Insecure-rection

Somewhat adult content below.

“Lacey!!! I demand you point out every one of my flaws in excruciating detail! And be honest. You’re under oath.” say Lacey’s friends whenever they ask for her opinion or advice or commentary.

Why?

Because of intense demonic activity.

“Did she shake her ass the one or two men she fucked outside of marriage that…slutty whore?!” asks a lust-perverted supposedly straight man.

“No. What an idiotic question.”

“No. Do you know anything about the Antebellum South?” asks a black woman. “Do you understand how rich they were?”

“Accurate!” says a Gen Z charismatic.

“She’s not that big of a deal!” says the supposedly lusty man.

“Okay…but like…what do you know about the wealth of the Antebellum south?” asks the Gen Z charismatic of his friend.

“Nothing.” he finally admits.

“Yeah. I didn’t actually know that much about the old-money south either. I thought I did, having grown-up there. But I actually don’t. My whole family doesn’t actually.” says the loudest hater. “Sweetie, it’s changed a lot in the south since after the end of the Civil War.”

The supposedly slutty man thinks. “What does that mean then?” he asks his friend.

“Were they really rich?” wonders another perfume hater.

“Yes. They had a lot of land. Maybe…$4 million net in my family alone. In the family at large it was $70 million? And they’d had wealth since…the…13th Century or so.” says Lacey. “It wasn’t that much. But…they were rural. And they had a high social status, regardless.”

“But then they lost that in the Civil War!” says the black woman.

“Wait! That’s the paternal family of the mother who raised you?!” asks the supposedly slutty man.

“Yes!” says Lacey. “The mother who raised me’s maiden name.”

“You gotta be makin’ that up bitch!” says a self-labeled rich-white-southern-old-money-bitch.

“Nah! Bro I ain’t!” says Lacey trying to speak her language and relate.

Hunched over she drools in response to Lacey.

The black woman laughs.

“Is she old money?” asks Lacey of the black woman.

“No.” says the black woman.

“Is her family wealthy?” Lacey asks of the black woman.

“They have a million or two in today’s money. In 2022.” says the black woman to Lacey.

“Her parents?” asks Lacey.

“Yes!” says the black woman.

Feeling awkward Lacey has no idea what to say next.

“Don’t say anything at all! Just remain silent!” says the loudest perfume hater.

“Why?” asks Lacey finding it a suspicious and baffling reaction.

“So! You think there’s a curse or something?” asks the supposedly slutty man of Lacey.

The loudest perfume hater rolls her eyes. Lacey doesn’t believe her sympathy act. And based on the loudest hater’s possible activities with cats she doesn’t trust her for a reason, let’s not forget.

“I’m too high on pencil skirts, expensive perfume and other pretty doodads to care these days, gals!” says another perfume hater in her Lina Lamont 2022 voice.

“So! You care?!” asks the supposedly slutty man.

Lots of white people tend to start drooling in regard to this issue.

“Why can’t we get you out?” asks the supposedly slutty man.

“We can’t fight it. It’s too big for the both of us.” says a humorous actress.

“Umm…did the father who raised you know who he was marrying?” asks a gay man of Lacey.

“When one marries into a cursed bloodline they generally don’t know it.” says a woman.

“But if you’re illegitimate…that isn’t your bloodline?” observes a Native American woman.

“True! But she’s my mom in her mind, according to law, and she’s raised me to believe that.” says Lacey. “It’s done.”

“Well, and if you’re illegitimate the baby didn’t even survive. So…” says the Native American woman.

Silence.

“Other then love…what are you missing?” asks a perfume hater.

“Hmm. The thing is today I’ve been realizing how little of my life purpose I was possibly able to fulfill.” says Lacey.

“Like politics and stuff?” asks an actress humorously.

“Yes!” says Lacey.

“Except I looked-up your birth mother’s maiden name family and their name doesn’t mean that much!” says the pencil skirt addict in the perfume community.

Silence.

“Well now I wear cool clothes like Gen Z but okay whatever. Be an idiot! I can’t stop you!” the former pencil skirt addict says.

