

“It rests on some nonsensical idea that greed is good.” says Lacey.

“Greed is a good. Greed is the best. Greed is a fuzzy, furry cat in the sun taking a nap. Greed is funny. Greed is cool. Greed is…pretty.” says the Sackler.

“So…what were we doing here?!” asks a Catholic American.

“Some of us were getting high.” jokes a recovering drug addict.

“You could have done that where you came from!!!” yells a Native American woman.

“True.” says his sponsor. The addict cries.

“Why were we here?” the Catholic asks again, calmly. Thoughtfully.

“To find freedom and maybe some happiness.” says a dead Pennsylvanian from the 1800’s. She smiles sadly.

“Did we find it?” asks the Catholic.

“At times, for some people.” says the woman, still mourning.

“Enough people that it felt real.” says the Sackler.

Neighbors by Grizzly Bear plays.

“The thing is, how do you avoid colonialism?” asks Michael. “That’s a question America has never really dealt with.”

“By avoiding it! You can go around the world, bring…democracy…and…get resources…but…it’s not imperialism if it’s called capitalism. And capitalism is late stage. And capitalism is American. And America is capitalist. And…greed isn’t capitalism but it is. It’s so, so, soooo complicated. …Michael I’ve been assured by professors…that I’m an idiot. Unusually insightful for some reason they assumed was likely related to my gender. …And certainly deserving of pity for my depression. …But…an idiot for not understanding that everything is fine. Boomers are brilliant! …That thinking outside the narrative the way I do is trashy and uneducated. And..I should just be…dead. Not even a housewife…because they need incredible organization skills. But like…dead because I’m too disturbing.” says Lacey to Michael.

“We didn’t realize you had a fortune to your name at birth.” says a Messiah student in a rage to Lacey.

“Oh, you didn’t?! I wonder. Could she explain why? Actually, you know…I bet she has explained why.” says a black rapper in response.

“We got what we came for. To some degree.” says a white Millennial woman, reflectively.

“Except, they didn’t immigrate here on purpose.” says Lacey about black Americans.

“We were immigrants, Lem. Doesn’t that make everyone else an immigrant too?!” asks Joe Jr. sarcastically. “So logical!”

“We never immigrated.” says a Native American woman.

“And yet…it’s still a nation of immigrants!” says Lem sarcastically. “No slaves. No! Just…immigrants and…black people…learning to act like immigrants?”

“But we did. Don’t you see?! …My brother’s perspective was the only one that mattered. And people loved him for being so violently stupid. …Because they related to it.” says Joe Jr.. “It was like being white and listening to your white neighbor but he’s a lot richer and slightly hotter.”

The Citristrip lingering in her house burns Lacey’s lungs. Her father seethes.

“They should know far more about their products. They should have that information available. We had to. Why does some shit company that helps scrape paint away get away with it?” he asks.

“It can’t still be in your house. There goes everything you’ve written. You’re my poopy!” says Lord Thirsten Snotgrass. “I know that is impossible!”

“No. It’s bizarre how it’s lingered.” says Lacey. “But it has and we’ve all got brown snot and been sick from irritation.”

“We did that! Isn’t it hilarious?!” asks Mr. Blue. “We control so much, you guys. So we gave her the idea to use it knowing, after stalking her, that it would work. And…the idea was that it’d affect them financially and I’d finally get to win my years long argument with her and prove I’m superior! Prove money matters more than prestige.”

It Was A Good Day plays again.

Mr. Blue dances.

And he dances.

…And…dances.

“Wooot!” yells Andrew Cunanan at Mr. Blue. “Shake it!”

“How is she doing financially?” asks Summertime Sadness.

Mr. Blue shrugs. “She could just…”

“I’d bet it’s been a financial wake-up call and she’s been more frugal and is losing weight too. Not a ton. Just enough to be healthier. Right?” Summertime Sadness asks. “And now what? You’re wringing your own neck?”

“Yup!” says Mr. Blue.

Joe Jr. laughs. “Dance!! Go on, cutie. My brother will confuse the hell out of you when you die and make an ass of you. Right? But you already love taking photos of your ass. So it’s…well…what is it Andrew?”

“It’s what it is.” says Andrew Cunanan.

“Is it Heaven?” asks Lacey.

“God will have to explain.” says Michael.

“Lacey…is it a combination of chemicals you’re dealing with in your only house?” asks an Ohio woman.

“Shit!” says a black witch in the Illuminati who is evil but uses her color to play innocent.

