[Carol wipes her eyes with backs of her hands, and she sits up. She looks around the Floor. She lowers her head]
I won't say it. I won't fucking ask it.
[She gets to her feet and stumbles over to DePlancher's desk. She breathes deep, exhales. She gazes at the mirrorball, takes in the glittering. She lowers her gaze to DePlancher's desktop, and she sees a capital has been laid out for her examination. She flits her gaze over the title page, and she shakes her head spasmically]
We have a new one.
[Carol is sniffing back tears. We're not sure why she's so upset. She lets out one single sob. And we're stricken with embarrassment. Because we know what she's been through down in the Jungle and whatnot. And we know the one fella who pulled her out of that mess was Doomey. So Carol must feel fucked without Doomey, right? So we go to the Porthole, open it, and we look out into the deluge. Carol gets to her feet sluggishly. She sways. She grabs up the fresh capital laid out at her boot-tips]
It's another Karmazin, cousins. Titled What Was, What Is. We will examine the fuck out of this capital.
[Carol curls up and inches herself underneath DePlancher's desk. Might be she's exhausted and fucking done, right? And seeing as how she is the only person on the Floor, then how the fuck are we supposed to advance? Fuck!
[Roth tears apart the wardrobe doors and exits the wardrobe in a rush. He is sweaty, and he wears a floaty around his waist, a floaty with the head of the princess from Frozen, whatever the fuck her name is, and nothing else, his manhood dangling heavily 'neath said floaty. His fingers are in his hair, combing. He steps onto the Floor, and it really doesn't seem he has any idea where he be. Mmm]
Wow. I mean seriously, what the fuck, sister.
[He aims his awareness on the one anchor point in the room. Carol shakes her shoulders and gently pats her privates, urging them to calm]
Wow. Love, man. I start all my sentences with wow, okay? So, wow, I mean, what are we doing? Carol, right? I know you from that damn podcast of Dax Shepard's. He can't stop talking about fucking Carol from the camp in Seattle. And I say wow. Carol, as I get real and vocal, survived ugly shit that no one should ever have to survive, no one should have to let parts of fucking evil, right? Let them raise their heads and scream, like the first track on my first record, right? Can't let those pigs grab you, right? To grab you down there on your own fucking private P which has been done over and over with these fucking politicians and McDonalds CEO fucker's and I am so upset...And I breathe, right? Mom. Wow. So what are we doing here, sister. Carol, you know you're my sister, though we have no parents in common. Wow, mom. I was told when I was young to be nothing short of fantastic, child. And I do love, cuddle fiction, because when the sun fucking sets, right? I love to examine certain texts, mostly riotous biographies. Yeah, Carol. Yeah. Right? My question (sniff), to you, my fucking bitch, hah, is are we going examine this shit? or are we going to throw up in each others mouths?
[Carol crawls out from underneath DePlancher's desk and she throws herself into DePlancher's chair ass-first. She slams her palms on the arm rests one, two three times, and she shakes her head, her hair going all blurry. She locks her gaze on Dave's]
Motherfucker. I am in fucking love with you!
[Carol pats herself, calming herself. She moves her hips left and her upper body right. She scrunches up her lips and moves them left, like she's about to kiss some royal fucker on his/her left cheek. She leans back in the chair, breathes]
The monks stuff, right? The sword you saw forged, the cliff climbing. You are a superhero, Diamond. And that last Van Halen record, dude, my fucking favorite. You got a really good bassist, a better bassist, and you wrote some really awesome lyrics. Every song is so fucking good, cousin. Stay Frosty? Fuck, man! So sweet. You And Your Blues? Jesus fucking Christ, Spaniard. You, my new friend, well never come across a greater fan than myself. Shit.
[Carol shoves her pelvis against the front DePLancher's desk. The desk rocks. Carol grabs a joint from her breast pocket, and she swan vestas it, sucks smoke into her lungs. Exhales]
[David crosses the tiles, the colors strobing as his weight triggers the light 'neath, and plants his palms on DePlancher's desktop]
I came here because I felt the need to be here. I am only a human being, right? I mean, look at me. I am a human. But something exited this landscape, and something needs to fill that hole. We walk a tightrope, sister. I am here because someone has vacated. Savvy?
[She sucks some sweet smoke from the joint, and then she exhales. She looks at DePlancher's desktop, and maybe it's swirling and exchanging molecules or maybe she's just resting her eyes. The capital on DePlancher's desk ripples like maybe it's getting anxious. Carol taps the current capital with her left index fingertip]
You are a superhero, Diamond. What we deal with here is pedestrian. Common, cousin. I can't imagine how your presence can help. Not saying-
[Carol dives in and focuses on the current capital]
[Carol stands up straight, plants her palms on her hips and bends backward, moans]
Motherfucker. We grow older, right? We get stiff. Dang. David, check this, right. I am examining this capital, spread out on DePlancher's desktop. Sent to us, a zine of ill repute, recently. May have been months ago, maybe it was yesterday. We don't care. But the baggage of examination is focus. Or maybe it's worse than focus. We give our VCs the vibrancy of our focus, and we shove everything we have into that examination. Right? David? But if the capital has no vibration, no pound pound pound, right? If the shit we are fucking examining is lifeless, where in the fuck are we supposed to go. Where do we advance, right? If...
[Carol plants her ass in DePlancher's chair. She looks ashen, sick, and she's shaking her head]
[Dave has his cut silver suit on, it does not stab at the eye, it looks really good and cozy. He leans his right asscheek on the edge of DePlancher's desk. He's looking at Carol sat behind the desk, and he smiles]
Art can drown cities. Prose deafens ears. Girl.
[Dave shoves his ass off the desk edge]
We do not accept Karmazin's What Was, What Is. But that don't make it taboo. Wow, Let me...
[Dave grabs up the remote and thumbs in Tattoo. The tiles vibrate, the mirrorball rotates. The wardrobe pulsates]
[Carol, planted in DePlancher's seat, wiggling a little bit, wads up the current capital and wads it up, wads it up. It's become a softball-sized ball. Carol leans back in DePlancher's chair and she winds up her pitching arm, bringing it back and winding it up, and she pitches the capital at the mirrorball. The pitch swings left, just outside the strike zone, and it disappears into the rafters]
Fuck. Flubbed. Regardless, Karmazin's What Was, What Is has been Portholed, Arm Cherries. And hey, ladies, feeling a little Dax, just cause. Favorite podcast? I'm leaning Jason Bateman but just as heavy was the Bounty Hunter. No the Bounty Hunter was heavier. Bateman was second. Is there any way we can get our huge fan base to tap in on our minge? I mean, I know there are like thousands of followers out there watching our every step, our every gossip and tinge. Right?