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[bladamofficial]

S-E-X-X-Why?

[bladamofficial]

FACE the Fax

“People’s Sexiest Man Alive…why though? Why me?”

Blake had finished his panned cakes despite the chortles of Gwen and Gavin’s children, and he had every intention of washing the pancake and drool off his face, but first he wanted to get his agent on the phone to get to the bottom of this sexiest man-person situation.

“Heyo Blakester -- how’s my People’s Sexiest client? Come on, you gotta tell me -- you MUST be gettin hella sex, right? Like, intercourse, all the time, now that you’re sexiest man-person, right? Dang my brother, how can you even drive straight with all that pussy smashing into your face 24-7? Lololol high five!”

“Walter — first of all, you know I don’t drive, ‘cause i got my license revoked — PROBLY ILLEGALLY — by Gainsville PD. And you know my legal team’s been filing paperwork for months trynta prove that golf carts don’t count as driving if you cut a hole in the bottom and scoot ‘em around like fred flintstone, but, meantime, I’m king gruber out here. And secondably — gruber, gold cart, gainsville or whatever — NO, I do not have pussies in my face all the time. I can’t even get my wife pussy in my face...” Shit this dude started cryin’.

Walter the agent was really sad; sad that the era of “i’m going through a tunnel” being a valid excuse to leave an uncomfortable phone conversation had ended. Beyond that even, he was just sad that Blake had nothing in his life and that Blake was a joke. But wait — wait a sec.

“Brake,” Walter says. “Blake. Check it. The Voice? It’s wrestling. Blake. Check it. Everything: is wrestling. Like, WWE and all the ones before. And it’s you and Adam. Blake do you know what a HEEL is? Do you know the diff between a FACE and a HEEL?”

Blake looked at his heels one at a time. Then he tried to look at his face by twisting his head round like an owl. He ended up walking himself in circles.

"Take this Barthes essay -- PLEASE!” Walter says. “Blakester, I’m faxting you a printout of a Barthes essay on wrestling.” 

“Blake, my client — this is our guidebook. We WILL mold you into a classic face, or a classic heel, just as the prophets foretold. People — both magazine and flesh — will never again be ‘confused’ about Blake Shelton, you got me?”

“I got you. I got you, Dadddy.”

“I am not your Daddy, bitch, and I’m hanging up the phone now. Read that motherfuckin’ Barthes, and call me in two days when you realize how much potential you have to live up to that SEXIEST title. Capice?”

“Capice. But like, I get that I can make out of this opportunity what ever I want. But why’d they select me in the first place for this magazine honor? What does somebody want from me? Walter, I got children laughin’ to my face in my own GD home...”

“I think it’s like how they do with the Dalai Lama … and other stuff too, I think maybe the Freemasons do it that way? Or … it’s a divine inheritance thing. Old school. It had to be someone, and when the People summoned the voices of the Gods, the Gods they said: Blake.”

“Okay, but…isn’t it divined to be, usually, someone still pretty uhhh, heheh, uhhhj, trynta think how ta say it, here…Usually it seems like the person they pick is always qui — extremely handsome…and I, I just have never thought of myself in that way, I don’t think I’m sexy; like, I’m just  a regular guy. That’s not a persona. I’m just real regular. And normal. I’m not photogenic. I can name 3 patrol officers from the police department in Gainsville who are, inarguably, sexier than I am. I have at least 2 male cousins who’re sexier than I am. Hell, I even got a bear skin rug…that’s sexier than I am, so WHY don’t you tell me..just what the hell are you trynta pull?”

“Brake...you’‘re blakin up there bud...didn’t quite catch that. You...a tunnel...read...Barthes...crackle crackle....”

[bladamofficial]

d.e.d.

“Did everybody die?”

“Did EVERY body die?”

“Did EVERYBODY die?”

“...Did everybody...die?”

“aHahaha”

“Hahahahaha”

“They’re laughin’ at you, boy. Know why? ‘Cause you’re weak. A real man — real man’s gotta be handsome. He’s gotta have: pronounced — but delicate! — cheekbones...twankly eyeballs...long, slender eyelash like a daddy’s long legs...a strong jawline — nothin’ like that marshmallow hat-stand you call a head. Oh, sure, you might be foolin’ some of tha gals down at the soda hall with that chin-strap beard, but I know what you’re doin’...and I just have one question for ya, son: Who are you rly trynta fool? How can you look at yourself? Where’s your self-respect...self-respect...your self-respect...”

Blake awoke on the floor with his boots still on. He’d drooled quite a lot, and his face had been lying partly on a magazine, like maybe he’d been trynta use it as a pillow. The magazine was really soaked in drool.

“It’s like The Hangover movie!” Blake croaked. Trying to hope for the bright side, I guess.

He has a point, though. It IS like The Hangover movie. He — like the film characters — wakes up after blacking out and now has to piece together what happened, so he knows whether he needs to report any major crimes. The main difference between Blake Shelton’s little episode here and The Hangover movie is that no one cares about Blake Shelton.

It’s easy to kick a guy when he’s down, so Blake knew that he needed to get up. Could he? He started wiggling his fingers and bending at his elbows and stuff, and — full range of motion.

He eased up to seated position, and he looked around. “Oh.” 

He was in his own home. His and Gwen’s home, though — lord knows — SHE’s know where to be scene.

“BLAKE!! DARRRRRRLING! HI-YAAAH!” Gwen said, as she high-kicked into the room wherein Blake had just awaken. “Got some hempseed rainbow panned cakes for your special day, MR. SEXIEST!!!! Race ya to the kitchen — last one there is LEAST SEXIEST!”

How on god’s green earth can she be so energetic? It’s like 2 in the afternoon! Wait — it’s 2? Aren’t we grown-ups? Why aren’t we at work?

Blake sighed, ran his fingers threw his dang hair, got himself up on his two darn legs like a real human man, and followed his real wife to their 3rd kitchen, the one in the 5th bathroom.

He noticed that she’d altered their grender-neutral bathroom sign so it now said UNISEXIEST! and the little humanbeing icon on the sign now had on a little cowboy hat. Blake would feel all warm inside about it if he weren’t suspicious she was patronizing him and had been doing so the entirety of their entirely real courtship and marriage.

