Lacey Is Like Floyd Lawson

The Andy Griffith Show has a character named Floyd Lawson. Lacey shares a very similar personality with Floyd Lawson.

Lacey isn’t an idiot. Floyd might not have been unintelligent either. He was a mostly straight, slightly bisexual man. Lacey is entirely straight. He likely would have only ever dated women. And maybe even loved a few of them.

The actor who plays that role is straight.

Shim-Me-Sha-Wabble by Sidney Bechet plays.

“She’s a lot like my character.” says Howard McNear. “He wasn’t gay. He was…possibly bisexual. Slightly. Just like she says. …They made sophisticated jokes about him based on that premise all of the time.” He laughs. “But…see…he really wasn’t just gay. …He wasn’t stupid either. He was…accidentally hilarious. He’s…not ditzy. He’s…human. And humans are far more diverse in personality than people today often allow for.”

“She’s not an idiot! He might not have been either. He ran a successful barbershop!” says Elinor Donahue.

Whatta Man by Salt-N-Peppa plays.

“Floyd isn’t Lem. People might have wondered that. Lacey wondered that. Michael wondered that. …But Michael possibly was that sexually. Ask Michael more! …Lem…if Lacey is hearing from God correctly is not…Floyd as a character and Lacey still is.” says Howard McNear.

The song shifts.

“Jack Kennedy…never anticipated dealing with a woman like Floyd Lawson as my ‘twin flame.’” says Lem Billings. “Heavenly other half. My rib.”

“So she’s not sleeping with my husband. And she’s a genius and a kind person?” asks Kate Shaw-Hayes.

“She is a genius. She is kind. And…no…you’re possibly genuinely insane to believe she’s still interested in any way in your husband romantically or sexually.” says Howard McNear.

Dance stands on a dance floor. Night Thoughts by Else plays. He looks around confused. Lem is nowhere to be found. He’d planned this moment to be a glorious one where Lem came back to him…sobbing or angry…

Lem is nowhere to be found.

He’s chasing Lacey around.

Elliott knew Lacey is like Floyd Lawson, personality-wise. It’s possibly a British personality.

…Lem struggles to describe it.

Because the most devastating thing to their relationship has been the way Lem posed with Jack in the photo from yesterday’s post. Lacey can’t get over it. It’s why she slept with the other men. And he has an explanation but…it’s hard to explain it to her. And no…it’s not that he was giving Jack his soul or was at all homosexual.

And Jack…didn’t anticipate that being their only concern.

“Why can’t she just think, ‘Lem loves me more!’?” says JFK. “Who cares if he gave himself to me. She still wins in her mind. Right? So why does she care?!?”

“In her mind?” a reader asks JFK.

“Yes. In reality I won!” he says. “And my brother won. Or my father. He rejected her.”

“Are you sure that’s accurate, Jack?” asks Eugene Levy.

“Yeah!” says JFK.

To Stay by PLÜM plays.

“Dammit. Jack. I’m not sure it works.” says Sarita.

Jack Kennedy gets nervous. Very nervous.

Jack Kennedy laughs. “Then Joe is going to kill me.”

“He ignores her personality.” says Ted Kennedy. “My brother Joe has always ignored Lacey’s personality. It’s too upsetting to his ego and too complicated.”

“I mean you can take advantage of them.” says Joe Kennedy Sr..

“Yeah. But…not…really. Not if there’s a God forever, at least.” says Sarita. “Did you ever watch The Andy Griffith Show?”

“Yeah! I’m not a perfect genius!” yells JP Kennedy.

“She’s not fighting with me, dad!!” yells Jack Kennedy, in a panic.

“You need Lacey to fight with you?!?” asks Louis Hill Jr. of the Kennedy Family.

“Oh my god! Are the Kennedys a actual idiots?” asks Kennedy High in Bloomington, Minnesota.

Moments later.

“No, Sarita Choudhury you can’t get angry at Lacey for being more intelligent than you.” says a dead Rockefeller.

“And no! No, she’s not a lesbian or a bisexual or a pansexual woman for being smarter than you. Or at all. She’s smarter than you and heterosexual.” says the CIA on behalf of truth.

