This Morning

Libella Swing by Parov Stelar plays.

This morning Lacey woke up thankful she was still alive as she’s sick and catching her breath last night was scary. She’s fine! Thank God.

She asked God to let Lem (or possibly Louis or Michael if Lacey is confused) hold her if it was His will as per usual. It felt seconds later as if she was being held in her spirit. It’s a lovely feeling, should it be real.

Tout Suite No. 1 in F Major 3. Mov. by Moondog plays.

Lacey wonders what life must be like if your parents truly love you, you have friends and you fall in love and are truly loved in return. She imagines her parents who raised her but without the lies and abuse. …Is it her imagination or are her cortisol levels actually falling at the thought?!? Lovely, thought. Then she imagines stable, non-two-faced, non-backstabbing friends who actually like her and love her for who she really is. How nice! And…then she imagines finding romantic love.

Fall In Love by Phantogram plays.

But…she would have the same kids? That’s…unthinkable. Suddenly this life falls into decay.

She has to hope she could have had them in Heaven to continue with the thought experiment.

The thought of this wonderful…kind…Christian man from childhood who’s her type and who loves her emerges. …Golly it’d be fun to be with him.

She supposes then that he’s not with her because men like that in her generation REQUIRE a perfect childhood for their wives. Given feminism women can’t be weak. Women, in a perfect marriage that everyone wants must be immaculate, blessed, meek, joyful, funny, and not too beautiful. Beautiful but not too beautiful. You don’t want to threaten your Boomer mommy-in-law’s ego. Nice young men married the “sassy” ones with science or education degrees who seem perpetually chill. Who aren’t sad. If Lacey has been loved she too could pull this style off and fit in…but it requires being loved or it feels like bullshit.

Just like Lacey’s soft, feminine face is more beautiful in reality than a more angular face version of herself despite the current trend in the West otherwise…her real self isn’t cool romantically either.

Her real self? Yeah. Pain and all. Totally unwanted based on what they actually want or think they want by Western living men’s standards. At least…it’s hard to find one who just aroused. As in, they’re affected by what they see…and always have been…but it’s not what they’re told to like so they dismiss it. On rare occasions over the years she’s been pursued by guys who are genuinely interested but see her as a discounted item of potentially high value, or guys who don’t necessarily have good intentions.

Actually though her quirky, genius ex-husband did see her value. He’s like that though. His family is rich for a good reason.

“It’s weird! Every time I look at other women’s faces I see something wrong with them compared to you now. Every…time.” said her ex-husband in 2010. But was he in love? Not necessarily. He just noticed what (sorry haters) might be actual reality.

“Her chin line was too soft!!” says a woman with a far stronger chin.

Except…based on a systematic worldwide analysis of people’s preferences from a computer who’s not likely sentient…Lacey’s face is at least a 9 out of 10. So…that whole angular-is-objectively-better is bullshit. Soft, feminine features indicate fertility? But fertility isn’t as popular now? …And…Western men want more masculine wives than they did in the last fee centuries.

If you enjoy reading about my real suffering…buckle-up Bozo. You’re likely going to find out something about yourself that’s also a harsh truth.

Loud Pipes by Ratatat plays.

And at that Cory, a ghost, smashes pedophile’s heads in a door until they fall off. Just for fun.

A sheltered, bourgeois, white, male pedophile scoffs at Lacey violently. “I’m not worried!” he says stupidly.

“But that’s eternity. Not this.” says Lacey.

“You’re not God! God loves investing in junk bonds, eating watermelon and loves pedophilia. It’s in my interpretation of the Bible. Truly.” he says seriously. “And I read my poop more these days anyway. It’s the best newspaper out there.” he says also seriously. “It’s also not ruined by church leaders who worship the antichrist or capitalism.” He’s a bit a conspiracy theorist perhaps? Hmm.

The Mojo Radio Gang (Radio Version) by Parov Stelar plays. He shakes his ass to the song to match the beat. He thinks this is classy music.

When it ends and the gentleman stops his White Man Truck Show.

“Don’t make me do a White Man Truck Show.” says the white man from Virginia from yesterday. He lives in a trailer park.

“I’m not racist against white people, hopefully.” says Lacey. “Hopefully.”