Determined to keep a brave face in front of his wife and his sexy bathroom pancakes, Blake slid into his chair and said morning to Gravin and the kids. “Mornin.”

“Morning, SEXIEST,” Garvin needled, glancing over at his kids, who snickered on command at their father’s cruel mocking. 

Gravin may be an idiot, but there’s nothing like British kids snickering at your magazine cover over bathroom pancakes to make a guy feel sad. 

Still Blake tried to be a sport. What else could he do? He still had NO idea if he was being punk’d. At first, when PR-666, his public relations robot, told Blake he was in consideration for this People magazine award, Blake kinda shrugged like, Okay. I mean, he’d been on hella mag covers before, on account of being moderately famous, so what’s the big deal? Plus he remembered when several years ago, his very good friend Adam Levin was rewarded with the same sexy honor. And Adam often expressed to Blake that Blake was a pretty attractive guy, and jeez, Balke’s also even married to Gwen Stefani, who’s extremely sexy. So Blake figured the whole thing would float on by like leaves on a stream.

Nope. No leafs, no stream. Everyone noticed. Everyone noticed, and they stopped, and they laughed, and they pointed, and they snickered. They took the opportunity to make jokes online. His employees avoided eye contact with him. So did his stepchildren. He heard someone shout at him — “FAT-ASS!” — from a moving car while he was strolling the Venice canals alone eating a meatball sub yesterday.

After giving it some thought, he realized what this was — more fuel for the ongoing television narrative about the behind-the-scenes bromantic rivalry between himself and Adam Levine. Blake was so frickin’ tired of this storyline. It no longer made any sense. Wasn’t I a country singer? Blake wonders. Wasn’t I a performer? And now I’m just playing second sexiest fiddle to my tiny co-star and former best friend, for the amusement of whatever tweens or hospital patients still watch television. Old Blake, the frickin’ joke. There’s Adam, the cool hot rock star. There’s Gwen, the blonde one. There’s Miley Cyrus, the prodigal child. Jennifer Hudson, who became famous on a competing reality show and has a gorgeous voice. And maybe Alicia Keys as well or Kelly Clarkson, who was actually the first winner of the show! Or a different show maybe. 

And then there’s Blake — the goofy, doughy alcoholic with nothin’ underneath that Stetson. Waah. 

[bladamofficial]

"nude, face down”

[bladamofficial]

“Okay. Let’s do it.”

The HEAD, as it were, was PINK and approximately the size of an inflated moonwalk for a child’s birthday party. Adam and Blake, still holding sticky hands, were circumnavigating the thing slowly. Adam keeps glancing at Blake, looking for a reaction. Blake, on the other hand, is checking out this head, which appears to be the head of a monster, made of pink foam, and with its mouth open WIDE, and you can go inside the mouth cavity, it looks like. There was twinkly music faintly coming from it, and Blake saw twinkly lights going on and off inside the mouf.

“Do you want to TRY it, Blake?”

“Ahhh, I THINK so, Adam, but what exackly am I gonna be TRYIN to do here? Heh heh, I mean, is this thing ALIVE? Is it gonna SWALLOW me?” Blake gulped. Oh God what if this monster just swallows them up? Where the fuck would they go? Is there an esophagus and digestive tract down below the surface BELOW THE SURFACE? Or is this – really – a portal, to SOMEWHERE — ELSE?

Adam grinned. “Well, Blake, I can’t promise it won’t swallow you. But I CAN promise we can do this together, and I promise we’ll both be safe.” And Adam leaned in and gave Brother Blake a little peck on the cheek.

Blake glanced around, nervous someone would notice the brief dalliance. But the other boys around weren’t paying much attention, anyway, and Blake decided that, if Adam was doing this, and if it really is so life-changing like it seemed to be for him, and we can share this experience, whatever it is… “Okay. Let’s do it.”

They walked and stood before the creature’s gaping mouf. The creature’s eyes (there were two) were open wide and bulging. Almost like the MONSTER, itself, was afraid. Yipes! The monster’s hair was wavy, wacky and unkempt. The mouth had teeth — not too sharp, mostly like a human’s teeth. Beyond the teeth, a tongue. Pink. 

Adam whispered to Blake, “Take your shoes off.”

“What?”

“Do you TRUST me?”

“Yeh, well — wait, you mean, about the shoes thing?”

“Just, please take them off. We have to. It’s the rules.”

Blake hadn’t anticipated this, but, what the heck. He unlaced his waterproof LL Bean boots (part of the costume) as Adam unlaced his. They rose up, stood shoeless before the mouf, held hands, smiled at each other. And they half-hopped, half-stepped OVER the bottom row of monster teeth, ducking their heads so they didn’t hit the top row, and they landed upon the squishy tongue. Blake was squeezing his eyes closed in anticipation. He peeked one eye open, then the other, slowly, and gazed around the inside head. It was hollow, and it was pink just like the outside, and it had strings of white lights going up and down it. He peered over at Adam, expectantly.

Adam chuckled. “Lie down,” he said. Blake complied and Adam also lied down, next to Blake, on the tongue. Blake giggled as he kind of wiggled his butt into the soft foam. “This tongue feels soft,” he said.

“Shhhh,” Adam said, nicely.

“What do we do now?” Blake asked.

“Now — we just lie here, and relax, and observe. It’s about to begin.”

Adam fixed his gaze upwards, so Blake followed his lead. All of the sudden, the twinkly music started to become louder, the sound starting to fill the the inside of the head. It swelled and was no longer merely twinkling; it was a growing orchestra, a symphony of swirling music. And the LIGHTS! The lights started moving faster, in time with the music, and the lights were flickering on and off in patterns! First, the lights on this side would go – then that side – then this side again! It was beautiful. Blake wondered if an alien had written this song. The whole thing reminded him of a planetarium. But, SILLIER! And, no constellations.

The music was climaxing, and the lights flickered and flashed along with it. Adam squeezed Blake’s hand. Oh man! Blake thought. Are WE going to LEAVE this astral plane, or is SOMEONE else going to appear within OURS? His heart swelled with the music and his anticipation was hitting a high mark. ohmygosh ohmygosh oh my gosh, Blake thought. Am I going to see SPACE? My lost Mom? My dead Dad? The music was so loud now, and the lights were going in crazy patterns, and the tongue was almost vibrating. We must be moving incredibly fast, Blake thought.

