Hey, Garcia. Gonna stop by the lunch counter at Kresge’s after this and buy yourself a grilled cheese?
“That’s not the worst idea you’ve ever had, man. Might send Parish over for one.”
Can’t go wrong with grilled cheese.
“Oh, sure you can. Some folks wanna get fancy with it. Fresh baked bread, artisanal cheese. And that ruins your sandwich, man. You want Wonder Bread and Kraft Singles. Everything you need for a good grilled cheese is available at 7-11. Don’t get frou-frou.”
I agree completely.
“I know how to play a little guitar, and how not to fuck up lunch. Beyond that, you wanna ask someone else.”
DUDE! Someone just yoinked your briefcase!
“WHAT!? WHAT THE–”
…
“It’s sitting right there, man.”
I know. I was fucking with you.
“This is the kind of shit that makes people not like you.”
Hey, Amir Bar-Lev, director of the award-winning documentary Long Strange Trip, still available free to Amazon Prime members. Whatcha doing?
“Talking about titties.”
Cool, cool. How do you get anatomy that wrong, though?
“No, the drawing is correct. People were fucked-up looking back then.”
I don’t know about that.
“Hey. Which one of us has a doctorate in Art History?”
Neither of us.
“No? Then my wife is right: I did steal that diploma.”
You okay, buddy?
“It was a rough weekend. I came down here to North Carolina to speak at the scholar’s conference.”
I know. I was not invited.
“Your non-invitation was noted, and generally approved. Everyone was happy you weren’t here. People toasted to it.”
Wow.
“Jarnow stood up for you.”
Yeah?
“Not out loud. Like, he didn’t say anything, but he seemed mildly uncomfortable with the topic.”
I’ll take it. What made it a rough weekend? You and a bunch of well-lettered Enthusiasts get up to some folderol?
“I was abducted by aliens.”
Oh, c’mon, man. You’re one of the sane ones. Don’t go screwy.
“I didn’t believe in extraterrestrials, either. I believe what I can see: you can’t spell ‘materialist’ without ‘Amir.’ But I was plucked from a Days Inn parking lot and interfered with by xenological creatures.”
Interfered with?
“They touched my johnson.”
Are you sure someone didn’t dose you?
“I dosed myself! Accuse me of being a liar, or accuse me of not being able to handle my acid, but not both.”
I apologize.
“You gotta dose for the symposium, man. A bunch of us had walked down to this little college bar and had some drinks there, and then I got separated from everyone coming back. I was lost in the Days Inn parking lot, so I pissed on the nearest Toyota.”
Why?
“My Uncle Avi always told me, Amir, if you’re lost in a parking lot–no matter what hotel it belongs to–piss on a Toyota. Don’t worry about the model. And, you know, Avi was a helicopter pilot in the IDF, so you have to listen to him about matters of survival.”
So you pissed on the Toyota.
“When from overhead, I was struck with a crushing light. Very powerful light. Like if you taped a million flashlights to the sun. Very bright.”
Gotcha. What’d you do then?
“I emptied my .45 into it.”
What? Why did you have a gun?
“It was issued to me upon crossing the border into North Carolina.”
Sure.
“Dude, you should’ve seen me: I was shooting straight up and yelling. I looked so cool. Like John Wick.”
Did it help?
“No. Was suctioned into the ship immediately after I ran out of bullets. And on the way up, the beam shook me so hard that my wallet fell out of my pants. The aliens told me later that they did that on purpose because of the shooting.”
Can’t fault them for it.
“Nah.”
What were they like?
“Into buttplay.”
That’s true, huh?
“Oh, yeah. Not a stereotype, just a fact. They’re gonna tinker with your stinker. There’s an interview, but I got the feeling they did it just to maintain a facade of respectability.”
Reacharound?
“There was a device for it, so there was technically no reaching, but: yes.”
So the night wasn’t a complete waste.
“Don’t joke.”
I’m sorry. Are you okay?
“I’ll recover. But I’m not coming back to North Carolina ever again.”
“Been calling him ‘Reggae Steve.’ He, uh, hasn’t objected.”
That’s good.
“This was a popular haircut for our crowds. You saw a white kid with this haircut in the 80’s, they were our fans.”
No one in the group ever adopted the look.
“There would have been a meeting. We talk about it being a rule-less gestalt that we created in the Grateful Dead, but there were standards. You had to stand up, and you couldn’t have dreadlocks. Shirts. Some bands have a flexibility on the shirt question. The, uh, Foxy Pepperpots.”
Red Hot Chili Peppers.
“Yeah, sure. Those guys hate shirts. That’s what it seems to me, at least. But, uh, the Dead didn’t do that.”
An unwritten dress code.
“There you go.”