The man looks hurt. “Nah! I’m not like that cracker.” he says. “Evil is just evil.”

Nostrand by Ratatat plays next.

“Lacey isn’t ugly. I don’t like more angular faces than her face.” says Joe Jr.. “People NEVER let Lacey be exceptional and yet they always insist she is until she claims that objective reality.”

“Her face is like a dog! She knows it’s true!” says Mr. Blue with force, rage and anxiety.

“You’re not pretty like us!” say the Kardashian sisters.

“You’re all plain janes compared to her.” says Lem. “And you know that.”

“Do you like women who are pretty at all?” Lacey asks Mr. Blue who does date men.

“No!” he says accidentally, without thinking.

“No, she’s a real rare person. She’s aging but she was very unusual looking. It was a delicate, rare face. Not round. Just so soft. With high cheekbones and big brown, soft, loving, intelligent and sensitive eyes.” says Grace Kelly. “Gee nose was more perfect and I do mean perfect than it is now…although it’s still nice. Her lips were a bit more plump, but not like they want them today. More like the 1930’s or 40’s ideal? And for about 10 years she had amazing skin.” Grace smiles sadly.

“People used to stare and I thought they all just hated me.” says Lacey. “It made me nervous in public.”

“Did they stare as much anymore?” asks Grace.

“They did yesterday with my new sunglasses.” laughs Lacey. “But not like when I was about 17 to 34.”

Grace nods, agreeing.

“But those aren’t the parameters set out by the scientific community of scholars on beauty!!” say a group of mostly (not entirely) white Gen Z and young Millennial women desperately upset by the thought that Lacey could have and does still exist. They act hurt. They act depressed to the point of suicide. They act like she’s a hateful lesbian. They act like she’s an early 1800’s American plantation owner. They act like she’s a stupid hick. They act like she’s a bitch. …They suggest she’s an autistic scholar? They suggest she’s a lizard person in the Illuminati??? …They start running out ideas.

“You’re a woke Millennial millionaire who should be shot?” says one of them seriously who poses in bikinis to attract the male gaze. She violently prides herself on being considered pretty by current standards.

“Shhh!! SHHH!!!” say a group of super rich almost dead Silent Generation men to Lacey.

Nights Interlude by Nightmares On Wax plays.

“Why?” asks Lacey.

“NOTHING!” they yell a whisper.

“I’m just tired of the lies.” says Lacey. “It’s not an ego thing for me. It’s about being attacked by women and it being sanctioned and even celebrated my whole life.”

“We didn’t think stealing your energy like vicious vampire bats after you were treated like shit already would matter to Roe Vs. Wade. We…thought given your resilience and sanity…you would be fine. An endless trust-fund of unconditional life and love.” says a Boomer woman to Lacey seriously.

“Her pain has nothing to do with the reversal of Roe vs. Wade!!” says a Millennial woman.

“Wanna bet?!?” asks the Boomer woman.

“HOW?!? I love hating her. Don’t make me give that up. I feel ugly then!” the Millennial woman pleads.

“Does your husband love you?” asks Lem.

“Yes! Of course he does!” she says like Lem’s crazy. “But…he’d love to sex with Lacey.”

Nights Introlude by Nightmares On Wax plays. …Introlude.

“He wouldn’t love me though.” says Lacey. “I’d just confuse and irritate him.”

“American Progress!!!” yells Benjamin Franklin.

The Millennial woman doesn’t want to admit that because then she has to be nice to Lacey. And the Millennial man she’s married to doesn’t want to admit that either because then he feels he loses an argument with his wife they’ve been having for a couple of years now.

“Do you even want to have sex with her?!?” asks the Millennial woman of her husband.

“Yes.” he admits.

“No! You don’t! She’s ugly! I hate her!” says the Millennial woman about Lacey.

The Millennial man looks sad. He doesn’t know what to say.

“I think it’s important to reassess our attitudes right now.” the Millennial man says to his Millennial wife.

“What’s that?!?” she says to him, distracted by her phone.

“I think it’s important to keep our true motives in mind. And refocus our attention on our relational goals.” says the husband.