Blake felt tears in his eyes. He closed them tight and breathed in and out, deeply. He was, he realized, Ready. Ready for whatever came next. He was with Adam. And they were safe. And Blake was Ready to learn about a mystery.

With his eyes shut tight, he felt the vibrating die down. The music grew quieter. The lights grew dimmer. The air became calm. The music was altogether gone. Blake knew it was time to open his eyes. To see. Where were they?

One eye. Two eyes, open. Adjusting to the darkness. They were still in the head. But the lights were out. “Adam – should we go outside?” he whispered. What if they were on the MOON now?

“Okay,” said Adam.

“You go first!” Blake said.

He watched Adam casually, nbd, step outside of the mouf. Blake opened his heart, his mind, and followed, stepping back over the teeth, ducking his head so he wouldn’t hit the top row of teeth.

He looked all ‘round. Looks like the same place, he thought. Same guys. Same party.

“What – what’s going on?” he asked Adam.

“Was that not INCREDIBLE?” Adam breathed.

Blake paused. “I – I don’t know, I – what – maybe it didn’t work for me. Do I look different?” He looked down at his hands. He looked back up at Adam.

“You do look different, Blake,” Adam said. “You look much more relaxed. Now, lemme see that handsome smile.” He poked Blake lightly in the ribs, then bent down to slip one of his boots back on.

“Oh – so — that was it?”

“You mean the Head? Yeah! We’ve been working on it for, well, I’ve only been working on it for weeks, but some of the crew’s been working on it for YEARS. YEARS! It was all Cain Woyne’s idea. It’s an art installation. Isn’t he an artistic genius?”

Blake looked up and behind him and glowered at the head. “Adam, what the fuck.”

“Oh, I just said, ‘ISN’T HE AN ART—’“

“No I HUUURD you, Adam. I hurd you. It’s just, well, now, how do I put this delicately?...I thought that was really fuckin’ stupid.”

“Woah. Blake. Are you serious right now? You can’t say that in here!” Adam hissed.

The Phillipses and Cherni were glancing over. Blake didn’t care. He was pissed! Adam had ditched him for THIS? And now he’s made him feel like a mother fucking fool. A giant head. Art installation. Cain Woyne. Bullshit! You call this art?

“You call this art?!?” Blake was letting his Voice rise, and now for sure all the Phillipses and Cherni were at full attention, as though Blake had just unexpectedly climbed aboard their ship.

“He’s kidding, fellas, ha ha ha,” Adam attempted to placate the guys. They bought it, enough for now. Adam knew he had to scooch Blake out of here before he did something regrettable.

“Blake, buddy, grab your boots,” he said. Blake ignored the boots, so Adam grabbed them and hustled to catch up with his buddy, who was fuming on his way out the door.

About 25 paces down the hall, Adam caught Blake, placed hand on his shoulder. He whispered emphatically: “Blake — WHAT is the matter with you? What are you going off about?”

“Adam! I thought we were going to travel to another dimension or some shit! This is all you talk about! And it’s just some artist’s ode to himself, his big ol’ fuckin HEAD, some stupid freak pink head with a dumbass song and some fuckin’ Christmas lights. Sheeeeeeit!” Blake said.

“Blake — wait, another dimension? What are you even — why would you think that?”

“Cause you’ve just disappeared from mah life and totally ditched me and totally started acting different, and your new friends at the restaurant were all so beautiful and creepy, and this party’s so fuckin’ weird with the Capt. Phillips shit and the vagrants. And where is this GD cult leader anyway?”

“Hm, I dunno. Actually I think he might be outta town or something. Visiting his parents or skiing or, I don’t know.”

“Okay, Adam. So you’re saying that your new ‘leader’ is just an artist, and your new ‘friends’ are just wayward hippies, and your great life-changing ‘project’ was a big foam head, which is basically just a worse planetarium that SMELLS LIKE FEET?”

Adam was taken aback by the question. “Well, yeah, Blake. I don’t know that I’ve ever really said anything to indicate otherwise. And I’m sorry you didn’t like the art. It’s subjective though, you know?”

Blake was scowling into middle distance. trying to get his bearings. What had he been looking for? What had he WANTED this to be? Magic?

“Blake — did you think that Cain Woyne was…a sorcerer?”

“Yeah I mean, kinda.”

“Blake, I understand. In a way, he is, as he’s touched so many people’s lives with his songs written (figuratively) about cancer research. But, you know, some people might call that science — not sorcery.”

“Adam. Could you just walk me back to the top of the driveway? I’m gonna Gruber back to me and Gwen’s pad. Gonna sit on a stack of pillows ten feet tall and think about a thing or two.”

Adam was sad. But he understood. “Totally.” He didn’t offer Blake his hand, didn’t try to kiss him. The two buddies just walked down that hallway and up through that bunker hole silently, side by side.

“Well…” Adam said. They’d reached the top of the driveway, and Blake was hailing his Gruber.

Blake sighed, ran his fingers through his greasy, greasy hair. “Goodbye Adam.”

“See ya round, Blake?” Adam said.

“See ya round, Adam,” Blake said. He dropped to the ground and rolled all the way down the driveway. His Gruber was there.

On the ride home, Blake got to thinking.

“I guess…” he murmured, “everything was really kind of just as it appeared to be.” The magic was gone. There was no more mystery around Adam’s new life, and Blake harbored no illusions about Cain Woyne’s bunker. The soup at the gluten freegan restaurant was just that: soup. And Captain Phillips was just an okay movie — according to rotten tomatoes, at least.

“Huh. I guess, art really IS subjective,” Blake said aloud, to no one, as he realized this. “Some people love Captain Phillips, and some people love the Laming Flips. And some people think a big pink musical foam head is good art.”

And some people like country songs, he thought silently. Adam always used to like Blake’s country songs. Blake smiled, remembering one time when the two were jamming out in between The Voice segments, in Blake’s trailer or dressing room or whatever celebs have for TV shows, and Adam grabs a guitar and he starts to play one of Blake’s songs, one Blake had written. It was the song, “She Only Loves Me for My Brand Name Truck,” one of Blake’s earliest hits. Adam sang it goofy, but it WAS a goofy song, and Adam’s Voice had never sounded better.