Silence.

“Anyway, getting back to the bit of adulthood I was trying noblesse oblige to impart to you, your family is poor. Admit it!”

“We are not still obsessed with proving you are poor. You’re imagining that.” says another perfume community member to Lacey. She clears her throat, “By the way!! You may call me Lady Fluffengrass.”

“Are you being serious? You want me to call you Lady Fluffengrass?!” asks Lacey, overwhelmed.

“Yes! And I am Lady Kinnicoticut.” says the former pencil skirt addict.

“Are they being serious?” Lacey asks the black woman.

“Yes.” she looks up at Lacey in concern.

“I think those are narcissistic demons who either possess them or work with them.” says the supposedly slutty man.

“So they’re being used like puppets?” asks Lacey.

“By the demons?” asks the Gen Z Charismatic.

“Yes!” yells a Jew as everyone else is rendered silent.

“So you bear the curse of the Antebellum south?” asks the loudest perfume hater of Lacey.

“Possibly. I’ve actually tried to break it in the past, I think. But…it’s silencing.” says Lacey.

“Have you ever broken the curses of your possible birth parents?” asks the supposedly slutty man of Lacey.

“I see a door locked shut! And you can’t open it.” says a psychic to Lacey.

“I have tried to break the curses but not extensively. That being said, the analogy of the locked door seems…fascinating.” says Lacey.

“Like, accurate?” the psychic asks.

“Yes.” says Lacey.

And at that the psychic becomes narcissistically angry. Then he catches himself.

“Lacey it’s…overpowering.” he says.

Silence.

“This is pathetic!!!” yells the supposed slut.

“Why, dude?” asks the Gen Z Charismatic.

“We should be fighting not a psychic.” the supposed slut says.

Lacey smells human blood. Smoke. Metal.

She gets shot in the head but since it’s supernatural she recovers instantly. It may not be the same for all in this realm.

Then she smells sunshine. Old curing paint on walls.

“It’s the Civil War!” some says with joking condescension to Lacey.

She walks out into the middle of battle. Gets shot again. Whatever. Again.

It is getting annoying though. So she puts on a Medieval chain armor outfit for protection.

A woman who reminds her of the mother who raised her scolds her about her housecleaning and Lacey appreciates it. Then it’s back out into the battle again.

“Wait! Are your family like Mexican maids?” seethes a self-labeled Latina.

“No! It’s the opposite. Of that stereotype.”says Lacey darting into the middle.

She stands there watching.

“This is really depressing. It’s so psychological.” says Lacey.

“The type of warfare?” asks a Native American woman.

“Yes!” says Lacey.

“How so?!” asks the Native American woman.

Southern Hospitality from the Soundtrack to “Requiem For A Dream” plays.

“It’s like…two men in their 20’s or 30’s are sword fighting. But using guns.” says Lacey. “Dancing around each other. Eyeing each other. Daring each other to shoot.” She listens to the music. “And it goes on for hours and hours.”

The loudest perfume hater laughs.

“They couldn’t make it go faster. They didn’t have potent enough bombs back then.” says Lacey.

The loudest perfume hater shakes in fear.

“You’re right! The dying was slow and tedious.” says a demon to Lacey.

A few officers flirt with her at rounds.

Fear plays. Lacey hates this aesthetic. It’s so stupid it’s heartbreaking. It’s drugs.

“Yup!” says a demon to confirm that that is the sound of the demons of drugs at its worst.

Then the rhythm changes. At the request of a dying officer. It’s an improvement. Then he dies. Goes to God. He seemed like a nice person.

The fighting is dying down. It’s getting dark. Both sides run off to their camps. The smell of blood returns.

It’s getting quiet. The ground littered with the trappings of war in a way that resembles a wretched mess left by party goers.

“My ancestors were there too!” says a Latina from 2022.

“No. They were not.” says Lacey.

“Were your ancestors there Jack?” asks Lacey.

“I don’t know.” he says. He seems to doubt it.

Lacey’s possible ancestor looks nervous.

