Phi11y’s P-Hines{T} /> #Hardcore PHant-[O]m$: Part Three, Chapters Three and Four

Excerpts from r(E)volutionized contributor John Corry’s satire Phi11y’s P-Hines{T} /> #Hardcore PHant-[O]m$

Physical front, back and spine of Corry’s Phi11y’s P-Hines{T} /> #Hardcore PHant-[O]m$.

Physical front, back and spine of Corry’s Phi11y’s P-Hines{T} /> #Hardcore PHant-[O]m$.

12/10/18, 4:31 pm EST

By John Corry

From the flap:

“Imagine if Tom Wolfe had been born in 1975 and instead of writing 'Radical Chic and Mau-Mauing the Flak Catchers' in 1970, he'd have written a book about the state of society and it's obsession with social media, internet fame and all of the intricacies that go along with it. On shrooms. Using Chuck Palahniuk's 'Pygmy' as his sole piece of inspiration.... you'd have John Corry's 'Phi11y's P-Hines[T] /> #Hardcore Phant-[O]m$'.” -Travis Besecker (author and comedy writer)

After 19-year-old reformed gang member Randall Gähstŭr is brutally murdered at the start of the Baltimore riots of 2015, the subsequent investigation leads both his former closest friends and the two very different special agents assigned to investigating the case into a web of conspiracy involving everything from police corruption, to global world domination, to manipulated/unnecessarily clung-to gang violence (relatively defined), war, and, eventually /> r(E)volution.

Every Monday and Friday, we’ll be releasing 1-2 chapters of r(E)volutionized contributor John Corry’s Phi11y’s P-Hines{T} /> #Hardcore PHant-[O]m$. You check it out here, get a free PDF here, or check it out on Amazon, or on Barnes and Noble.

Parental discretion is advised.

III

April 27th, 2015

5:17 p.m.

Am(d)azed and confused #FuckingLedZeppelinDawg,FUCKYea #MusicOnlySeesColor,Right? , Palmer found himself back in his goddamned place in the passenger’s seat of Gestarrè’s car on its way out of West Philly.

=D[1]

The two hadn’t said a word to each other since leaving the raid. After the shooting stopped, they cuffed Jaáfar, brought him back to the cars so quick that one could have mistaken him for simply disappearing into thin air! In fact, with the abundant media coverage given to it in the weeks that followed #Sarcasm #DoubleUEeeeeeeNBC #WTFNBC??? #IMUSTKnowWhoSho-tWho!! , this wouldn’t have been too far off.

:([2]

It was well known that the apartment raided belonged to someone involved in the LOVE organization. This (love) LOVE organization/movement, as so preemptively just referred, was founded in the late 60s, and created, specifically, absolutely and with full honesty, to better the lives of the people, whatever race, gender or religion they may have been. They were arguably unlike any other civil rights movement in the history of the United States (though, arguably, #SCLC [3]), if anything, because they went about their business behind the scenes, seemingly not trying to force anybody into doing anything, but quietly leaning them in the direction of self-realization–through absolute nonviolence #TheOnlyAbsolute –while simultaneously loudly (or as loudly as they could) waking her/him up to the harsh realities of the era, and respecting her/his right to be an Individual before a necessary part of Society.

LOVE liked to say that they were the ultimate portrayers of true human dignity, the kind in which love, acceptance and Living always triumphed over hate, judgment and over-analysis/over-thought-stimulation (no-thinking). They were part-icularly respected by the impoverished inner-city Philadelphia community of the time, in the 60s and 70s (before Jaáfar was taken into custody in 1974, and before the movement went far underground for a few decades), or at least the 5% of them who were actually informed #LayOffTheSauce(Drugs/Violence/EG-O/JustifableFrustration/Empathy/Condescendence )[4] .