Blake’s heart was suddenly warm. And guess what else — yes, yes, his penis also was warm. Warm and hard, and sticking up. “Like magic,” he whispered. The Gruber driver rolled up the partition, and Blake smiled as he reached for his penis and watched the night go by out the window.

Adam felt a little dejected, but he wasn’t giving up hope about Blake. He assured his Woyne buddies that he was fine, Blake was fine, and that Blake had reacted positively to the piece, and that he’d said he thought it was like a combination of a Keff Joons and an 8-year-old’s ruined birthday party. Adam Levine wished the guys goodnight. He was going to strip out of his costume and crash in the bunkhouse.

I’ll call Blake tomorrow, see if he’s feeling better. Maybe he’ll want to go to lunch, Adam thought. He looked down; he was still holding Blake’s boots! I can’t believe he left without his boots! Adam thought. Just then he remembered from last week, when Blake’s different boot flew threw the air and hit Carson Daly in the head. BONK! Adam laughed out loud, and smiled, and remembered what Blake had looked like smiling that day. Adam grinned, and his heart swelled thinking about his best friend, Blake. And his dick, also, swelled. So very, very much. And so Adam, just as he was about to enter the bunkhouse, made a little detour around the back of the house instead.

Just about 20 paces from the house stood a grove of trees that Adam always thought felt so magical, like a shelter built by no one. Wow.

He ducked under the tree branches at the edge then worked his way to the grove’s center, where he’s become now fully ensconced in tree. A final private moment with his thoughts.

He unzipped his cargos and winced as he took out his throbbing hard cock. He groaned as he pleasured himself, and he sighed extremely loud with relief when he came into Blake’s left boot. His cum filled up the entire boot. It even dribbled out the side of the boot.

But this time, for the first time, in a while — in a long, long, long...long while — the jizz wasn’t thick or dark or scary.

It was finally the way it was supposed to be: millennial fuckin’ pink.

[bladamofficial]

C’mere

Adam gestures over to Blake, like, C’mere! from across the party. Adam’s standing half-in, half-out of what appears to be an underground storm shelter. A bit of light beaming up from below. The sun has gone down, and Blake WAS getting sleepy, and he had been truly considering leaving for the past 20 minutes while listening to an old pair of cargo shorts talk about fluoride. “Maybe fluoride in the water’s made YOU crazy, man, but I feel fine,” Blake said to the shorts as he rose to his feet. “See you fellas later.” Adam was about 70 paces away. I guess that’s where the inner circle is, like the real party is happening in there, underground, Blake was thinking. Would there be games? Face-painting? An all-male revue? Well, and wouldn’t you know, Blake’s dick, it’s going up.

Adam’s grinning ear to ear and when Blake reaches him, he grabs him by the hand. Adam’s hand, Blake notices, is incredibly sticky. “Is your hand covered in jam?” Blake asked. “No,” Adam replied, providing no further explanation as he guided his compadre down a stark stairwell lit with only one bare lightbulb, for some reason. “Is this bare lightbulb thing just for effect? I assume the wealthy property owner could afford more than just this creepy bulb to light his social bunker,” Blake said.

Adam laughed, like this: Ha ha ha ha ha ha. “Good one, Blakester,” he says.

WOW — hearing this nickname sent Blake’s dick shooting up to the sky like a rocket. But since they were downstairs, the dick blasted off and almost immediately was blocked by the ceiling, so it boomeranged right back, perfectly into its dick-slot, and hardly anyone noticed.

There’s a hallway, and at the end of the hallway, a rectangular shape — a doorway, perhaps, or at very least some type of portal — and from there comes a pulsating millennial pink-tinted light. As they grow closer, too, Blake can start to hear this music coming from the area. It sounds kind of like a jam band, maybe like one of the jam bands where they all have personas like they are forest creatures, and they are all extremely earnest about it, and never seem to remove their animal tails, and you sometimes wonder — Is one of these guys in the band actually a sexual furry and just also happens to play bass? Well, this music sounded like that type of music might, with earthy guitar riffs drifting nowhere, existing and then very much not.

Adam was looking at Blake like every second, like crazy, as he guided him slowly toward the light. They stopped, just 20 paces from the opening. “Blake — I don’t want to oversell this, but this is what we’ve all been working on with our genius leader, Wayne Coine. I know you’ve been thinking I’m gone crazy. But when you see this, I really think, your world...” Adam leaned toward Blake “is going to be 'A Whole New World.' Like in Aladdin.” And Adam leaned so so close and put his hot lil mouth right by Blake’s ear hole. “Do you trust me?”

“What—what did you say?” Blake stammered.

“Do you trust me?” Adam whispered again, even softer, even closer, his breath was tickling Blake’s ear and connecting directly to his dick chakra which was now on megafire or whatever. 

They remained there in that hot moment, breathing a little fast, a little hard. Though they didn’t say it, they were both thinking of the same thing: that part in the Aladdin movie where you can kind of hear Aladdin whisper something that sounds like, “Good teenagers take-off-their-clothes,” which was like some goofball Disney editor’s idea of a joke, as legend has it. 

“Mmmm,” Blake said, sort of responding to Adam’s question. Adam’s lips brushed Blake’s earlobe. It was intentional, and everyone knew it. Adam’s lips moved down to Blake’s jawline. He didn’t kiss him; he just let his pink lips linger there, just barely touching, breathing. Blake couldn’t really control himself. He’s only a man, after all. A human man. Full of hot, poison drool. He slowly began to turn, so slowly, toward Adam’s lips, wanting to meet them, finally, with his own. Zomg — there they were. Their lips were so nearly touching that they were practically TOUCHING. And they remained there in that taut sexual moment for so so long, until finally one of them leaned the rest of the way in and their lips finally, oh god finally, were kissing. Their lips were mostly closed, with Adam’s opened just the littlest bit, just enough to accept Blake’s tongue if Blake gave it to him. Blake tasted like skin. Adam’s lips were wet. Blake sure wanted to put his hands all over Adam, right there. He put BOTH of his small yet STRONG hands on Adam’s small, strong shoulders, one hand per shoulder. He started rubbing up and down Adam’s very upper arm, and squeezing him tighter, just a little bit. Adam, super quietly, moaned out. He put his palms on Blake’s chest area. Their kissing was getting slightly wetter, and it was making kissing sounds now. And they were both turning their heads to the side ‘n’ stuff. Blake growls so quietly but so deeply like he is a manimal who can barely control his urges. He forcefully but kindly opened Adam’s lips with his rough tongue, and Adam more than willingly accepted. He put his left hand on the back of Blake’s neck to pull him in tighter, and he started running his hand through Blake’s greasy, greasy hair. Blake fully encircled Adam with his somewhat strong arms and used his hands to explore the labyrinthine musculature on Adam’s back.

