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Ohhhhh, finally. Thoughts are like wine; you learn to savor their alluring nature. You can press your grapes as fast and efficiently as you would like to; it won’t make the wine taste better sooner. Regardless of the attempts to allude to your truth, striking the balance of entertaining the thought enough to not lose track of it is a dance that you can pick the music to. You engage in tango and swing.   And if you’re very patient – I'm talking homeless-beggar-level of persistence - you reap the delicious benefits and dine opulently, which I get to do now – God bless. It does take a toll on you when you get challenged by yourself and make the impossible possible. It’s here, waiting to be formed by you after months and hours of contemplation. All of a sudden, it tastes just right.   Epidurals saved my life. They kept me going. Day in and day out. When I understood that there are people walking the face of the earth who deny women epidurals, because it is “not nature’s way”, I found hope again. To build a social construct of oppression, around the only minority making up half of the world’s population, requires surgical precision. Centuries of research to empower their doubts and operate where it hurts the most.   How really, retarded.  God gave me eyes to see, and since he didn’t show me how to use them, I like to see things my way and any other way is stupid and I don’t like you for disagreeing with me when I was made after his image and not you. And you can ask my momma and papa and my teacher and all of them say the same: I am better than you. Now stop scaring the hell out of me and listen to what I have to say otherwise I will use the only thing that I have more of, bone density, to my advantage.   How retarded, really.   Let‘s ignore all of the efforts, put ourselves down and get pushed around. Pretty please, tell me how to live my life. I won‘t like it but why should I inconvenience the bigger man. I know a hundred ways to get where I want, it‘s just that the idiot doesn‘t know any. Whatever, man. I‘m going to head off. You do you and I will do you, too, why would I need to do I! What does it even mean to be tired when you have been given everything – a soulless attempt at life?  Really, how retarded.

It happened. I wanted to write something but decided not to because I am not anonymous. I am going to NYC again in the second week of December, and I would like to try out an OpenMic. The topics I would like to discuss: What everyone gets wrong about Hitler The difference between capitalism and the roman empire NYC TSA Long-term relationships I checked today on how to reserve a spot, and the following spots expect a sign-up either on the same day or the Sunday of every week: Sohoplayhouse: https://www.sohoplayhouse.com/open-mics Eastvillecomedy: https://www.eastvillecomedy.com/pages/open-mics Comediansontheloose: https://www.comediansontheloose.com/open-mics In case you would like to see me, drop me a message on my IG @theaustrianyoumet. Wish me luck!! P.S. I finished the first chapter of my „mental retardation“ story last week, you should really check it out it’s great and I love it.

you dream, day in and out until you start asking yourself what the fuck you are doing. hello, hello, sings the tiny bird on my balcony. another day that you waste on what you are not!, it laughs at my agony, may i forget and see what is being pushed into me, my face right into yours. i switch it on but it falls black again. dive through a cloud and have thunder strike me to feel my head instead. we fight with fists and red our knuckles as we bleed out on the floor. through another one and see it brake like glass.     Sunday, 9pm, and my Monday Scaries bide their time, almost make me miss them again, but life is going so well, why be worried then?    The Darkest Place I Have Ever Been (2025). 931 Reloaded (2016). Fantastic Mr. Fox (2009). Suicide Season (2008). Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind (2004). Slaughterhouse-Five, or, The Children's Crusade: A Duty-Dance with Death (1969). The Castle (1926) In a Thousand Years (1852)