“Yeah! Your motive?!? TO FUCK!” says the Millennial woman. “Nah! I’m kidding. I like fucking too.” she says smugly. She scoffs.

“Everyone has different tastes!” says the man, apologizing for finding Lacey attractive not due to its potential infidelity but because he decides it must be abhorrent. His wife is “cooler” than him.

“She’s not like…ugly. I shouldn’t have said ugly. She’s just…”. She shakes her head in disdain. “She’s not my type of person.”

He sits on the bed, faces their bedroom wall and nods in understanding.

“She’s kind of…uptight and prissy and fake.” he says. “Uppity!”

The wife looks up at him in narcissistic anger. “No! That’s not what I meant.”

Come With Me by Wax Tailor plays.

“I just…like to live my life without restraints. And I don’t want to feel like I’m restricting you!” she says.

“You’re not.” He looks at her seriously. “I love you!” he says with real fervency. It melts her heart. She smiles. They cuddle.

And we’re back to the present.

“Lacey is like an old car! They were shaped differently than they are today!” says a Fox News journalist thoughtfully.

“Everyone and everything is supposed to be clearly labeled in the US!” says a Sackler sarcastically. “But in saying that…you’ll just claim kids can be evil like adults and they’re always kids regardless. Because I can be wrong but you can’t?”

“I wouldn’t want any man alive as a husband at this point anyway.” says Lacey. “Where are they? No…I’ve not had much of a life. It’s been a flop aside from my kids. But…there’s not much I can do about it. I’m not normal in that way. I’m truly one of the least fortunate people alive in that way. I could have really loved someone dearly. Oh well! Get over it! I’m rare again. Get over it! It’s my life. You don’t have to live my pain just let yourself not shit in my face to have an ego orgasm for the umpteenth time you fat, internally ugly, pig-people???”

“I’m not ugly!!! I worked to be loved! And ultimately I’m a victim not you!!!” yells a mildly ugly young Boomer woman who’s husband finds Lacey attractive.

“How are you a victim?” asks Lacey.

“Because I care about beauty!” she says.

“But have you been loved?” asks Lacey.

“Yes! But I’m too elite and realistic and practical and fresh and cool and down-to-earth and superior to appreciate love! I’m not lowly and peasant-like like you! You Satan!!!” she yells with self-righteousness. “I’m a creative, iconic masterpiece of glory!!!”

Her husband smiles lovingly, although he laughs slightly.

“She’s tough as nails!” he says about his wife with genuine pride and confidence. “Women in her day had to work harder! In barns. With goats and sheep. And they had to walk through rivers with horses on the Oregon Trail.” he says in his spirit seriously.

“You really love her!” says Lem sweetly.

The Boomer man looks at Lem with suspicion. He lowers his glasses down his nose to unwittingly imitate Lem and men like him in his generation and look old money.

Ces Bottes Sont Faites Pour Marcher by Eileen (Europop) plays.

It plays.

And plays.

As the Boomer glares…at Lem…for a compliment of sorts.

The Boomer finally loses it!

“OF COURSE I LOVE my wife?!??” he says aghast, appalled and disgusted. It’s unclear why he’s angry. Do you know? Or is it everyone’s turn to guess now.

“OFFENSE CHARADES STARTS IN THREE SECONDS PERMANENTLY UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE!” says Lacey with a wink at God for it to only be played safely.

“You don’t understand why we’re mad? That’s even more offensive!!!” the perfume community yells at Lacey dancing to 1960’s pop music.

“I’m offended at the English!!!” yells Lord Thirsten Snotgrass. He races through the streets of London and across the countryside for months in the spirit carrying a banner that reads, “I’m offended by you! Guess why!!” A link to his website and contact information is attached.

Comment te dire adieu by Françoise Hardy plays.

“The food!?” yells an Englishman at Lord Thirsten Snotgrass as Thirsten races by him in the English countryside.

Lord Thirsten Snotgrass yells back his name and website address. He’s not taking in person answers for understandable reasons. There’s too much land to cover. He can’t believe this island nation is so…spacious. On foot it’s different than by car…

“I thought you were used to walking in Europe?” Lacey says Lord Thirsten Snotgrass who’s fainted somewhere near Surrey. Her and Michael and Lem have him laying in their early 1960’s Bentley on his stomach with the backseat doors open so he doesn’t feel like he’s cheating. They drive across the countryside relatively slowly with his banner hanging out the door for all to see.

