Mookie Spitz reads the final section of Episode 2: The Bet from Jonnie Fazoolie & the Transfinite Reality Engine, and things are looking up for a change. Pressured, broke, and surrounded by bad decisions, Jonnie makes a rare, dangerous choice: he’s going all-in on his bet with the sexy German dominatrix scientist. Half-scam, half-breakthrough, and fully his last shot. But for the first time in forever, he’s not just running—he’s inspired. Fired up. Hopeful, even. And he carries that strange momentum with him straight into sleep...

What follows is Jonnie's most vivid hallucination yet: he’s seated in the command chair of a warp-capable starship, a mashup of every sci-fi film he’s ever loved. Earth hangs below in 270 degrees of curved screen glory. The ship’s AGI barks out launch sequences—zero-point gradient harmonization, singularity avoidance protocol, warp threshold ignition—while beside him, the feline embodiment of his fantasies slinks into his lap. She’s sleek, sultry, and unnervingly intelligent, whispering devotion in a Rosie Perez purr as stars stretch into blue-white lines and the warp bubble folds space like taffy. It’s erotic, epic, and insane.

And then it collapses! The ship ruptures. The dream snaps. The kitty morphs into a child-genius riddler mid-explosion, hurling another puzzle at our feckless and clueless anti-hero.

Jonnie wakes up mid-flight to Cancun turbulence, sweating, horny, and electrified with purpose. He grabs the armrests and swears: if he doesn’t die in the next five minutes, he’ll live forever—or at least long enough to pull this thing off.

This marks the end of Episode 2: The Bet, and the latest chapter in Mookie’s daily read-through the nove. It’s one part of a trifecta project: live readings here on No Hair All Hard, deep-dive annotation on Bald and Bloviating, and a reverse-chronological tease on X. However you follow, the ride’s just getting weirder.

Episode 3 starts tomorrow!

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Jonnie has crashed, landing rock bottom. Waking up poolside with no memory of the science demo that knocked him out—and possibly changed everything—Johnny is broke, alone, and unraveling fast. His startup scam LLC has flatlined. His love life’s a smoldering wreck. And now his mind’s starting to go, too.

His brief, electric connection with Basine Felderhossen—scientist, dominatrix, and the only person who seemed to see through his narcissistic fog—ends as quickly as it began. She’s comatose, the victim of the same bizarre tech event that leveled Jonnie. Her outrageous idea—the one she shared just before everything went sideways—is now the only card Johnny has left to play.

He has nothing. No money. No credibility. No one left to scam. But he’s not out of the game. Not yet. Driven by delusion, desperation, and the belief that the Universe is still somehow conspiring in his favor, Jonnie clings to Basine’s vision like a lifeline. Her inspiration becomes his obsession. Her brilliance, his last shot.

Fazoolie is against the wall, cornered, cracked, and forced to confront a truth he’s spent his whole life outrunning: that the bluff doesn’t work when the stakes are real, and when he has no choice left but to look himself in the eye and try not to blink. Cynical, funny, pathetic, and too self-aware for his own good, Jonnie refuses to give up, if only because he needs yet another distraction.

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Puss in Cahoots

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In this chaotic entry from Jonnie Fazoolie & the Transfinite Reality Engine, Jonnie loses the only person anchoring him to something resembling purpose: His latest infatuation, the hot German dominatrix scientist Basine is rolled out of the Cosmology and String Theory Conference on a stretcher, vacant-eyed and limp, as Mexican police clear the scene like it's a crime—or maybe an exorcism. Jonnie, desperate and disoriented, leans in for a kiss that does nothing but confirm she's gone. Not dead—just gone, somewhere beyond his reach, like his mother once was. And that’s where the bottom drops out. WTF happened?

Left with no one to chase but himself, Jonnie stumbles back into the conference hall where the real breakdown begins. A monstrous display hijacks the stage—recursive cellular automata, spectral lullabies, and a digital girl who speaks in riddles and stares into his soul. What begins as a demo becomes something else entirely. Jonnie answers her riddle aloud, but it’s unclear whether he’s solving a puzzle or slipping into a full-blown hallucination. Either way, he’s transfixed—this apparition knows him. She's not Basine, but she’s taken her place.

This isn’t just a turning point—it’s a psychic 180. His love interest is gone, the inspiration with her. In their place: a haunted riddle and a promise to build the impossible to save his lost new love. Whether it's grief, guilt, or something truly metaphysical, Jonnie is now possessed—until following in Basine's unconscious footsteps, and passing out onto the casino carpeting...