Is it the shift into the winter season? I am not tired, but I do feel a lack of energy. Year by year I end up in the same situation, however, with every new season I learn to deal with it better. I took some time off work, and spent my leisure time reading and gaming, mostly.   I read Freida McFADDEN’s “The Housemaid” on the train ride I took to visit my brother on Sunday. It’s mind-boggling to me how women are so invested into true crime, because Freida pushed my heartbeat higher than my yearly jogging does (I wish I was more consistent but yeah). Now I am finally brushing up my book backlog and starting with Kevin Barry’s “The heart in winter”; seems to be a story of hope; it’s written sporadically, but poetic and earnest, the enactment or rather an mise-en-scéne of emotions, a sudden turn to the reader: What do you think? is tiptoeing in your thoughts as to not agitate the known, the self, and risk loosing the unknown, the self. Fuck! SHIT! God, dammit! In the meantime, I kicked off Brandon Sanderson’s “Stormlight Archive” series and like it as well.   Gaming-wise, Battlefield 6 and Dying Light were released, which is super fun.   Today’s post is a bit meta, since I am not in the mood to write about anything. The “mental retardation” story is going great, but writing alone is boring at times.   Work is also fine, even though the increasing number of events I have visited in the last few weeks does strain me considerably, simply because I am not used to the amount of exposure.   I still haven’t worked out “consistently”; it’s been months at this point. I used to do Yoga for more than two years; I miss the days when I was flexible and back-pain free.  For anyone new to my blog, I would suggest the following posts to get a feeling about my writing:  Mental retardation  Das Schaf und der Papagei  I could never survive a terrorist attack  Is my table happy to be one

To the walking germ that has infected me with an unshakable cough: thank you. It‘s been two weeks and my dry throat made my cough morph into dinosaur screeches;  I can‘t sleep and tomorrow is Monday. „Screech“ happens to be a noun I used in my new addition to the last week‘s „mental retardation“ post. I hate pharmacists. You go and ask them for one thing, they pretend to listen, and hand you whatever pharmaceutical company paid to recommend. I just wanted pastilles to suck on, not useless tablets that dissolve on my tongue. I don‘t hate them, „hate“ is such a strong word. Does she make me question the dangers of the Great Replacement; a phrase I made up right now on my couch (it‘s Sunday and almost midnight and I can‘t sleep because I cough uncontrollably every 30 seconds) which is very much about the „mental retardation“ post I extended this week. You might be wondering why I bother you with so much text, who reads anything nowadays, that is why you should read my latest blog post! It‘s how we will all end up mentally retarded if we lean more into AI and computers and phones and apps. Using „if“ isn‘t really correct, it‘s more of a „when“.  I miss the days where I could just sleep without coughing, it‘s been ages (2 weeks). I fell right into the trap of ungratefulness; I would have never considered not-caughing as something to be thankful about. And here I am. Boredom, boredom, boredom. Random fact about me: When I was seventeen years old, I commuted 45 minutes by bus every day in winter to observe deers outdoors in a nearby forrest. Binoculars around my neck, leather gloves, and hiking boots – just before the sun would set and the wild animals would find a place to rest and sleep. My approach to deer-watching was rather unconventional. Instead of laying on the ground and not moving, I would climb up a tree and wait until they passed below me. Once I even managed to jump on one of them and ride it for some seconds. Yes, I did make up this whole story. Imagine how pitiful I am feeling wanting to waste your time reading this text. I am considering to do something very radical with my blog, which is to write every single day and post it for about a month or two, because my ideas have been fun so far and there isn‘t really anything stopping me from doing it. Another lie, I barely have time to post once a week, and quality-wise? It is safe to say that my vocabulary is tiny and my imagination limited. What is it with Sundays that I end up going to sleep so late. Do I dread work this much? It‘s my cough, I know.. A thirty-second interval reminder to stay uncomfortable and miserable, especially throughout the night. Sleep – who needs it nowadays? What would I do for a BigMac now, damn. Or a ChilliCheese. You know what, I will grab breakfast from McDonalds tomorrow. I deserved it. Several McToasts, a McMuffin, and an Iced Tea. Sounds like a plan.