“Blake, wait.” Suddenly Adam was pushing Blake back. Adam was wiping his mouth with the back of his arm. “I need to calm down.” He straightened his Capt. Phillips glasses, which were hella steamed up, and he cleared his froat, and he said “Blake,” and he gazed into Blake’s warm beady eyes, “I’ve really gotta show you this. It’s going to change your whole life.”

Blake grabbed his hand and half-grinned. “Okay buddy. But after you show me yours, I’ma show you mine. And boy if that don’t change your life, nothin will.” He said it in a sultry country voice that Adam honestly didn’t know Blake truly had in him. Then he gave Adam that uncle-wink. 

Adam blushed, giggled, recomposed himself. He exhaled intentionally. He smiled at Blake, and they walked the 20 paces forward, dicks ablazin, and entered the millennial pinkspace.

It was a pretty large room, nondescript, like maybe a gallery space would look like. White walls and plenty of space, strategic lighting. There were a few Capt. Phillips types loitering around, faintly chattering. But it was obvious that the THING to see was a huge, 40-foot-tall pink pulsating MONSTER HEAD standing center of the room.

[bladamofficial]

Where’s Adam?

“Oh...wow, yeah...I definitely feel something kinda bumpy there...” Blake said, wincing.

He’s feeling the head of a middle-aged man called Bram who manages several residential properties in the Inland Empire. He’s feeling the head because, as Bram had explained, underneath his hair you can feel ridges -- ridges passed down to him by his reptilian ancestors. To Blake, the head felt pretty normal. A couple of bumps, sure, but everyone’s head got bumps. Don’t mean they’re lizard ridges. 

Bram was dressed as the Michael Chernus character from Captain Phillips. So was Thom, and so was Brad, and so was Carmichael and Tony and Damian and Jerome. Blake had barely seen a single female here. He was just sitting around a crackling fire with a bunch of wayward gentlemen. Blake was drunk still, but fading, and there was no drink available at the party. Only hummus. And they’d eaten it all. And where’s Adam?!?

[bladamofficial]

Grubermensch

“Adam, you don’t need to pick me up,” Blake had responded. “I’ll just take a Gruber [gray Uber].”

And so it was that Blake is now sitting in the back-back seat of a stretch Gruber, road Bud in each hand, dressed as the MIchael Chernus character from Captain Phillips, a movie which he had not seen but merely googled earlier that day. It was tricky to find a character in that film to portray that wasn’t Tom Hanks, becuase the pirates were Somali, and the actors who played them were all black, and Blake wasn’t sure he should try to pull something off with that. Also there’s literally only one female in that film: Catherine Keener, who plays someone also with last name of Phillips, so Blake was guessing that means she played Tom Hanks’ wife, but he couldn’t help but wonder, Are all the women at the party going to be dressed as Catherine Keener playing Captain Phillips’ wife? Catherine Keener is hot but Blake’s like, she just dressed in that film and acted like a normal human woman so, where’s the costumes in --

SLAM. The Gruber driver slammed the breaks and some of Blake’s beer slopped out and onto the crotch of his cargos. He leaned over and licked it off, feeling grateful for the traffic backup that was keeping him from the party. What? He was nervous! What if the girls, or Adam, or Wayne Coin, thought he didn’t fit in with the group? Or, what if the group actually was a cult, a really crazy one, and Blake ended up trapped there? Or what if they convert him? He couldn’t help but think about all the cults he had heard about: Heaven’s Gate, and the one his mom had joined in Korea. His mom always seemed fine in her letters home, said she was doing well, but she still felt a little more...distant. Maybe that’s just because of how heavily redacted the letters were. Heaven’s Gate, though, Blake knew about those guys. He didn’t want to cut off his own balls! Was Adam going to ask him to do that? Would he have to do it with a pirate sword? In front of everyone?

Blake’s beer slopped over again onto his crotch, but this time it wasn’t from a traffic slam. His hands were shaking, violently. He finished his Bud, crushed the can on his forehead, slipped it into his purse, then popped another Bud out of his travel cooler. I’m gonna be a lil drunk by the time i get there, he thought. But at least I’ll be a little more laid-back that way.

The Gruber inched its way up the 101 until finally they reached their exit, by the Sherman Oaks Target (the less nice one.) From there Blake knew it was only a 5 or 10 minute drive, and then they’d be there. He still felt nervous, so he popped another Bud. His last- that was probably for the best, he thought to himself. Yo ho ho.

The sun was just setting, rendering the evening in perfect twilight. God Adam’s gonna look handsome in this light, with his Captain Phillips glasses and polo t-shirt, Blake thought. I wonder if he put a little gray in his hair.

SLAM. “We’re here, sir,” the Gruber driver said.

Blake hiccuped and slammed the rest of his brew. “Thanks,” he mumbled as he rolled out of the car, which had pulled up just outside a big gate at the end of a driveway. He stood there for a moment, wondering how the heck he gets in here, but then he saw a little talk-box, so he went over to press the button.

“Yo ho ho,” he said to the talk-box. 

Crackle crackle. “Blake!! Buddy! It’s me, Adam! Come on in!”

As soon as Blake heard Adam on the box, he started to smile. Then he hurled all over the driveway.

[bladamofficial]

A bit more hidden

[bladamofficial]

It’s nearly the day of the gathering

“I dunno, man. I’m a country boy so I like nature ‘n’ stuff (Ed. note: he’s not actually referring to the chain store Nature ‘n’ Stuff, but like just, nature, and stuff), but your hippie cult sounds a lil’ bit out there, y’know?”