A demonically charged man barrels for Lacey and she stands there smiling, watching. He crashes into her and she topples over and is smothered until he mindlessly moves on.

Lacey prays. Ken Lay laughs. Apparently he finds the Civil War massively fascinating to explore too.

“Are you drunk?!” asks a Millennial woman of Lacey. This Millennial woman prides herself on being super heterosexual and feminine.

“No.” says Lacey.

“Wait! Aren’t you feminine?!” asks a perfume hater condescendingly of Lacey as if Lacey is Lacey is a butch bitch and lying about it. Reality has been suspended for that woman.

“I actually am.” says Lacey. “I am very sincerely feminine.”

“Has anyone ever called you hyper-feminine?”’asks a hater of Lacey.

“I don’t think I am hyper feminine. I think the closeted gay man saying that to me was being hateful and narcissistic. I’m not anything other than heterosexual, cis and non-degenerate.” says Lacey, calmly.

“Why do you talk weird?” asks a hater of Lacey.

“Because my real voice sounds creepily like a woman from the 1940’s.” says Lacey. “It’s just awkward.”

“See it’s like this…” starts Ken Lay.

“I wanna go too now.” says a black man who’s à descendant of slaves.

“Are you sure?“ asks Lacey.

“Bull! This is bull. This woman is narcissistic!” says a man driving down the highway, lifting his bottom to fart at 80 miles per an hour. His wife is reading this blog aloud in 2022.

“I’m positive.” says the black man to Lacey. “That man farting on the freeway is why.”

“You want to go and say thank you?” asks Lacey.

“Yes.” he smiles.

“Right.” says Lacey.

The black man cries.

“I hope it’s not a let-down.” says Lacey.

“If I can find the proper context first, I highly doubt it will be. But thank you for the warning.” he says.

“Like who your ancestors were?” asks a black perfume collector.

“Yes.”

“That would be cool!” says a black woman.

“Yeah! If this is possible after we die, I expect it to be amazing.” he says. He looks at Lacey and starts laughing. “People will expect you to start giving tours.”

Lacey sighs. “I don’t think so. And there will have to be a limit on the number of visitors.”

He looks at her and smiles.

Thankfully this isn’t earth anymore. The land of the so-called waking.

“I’m trying to lose weight.” says a man to Lacey. He’s cut out sugar. To look more attractive.

“Does he think they had sugar cane in the south?” asks the black man of Lacey.

“It wasn’t that. Was it? It was cotton, peanuts, and maybe some sugar cane?” she wonders. She looks it up. It’s rice, tobacco and indigo too.

“Where did they grow sugar cane?” asks Lem.

“Was rice in Georgia? Tobacco in North Carolina. Indigo in…Virginia??” says Lacey.

“No! Indigo wasn’t in Virginia.” interrupts Lem. He regrets it. He closes his eyes.

“I’d have imagined sugarcane was in Florida.” says Lacey.

Athalia looks embarrassed and infuriated. But then Lem realizes another error he made in analyzing Lacey.

“Actually, did they grow indigo in Virginia?” asks a ghost.

“I think they might have.” says Lacey.

“Why does it matter?” asks Ken Lay. “Why…why…why…why does it matter?”

“Because the south is sucking us in.” says Lacey.

“Like, the ground?!” asks the ghost of a woman who died of Covid as an ER doctor during the height of the pandemic.

“That’s fake!” says an enraged singer.

“Are you sure it’s fake sweetheart?” asks a hater.

“The literal ground is sort of sinking.” says someone.

“Nah! The old money south is letting Lem explain his grand moral superiority to them. Once and for always?” says Ken Lay. “And demons think it’s funny.”

“He couldn’t help it! We were a fucking hot family!” says a kid who cares.

“But did he want it?!” asks a Republican.

“Ahhhh…possibly not!” a professor decides.

A religious spirit laughs. “Jesus must be madly in love with you, Lacey. There’s no way He’d allow you to write such a cool blog otherwise. You’re a worthless piece of absolute shit. You must be pulling sex strings in Heaven. Huh? I get it girl. Get it!” it says on behalf of some Christian somewhere. It’s their usual narcissistic drug of choice.