“It’s possible those actresses agreed to attack Lacey for purely narcissistic reasons.” says a representative from SNL. “Pathetic, embarrassing reasons on their parts.”

“Why?!?” asks Louis Hill Jr.. “Why did you assume Lacey was gay?” he asks of JFK.

“Because! Because Cynthia Nixon is!” says JFK.

“Why does that matter so much?!” asks Sarah Jessica Parker.

Devastated, “You’re supposed to understand me!” JFK yells at Sarah Jessica Parker.

Jack Schlossberg looks confused.

“Hey! Jack…why is Sarah supposed to understand you?” asks George Soros.

JFK looks appalled. “She’s like me.” he says, brushing potato chip crumbs off his knees in her apartment.

“Neat!” says Sarah.

JFK nods. He rolls his eyes indignantly.

“So you’re a neat, skinny…sassy…clever…sexy…star?” asks George Soros of JFK.

“I’m old money-ish. Right?! Like…I’m classier than that. But…duh. Yeah!” says JFK. “I don’t make mistakes.” he says boldly.

“Does Carrie Bradshaw make mistakes?” asks Sarita.

He thinks. “No! Her clothes are testament to that.”

“So is it possible you helped inspire the series?” asks Sarita.

“What if I did?!” he asks defensively.

“Ok. Who’s Mr. Big?” asks Sarah.

“Me! She falls in love with herself!” says JFK.

“Yes! But…people like an other half, Jack.” explains Willie Garson.

“They do! Why do I care??” says JFK. “It’s a show about self-empowerment. It’s a feminist series.”

“Yes! But…sometimes women actually do like men.” says Willie Garson.

“You’re hinting that Judith Exner…was in love with other men…in a way she wasn’t with me!” yells JFK. He’s devastated but hiding it.

“Who’s based on Judith Exner?” asks Kim Cattrall.

“You!!” yells Jack.

“Lacey is prettier than me.” says Kim Cattrall.

“No she’s not!” yells JFK.

He storms off before he has to face reality. …But angels carry him back. He fights God. He finally gets forced back into the room.

“I get it. But I refuse to accept she’s prettier. Because then I have to let go of Lem. …And my other delusions.” says JFK.

“And exist in what reality?” asks Willie Garson.

“One where I’m queer or was. For real. And I’m mean. And shallow. And bitchy. And…a loser who can’t easily love people. And I’m…incompetent if I get…lazy at all. And a…quack. And…overly competitive. And rude. And…lacking in insight or perception. …And…I don’t really know people.” says JFK. “Among other things.”

“Jack…what else?” asks a psychologist in the Illuminati.

He glares at her. “Irish. Poor.” he says.

“A poor Irish person in the old West Virginia coal mines?” asks Quentin.

“Shut-up! Bobby made that film to attack Lacey. And it didn’t work.” says JFK crying bitterly.

“No! Fuck you!” Bobby Kennedy Sr. yells at West Virginia. “Don’t make fun of my family!”

“You thought you were better than us!” yells Quentin’s family.

The dead Kennedys stare at West Virginia. They look…evil.

“You love to use us!” shouts dead West Virginia at the Kennedy Family.

“But are you actually above us?” asks Quentin.

“I’m sure the answer is no.” says Jesse Tyler Ferguson.

“Wait! What?” asks JFK.

“Why can’t you ever fuck Lem?” asks Mario Cantone.

“He doesn’t like it.” says JFK. “It’s…messy?”

“Huh. Well.” says Eugene Levy. “Say! What if he’s just straight?” he asks laughing.

“I was straight.” says JFK smugly.

“So what if Lem was more straight than you?” asks Sarah Jessica Parker.

“I mean…he came from a more traditional, elite white family. So maybe? But…what does that have to do with West Virginia then?” asks JFK stupidly. Stupidly but sincerely.

“Her written word bothers me!” says Cher about Lacey. “Doesn’t she sound uneducated or gay?”

“Yes!” shouts JFK in excitement.

“Lacey have you ever thought JFK loved you?”asks Cher.

“As a fellow Christian he’s supposed to. But…otherwise no.” says Lacey.

“That can’t be true!” says all of liberal-Democrat America.

“Why does it matter?” asks Quentin.

All of liberal-America looks appalled by Lacey.

“We don’t trust the Kennedys either, secretly.” says Quentin.

