Comedian/writer David Feldman joins forces with badtouchgoodtouch.com and explains the intricate fuckery that is the US economy. Audio is taken from David’s weekly podcast, visuals harvested from youtube, archive.org and various other places. Edited together by Jimmy Lee Wirt and Britta Bordeaux.
Category » GOOD TOUCH
Here’s some footage I shot today of Occupy LA in downtown Los Angeles. If you’re not wise to what the fuck is going on in the world right now, specifically in Wall Street….well, go here and get educated: occupytogether.org
The guy featured in my footage has a youtube.com channel that I happened to run across, here’s a link to it: youtube.com/user/RawSangha
What if Donny Kerabatsos and Donnie Darko showed up to the wrong set?
What if Frank the rabbit had a cleft asshole?
What if it Walter was a high school teacher?
What if the Germans were smurfs?
Writers Laura Braun and Eric Tolles answer all those questions, and more!
Your mailbox is calling, dude. -Laura
I`m throwing Charmin tonight! Meet at 8 dude. -Eric
Do you see what happens Donnie? Do you see what happens Donnie? DO YOU SEE WHAT HAPPENS DONNIE, WHEN YOU INSERT THE LIFELINE EXERCISE CARD INTO A TEACHER’S ANUS? -Eric
Son, you are entering a wormhole of pain. -Laura
It really tied the kiddie porn dungeon together, did it not?
And this kid started a fire in it. -Eric
So you have no frame of reference here, Donny. you’re like a child that wanders into the middle of a double homicide… -Laura
You want a sparrow, I can get you a sparrow. I can get you a sparrow by 3 o’clock, with gray hair. -Eric
You’re killing your rabbit Donnie. -Laura
Obviously, you’re not a sleep-golfer. -Eric
Also, Dude, ‘Fuckass’ is not the preferred nomenclature. -Laura
Do you still think about girls a lot?
You mean ‘coitus?’ -Laura
I’ll suck a fuck for a thousand dollars. -Eric
She’s a therapist?
She was threatening medication. Are we gonna split hares here? -Eric
They’re called ‘Sparkle Motion,’ they’re some kind of, ugh, Pedo-Pop. -Eric
Say what you want about the tenets of National Smurfism; at least it’s asexual -Eric
Nobody fucks with the Cunningham. -Eric
Chut the fuck up Donnie. -Laura
I am really starting to doubt your commitment to the next round robin. -Laura
Life does not start and stop at your convenience, you mysterious rabbit costume. -Eric
I could just be sitting here with a jet engine in my room. -Eric
And you know, he’s got emotional problems man.
You mean…beyond parodoxism? -Eric
I’m just going to go find a time machine. -Eric
Do you see the fear people? Do you see the fear people? DO YOU SEE THE FEAR PEOPLE, WHEN YOU SEARCH FOR AN ANSWER IN THE WRONG PLACE? -Eric
Hey, careful man, there’s a portal here! -Laura
You must be here to fix the cellar door. -Eric
Lord. You can imagine where it goes from here.
He collapses the tangent universe? -Laura
We take communion, The Rabbit and I.
We share a fluffy yellow Peep and the Rabbit spreads its arms like a bat taking flight. The Rabbit shows me its stigmata, where the non-believers drove carrots into its paws.
I pause this reality and dive down the hole after it into the next.
Its matted bloody fur wiggles and hums. Buzzes. Hundreds of bees pour from its wounded appendages. In droves they circle my head. Into my ears they crawl. They tickle. They wriggle in there, in and out of my honeycombed brain. I feel a warm mess dripping down my neck. I put my fingers into it, touch them to my lips and lick the sweet and sticky from them.
Did you see what God just did to us man!
The Rabbit claps its paws together and my skull flips back like an over-seized PEZ dispenser.
7 pink and green coffin-shaped candy pellets bounce off of my chest and skitter across the floor and skid to a stop in perfect alignment with the other. They open, a trumpet of creaking wood announcing their arrival. Thousands upon thousands of multi-colored baby spiders pour out of them, save for one. They cover the floor, up the bed and swarm over me. I feel compelled to lay flat on my back and let them crisscross my skin 8 legs at a time. I can feel each and every single depression. From the soles of my feet to the tip of my shoulders, they lock legs and slowly tip-toe, like a Sunday school procession. They blanket my body like a quilt, and I am comforted.
I hear the last candy coffin open and 3 dark shapes fly up and around the room, dancing like shadows in and out of the corners. I can’t quite make out their form, but their substance twinkles and sparkles and makes my eyes squint, like too much sunlight.
But I know these creatures are born of the moon.
They flutter and flap, black velvet wings that twist and turn to no pattern. Click. Click, click. They fly closer and closer, crashing into each other and spinning together madly.
A black licorice whip clatters to the floor like an empty picture frame.
The quilt of arachnids has melted like ice cream off of my skin and puddles around my body like an abandoned birthday party.
The Rabbit urges me to climb onto its back, and promises that we are safe as houses. I straddle it just above its snow white haunches and with a light tap of the licorice whip we zoom through a musty maze of tunnels, avoiding sharp-mouthed stones and the prying fingers of angry roots. This is Otik’s womb, I think, but The Rabbit tells me that we are late, that we have video tapes to return, that we have no time to waste with tree parties. We make 5 lefts in quick succession and then 4 slower rights and jump out into nightfall and straight into the ocean. I ask the Rabbit in crystal clear bubbles if it can swim and it replies that it’s not important. What is important, its bubbles breaking against my face, is if you can.
I grab the nape of the Rabbit’s neck in my teeth and pull it up, zigging and zagging towards that silver sliver, my lungs screaming for air, my heart screaming for salvation. I see the Rabbit’s eyes changing from green to brown to black. I think of Sebastian, and his arrows. My skin looks like tinfoil in this light, I notice, and speaking I watch as the last bubble gurgles out of my mouth and floats just above me. I look one last time into the eyes of the Rabbit and grab hold of that bubble just before it is out of reach. And straining one last time, my mouth full of cotton candy, I break the surface of the water.
I’m in the middle of my living room sitting cross-legged, naked, sweating and praying. Presenting the floppy-eared Presence with a present. A trick in the palm of one hand and a treat in the other.
The Rabbit partakes of both.
The Rabbit shows me how we are all but Easter eggs of varying brilliance and design nested in fluorescent grass inside wicker baskets floating atop an ocean of melted nougat.
That we are all just cobweb hair and ghost tongues; bruised and battered orange pumpkin shells with our guts spilled all over the floor, ready and waiting for the candle.
It’s strange how and when ideas come to me for new designs, and today was a perfect example of that. I was taking a poop earlier and my brain shouted out ‘Oh yeah, scissor me!’, which came from an episode of South Park. Then my brain said ‘Scissors are doing it for themselves.’ So, I got inspired and whipped up these designs and put them up in the t shirt section of this site. Get one (or a bunch of them) today!