The Fitzgerald’s of Boston

A Sparrow Alighted Upon Our Shoulder by Johann Jóhannsson plays.

The Fitzgerald’s of Boston were Irish trash. There were no LACE IRISH. In Boston ALL the Irish were just pure social trash and still are.

“The IRISH IN BOSTON!!!” yells Lem. “NOT THE IRISH EVERYWHERE, you dumbass.”

“No…the Fitzgerald’s of the south might have been different.” says F. Scott Fitzgerald. “There were wealthy plantation owners in the 1700’s in the south…and it’s possible…there could have been a few southern Irish who were wealthy. …It might not have happened…but it’s possible.”

“Not all the peasant Irish of the south were old money sorts. The Irish have a tendency to act like a sick cult.” says Zelda.

“No, and the old money elite who ruled Boston when the country first started were…not Irish.” says an English man in Boston in the 1700’s.

“When the riff raff from Ireland first arrived…they ofttimes lived in cities. Like Boston. Occasionally they lived in New York City too.” says a mob boss in the 1970’s from New York City.

“Why did you let Bobby Jr. live if he’s a sociopath?!” asks Lacey sincerely.

“We were irresponsible, m’am.” says the mob boss to Lacey from New York City, crying.

“We have a right to live!!!” yells Joe Kennedy.

“Why?? What about Saoirse and Maeve and Gideon?” asks Eleanor Roosevelt. “What about David? What about Mary? What about Michael?” She thinks. “Why do the same people keep being the victims of grief?!”

“Why did David’s one true love, Pam Kelly, break her neck and become a literal cripple…with Joe at the wheel?! And then David killed himself before he turned 30?” asks FDR. “You do seem like nothing more than a group of dysfunctional, idiotic, incompetent, violent thieves.” He scoffs. “Who kill kids…ruin people’s souls…start World Wars…and kill each other off.”

Chattanooga Choo Choo by Taco plays. LOUDLY.

The entire Kennedy family…in sequence two dances to the above song. It’s corny, gross and disgusting. And that’s all they actually are objectively speaking.

The Irish were…all gutter snipes in Boston. And still are. Absolute street trash. Socially speaking. Socio-economically speaking.

Chattanooga Choo Choo by Taco plays as the Kennedy family theme song. Possibly for eternity…in its actual…real context. It’s a shit, corny, abrasive cover of the original.

So are all Irish shit socio-economically? No. No not all Irish have Chattanooga Choo Choo by Taco as their family’s theme song.

“I just want to be able to love myself.” said Sairose Hill before likely killing herself with a combination of methadone, alcohol and an anti-depressant. She spent her last night watching politics with Ethel in the Kennedy mansion on Cape Cod and then…probably committed suicide.

“Let’s go chase a ball…” said Maeve Townsend possibly drunk and depressed over Covid. She and her son were dead later that day from drowning. Was her son allowed to drink that day too? Did Maeve do that…intentionally? …Maeve and Saoirse are first cousins.

“I love my Uncle Bobby!” say the living cousins. They disagree with him on vaccines they imply.

“But that’s good! That’s Christian!” says a southern white trash brat Pratt.

“Pratt?! Like Kenny Chesney?!” asks Ted Kennedy.

“You killed those girls because they wouldn’t put out. Right?!” Lacey confronts Ted. “You took ‘em for a ride and let ‘em drown because they would play house.”

“Why wouldn’t they sleep with Ted?!” asks a Millennial woman.

“Maybe they did once or twice…and then…they stopped because they didn’t want to get pregnant.” says Lacey. “Jack supposedly used to have incestuous sex with Ted. I suspect…Ted was…sexually violent possibly.”

“So did you kill Saoirse Bobby because she didn’t want you to keep molesting her?!” a Gen. Z woman asks Bobby Kennedy Jr..

“Yeah! They used to say, ‘There was always something incestuous about the Kennedys.’” says a historian. “That’s an actual direct authentic historical quotation.”

“And when people are taught to focus on Jack and Lem they turn a blind eye to the way Jack and Bobby shared women. Possibly intentionally.” says another historian. “And ignore the way JFK supposedly shared sexual conquests with Ted too.”

“So…Lem was possibly not gay and he’s used to mask the stench of the Kennedy perversion.” says a Gen. Z woman. “Or if he is gay…or was gay…he’s used then too.” She thinks. “But if he was a vulnerable molestation victim he…was perfect for their spin campaign to seem healthy, normal and all straight and not like pedophilic freaks from Hell.”

“Is Ireland Hell?” asks Louis Hill Jr..