Boom boom boom. Boom boom boom. Boom boom boom. NIaaaaaaaaaa NIAAaaaaaaaaaaa NIAAAaaaaaa nIAAAAAAAA.   It would be time to do it. As of me writing this, it is Sunday, 11:30 pm, but my week wasn’t too bad – was it? Complaining is something I am much better at, and there’s no room for cheerfulness. I scare, when the inevitable hasn’t presented itself to this day.     Der kleine Marienkäfer  Es war einmal ein kleiner Marienkäfer namens Johanna, der es sich zu seiner Lebensaufgabe gemacht hatte, Menschen zum Gendern zu überreden. Er sei eigentlich kein Mann, sondern heiße Johanna und würde in Zukunft gerne als Marienkäferin beschrieben werden, nur sind dem Käfer die Ideen ausgegangen. In allen Menschenbüchern hatte er gelesen, dass der Mensch sich mit roter Farbe am besten verführen lässt. Da er nun mal über keine Lippen verfügt, entschied er, sich den Rücken rot zu färben, wenn sich da nicht der Mensch wieder überlegen gefühlt hatte und aufhörte, sie ernst zu nehmen. Es brauchte nicht viel Gehänsel, bis sich das Schwarze im Marienkäfer wieder zur Oberfläche drängte und dem Menschen so eine Angst verursachte, dass sie von dem Zeitpunkt zum Thema Geschlecht immer mit dem Maskulin verwiesen wurde.   Grübelnd krabbelte Johanna raus aus der Buchenrinde, um ihren Ehekäfer Gabriel mit ihrem Trübsal nicht vom Schlaf abzuhalten. Der Anbruch des Herbstes verging so schnell, dass sie sich nur wundern konnte über den Nebel, welcher sich mit einem halben Meter Abstand vom Garten der Menschenfamilie gelegt hatte. Ihr prunkvoll ausgestattetes Gemüsebeet mit Vogelhäusern am Fenster anstatt des Baumes gehängt bat ihnen genügend Sicherheit, sich täglich auf Ausflüge und Wanderungen zu bewegen, um die Menschen aus erster Hand kennenzulernen. Jegliche Versuche, mit ihnen zu kommunizieren, sind gescheitert: sie sprechen weder dieselbe Sprache, noch ist ihr Gehör fein genug, uns zu verstehen. Mit Körperkontakt haben sie nicht viel auf sich, bis auf den geregelten Wechsel, der in ihrer Familie, ihrem Umkreis, der Stadt und dem Land erwartet wird.   Was sie als Nächstes wagen werde, habe sie Gabriel nicht zu erzählen. Er solle sich um sie nicht kümmern, da sie ihr Leben lang selbstbestimmt gehandelt hatte und nicht mit diesem Gedanken aufhören werde. Dennoch protestierte ihr Käfermagen mit viel Gebrüll und Geschwür, bis die Nervosität ihr völlig den Magen verdrehte: “Du hast Angst, Johanna, und das ist auch gut so. Du bewegst dich auf etwas zu, auf das du dich nicht vorbereiten kannst, sondern du schließt deine Augen und rennst durch.”, sprach sie sich leise zu, während sie sich langsam auf den Weg zum Menschenkinderzimmer am ersten Stock machte. In ihren jüngsten Jahren wäre sie wohl den ganzen Weg auf der Höhe der Buchenrinde ins Zimmer geflogen. Heute war sie schwach. Jedes Hoch drückte sie ins Tief. Flog sie über das Gras, standen ihr die Blumen im Weg. Mühte sie sich über das Gewächs, saß sie im Bienenverkehrsstau fest. Höher traute sie sich nie aufgrund des dichten Nebels, der den Hinflug erschwerte. Gerade noch rechtzeitig am Weg zur Menschentochter, die jetzt noch schlief, aber in wenigen Minuten sanft von ihrer Menschenmutter Hannah zum ersten Schultag in das weichste Gewand gekleidet und bunt geschmückt wird, um ihren Mitmenschen zu verdeutlichen, dass sie tun und lassen darf, was sie will.   