“I thought I had your support!” says Bobby Kennedy Jr. to West Virginia.

“You were supposed to help us!” shouts West Virginia.

Go In by Warpaint plays.

“Why?” asks Bobby Kennedy Sr..

“Because we needed your help and you promised us that!” says West Virginia to Bobby Kennedy Sr..

“And I would have helped!!” shouts Bobby Kennedy Sr., on edge.

“What if we rightfully doubted that?” asks West Virginia of Bobby Kennedy Sr..

“Yeah. They chose death. …Because his false light was too heartbreaking?” says President Richard Nixon.

Adversity by Beach Fossils plays.

Bobby Kennedy Jr. waltzes in to visit Sirhan Sirhan. It’s a lovely day.

They chat. Sirhan is…nice. He seems so…rational…loving and chill to Bobby Kennedy Jr.. Wise. Fatherly even.

“And…how could a genuinely fatherly man…be a murderer?” says Bobby Kennedy Jr. to himself in his car in the parking lot. “He must have been hired by some evil…organization.” He checks himself in the mirror of his car. Fixes his teeth. Sprays cologne on his wrists. Drives off. Is he like Barney Fife?

“Juanita was a problem in our marriage.” says Mary Kennedy to Bobby Kennedy.

“Now! Don’t say that! I wish you could find more love in your heart for Juanita.” says Bobby Kennedy Jr. to Mary.

“Why should she love Juanita?!?” asks Joe Kennedy Jr..

Bobby looks taken aback. “Now Joe…it’s so simple. …A woman like Juanita is…well…she’s…a hard worker. …And…Joe…she’s…a real good old friend of mine. …We go way back.”

“But Barney…you dated Juanita.” say Mary Kennedy.

Sarah Jessica Parker laughs.

“So what!” says Bobby Kennedy Jr. getting surly.

“So plenty!” says Mary crying.

“Oh!” shouts Bobby Kennedy Jr. losing his temper and control.

They all look sad.

“You realize I hung myself. Right?” asks Mary.

“Let’s not talk about that!” says Bobby smiling awkwardly like Barney Fife when he’s in trouble.

“Bobby…I’m dead.” says Mary.

“Well…good for you.” says Bobby pleasantly.

“Does he understand what that means?” Mary asks Joe Kennedy Jr..

“Oh Bobby?” says Joe Kennedy Jr.. He thinks. “Well…he’s…”. He thinks. “No.” he says very quietly and lovingly to Mary.

Bobby Kennedy Sr. looks extremely uncomfortable.

Who’ll Stop The Rain by Credence Clearwater plays.

“Who!! It’s who!” says Howard McNear.

“Who!” shouts West Virginia.

“It’s creepy?” says Hunter S. Thompson.

“I think it’s likely Bobby.” says Lacey. “Not five year plans.” She thinks. “People were using a lot of drugs back then.” She thinks. “It’s a retrospective?” She thinks. “A strung-out retrospective.”

A Punk by Vampire Weekend plays.

“Their songs are nonsense.” says Eugene Levy.

“They make sense to them.” says Christopher Walken.

“Yeah! Does it matter? They’re far too opaque.” says Eugene Levy. “It sounds pretentious and annoying.”

“A lot of Millennial Indie music is actually quite stupid.” says F. Scott Fitzgerald. “Pretentious is a good word to use.”

“Hey. It’s all we had in our cultural poverty.” says Lacey.

Song 2 by Blur plays as Lacey literally prepares to end the world if the Illuminati suffocates her.

“Woohoo!” she shouts, in excitement. “I will waste no time. …Your welcome?”

“Bobby…why you do West Virginia?” asks a dead black woman.

The Kids Don’t Stand A Chance by Vampire Weekend plays.

“What the hell?!?” asks JFK.

“Because West Virginia is poor.” admits Bobby Kennedy Sr..

“So you pretended to care?” asks his father.

“They reminded me of us. Not the opposite. And…I…felt evil. And stupid.” says Bobby Kennedy Sr..

“What are you talking about?” asks the living DNC. They don’t recall.

“The poor West Virginians?” says Bobby Kennedy Sr. confused.

“Yes. He spent time in West Virginia.” says JFK, annoyed. “Why don’t any of you know that?!”

