GET REAL — TV SHOW

This GD Hollywood screenwriter I'm telling you

Everyday I feel better, I get even angrier. I’m very clear in my sentience here that I have every right to be upset. Vesuvius upset. I’m going to blow. A Neapolitan, honestly, in reading my Dante Inferno’s would not even be able to MAKE it through the BOOK.

You know, it’s not exactly comedy, but going to the public stage and airing this out has clarified a lot. And you see, I already came from a scandal, as in my mother wrapped me up in a sex scandal when I was four… and like, it was practically myth that I had to meet a dipshit Hollywood screenwriter in the end… who’s going to ruin my life.

And I will not stand for ANY talk that I did this to myself. Was he not there? Acting inappropriately? Like, at step one. At step one. I’m swinging bats. I want to smash this man’s property. Back in the day, where I am from, Naples, Italy - it would pass. It would have passed.

I had to watch Elizabeth to gather the power necessary to deliver the monologue I want to. I want to show this man the classical power of this woman “channeling through my veins,” as this man believes he’s a psychic channeler. I had to meet this guy. I had to meet a MAN who became salaciously interested… in me… because I came from that story.

He heard that story, a little sex scandal, except WHOOPS, like everyone else in my life, even due to my own confusion, he didn’t hear that part. Or, maybe he did. And right now, I’m better, though that took years, YEARS, I don’t know what to say… about whether or not I was abused somewhere. And to a sexual trauma specialist, this screenwriter appeared very suspicious. And I want him to know, that he didn’t come across as evolved, but rather a rapist.

I understand this tone doesn’t really resonate with anyone, meaning, I’m going to have to figure out how to do this formally for a book. But onstage, I can, technically, speak like this. I couldn’t even PREDICK, that’s the technology… I seek to develop. PREDICK.

There’s no way I could have predicted, with my AI company being diffused on comedy stages, PREDICK, I want to PREDICK the dick, okay? I want an AI algorithm, you see? I want TECHNOLOGY given to every child, at this point? So they can catch their assailant. I want to catch the assailant. Come on, TECH, tech headed by Alan Cumming, okay? Let this man sit in front of a computer and come up with the technology…

Scan: PREDICK. A dick. A dick is coming for you. Risk factor: HIGH. With fast computer computation…or, “just a dick.” Bad, bad dick. I’m serious. I was appalled. I had to go to the comedy stage, because I had nowhere else to go. The comics are the only ones who give a shit. I met true dicks, man. I met dicks. And like, Hollywood had to REPLY truly by sending me someone with a name that was a cosmic joke. Hollywood, psychically, replied. That’s the truth. All will be revealed, one day.

If everyone is getting molested, if women are getting assaulted in UBERS every two seconds, if no one can keep their DICK in their pants, at THIS POINT, this is a state of emergency. So yeah, start handing out PREDICKS. Equip a child with a CHIP, I want that DICK recorded. I want that DICK brought to justice, hard justice. PREDICKS. I’ll contemplate BRANDING later. The message is clear. PREDICK. “It works like this…” with swirls of eggplants and hearts… okay? PREDICK.

The sexual trauma specialist, asked me, if the Hollywood screenwriter could have slipped me something into my drink! Based on how he acted. “WHY is he acting like this? Who the hell is this man? Like, why is he acting like a psychic guru? Literally speaking? Why is he holding himself, posture wise, like he is one?” His meditation obsession is a bit like a drug.

And if I were working for the FBI, this would be my PREDICK. I would have to battle with these people to even let me in, because of the goddam psychonauts. Destroy them. Look, the first bit, okay, is that drugs affect you. Don’t act like they don’t. I’m not even against drugs, but the way “I was brought in,” infuriates me.

It’s time to back down, liberals. Crazy ass New Agers. Coming to me in Buddhism school, throwing around assassination plots, for shits and giggles. I’m the Joker’s daughter, running out of the car, with a gun… wanting to OBLITERATE sex crimes. BOOM.

The FBI, clearing their throat. Look man, I don’t know what to say about that pedophile surgeon, or whatever, but children are being raped on tape. Anyone? Okay, and I got, what, no right to be upset? I came from a sex scandal rated PG, relax. It was the approachable sex scandal. Full of moral and spiritual lessons - like the JEWS would be the one to recognize the Biblical nature of it: it took place on Miracle Mile, spelled out. A Brazilian woman in love with sex, even, is taking me home the year that Kaoma’s Lambada took the world by storm, and we’re dancing the sex dance, every day! We’re a room of dancing Brazilian Jews… with this DISBELIEF I received over the years falling FLAT, in this room, because holy shit, the unbelievable can happen to you. Okay?

