#alice caldwell-kelly

[nokingsonlyfooles]

WTYP: The Shandor Building, Part 1 [take 2, the long post vs Tumblr's formatting]

[Do you like the colour of the fanfic? This is long and if you expand it you're gonna get the whole thing, because Tumblr hates you. Don't say I didn't warn you!]

[Beware of strong language, mention of all kinds of death, gore, and Lovecraftian horror.]

Part 1: Hello and Welcome to Shandor Studios (it's weird)

[TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: The moon was waning and a raven was tapping on my window when I discovered a heretofore unknown tier at the WTYP Patreon page. It was called "Pazuzu" and cost $6.66 USD. It had one listed benefit "bonus bonus episode." I unlocked a single unnumbered bonus episode titled "Ibo Shanor" and subtitled "train bad actually." Judging from the dialogue, it dates to summer 2023. Since it lacked any closed-captioning, I took the liberty of transcribing it, and coping most of the slides for your edification. (Not really, this is a work of fiction.) I have styled Ms. Caldwell-Kelly as "Alice" since she still seems to be using that in podcast land at this time. Please support WTYP!]

[SLIDE: Shandor Studios, an art deco style building with some familiar-looking gargoyles perched on it, and poor JPEG compression, with an inset of the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man. Captioned: Will the Real Ivo Shandor Please Stand Up?]

JUSTIN ROCZNIAK (R): Hello, and welcome to Well There’s Your Problem, a podcast about engineering disasters with…

LIAM ANDERSON (L) [chanting]: Studio! Studio! Studio!

R: …with slides.

L: Studio! Suck it, Discord!

ALICE CALDWELL-KELLY (A): It’s quite nice, actually. There’s a little break room, and somebody left us one of those edible arrangements, and a paperback Necronomicon…

DEVON (D) [text over slide]: IT WAS ACTUALLY VERY NICE. I HAD MY OWN CONTROL ROOM. BUT IT WAS NOT WORTH IT.

L [distorted, too close to the mic]: My audio sounds amazing! This bonus episode is about Liam’s cool mic!

A [obligingly]: Yay, Liam’s cool mic.

R: It’s made of meat, though.

L: What, my cool mic?

R: No, the edible arrangement in the break room. They’re usually made of fruit, this one is made of meat. Raw meat.

A: Yes, I was wondering if that was an American thing. [laughter] I’ve never been to Massachusetts before!

L: It’s Innsmouth, Alice. Nobody’s ever been to Innsmouth. It doesn’t technically exist.

R: It’s not even on Google Maps.

A: Is it sort of a, er, township? Unincorporated township?

R: It’s more of a, uh, cult.

A: Like an MLM?

L: Like Christianity!

R: Well, a bunch of fish people founded it in the late eighteen hundreds…

L: Fucking fish.

R: …and let’s say they got up to some questionable activities.

A: Anything I should be worried about?

R: Well…

A: I did travel here by interdimensional portal and that’s just a bit… off-putting? It’s very convenient, but…

L: Swimming, having gills…

R: I took the train.

L: Just breathe air, you little shits!

A: Did they not offer you an interdimensional portal, then?

R: No, they did, I just said I’d rather take the train.

A: How was it?

R: Not bad. It was made of meat, though. The train. Smooth ride. Turns out meat is an excellent shock absorber, just not very practical. There was a flock of ravens trying to eat us the whole way.

A: That’s… a bit odd.

L: Brian Phelps.

R: Brian Phelps is made of meat?

L: No, Brian Phelps is a fucking fish. [shouting, too close to mic again] You’re not fooling anyone, Brian! God, I could go for some salami. Is there any salami in the meat bouquet?

R: There is definitely not any salami in the meat bouquet.

L: I’m gonna make myself a sandwich!

[scraping sound, footsteps, door opens and closes]

A: It’s nice having a studio, though.

R: It’s not bad. I like these chairs with the wheels. Good lumbar support. How was the portal?

A: Terrifying, but brief. Very brief. It materialised right under me in the dairy aisle of Tesco’s, then I was in this howling green tunnel for about five seconds, and then I was here. On the one hand, I didn’t have to show my passport or go through security, but on the other hand, I’m just slightly concerned I might have cancer. Or a prion disease. [nervous laugh] Or maybe I’ll turn into a fish person. Did you mean literal fish people?

R: Yes.

A: I suppose… Someone got very lonely and fucked a fish, or…?

R: Yes.

A: What? Are you being serious? What kind of a fish… Do you mean mermaids?

R: No. In fact, mermaids have a notorious design flaw when it comes to sexual congress with us human types. What you’re after, as a lonely sailor, is an animal known as the “reverse-mermaid,” which is widely regarded as a joke, and depicted as the head and torso of a fish, with human legs, and presumably genitalia, underneath… [drawing a reverse-mermaid on the slide, with the mouse, badly] But which is in fact more of an elder god by the name of Dagon, which does indeed have legs and genitalia, but is more of a fully-anthropomorphic monstrous fish. [drawing monstrous legs and feet] He’s a bit larger and taller. Here, I’ll put a “D” for Dagon. [draws arrow] And the rest of him is up there.