Comment te dire adieu by Françoise Hardy plays again.

“The food!” yells an Englishman in his field at the car driving by.

“Go to the website!!” yells Lord Thirsten Snotgrass back at him.

“THE BRITISH!!” bellows another Englishman also in his field.

“Visit my website, please!” yells Lord Thirsten Snotgrass. Did he hesitate slightly this last time though?

Pas De Taxi by Annie Philippe plays.

Lord Thirsten Snotgrass turns over onto his back and glares up at the ceiling of the car.

“Do you hate the British?” asks Lacey.

At hearing that he’d like to reach out and strangle Lacey. But since this is in a realm not fallen and separated from God he cannot strangle her for her innocent question.

So he starts to shake and shake. With rage. He fumes.

“Would you like to be let out of the car, Thirsten?” asks Lem politely from the front passenger seat.

But he’s too busy shaking.

“Be careful! You’ll lose your sign!” says Michael. So he pulls the car to a stop.

“I’m afraid we’ve come to an end for now!” says Michael.

“Fine!” says Lord Thirsten Snotgrass.

Lem pulls him out of the car and carries him like a sleeping child into the field next to the road. Sign included as Thirsten holds it.

Lord Snotgrass sits in the field holding his sign. The wheat is so high you can only see Thirsten’s head and the sign as he sits there looking rather gloomy. A pretty wind picks up the white flag and it flies well.

Lem, Lacey and Michael get back into the Bentley. Shut the doors.

“Will he be alright?!” Lacey asks.

They all look out at him.

“Yes! He’s…resting now.” says Lem. Only the flag is visible now.

“Except…who’s land is that?!” asks Michael with concern.

“Oh!! I see what you mean!!” says Lacey.

Lem turns to face out the windshield. “Yes, I suppose passersby will think the sign belongs to the owners of this land.”

And at that a tall, burly Englishman with a gut, wearing a leather vest from the 1940’s approaches Lord Thirsten Snotgrass. He stares down at him as the Bentley watches.

In the Bentley on this sunny day in rural England? In the backseat: Lacey Banks daughter of Thomas Banks of Minneapolis, Minnesota. Michael Rockefeller at the wheel. Lem Billings in the front passenger seat.

And laying in the field…is a native German theology professor. With a huge white silk and red-lettered sign that reads: , “I’m offended by you! Guess why!!” There’s a link to his website with other contact information in smaller letters below.

After words are exchanged between the English farmer who owns the land and Lord Thirsten Snotgrass the farmer looks up at the Bentley and motions for them to keep driving on with a smile. Michael looks concerned. Lem rolls down his window.

Lem yells out the window. “Say, you have a real interesting fellow there! Think we should leave or take him with us?” he asks pleasantly.

The farmer looks sad. Thoughtful. Stares off into the fields beyond his own.

Then he smiles. Shakes his head no and motions for them to drive on.

Should’ve Been Me by Mitski plays.

An hour later, after the Bentley has left…Lord Thirsten Snotgrass sits on an old wooden wagon. An umbrella to protect him from the sun. Sign in hand. Waving proudly in the wind for all who drive by to see. The farmer gave him a jug of iced American lemonade with a straw. It’s a pleasant spot to sit with a sign actually.

Unfortunately, for the purposes of research, it’s unclear who will drive by. But…given it’s rural England in a realm extremely protected by God…it’s more like camping with lemonade as the sun sets.

The flag is put to rest with Lord Thirsten Snotgrass for the night as his blanket. In the wagon.

It’s a good night’s rest.

But the next day Thirsten takes off. Down the gravel road. Carrying his empty jug, but abandoning the wagon foolishly. He couldn’t figure out how to get it to move. The horses in the pasture nearby were offered to him but he felt uncomfortable taking horses with him on his journey onward.

“Don’t you have some sort of engine? I’m not confident using literal horsepower.“ he pleaded with the farmer. But the farmer insisted horses were better anyway.