Als Johanna auf der Fensterbank landete, sah sie Lisa fertig gekleidet am Bettrand mit dem Gesicht in beiden Handflächen sitzend schlafen. Ihr Zeitpunkt war jetzt. “Schau, Mama! Eine Marienkäferin!“, lief die geweckte Lisa ihrer Mutter Hanna mit gekrümmten Händen entgegen. “Der, es ist DER MARIENKÄFER, kleine!”, erwiderte die Mutter, während sie versuchte, ihr das kleine Ungeziefer wegzuklappen. Äußerst vorsichtig schritt Lisa zurück in ihr Zimmer, um die kleine Käferin besser in Schutz nehmen zu können. Auch nach langwieriger Streiterei war es Hanna nicht möglich, Lisa von Johanna’s dreckigen Fühlern zu befreien. Sie musste mit, sonst hätte Lisa nicht mit ihrem Geschrei aufgehört. “LASS MICH IN RUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUH” buhte Lisa vehement. Lehrt sie es Lisa nicht jetzt, dann wird sich ihre schon zwanzig Minuten lange Verspätung morgen wiederholen. “Dann soll dich der Käfer von mir aus bepinkeln, ich wasch dir die Hände dann sicher nicht. Das machst du gefälligst selbst! Haben wir uns verstanden?”, platzte Hannah aus dem Mund. “Das ist eine MarienkäFERIN, Mama. Bist du blind?”   Johanna konnte sich vor Glück nicht fassen und entließ vor lauter Freude stampfend den Schweiß vom Körper. “Oh nein!”, mahnte sie zu sich selbst, ihr Tempo bei so viel Freude nicht zu hochzuschrauben – egal wie leicht sich schnell anfühlt. Langsam fällt leider sofort auf, wenn nur auf Schnell geschaut wird.   Yes, I am posting the whole thing. And no, I did not think I would end today’s post this way after starting it with a bim bum bap pow. Language can be really limiting sometimes, do I flag it as Sunday Scaries? This is boring. I envy rock stars. People pay money to get screamed at, and they cash it all in.

Jetzt aber Schluss, pause! Ach so, ich hab ja auch ein Mitspracherecht. Schafft ja jeder, sein Leben auf der Hand herumtanzen zu lassen. Vergötter mich! Lass Dir Zeit, mir geht’s auch ohne Dir gut. Mit deiner Mühe kriechst du eher dem Leben an, als darin anzukommen. Ich halt den Klugscheisser nicht mehr aus, bitte, Hilfe! Ich bin wütend. Ist es nicht Traurigkeit? Oder doch eher Liebe und ein Instinkt, zu reagieren? Tut mir leid, wenn ich halt lieber einen Abend über Radio plaudern will. Ich möchts so sehr wissen, dass ich vergessen habe, dir das Gefühl zu geben, meinem Umgang mit dir keine Bedeutung zu schenken. Und dann hör ich auf und denk mir: ich hör ja eigentlich nicht auf, sondern weg? Wieso hört man auf, wenn man etwas beendet? Ich höre auf. Wenn das nicht konfus ist, weiß ich es ja auch nicht. Aber was weiß ich schon, ich bin ja nur ein erbärmlicher Versuch meiner Eltern, beim Sex zu verhüten – hat nicht so ganz funktioniert. Aufhören. Wir hören hin, hören etwas, aber wenns zu viel wird, hören wir auf. AAAHHHHHHHHH. Also eigentlich schätze ich jemanden mit meinem Gehör? Wenn Du es so willst, hör ich auf (dich)? Und wenn ich’s mach‘, sind wir beide glücklich. Verwirrt, durcheinander, auf den Kopf gestellt, unklar, verschwommen, unsicher, schwach, entkräftigt, vorsichtig, behutsam, erwartend, eigen, allein, gebrochen, verschmolzen, geformt, erpresst, einladend, frei, offen, schwerelos, hoffnungsvoll, verliebt, getrieben, angespannt, widerwillig, erschrocken, achtend, verloren, verwundert, eingeschüchtert, verdreht, sturr, arrogant, befleckt, entlassen, einsam, wütend, aggressiv, laut, bestimmt, bewusst, beleidigt, erdrückt. Das alles, aber kein Feigling, ptui!!!