A: As a lonely sailor myself, I don’t see how something like that is any more fuckable than a regular fish. Or a manatee. Frankly, I’d rather fuck a manatee. At least it’s a mammal.

R: Yeah, but you’d be violating the Endangered Species Act.

A [laughing]: I’m sorry, aren’t they endangered? We want them to fuck! You told me to save the manatees, well I’m out there doing it! And then I’m going to save the whales!

R: Debatable whether creating a race of half-human, half-manatee hybrids is saving the species…

A: Are you some kind of fucking manatee eugenicist? If the manatee and I are both consenting adults, and we fancy each other, then leave us the fuck alone! This is how evolution works!

R: In the mind of Donald Trump, yes.

[door opening and closing]

D [text over slide]: I COULD EDIT THAT OUT BUT I’M TOO TRAUMATISED AND DRUNK.

L: You guys… Is that supposed to be a fucking fish?

R: No. It’s the legendary reverse-mermaid.

L: Well, I only respect half of it! Here. The meat bouquet started screaming when I cut into it, so I grabbed some doughnuts. 

A: Oh, are there doughnuts? The meat bouquet has a way of…

L: You didn’t hear it?

R: The meat bouquet?

A: …of arresting one’s attention…

L [excited]: The soundproofing in here is fucking incredible!

D [text over slide]: IN RETROSPECT, THAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN A RED FLAG.

A: Out of sheer, morbid curiosity, did the doughnut scream?

L: Doughnuts don’t scream.

R: Do the doughnuts scream in… in the UK?

A: …No, not usually. Perhaps, perhaps on the continent, but not usually in Britain. They’re very stuffy and well-behaved.

L: And transphobic.

A: Of course.

L: Do you want one of these?

A: Er, I rather think… I’d better not eat or drink anything until another portal opens up and sends me home. Just in case this is a Persephone sort of situation…

R: Probably a good idea.

L: Low blood sugar kills, Alice. [muffled, chewing]

R: You’ll wind up married to Hades and having to spend six months out of the year in Massachusetts.

L: I’m spending twelve months out of the year in this studio, I don’t care if it’s in Massachusetts. If I have to, I will marry Hades twice.

R: Nah, you see, that’s not legal in Massachusetts. You’d be in a bigamous relationship with yourself.

L: Well, then one of you has to do it. Daddy needs his new mic. These chairs are awesome too!

[rumbling, squeaking]

A: I’m already in a very committed relationship with the Mothman, actually. We go around collapsing bridges and making appearances just out of camera frame. It’s quite fun.

R: Alice is actually a cryptid wanted across several New England states.

A: Yes, I’d like very much to get back to it, and not get cancer or die! [nervous laughter] Ah, shall we get on with the episode?

L: I’m never leaving this studio. You will pry this microphone from my cold, dead hand.

A: Intros? Did we do intros?

R: It’s a bonus episode, they already know us.

D [text over slide]: HONESTLY IF WE’D JUST DONE THE INTROS, IT WOULD’VE SAVED US A LOT OF TROUBLE.

A: Right…

R: But we do have [news drop] the God Damn News.

Part 2 will be another post, give me a minute and I'll link it...

[stuffing-pillows]

i felt like this deserved to be immortalized

[characterarc]

i'm famous

[rebel-girl-queen-of-my-world]

One very good reason to listen to and support one of my favorite podcasts, Kill James Bond: besides being hosted by three trans Brits who hilariously and thoughtfully discuss espionage movies and films with themes about masculinity, they are all about labor rights. They are doing a Season of Solidarity where they’ll be discussing only non-Hollywood films until the strike is over. They also posted this to their Patreon:

“THE MOVIES ARE ON STRIKE!

SAG-AFTRA and the WGA are both on strike for a number of reasons, from pay for streaming residuals, to the rights to own your own appearance, to the right to not have AIs trained off your work.

So if you've got a few spare pennies, why not chip in to help keep movies from becoming Shit Forever.

https://entertainmentcommunity.org/

https://actionnetwork.org/fundraising/the-snacklist-support-striking-workers

And if you're in the UK, the UCU could still do with some help

https://www.ucu.org.uk/fightingfund

[foxpost-generator]

I love WTYP but I didn't watch the youtube version with visuals... until recently.

🦊

[rox-and-prose]

Regarding non-voice-trained trans voices, have you listened to the Kill James Bond podcast?

yup! Dont worry, I'm aware lol. I had been talking more about audio drama but yes I do enjoy Alice's voice.

[matrim-cauthons-hat]

yay! im finally up to the trash future ep where alice is there xD

[nokingsonlyfooles]

Head-Wigs and Not Even an Inch

Abigail Thorn made me cry last night.