So there goes Lord Thirsten Snotgrass carrying the flag. Down the gravel road. Wind beating at him, blowing his clothes into sails on occasion. He looks bold, determined and apparently offended. If you should ever see him someday 70 or 80 years from now…don’t tell him your guesses in person. That’s not efficient. Truly. Please be courteous and visit the listed website.

Posthumous Forgiveness by Tame Impala plays.

“Was I supposed to be an early 1960’s Bentley?” Lacey asks Lem.

“Yup! That’s you as a woman, if women were cars.” says Lem to Lacey.

“How did I end up as a 1960 Bentley?” asks Lacey.

“I like it!” says Michael sincerely.

“Would you rather be a horse?” asks Lem.

“Yes! I love the idea of horses free in the pasture. But that’s the Nesheim and Craft I was raised with. …I love the slowness and earthiness of that experience.” says Lacey. “Horses are beautiful!”

“Not on a rainy day!” says Michael.

“These leather seats smell delicious!” says Lem laying back in the front, resting peacefully.

“It’s a nice car!” says Louis in defense of the car to Lacey.

“That piece of shit would drive me fucking bananas! Ewww! Give me my SUV any day!” says a Millennial woman with enormous disdain.

“Do you know what kind of car this is?” asks Louis of the Millennial woman.

“No.” she says simply.

Running Up That Hill by Kate Bush plays.

“I mean it’s a pretty car. But whatever it is I just can’t imagine driving it.” she says.

Louis nods in understanding. “I mean…it’s not normal looking.” he says.

“No! It’s pretty!” says the Millennial woman sweetly. “But it’s…new looking. Like…really new. But…it’s not very sporty is it?”

“Like a Jeep or a race car? Or what?” asks Louis.

“Yeah!” she says seriously. “It’s soo pretty. If I was a car I’d be jealous! For sure! But…like…it’s not an easy car to take care of?”

“No! It’s not as easy as your usual car these days.” says Lem.

“It’s sort of pretentious looking!” she says scrunching-up her face. “I mean…what’s it pretending to be? A royal carriage? Like a Bentley?”

“Like a posh person’s car? Like a Range Rover?” asks another Millennial woman. Then with an absurd British accent, “I’ll take a spot of tea, your majesty!”

“Yeah. Whatever! It’s a nice car I’m sure.” says the first Millennial woman thinking she’s being charitable and diplomatic.

“It’s like an old-fashioned, outdated Bentley.” says the second Millennial woman.

“It’s not my car!” says a 2020’s Mercedes driver with haughty disdain.

Low by SZA plays. Loud.

“Nah! That’s a slave owner’s car!” say all African American living people with seething rage.

The song plays.

“If that car was a person it would the height of all racism!” they reiterate.

“Tell me more!” says the second (white) Millennial woman sincerely to the American black people.

“Anyway, it’s a 1960 Bentley.” says Louis to no one in particular.

“Everyone already knows! You pervert!” shouts Summertime Sadness.

“It’s jack

“That’s jack-shit! What W. A. S. P. drives that pretentious, shitmobile?” asks The Loudest Perfume Hater with supreme confidence.

“Oh! It’s probably made by Chrysler. You know?!?” says a Susanne in the perfume community as she rolls her eyes.

“I’m a Buick!” says JFK.

“But they were gorgeous back then.” says the 1960 Bentley named Lacey.

JFK thinks. He agrees. But he wants to be humble.

“You could make an old, American Buick US President and it’d be grand, even. And so American.” says Lacey.

JFK looks at Lacey and smiles. Then he feels sad. Looks down.

“The pride of the 20th Century!” says Lacey sadly too.

“It was grand!” says JFK sadly.

Adventures In Your Own Backyard by Patrick Watson plays.

“That’s a nostalgic song!” Lacey says thoughtfully.

“What’s a 1960’s Bentley doing new in the 2000’s?!? It’s preposterous! I refuse to believe an 88 year old man brought this car into the 21st Century!” says The Loudest Perfume Hater.

“How did it get here then?” asks Michael.

“There must be a Jeep hiding underneath the hologram.” says The Loudest Perfume Hater seriously.

“Oh! Alien technology!” says a Tik Tokker.