Yeah, aaaaaaaaah. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH. Seven and a half hours ago, there were three brothers. Each of them had their own space that they called home, where they would spend their mornings basking in the sun. “Life do be bitchin’” thought one of them to himself, and it was a rare moment everyone collectively felt the same, and there was really no need for the brother to disturb the peace describing it, because he knew that once he explained his feelings, they would take shape. In that moment, however, he felt like having no shape at all. The sun would rise to his left and part ways on his right at noon, which did not discourage them from staying. As long as they had each other, it did not really matter whether the sun was there to warm them up – being cold was another way to experience the other half of the day. “Life do be bitchin’!” exhaled the one in the middle. “That’s what I am saying!!” said the first brother. And they sat in silence. The third one didn’t react, as he was contemplating life. “Is there more to it?” he thought. There is this huge ball of fire we center our life around, and it’s so hot and millions of miles away, but it expectedly and punctually shows up on our horizon every day and fares well to leave us in darkness. “Why doesn’t it stay with us?” he felt, accompanied by frustration and anger. Even if he shouted from the top of his lungs, jumped and cried like a little child, the sun would spend no matter to his existence – it would be on and about with or without him. Seven hours ago - when they were all sleeping - their father came home late at night. It wasn’t unusual to hear him quietly enter the apartment at midnight, since spending his money outside was one way for him to either start, celebrate the middle of, or end his work week. And you know, it goes without saying, well, there are plenty of sayings about it. He was inebriated. But not the unpredictable kind or the crash-out type of drunk. The kind that made him not forget about the three brothers. He brushed his teeth, folded his outside clothes on one of the chairs in the kitchen, walked up to them, grabbed one after the other, and placed all three into the sink. He watered brother one, brother two, but with brother three, his oblivion made him push the faucet open a bit too much, and a beam of water gushed at the thoughtful one. “AM I DROWNING?!”, he exclaimed. And this time, he wasn’t poetic about it. Instead, he was fighting for his life in that very moment. The unnatural amount of water the soil was soaking up made him lose his footing, and the roots he worked so hard on expanding were uplifted in a matter of seconds. The water passed through, though, as it always does, and father made sure to gently press soil against his stem to salvage the damage he caused. The brothers were placed back in their spot and woke up the next morning, when the same brother again stated: “Life do be bitchin’!”. “Tell me about it...” responded the tired one attentively. Why did he spend his whole life questioning, inquiring, doubting, hoping, fearing – just to have his hard work jeopardized by one drunk?

Mindestens zwei Gründe fallen mir auf Anhieb ein, um meine Liebe zur Republik klar zu stellen. Vieles macht sie falsch, einiges ignoriert sie völlig, was sie aber nicht davon abhält, uns gut gesinnt zu sein. Von allen Seiten wird sie beleidigt und die Meinungen spalten sich in den allerkleinsten Angelegenheiten, die sich in allen Gesellschaftsgruppen, Regionen, Straßen, und Heime am Leben halten.