Ràbbani Jaáfar was indeed the leader and creator of this movement, though he always insisted that he was just the face /> “There is no single leader or creator of any civilized movement worthwhile,” or so he’d say (><). Over the years, and following Jaáfar’s imprisonment for allegedly killing a police officer (for which he was later found not guilty, thanks to a DNA analysis, and after serving 30+ years on death row just FYI, to reiterate #ForTheRecord*ForTheRecord*ForTheRecord ), LOVE had lost its original, more ‘in-your-face’ edge in favor of a more publicly nonviolent approach, though slowly calculating its peaceful comeback in the underground, awaiting the perfect time to resurface itself into the minds of the masses or /> the people who actually cared about realistically bettering their world. As a result, LOVE combined the peaceful and unifying views of Martin Luther King Jr. with Malcolm X’s bellicosity and consciously revolutionized intellect, and it worked out very nicely (kind of like how it would have for those two had they lived a little longer? #WTFHappenedThere? #TheMoreYou-Know #IWonderWhyThere’sAProblemWithBlackLeadershipIn-2015 #Still,Don’tRetreatFullyIntoEmotion,Dude ).

By the time Jaáfar was finally released in 2015, every facet of American society was ready for a change of thought, even if many didn’t know it yet. People who thought for themselves, or who had the opportunity to /> they loved Ràbbani Jaáfar.

<3[5]

Unfortunately, this also meant that people fuckin’ hated him </3 :( =H[6].

LOVE fought hard to bring equal civil rights to those who’d seen those rights evaporated once money got itself involved as if it were a person ($). Money is not a person (is it?), but with many of the messages brought up by Jaáfar’s, and LOVE’s, mere existence, let alone a potential comeback in the 2010s, many people were going to lose a lot of money (or assets) if those messages ended up turning into anything material (societal) #FUCKThePharmaceuticals . Screaming conspiracy (!) and claiming grounds for retaliation only acceptable if such an allegation were true would, however, miss the point of what it (LOVE), as a group, or a recognized coalition of Individual voices, each with her or his own reasons for involvement, pasts and futures, was fighting for: to let Individuals decide–for her or himself (singular)–to come together, and to love one another in denial, or in spite of, that primal hatred, that natural fear, that focused uncertainty so ingrained in our history, so apparently built into our bones, which can be so blinding or overwhelming once over-thought, fully ignored, or ingrained into a centuries old committed analysis ‘necessary’ for man’s continuing survival ($).

This was the ultimate goal of the time, Jaáfar thought: not to form ‘resistance’ movements, or to argue as if there’s no other path to sympathy or life than the one I know–the number of paths is infinite!–but to come together naturally, and without force[7], not just to hold those who knowingly hold the rest of humanity back responsible for their chosen ignorance, but also to evolve, and to grow with that idea (of the unknown-though-infinitely-good #Love (or whatever you want to call it)), together, because, whether we like it or not, everyone grows and must adapt to a changing life and to a changing world–everyone–or else watch our/her/his approaching doom as an infant spider born just the moment too late.

Palmer knew of Jaáfar’s history, and he found himself a ‘supporter’, or at least a sympathizer, as far as he could tell, but he would never let anyone at work find that out about him. Cops didn’t like alleged cop-killers #Ice-T ==HHH, even in spite of the fact that said allegations were eventually proven false (despite proven innocence, most cops still absolutely hated Ràbbani Jaáfar, for whatever reason[8]). As recently stated: Jaáfar spent over thirty years on death row before his trial was finally appealed and he was proven innocent the whole time. But now, currently, around 5:20 or so on that April 27th in the ‘year’ of 2015, it seemed as though his ‘demons’ had come back to haunt him /> again ><… and again and again and again and again and again and again–

Eventually, like all of us (or: none of us at all x8( ), Jaáfar had gotten over the fact that no one would ever let him forget or move on naturally.

He’d kept as low of a profile as he could in the three days since he’d gotten out, and that was the most Palmer knew about the situation (that, and much of what I’ve just described). Though, in addition to all that, regarding Palmer’s knowledge, he also knew that there had been a number of allegations of cover-ups and frames on the part of the police force throughout the entirety of Jaáfar’s case, dating as far back as his Panther days in the early 70s. The FBI’s Cointelpro[9], their infiltrations of black organizations including everything from The Nation of Islam to The Southern Christian Leadership Conference to Death Row Records, being one of several avenues taken for this direction.

‘:(

All Palmer knew for sure #FaSho #ThaBestWords *TheBestWordzzzz , as he sat silently in the passenger’s seat of Gestarrè’s always-moving police vehicle, was: that when Sergeant Fucs walked up to him standing all alone in the corner of the room staring sadly at the ground :’(, and said to him, as everyone else congratulated each other: “Don’t worry about this Palmer,” with a hard slap on the back, “you’ll be informed of the details in a few years,” that the hairs as far as the back of Palmer’s hands and spine stood up in ‘mistook’ unease. Palmer knew of corruption of course, as everyone does, but just as the world can’t see its full beauty when looked at only in terms of its own individual, separate parts, he never thought it was real, never thought it was anything more than just a conspiracy theory for anti-gun nuts (XD).