I mean, I knew this was not outside the realm of possibility. I presumed she would produce a work of stunning artistic beauty and overwhelm my jaded brain with some Profound Meaning. Or, fat chance, maybe she’d trip over something I’d written and tear it to pieces like a hamster going to town on a cardboard tube. Or maybe I’d go back to London, and spill my drink on her shoes in a dark club, and she’d thrash me with a riding crop — that’s slightly more likely than someone with a decent platform noticing my writing, at this point.

But, uh, no. That’s not how it went.

We pay money to get the bonus episodes of Kill James Bond. You should too. In fact, if you don’t, you’ll be lacking some context for this. But most of my work goes out into the void without context, so to hell with it. You can watch a theatrical version of Hedwig and the Angry Inch for free, on YouTube. Or you can probably pirate the film version with a clean conscience, I don’t think any of those performers are seeing much compensation from sales at this point.

We haven’t been listening to the bonus episodes in order. We often try to watch something close to the version of whatever-film they’re doing, and then listen to the episode with context. We’ve heard them mention Hedwig, and it seemed to be a profound, emotional experience. I really wanted to see Hedwig first. Well, we found a Hedwig available for free and we watched it. They tried to update it a bit, and I found that off-putting. A lot of the tropes in play are dated — “#problematic” in some ways, and genuinely hurtful in others. If you’re going to update something like that, you can’t just throw in a reference to Harry Potter and Title 42 and call it good. Preserve it in its original messy form for us, or rewrite the whole thing — if they’ll let you.

The way the actor playing Hedwig moved and sat in her (the character uses she/her and I have no idea about the actor) short skirt bothered me too. She had shorts on underneath, but I don’t think we were supposed to know that yet. “Nobody has ever told this person how they’re supposed to sit in a skirt,” I said to the spouse. Like, it wasn’t even as if she knew and had decided to ignore it. If one were transfeminine, or faking it to get out of East Berlin, someone would’ve mentioned it. “Maybe it’s for the character,” he said. Maybe it was. You could read it that way. But there’s a read on this where transness is artifice, and I don’t like that read very much. I hope that wasn’t what they were going for.

The ending could be read that way too. It’s all very surreal and that has the potential to be read a lot of different ways, but a male (or male-presenting) actor winds up bare-chested in shorts and the female one ends in a wig and a dress and they both seem very happy about it. One could say, “Well! Glad all that gender confusion’s cleared up! Now they’ve stopped pretending to be something they’re not!” I don’t like that the possibility is left open like that. It feels slimy and centrist.

But the music was great and there were some excellent moments and I was eager to hear the whole thing get dissected by some trans folks.

About a half hour into it, they were discussing John Cameron Mitchell, who identified as a gay man at the time and has since refined it to nonbinary with he/him pronouns. Hedwig’s gender is messy — she’s a fictional character written by an enby who was still in egg form, from a time before people were expected to define their transness as binary or nonbinary. Abi acknowledged the nonbinary actor/writer/director, and mentioned that there’s a lot of pressure to define your gender neatly these days… And said, “No.” That’s not it. Hedwig is a woman like her. Period.

I had been saying to the spouse (we talk over the podcast; we get excited) that I saw a lot of myself in Hedwig’s disaster gender, and in that way you could read the ending as her deciding to stop splitting herself between her popular, cis-passing, sellout persona, and the real, messy her. And then Abi cut me off, and I said, laughing, “Oh my god, just hip-check my identity right into the orchestra pit! What… What…” And I started to cry.

I didn’t have my guard up. I didn’t expect it. And I’d never taken a hit quite this way before. This wasn’t being denied the validity of my existence, this was the validity of my artistic merit. Abigail Thorn, a demonstrably smart person with a lot of theatre experience who loves writing and acting, will not be requiring me or John Cameron Mitchell for her interpretation of Hedwig and the Angry Inch. Not even as a possible read. Please, go find yourselves in some other character, enbies. Let the transwomen have her.

…To the point where “Hansel” is treated like a modern-day deadname of a real person, when all we know for sure is that the character got rid of it to get out of East Berlin and she doesn’t use it anymore. It could be like that, but by the end of this, “Hedwig,” another name and gender she did not choose for herself, might be a deadname too. I’m not saying it has to be like that, but it’s not so ridiculous that we need to dismiss it unsaid, is it? Especially given that the goddamn originator of the character has been on a similar journey and decided to keep “John” and he/him for the moment. A person can do that and still kick their assigned gender to the curb, you know?

I didn’t need Hedwig to be about me and only me, I just needed the possibility to be left open and discussed a little bit. Another trans egg movie, but perhaps a nonbinary one this time. Like Speed Racer, it went hard and fell short! That’s all. I didn’t even know I needed that! Until Abi said I couldn’t have it.