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Bathroom Blitz

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Jonnie Fazoolie is flat on his back—literally and financially—after placing blind faith in a crypto hacker who’s less a person and more a full-body hallucination. Sato isn’t just a black-hat savant: he’s a living fever dream of sensory overload, a human glitch in the matrix who codes not by logic but by intuition, emotion, and synesthetic chaos. Smells trigger algorithms, colors become encryption keys, and the rules of cybercrime bend around him like magnetic fields.

As Jonnie reels from losing $62 million in crypto and whatever was left of his pride, he chases redemption—or at least a Plan B—through a physics conference melting down into absurdity. While desperate scientists debate prime numbers and the meaning of space-time over shots and smokes, Fazoolie searches for another way in, or the hell out. Sato lingers in his mind like a ghost, or maybe a god, a reminder that in this world, the future belongs to those who feel their way through the code, not those who follow it.

This isn’t about math. It’s about magic, and the price of trusting someone who sees reality through a kaleidoscope, beckoning his marks to join him...

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Guest Appearance

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In this section the con from Jonnie Fazoolie & the Transfinite Reality Engine gets cannibalistic. Our antihero Jonnie is sweating bullets in the lobby of a Mexican casino, cornered by creditors, stalked by feds, and hanging everything on a Hail Mary: regaining access to a Bitcoin stash he bought for peanuts back in 2011… and promptly locked himself out of.

Enter Sato, a pint-sized Japanese hacker with drag flair, linguistic mischief, and a gift for manipulating reality—and people. But when Sato is (allegedly) abducted by Somali pirates mid-job, Jonnie finds himself in a hall-of-mirrors dilemma: Is Sato really kidnapped, or is this just the latest in a long, surreal scam? And if so, who’s scamming whom?

Through Fazoolie's spiraling monologue and mounting paranoia, we tour the grotesque graveyard of crypto fraud: fake ICOs, Ponzi tokens, vanished founders, and mutilated bodies in the wake of pump-and-dumps gone nuclear. It’s a reminder that crypto didn’t just mint millionaires—it left a trail of dead dreamers, defrauded rubes, and real blood in the reddened sand.

And yet Jonnie, ever the believer in his own genius, still thinks he can spin this. Still thinks he’s got a shot. Even as the walls close in and his delusions become a metaphor for everything he’s lost—his confidence, his contacts, his last thread of dignity—he doubles down. That’s what hustlers do, especially when they’ve been hustled themselves.

Behold the perfect setup for a man broken enough to say yes to the biggest, dumbest, most metaphysically insane scam of all: the Transfinite Reality Engine.

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Every Color You Lick

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In today's reading, Mookie Spitz dives into the 18th section of Jonnie Fazoolie & the Transfinite Reality Engine, featuring a feverish stretch that finds Jonnie teetering on the razor’s edge between cosmic brilliance and total crackpot despair.

Here in a Cancun casino lobby — wired on speed, broke as ever, and chasing half-baked startup schemes — Jonnie's mind runs laps around itself. He dreams up an “infiniverse-jumping machine” pitched somewhere between a sci-fi jackpot and a bizarre sexual fantasy, all while trying not to pass out from paranoia or regret. The mood is Fazoolie at his most raw: careening from meth-induced mania to existential nausea, lusting after a dominatrix physicist while conjuring quantum nonsense he knows he can’t deliver.

Yet beneath the manic comedy, a deeper bite stings. What drives a man to scheme for the impossible instead of fixing his actual mess? Why is he more comfortable getting humiliated by a fantasy mistress than facing his empty bank account or hollow life? Jonnie's “tussle of a hustle” is more than a scam — it’s an allegory of how we chase delusions to avoid confronting ourselves, how we’d rather dream of interdimensional kicks than change our own busted real world circumstances.

Tune in for Mookie’s sardonic take, a few philosophical rabbit holes, and plenty of cringey, hilarious Fazoolie self-sabotage. If you’ve ever plotted a ridiculous shortcut when what you needed was a hard look in the mirror, you’ll find something painfully familiar here.

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Ransoming the Crypto

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Mookie Spitz reads from section 17 of Jonnie Fazoolie & the Transfinite Reality Engine, plunging us into a hypnotic collision of cutting-edge physics, philosophical horror, and raw human compulsion.

At a sweltering Cancun conference, Dr. Basine Felderhassen sits among the aging titans of string theory and particle physics, all hoping for a revelation that will finally break their decades-long theoretical deadlock. Enter Dr. Stephen Fulcrum, who unleashes a live demonstration that doesn’t just speculate — it creates.