Silence.

“See…when it comes to Lacey y’all like to see her beauty or other gifts decide they’re your’s and then get high as a kite. Then you look at her high and see your own insecurities for long enough to make a fool of yourself to her and be subjugated if she so chooses. It was only a matter of time before she found out she wasn’t objectively ugly.” the demon further explains.

“So we look like subhumans?” asks a perfume hater. “But for real.”

“Do you think she’s that dumb?” asks Satan. “Can you be honest?” He giggles.

“Lem loved me!! And I won the 1960 with my sheer genius.” declares Jack.

“Or did Lem secretly hate you?” asks Lacey of Jack.

“No. We got it up our asses and it feels good.” says a straight adult man talking about his special relationship with Satan. “Getting narcissistically high feels like getting high on molly.”

“Which part?” she asks.

“Did Lem ever enjoy fucking Jack?” asks an actress.

The man falls apart crying.

“See…I’m not sure. If it’s Lem and he’s telling me the truth then no. It was always rape.” says Lacey.

“No. It was rape.” says a dead gay Boomer man. “And of course, I mean that Jack raped Lem.”

“Noo!” screeches a Democrat.

“Did Jack know he was raping Lem?” asks a man who has had a deal with Satan.

“Not necessarily. I think he thought…however embarrassingly…that Lem couldn’t be raped by him. Or any other man.” says Lacey.

“Kind of like how you can’t rape your wife?” asks a man who insists his massively lower IQ and heartless conscience is reconciled by his smug, slimy, squished face.

“She gotta be in love with you? Huh, boy?!” asks a black man.

“I’m going back to the Civil War. If you’ll forgive my departure.” says Lacey.

“Oh! Nothing doing. Of course. I’ll let the garbage team take it from here. They’re very kind and efficient. They’ll dispose of his weaknesses and then he should be okay. Or something of the like.” says the black man.

“Or! Instead of going back to the Civil War why not go shopping?” asks a dead woman.

“The Civil War is so soothing though.” says Lacey.

Michael…actually agrees.

“Or! How about praying? Eating some spaghetti? And praying. And then maybe a gin and tonic? Or gin and juice. You rarely drink. And maybe it’s helpful if you need to cry. Pray about it. And watch a good documentary about Enron.” says Ken Lay.

“Or watch The Crown.” says a ghost.

“A lot of that series angers me.” says Lacey.

“No! Satan isn’t conquering us. And no. I was molested. I was under the belief that if I was able to be be aroused physically in a forced way it meant I had to be gay somewhat. Not everyone is confused in that way. Some are different than me.” he says. “I think Jack might have been one of them.” He thinks. “No, Satan is resistable.”

“Well, should Purgatory exist…I’ll pray. For all of you.” says Lacey.

“Time for spaghetti!” says Michael.

Lem races with a knife. It lands in backs. That deserve it. Only if God agrees.

“It’s at God’s discretion.” says a dead Queen.

“Do I need to buy a fire opal?” asks Lacey of God.

“What in the world is the significance of that to you?” asks a supposed slut.

“They’ve been supernaturally trying to hammer a knife into Lacey’s skull to get their genitals aroused by Satan. But they imagine it’s me.” says Lem.

“Is that what they did in your sorority, Lacey?” asks the Native American woman.

“I highly doubt it.” says a very Liberal Jew.

“Skull and Bones is like a church supper by comparison possibly. It’s too much. It baffles me. I don’t know but I suspect there’s something genuinely wrong with their brains.” says Lacey.

Silence.

“Oh well. I don’t have any more patience. God will have to sorry the rest out.” she says. “If there is an Illuminati I trust God will explain.”

—-

Asian

“I wanna know why Joe betrayed you.” says the Asian perfume collector who likely hates Lacey. “I don’t care if he’s a ghost. I might be an atheist who wonders.”

“I don’t know.” says Lacey.