“Worse than the ordinary miserable childhood is the miserable Irish childhood, and worse yet is the miserable Irish Catholic childhood.” says and said Frank McCourt.

“Not all miserable childhoods…are made worse by being Irish.” says F. Scott Fitzgerald.

Later.

Eunice Kennedy Shriver, with grand authority, says, “Lacey you’re an idiot. The US Government could blow-up your house. …And see, I know…little girl…that you are totally expecting that to never happen. It scares you.”

Lacey hears authentic Caribbean music. Black Caribbean music. It brings a smile to Lacey’s face.

Eunice is clinging to the fear she believes Lacey has. She glares at Lacey in a fuming rage as Lacey smiles. Lacey feels bad for her.

“I’m not going to discuss it..but that’s not my greatest fear.

“What’s your greatest fear?” asks Eunice Kennedy Shriver of Lacey.

“That you’re really as stupid as you all seem.” says Lacey.

“Yeah, that’s stupid! You’re scared of us!” says Eunice.

“And Lem was gay!!!” yells JFK.

“So unless you grew-up in the south and have ancestors who owned a plantation…your Irish heritage means you’re automatically not old money. Unless you’re like Louis Hill’s family. Or…your family has its origins in the real old money south.” says F. Scott Fitzgerald.

“Because we ruined it for all other Irish people?!” asks Eunice.

“Yes! Very much so. There are millions and millions of…not just Irish but Swiss, German and Italian or Danish people, among order cultures, who are…mildly wealthy…and have been for generations…but aren’t truly wealthy…who think they’re a far bigger deal than they are in America thanks all of you.” says F. Scott Fitzgerald to the Kennedy family.

“I get demons to arouse people’s egos to attack Lacey. I’m in Purgatory and I do it…because it helps me deal with my pain. And Satan allows it. Christ doesn’t. And I’m getting more into the depths of Purgatory the more…I do it.” says Eunice. “I know it’ll ruin my eternity…but my family has been enabling itself to destroy itself for generations now.” says Eunice.

“So…you’re attacking an innocent woman viciously to get at Lacey? Because Lem loves Lacey. And Lem was straight. And your entire selfhood rests on you being better than someone who you know you’re inferior to?” asks a Catholic.

“So…you…need an actual truth to be a lie…to feel like you exist?! And you’ve poisoned the entire country to think like that?!?!” asks Joe Biden.

“Don’t say that!!!!” yells Eunice in genuine fear.

“Yes! Lem was gay!” says JFK seriously.

“Okay…Jack…I kinda…doubt it?” says a Millennial witch in the Illuminati.

“Why?!?” yells Joe Kennedy Jr..

“Umm…can you not ask God that?!?” asks a Millennial witch.

“Yes!!! But I hate His answers!!” says Joe Kennedy Jr..

“Seriously?!?” asks Joe Biden.

“YES!!!” yells Joe Kennedy Jr.. “That’s why if there’s Purgatory you don’t contact the dead!!!”

“Because He…doesn’t force us…to obey. Even in Purgatory.” says Kick.

“So you still have your free will and identity?!? Even after you die?!?” asks Joe Biden, who was raised Catholic. He’s being half sarcastic.

“What does…Lacey do that irritates you all so much?!” asks Lem.

“I just-“ says says Eunice.

“You’re thieves!!!” yells FDR at Eunice.

“I think Elliott Roosevelt was gay!!!” yells a living gay man possibly in the Illuminati. He’s being serious. “He kept getting married. And he’s so sexy!!!”

“Straight men used to be sexy.” says Lacey.

“No!!!” yells Eunice. “Only queer women knew that!! Or whores!!!”

“No. That’s not true.” says Patricia Peabody Roosevelt to Eunice.

“I wasn’t. I wasn’t gay. At all. Or a pervert in any way. You’re covetous of straight men.” says Elliott Roosevelt to most living gay men in 2023.

“Then why don’t you kill us to put us in our place?!” asks a gay man genuinely forgetting queer history.

“Are you kidding or serious?!” asks Elliott Roosevelt.

“Well…if you killed us we’d get to have good sex with men like you!“ says a group of vain gay men snickering about the hot men of history they imagine were secretly all closeted gay.

“Are you daring us to start an atomic war?” asks Louis Hill Jr..

“Yes! I want to meet Elliott and have a teaching session. See…I’m one of those mildly wealthy people. And I’m offended.” says a gay man seriously.

“You think…you’re going to teach me?” asks Elliott Roosevelt of the bourgeois American idiot who’s family was fundamentally too middle class and stupid to be elite.