As the day of the gathering at The Church of Universal Harmony and Respecting Other People’s Space (CUH-ROPS) compound approached, Blake was losing his nerves. He expressed his hesitancy to Adam as they were clocking into work one morning.

Adam was ready for this, though. Blake’s skepticism may have deterred "old” Adam (pre-Woyne) from pursuing the matter. In those days, Adam Levine, when confronted with anything near rejection, would’ve taken it real personal and would prolly’ve reacted by running all floppy up to his Hollywood Hills home and jerking off into his infinity pool, crying, letting the tears and jizm coalesce into whatever it was that filled his infinity pool. Water? Who cares. Now, Adam’s HEART is an infinity pool. Filled still with ejaculate, yes, and tears, for sure, but also with tears from joy, and the ejaculate that comes only from orgasms of a profound spiritual nature.

Adam smirked at Blake. Same ol’ Blake. He knew what to do. “There’s a lot of LADIES at this place, bro. Broseph. And I mean, LAY-DEEZ.” And Adam definitely did mean ladies — historically the compound has welcomed all sortsa ladies: Grandmas, great-grandmas, escaped inmates, extremely sad teenagers, creepy twins holding hands, nurse practitioners, the bee girl (now a bee woman), illegitimate nieces, disbarred attorneys and celebrity Myley Cyrus. 

Blake was married to Glen Stefani from The Voice, but even Adam knew that theirs was not a love marriage. It was a magazine marriage, and those were sad. So, despite the wedding ring, Adam had a feeling Blake still had a weakness for the “fairer sects.”

“Ladies, huh...” Blake gave Adam the side-eye and started to grin. “Welll, then, Adam — tell ya what — “ he hesitated, took a huge deep bref — “I’m gonna do it. What time’s the party?”

Adam lurched forward as if to hug Blake, without even thinking, but managed to stop himself in time to turn the hug into a kinda bro shoulder bump, aka a brump. “The party’s on the solstice,” he said. “Do you know what that is? I don’t, but I’m probably gonna google it to find out. And it’s a costume party, and the theme is pirates, but not the Jack Sparrow kind but the real kind, from Captain Phillips, and I already called I’m gonna be Tom Hanks so you should choose a different character from that movie. I’ll pick you up a quarter to seven!” Adam held his hand up for a high-five real quick, but Blake had already turned away toward his trailer or dressing room or whatever. So Adam, thinking as quick as he could, did that move where you make it look like you were just rubbing your hair, not expecting a high-five, the whole time.

[bladamofficial]

back to the music

[bladamofficial]

“Tapas”

[bladamofficial]

[bladamofficial]

Everyone Iss Beautiful

How did the lunch go? Let’s find out.

Last we left our boys, they were laughing at Carson Daly’s head injury for what seemed like, and possibly was, the thousandth time.

Now it’s a different day (the one directly following the aforementioned), and Adam has taken Blake with him on lunch. They used to go to a variety of places for lunch: Earth Cafe, Erth Cafe, eARTh Cafe, Urth Cafe, Uurth Cafe, even ERRTH! Cafe if they were feeling fanciful. But Adam this day had been like, Nah, about all the usual cafes. He said, “Blake, according to my gluten-freegan diet, I can only dine at one LA-based restaurant: Coyne Star Cafe.”

“Coyne -- You mean like as in Wain Coyne? Or as in, small pieces of currency? Or, other?” Blake asked suspiciously.

“The first option,” replied Adam. 

They’re now seated at a table, one of those long tables where you have to like, share (sp?) with other customers. “Just a hot tea, Ingritte,” Adam told the waiter, who was a woman in a long rainbow poncho. The poncho was gorgeous, and all the staff members were donning them. Some of the patrons, as well, were.

“So...this is your new spot, huh?” Blake asked. He eyed around, taking it in. Everyone was smiling, it seemed. Or else they were wearing surgical masks with smiles painted on them, which counts, I guess.

Adam reached across the table, softly and gently touched Blake’s hand, which rested upon the tabletop. “It is,” he said. 

“Well...why dontcha tell me a little more about it?” Blake suggested.

“Ok Blake, I’m glad you suggested that. I’ve found a new group of friends — well, actually,” he said, glancing around at the smiling poncho’d individuals, “they’re more like a family.”

And he thusly told Blake about how uninspired he’d been before, and how he followed Miley Cyrus to a gathering, and how everyone at the gathering was so in touch with the life-spirit. And how Wain Coyne, the leader of the band Laming Flips and its spin-off arts collective/co-op, The Church of Universal Harmony and Respecting Other People’s Space, was the most inspiring of all.

“Master Wain wrote a song about cancer, once,” Adam told Blake urgently. “At least, I think it was about that.”

Blake nodded. He’d tried to bone up on Wain Coyne songs in anticipation for this convo, but it was like, tough, because the music to him sounded like an animal’s yowling. The music made him feel stupid. Because he just didn’t really get it — at least, not like how Adam obviously did.

“Cancer, huh?” Blake said. He took a sip of his gluten-freegan cup-o-soup, not because he particularly loved it but because he wanted to hide his facial expression. It was one of disdain mixed with envy. He idly wondered if he could get one of those smiling masks.

“Did you know that cancer affects many people around the globe?” Adam persisted. He was eye-contacting with Blake a lot, and he kept his hand on his hand as he continued. “And not only cancer, Blakester — there are other sicknesses too. And as artists —” he *squeeeeeezed* Blakester’s hand and winked at him like an uncle. “WE can educate people around the world about these diseases.”

“Yeahhhh,” Blake said, but he only partly meant it. Adam’s obsessed with diseases now? he’s saying to himself. “Who even is this mutherfucker anymore?” That last part was not supposed to be in quotes, because Blake didn’t intend to say it aloud. But on accident, he did, and thus it consequently was.

“Woah, woah--hostility alert!” Adam said. Blake assumed he was just using the popular turn-of-phrase “______ alert!” But Adam kept saying hostility alert, louder and more forcefully, clapping his hands along with his chanting, and he climbed up onto the table. He cupped his hands around his mouth and kept chanting it, like an alarm.

As if on cue (actually, it was a cue), all the restaurant staff and even the patrons as well began humming in harmony. Then one young man began to sing some words. Another strummed a mandolin. The others soon joined in humming, and Blake found himself swept up as the entire group of people in the restaurant reached out, held one another’s hands and formed a great big circle. And the people sang:

“Everybody, ehhh-verybody / everybody, ehhh-verybody / Deep in the world tonight / Our hearts beat safe and sound / Get out what’s inside of you / Just let yourself get down...”