“Are you sure?” she asks.

“Don’t ask her that. Ask me.” says Michael.

“Or me.” says Louis.

“Okay.” says a Gen Z woman with a sense of humor. “Why, Louis?”

“Honestly?” Louis asks.

“Yes!” says a man.

“She just likes us better.” says Louis.

The Asian woman scoffs.

“So he cheated with Faye Emerson…because he thought she’d prefer you?” asks an older Asian woman.

“Yes.” says Louis. “In a sense.”

“Did you want off the hook?” asks the Asian perfume hater.

“No.” says Lacey.

“And now it’s too late.” says another Asian man.

“Yes.” says Lacey. “Seemingly.”

An Asian man laughs. Heartily.

“Did they seduce him?” he asks her.

“I’d bet yes. If Purgatory exists. …And…I think he let them on the premise that it was for my own good. If that’s Louis and he’s telling the truth.” says Lacey.

The Asian hater looks upset. She sighs.

“And now Joe regrets it.” says the older Asian man.

“Seemingly.” says Lacey.

“Lacey…I think you were oblivious to what they did.” says the older Asian man. “It’s not unlikely that you miss things like that sometimes.”

“I’ve become more aware of it over the years. But yes. I know.” says Lacey.

“What is you instinctually think we’re doing?”

“Destroying yourselves because you hate yourselves.” says Lacey.

“And you get stuck there?” asks a psychic of Lacey.

“Yes. Mostly.” says Lacey.

The Asian hater laughs.

“Why was he so stupid?!” asks the Asian woman.

“It’s bizarre.” says Lacey.

“Who vibes with it?” asks the Asian man.

“Louis. And Michael. And Lem. And…especially Michael.” says Lacey.

“They want Kem. No Lem to exist.” says the Asian man.

“Because that’s what makes the kids happy.” says Lacey.

“And they feel entitled. Because parents are forever to shit on.” says the Asian man, sarcastically.

“It makes someone too angry to think about.” says a Boomer woman.

“Why didn’t Joe figure that in?” asks another Boomer.

“We’ll just rise Satan up to fix it in a jiffy! Don’t worry!” says a Boomer to the kids who care.

“Hey! I’ve got a groovy idea! Let’s go stalk our parent’s sex lives and rape them!” says a Boomer woman sarcastically. “Then let’s sniff glue!” That was also sarcasm.

“And Michael?” asks the Asian man.

“Michael.” says Lacey.

“Mike burns, indeed.” says Lem.

“But not permanently?” asks Lacey.

“So if he arranged it…” says the Asian man.

“Louis…used my ignorance of my beauty that Joe allowed too much of…to destroy his chances?” wonders Lacey.

“Yeah!” says the Asian hater. “When did Joe figure it out?”

“When I was in my 20’s.” says Lacey.

“Or that’s what she thinks.” says Louis.

“I might have seen it and felt…ugly…and given-up.” says Joe.

“Ken plus Lem?” asks the Asian man.

“Yes. But I don’t think Lem wants that.” says Lacey.

“Lacey I have a feeling Michael can be vicious.” says an Asian man.

Lacey yawns.

“Is Lem intimidated?” the Asian man asks.

“No, but Louis worries it’s become unfair. Or too harsh.” says Lacey.

“Their treatment of each other or of Joe?” asks a woman.

“Joe.”

“Except what if he ruined your life?” asks an Englishwoman.

“Oh! That’s a matter of interpretation. It’s all arbitrary bullshit. And the real meaning is meaning of that meaning and this. And when it comes down to it…it’s about Sicilian oranges. In September. On a veranda. On an estate run by Joey.” says Lacey.

“Oh you are personally perceptive.” says an Asian man.

“Lacey…it’s a matter of taste.” says another man. “Nothing more.”

“And what works?!” asks Lacey sarcastically.

“Yes! In a mountain top bar in Japan. Where they shop for Christmas gifts. For Joey.” says the Asian man.

“Oh! That’s…profound! Keep going with your insight!” says Lacey.