“Yeah?” the bourgeois American idiot says with sincere heartfelt dismay and wonder.

“Yeah, your female queer counterpart thinks Lacey is available too.” says Elliott. “Did Lem give you that impression about straight people like us?”

Louis Hill laughs with Lacey.

“You’re…queer?” asks the bourgeois American gay man of Michael Rockefeller. He looks confused.

“I might have been.” says Michael trying not to laugh.

And now the dead Roosevelts are back in the picture.

“So you…are bothered by Lacey for what reason?!” asks Lem of Eunice.

“Her innate beauty in every way. Her family. Her…everything. It’s all about ego. I don’t see her as human. Just…a threat to my ego. That’s all.” says Eunice sincerely.

“But that’s insane.” says Lem to Eunice.

“You know…I really wasn’t gay. Or straight. Or queer. Or bisexual. I was…magic.” says JFK seriously.

“I’m not magic. I’m actually gay!” says the bourgeois gay American idiot sincerely to JFK. He’s being condescending.

JFK is hurt.

JFK cries.

JFK gets drunk.

JFK walks, now drunk, up to the bourgeois gay American idiot.

“You are my bitch!” says JFK to the bourgeois gay American idiot.

“I’m not going to lie, you’re not ugly…but…you’re kinda scrawny and your family is weird.” says the bourgeois gay American idiot man to JFK.

Eunice saunters by…hunching…drunk…gritting her Kennedy teeth.

“Who’s that ugly weirdo?!” the bourgeois American gay idiot asks JFK. “She looks like a strung-out, homeless meth addict.”

“I don’t know.” says JFK.

“Is she someone’s mom?!” the gay bourgeois American idiot says.

“Yeah, who knows, right?! Freak!” says JFK seriously.

Eunice walks toward a swampy pond…looking inebriated, psychotic and angry.

“So! You like…to…ride?” asks JFK of the bourgeois gay American idiot.

The bourgeois gay American idiot scoffs. Rolls his eyes. Throws one hip to the side. Takes a drink of his perfectly chilled beer. His clothes are snug, pressed and impeccably clean. He smells of lavender, vanilla and…citrus? Something slightly herbal?! What is it?! A…Caswell-Massey? Silk knit polo. Leather belt. Khaki pants rolled up, boat shoes. He’s tan.

“I don’t know how to properly ride.” says the bourgeois gay American idiot. “I’m not some bourgeois horsewoman.”

JFK fights to hide his sadness. It’s difficult. “I’m in love with Elliott Roosevelt. But…he’s so…heterosexual.” says JFK shrugging.

The bourgeois gay American idiot looks superior and yet unimpressed. “He’s gay.”

JFK laughs. “You’re not dead!”

The bourgeois gay American idiot looks suddenly off-kilter and sad. Hurt, even.

“You know…you’re cute. But I can’t believe you don’t see the difference. Lem might have been straight. I might not have been.” says JFK.

The bourgeois gay American idiot looks confused. “You’re…straight.”

JFK looks like he’s losing his patience. He throws back his own glass bottle of light beer.

“You’re sassy. I like that!” says JFK.

“No!! I’m not. I’m…just a boundlessly naive…hurt…romantic.” says the bourgeois gay American idiot.

“Are you trying to rescue me…or are you really confused?” asks JFK.

Eunice starts walking into the pond.

“Oh my god!!!! Oh my god!!” says the bourgeois gay American idiot.

JFK turns around and sees Eunice.

The bourgeois gay American idiot lays his hands on Jack seductively. Similar to how Lem did or it seemed like he did if Lem was actually or acted gay. Jack looks overwhelming besotted.

“Oh my god, whoever you are! We have to save that woman!” says the bourgeois gay American idiot to JFK.

“You’re in love with me! Don’t forget that!” says JFK to the bourgeois gay American idiot.

Then JFK falls on his face.

The bourgeois gay American idiot picks JFK up and carries JFK to the water like a woman who’s fainted. So overwhelmed by the experience…JFK actually faints. His mouth hangs open. His arms fall to his side and he looks brought asunder. …His shoes fall off of his feet.

Chopin’s Nocturne In C Minor plays.

The bourgeois gay American idiot turns to regard the shoes momentarily. Eunice is now neck deep. There’s a drop-off feet away. Green algae surrounds her.

Fantaisie-impromptu in C-Sharp by Chopin plays.

The gay man, growing breathless…panting…debates. Then he decides to keep walking forward.

“DAMMIT! Those were expensive shoes! Awww…sweetie…who are you??!?” says the bourgeois gay American idiot to JFK. He sighs.