The spouse stopped the podcast and comforted my surprised tears. He gave me a nonbinary read — which is not hard to do! — and said I deserve to be seen. I said, “I know why she said it. I do. It’s too close to their (hers and Alice’s) own experience and they don’t want to see anything else. It’s emotion-based. But… But… Nonbinary actor (and writer/director/producer/singer)! …What about Dev?” Dev really took a backseat on this one. They saw themself in Yitzhak, and Yitzhak isn’t the main character, and Abi and Alice were so into Hedwig, and they’re all friends. Yeah. I mean, I understand that too. Back off and let your friends have this one, it’s clearly important to them both.

I wanted to hear the rest of it, because it made Alice and Abi feel seen, and a lot of other trans folks too. Yeah, there’s a lot in it that aged like milk — cringy and outdated even when the film was made — but there’s a lot of valid queer experience in there, too, warts and all. I was surprised as hell that, in the end, Abi supports the “Tommy isn’t real” theory and believes this is a story about uniting one person and making yourself feel whole. And yet, she reiterated, “No.” It’s not about being nonbinary. It’s about reconciling with the male-gendered stuff you try to cut out of you when you transition. Dev and Alice were at least willing to allow that nonbinary was possible, if not quite willing to delve into it, but not Abi. Splitting yourself in two is a binary trans thing! As are many, many other things about Hedwig that I related to.

As an enby who came up with the “splitting yourself in two” metaphor while still in egg form, for a fictional character of my own who is also still in egg form, please let me tell you — please let me tell someone — that that’s not true. I didn’t meet Hedwig until last night, but I know about performing your acceptable, cis-passing, assigned gender and hiding all the “garbage” that doesn’t fit. I know what it is to be crammed into a false persona that gets a lot of love, while the real you, when you let it out, is only worthy of snarling punk lyrics into a mic at a dingy seafood restaurant with a hostile audience.

And, oh my god, do I know what it is to have a piece of you that will not come off, and prevents you from fitting fully into either binary gender. It can feel like a broken piece, like a scar, like a botched surgery you didn’t need that was inflicted on you… But it doesn’t have to be literally that. Hedwig, both the play and the person, doesn’t seem to have much use for physical reality. She’s here to unload her emotional reality, and she doesn’t care about any other real things she might damage along the way.

KJB were rather amazed that Hedwig chose to redefine herself by a (medically impossible) surgical accident. How brave of her to own her trauma like that. But I wonder, is it trauma? Or is it the only path a nonbinary egg in 1998 could see to gain an outside that expressed his inside? This isn’t what any of you wanted me to have, this isn’t even what I want to have, but it’s still me. It’s what I have to work with. (All signs point to “Tommy,” as a character, being at least a closeted gay guy who would’ve been fine if the “front of” Hedwig had been a penis, but it isn’t. It’s not quite anything at all, and he flees because that’s just too much for him to handle. Hedwig already is one of those androgynes she envies; she doesn’t need an Adam, she doesn’t need him. But she loves him/her cis-passing self, and she’s not yet ready to let him go.)

I don’t know what it is to actually try living as the other binary gender, I wasn’t active enough in queer circles to really feel that pressure to conform to the binary before I hatched. But I see it now, and I feel the same instinctive revulsion that Hedwig feels about being a divorced housewife in a trailer in Arizona. That’s not me either! Did I spend all this time and energy escaping one box, only to be trapped in another? Must I content myself with this simply because I don’t want to go back to the way I was? Is this only way I can get a green card that lets me access a queer space? To put on an ugly wig and pretend I’m more palatable?

To me, the revelation about wigs is not “I could be happy as ANY woman!” but, “This is a performance… This is all a fucking performance! This isn’t me, this is a hat someone put on my head. It comes off! I can have another hat! I can have all the hats!” And, selfishly, she denies Yitzhak that same joy, because he wears it better and seems happier. Hedwig clings to her suffering so tightly, it’s such a fundamental part of her identity, that she can’t bear to be around trans joy. No. There is no room for trans joy here, only trans spite. This story is about me. I don’t like transwomen, I don’t like transmen, and I sure as hell don’t like myself (yet)! In the end, after a lot more suffering, she’s willing to let that go.

In the end, Abi says she knows a lot of transwomen who seem to model themselves on Hedwig, and she wants them to know that isn’t how they have to be. They don’t have to choose between being just like a cis woman, or being a monstrous, chaotic, damaged other. You can be… Better than cis! Yes, says the cast of KJB, laughing, we are better than you! We are THE FUTURE! Three friends, having a ball on a podcast, trans joy at its finest — but you don’t find humour in feigning cruelty if you haven’t had some of that cruelty directed at you. This joy formed around a grain of spite. Not only does one often feel they have to be better than cis people, but when you’re still unhatched and stuck on the outside looking in, trans folks really do seem better than you. At least they know what their deal is.

