| L E G E N D S . ‪|‬ Dillon Francis

HALLE BERRY

is that how you spell it

It is for now. Fuck going online

“That ain't part of my day”

Shut up Drake, not now.

You'll thank me later

“If You're Reading This, It's Too Late”

[HALLE BERRY is taking A VERY PAINFUL SHIT, clutching her *favorite OSCAR award--

Which one's her favorite?

CUT TO:

BEFORE

HALLE BERRY looks over her OSCARS in the display cabinet, carefully scanning them, with a New York Times paper tucked under her left arm, sipping from the coffee cup in her right hand.]

—I like this guy.

The other OSCARS groan; they are often overlooked during this process.

Come on!
This guy!

AGAIN!?

UGH.

CUT BACK TO:

[HALLE BERRY clenches painfully, sweating audaciously—at the worst possible moment, her cellphone rings. ]

WHAT THE—COME ON
I THOUGHT I WAS IN AIRPLANE MODE.

(I just found out The Illuminati can still make calls go through in airplane mode
Or without cell service at all)

wtf my phone is ringing.

That's weird. You don't even—

—I don't even have a phone.

Right.



(Seriously, my phone is disconnected. I didn't even pay my bill.)

The fuck.

[it's JIMMY FALLON]

Damn. This dude has the worst possible timing ever.

Like fucking ever.

Always shows up at the worst

—THE WORST MOMENT.

[HALLE BERRY rejects the call. It rings again]

WHAT THE—

[She ignores the second call. A moment of subtly relaxed silence, until—

[JIMMY FALLON appears in the ceiling window of the bathroom. HALLE BERRY SCREAMS, still fluting her OSCAR.]

(Calmly, kind of)
Hey,

WHAT THE FUCK, JIMMY.
WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?

I called first!

I KNOW THAT—

Went to voicemail.

YOU SHOULDNT BE HERE.

Just—calm down.

NO.

Look.

GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!

I'm not in your house, I'm outside your house. Technically.

—yeah, but your FACE is in my house—

—I hear that's the best part.

—What?!

Listen—

Get out—

No, look, listen—
I need to borrow your Oscar.

What?! For what?!

That's not important.

Oh really?!

Yeah.

It seems important.

It's not that important
Just—-

What!

Give it to me!

[He snatches the OSCAR and tosses her his GRAMMY.]

Just—trade me.

What! What for?!

Just—trust me—

I do not—

Just trust me—!

WHAT!

Congratulations.
As you were.
Kind of.

WHAT—JIMMY—

[She realizes the ridiculousness of her calling after him. She sits awkwardly with the Grammy in her lap, sighing]

—he was my favorite…

[SUDDENLY, though the other window

Why does this bitch have so many windows in her bathroom that are this penetrate?

For the sake of the joke, but probably not something any celebrity should have, are windows where anyone can enter your house from the outside.

Fans are weird.

CUT TO:

AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

I LOVE YOU.

CUT TO:

What's this place.

It's my house,

Where are the windows?

They don't exist.

CUT BACK TO

[DANE COOK appears through the opposite window.]

YO.

WHAT THE FUCK!

Chill, Halle Berry.

WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?!

I'm the guy who wrote this.

You should have called first!

Who do I look like, Jimmy Fallon?!

NO. I LIKE HIS face.

Huh.
Is that what it is…

I GUESS
I DONT KNOW.
—who are YOU—?!
GET OUT OF MY HOUSE—

I am not in, technically—

I DONT CARE!

Ooh—
Is that a Grammy award?!
I didn't know you had a Grammy!
Gimmie!

[he snatches the Grammy]

HEY!

Is—what is this, for COMEDY?!
FOR COMEDY?!
WHY WASNT I MADE AWARE THAT THIS IS A THING?!

I DONT KNOW,

WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?
WHAT THE FUCK.

It's not important.

What.

Anyway, thanks.
Toodeloo.

The Rock must have been buzzing in some sort of special way on this day; because for some reason, I couldn't stop thinking about it.

I had finally rearranged the remainder of my seemingly new surroundings— the miniature keurig, a status symbol, of course, looked handsom on the wo

“The New Adventures of Old Supacree”

This is not what I intentioned.

Well, what had you intentioned,

dammit , how do you spell her name?

Spell it? I can barely say it!

“C'cx–

WRONG.

How would you say this name.

Axel?

Thas' a stupid name

Not for a Rockstar.

That's already a rockstar

Is it?

Whatever, man.

The Rock must have been buzzing in some sort of special way on this day; because for some reason, I couldn't stop thinking about it.

