a telenovela

You may not want an honest answer to that question.  It’s sadder than any song lyrics we would choose not to publish, I’d say.  So when will we know precisely what you’re talking about now?

There doesn’t seem to be a future where any of us are truly safe.

Isn’t that how the world works, Jim?  Nobody’s ever truly safe?

That seems reasonable if you’re talking about meteors crashing into the Earth, or, sure, climate change, though that clearly effects some more than others.  And the meteor crash?

Depends how big the meteor is.

And where we’re standing.

Why can’t we be safe, Jim?

I’ve said it before but it just gets worse and worse, so maybe it’s better that it’s spaced out.

We are spacing you out, Jim, nothing to worry about there.

Right now every state has their own individual and, thus, independent involuntary commitment laws, as well as involuntary psychiatry laws, let’s call them.  Though they’re all individually created and passed by separate governing bodies, they’re all pretty similar at the same time: If you are believed to be a danger to self and others, and also believed to be mentally ill, you can be locked up and forcibly drugged technically until the day you die.

So let’s fix it.

That sure does sound great, doesn’t it?

So what’s it look like?

You might say passing the CRPD would do just that – and then, what? We talk to the folks in the Senate instead of you right now? – that is just what would maybe seem like the easiest path, but it isn’t necessarily, and even the easiest path according to what and whom?


Who said anything about easy?

I didn’t say easy, did you say easy?

I didn’t say easy either.

Fucking liar.

Who, me?

You too.

Jim Flannery?


Maybe he’s not lying and it is easy after all, just get 2/3 of the Senate to get their names scribbled down on a piece of paper and the CRPD becomes law, eh?  Something like that?

Not so simple.


Even if you get 100% of your Senate, that’s 100 fuckers right there, and, sure, throw in all 400 or so of the people in the House and convince them all to pass the CRPD, and while you’re at it, invite the entire Supreme Court on a holiday in Jamaica for the entirety of your 4 years, then it’s a law, right?

Still not so simple?

There might be a piece of paper saying it’s the law of the land – but whose land?

Our land?

If this land is your land and this land is my land?

I wouldn’t want to be the person taking that piece of paper back to my state and walking up to – who, Jim?  The fucking governor?  – Sure, the governor, and saying, ‘hey, me and my buddies in D.C. were doing arts and crafts this weekend and made this beautiful piece of art and –“ “fuck you too.”

Now what?

Now someone might have to die.

Die?  Who?

Who do you think?

Who do I think?

Who do you think should die for this thing right now?

I’m not saying anyone should die, and neither are you, aren’t you?

I didn’t say anyone should die.

You already know.

About the cemetery near Connecticut Valley Hospital?

Grandpa Jim is already dead.

So – you guessed it – dig him up.

Or her?

Or her, Jim, or her Jim.

Oh no.

Oh yes.

Fine, dig them up, stuff their body – and maybe borrow some electronics from Boston Robotics, Jim? – perhaps that would held, or we could do voodoo, who said that? Voodoo?  Yep, Weekend at Bernies, Jim, just don’t go playing that soft ass shit for our stuffed Grandpa Jim, or else, or else what else?

We’d need a Kennedy Sneaker Deal.

A Kennedy Sneaker Deal?

Yes, why do you think nobody knows what kind of sneakers JFK wore?

I don’t think anyone was looking for his sneakers any more than they were looking to find the bullet(s), Jim, so don’t worry about that, I just want to know what kind of sneakers he was wearing in that convertible too.

So now that we know we’re using an animatronic Uncle Jim to be the first one over the hill to die for this fucking thing, how do they die?

We need to get their record cleaned first so they can get a job with the state.

Which state?

Cualquier-cosa, nigga, it’s been a long life.

A long life?

A long one.

Let’s say Connecticut, just so we have an excuse to break the rules at CVH, shall we?

Fair enough, we get Grandpa Jim a job at CVH?

Yep, and then the governor will have to go their with, the state police or the national guard, to convince with their rubber bullets and batons to get the nice doctors and nurses at Connecticut’s finest mental health facility to stop torturing people, and Grandpa Jim will be standing there saying “over my dead body.”  Then we shoot Grandpa Jim square in the foot, so we don’t harm is precious face, that way we can hang him from the tree – outside CVH or at the cemetary? – well first we’ll keep him out in front of CVH till it starts to smell or too many birds are shitting everywhere after eating his best parts, then we’ll throw him in one of the holes those low wage niggers like Flannery’s relatives dig over by CVH to dump the bodies nobody cares to pick up.  Sounds pretty easy to me, aside from digging the fucking hole, no?  Pretty easy, I just hope they know what gun to use.  What gun?  Ya, to make the loudest bang possible without fucking up his feet.  His feet?  One foot.  One foot?  Unless he’s Clowning and has both feet on top of each other to stop the bullet.  To stop the bullet?  Who the fuck is stopping bullets?  Well, one foot probably wouldn’t be enough to stop a bullet, so you might as well try two.  Worth a try?  Might be worth a try to practice.  Practice?  Nigga, you talking about practice?  Practice, nigga.  So next time one of those wiley bastards points a gun at your feet and asks you to dance, don’t get all cute and pull a Clown trick on them by jumping into position with both feet on top of eachother like a fucking pro, cause then they can just claim they weren’t even aiming at your feet at all, just firing a warning shot, sure, Jim, a fucking warning shot from your nigga in the sky, and it might just take out both feet at once and get the cop off, right?