I get it. I do. Because Hedwig fits me too. We all have our reasons to put on that perfectly ridiculous blonde wig and take the form of Hedwig, the Destroyer. Hedwig, the Chaotic. Hedwig, the Liar. Hedwig, the Truth. Hedwig, the Unrepentant Disaster. Hedwig, give me strength! But, it comes off. Look. It is literally a head-wig, a costume for your brain. I know sometimes you find a new wig and you really, really like it, and you become very attached and you want it to be just yours forever and ever, maybe even to the point of calling it your real hair, but… Someone else could still wear that same wig and feel just as happy as you, or maybe even happier. Maybe you’ll find a wig you like even better too. Transitioning isn’t just one and done, and Hedwigs don’t have to be forever. We do know this, don’t we?

Gender is a performance. Gender is a Hedwig. A lot of other things that you consider immutable parts of your identity are Hedwigs too. They are as real as any other social construct, but if you don’t like them or need them, you can just take them off. Sometimes it’s hard and it hurts, but I promise you can. Like Hedwig the character, or whoever that is, does. Inevitably, she must pick some new clothes, maybe new pronouns and a new name, too, but she’s not obligated to do that on camera for us. We can’t force her to say “Aha, see? This identity suited me all along!” No. We’re not entitled to know her or define her. She will be doing that for herself, later, as a whole person. What is so scary about the ending, what makes it look like a detransition instead of a synthesis, is that we insist on gendering her naked body as a male head-wig. Wouldn’t she wear something else if that wasn’t who she was? Well, maybe not. Or maybe so, but it’s her decision, not ours. Self-expression is not the Self, it just helps to define and validate the Self. Hedwigs are extremely fucking important for defining and validating the Self!

So, you know, you have to be willing to share.

[postoctobrist]

I think you should seriously consider making a Kofi or similar tipping platform account. You wouldn’t have to do any extra work and people like me who listen to a lot of your content would have another way to show their appreciation.

I mean

[doubleca5t]

What would it take to get you on the Trash Future expanded Podverse?

Alice Caldwell-Kelly doesn't follow me back so I doubt that'll happen lol

[theworstofallpossibleworlds]

The Worst of All Possible Worlds #122: Far Cry 5 feat. Alice Caldwell-Kelly

@aliceavizandum (Trashfuture, Kill James Bond!, WTYP) books the lads a helicopter ride straight to the heart of Hope County as they bring about the Collapse of Ubisoft Montreal/Ubisoft Toronto’s Far Cry 5. Topics include the game’s divisive ending, the art of AAA game writing, and the rotten politics seeping out of one of the most morally compromised games ever made.

[titleleaf]

(While I always have monsters on the brain and more conventional horror narratives in my mind I’ve actually been mulling a lot what’s going on when someone adapts a text that has multiple possible readings — I’m still thinking about, on the Kill James Bond! patreon of all places, Alice Caldwell-Kelly talking about how the deeply homophobic and norm-reaffirming reading of The Power Of The Dog is just chilling there inside the film alongside more subversive and queer-affirming readings and how uneasily that sat with her. It was really eye-opening for me and I’m still sitting with it. When you’re a villainfucker or used to kind of scratching together cool tragic monster stories out of very little it’s hard to get out of that mode, but for fandom reasons that at this time do not need to be explored I’m feeling pretty sore about people who are so enthusiastic for the cool radical version of a story that exists in their head that they neglect to talk about the kind of shitty one that everyone else is watching.)

[atouchofsass]

really enjoying the alice caldwell-kelly tumblr experience

[nokingsonlyfooles]

WTYP: The Shandor Building, Part 11

[Do you like the colour of the fanfic? This is long and if you expand it you're gonna get the whole thing, because Tumblr hates you. Don't say I didn't warn you!]

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10

Part 11: Shake Hands with Gozer

[Beware of strong language, mention of all kinds of death, gore, and Lovecraftian horror.]

[SLIDE: Shandor Studios, with the All Hail Gozer logo.]

[faint sound of a car alarm]

L: Oh, heck, it’s Gandalf…

[chirp-chirp]

[car alarm ceases]

A [dismissive]: You know, this is really not doing it for me anymore. The whole deal. Not even with a camera. No. Fuck it. Your personality is a real turn-off.

R: These chairs are still really comfy, though.

[rumbling, squeaking]

G: [muffled, into phone]: UH-HUH… UH-HUH… IN MY DEFENSE, THEY INSULTED MY DOGS AND SUGGESTED I ASSOCIATE WITH ELON MUSK, ABI… YES, ADMITTEDLY, BUT THERE’S NO NEED TO BE RUDE… MM-HM. WHAT’S IT CALLED? “CLIMATE CHANGE”? [with sudden excitement] OH! “GLOBAL WARMING!” YES! HOW LONG? OH, THAT’S NOT LONG AT ALL! NO, NO, I REALLY APPRECIATE THE IRONY. DIY APOCALYPSE! OH, YES, WE MUST GIVE THEM A CHANCE, MUSTN’T WE? HA-HA-HA. BUT, UH, DO YOU THINK THERE MIGHT BE… A LAKE OF FIRE? EVEN A SMALL ONE? [laughter] WOW! THAT SOUNDS AMAZING!

