As anyone with even the faintest familiarity with The Sugar Frosted Nutsack 2: Crème de la Sack knows, Ike is supposed to make a lewd mandala of Italian breadcrumbs for the Goddess La Felina, and then engage in an extended adagio with the waitress at the Miss America Diner, and write his narcocorrido, “That’s Me (Ike’s Song).” And then he’s supposed to get high with his daughter’s boyfriend, Vance, and make a list for him called “Ten Gods I’d Fuck (T.G.I.F),” and neglect to include Shanice, which incurs her eternal enmity (FYI: La Felina was #1 on his list).
And then the scorned Goddess is supposed to wage a vindictive campaign against Ike that begins with her inducing the zoning board to ban Ike’s latest pornographic monument to La Felina—“a teetering monolith of marzipan.” (“Ike laughs, gathering up his notes and tapping them against the table into a tidy stack: ‘Look, guys…you’re fated to authorize the demolition of my pornographic monument to La Felina. I’m fated to die in the confrontation outside my modest two-story hermitage after performing my narcocorrido with my band, The Kartons. So why don’t we just get this over with?’”)
(But, of course, XOXO—who fucks with your mind, who will discomfit any denouement — is preventing everyone from “just getting this over with.”)
And then Koji Mizokami is supposed to help Ike shoplift an Akai MPC drum machine from a Sam Ash on Route 4 in Paramus, New Jersey, and Bosco Hifikepunye begins supplying Vance with the hallucinogenic drug Gravy to sell on the street. And La Felina promises Ike that before he martyrs himself, she’ll appear to him in human form and fuck him, and she says she’ll get in touch with him on his cellphone and let him know exactly when and where.
And then a God (very possibly Bosco Hifikepunye) is supposed to impregnate Ike’s teenage daughter while Ike is interviewing for a butcher’s job at Costco. (Ike says to the Costco meat department manager re: his relationship with the Goddesses: “I’m just a fantasy they jerk off to.” Explaining a gap in his resume, he says that during Spring Break in 1989 he was hit by a Mister Softee truck, but told police that it was a Hasidic ambulance in an effort to foment an apocalyptic Helter Skelter — type war between club kids and Hasids. And, in response to a question about his “availability,” Ike tells him that he can only work for a week because he’s going to be killed on Friday by Mossad sharpshooters.)
Then Ike is supposed to accidentally kill his father as they wrestle for Ike’s cellphone because Ike’s father is trying to change Ike’s ringtone from “Me So Horny” to John Cage’s 4'33''—the composer’s notorious “silent composition,” which would almost certainly ensure that Ike misses La Felina’s call, which, for Ike, is “the booty-call of a lifetime.”
(None of this is going to happen, of course, as anyone with even the faintest familiarity with The Sugar Frosted Nutsack 2: Crème de la Sack knows, because it all has to be set in motion by Ike making his list of Ten Gods I’d Fuck (T.G.I.F.), which XOXO is thwarting in his effort to sabotage the epic.)
And on the morning of his father’s funeral, Ike is supposed to wake up with an incredibly gross case of conjunctivitis, and then try to pull the pillars of the synagogue down and crush the congregation, and then his daughter is supposed to give birth to a half-divine, half-mortal infant named Colter Dale. (“Colter Dale’s teenage mom is not even pregnant for two whole days — she got pregnant on Tuesday night and gave birth on Thursday night, about forty hours later. Even hamsters and marsupial cats have longer gestation periods! This preternaturally truncated pregnancy could simply be the result of the exceedingly clever way that episodic reality is edited (see TLC’s I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant and MTV’s Teen Mom), or it could point to a wider trend that experts are noticing in which very young mothers, after preternaturally truncated pregnancies, are giving birth to precociously mature infants who almost immediately get pregnant or father children themselves, each generation a miniature version of that which preceded them. This is being called The Russian Nesting Doll or Matryoshka Doll Phenomenon. Shorter and shorter gestation periods for pregnant teens who are giving birth to precociously mature infants may not be the result of endocrine-disrupting chemicals like polybrominated biphenyls or phthalates or high-fructose corn syrup or smartphone radiation, as experts have previously proposed, but may actually be caused by military-grade ass-cheese and Gravy leaching into the water supply.”)
And soon after that, the The Kartons are supposed to begin their “Last Concert” (which is also their first concert). Ike, who has refused to suspend work on his banned monument, his “teetering monolith of marzipan,” wears an impenetrable, bulletproof protective groin cup, fashioned for him by Bosco Hifikepunye, the God of Miscellany (Fibromyalgia, Chicken Tenders, Sports Memorabilia, SteamVac Carpet Cleaners, etc.), at the behest of La Felina. “This is the first single from our new album, Folie à Famille,” Ike says in his raspy, almost inaudible whisper. “We call it a ‘narcocorrido’ because it’s about mortal men who traffic in Gravy.” Ike’s daughter plays her bass guitar tuned to cello standard tuning, in intervals of fifths (C — G–D — A) using a banjo string for the high A. She’s recently been seen using a five-string setup, tuned to C — G–D — A–E, with banjo strings for the A and E.
After the performance of the narcocorrido, Ike is supposed to retreat back into his hermitage. Rocking Colter Dale’s cradle as canisters of nebulized military-grade ass-cheese and 3-Methylfentanyl (the aerosolized fentanyl derivative that Russian Spetsnaz forces used against Chechen separatists in the 2002 Moscow theater hostage crisis) shatter the living room window, he taps his ring on the tabletop, and, blind from the gas, begins chanting The Sugar Frosted Nutsack 2: Crème de la Sack to the infant, in its entirety, from the very beginning: “There was never nothing. But before the debut of the Gods, about fourteen billion years ago, things happened without any discernable context. There were no recognizable patterns. It was all incoherent. Isolated, disjointed events would take place, only to be engulfed by an opaque black void, their relative meaning, their significance, annulled by the eons of entropic silence that estranged one from the next. A terrarium containing three tiny teenage girls mouthing a lot of high-pitched gibberish (like Mothra’s fairies, except for their wasted pallors, acne, big tits, and T-shirts that read “I Don’t Do White Guys”) would inexplicably materialize, and then, just as inexplicably, disappear.…” And using his distinctive periodontal curette, the God XOXO engraves the epic into the smooth tabula rasa of Colter Dale’s mind.…(Colter Dale (half-divine) is immune to the nebulized mixture of military-grade ass-cheese and 3-Methylfentanyl that the Mossad is pumping into the hermitage.)