“Yes.” says Lacey. “Of course. I can taste it when I’m in my house. It’s getting better with time. But it’s…obnoxious.”

My Name Is plays. Michael clears his throat.

“You get so self-righteous. Why?” Michael asks Mr. Blue. “Why? …Do you belong to Jack Kennedy’s Immigrant Society?”

Tommy Banks laughs.

“Jack Kennedy’s Immigration Society?” asks Rose.

“It’s super posh, mom.” says Joe Jr..

“You’ve been fine. Haven’t you. You got sick. But…you’re fine.” says a hater of Lacey’s. “You could grab your money and leave in a second.”

“Really?” asks a Wobbly supporter of this female hater.

“Yes. She’s got gold. Diamonds. Heritage. She understands how to con the con artists, honey. Or die tryin’.” she says.

“I did too, believe it or not. That’s where I feel like a fool.” says Michael.

Lem smiles.

“Did you?” Lem’s father asks Joe Sr..

“Not in the way I did.” says Tommy Banks.

Mind Playing Tricks On Me plays.

“But I bet Jack Kennedy’s Immigration Society is gorgeous!” says a Boomer actress.

“Their headquarters?” asks Lacey.

“She’s legally an oil heiress not a bastard.” says Jack listening to the song.

“Is she still allowed in your club?” asks the Boomer actress.

“No!” he says. Andrew laughs. “She’s too old-money.”

“That’s funny. Or are you being serious?” asks Lacey.

“Serious.” he says. “It’s for a certain type of immigrant. You don’t qualify.”

“Well, can I at least ask you something?” asks Lacey.

He rolls his eyes.

“What is American greed?” asks Lacey. “Does Jack Kennedy’s Immigration Society have an official stance on the topic?”

“It’s…” he struggles.

“Yes?!” asks Joe Jr..

“Come on!” says Bobby, not wanting believe Jack doesn’t know.

Jack cries.

“You’re their royalty. Lead!” says a dead Queen in anger to Jack.

“We-“ says Joe Sr..

“Lacey, two things. 1. Why don’t you just stay in your father’s cabin? 2. Did you leave right away?” asks a hater.

“My dear ex advised that we return before we should and we got sick. But yes. I did leave quickly.” says Lacey. “I’ve yelled at him about it and he’s apologized somewhat. He’s bad at apologizing. …But…it’s not easy to stay at my father cabin. Yet.”

“Why?” asks a Lana concerned.

Lacey sighs. “He’s not easy to deal with. But also, it’s a big trailer in a resort on a lake. So he winterizes it every year and we’d have to wait.”

She smiles. “Not like your in-laws $700,000.00 lake house.”

“True. But they’re not helpful.” says Lacey. “The father who raised me has given us so much money.”

“How much is your father’s cabin worth?” asks a Lana.

“He’s invested maybe $200,000.00 but it’s only worth…$150,000.00.” says Lacey.

“Your father hasn’t been that helpful? Right?” asks a Jewish hater.

Mr. Sackler laughs.

“He’s not her father.“ says a dead Cory who once loved the cabin.

“He’s given a lot. But no. My ex is also very good with what we have and what he earns. It’s just an obnoxious situation.” says Lacey.

“Dead Cory?” asks the Native American woman.

“My father’s dead best friend. He bought the cabin with him.” says Lacey.

“So…Tommy Banks is her actual father in Heaven and Cory knows that.” says the Native American woman.

“Greed is power.” says Jack.

“No. It’s not. It’s crap.” says Lacey. “It’s not rational self-interest. It’s not capitalism itself. It’s not a power structure or engine.”

“No, she’s right! It’s not.” says an economist. “It’s more akin to a singular emotion.”

“No!! That’s not right!!!” yell American haters.

“Colonialism was capitalistic.” says Lacey.

“What…the fuck…are we?!? …Really.” says a white male American.

“A mess.” says a dead Carolyn.

“We’re a republic!” says a Lana in a silly voice.

“Greed is making me be what I was not and ruining Lacey’s life.” says Jack.

“Your father doesn’t live at his cabin though. Right?” asks a perfume hater.

“No. It’s just a fun little getaway place.” says Michael.

“I bet it was quaint at first.” says another perfume hater.

“It’s still fairly new. They bought the cabin new.” says Michael.