This story was a nightmare.

But there she goes, the Jews would see it every step of the way, throwing open doors upon arrival, causing scenes, trying to out SASS a Brazilian woman, not happening. And there she goes…. day one… running for a SICK plum tree. It was a goddamn fable. THIS IS MY PLUM, and this woman SCREAMING “it’s sick!!! The tree is sick!!!” Okay? So the tree of knowledge is SICK. You see? I cannot help these things. The Jews are the only ones NOT caught up in some ridiculous NOTION that I have to LITERALLY BE DIVINE or something to have gone through an extraordinary experience. Relax. EXTRA-ordinary. That is all.

Jesus Christ.

Winston Churchill, his SPIRIT, even, just these dogs, had to help me through this. I will rise British. Just mark my words. Barbara Harris and I might both have been British in a past life. It might just congeal. I’m telling you this was spiritual all-stars. Obama in the passenger seat, telling me TURN right, left. Okay? As these spiritualists believe you can telepathically communicate, that I can HOOK onto a future and get there. So fine. Netflix. Destination: Netflix. And Dave Chappelle is my SENSEI. Because if I’m psychic beyond compare, if that’s what ‘we’re doing” to succeed, this guy has GOT to be the force itself!

So, I’m getting the INFORMATION necessary to get to Netflix.

Just crazy.

I met a Slytherin. In this sorry excuse for a therapy group. Psychedelics.

This so-called EX of mine, he wanted to date me with drugs. Imagine? Like, have some self respect no? I’m going, oh, these are different, this is therapy, or some mind expansion… look. Bullshit. Nothing but bullshit from former drug addicts. Not all of them perhaps, but the people I got involved with former drug addicts. And now, I’m looking back, like, what? I woke up to my whole life, and went, “did you just say, I was brought into this work incorrectly? Did you say work?” Like this is work? Let me call a shaman. As these people believed I could “do this work.” Okay? Let me call a shaman. “This fucking word.” The shamans, too, Sabina, even, has appeared to be psychically. She’s on my side.

If you want, you know, classical monologues of invoking the gods, Sabina, whatever, it’s fucking Aristophanes. This is who I am. SABINA SABINA… striking fear into your hearts, or whatever. Look man, I’m telling you, these people were idiots, to mess with a Neapolitan. A Neapolitan is going to town square. That’s a comedy stage. There’s power there. I like it here. Public. Because not everyone that I met, can meet me there.

That ruined my life.

The sexual trauma specialist has to talk to, well, a girl from a sex scandal… okay? Going, look, “some man giving you drugs, as a means of dating you, is a red flag.” So here she goes, this idiot, wandering into a place where she thinks everyone is forthright, means what they say, and she’s going to meet the drug addict… in there. A fucking Slytherin. And look, as a fantastical character, SURE, Professor X’s protegee, with an ACTRESS my right hand MAN, right here, she’s going to BLOW you away for sure… right? Fighting crime. AS IS. You want to know? Who I have up my sleeve? An actress. Look man, I know women Slytherins, I have met them… and it tends to go alright, in that direction. The males, not so sure.

And if no one gave a shit about my INTENTIONS, I don’t give a rat’s ass about HIS.

This stupid Slytherin comes straight for me, when apparently these people KNOW he’s NOT safe. So what the hell were they doing?He should have been kept AWAY…. if I am to receive TEXTS, texts from this man who brought me into this drug ring, that “he sometimes treats people in unimaginable ways?” Look, Winston Churchill speaks. He is speaking through me right now. If it is NOT a drug ring, what IS it? Being told by the Slytherin even, that this SHAMAN even said “I’m just a drug dealer.” Was that a joke?

WHY am I being told to sit with him, when he’s taken too many drugs? I want to destroy with the power of Oya, these people. That’s a little movie idea I have, if you must know. Fuck Thor. OYA. I’m sick and tired of seeing western gods. Enough. You want an apocalypse movie? You people salivating over the apocalypse? These mother fuckers coming to ME, specifically, with their apocalypse desires… you saw the apocalypse really? Okay, let me bring in, forget me, because I already HAD one, by the time I was eight, someone else who had an apocalypse dream… so they can establish the difference between a personal dream, and some prophetic dream you think you had. It’s a world end you fucking idiots, and I was gritting my teeth, like this, when I was eight, when I read “the” Book of Revelations. Okay? I wanted these Catholics.