“We apologize?” scoffs a living DNC official.

“Well you don’t have to get so uppity!” says Rose Fitzgerald Kennedy, hurt.

“Don’t worry! Lem is my boyfriend and I’m choking her on watermelon juice!” says JFK cheerfully.

“No! Bobby your chakras are not in synch. She’s not sleeping with you or Chris.” says the CIA.

“She’s not sleeping with me either.” says JFK. “I just cheat.”

“How?!?” yells FDR.

More on that later.

“Jack is that man far superior to you sexually?” asks Lacey.

“Yes!” admits JFK.

“Then why are you confused? And why did you guys throw West Virginia under the bus?” asks Lacey.

The Less I Know The Better by Tame Impala plays.

And at that all living American men…who aren’t “from West Virginia” shake their penises around like retarded apes from Hell. They march like drunken buffoons. They fart. They look like various versions of Otis Campbell if he was evil and stupid. They raise their hands in the air like it’s a cool new dance trend. It looks…stupid…but hilarious.

Hope Overture by Clint Mansell & Kronos Quartet plays.

“Michael…are we sure Lacey belongs to Lem?” asks his grandmother. “Let’s be sure.”

As the song plays…they march. They jiggle their genitalia awkwardly when the the synthesizer starts doing the African beat. Hands still raised in the air.

Putin snaps his fingers in a sassy way to imitate many living gay men.

Journey To The Real World by Tame Impala plays.

All living American men…who aren’t “from West Virginia” stand on their tiptoes and hop. Then, on their tiptoes, they do a 1980’s jazzercise move to exercise their asses. They get sweaty and “feel the burn.”

Jack Kennedy thinks it’s fabulous and decides to glide through the crowd by moonwalking backwards.

Killer by Mareux plays as children starve. As children are sold. And fat, effeminate, dull…men who are straight…but barely human (?) men jazzercise on their tiptoes.

Then…”Oh my god! Aren’t they hot!!?” says JFK to Lacey. “We have such similar tastes in men.”

Silence.

“What?! This is the way I always wanted Lem to act. But he was…so…well. You know?” says JFK.

“No. I don’t know.” says Lacey.

“Mm…kay. Like…he was…what?” asks JFK.

“I don’t know Jack.” says Lacey.

“He was…like…umm…“ says JFK. “Sexy?”

“Then why was he a problem?” asks Lacey.

“No! Not like sexy. Like…umm…a…umm…freak.” says JFK.

“What sort of freak?” asks Lacey.

“A sort of…well…a umm…lunatic.” says JFK.

“How was he a lunatic?” asks Lacey.

“He acted like a paper bag!” shouts JFK.

“Huh. A dry, dusty paper bag?” asks Lacey.

“Yes! Umm…he was…well…you know.” says JFK.

“No. I don’t. Go on!” says Lacey.

“Like…overcooked shrimp. If that could be a person.” says JFK.

Lacey thinks. “Chewy and gross.” she says.

“Yeah. With no butter.” says JFK.

“It’s better without butter.” says Lacey.

“You’re right.” he admits.

They think more.

“Maybe he was just heterosexual.” says Lacey.

“No! Because…then England has actual heterosexual men.” says Jack Kennedy, upset. “Ireland has loads of heterosexual men.”

“How can you tell?” asks Lacey.

“Because we like sex!” says JFK confidently. “And sex actually is better with chicks.” he says winking at Lacey.

“How much do you know about the Irish people in reality?” asks Lacey.

Is It True by Tame Impala plays.

“I’m an expert.” says JFK, sincerely.

“Hey, Cirk DE Moyness Lillingsgigglesby…why you asking yo dawg for the deets? He be an expert?” says Lacey to Lem.

The song plays.

“Then tell me so much more about so much!” says Lacey to JFK.

“What is a square in Ireland?” asks Lacey.

“It’s just a square.” he says.

“What’s a square?” asks Lacey.

“It’s like a rectangle.” says JFK.

“How?” asks Lacey.

“The sides and-“ says JFK struggling.

“And what?” asks Lacey.

“Umm…the…the angles.” he says.

“What’s an angle?” asks Lacey.

“It’s…the…thing at the end.” JFK says.