“Wait, Lacey. Which Joey?” asks a man.

“Joey F. from New Jersey.” says Lacey.

“Was he ever at a bar in Cuba?” asks an Asian man.

The beat ticks.

“No, but my dad was.” he says. “Al was a German man. He ate cherries with chocolate and chicken.”

“Did he ever swim naked in Frankfurt?” asks Lacey.

“That’s a fact that must be interpreted.” he vibes.

“So is that a yes or a no?” asks Lacey.

“The only good institution is American prison. They’re Buddhist.” he says.

“Oh! My father might have been observing.” says Lacey.

“Like the spiritually advanced man he was.” says the Asian man with a touch of humor.

“Our father, should he have been a bootlegger was far too spiritual to go to Buddhist school.” says Punch-With-Her-Foot-In-My-Face.

Giggling.

“We observed many religious traditions.” says a Kate self-deprecatingly.

“Why can’t you just use her name?” asks a hot woman.

“It’s…prohibited.” says Hemingway. “Hey! It’s all up someone’s ass. Right? Let’s call it Anal Theology For Suckers.” He thinks. “Suckers of shit.” He thinks. “Telling someone they’re for sure going to Heaven, that it’s all up for interpretation…and not to go to church is dangerous if Satan exists and can actually tempt people to Hell.”

“Am I going to Hell?” asks a professor.

“Do you want to go there?” asks Scott.

“Rich plutocrats who stole your job to give to a Mexican…would hope you’d have a conscience or care.” says Michael to the professor. “And if you can’t interpret someone else’s words cause you can’t get in their head without the help of tradition or the Holy Spirit…bow before God and ask for help.”

“Hospitals are crooked too.” says a doctor. “But they’re there for the masses.”

“Dismantling other people’s faith is either tragic or…fraught.” says a psychic.

“Does Lacey get to choose if Michael loves her the most?” someone asks.

“That’s who she’d choose.” she says.

“Whoever loves her the most?” asks a hater.

“In Christ.” she says.

“You resent certain things?” asks a rich person of Lacey.

“Yes.” says a poor dead African girl. On her behalf.

“Why?” asks the professor who then regrets it.

“Because I don’t like seeing my friends beat-up.” says Lacey. “For no reason.”

“Do you want to see me?” asks Ava.

“Ava who?” asks Kicker.

“Ava B. from Manhattan.” says Lacey.

“This is gibberish!” says Ava.

“Ava M. from Vermont.” says Lacey.

“It’s out of your hands, Lacey. The moment you clicked update. For all you know a man now wants to see every woman named Ava to ever exist.” says a ghost sarcastically.

“See them? How? What’s your hermeneutic?” asks Lacey.

“Hermeneutically I’m using Green Orthodox pedagogy. Metaphysically I’m dead.” he says.

“Do you have any other hermeneutics?” she asks.

“Russian soccer. My fascination with adult pornography that I’m recovering from in Purgatory. My love of shellfish. And…the overly expensive diamond earrings I bought my wife one year.” he says.

“But interpretation matters.” says a woman.

“Truth matters. And the existence of truth is the only reason we give a damn about interpreting anything.” says Lacey.

“But a man can’t help wants to see Ava!” says a professor.

Silence.

“Did you write it that way or did Ava?” asks a professor.

“I didn’t write it that way at all intentionally.” says Lacey.

“I seem like a little boy to her?” asks a professor.

“No and yes. Mostly no. But I’d stay away. That yes is vile.” says Frankie.

Michael bobs his head to the music.

“Be careful. Frankie who? Right? Or wrong?” asks Lacey. “Humble yourself before God your creator if no one else.”

“Hahaha! You’re Hyacinth Bucket! You’re Hyacinth Bucket! I’ll never explain why I mean that but you are! You are!” says hater to Lacey.

“I’ll kill your daughter too!” says a demon to Lacey.

“What does any of that have to do with me?” asks the professor.

“I think the actor who played Niles seems straight enough. I bet if we get Lacey to look at his photo and she thinks he’s straight we can prove to her Lem was gay!” says a kid who cares. But Lacey wasn’t supposed to know that.

