But just as I was acclimating to the emergent reality, Ariana Grande came through the elevator doors and pranced down the runway, wearing a Teffilin. Katy guided, with her lactating vibrations, the anti-matter produced from Lucy, right into it.
Trying to back away, I bumped into something. It was Johnny, caught in an aberrant envelope that caused him to phase shift in and out of a Nashville wormhole. I was worried I'd get trapped in it too.
"Son, there's enough anti-matter in that there phylactery to kick Iran's butt. Bring that Hassan down to his knees. We plan to soak Putin's pineal gland in it, lubricate his unconscious mind with it! After all, I am for the working man." He said to me.
Wayne saw how astonished I looked. "Hey, at least that anti-stuff isn't oozing out of Theodor Herzl's bones. I don't think any cowboy would be able to stay on that Bull when it cyclones the masses into worldwide riots. Like it has before."
"Nor could I play any of my songs on it." Cash lamented.
I just wanted Ariana to take me away from this floor show. She seems to have read my mind and came over. The anti-matter caused the Teffilin on her head to glow white hot.
"Sweetheart, this will seal the deal." She said and branded me on my cheek with the box and gave the smoking wound a kiss.
"There, there." Katy stopped humming. "You're in the club now. So enjoy."
Both the fine looking fillies wrapped their arms around mine and we went back up above ground. Sure was nice showing my trophy girls off in the lobby of the Luxor and for the first time in my life, I actually felt loved and accepted on so many levels.
We went outside and sat between the paws of the Sphinx and did some lines of Evaporated Cain Juice. I was invincible and shared many a script secrets with my dates, a feeling of total trust pervading.
There's no way Hollywood could betray me now. Not with this level of consciousness.