“What’s the end?” asks Lacey.

“The end is the end!” says JFK getting annoyed.

“Of what?” asks Lacey.

“Of the angle!” shouts JFK.

“What angle?” asks Quentin.

“The angle she brought up before.” says JFK.

“Which is where?” asks Quentin.

“A part of the thing.” says JFK.

“What thing?” asks Quentin.

“The square.” says JFK.

“What’s a square?” asks Lacey.

“A sides…with angles…” says JFK. He gets annoyed.

“How about a shape with four corners and four sides that meet at four equal points?” suggests Quentin.

“No!! That’s not right!” says JFK, sincerely.

“Well. It almost completely is.” says Lacey. “But let’s put that aside for a moment.”

Silence.

“What else do you know about…Ireland? Umm…what about…dogs?” asks Lacey.

“No! I’m not answering any more questions.” says JFK.

“Oh come on! Please!” begs Lacey. “Let me pick your gorgeous, sexy…always-hot-vagina-brain.”

“Okay.” he says reluctantly.

“Do dogs have fur or hair?” asks Lacey. “In Ireland.”

Smiling smugly…”It’s a dog.”

“And so then what? They have hair or fur?” asks Lacey.

“Fur.” he says, in fear.

“What’s the difference?” asks Lacey.

“Fur doesn’t grow as long.” he says.

“Not necessarily true.” says Lacey. “Maybe almost true. But not safe enough in my mind to draw a distinction. Do you see what I mean?”

“Yeah.” he says skeptically.

“Well…why is it technically different than human hair?” asks Lacey.

“Diamater?” says JFK, scoffing.

“The thickness of hair varies among humans too.” says Lacey.

He thinks. “The way the hair grows!” he says.

“Don’t dogs have hair follicles?” says Lacey.

“They don’t!” says JFK.

“Really?! That’s your expert opinion?” asks Lacey.

“They have something different than follicles. They’re likely called dollicles?” says JFK, sincerely. “Hairicles.”

“That’s not necessarily true.” says Lacey.

“I doubt you have any idea what you’re talking about.” says JFK to Lacey.

“Mmm…no. I doubt you do. But let’s move on. God is keeping score.” says Lacey.

“No! I want to ask you!” says JFK.

“No! You can’t. I’m picking your brain!” says Lacey.

Jazz Suite No. 2 by Shostakovich plays.

“Now! …What’s…a street in Dublin at night?” asks Lacey.

“A street!” says Jack coolly.

“What does that mean to you?” asks Lacey.

“A quatorus.” says JFK, thinking he’s being smart.

“That’s rubbish. Answer my question!” says Lacey.

“A quatorus is a bird.” says JFK.

“So a Dublin street transforms into a bird at night that doesn’t exist?” says Lacey.

“No. That’s a joke.” says JFK.

“Hahaha!” says Lacey sarcastically. “Now. What’s a Dublin street at night?”

“I don’t know. What is it?” asks JFK.

“It’s a pathway for transportation, a home, a place to dream, and a place to mourn. It’s grace. It’s a grave. It’s Heavenly. It’s Hellish. It’s torment. It’s…beauty.” says Lacey. “You didn’t know that?”

“No.” he says bitterly.

“Alright. Then how are you an expert on Ireland?” asks Lacey.

“I’m not answering that.” he has someone say for him.

“You have to assert your authority or it doesn’t work in this case.” says Lacey.

“I assert my authority!” he says.

“How? On what grounds?” asks Lacey.

“I lived on the streets as a child at night.” says JFK.

“No you did not.” says Lacey.

“I did. In my mind.” says JFK.

“Almost certainly not the same thing in this case.” says Lacey.

“Why?!” asks JFK gnashing his teeth.

Exhausted by his possible idiocy she quickly rests her eyes. She takes a deep breath. “Because the physicality of Ireland matters.” She thinks. “At least in this case.”

Water Music Suite No. 3 by Handel plays.

“Then snotty poppy pants!” yells JFK with a lisp. His poop explodes in his seat with an enormous amount of diarrhea shooting out from his pants.

“That doesn’t win the authority you claim.” says Lacey.

Jack Kennedy cries.

“Now! Don’t waste my time! Explain to me how you are an expert on Ireland.” says Lacey.