I had finally rearranged the remainder of my seemingly new surroundings— the miniature Keurig— a status symbol, of course— looked handsome on the work desk— the cat tree seemed to match, though with no actual feesible monetary income,, no actual cat, and no end in sight— the tree itself would have to be enough to lift my spirits. It was a nice cat tree, almost untouched and looking very brand new— though the couch had a few scratches, though easily hidden with the decorative use of a couple throws—at least I had a couch, and all that was left to accomplish before fully enjoying was to arrange an order of Febreeze to rid it of its previous owner's dandruff smell, and general mismanagement—besides that, it was itself almost brand new as well, and it seemed a strange new world to wake up in, after sleeping in a nearly empty apartment for 6 months; there was 6 months left in my lease, and I was getting nervous that they would try to push me out—hopefully I would find someplace better, or at the very least higher up—with the same amenities intact. Still, I was working as diligently as in could on organizing—at least the recordings, to put together the next group of projects as quickly as I could— nevermind the writing—and there was so, so much of it, I hadn't a clue what to do.

I had been avoiding Rockefeller Plaza like the plague for quite sometime—it always made me nervous in a sort of way I didn't understand, in that I would pulsate and vibrate differently, and more often times than not, was upset and concerned that I had yet to go to the top—a costly feat—nor could I afford to entertain or enjoy any of the amusements at the bottom—not that I wanted to, as the older I got, and especially the longer time spent in New York, the more off putting the public and large crowds were—particularly after a remarkably disgusting respiratory infection I caught on new years, battling a crowd which became impossible to move through at all—let alone see the ball drop—and I had learned my lesson, especially after The Macy's Day parade; the crowds in New York were disgustingly unbearable, and in order to get a good view of anything, you would have to arrive nearly a full day early, and simply camp—now I knew why people packed around collapsible lawn chairs on holiday weekends.

I had been blindsided by Fallon towards the end of the Macy's day parade—I hadn't any clue at all that he apparentlyboarticipated annually, as it had been years since I had watched the parade myself with my parents—and still, it was iconic—I always wanted to go. Still, and even though I had only written very little of him up to that point, I found it disasterous that as his name was announced and the float which carried him and The Roots, the best late night band on Television, not by opinion, but by fact—as I had most recently been studying and researching as thoroughly as I could all of the late night hosts since the dawning of Television in preparation to write this pilot, The TV People, short handed to TVP—and just then I recalled a dream from the night before, about Pat Kirkpatrick—for the first time in the dream world, it wasn't Fallon at all, but Pat Kirkpatrick.

I couldn't remember the dream, nor could I seemingly work myself out of the rut that had been the plateau in writing the show—the show itself was heavy, with so many characters, all of which each had been given detailed and specific personalities, livelihoods, and

Make a mockery of myself;
wear smock to work
I don't talk too much no more
I just gossip somedays,
Dark on mondays;
The forgotten apostle
With just enough rope
To jump off and hope
It all stops, soon
The motocross and the terror stalkers
Just across from the starbucks at the Rock
–it got awkward
But God Loves me

Might start a talk show
Some chef, with a pop tart
A pop up club, a long night
Some broke shards of glass,
the yards of all the scars on stars and stripe
Feels like a long night–
Got coffee and tacos
A long talk with your blonde wife
To bypass the psycos
Right, though?
Bro, it's so over;
I won a whole asshole and a four leaf clover
In a game of poker

Now, brush your shoulders off
Brush your hair,
Pet the dog,
And kick the cat over and over
Till he turns back to a robot
“You're so gross.”
–don't i know it.

The whole world is over
–you jump first,
I'll follow

Lets keep talking
About the letters I penned
To the false Gods,
Painted them scarlett, of course
Scattered em from here
to Scarboro Fair, I was right there,
then out of nowhere
a new nightmare
with nice hair

Here we go again

Lines out the door;
We got lines out the door
Out of Order

The world is at war
The whole world has run
Out of water

The four is the for
Theres no five
But the V for vendetta

Theres lines out the door
The whole world
Is a mom
And a daughter

My jokes get better,
The buildings look bigger

I pretend this seltzer is alcohol
Cause i want it
To make me forget
I've got all my–

Huh

There's a line out the door.

What if–
Me,
And all of your friends
And all of my

Wait, I don't have any friends
I'm getting a cat.

I was just thinking about Mila Kunis.

Oh yes, why's that?

SETH MCFARLENE

YEEEEE. YEEEEEEE. YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.

WHAT, GODDAMMIT

GIGGITY!

OKAY, ASSHOLE

Eyes on eyes,
and tears on tears
All the years ive cried
On ears on ears
Why am I even here?

It's been too long, since i've been touched
I don't love love
but i dislike lust
I don't trust anyone
I don't have a number
I crawled up my arm,
Danced with the blood drawn

BLŪ wakes up famous.

[The world swirls into a plume of dark blue sky; BLŪ awakens suddenly from the blackness of a deep sleep in the middle of a road, a group of people, friends, swirling around her.]

YO.

What?

BLŪ.

What's up.

