a telenovela

He’s right here, nigga, he was never flim jannery, that’s just what some milk carton with his picture on it said.

Which milk carton?

More than one if they ever want to catch these lost kids.

Catch them and put them where?

Back inside the cow.

What the fuck, dude.

Where else are you gonna put them?

They’re lost kids.

Lost kids?

Not orphans.

Lost kids?

Send them home.

Send them home, nigga.

Who knows, nigga, we write, don’t we?

We write.

Then write this shit down now instead of taking a break.  Nope.

Noping out again, nigga?

Dude, you know.

So don’t worry.

There’s a thing in the Blog, which apparently this is too now or something like that, talking about ‘flim jannery.’

We might already know that.

So, just assume for a moment that is Jim Flannery, then.  Sure, Jim.  Then, the question would probably be, was ‘flim jannery’ a character or a stage name or something entirely different.

Nice period.

I’m bleeding too, Jim, hysterically at how unfunny this is.

Did it start out that way?




Then what the fuck?

It happened pretty quickly.

In Connecticut?

Oddly enough.

How is that odd, nigga?

I don’t even think I was living there, yet, I’m pretty sure it happened specifically at a certain place that I suppose I won’t bother mentioning in Connecticut.

Not the Buttonwood?


No worries, Jim

Why do you like that mic so much?

Same reason anybody might.

Jim, as a comic?

It’s nice to see other art.


Ya, us too.

Then why ‘flim jannery’?

More than one reason, we know nigga, more than one reason.

Partly professional, if “Jim Flannery” is saying fucked up stuff on stage, he might lose his job, sure, and is he working with children, you might call them children, nigga, what the fuck, they’re teenagers, I see what you refer to them as children now.  Kinda disrespectful?  They’re kids.  Kinda.  Nigga, what?  It’s dismissive.  What about your lovely family, nigga?  They may not love hearing about what “Jim Flannery” is saying either.  We know, nigga, it happens.  And then?  Something interesting happens.  You learn some weird shit, don’t ya?  You may learn things by accident, nigga.  Might.

What caused the end of ‘flim jannery’?

What makes you think he’s dead?

Well, Probably and Technically sure didn’t tell us.

Dead, nigga.

You’ve performed as “Jim Flannery”?

Who hasn’t.

Nigga, what the fuck?

You ever been down to the casino in Jaco?  There might be a bunch of people performing under the name “Jim Flannery,” and who am I to question their artistic integrity by asking if they’re lying.  These the niggas that stole you’re money?  Stole?  The nigga who took you in dice, nigga.  Who said we were playing dice?  Nigga, it’s not craps.  That what I’m saying, there’s a difference.  Then tell us, nigga, the difference between dice and craps, and don’t say ‘crap,’ just say you know enough about craps not to play dice with some niggas in Jaco.  Then how did you lose?  Lose?  Just because I didn’t win, doesn’t mean I necessarily lost.  What?  How do you know I didn’t stumble on a small group of native Costa Ricans who run their own game, and I just chilled playing the Don’ts all night while they fed me rice and beans.  And batidos, Jim?  Then you didn’t win or lose?  Who said I lost?  You lost, nigga, just admit it.  If I tell you something about myself playing the house, then I’d be describing myself setting up their own little corner-store-craps-game, and that would probably be a crime, and since the house never loses, they don’t win either, nigga, they’re stuck dealing with americanos like you fucking with them all day, and don’t worry about the sunglasses, nigga, he told you.

And “flim”?

She’s okay.

Just ok?

She’s the best, nigga, the best.

Of all time.

The boat?

Full boat.

Nigga, what about the goat.

Sold it.

Sold it?

That’s why I can’t perform anymore.

Cause you sold a fucking goat?

If you knew who I sold it to.


You’d know I fucked that goat up so bad before getting rid of it that I’m worried someone out there is hunting me down at open mics just waiting to take me out.

Over a goat?

Not my fault, nigga, I found a boat.

A boat?


Not what you think.

Which one?

There’s only one.


Don’t even.

Why can’t we perform anymore?

We just did.


Can’t say that anymore.

Apparently, the future President of these United States can’t make or take a fucking joke.

That anything is a performance.

Then check the roulette table at Mohegan and Foxwoods, and don’t ever come around here telling me about any fucking prince of aces in a fucking deck of cards again either.

Prince of aces?

Whatever the fuck it is.  Nigga you now there’s no prince of aces.

Nope, and there’s no fucking prince of clovers either.

Is there an ace of clovers?

Not that I can offer you at the moment.

Does that help?

Nigga, you printing cards up there?

Why do you think we buy all these ‘thank you’ cards that we never send?

For the envelopes, nigga, the envelopes.

I can’t do it, man, this shit is funnier than anything on stage, isn’t it?

No, but its only funny to us, and I kinda like that, nobody’s disappointed.

Disappointed nigga, we’re almost to 1,000 words and I haven’t laughed yet.

Go take a look at the fucking Mohammed Pac-Man and check the wrinkles on his scrotum.

Nigga, don’t ever mention Mohammed’s scrotum again without at least implying that nigga Eddie Murphy is going to shit when he says on stage that you think Mohammed has a nicer scrotum.

What’s wrong with that?

Cause that nigga ain’t got shit to do with Mohammed anymore than your scrotum has to do with Mohammed.

Then you know that too, nigga, all our scrotums got something to do with Mohammed.

How many we got?


I’m just asking for a friend.

How many scrotum?

Between all of us.


You don’t know how many scrotum a person has?  One for each, testicle, so that’s three, right?

Nigga, you playin’ me for a fucking Ron White-ignorant fool?

You know that one?

Of course, nigga, I know all your shit too.

Can’t we?


I don’t see why not.

Until you think too much, nigga.

Maybe now that all this shit is here, we can go back to not giving a fuck what we say on stage?

Let’s not go that far back in time.

Somewhere in the middle.

The middle?

Before that dude Eddie Murphy’d your ass at the comedy contest, nigga.

That goes way back.

Yes, nigga, way back.

Almost 10?

Just about.