“Yeah… Shh!” says The Loudest Perfume Hater.

“No! It’s my car originally, regardless now.” says a man named Thomas Banks born in 1894. “No aliens were involved!!”

“Not this time!” says Harold Loeb, laughing slightly.

“I refuse to believe my flooded and refurbished, 2005 Mercedes…RED convertible is inferior to this piece of pretentious jackassery.” says The Loudest Perfume Hater with pain in her voice.

“What’s making you sad?” asks Lem.

“I’m just wondering who put this car here in front of me to hurt me? Like…was it a plot?!?! I have a lot of jealous friends and former lovers.” says The Loudest Perfume Hater.

“Why does it hurt you?” asks Louis.

“Because it looks like a real car. But it hurts me too much if it is…so it can’t be.” says The Loudest Perfume Hater.

“Why would it hurt you so much?” asks Harold of The Loudest Perfume Hater.

“Because…I take an enormous amount of pride in being a RED…2005 Mercedes convertible.” says The Loudest Perfume Hater. She cries. “I was only flooded because I drive badly sometimes.”

“Were you high?” asks Harold.

“I don’t remember.” she says.

“I mean you drove into a flooded street in a hurricane?” asks Harold.

“I don’t think I should have to explain!” says The Loudest Perfume Hater.

“Say! You’re very sporty!” say the Millennials.

“Which class Mercedes?” asks Michael out of curiosity.

“SLK 350.” says a man to Michael.

Thomas Banks gets behind the wheel of the 1960 Bentley and starts to drive away slowly.

Louis Hill Jr. notices and starts running after the car. It’s moving slowly enough to catch-up to it.

Lem sprints and makes a dive into the side window of the backseat. He gets stuck in the window but pushes his way in as it drives on.

“What!?!?? Mercedes always wins!” says Mr. Blue. “It’s quiet luxury.” he says. “I drive a Mercedes.”

Harold Loeb gets on a bicycle and rides up to the 1960 Bentley and keeps pace. Keeps an eye on things.

Louis appears to be in heated conversation with Tommy Banks as it inches down the road. With Thomas Banks behind the wheel. Lem makes it into the backseat.

Michael drives another Bentley up to the 1960 and rolls down his windows. Sprays Chanel No. 22 as he half hangs out the window. Confused by smelling his daughter’s perfume Mr. Banks turns around in worry. He sees Michael Rockefeller waving cheerfully at him.

“Hello, Sir!!” says Michael smiling bright. “Mind if we talk?!?”

Both cars and all people pause for a moment. Everyone talks amongst themselves.

From behind:

“I’m not sure what those men are doing. But I’m that car!!” says Casi.

“No! You’re not. Stop lying. It’s damaging my children in very serious ways because too many people believe you.” says God to The Loudest Perfume Hater sincerely.

“Okay! Whatever! I’ll just lie more!” she says. “I don’t care!”

Feeling bad for The Loudest Perfume Hater Joe Jr. apparently appears to approach her.

“So you’re a Mercedes!?” he asks her.

“Yeah!” she admits laughing.

Lovers From The Past by Mareux plsy

“You know…I drove a Mercedes.” says Joe.

They look at each other seriously.

“I kind of miss driving a Mercedes.” says Joe.

She empathizes with Joe.

“Yeah. I’m a Mercedes.” she says thoughtfully.

“I miss driving a Mercedes. I mean…they’re…Mercedes.” says Joe Jr. to The Loudest Perfume Hater.

She looks overwhelmed.

“WHO ORDERED LACEY BANKS BE MADE A 1960 BENTLEY?” a loudspeaker with Thomas Banks asking everyone is heard.

Trouble by Cage The Elephant plays.

Joe Jr. hears and drops everything as he rushes forward to the Bentley. He yells, “It was me!”

He smiles and waves his hands. Approaches Tommy Banks, carelessly shoving Louis Hill Jr. out of his way.

Words are exchanged between Thomas and Joe Jr.. Joe looks increasingly upset. He walks back to The Loudest Perfume Hater slightly upset.

“What’s wrong?” she asks him.

“They want to take the car away from me completely now.” says Joe.

“Aww! Why?” she asks.