‘Corruption is just an alibi people use to justify their own shortcomings. It only means as much as people allow themselves to normalize it.’ –Quote by some idiot (me (the writer)).

And now, with the stark reality of standardized deception, in those dark days of the unkempt and the disillusioned, Palmer was finally beginning to find out that people did indeed act on it /> they acted on it real fuckin’ hard ($), fuckin’ assholes. In fact, they acted on it like, all the fucking time, fuckin’ Douchebags, and in every facet and dark corner of Individual and Society/ Mind.

Real fuckin’ Douchebags, they were.

Real fuckin’ Douchebags…

>< >< >< >< ><[10]

IV

April 27th, 2015

5:27 p.m.

Palmer and Gestarrè were the last to arrive at the precinct. Usually, when they’d get back from a long day of busting drug-dealers and genocidal maniacs actively working to commit mass murder, Gestarrè would go straight to his locker, but this time, he went slowly to his desk, accepting congratulations and making hellos as he went along. He was a major part of organizing the raid, and he certainly enjoyed this praise altogether, but espec-ially from a few of the ladies in the place. Palmer kinda had a crush on a few of them, if he had to admit it, but, then again, Palmer kinda had a crush on everyone.

:3[11]

So he put his head down, ‘headed’ gracefully to his small cubicle on the other side of the room–

“What’s the matter Palmer? Never seen a dead body before?”

Palmer didn’t answer–

“You hear me Palmer? I saw the way you looked at the scene.”

“Looked like a little biiiitch–”

“Pussyyyyyyyyy–”

“What’s the matter, Pallywhacker? Your mommy forget to wipe your ass for you this morning?”

From the back, and on her way out of the building for the night, an officer named Officer Saves came walking out as Palmer sat down and started doing his busywork that he needed to at the end of every day. As such, he didn’t even notice that anybody had said anything subsidiary.

“There are lots of different types of bitches out there,” Saves continued. “And with all the shit-talking and gossiping you guys do, I would definitely call you the ‘girlier’ kind, although that definition only comes from pretend-macho juice-bags like yourselves being uncomfortable with your sexualities and ego-needs to hold onto power–”

“Oh, come on Saves, you know the things Senior Special Agent Gestarrè has been saying about this coward.”

Palmer looked over, and was amazed to see whom the woman speaking was.

=O[12]

“He’s a flabby prick, totally flaccid, can’t be trusted,” Pally-whacker went on. Then he turned to face Palmer now sitting at his desk, said: “Ain’t that right, little boy?”

For whatever reason, Saves was a little more put off by all this than usual, so instead of continuing on her way out–which she was just about to do–she turned around swiftly enough that her loose fedora became tipped a little bit over her straight blonde hair–

“Well, maybe that’s because he’s a good cop, and a decent human being, who cares more about protecting people than he does getting potential time on the local news.”

“You think we don’t care about protecting people?” –Pallywhacker.

“No, I think you don’t care about protecting people, you nor your droogs–”

“Well, that’s just plainly untrue. I care a lot about protecting people, so long as they’re not criminals–”

“You’re right, I’m sorry, I meant: anyone who looks like they may have a bigger penis than you do deserves to go to jail[13] /> which is everyone–”

“Yo, FUCK you, BITCH!!!” with a crazy body swing. “You know what it’s like to go out there every day, and risk your life for these lazy asses?”

“Yes, I’m a police officer as well, but, unlike you, apparently, I don’t consider every poor person I see a ‘lazy ass–’

“Oh, shut the fuck up, you know what I mean–”

“Actually, I don’t,” said Saves (XD), moving like she was about to start on her way out again. “But that might also might explain why you assholes treat every woman in this precinct as nothing more than a piece of ass who can’t tie her own shoes, let alone be a good police officer–”

“Hey, I can tie mah own shoes, sista’!–”

“Oh, shut up, Camper, you tell me every day about how badly you want Palmer’s dick.”