Adam was singing along too. He knew all the words. He held Blake’s hand in one hand, and he was holding Ingritte’s hand in his other. He nodded encouragingly toward Blake, as if to say, Join on in.

“Join on in,” he whispered.

“I don’t even know the words, tho,” Blake says.

“None of us do, tho,” Adam says.

“Yeah you do tho,” Blake says.

“No Blake — YOU do,” Adam says.

“No...” Blake says. But then he starts thinking — well now, DO I know the words tho? It sounds crazy, but he thinks, what the heck. So he starts to hum, matching the pitch of the well-tuned chorus, and then he opens his mouth wider and then out poured the words that, he guessed, must have been residing in his heart all along.

“Everybody, have fun tonight,” he sang. “Everybody, ehhh-verybody / Wang Chung tonight.” His eyeballs were feeling warm and calm. He squeezed Adam’s hand back, and Adam winked again. 

“I’m so proud of you,” Adam whispers, then signals with his hands for the group to stop singing. “This,” he says to the whole cafe, “is our brother Blake.”

“Hello dear Brother Blake!” the chorus said in unison. Brother — Blake actually liked the sound of this. He’d always considered Adam to be like his sexy younger brother, so this seemed an affirmation of their relationship. And Blake is feeling like they are almost, but not quite, back together again (as friends).

“Hey, brother Blake,” says a smiling man who approaches the table. “Would you be able to join us this Friday evening? At the Compound. We’re going to be singing, lighting various things on fire, setting intentions, and celebrating our greatest achievements.”

Blake preferred Bud Light and butt sex, but he knew this was his chance to get into Adam’s new world, and it seemed a lot easier than sneaking around like a ninja-cowboy as he’d planned previously.

“I’m in,” he says. Everyone claps, the circle disperses, and they’re back to soup-sipping and floor-sweeping.

Adam looked deeply into Blake’s eyes, their hands still joined. “I’m so, so happy you’re coming, my brother,” he says to Blake. Blake couldn’t keep from smiling. “I am too, Adam,” he says. And he meant it. And his dick was so, so fucking hard. [[FADE OUT but with SWIPE EFFECT]]

[bladamofficial]

Blake, unable to admit that he finds himself bored and under-satisfied on the daily, decides to follow Adam, secretly, to his new hangout spot, which is some type of compound up north that’s run by musician Wain Coyne. 

So Blake’s talking to himself in his trailer or dressing room or whatever TV stars have as he’s putting on an all-black ninja/cowboy type of costume that’s both consistent with his personal brand (ninja) and the type of costume one needs to tail a former flame FRIEND inconspicuously (cowboy). Blake actually had those two things backward but fortunately, it ended up evening out, so much so that no one, not even Blake shimself, would ever know how wrong he was. Why anyone would think that a cowboy costume is not only appropriate but the MOST appropriate outfit to wear to inconspicuously tail a former(?) friend is truly daft beyond human comprehension. And when one’s stupidity is so inconceivable as to be undetectable, well, then you got yourself a brand, baby. I guess.

He’s getting this dumb-ass outfit on, trying on a variety of black Stetsons, examining his profile in the mirror, and he’s having a lot of trouble deciding on one. What? He’s gotta whole lotta Stetsons, okay? (Shelton-heads will probably recall Blake’s 2004 chart-topper “What? I Gotta Whole Lotta Stetsons, Okay?”

The clock’s hands, both long and short, were moving, as they do, and before Blake even realized, the whole weekend had passed. And he’s still standing here trying on these hats.

“Fuck!” Blake said. It was unfortunately time again to clock in for another day at The Voice, and he’d not had the opportunity to tail Adam over to the compound. Blake promised himself that he’d do it this week. Like, today. Oh shit, but tonight he has to show up to some charity event with his “wife” (she is, actually, his wife) Gewn Stephani.

“Tomorrow night, then,” Blake whispered to himself. He decided to wear on The Voice the black outfit/Stetson he had on currently, and he just waltzed on out to his big red chair and smushed his ass right into his little ass-groove. Bieber’s a guest tonight, and he’s going to be performing with the Tupac hologram AND the Kanye hologram (nah, he’s not dead — it’s just a lot easier to deal with the hologram. And yes, I AM talkin about Tupac LOL for real tho), but instead of being SO excited, Blake was singularly obsessed about Adam, who’d taken to smiling vapidly, doing prayer hands a lot and dressing only in long ponchos — and Blake knew this was no good.

“This is no good,” he murmured, drooling quite heavily. His neck was wet.

“My neck is wet,” he murmured.

Adam walked over.

“Hi,” Adam said.

“Oh, Adam, hey,” Blake said, casually.

“I noticed Blake that you — are you drooling, Blake?”

“Fuck no,” Blake said. But the wetness of his lower face and neck told quite a different story.

“Listen,” Adam says. “My — well, our — gluten-freegan diet might really help you with your slobber problem (sloblem). Here, why don’t you have a look at this informative zine” — he stuck his hand WAY up under his robe skirt and pulled out a lil informative zine -- "about poison. See, what it is when we drool, it’s poisons that have accumulated within our bods and are now overflowing because there has become just too much poison in there. When General Monsanto processes food, see, he puts poison into it. And add that poison to the chemtrails poison from the air, the fluoride from the dentist’s office, and the BPA that seeps into your body through your subconscious while you dream, and really that’s just too much poison. It’s — not natural. But I don’t want to sound preachy, Blake. Forgive me.  Here, just this lil zine contains some information that might teach you how to not ingest those poisons in the first place, thus reducing your sloblem. Only read it if you WANT to, and there are drawings in there as well, in case you’re illiterate.”

Accepting the zine, Blake, rolled his eyes. “Sounds cool,” he said. “Not,” he whispered.

“How about we do lunch — tomorrow. And I’ll show you,” Adam says.>

Ooooohh — a lunch date! Blake is over the moon. But as nonchalantly as possible he says, YES YES, ONE THOUSAND TIMES YESSSSS! to Adam. He also jumps out of his The Voice chair and high-kicks, and one of his slick black cowboy boots slides off his foot and goes FLYING and hits Carson Daly in the head. BONK!