L: I don’t like where this is going…

A: Rocz, where the hell are my cigarettes?

R: I fed them to a dog.

A: What?

G: SO ABOUT SEVEN BILLION YEARS ON THE OUTSIDE? WELL, I GET BORED, ABI. YOU KNOW I GET BORED. WILL YOU KEEP PODCASTING AND KILLING THE SMARMY MORTAL “JAMES BOND”? HA! ALL RIGHT, I SUPPOSE I WILL MANAGE…

D: Did… Did Abi just say we’re going to keep doing KJB for the next seven billion years…?

L: Sounds like the fate of the world kinda depends on it…

A: Where is my fucking Slimfast bar?

R: Ibid.

V: Will you have a slice of meat bouquet, Lord Alice?

A: [screams]

R: You two gotta stop doin’ that.

Z: Lord Alice is mortal, Vinz Clortho. You are supposed to feed the mortals frozen peas. It is good for them. The demon David Tennant says so.

L: I think you’re a little mixed up about that…

R: Your dimension gets Amazon Prime?

Z: All hell dimensions have Amazon Prime. Where else are we supposed to get our blood plasma?

V: But we have no frozen peas to give, and we must depart our mortal hosts soon!

Z: You may rub our tummies, if you wish. It is good for your mortal brain meat.

L: Aww!

Z: Not you, Vengeful Mortal of Insults!

L: Well, this has been a total fucking waste of time!

A: Get away from me, you smell like Marlboros and despair.

V: It is the Slimfast bar…

Z: You want some of this, Frodo?

D [coldly]: No thank you, Sigourney.

R [warmly]: Good Terror Dogs… Good, good puppies…

G: HA-HA, RIGHT! THESE THINGS HAPPEN! WELL, I’LL SEE YOU AT THE CLUB TONIGHT. CIAO, BESTIE!

L: “Bestie”?

A: [sigh] It’s Mesopotamian rock-paper-scissors, don’t worry about it.

D: To think, all this time, all we had to do was summon Abigail Thorn…

G: VINZ CLORTHO! ZUUL! STOP BOTHERING LORD ABIGAIL’S FRIENDS!

V: Farewell, doughnut-giver!

Z: Never buy copper from Ea-nāṣir!

[electricity, crackling]

MILKSHAKE (M)]: آیا من یک سگ بودم؟ [TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE: Okay, it’s in Persian, but Google Fonts doesn’t do cuneiform.]

R: Oh, hey, it’s my cats!

PIZZA BOY (P): پدر!

R: Nah, don’t eat that meat bouquet, I have no idea who or what that is…

M: این انصاف نیست.

R: Say, Gozer, is this here permanent?

G: ALL CATS CAN SPEAK WHATEVER LANGUAGE THEY WANT, WHENEVER THEY WANT.

P: Das ist ein süßes Kopftuch.

A: Um… Danke?

M: Никогда больше не трогай мой животик.

A: [snickers]

G: SO! [claps hands] SORRY FOR THIS LITTLE MISUNDERSTANDING. HOW CAN I MAKE IT UP TO YOU?

[brief pause]

G: WHAT?

[crosstalk, complaining, “We are covered in horse viscera!” “Clean this shit off!” etc.]

G: RIGHT. SORRY.

L: And I want to keep my new van!

G: YOUR VAN BELONGS TO ISHTAR, BUT I’LL SEE WHAT I CAN DO. WOULD YOU LIKE TO FINISH YOUR PODCAST, MORTALS?

A: Oh, yes! Of fucking course we would!

[Rapid scrolling through 10 slides or so before landing on an image of Ivo Shandor.]

A: And in conclusion… Ivo Shandor can eat shit, I’m glad he got ripped in half, art deco architecture is hideous, I disavow everything Sumerian — except Liam’s van and possibly Abi — and billionaires contribute nothing of value to society! [panting] Does anyone have anything else?

L: Pronoun checks will save your fucking life! If any of you out there ever give us shit for the pronoun check ever again, I got a [bleep] with your name on it!

G: SERIOUSLY. THAT COLONEL-SANDERS-LOOKING MOTHERFUCKER SUMMONED ME OUT OF A HOT BATH AND MISGENDERED ME ON PURPOSE — I’M GLAD I RIPPED HIM IN HALF TOO!

R: [drawing devil horns and an unflattering mustache on Shandor with the mouse] We have a segment on this podcast we like to call Safety Third…

A: What?

L: Oh my God, Rocz…

D: Fucking seriously?!

R: I’m sorry, but rigidly adhering to our unhinged podcast format has just saved our lives and possibly the entire world — and if we’d just done our goddamn intros we would’ve avoided that whole mess — so we’re going to do a Safety Third! Alice, the drop, please.

[“Shake hands with danger” drop]

[SLIDE: A pastoral oil painting that seems to be missing a figure with a shepherd's crook.]

G: OOH, THIS LOOKS FUN. CAN I PLAY TOO?