Once at the water he lays JFK down on the grass near the reeds and tall grass surrounding the green lidded pond. Then he rests his hands on his hips, takes a deep breath and scratches his forehead from sweating. …He wipes his sweaty forehead with his shirt.

Once in the water he yells, “Friend or foe?!” he yells with a slightly pretentious, theatrical and perhaps…Renaissance Fest British accent.

Eunice is unresponsive.

“I say, friend or foe?!?” yells the bourgeois gay American idiot. His mellow voice rings out over the water.

Eunice is unresponsive.

Jack comes to. He stands and brushes himself off. Looks concerned.

“You-You-You can let her go!” yells JFK.

The bourgeois gay American idiot whips his head towards JFK and looks…befuddled. “What is this madness my love?!?” he yells.

Gnossiennes (6) by Erik Satie plays.

“It’s clear you don’t care about this woman!” says the bourgeois gay American idiot.

JFK stares at him stupidly.

“I am a man! And I KNOW you want my cock!!” says the bourgeois gay American idiot to JFK.

And at that second Eunice goes all in. She is submerged.

“She’s going to drown!” yells JFK suddenly in a panic. He shakes in fear.

Shaking in fear JFK walks forward…he slowly walks to the water…still shaking…and once at the water’s edge he turns back to the man standing behind him who’s moved aside.

“I can’t swim! …I don’t want to get wet!” says JFK dryly.

“Then I’ll save you! You go in and I’ll save you!” says the bourgeois gay American idiot.

“Baby…I don’t want to drown.” says JFK.

And at that Eunice…the ghost…drowns.

“Did I just intuit that crazy lady drowning?!” the bourgeois gay American idiot says in his head to JFK. He thinks he’s imagining the entire thing.

“No! She’s dead. So am I. It’s painless for her.” says JFK.

“She’s dead. Yeah. But…I mean…we care!” says the bourgeois gay American idiot.

“Why?!?” whines JFK.

“Ahh! You are such a prick!” says the bourgeois gay American idiot.

“No!!! No. I just lost my shoes.” whines JFK. “I did one nice thing for the universe tonight! I’m not going along with any more shenanigans!”

They stand, listen to the sounds of the Memorial Day party in the background. It’s at a southern country club. It was once a beautiful spot but now the pond is polluted by fertilizers and bird poop. It started losing its beauty in the 1950’s.

“You’re a mean ghost!” says the bourgeois gay American idiot.

JFK looks saddened and hurt by that accusation.

“I’m JFK!” Jack Kennedy whispers.

The bourgeois gay American idiot wrinkles his nose…”Why are we doing this?!” His breathing quickens. His eyes widen. “I’m married!”

JFK looks nonplussed.

“No! I’m going inside!” huffs the gay bourgeois American idiot.

“That was Eunice!” says JFK suddenly.

The bourgeois gay American idiot laughs. Loudly. Covers his mouth.

“I am sort of married. More, engaged. …I think…people need to leave the dead alone. But…why not?! You clearly want sex. I can feel you!” says the bourgeois gay American idiot. He parts his lightly glossed lips… “I want you too.” he whispers, aloud.

And at that the two have spiritual gay sex. It’s dark. Nobody hangs out back there as the pond is a breeding ground for mosquitoes. But if you were to peek out of the back windows of the club you’d see a shadowy man looking oddly translucent.

“Where’s Brett?” asks Naomi at the table inside the country club.

“He said he wanted to go think.” says Brett’s fiancé.

“Mm. But…why has he been gone for like…an hour?!?” asks Naomi.

“He said he wanted to go think. It’s outside by the pond. Nobody goes back there. I’m not too worried.” says Brett laughing victoriously. He has a huge smile on his face.

Naomi hangs her mouth open wide. She licks her teeth. She furrows her brow.

“Okay…why…are we still here?! I have to work tomorrow!” says Naomi. She stands and grabs her Louis Vuitton Neverfull pm and slings it over her shoulder. She’s a doctor at a hospital.

Brett’s fiancé shrugs. “Just go.” he says. He stands and gives her a hug. “Goodnight, sweetie!”

“Goodnight, lover!” she says teasingly, kissing him on the cheek.

Then she walks off. She looks tired.

Brett’s fiancé wishes there were beds at country clubs so he could just go to sleep.

An hour later…Brett walks back into the country clubhouse and sits down at his fiancé’s table.

“I’ve honestly been sitting here the whole time!” says Brett’s fiancé.

“What…are you saying?!” asks Brett, the gay bourgeois American idiot.

“I’m saying I was here.” He leans in, “Tell me, why were you gone so long?!”