“They say they don’t think it’s mine anymore. Even though I custom designed it for myself.” says Joe.

“I thought you drove Mercedes?” asks The Loudest Perfume Hater.

“Yeah! But a Bentley is a Bentley.” he says.

“Huh.” she says.

“But if I’m a Mercedes then why not drive me first to see if you prefer Mercedes?” she asks.

Another Mercedes named Vanny approaches.

“You’re a C class?” asks Joe Jr. of Vanny.

“Yup!” she says smiling.

“And you’re an SLK?” he asks The Loudest Perfume Hater.

“Vintage!” says The Loudest Perfume Hater.

“2000’s?” asks Joe.

“If I was Millennial I’d possibly find you nostalgic.” Joe says to The Loudest Perfume Hater.

“Whatever! I’m new!” says Vanny.

GOODBYE by Feder plays.

They chat. The two Mercedes convertibles competing for Joe Jr.’s attention.

They chat.

And laugh.

And chat.

…And chat.

Time passes.

…

Meanwhile…Lem is behind the wheel of the Bentley.

Everyone is out of the car.

“Okay!! I’m taking off!” says Lem.

Zoo Girl by M. I. A. plays.

He drives off quickly. They watch respectfully. All seems potentially settled.

But Joe doesn’t like it.

“Dang it!” he says.

“Just let it go!” says JFK pleadingly.

“No!! Don’t you see who’s over there?!” says Joe Jr.. “That’s Louis Hill Jr. and the Rockefeller’s are in on it too! I just saw Rocky!”

“They stole your car?” asks Bobby with concern.

“No! It’s not quite that bad. Lem has it. Somehow?” says JFK.

Bobby looks horrified. “I’m sure Lem wouldn’t steal a car. It’s more likely he’s driving that car forever now. And that’s good!”

“That’s MY CAR!” yells Joe.

Time Traveller by M. I. A. plays.

Two hours later Joe hires a helicopter with Casi and Vanny on board for some reason. He lands the helicopter in front of the Bentley. Gets out and with authority stands in the middle of the road.

Seven Army Nation by The White Stripes plays.

Joe holds out the palm of his hand out to demand Lem pause.

And…that’s the situation.

“Until I hijacked the helicopter.” says Michael.

Bad Memory by K.Flay plays.

“Get out!” Michael commands Lem.

The helicopter flies off.

And at that Michael floors the Bentley and kills Joe. He flies up into the air, does several flips in the air until he lands on the ground.

“Get in!” Michael commands Lem.

Lem sits in the passenger seat.

I Walk The Line by Halsey plays.

Michael speeds off.

And once they’re about 100 miles away… Joe, recovered, stands up. Dusts himself off. Looks miffed. Then turns around and goes back to the party.

It’s a night party. At an old mansion next to a lake.

“Whatever.” he says.

“Where’s your car?” Bobby asks him.

“How should I know?!?” asks Joe. “They’re gone.”

The seat Lacey sits on as she writes this suddenly moves on its own and she moves with it. Like it actually moves. And she ignores it until she realizes it doesn’t make any sense.

“Joe. They’re gone.” says Bobby.

“Where are your new Mercedes?” asks JFK.

He blinks.

“Joe where are they?!” asks Bobby.

“I guess somewhere…” he says dumbfounded.

…

Apologize by One Republic plays.

Lord Thirsten Snotgrass walks through the hills of Scotland with his sign.

“What if reincarnation doesn’t exist in Christianity and it’s too late to apologize?” he says to Lacey.

“I’m sorry!! It might not. It’s unlikely even.” says Lacey.

“Then why does Michael know you so well?” he asks.

“Maybe it’s normal? And it’s not unusual considering I’m a 1960 Bentley.“ says Lacey.

“Or she’s my 1960 Bentley.” says Lem. “Maybe I’m not who you think I am.

Lord Thirsten Snotgrass thinks.

“Fine! That makes enough sense for now, maybe.” he says trudging on.

“What is the nature of your mission?” asks Jacques Cousteau of Lord Thirsten Snotgrass.