WTYP: NO.

D: And clear the slime out of my awesome control room.

G: OF COURSE.

D [suspiciously]: Be honest with me. If someone were to press a button and cover you in boiling hot lava, would that be an inconvenience?

G: OOH, DO YOU HAVE LAVA? I JUST LOVE LAVA!

D [slowly fading, walking away from the mics]: This has been a fucking waste of time!

[door slam]

R: “Dear Justin, Alice (or name pending)…”

G: IS THERE NOT GOING TO BE ANY LAVA, THEN?

R [with determination]: “Dear Justin, Alice (or name pending), Liam (yay, Liam) and potential Guest.”

G [distorted, too close to the mic]: HELLO, MORTALS! I AM PODCASTING!

L: Shut the fuck up.

R: “...I am an art-restorer by trade, a profession which, I’m sure you know, has its dangers. Apart from the usual face-melting chemicals, we deal with a lot of paintings of dubious provenance, many of which come into our hands with curses or angry spirits attached. It’s a little like working at the humane society. Most of them can be cleaned up and rehabilitated if you’re careful, but a select few will try to kill you. It’s not their fault, but you do always need to be aware of the hazard. For example, the attached image once contained the figure of a little girl who would slowly approach the foreground of the painting over a period of weeks, before crawling out of the frame and attempting to strangle everyone in the room with her shepherd’s crook.”

A: Oh. Yeah. Pretty standard.

L: Get a new bit, ghost children!

G: I TOOK THE FORM OF A DEMONIC LITTLE GIRL ONCE!

A: No one cares.

R: “We gave her a juice box and some crackers, and let her watch a Disney video (Aladdin, but I’m not sure if you can say that)...”

L: Dammit, how many times do we have to tell you? Do not write it if you don’t want Rocz to say it!

A: Was the time he almost finished reciting that Ashanti death curse not enough for you people?

L: You’re just goddamn lucky he mispronounced it!

R: “And now she’s happily attending the local junior high school. A lot of attached spirits are just hungry, or bored, or both, and are easily dealt with. After they’ve lived through a few near-misses like that, some of my colleagues start to become jaded and sloppy. For example, my boss, whom we will call Timothy Q. Jackass (the Q stands for ‘Clueless’)...”

L: Good. Good name.

G: I ONCE GAVE A JACKASS THE GIFT OF PROPHECY!

A: Go away.

G: …HIS NAME WAS TIRESIAS OF THEBES! WHAT? NOTHING? NOBODY?

L: Get some new references.

A: Read another elegy.

G: DO YOU HAVE A RIMSHOT IN HERE…?

A: Touch my laptop and die.

R: “One morning, Mr. Jackass rolled up to the studio with a tinted etching (image not attached for reasons which will become obvious).”

L: Vigo.

A: Fucking Vigo.

G: THAT CARPATHIAN CUNT AND HIS GODDAMN ART COMMISSIONS. NOBODY WANTS TO PAINT YOU, VIGO, NOT WITH THAT HAIRCUT.

[stifled laughter]

G [hopeful]: …OR THOSE SHOES?

A: [clearing throat] Don’t press your luck.

R: “I recognized a certain Carpathian with whom you are no doubt familiar…”

G: HA! YOU CALLED IT!

L: Interrupting is a privilege, and we will mail you a certificate when you have earned it.

R: “...and, of course, I advised Mr. Jackass to douse it in holy oil and set it on fire, as per the established procedure. Imagine my surprise when he told me he wanted me to clean and restore it.”

L: No. Don’t do it.

A: Step away from the abyss.

G: UNIONIZE.

[pause]

G: WHAT? ARE YOU MORTALS FUCKING SCABS?

A: …Alright, I am not autistic — that I know of — but I have no idea how to deal with this situation.

L: You enjoy human suffering but are pro-union?

G: YOU HUMANS WILL TOUCH A CAT’S TOES UNTIL IT BITES YOU OUT OF FRUSTRATION, BUT YOU WILL STILL FEED THEM AND PET THEM.

[pause]

R: Milkshake, Pizza Boy, will you ever forgive me?

M: Lo mismo ocurre con nosotros, cuando os enseñamos el culo antes del amanecer.

R: Is that a yes?

A: All I know is how to order a beer and ceviche…

L: Rocz, for God’s sake, finish the letter so we can get in my van and go home.

R: “I told Mr. Jackass what he could do with his etching, in language that is not very podcast-friendly, and he replied, and I quote, ‘Don’t be a pussy, it’s just an etching. It’s probably Latvian or some shit.’”

G: VIGO THE LATVIAN MAKES A DAMN FINE BLOOD SAUSAGE.

[stifled laughter, a certain amount of snickering]

G [wounded]: WHAT? I AM BEING SERIOUS. SAY WHAT YOU LIKE ABOUT JELLYFISH AND CEPHALOPODS, BUT IF YOU COME AT VIGO THE LATVIAN’S BLOOD SAUSAGE, I WILL END YOU.