“So your father who raised you is worth $3 million. And your mom who raised you is with $500,000.00. And your worth…$400,000.00. And your Great Granduncle Simon was knighted by a Norwegian king. And your birth father secretly ran the US in the mid 20th Century and secretly was worth $100 million net in today’s money. …So what? So what?! I could be a reincarnation of Queen Mary! And my family started Texas. We made it a state. We are the oldest family in Texas.” says a New York perfume hater. “And your cheap ass lab emerald from…Helzberg was shit.”

“Amen!!!” yells The Loudest Perfume Hater sarcastically. “AMEN!”

It Was A Good Day plays.

“What?! I’m not intimidated! That’s nothing. There are all nothing compared to me. Even the British Empire and the Rockefeller’s.” says the perfume hater from New York City.

“Yeah? Really?” asks The Loudest Perfume Hater sarcastically.

“See…I just think they’re beneath me. Morally.” sat another perfume hater also seriously.

“This id my church! You are my followers.” says Mr. Blue.

“We are such a big deal. I feel…like…God.” says the perfume hater from NYC.

“Bigger.” says the other perfume hater.

“So…you run the world or the universe?” asks The Loudest Perfume Hater.

“The…ummm…perfume community.” says the perfume hater in NYC.

“Yeah. See…you want to play dumb and act innocent. But in reality we did all come across this way.” says The Loudest Hater. “We are intimidated.” She laughs. “We aren’t like her.”

“Then why did she have to rub it in our faces?”asks the perfume hater in NYC defensively.

“Good question! Very good question. Maybe you know why and you feel guilty and don’t like it.” says The Loudest Perfume Hater.

“Fine. …We got into an argument with her.” she says.

“What was our argument?” asks another perfume hater.

“This!! It was deep, my friend.” says The Loudest Perfume Hater.

—

More later.

“You know they still think Lem was entirely gay. And that I’m a stupid peasant. And that they’re right. And they’ve decided that it’s merely common sense to be an atheist. …I pray they change their minds.” says Lacey.

“True.” says Harold Loeb.

“Lacey, we’ve only got 40 to 50 years of this shit. That’s it. For eternity. Don’t forget that.” says a Charismatic Christian.

“Guys!!! They all think we’re trying to kill them like Lacey we’ve tried to kill Lacey for sadistic, meaningless, stupid reasons that make us the most worthless humans to ever live.” says Mr. Blue with a grin to his Illuminati pals. Ironically or not he misses the meaning of his words.

“Do you understand what you’re saying?” asks a Republican. Mr. Blue is very much a Democrat.

“It’s just the way the world works. I’m not as involved in ruining things as you are.” He scoffs. “I think they did this to build the pipeline!”

“For you? Because you’ll benefit before Lacey’s poor peasant family will. Right?!” asks the perfume hater from NYC.

“But that’s not what’s happening. They’re still using trains…” says an Ohio woman.

“I own them. Because I attack her and get away with it. I’m actually a really big deal.” he says. “I own them.”

“But whoever you are…doesn’t most of your power come from the money made from child slavery?” asks a woman in Honduras laughing at him.

“Yes. But my family is innocent. We are the victims.” he says.

“I sort of doubt that. I think you’re losers.” says an Ohio woman.

“Huh. So…when do you die?” asks a PA man of Mr. Blue.

“He’s too young to die!” says Harold Nesheim laughing.

“Not like a child.” says Lacey.

“Nope. But the demons that crashed the train used that guilt of the American people to torture them alive.” says a dead priest.

“Because of the money made off of child sex slavery? And the profound evil of pedophilia?” says an Ohio woman.

“Yes.” says a dead woman.

“So if it was an accident especially it was caused through our allowance of pedophilia?” says Summertime Sadness.

“And we can’t shoot Mr. Blue because it’s also our fault. But…for the part that isn’t our fault I’d like to murder him in cold blood and see how he likes it.“ says an Ohio woman.

“Lacey, would we have fought the Vietnam War?” asks a Republican.

“Her father smather! So what! He got into some tiny, meaningless riff with the Democrats. Big deal. He was nobody. He was! And that was decades ago anyway. …Policies have drastically changed. …See she doesn’t know that. She’s an idiot. She has no idea about anything useful to our grand discourse. We are the brilliant champions of the future and present. We know. Not her.” says Mr. Blue to the Illuminati.

“No.” says Joe Jr..

“Yeah, I’d believe that.” says a Republican.

“Why?” asks a conservative journalist.

“Because the issues with Cuba would have been nonexistent. And our country would have been on better footing economically. And I would have seen how dangerous it was long-term and talked everyone out of it. I’m extremely difficult to deal with when I want to be.” says Joe Jr..

“You know, Jack tried.” laughs an Ohio woman.