Only dumb people generalize. There’s so much to it. One of my biggest pet peeves is making a statement about a whole race, group, or society, with absolutely no effort made to dig a bit deeper into the topic, desperate on the quest of finding the remaining functional neurons inside your brain. A brain so small that it is completely overwhelmed by the fact that people don’t live as hive-minds, they have feelings, too. Too ignorant to accept that when they are hurt, they feel pain just as we do.  We feel all kinds of emotions, but we still opt to not show them; subdued all of Earth’s races (except orcas) to realize that even among ourselves we hide what we really feel. And then again, you would be silly to think there isn’t a single scenario where you could put THAT label on. You might not know what edge case it is, neither would you dare denying its existence. Alright, now to get to my point. I noticed that the two most recent posts (my Monday Scaries basically) were kind of depressing. Okay, mich juckts nicht mehr in Englisch schreiben. Auf alle Fälle, nein, doch weiter auf Englisch. Sorry, just spaced out for a few seconds. This should have been a post about phone addiction, where I explain to you in very much detail how I feel Social Media (SM) is wasting everyone’s life away. Then, I realized that talking about phone addiction will have me end up in the group of dumb people that generalize. Hence, I decided to start it this way and only narrate my very own personal anecdote, when a moment of reflection struck me: SM knows exactly who I am, what I type, like, hate, engage, avoid, ignore, and now I should go ahead and confirm it in written form? My other pet peeve that drives me mad is when people don’t try enough with language. Not everything is good or bad. Don’t use “angry”, go with “furious”. You almost „died laughing“, are you sure? I firmly believe the only aspects of life I am dissatisfied with solely exist because I haven’t walked along the thought far enough to see its origin. Not everything has to be said right away, why not savor your feelings a bit longer and let the moment speak for itself? Take a step back, wait, and think: You have spent all this time believing, feeling, reacting, talking the same way ever since you remember - why not try something new? Use your senses!

Hello, it’s me, And another sleepless night, it’s three (AM) A burning in my chest, it doesn’t go away. Anyways, it’s another Sunday, you guys!!! New Sunday, new me. New Sunday means only one more day until Monday <3 Yes, this is the dream. Hustle it away my WHOLE life. I won’t know when it will pass; it’s only natural to grind life to the ground. Let’s disregard  the poem I decided to stop writing two verses deep and instead use my time now to do what I do best: bitchin‘, naggin‘, and cryin‘ . Images of the transformer dude, who dated Megan Fox sometime during the first few parts of the franchise, keep reappearing in my mind: JUST DO IT! DOOO ITTT! For how long, my boy? Just so the progress moves in the hilariously slow pace of a turtle. BTW, a quick reminder that you are not obliged to read this. If you don’t like it, get outttta here. Have you ever had your whole life upside down where nothing seems to stay in place or breaks away? YESSIR! Did you do everything in your might to help yourself? YESMAM! Are you sure it was enough? AFFIRMATIVESEARGENT! Why are you still such a little bitch, then? It’s not as quick as I thought, KIND SIR! Recently, I have started reading a story of Kurt Vonnegut called „Slaughterhouse-Five“ (S-F), and it was a very refreshing alternative to all the garbage that is considered writing nowadays. Yes, pleeeeeaase, describe to me how the main protagonist is cutting his Mozarella cheese in half while talking to his work colleague. Did the window really just thrust open from the strong outside wind, in the very moment your fictional couple ends the argument about their helpless relationship? Thank you so much for imagining that. Otherwise, there wouldn’t be any way for me to bear the paralyzing weight of silence you’re trying to FUCKING ERASE IN BOOKS AS WELL. The reality I am trying to escape from while reading your garbage piece of work misses the one thing that I can barely hear anymore. Silence. The type that makes you hear your own heart pulsate blood through your body, while you become one with your surroundings emitting collective sounds. Why beat around the bushes? „Ooooh, I am Mr. SoAndSo, and I would like you to meet my wife, this is her, Mrs. SoLaLa“, as the writer points to his wife. „And of course, all of this for our little star, Little Miss RETAWD“, he says, hugging his spoiled, two-legged, three foot tall depiction of himself. „The one thing that inspired me to write my story was my baby girl. Ever since she was born, I would spend night and day feeling superior since I am smarter and stronger than her. You really believe I could shut up even for one second to be in the moment with this tiny ghost?“, he exclaimed proudly. One more human pretending. S-F was such a great read, straight to the point, message received and understood. A surreal premise that sparks a dozen thoughts with every chapter. Kurz und bündig! Only break I needed was to read it. The guy lived so much he forgot to think about others, I wouldn’t be able to explain his escape from society’s fetters of mediocrity otherwise.