Carson Daly looks around like, “Hey!” but cannot figure out where this boot comes from! He scowls and rubs his head with his clipboard.

Blake, Adam both collapse into fits of giggles. This heartens Blake.

“My heart,” he whispered. “It’s so strong.”

Chuckling still, Adam patted Blake on the back. “See ya ‘out there,’ buddy. Lunch tomorrey.” He finger-gunned Blake as he walked backward to his own Chair.

Blake looks down at this lil zine. It’s the size of Blake’s left palm, and it’s extremely warm — and extremely wet. The ink is running, and all the words and pictures are already melted off. Is this moisture from my mouth, from underneath Adam’s robe, or other? Blake wondered. Mystified, he looked left, right, then discreetly licked the lil zine. Hm, yeah, I definitely taste my own slobber, he thought. But then again, there’s a lil somethin’ else here on this zine, taste-wise. He slyly gazed over toward Adam, who’s got his prayer hands goin’ over in his The Voice chair over there, and Blake felt just a bit certain that some of this superfluous fluid came from Levine, gluten-freegan or no. Sometimes, Blake thinks, there’s no denying the wet, wet truth of nature.

Blake is excited about Adam connecting with him over Carson Daly’s possible concussion, not to mention their forthcoming LUNCH DATE, and this motivates Blake more than ever to follow through on his stupid-ass plan to tail Adam to Coyne’s tomorrow after school. He’ll listen closely for clues at their new friendship lunch, to learn all he can about gluten-freeganism, Wain Coyne, long ponchos, and total fucking idiocy, so that he’ll know what he’ll need to do to Get. Adam. Back. 

[bladamofficial]

[bladamofficial]

H000 b0y

Fast forward: Now it’s like three weeks later, and Adam is putting finishing touches on his (and band’s) new album. He ended up calling it, Woyne Star (The Album, by Maroon Five), and the title track is about meeting a new group of friends and working on a secret construction project underground. 

So Adam, in the past three weeks, ended up re-conceptualizing this album. Originally it was going to be kind of about blake skelton (shh) and feelings and sexy lower backs, but lately Adam been hanging out with a new crew of peeps, and he not been thinking quite so much about brake sheltkon. 

He now thinking more about his new friends, especially the one they call Cain. Cain Woyne is the king friend, king of the friends. The reason he king is because, he knows more than everybody else and is extremely charismatic and is always correct about everything, and he make music, he make art, he make people come together at an outdoor area. Togetherness was something adam had never experienced in his real life. While yes he is good friends with his tattoo artist and other people he pays, and of course Blake USED to be a close friend, and Adam is married, also, but Adam, he has never had a group of friends before. 

He’d actually been spending some nights, even, over at the compound, ‘cause it would get very late under the Stars. Hours go by and he does not even notice, because he is talking to interesting people or he is helping put together little pieces of some type of structure. Whenever Adam has asked, “What is this?” about the structure, his question is met with averted gazes and half-smiles and “oh, you’ll see — in fact, everyone will see, soon enough”s, but Adam’s like, "Cool beans, whatever, i am just happy to be hear!” and he keep hammering or slicing or pasting away. Right now, the structure resembles the outline of a lower jaw. 

Anyway it’s cool, Cain has this bunk house on the land, and actually a lot of folks spend their nights there, too. So Adam might sleep on one top bunk, and below him on the bottom could be anyone from Miley Cyrus, who introduced Adam to this shit, to Ginuwine, to a man named Paul who’s down on his luck, to Joey, a young newspaper boy (he 19 years old) with shaggy blondish hair and an embarrassed smile. Adam thought Joey was really funny, and so often Adam would try to get the same bunk as Joey. 

See, Cain makes a lot of really important art — it’s MORE than art though, Adam and the others would say. It’s more than art because it’s going to transform the entire world. Adam is unsure how. But he hasn’t thought about Blake in weaks. Yes, Adam attends the The Voice tapings, but he’s kind of just in and out, punch in punch out, instead of hanging around in or near blake’s trailer or dressing room or whatever famous stars have for television shows. 

Even the other day, Blake, who’s still kinda doing this marriage thing with Glen stephani, he said, “Adam, my man! I feel like I never see you anymore! Y’oughta come by the house me ‘n’ Gwen got. It’s great – it’s real...interesting!” Gwen, being the artist of the couple (Blake, despite being a singer, isn’t so much an artist type as he is a ... load-bearing type of person, primarily), totally took control of the home decor. She is a designer, so as you can imagine their house is like POW. Adam politely said he’d definitely try to stop by soon, but he’s yeah just been busy with his new album, plus, he told blake, he’s working on a collaboration that’s something pretty new for him, and that was referring to the Cain Woyne workshop where he pretty much lives now.

Blake says, “Alright buddy! Ima call you soon, ok? Hey — you feeling ok? You just look a lil’ tired. And skinny. And, overall, bad.”

Adam gives Blake a little half smile. “Well, I’m kind of a gluten-free freegan now, so, just carrots from the trash or carrots that have fallen naturally from the trees. It’s a great diet. Plus it’s making my skin orange, and that is a sign of happiness.”

Blake eye narrow. “Alright. Don’t be afraid to call me, ok, cause, I feel a little bad that we haven’t been spending so much — “

“Blake I hate to cut ya off, pal, but I’m actually late to this... thing, over at the Woyne place. Really great to talk to ya.”

“See ya soon, Adam my buddy!”

“Cool beans, Blake.”

Cool beans?!?! Blake thought. Wtf?!?! When did Adam start saying cool beans? Something is going on. Carrots, beans... this ain’t the fella I used to be in lo– be in a friendship with. He watched Adam walk away, and Adam had this real goofy bounce to his step OH SHIT, blake realized all the sudden. Adam met someone. He got a special lady now i bet. He’s like happy for his friend and all but primarily now Blake is just fucking SEETHING with jealousy and unable to admit this to himself. Later, he punched a whole in the wall of his trailer or dressing room or whatever. NBC Facilities repaired it but sent Blake a warning email, which he ignored because of his wealth and the celeb industrial complex.

WTF, blake thinks. W.T.F.