“It’s to find the reason the English care about being English. To find why I’m offended. Because I am. As a German. As a man. As a theologian. As a scholar. Why is the past so important for them in the present? Why does their long-standing culture and nation that once ruled the wotld…matter to us today at all? Why do we care? Why MUST we care? Why must the past mean anything?” he says. “They live in the past. I live in-“ he looks around. “I live in a house. Sometimes. I live…in…thoughts.” He thinks. “I do not live in memories. Or in the past. I’m…fascinated by the present. And…those thoughts.”

“Why do you feel so drawn to England?” asks a Scotsman.

“Because I’m…German.” he says accidentally.

“Are you trying to invade them?” asks the Scotsman.

“Why would I do that?!? Just because I’m German?!? That’s offensive to me!” says Lord Thirsten Snotgrass.

The Road by Nick Cave & Warren Ellis plays.

“Don’t accuse me of hating the English because I’m German by origin!” says Lord Thirsten Snotgrass.

“Why not?” asks the Scotsman in Scotland.

“Oh! Come on! You hate them too!” says Lord Thirsten Snotgrass.

“No!! Far from it.” says the Scotsman.

“That’s not true! You all hate the English. They’re such imperialist snobs. …We lost the dominion over Europe to them because we were landlocked not because we are at all inferior. We are STILL-“ he starts.

“Still what?” asks the Scotsman.

Lord Thirsten Snotgrass smiles. “Don’t trip me up!”

“Still what?” he persists.

Lord Thirsten Snotgrass smiles.

“You were going to say superior.” says the Scotsman. “You still secretly think Germans are the master race.”

“Well…if we do…we are VERY nice about it.” he says.

“Why are you offended then?” asks the Scotsman.

The Last Time I Saw Paris by Johnny Hodges plays.

“Because Germany controls the-Because we-Because we have a lot of things to all accomplish together as best friends.” says Lord Thirsten Snotgrass.

“But you’re offended.” says the Scotsman.

“I hate your food.” says Lord Thirsten Snotgrass. “That’s the joke.”

“Then why do you come here so often?” asks the Scotsman.

“I don’t know. I’m a masochist I guess.” he says

“Hm. Well…have fun on your adventure through the British Isles looking for answers.” says the Scotsman

“I’ll call it The English and Me!” he says to no one in particular wandering around in a huff. “Make a movie out of it!”

Tangerine as performed by Coleman Hawkins & Ben Webster plays.

And at that Casi and Vanny sit in the night over Paris, their bare feet dangling over the edge of the helicopter safely as it’s the afterlife. They don’t feel air sick. Just chill.

They hover.

And think.

And think.

And think.

“So…where to next?” asks the pilot.

“Moscow?” says Casi.

It’s a sky tour of Europe at night by helicopter.

“Too bad Joe isn’t here!” says Vanny.

“Yeah. He’ll show-up! He’ll figure it out!” says The Loudest Perfume Hater.

“Why would he think this is what we’d do?” asks Vanny.

“He knows us kind of?” says The Loudest Perfume Hater.

“Joe! Think! Where would Michael Rockefeller hide those girls?” asks Bobby seriously concerned for them.

“In a warehouse?” says Joe.

Bittersweet Symphony by The Verve plays.

“I’m thinking they’re all just flying around somewhere?” wonders JFK.

Joe furrows his brow. Thinks. “Where?” he asks humbly.

They all think.

…

“So we’ve both laid claim to the Bentley.” says Lem. “But its father Bentley wants it to be a happy adult Bentley. He can still offer guidance and drive. As a father. But it’s meant to be driven not just to the garage at ten miles and hour but to be free. Like a normal adult car.” (Lem is explaining for those who want to make the fact that Tom drove the car at ten miles an hours mean sex. Because that was not the analogy. No. Parents still offer advice to their adult children.)

“To belong and be loved by a man who owns it. Not as a father but an permanent owner.” says Michael rolling his eyes at the idiots who want the analogy to be perfect or they’ll accuse Lacey of losing and then try to use it for evil.

And not just evil but the depths of Hell.

“What’s for dinner tonight?” asks Michael.

“Bangers and mash.” says Lacey.

“With homemade gravy?” asks Lem.

“Yes!” she says.

“Eww! That’s gross!” says Lord Thirsten Snotgrass.

“It’s what I like.” says Louis.

…