Palmer blushed :8)–

PallyWhaker didn’t like this–

Camper looked at Palmer, started twirling her hair around, smiling and–

“I am EXTREMELY respectful to women!!!” Pally-Whacker’s friend, Officer Toms belted form a few away. “My mom tells me EVERY FUCKING DAY, just like I FUCKING told her to!!!–”

“Toms, didn’t you beat your wife a few years ago?” Special Agent Bowler joined in.

“That is IRRELEVANT!!!” Toms screamed. “SHE WAS REFUSING TO MAKE ME A PEANUT BUTTER AND JELLY SANDWICH! THEY’RE LIKE, THE EASIEST FUCKING SANDWICH YOU CAN MAKE! ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME!!!!!!” and then he got help from yet another droog from the group now encircled around Saves and PallyWhacker, this circle growing larger by the second–

Another (on Pallywhacker’s side): “Uuuuuh, didn’t your precious ethnic Chris Brown beat his wife as well?–”

“Who here likes Chris Brown?” Saves asked the room quickly, and almost in passing. “Might as well be referencing 50-Cent ever giving a shit about a WorldStar event (#WorldStar-!WorldStar! [14])–”

Some random person: “Dude, Brown beat a black chick, that doesn’t count–”

“RIHANNA’S A GODDAMNED GODDESS, YOU FUCKING DOUCHBAG!!!” Bowler barked.

“Goddess?!?!”

“Have you heard her sing?”

“OF COURSE NOT!”

“YOU ARE A THUMB-SUCKING BIGOT!!!–”

“Tha’ fuck you just say?!”

“You heard me, bitch!–”

“Yo, FUCK you!”

“Yea, twat, do something about it!”

“Yea, just get your bitches to help you, PallyWhaker, real mature,” Saves said as she turned around, now officially heading toward the exit. “As if you could ever even get it up on your own back when we dated–”

“Yo bitch!”

PallyWhaker ran over, obstructed Saves’ way, got all up in her face, nose to nose.

“What’re you gonna do,” he said. “The fuck you gon’ do, feeeelllcchhh, cum-guzzling blumpkin blue waffle sliiitttch–”

“Uh, nothing,” she responded calmly (though a little disgusted x/). “I’m a woman, your muscles are way bigger than mine right now, I’m clearly infinitely smarter than you are, and I need to get home, OJ–”

“You think you’re tough?!–”

PallyWhaker pushed her, but not too hard (it was too hard)–

“YOU ARE NOT TOUGH, OFFICER SAVES WHORE-CLEVELAND STEAMER SLUT-BITCH COCK-SNUFF BUM-RAPER!!!” PallyWhacker screamed! His eyes were closed; his head faced the sky! Three people had to hold him back. Two others went to help Saves off the desk she’d fallen onto–

Someone’s on steroids,” she said as she got up, brushing some dirt off her sleeve. “When you two are alone, late at night, does the Sergeant know about them? Or is it just taking a little longer to affect your sex drive?–”

“YOU THINK YOU’RE HARDCORE???!!!–”

“What the hell is going on here?!”

Sergeant Fucs yelled loudly, but not overwhelmingly, as he walked hastily back into this main part of the precinct, coming from his private office in the back.

“This menstruating whore over here thinks I’m being sexist,” PallyWhacker told Fucs, but was interrupted by another–

“Actually, I heard she just thinks you’re a bad police   officer–”

“What was that, Denise?!”

“This isn’t a screaming arena, PallyWhacker, get your composure together before I call your mom,” Fucs told him. “I heard earlier that you’re already in deep water for not doing your chores this week, hehehe…”

PallyWhacker backed away, loosened his posture, calmed himself down, mumbled: “Palmer’s gonna rat, Palmer’s gonna rat.” Then he walked off and into the back (presumably to the locker room ;).

“O-M-G I-don’t-even-know-what-you’re-talking-about,” Palmer mumbled under his breath quietly (or: quietly enough (he’d hoped :’( )…).

>< 

“What was that, Palmer?” Fucs asked. Palmer turned his head.

“Nothing,” he said.

At this, most of the people there began to go back to doing their work, tidying their desks, taking their first shots of tequila of the night, or continuing their police work as most of them were real police officers who never involved themselves in the drama or the ‘grouping’ so apparent when people would start to argue like little school children playing box-ball–

Until Palmer’s ‘mentor’ showed up to ‘soften the blow’.