PARTY FOUL, BROH.

…

Billie Ellish?

Billie Pirate Ellish.

Uh.

That's why the rum–
Is gone.

What.

Guess i'm Jack Sparrow, now.

Hey wait–are you even legal?

Uh. I'm a mad fucking genius; are you legal?

I don't know.

Besides, this was your idea.

What–what?

Exactly. Get up.

Wtf is going on in this scene.
Idk i might a have to play the song again

Fuck that. I'm about to slit myfucking wrists.

HAVOC.

Where are we going?

You still got that NDA in your wallet?

I–yeah.

Then we're gucci.

“Waking up Famous”

I don't know exactly what happened.

[Looking in the mirror, confused.]

This is a nice leather jacket.
I wonder if i'm still Vegan.

Damn. I look mad rich.

BLŪ hurry UP!

[toilet flushes with foot]

Alright, I'm coming.

[Blu checks her pockets to find a wallet, the contents including numerous cards–metal ones, with copious amounts of cash, and pre-filled NDAs which have been folder neatly and stuffed into the corner pocket of the trifold wallet]

Billabong. Classy.

I'm never gonna finish that other project, am I?

Whatever.
Leave Fallon alone.

I did.

–it came back.

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©
-Ū.

YES.

Oh yes indeed.

It must be something about this beast inside—
Even my first boyfriend—
My first real boyfriend.

Was—

Seriously?

Incredibly gifted.

Jesus Christ.

Right.

Jesus fucking Christ.

(That can happen.)

Well.

Well.

I've—

Wait a second.

How would you even write something like this.

My dissuasion from black men has never prevented me from being pleasured by—

Oh no.

Some of the world's finest dicks.

How's that.

Perfect.

I can't even,

(But just did)

“9 inch pie crust

How's “9 inches?

That'll work.

Just don't dislodge my IUD.

Dammit.

Really less than 9?

I mean—
I'll take

A 6
Yes!

Really?

Or a 7

Nice.

But only to play with.

What.

Ok.

What! I'm not keepin it.

I just like sucking dick.

Really?

Yes.

AHA,

—the right dick.

Well, well, well—

And if the last bitch left her stink on you—

Even if you wash it 6 fucking times—

I'll smell it in my eyelids.

What.

Your aura sucks.

What. Why.

I don't like her.

What?! Who?!

The last one.

Vibe check.

Man, you gotta stop fuckin these white bitches

White bitches:
LalalalalLalalalala
Lalalalal

No.

What?! Why?!

She sucks, bro.

Yeah but

Comfort, luxury, style—
Utility.
You can take this girl anywhere

Just shapeshift into a basic white bitch
For what
Just do it

Those are the ones that're around!

These rich ass fuckin hoes.

EASY.

What.

White girl wasted.

Have another shot.

Ooh, dad bod.

Yes.

SUNNI BLU

You thought I forgot

I did not

DADBOD.

Mmm.



Yes but also

NO, JAKE GYLLENHALL

PUT YOUR WEDDING BAND BACK ON

BUT-/

WE ARE FINISHED.
DONE.

YESSSSSS. I'm off the CLOCK.

Look, marriage is work. However—

DEEZ HOEZ GOT BALLZ

FUCK.

Nasty ass trick.

BODIES. BODIES BODIES.

What is all this fucking hotness even for if you can't work those fuckin muscles— what do they call them?

“Intercostals”

Yo— your intercostals are not the fuck muscles

Wait, they're not?
No.
Aw.
But you can use them to fuck if you want

Where's that one nigga at?!

[Skrillex]

Under some blonde slut

SLUTZ.

Nice.

Fine.

Wait.

What.

You really want that?!



Vibe check.

Vampires:

He was such a nice kid

Feeding time.

SUCKED HIM DRY

DEAD ON.

Man, I kind of want to watch that one movie where—

It was a box office flop.

Monsters;

Ohh. A weak one.

BREAK THE SEAL. BREAK THE SEAL.

You can shapeshift into a s—

Okay, listen, I am NOT going back To The Rock for any reason.

Just—- be ugly.

I am ugly.

You really think I'm trying to

ILLUMINATI:

Watch this.

DOLLARS.

WHAT. RYAN REYNOLDS
FUCK YOU.

GET OFF MY ISLAND!

I'm a DAD.

Where's the bathroom?

SLUTZ
MODELS
ACTRESSES:

see. These bitchez is interchangeable.

I love that.

Look, you walk into one of these events with anything darker than a paper bag—

Well, It depends on who manufactured the brown paper bag…

[Whole Foods Market]

Still too dark.

—She had better be the most perfect looking broad anyone could ever want.

Where's the bra straps?

You want bra straps?

Uh, yeah?!

Oh
*snickers*
Sorry.

Look, I don't want to even think about that scene where—

FUCK YOU, DILLON FRANCIS
FUCK YOU IN THE ASS.