Brett sputters through his mouth like a motorboat. He grins. He laughs.

He opens up his mouth wide like Lem did in photos. He blinks profusely.

“I-I can’t tell you.” he says finally.

Brett’s fiancé holds back tears. He knows.

Brett sips his martini. “I think we need to invest in our 401k more this year!”

Brett’s fiancé looks at Brett and tries to smile.

“Who told you that?! That’s…like…” says Brett’s fiancé. “I would never advise that!” He shakes his head no.

Brett looks suddenly guilty. He shrugs.

“I just had sex with JFK!!” blurts out Brett.

“Whhaaatt?!” says Brett’s fiancé.

Brett nods manically.

“No!!!” laughs Brett’s fiancé.

“I really did!!” says Brett suddenly crying.

Brett’s fiancé looks sad.

“Oh okay. Did he…say much?!” says Brett’s fiancé.

“I don’t think you understand! I just cheated on you! I did! And he made me almost-“ he either almost actually or pretends to gag. He meets his fiancé’s eyes.

“You came?!?” asks Brett’s fiancé looking amused.

“You think this is funny?!? It’s not. …I’m not kidding!” says Brett.

“I’m not saying-I’m not saying it’s funny. I’m saying you’re insane!” says Brett’s fiancé.

Brett blinks. “Okay. So…I did.”

“You had sex with JFK?!?” says Brett’s fiancé. he rocks back and forth slightly in his chair.

“He…basically…” Brett goes silent. “I think we had sex! I mean…I know it was outside and…it could have been…the wind. But…it felt…like sex!!”

“How…did he make you cum?!” asks Brett’s fiancé.

“It was…I…no one saw me!” says Brett.

Brett’s fiancé looks shocked.

“Okay?! So…I cheated! I’m a terrible person, clearly! The fact is I have had a crush on a few dead celebrities over the years and I never tell you stuff like that. It’s not just dead celebrities but I will obviously never meet them but JFK, Jack…felt so real to me. He’s…a ghost. So if you want to break up with me…I understand. I’m not going to be a freak about it.” Brett says almost crying.

“Calm down!” yells Brett’s fiancé.

The few people around look.

“No! Don’t do this to me. I’m leaving!” says Brett. And with that he storms off waiting to be chased.

Eventually Brett does chase him, but he’s in the parking lot when his fiancé arrives.

“Why are we here?! We should be in bed. Not arguing.” says Brett’s fiancé.

And at that moment Eunice Kennedy Shriver…having come back into existence…re-emerges from the pond like a zombie.

“I don’t like you-you are rude and crass and-I want him now!” says Brett. “We have sex, but this was…a celebrity!”

“Honey, baby…you don’t mean that! Okay! He’s dead! Even if you have sex with him again I’ll let it go. He’s not…going to scare me. He’s a dead man! Okay, sweetie? He’s not real in the sense we are in this realm. We can’t see him. Or smell or hear or taste him. …I don’t think you have any idea what I went through to be with you. I…love you!!!” says Brett’s fiancé.

“That’s not true! That’s not true!” says Brett. “You came here…for your job! But…I can let it go.” says Brett.

“Let’s stop fighting and go home!” says Brett’s fiancé.

“I don’t want to leave him. He’s clearly attached to this place.” says Brett. “It’s the land or maybe it’s the location???”

Brett’s fiancé looks intrigued.

“Just a second!” and at that Brett swaggers off to go to the pond. In the dark. The crickets chirp on the background.

Brett’s fiancé looks exhausted.

Brett walks to the pond, stumbling in the dark slightly. He reaches the pond. He looks at the water.

“This was great! …I…really like you. …I’m gay. And…I guess you’re still…a man.” Brett looks down. “I’m not…gay…if you’re not gay. But…we know we are. And…my fiancé understands! He’s too short. I’m 6 ft.. So…let’s be honest…we’re in love! …And…I’ll always be waiting!” says Brett. He blows kisses. Then he walks off assuming JFK will appear in his dreams and elsewhere.

Did he read my blog? Did this actually happen? I saw it in my head.

Or…did he know someone who read my blog?

Because I have a feeling he read my blog or someone he knows did. If he’s a real person.

And then…he’s real. He’s sleeping with JFK? He’s not Lem. He’s…blond, handsome, late 20’s? And he’s very bourgeois. And…I don’t like it. It’s not jealousy on my part in any way. I’m…disappointed in Brett and disturbed. Brett’s fiancé has no idea?!?!

“Goodnight!” says Lem. “We’re done writing now for the night.”