“We know you’re not one of us, Palmer,” Gestarrè said quietly as he walked up slowly from the back.

“I’ve seen your eyes during arrests,” he continued in this manner. “I’ve read your face, you think they’re innocent. You think these criminals deserve a second chance, well, let me ask you this, Mr. ‘Self-Righteous’,” and he walked up closer, put down his innate ‘writing materials’[15] to the desk nearest, and continued: “What do you do when one of these thugs kills you daughter? Or kills your mom in a car accident because he was too fucked up on pills to know what he was doing? How do you claim sympathy then? When you have to explain to a widow why her husband is dead, and she now has to raise five kids alone because some asshole thought that crime paid?”

>SPIT!!! ((Gestarrè’s spit (very inappropriate :/)<

Palmer had nothing (except a chuckle, which he held in, at that ultra-cheesy line at the end there).

“Don’t think we can’t tell.”

In shock, after a moment, Palmer was able to thrust out: “You killed a child–”

“We’ve all killed ‘children’, Palmer, it’s called keeping the peace, for the greater good,” and the room formed two theoretical sides: one to whom Gestarrè was speaking, and another within whom Gestarrè’s remarks went thought about and evolved /> and right in the middle was Palmer: the only person stuck trying to define it, or finding himself forced to.

“But killing kids is wrong. Killing any innocent people is wrong!”

“Not in the name of the greater good, Palmer,” Fucs told him disinterestedly. “I knew you were a bad lay.”

“A bad lay? What does that even mean?–”

“Do you want your life or not?” Gestarrè asked.

“Yes, of course–”

“Yet, you are not willing to do what is necessary?”

“I am, but I don’t think that fear mongering and acting strictly on theoretical predicting is the only way to go about it–”

“Then you know nothing of enforcing the law, child!”

“But–”

“We do the best with what we have, Palmer.” –Fucs. “You’d have done better if you’d kept your big mouth shut–”

“I haven’t said anything!!”

“You’ve said enough, enough for me, I’ve filed for partner reassignment,” Gestarrè said, and then grabbed his bag and began to put his jacket on. “You’ll be the end of all of us… if you keep over-thinking, over-complicating, over-stimulating. The end of it all.”

He turned, walked, and left out the front door.

(!!!)

=DDDDDD

There was an awkward silence. Nobody moved or said anything until Fucs stood up from his ‘stool’ (hehe, ‘stool’, like ‘poop’, get it? XD).

“Welp! Palmer,” he said. “What’s it going to be?”

Palmer didn’t know what he was talking about.

“Um- Sergeant, I don’t know what you’re talking about–”

“Are you a team player or not?”

Palmer was befuddled, but regained his head–

“Sergeant Fucs, all I want to do is finish the Gähstŭr case, that’s all–”

“That case has already been solved. Routine gang violence, correct?” Officer Trim asked.

“That’s right, Officer Trim,” Fucs answered. “What could we possibly hope to accomplish by returning to it, Special Agent Palmer?”

Palmer hesitated. Once again, he had nothing.

‘x(

Fucs’d had enough–

“There’s too much bullshit with you and us Palmer, you’re fired,” he said as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and began to put his jacket on. “If you choose to re-apply in Balt-imore though, I can certainly promise a good recommendation.”

Some people laughed, and they all started to–

“It’s not routine gang activity, Sergeant.”

Fucs stopped in his tracks just as he’d begun to walk away, the cigarette already resting loosely on his lower lip, unlit. He couldn’t believe what he’d heard, and from whom. Officer Saves was always such a good cop…

“I’ve looked at it quite a bit,” Saves continued. “Not obsessively, but it’s, frankly, obvious that there’s something else to this.”

Fucs closed his eyes before Saves continued.

>< 

“I mean his dad, Former Officer Gähstŭr of the 2nd and 3/9th’s precinct, was fired almost as an example of what happens when you go against the political views of the force’s head sergeant. Randall himself had been clean and gang free for the previous several years, if not longer. He’d been on our surveillance list because he bought one book by Ràbbani Jaáfar in a rundown old bookstore when he was nine, thinking it was by Cornel West. Hadn’t talked to anyone who could even be mistaken for a gang member for five years before his death. Aside from the one, of course, but we already all knew that. We have the records–”

Palmer smiled.