“Why didn’t they just let Bobby run first?!” asks a Pennsylvania woman of the Kennedy’s.

“Was it just a birth order thing?” wonders Lacey. “Was Joe just that certain of that tradition?”

“That’s stupid!” says a hater of Lacey.

“What?!” asks a perfume hater from NYC.

“They were demi-gods. You don’t question demi-gods.” he says in his head.

“But what if Lacey is Scotia? Like…that’s not likely to be in Christianity. But you gotta be smarter.” says a (literally) tired black American woman in NYC.

“So Scotia would theoretically have a right-Wait who even is Scotia?!” asks the American man.

“Well! Scotia is certainly no Jack Kennedy!” says The Loudest Perfume Hater sarcastically.

…

More later.

“I just wanna say that if the Illuminati exists we have witnessed Lem and Lacey having heterosexual sex. On multiple occasions over the last year or two. Consistently. …And yet we have no ability to say that in any way until right now. Because of our oaths.” says an actor.

“What about Michael?” asks Summertime Sadness.

“Yeah, him too. But we’re actual leftists and we don’t force people into shitty marriages. Cool huh? But you know…nobody ever hears us anymore. Just bitch moaning from idiots.” says the actor.

“Can you at least explain to Lacey somehow that you’re contacting the actual dead possibly. Not just keep trying to brainwash her into thinking she’s crazy? Because I can guarantee you living men have been hurt.” says Summertime Sadness.

“Lem II: Revenge Is Mine.” jokes a liberal.

“Huh. A woman who loves Woody Allen, Scott Fitzgerald…and possibly is actually in some bizarre form of communication with the dead. Namely Joe Jr..” laughs a woman from Ohio. “Yeah! Totally Marilyn!” She scoffs. “I wonder if Mr. Blue is genuinely retarded after all? How does that not scream Lem?” She scoffs again. “You know…wasn’t her ex’s family from Sewickley?! And her ex is same vibe as Joe Jr.?” She laughs. “And no, no. Harvard Business School gets involved and being a literal financier.”

“It’s not a big deal. I’m sure we all are cool supernaturally. But…when you mislabel someone so gravely? It’s dangerous.” says another woman.

“Scotia ain’t shit!” says The Loudest Perfume Hater sarcastically.

“Even if I’m not her, which is likely…that’s funny.” says Lacey.

“Did Jack hire Martin Luther King Jr. to sleep with the prostitutes while he pretended it was him? At least sometimes?” wonders a Liberal conspiracy theorist.

“I doubt it.” says Bobby Sr..

Notorious Thugs plays.

“Oh! It’s Mr. Blue’s theme song!” says Scotia.

“He’s a real thug!” says Lacey.

“They sound a lot alike spiritually. A lot. …Are they each other’s doppelgänger or the same person according to Christ?” asks Michael. “Don’t judge her for being confused about who she belongs to, please.”

“Umm…is it possible it really is incredibly insulting to both her and Marilyn?” asks a hater. “How many times has she said that? For years.”

“I think it’s unlikely they will understand. I pray they do too.” says a Christian.

And on that note…Scotland…is fascinating.

Get Into It by Doja Cat plays.

“Get into a yacht!” says Scotia half jokingly.

“Pop out with a truck!” sings Michael.

“She ain’t got a bullet.” sings Lacey.

“Get into a yacht! Pop out with a truck!” sings Michael.

“You wanna get a foothold in Africa? I have connections. Pop into a yacht!” sings Lacey.

“I just got killed by a Boar!” sings Michael.

“Oops there comes American slavery!” sings Lacey.

“Thank you, Zelda! We love you!” sings Lem.

“They took my baby, and my gold and my diamonds.” says Lacey. “With bullets.”

“The end.” sings Michael.

“At one point it’s a slave trader bullying slaves in the ocean. There’s debate over what language of old Africa is spoken. Possibly.” says Scott.

“And of course the slave traders mock Africans by mimicking them.” says Lacey who appears to be Scotia should reincarnation be in Christianity. “It’s also about current child sex slavery. Throwing little girls around like soccer balls. Killing them.”

“Get into my jib. You’re thirsty. I’ll bring you to water.” says Scott.

“You want booze? Let the white folk in!” says Lacey.

“I’ll kill your parents if you snitch!” says a black dead man also explaining what you do when you listen. You listen. “They also threaten to kill his sister.” He thinks. “If you go to church…be a good Christian and get into the yacht obediently.”

“It’s about late stage capitalism.” says Zelda, jokingly.