“Gaahaa!” he says like an infant. He loses his teeth and then suddenly loses his ability to sit up. He sinks awkwardly down into his seat and falls asleep into a fetal position. Suddenly he becomes a giant embryo.

“Alright, darling…I doubt you’re an expert on Ireland.” says Lacey to JFK. Lacey picks-up his embryonic sack and hands it to God.

Silence.

“Well! Let’s switch gears.” says Lacey.

Silence.

“Nevermind!” says Lacey. “Please make Jack a man again for further investigation into the situation at hand.”

Jack is forced into his normal state.

“I don’t think you’ve admitted to not being an expert on Ireland. How do you defend that position on the matter?” asks Lacey of JFK.

“I poop!” he says with confidence.

“On the potty?” asks Lacey.

“Almost.” he says.

“And how does that make you an expert on Ireland?” asks Lacey.

Turns out Satan might be confused on Lem and Jack himself. He may have confused himself. Satan may have deceived himself.

“Oh that makes sense!” says Lacey breathing a sigh relief.

Haydn plays.

“Huh. So you…have…an official expert title on Ireland because you poop?” asks Lacey of JFK.

“I farted in your face!” he says to Lacey like he’s mentally retarded.

“Jack. How are you an expert on Ireland?” asks Lacey.

“Gigglesworth.” he says.

“Okay. Now we’re getting somewhere.” says Lacey.

Music plays.

“How are you an expert on Ireland?” asks Lacey.

“Matcha.” he says.

“Jack how are you an expert on Ireland?” asks Lacey.

“Lord Furious of the Wonderpoop.” says JFK sincerely.

“Who’s he?” asks Lacey.

“My falafel.” he says smugly.

“Literally?” says Lacey.

“Yes!!” he yells in excitement.

“You stole my food.” says Lacey.

“Yeah.” says JFK. “I don’t care. I’m a nice Irish boy from Boston who is so lovely and lonely and loved. Go to Hell! It’s my falafel now.”

“Well! You’re lucky I don’t like falafels.” says Lacey.

And just like that Jack finishes his falafel.

“You steal a lot of things from me. Don’t you?” Lacey asks him.

“Yeah.” he admits.

“But how does that make you an expert on Ireland?” asks Lacey.

“Okay! Fine!!” yells JFK.

“So you admit that you are not an expert on Ireland?” asks Lacey.

“No.” says JFK.

“Why?” asks Lacey.

“You’re just so damn far beneath me. Grow-up!” he says.

“That’s not a valid reason in this case. Why?” asks Lacey.

“Because I’m a god.” says JFK.

“No. That’s rubbish. Why are you an expert on Ireland?” asks Lacey.

“You aren’t being Lem’s little worthless ugly bitch wife.” says JFK. “This is not what I imagined!”

“Answer the question.” says Lacey.

“I am because I want to be. That’s all. You can be anything you want to be. You just have to believe that it is true.” says JFK. “Wish upon a star and you’ll go far.”

“Is that how you got Lem?” says Lacey. “Even though he was straight.”

“Yeah! It’s not fair. But I’m God.” says JFK. “I made everything.”

“But how are you an expert on Ireland?” asks Lacey.

“I am!!” he says crying.

“No. You’re not!” says Lacey.

“Mom!!!” he screams.

“Your mother can’t convince me you’re an expert on Ireland.” says Lacey.

“Fine! I’m not! Okay?! What do you want from me, you dumb bitch?” asks JFK.

“I’m not answering that question. What are you an expert on?” asks Lacey.

“Geometry!” he says.

“No. You failed that.” says Lacey.

He cries. “I’m god!” he says crying.

“No. You’re not. Are you an expert on anything in reality?” asks Lacey.

She takes a moment to go examine JFK’s art. It’s absolute shit.

“Your art looks like seasick acid trips masquerading as a child on Easter Sunday, at best. Lem’s a worthless piece of nothing or what?” asks Lacey. She turns to Lem. “Are you blind, legally retarded or what?”

“I’m an expert on lots of things!” says JFK.

“What?!” asks Lacey.

“Lots of things!” he says.

“Like what?” asks Lacey.

“Nothing.” he says.

“Thank you for admitting that.” says Lacey.