:))))))

“Not only that, but this Barry Swindle has something of a shady record as well,” Saves went on, looking at her phone for references. “His family owns Clinton and Lewinski Pharma-ceuticals, and they run the day-to-day of Clinton Male Enhance-ments, the most successful male-enhancement drug producer in the country since 1997. Barry has a record of stealing money from them as recently as three months ago, yet nothing was ever investigated, even after his own parents filed complaints, and repeatedly referred to him as a bad apple when he was a child, specifically pointing out that it had nothing to do with how big his penis was–”

“Were you assigned to that case, Officer Saves?”

“No, but–”

 “Would you like to tell me how were able to gain access to the file?”

“I looked at it–”

“You’re fired,” Fucs said. “Come on, both of you, get your things and get out. If I see either of you around here again, I can assure you that you’ll have a fate far worse than that of an inmate’s.”

Palmer was baffled. Saves grabbed her bag, marched out. Not a word, not a look to anyone.

He still had a few things to grab from his desk, and, as he did so, everyone in the room gave a glare at him. He went slowly, like he was trying to really take it all in. He loved that job. Even with all the bullshit, he never lost faith in it, and now it was gone! (:’( ) He fucking loved. that. job. He didn’t want another career, and he knew damn well that quantum physics and astro-relativity were way too complicated for him to get into at his age #NeverTooOld . Moreover, he didn’t want the Gähstŭr case to go unanswered /> but he no longer had any choice in any of the ‘matter’, now, did he[16]? He walked out of Philadelphia’s ultra-prestigious, ultra-respected, and hardest-working 14th and 1/6th Precinct of the 39th and 4/5ths of 19/47ths district with his head down, and trying as hard as he could to forget about everything, being totally unsuccessful at it, his knowledge of this only making it that much worse.

:([17]

‘Man, what a shitty day,’ he thought as he made his final move out the exit door, many of his former co-workers still ogling and googling at him. ‘Should I try to make it better?

‘What would be the point anyway…’

:’ddd

> (< Arrow, ‘>’ pointing: That way (to the ‘right’) (>) (because there’s no ‘down’ arrow (‘down’ like ‘^’ is ‘up’)), to indicate that a quick look at the next chapter may help the potential relevance of this next sentence to make itself more palpable or make more sense #Foreshadowing… #Grammar-Issues #GrammarIssuesAreHumanIssues(Apparently) #WhatAr-eWeTalkingAboutHere? )–

/>

> There was a pretty good point…

==========333333333

[1] Why does he keep ending up back there? Is it really that offensive (it’s not offenisive)? I would be offended… (so offended… #SoOffended)

[2] There was probably a football game on

[3] Southern Christian Leadership Conference, a group made famous by its first president, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., and had a big role in the American civil rights movement in the 60s

[4] Are you offended? #YouShouldBe #ProveMeWrong

[5] :)

[6] :(

[7] That part is very important #ViolenceOnlyBegetsMOREViolence

[8] Totally justified, right?

[9]  Blackstock, Nelson. Cointelpro: The FBI’s Secret War on Political Freedom. Pathfinder Press (NY). 3rd Rep Edition. 1988

- Weiner, Tim. Enemies: A History of the FBI. Random House Trade Paperbacks, 2013

- Potash, John. The FBI War on Tupac Shakur and Black Leaders. Progressive Left Press. Baltimore, Maryland. 2007

[10] Real. Fucking. Douchebags XD

[11] #Bitch (whore? #LoveIsAllYouNeed )

[12] So amazed… (so beautiful…)

[13] This is a pretty big point here: as we all know, cops uniformly *TheMostUniformly*TheMost-Uniformly have very small penises (every single one of them), and the smaller the penis, the more likely the man is to be an asshole. What we need to do, to ensure that everyone gets along on Earth, is get ALL women to admit that size doesn’t matter, and all men believing, as a simple fact of the universe, that pleasing a woman with only his penis is the only thing that matters in life (is this sarcastic? You decide…)

[14] This is a reference to rapper 50 Cent suing worldstarhiphop (a hip-hop themed news outlet ranked within the top 500 most visited sites in the United States) in 2009 for using his image on their site without their permission (he won the case)

[15] Writing materials? What could this mean?!?!?!

[16] ‘Matter’, like ‘science’? Get it? #Dumbass

[17] So much worse…