“If she ain’t gotta bullet. Get into a yacht.” says Lacey. “And she means it…literally. As in, attack innocent people to get comfort. That’s just par for the course in an evil world.” She thinks. “Is it schizophrenic or subversive to see this?”

“See?” asks a psychic.

“Yes.” says Lacey. “And it’s Lord Shiva. As in, I just conquered India or I just kidnapped this child in India. Also, they are the evil-bourgeois in every era pretending to be noble. Or threatening people with Christianity when all these evil adults have are lies and their tragically shitty bodies.”

“She says, ‘Live!’ at first.” says a person hater. She smiles.

“Got that big Rocka-launcho.” sings an Asmat.

“I wouldn’t beat my wife.” says Michael. “Rocka Rocka? No.”

“Thank you Nicole Diver, I love you.” sings Scott.

More later.

“Yes, we’ll have more in a short while. Stay safe.” says Faye Emerson.

Shitting in the Roosevelts faces Mr. Blue can’t shut-up.

“No. FDR and I are buddies. He’s so more me than you.” Mr. Blue says. “Hey, Scotia do you think you can dance like Britney Spears for me. I’ve heard poorer women can be forced to do that.” he says, drunk.

“I’m more into Egyptian dancing, sorry dawg.” says Lacey.

“If you are friends with or are Scotia what does that look like?” asks a hater. “Popping?”

“War.” says Lacey.

A business shark laughs condescendingly at Lacey. Partially, at least, out of fear and immaturity.

“You can find out spiritual stuff as a pleb. You’re nothing!” they cry.

“We are so golden! Guys, it’s working!” says Mr. Blue for hundredth time in over seven years.

“I’m not Trump.” says Lacey. “Or Britney, you shit suckers.”

“Who’s shit?” asks Mr. Blue.

“Mine. Everyday. And you pay me millions for it. What’s wrong with all you lazy, addicted whores?” asks Lacey. “I’m being nice.”

“You ain’t gotta be so chill, girl.” says a Blue Blood.

“What’s wrong with my act? It ain’t flying?” asks Lacey. “Sorry.”

“That’s kind.” he says.

“Is it?” asks Lacey seriously.

“Yeah. You don’t give two shits.” he says. “She’s like a angry bear.”

“See, that’s why I keep trying to kill her.” says Mr. Blue.

“It’s a blog.” Jr says.

“Whatever.” he says, almost pouting.

“I’m worse dead, if God loves me.” says Lacey.

“At this point.” says Michael.

“You don’t want his ass. Do you?” asks the Blue Blood.

“You wanna die?” Lacey asks. “It’ll be fun to destroy you all. For good.”

“Are you going atomic or racist?” asks Mr. Blue.

“You’re funny.” says Michael laughing.

“I don’t know yet. We’ll see, Oh Massur.” says Lacey in irritation.

“Hey Lacey, test your water!” says one of them trying to be scary.

“So you care about our souls but would possibly kill is all?” asks a Blue Blood.

“Might have to.” says Lacey.

“I was no different. You just never noticed.” says a dead Queen of England.

“If you don’t want my dick what do you want?” asks Mr. Blue, self-righteously.

“I wanna strangle you. Slowly. And watch you bleed from your mouth laughing like the biggest small dick uncooked nigger to ever be born in the Big House to his Uncle Tom who he’s killed to get ahead.” says Michael.

Lacey sighs.

“You got a small dick? Is that why you got a lesbian posse, a man-whore and you molest kids?” asks Lem. “You trying be a man and you got shit for brains and no conscience.”

“She still finds me attractive.” says Mr. Blue.

“You’re a man. That’s all it is. Almost entirely. And I have a feeling the rest is actually annoying to her.” says the shark.

“So you’re unstoppable?” asks an Africa of Lacey.

“Am I Scotia? Am I Tommy Banks’ daughter? Answer those questions for certain without dying and get back to me. …I worship God. But sometimes Christians die.” says Lacey.

“Lacey did you have a point?” asks Summertime Sadness.

“Yes. The US is being intimidated by the world. Become we suck shit. We weak. Truly. …But we still real. We real LV. …It’s just a question of what we have left.” says Lacey and DFM.

“Dead…Flint…Michigan.” says DFM. “Jasmine French’s monogram Louis Vuitton.”

“Mr. Blue of you literally started the End Times do you think your brain will work before you die to keep you out of Hell?” asks Summertime Sadness.

“I hope so. Gotta go.” says Lacey.

—-