Elle Orlando brought up a funny topic in her most recent podcast “The Elle Diablo Show” episode, episode nr. 56 ( https://youtu.be/z0FqhMaQDVI?si=ZuQ7Lv45ooTdKmdx&t=14:54 - I know, writing out links is so outdated man, but this lazy Wix webservice is so ass it can’t even manage proper markdown or I‘m just too stupid to use it) to be precise, where she wondered how Larry David from CURB YOUR ENTHUSIASM would handle a day in New York. He would enter the train, she says, and be annoyed with the person having their phone on loud without using headphones – and probably get killed not knowing how crazy random people in NYC can be. I want to continue the thought experiment, since I started watching CURB a week ago and have enjoyed it a lot so far (I reached S01EP8 btw.). What I enjoy about CURB is that every episode revolves around people (sometimes only physically) close to Larry, each representing typical relationships and situations that we all face in our day to day. It’s his wife that is upset about something he did either at the end or beginning of the episode, friends or work colleagues he then spends time with, and a problem he is trying to solve in the midst of everything. Only few interactions are actually story, while most seem more made up in the spur-of-the-moment, making me wonder whether the script comprises “Improvise a discussion about XYZ” and the like only. Alright, enough with the shenanigan! We need a problem: Larry is planning to pitch a new script to Netflix that he named „Jeans aren‘t blue“ where he enacts Levis Strauss‘ rising to the creator of one of the most successful Denim brands in the world today. He was invited to an in-person meeting in their Brooklyn subsidiary, so he booked a room in Bushwick a few stops away along the L. On the day of the meeting, he is already running late and is rushing to the L, which is packed to the fullest. It’s summer and one of the few days that turns public transport into a sauna. He squeezes inside and grabs the main bar, next to a young lady in her early twenties, blasting IG and TikTok reels on loud without headphones on. The reel hasn’t even started yet and she keeps swiping, swiping, watching, and swiping another six times. Larry is obviously annoyed and tries to make the girl understand passive aggressively: “You can’t even ride the train in good-old silence anymore, can you?”, he says while heaving a long sigh. Nothing happens. She goes on and on, and doesn’t bother looking up even once. That should be the primary problem he encounters. However, we are talking about CURB, so it’s lacking a lot more conflict. Imagine the episode starts with him receiving a call from Netflix, urging him to come to the office the next day already, since the people interested in the script don’t have any other slots available in short term. Larry rushes to NYC and checks into the hotel late at night. Larry could not tell from the receptionist’s accent whether the door number was 311 or 211, and tries to read the information off of his room card – with no success. He meets another lady waiting in front of the elevator door who just pressed the second floor. Larry goes ahead and presses “3”, since he is pretty sure it was the third floor and not the second. It takes a good 30 seconds for the door to open, and both of them enter. After a few more looks at the card, he notices the room number written on the lower right corner of the card. The lady is slowly showing signs of nervousness around him, the small space and extremely slow elevator adding to her discomfort. As she exits the elevator, Larry confidently steps out as well, causing her to speed up to her room, with a few looks back to check whether the guy from the elevator is following her. As it so happens, the lady’s room number is 218, further back along the same hall as Larry’s room. Larry makes another left following the hotel signs to his room, when he realizes that the lady started sprinting the second she made the very same turn, and was struggling to open the door to her room. Larry sees that and instinctively shouts out: “HEY, ITS NOT, MY ROOM, ITS RIGHT HERE, IM NOT FOLLOWING YOU”, while the lady shuts her hotel room. Larry goes to sleep. Next, you see him waking up and realizing that he overslept. He rushes to the bathroom, cuts himself shaving a few times, wearing a black worn-out suit, and jogging to the elevator. He meets the very same lady again in front of the door, and tries to explain himself: She shouts “Get away from me, creep!”, and runs down the stairs. TBC