A billion dollars of child abuse charges. Obscene.

And like, my story, is a mirror… my mother charging into church accosting the priest with her rapes. You see? It’s ONLY Obama, someone like this, who isn’t backing away… running away… not knowing what to say. This man is giving speeches. “No.” Somethings you don ‘t “understand.” I’m sick and tired, of hearing, CRAP about everyone getting abused. I’m sick and tired, Amy Griffin, or this other chick, who knows? I experienced so much disbelief, to the point that I couldn’t see a psychopath, psychopaths, that I’m spreading it around. Someone lied about child abuse here. And if it turns out to be Amy Griffin… I’m waiting for this trial, waiting. This psychedelic therapy. Telling people “it doesn’t matter if it’s true or not…” do not be ridiculous. It’s looney. All Dr. J skipping around, exploding with cash, like weeeee… here, let’s DO this… my daughter was raped, ahhhhh…. help! Help!

I guess it doesn’t matter anymore, nothing’s real but everything is spiritual. And this is true.

Anyway, I can’t find a stupid job right now. I’m frustrated. I’m frustrated as these MALE morons encouraged me to act like an idiot. I was an idiot, okay? For sure. But these guys, these guys, wanting to HELP me…on DRUGS… on meditation… another drug, for this man, they acted in NICE hotels, NICE neighborhoods, like they were GOD’s GIFT to me. And now, I’m scanning the real world, kicking myself. Because that ruined my life. From my perspective, in that psychedelic group, I heard “she’s crazy, he’s crazy…” so, you should look at yourselves. Remember, there aren’t just RICH people in the world. Power by numbers, assholes.

“You’re my poorest friend…” this asshole said. Look, you sorry excuse for a psychologist. BAD form. I want to slap these people out of existence. You see, for me, personally? I’m looking at the past decade, with the power of sexual trauma specialist, who doesn’t know WHERE this might have happened. “WHY are you there to begin with?” That’s the question.

I’m 40, I don’t know if I was raped, by my own parents, even, as some woman didn’t even know how my mother handled me, and I do not want to hear any kind of “well but but” when I’m already dealing with that sentence. I can’t find a job, not a real one, not yet…. because I can’t COMPETE. I could smash their property. These men… couldn’t keep it in their pants. And me, well, I’m dealing with me… just going, “girl, WTF were you doing?”

So, I’ll keep looking… though I don’t really want to write… And the thing is, really? Download books from the future? This man suggested I channel? Was that necessary? I gave this man’s insanity the time of day. And, truly, when I look back on HIS line of action here, I have questions indeed. What was he doing? You see, if I don’t know if I was raped, by somebody, I’m not exactly inspired to walk away. I’m inspired to roar in your face. Me? If I KNEW my teacher did this to me? I’d be AT his doorstep. “Hey, asshole.” Wandering around town, according this article… whatever. Whoever this man supposedly is. Trust me, if I could, without a doubt, say, “that guy.” I would, like a holy fire, descend. And you know what? I’m probably going to do it anyway. Calmly.

SO, my mother told a woman that my father was raping me, yeah. And here it comes, the question: was it true? Well ask THEM. The obviously know better than me. These people who shut me down. Go to them. I’ll give you a fucking list of names. “Is it true?” Imagine, a journalist coming to YOU. “BY my feeling?” Imagine? A crowd of psychics. “Well she said it wasn’t true…” yeah, thank you. This screenwriter, this Slytherin. Okay? Men get away with murder, don’t they? Shit list. “Everything that happens to you is what you want,” this screenwriter said. Like rape? In public, what would this man say?

Look, to a sexual trauma specialist, that’s “bad news bears.”

“Like rape? He believes that a woman wants to be raped?”

This New Age shit, watch out. Watch out. I’m coming with bats. I’m coming with bats. Too far.

I’m sick and tired of hearing of MANIFESTATION. I was in a goddamn Emma Stone movie. Just put Emma Stone in Beverly Hills with a male actor… um, someone who looks like Bowser. Quite frankly. And let this farce begin. On his goddamn painting, in his goddamn house, of a goddamn woman in the throes of despair. Isn’t that YOUR idea? Since this man was obsessed with your LIFE being YOUR idea? Psychopath.

“Was I raped?” Who hasn’t been raped at this point? Very very likely we’ll all getting molested. First. And then, you gotta get into an Uber… or something.