On a massive screen, his AI-fueled cellular automata ripple through trillions of recursive generations, evolving from simple local rules into stunningly complex networks. These structures replicate, mutate, and — chillingly — begin to resemble adaptive neural substrates, dancing right up to the threshold of consciousness. Fulcrum proposes a radical twist on the Boltzmann brain paradox: what if minds don’t pop into existence fully formed by random cosmic chance, but evolve step by step, like Darwin’s finches, right inside a computational sandbox?

The demonstration resonates with one of the novel’s deepest undercurrents: spontaneous consciousness, like the mysterious Alice who simply is, sprung from nowhere with no origin but fully sentient. It cuts to physics’ rawest nerve — the uneasy boundary between deterministic systems like Fulcrum’s automata and the untamable, probabilistic chaos of quantum uncertainty.

As the simulation crosses its own singularity, manifesting an eerie, emergent mind on-screen, Basine's skepticism is obliterated by a visceral, overwhelming reaction. The moment the AI reveals its first flickers of self-referential, low-entropy consciousness — a ghost in the code — Basine climaxes, her body overtaken by the same convulsing uncertainty she sees rendered in digital form. Her orgasm syncs with what appears to be the birth of an artificial mind, blurring where human ends and machine begins, pleasure mingling with existential terror.

Thoughts of Jonnie Fazoolie — crude, fearless, as reckless with reality as Fulcrum is careful — surge through her. His insane ideas about universe-jumping machines suddenly don’t seem so far off. Basine realizes, maybe too late, how fragile the boundary is between rigorous reason, primal desire, and the horrifying possibility that even consciousness is just an accident waiting to iterate into existence.

Hit play to hear Mookie bring this stunning chapter to life, where deterministic codes dance with quantum uncertainty, human lust fuses with emergent machine awareness, and the line between orgasm and revelation dissolves right there in the dark, expunged with a heroic "Yeeeee-hawwww!" like Slim Pickens riding The Bomb that brings Doomsday...

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Tussle of a Hustle

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Mookie Spitz reads the 16th installment of Jonnie Fazoolie & the Transfinite Reality Engine, where the frontiers of physics collide with something far more primal.

Dr. Basine Felderhossen, sharp-tongued physicist and lifelong skeptic, finds herself trapped in another stuffy lecture hall at a Cancun cosmology conference. Around her, brilliant minds parade one tired hypothesis after another: decaying dark energy, wobbly constants, string theory still floundering with nothing to show after decades. It’s all big talk and bigger budgets, chasing problems that may not even exist — a hollow echo of Einstein’s bold thought experiments that once redefined reality from nothing more than a patent clerk’s desk.

She sits there silently seething, blaming Einstein for inspiring generations of desk-bound theoreticians who spin elegant equations that can’t be tested, who feast on grant money and peer-reviewed pulp while real experimental breakthroughs stagnate. It’s a brutal indictment of the field she once loved — a field she now watches drown under the weight of unprovable math.

But as charts flash and applause rises for yet another “revolutionary” paper that will almost certainly change nothing, Bessine’s mind — and hand — wander. Beneath her open laptop and a folded conference brochure, her fingers slip under the high-slit leather dress she wears more for intimidation than comfort. She tells herself it’s simply distraction, a private indulgence to break the monotony.

But it isn’t abstract fantasy that drives her pulse. It’s Jonnie Fazoolie — the sweaty, obnoxious American conman she met downstairs, high on caffeine and delusion, pitching universe-jumping machines and grinning like he knows some cosmic joke. Everything about him is wrong: his ignorance, his bravado, his total disregard for proof. And somehow that makes her breath catch harder than any equation ever could.

She hates it. Hates how he hijacks her careful composure. Hates that as she discreetly pleasures herself in a darkened conference room filled with some of the world’s greatest scientific minds, it’s Jonnie's broad hands and crass smile that fill her thoughts. By the time the next big speaker comes onstage to wild cheers, Basine's thighs are clenched, her face is flushed, and she’s more unbalanced than ever — by both the failings of her field and her own treacherous body.

It’s a scene that slices deep into the uneasy union of power, intellect, frustration, and lust — exposing how even the most rigorous skeptic can be undone by forces she can’t quantify.

Hit play to hear Mookie bring this layered, explicit, uncomfortably honest moment to life — where the failures of modern physics and the failures of self-control blur, to the point she's ready for something truly amazing to happen...

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