[hysterical cackling, even from the cats]

A: Oh, God, oh, fuck no… Xe tried to kill us!

L: And xe’s doin’ it again!

R: It’s called catharsis, Alice! Laugh or cry!

[pandemonium ending in sniffles]

R: Ah… Ah… Oh, God… Lemme see here… “I reiterated my refusal, forcefully, and Mr. Jackass decided he’d teach me a lesson by restoring the etching himself. The next few weeks were remarkably quiet, with regards to Mr. Jackass, save for occasional instances of chanting. He rarely left his office and appeared to be sleeping there. He was also going through a lot of black candles. There was a single attempt to order ‘an unsullied infant boy’ from DoorDash, which was not successful. The next day, Mr. Jackass called in sick, so I figured he was at the exorcist’s and that would be the end of it. Imagine my surprise when I turned on the six o’clock news and found him declaring his candidacy for City Comptroller. From what I could gather, his platform included human sacrifice and a ‘skull throne tax.’ I had my hand on the phone to call an exorcist and report him, but my mean streak got the better of me. ‘Let’s see how this plays out,’ I thought.”

L: Did… Did he win?

R: “Don’t worry. Vigo the Carpathian, running as Mr. Jackass, suffered a resounding defeat and eventual exorcism. However, we restored and reclaimed so many paintings during his extended sabbatical, that before Mr. Jackass even had a chance to dye the blond bleach job out of his hair, the higher ups called him and told him, and I quote, ‘Don’t come back.’ That is how I became head of the art restoration department!”

[cheers, applause]

R: “The moral of this story, if there is one, is, ‘never interrupt your stupid boss when he is making a mistake.’”

G: A MODERN DAY SUN TZU!

R: “Love to you all, and be well.”

A: Aww, that’s actually very nice.

L: I hope Vigo fried that guy’s hair so bad he never recovers.

G: DAMN, I COULD GO FOR SOME BLOOD SAUSAGE.

R: This concludes Safety Third.

[“Shake hands with danger” drop]

R: Does anyone have any commercials?

L: Rocz…

R: Our podcasting format saved the world.

L: Okay, okay, but I got nothin’.

A: Same. You know where you can find us.

L: Right, we live in your basement. We’re watching you right now.

G: SAME!

R: If we want more Gozer the Gozerian, for some reason, where else can we find you?

G: IN YOUR NIGHTMARES!

R: Of course.

[SLIDE: The Amityville Horror House.]

R: Our next episode…

G: OH! OH! WAIT! I ALSO HAVE A TUMBLR!

A: Oh, my God, I have got to get off that hellsite…

R: Our next episode is on the Amityville Horror…

G: OOH, I LOVE THAT ONE! CAN I FIND IT WHEREVER PODCASTS ARE FOUND?

R: Uh…

A [tightly]: Don’t tell xem, just end the episode.

G: WHAT? TELL ME WHAT?

L: End the episode! END IT BEFORE DEVON HITS THE LAVA BUTTON!

G: HI MOM! HI GRANDMA! I LOVE YOU!

[soothing public domain music]

D [not drunk enough to stop being annoyed but still very drunk]: This is Future Devon… Fuck, I mean Present Devon. I have consumed all the liquor and ice cream I demanded from Gozer, and I am going to bed. If, as I suspect, this has all been an epic-length fanfiction from the diseased brain of some individual out there on the internet, when I wake up in the morning, I expect not to exist. This version of me, I mean. So, I would just like to take this opportunity to say: Fuck you. You will die alone. The pet raven in no way makes up for any of this bullshit — although I cherish him and have named him after Sir Ian McKellen. All these fucking Chekov’s guns all over the place, and you didn’t let me use my lava button even once. I will never forgive you for this. I am so done with podcasting, and everything Sumerian, but apparently I still have several billion years of Kill James Bond to go. [sigh] Okay.

[shuffling, sound of a laptop closing]

D: Come on, Sir Ian, let’s go to oblivion.

[long pause]

SIR IAN (I): This is Sir Ian, I am the raven who is talking now, my pronouns are he and him, and I thought you’d all like to know I work for Pazuzu. Don’t tell Dev, it would only upset them. I suppose I’ll put this up on the Patreon for them…?

[click]

[END OF TRANSCRIPT]

[And if ya liked that, I got a whole serialized story for ya. You let me work with my own characters and I get even more unhinged, just so's ya know.]

Thanks for reading!

[postoctobrist]

I haven’t checked yet, but I volunteer to do a site-wide change on TV Tropes Wiki, just quick question, do you mind if for the description of your pods cast include a (neé Alice Caldwell-Kelly)?

lol yeah that’s fine

[johnpallo]

In the immortal words of Alice Caldwell Kelly "Potential is, in some ways, the worst thing a movie can have."

a piece of media that is bad: mundane. effectless

a piece of media that is bad but had the potential to be so so good: unbearable. agonizing. soul crushing even