DILLON FRANCIS

oh damn. That kid did look like Dillon Francis. Like a lot.

GET BACK HERE.

I liked him.

Did you tell him that?

No way. After that John dude broke my heart.

DO YOU REMEMBER ME?! I'M A BIRD.

Someone find Tim.

Agh.

Whatever.

Find that Smith kid I went to high school with.

For what?

I wanna bone him.

Goddamn, Madame President.

Shut up.

Damn, so.

So the president basically has an errand boy to go round up all the dick she missed out on being groomed to be the first

Black female president?

Yes.

HHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

“The Defendant” (Instrumental)
I_ NY (2024)
Prod. by Blū Tha Gurü
BMG Recordings | The Complex Collective ©
Blū Music Group, LLC DBA The Festival Project, Inc.

{Enter The Multiverse}
[The Festival Project.™]
COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©
-Ū.

“Caddyshack”
(A Mumtidimentional Mixtape)
{Enter The Multiverse}

From Wikipedia:

Caddyshack is a 1980 American sportscomedy film directed by Harold Ramis, written by Brian Doyle-Murray, Ramis and Douglas Kenney, and starring Chevy Chase, Rodney Dangerfield, Ted Knight, Michael O'Keefe and Bill Murray with supporting roles by Sarah Holcomb, Cindy Morgan, and Doyle-Murray. It tells the story of a caddie, vying for a caddie scholarship, who becomes involved in a feud on the links between one of the country club's founders and a nouveau riche guest. A subplot involves a greenskeeper who uses extreme methods against an elusive gopher.

Caddyshack was Ramis's directorial debut and boosted the career of Dangerfield, who was previously known mostly for his stand-up comedy. Grossing nearly $40 million at the domestic box office (the 17th-highest of the year),[3] it was the first of a series of similar comedies.
The film has a cult following and was described by ESPN as "perhaps the funniest sports movie ever made"

SAUCE

(IN CASE YOU MISSED IT)

—-

AHAHA. ITS ME AGAIN.

OH SHIT!

Oh shit, i guess it's Jimmy Fallon's Galaxy.

Oh nooo.

Oh, yes.

Look at this penny.

I see you.

Now look into my eyes.

I see you, Jesus.

Ahahaha!

Okay, now what?

This shit is twisted
I missed the shift of the dimensions—
Till Jimmy walked in with his pennies
For some cigarettes and swishers,
Just to get the picture
It's 5 AM again,
And it's still Infinite,
I'm disinterestedd as ever in living in LA,
Or just living, period—
But it is what it is,
I work for my rent,
I've repented for this,
Used to sleep in a tent,
But when I was an Infant,
I instantly—

Wait, a customer walked in.
I better help him.

Heaven help him.
Another level,
Call dr. Nevel,
Or an Ambulance,
I just can't get it
Just can't get it,
Wait, let's insert some of the script here, I guess.

Took you long enough, didn't it?

That took forever.

How are you alive?

Maybe I'm not.

Finally, we agree on something.

Oh, this guy

Lol.

Good to see you again.
Likewise, now—

Here it goes…

As you promised.

Working on it.

As I promised.

Take my heart for granted,
Take my soul, If this is loveless
Till the end,
I just can't manage, having
Thoughts of death and tragic ends
I haven't
Felt the same since
Waking up without the day to come ahead;
The day has passed again
A test,
No fail, or pass
It's just progressive,
In a trance,
It's just the stress,
It's just to pass the time,
I guess, if this is purpose
Then, we'll see if this is worth it
Now, or never, then
Now or never,
Never had a friend,
All envious at best,
This is the end all,
In the end, it's just
Me and God,
And God would want
A better body,
To have fun
I wished it all at once,
And then I watched it crumble
Oh, I watched it
Stumble in, again, my friend
I'm different when it's wet,
I might not never see the Sun again
I might not ever love again
Oh well

“Oh well” , I said
Oh, well, I guess
Oh well

Okay. One hour left.

Okay.

Who gets the gold?

Hum.

Honestly I didn't want to hear a thing ; I had quit music—I just wasn't cut out for the industry—I was, but not by societal standards by far; my lowly place in the smoke shop would have to do for now, and though I knew it wouldn't sustain, there wasn't much else I could do but keep showing up, for as long as it lasted—dresses in at least 2 layers and 5 pairs of socks tucked into boots two-sizes-too-big I had been forced to purchase specifically due to the frigid and painful, freezing temperatures at the locations I worked, which kept its doors open 24/7.

Play Iambic.

What, right now?

Yeah, play Iambic.

Uh…

Iambic played st exactly 1 hour and 19 minutes—it's script, the transcribed rendition crafted especially for the Broadway stage, an 88-page-masterpiece collecting dust in the confines of my Google Documents, along with a