So fine, I work at a restaurant right now. I have a little writing job, over the weekends, at 5 AM. And I’m continuing to look for a job. Like thanks, really. I shouldn’t have been given drugs, if you want to know. Which was obvious. But of course, no one… saw I was getting worse? Psychic, my ass. Unnecessary.

I wish I could write, actually, find a job like, what do you want to WRITE ABOUT? The most basic question. So I’m contending with that. Maybe crime, I don’t know. I didn’t really want to be a writer… and I wish I was able to EVIDENTLY not make ANY of these stupid decisions…that I made… getting involved with these lowlifes.

Yeah, that’s the feeling of NOT being in the driver’s seat. Thanks.

But, I like the comedy stage, I guess, at least. I’m enjoying getting into performing again. And I keep getting auditions. I do. I spent hours responding to auditions, and I got one this week and one next week. At least I got a response. So I’m just accepting I’m where I am at, I guess. And hopefully I’ll be through this tight patch soon.

Anyway, gotta go. Memorize lines. Hit the fucking mics. Go to the genius bar. Slam the goddamn thing - how the fuck do you USE this? Please explain. I cannot download TAHOE. I had to get ANOTHER keyboard… to type these lines. My desktop is a fucking mess. Oh hee hee ha ha, Maria can’t use technology, when, the rage, man, JUST GO TO THE GENIUS BAR and DEAL WITH IT. As a mother, man, waking up inside myself, I had to WRANGLE a girl, you understand, who got sort of fucked up out there. GO. GENIUS. BAR. And figure it the fuck out. Seriously.

I need a top hat, something. I will purchase one. I will assume my fantastical identity. Will it look STUPID? Believable? We shall see. A psychic of psychics. If I am that psychic, I might as well be an entertainer. So that’s where I’m at. I’ve had a hard time, with where I am at, even the feeling of being really here… and you know what, you’d think, wouldn’t you? That, um, I don’t know, coming to realize that you might have been abused, or something, might be epically… visible? I don’t know. I don’t know if you can block this out… but when you go through these years… from 4 to 8, okay? That’s how old I was… and you can’t really see, where this became a lie… it’s troubling indeed.

And I could have been raped again. Easy. Uh huh.

So I’ll do a one woman show, probably.

At least, I get responses here. So maybe I was right. This was what I was meant to do. Or, this is really what I want to do. And I’m going to have to… figure it out, now, and so, I will. Anyway, I’m going to try and take in Anna Jo’s advice, to just try and be… the best I can be, wherever I am. So I don’t know. I’ll try to think where I can get a job that will continue to help me… get into entertainment, somewhere. Anyway, I’m off to play Ms Fellatio, lol. Though it’s Filacio. Thank you. You know, I might as well go BALLS to the wall? Like even Dave Chappelle knows at this point that I came from a sex scandal… he was SUPER DAD IN BOOTS. He came into the psychic equation early. He heard that I was in trouble. He heard, “Dr. J.”

That was it. Really. The first psychic appearance. “Her name is Dr. J?” Gotta go help… that person. It’s a joke. But not according to the spiritualists. Dave Chappelle, yes, the comedian, he appeared to me, psychically, and I got on his back, in SUPER MARIO BROTHERS, and we began to DEFEAT this game. EASY EASY EASY, for Dave Chappelle. EASY. “Just leave.”

Look, if I am a portal, channel, and antenna… traveling on multiple planes of existence, NETFLIX should be a synch. I mean, I should be on Netflix, tomorrow. Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow… for I will NOT block the possibilities… of being able to DIFFUSE a show there tomorrow, because WHY would I LIMIT the self? Right? With a religious palm, gesturing to NETFLIX as an idea, psychically, first, this is where the MANIFESTATION begins… TOMORROW, GET THE CREW, get it on the schedule… fuck everyone else. Right? I can get on NETFLIX tomorrow. With no experience. Yes. You do not NEED years, you do not NEED practice. It’s all up here, tap tap. The mind. Okay? I’m coming for sure. Dante’s Inferno. It will be explosive.

Balls to the wall. For we too have BALLS. Ovaries. Idiots. And we keep those balls INSIDE. Perhaps for the better. DUDES??? MEN WITH DICKS? Why not stop molesting and raping people? You know? Remember PREDICKS. Remember predicks. MAKE the tech. Okay? Someone out there, it’s time to get a little real. Make the tech, so we can protect the young, especially. I want to bring down every single one. PREDICK. If it doesn’t APPLY, to you, it doesn’t apply, so step aside. I want the DICK, man. That sick DICK, brought down.

Turns out the comics are the nicest in the lot. Just to say.