I’d say “something like that.”

So we’ll never be done?

Not unless you find enough people in every state to run for office in their own state rather than just filling up the Congress with your biggest fans.

Then those people?

Can suck it, Jim, they can suck it just like all of us have been sucking it for so fucking long.

Without a straw?

No straws needed, Jim.

How else do you ever see this happening nonviolently?

Sounds like this is some sort of Rock the Vote bullshit trying to get people to vote, doesn’t it?

Not if we’re telling everyone to vote for Jim Flannery and he’s not affiliated with these clowns on either side.

And what about the Libertarians, Jim?

Jim?  Why’d you do that just now when you know that was already written and posted publicly?

Since I’m not Jim anymore than you are James, I suppose we’re already fucked.


The Libertarians, Jim.

Or libertarians, cualquier-cosa, nigga.

That nigga Jim doesn’t like the libertarians?

I don’t know a nigga named Jim, I know a nigger named Jim, who might also be Jim “Lucky Nigger” Flannery, but that would mean he’s more than one person too, unless you’re thinking niggas ain’t people.

I’m just wondering why he’s using a hard “r”.

Ask his mother.

His mother?

Obviously she named him Jim “Lucky Nigger” Flannery, unless you’re gonna blame his old man.

Old man?

Who would let that cocksucker choose the kids name?

Musta been the old lady then?

Who cursed him James Patrick?


You know that’s why we don’t curse at the dinner table?  And that’s why we never start another sentence with “And,” Jim, for the rest of our lives.

Serious?  We do that shit all the time, nigga.

You write this much?

We right too, nigga, we write also.

I wouldn’t write this at all.

Neither would we.

Then why are you doing it?

Passing time, nigga.

Passing time?

Sure, what the fuck else are you supposed to do while you wait for all these people to get their shit together to satisfy your humble request to stop torturing American citizens?

You should probably go on TV and tell them that?

Who is “them”?

Who do you think?

If you think “them” is everyone else instead of the “them” you think they are thinking about right now.

Who is “they”?  “hey” can’t be “them,” can they?  It’s “can’t they,” nigga – how are you so fucking sure? – cause my daddy didn’t leave question marks hanging like that, dawg.  Why do you write dawg like we write dawg, Jim?  I don’t even want to share with anyone the difference between a dog and a dawg, nigga?

Oh no?

Oh fucking no.

Why don’t you ask yourself in the next thing we do the difference between a dog and a dawg without even considering that every single person reading this may already understand the relationship between a nigger and his headmates and a man and a woman, without even considering that you can’t ever refer to men and women anymore because somehow someone will be offended, nigga.

How you gonna write me some timeless comedy now?



EDIT: You bet, let’s leave an edit here before we even publish this flippin’ thing just to make sure these humble servants out there know that even after they change every state law in the entire country to end this thing that may or may not be a war, remind them, Jim, please remind them that we’ll still never ever be safe because clearly “someone” made this thing the way it is today and it can always return to the way it is now, or even, what, when it was worse?  How much worse do you want things to get, Jim?  Not worse at all.

EDIT 2: Do you want to piss on Jill Stein’s grave now, too, nigga?  Cause she’s getting pretty old to be shitting on with this fancy technology of ours.  It seems fair, Jim, it seems fair.  Good luck?  I thought we don’t need luck.  There’s always bad luck, man, always bad luck.  So you want to do this all without any good luck?  I don’t want to need luck, dude.  I’d rather be lucky than good.  I’d rather know Lucky than Good.  Who the fuck is luckier than you, nigga?  Thanks for not specifying what type of luck.  Thank you too.

EDIT 3: Don’t worry, Jim, I don’t want to piss on Jill Stein’s grave anymore than you do either – you’re right – am I? – we could find ourselves pissing on the wrong grave, especially, yes, Jim, you guessed it, unless – nope, she’s probably still kicking around with her friends at the Green Party.  Believe that shit, nigga?  They stole a fucking color.  I am not a violent person by nature either, Jim, but if we have to kill everyone, then who will we hang out with?  I just want the fucking colors back.  All of them?  All of ’em.  Should we use Post Grid to send some anonymous snail mail to the libertarians for not abducting any colors?  Who says they haven’t?  Yet?  Fucking green, nigga.  I like green shit too, just as much as the next person – climate change?  Fuck man, we haven’t written that yet – so don’t worry, then.