“He seems mostly gay to me.” says Lacey.

“Mostly but not entirely?“ asks a man.

“It’s in his eyes. It’s like he’s almost entirely gay. But there’s a hint of heterosexuality.” she says.

“Just a soupçon?” he asks.

“Yes! And I bet he leaned into that soupçon to play the role of Niles.” says a man.

“Was Niles, Niles?” asks a perfume hater.

“Yes! But the actor isn’t Niles.” says Lacey.

“A soupçon can be loud.” says the perfume hater.

“Especially if you lean in to it.” says another hater.

“That’s very true.” says Lacey.

“What does they have to do with me?” asks the professor.

“I keep wondering what this has to do with me.” asks another Tik Tokker.

“Michael and Daphne. I mean, Niles and Daphne.” says a perfume hater.

“You think I’m just a gussied-up Post Modernist!” says a professor.

“She wishes I was in love with her!” says a Tik Tokker.

“Am I the Antichrist?” asks a man in Israel.

“Darn it!” says a kid who cares.

“Did he look gay in the series?” asks an Englishman.

“I hope he’s not the antichrist. That’d be way too on the nose. …And yes, but we were told to suspend belief as one does in theater at times. …And he seemed possibly unique or bisexual.” says Lacey.

“This is about me!” says the professor.

“You don’t believe in an antichrist!” says a man to the professor.

“I do!” says a Tik Tokker.

“He must have been channeling an entity that finds women attractive.” says Lacey.

“I’m straight!” says the professor.

“She thought I was queer too when I rejected her.” says the Tik Tokker. “But she has to get in line. Lots of my audience falls for me.”

“Get in line?! …No, I understand. I have a female fanbase too.” says the professor sympathetically.

“I have thousands.” says the Tik Tokker.

“Well, I don’t have thousands. Just a dozen or so.” the professor says.

“Mine are real.” says the Tik Tokker.

“Mine are too!” says the professor.

“Yeah, but like..,thousands!” says the Tik Tokker.

“Say, are one of you gentlemen the Antichrist?” asks a kid who cares.

They look upset. Pensive.

“How could we be?” asks the Tik Tokker.

“Are one of you the Devil?” asks Joe Sr..

“Ha!” says the professor.

“Is that an insult or a compliment?” asks the Tik Tokker.

“Given his hermeneutics how would the great Yanuka interpret that question from the ghost of Joe Kennedy Sr.?” asks Lacey.

“You don’t respect him?” asks a woman of Lacey about Yanuka.

“We’ve got to get her off Lem!” says a kid who cares.

“Figuratively or literally?” asks a perfume hater.

“There is no literally in literally anywhere literally?” ponders Lacey sarcastically.

“I think Lem was great!” thinks Yanuka.

“He seems nice. But only as a teacher, possibly. Not a Messiah.” says Lacey.

“The Yanuka as a teacher?” asks a woman.

“Of course.” says Lacey. “I was just discussing Yanuka.”

“So…Lem could have been the messiah? And Yanuka seems non-Messiah?” asks a Jew humorously.

“Lem was not the Messiah. And yes, not a Messiah.” says Lacey.

“How is this about me?” wonders the professor. Dear man.

“It’s not necessarily about us.” says the Tik Tokker.

“Are we the Devil?” asks the professor.

“I certainly don’t feel like that’s a fair assessment.” says the Tik Tokker.

“What does being the Devil mean to you?” asks Joe Sr..

“I don’t know. I think that’s a question you should ask yourself.” says the professor.

“Okay!! Stop!” says an Asian perfume hater.

Silence.

“Lacey and Lem might be in love. But I have a feeling she’s not with him right now. …Yanuka is not the Messiah. I too hope he isn’t an antichrist. Or thee Antichrist. …The television show Fraiser was good television. Niles was straight in the show. Michael is semi missing. And so is Louis. From this conversation. I’m…ending this conversation now. …Goodnight or happy Saturday.” says an Asian perfume collector.