And that went for hair.
“It was expected that one would have the same haircut as everyone else, given some leeway for hair texture and individualism. Most of the guys went to Big-Dicked Sheila.”
You didn’t?
“She’s a lovely gal, but she wasn’t A-list. I used to fly down to Los Angeles twice a month to get styled by Renaldino. He was the partner of the guy they wrote Shampoo about.”
“Oh, you can’t walk through it. The machine’s solid.”
It was a euphemism.
“Ah. So, uh, this here is a piece of apparatus meant to stimulate your latissimus mueslix. People don’t know this, but every muscle has a foreign name. They’re not just your hammies.”
I think people know that.
“The trick is to not get too swole. I got a tendency to slap on the muscle, and then I look like Lou Ferrigno. Not great for the act. I got a hippie crowd, they’re not about that.”
Sure.
“That’s my one true regret. That I didn’t get jacked.”
Really?
“Sure. In, like, the 80’s. Made friend with some of the guys sitting on Muscle Bench. Got some of those crazy pills and salves and whatnot. Bought one of those belts. You know the belt?”
I know the belt.
“Made out of leather. Real thick. I feel like I had the genetics to become what’s called a mass monster.”
When I was a child, I imagined a future far less embarrassing than this.
Yes.
What is going on with Facebook?
It’s blue.
Stop it.
This week, Facebook issued permanent bans to Alex Jones, that Milo guy no one cares about anymore, and the guy with the cigarette. Minister Farrakhan was also banned.
But Farrakhan’s a prophet that I think you ought to listen to.
Nah, fuck him. Man had Malcolm X killed. And he hates the Jews.
Neither of those facts have any bearing on his status as a prophet. In fact, prophets are usually pretty fucked up cats.
Let’s get back on track.
Facebook has banned a selection of individuals, almost all of whom are known for their right-wing views. Are they allowed to do that?
Yes. They’re a private company, and can therefore deny service. If you go in the Hallmark Shop and take a shit next to the statuettes of the babies who are also somehow married, then you will be asked to leave. The second turd gets you a permanent ban. These have been the rules of the marketplace since humans started dragging their wares to a central location every new moon. Can’t shit in another man’s shop.
Have any of these people been banned from other platforms?
Oh, yes. Laura Loomer has been 86’ed from Twitter, PayPal, Lyfy, and UberEats.
How do you get banned from UberEats?
Guy goes to the door. He’s Vietnamese. She screams “JIHAD!”Pushes the driver into the bushes. Steals the Camry. Wrecks the Camry, but no one got hurt. The whole thing’s a bad scene.
What about Instagram?
She has been banned from Instagram.
Damn, even the Gram. What about her freedom of speech?
What about it?
Let me rephrase that: What about her Freedom of Speech?
Ooh, much more patriotic. You’re referring to the First Amendment. Congress shall make no law abridging the Freedom of Speech.
I am.
It hasn’t. We’re done here.
Wait, wait, I don’t mean the technical definition of “freedom of speech,” I mean the connotative imperative.
You made that phrase up.
We have a moral duty to stand up for speech we find personally offensive.
Who told you that?
Some guy down at the arcade.
Did he touch you? Be honest.
His quarters purchased time he used to play his games.
Wow. Anyway, it was Voltaire who said that, and he liked to grab at unpleasant teenagers, too. And he didn’t have to put up with a cabal of assholes using Facebook to orchestrate a mass eviction/genocide in Myanmar. Some people are menaces, and it’s fine by me to give ’em the heave.Would you agree that a tavern has the right to toss a patron shouting about the Jews and getting everyone all worked up?
I would.
The principle is the same. It scales. Humans may have the natural right to internet access–so say the Scandinavians–but they don’t have any claim on entrance to specific sites.
Doesn’t this show Facebook’s liberal bias?
Facebook doesn’t have a liberal bias. It has a capitalist bias. Once again: it is a business. What we think of when we think of the internet is really just a series of stores. Security come and getcha if you don’t act right. The honchos and muckety-mucks who bleed themselves daily for Lord Zuck thought long and hard and disruptively about this, and figured they’d make more money without the hateful creepazoids, so the creepazoids got gone. It’s the Free Market. The Republicans should be loving this.
They are not, though.
No. Basketball Head has been spraying tweets for two days voicing his displeasure, like a dying rhino rainbowing piss all over the savannah.
It’s just so embarrassing.
Let’s extend a previous metaphor. A man is thrown out of a bar for being a loud asshole, and then the President of the United States publicly decries the ban. “Iggy’s Packy on Route 82! Let Jew-Hating Edwin back in your establishment!
*Garcia had a semi-habit of wearing shirts with esoteric acronyms on them; he sported a bright-red top at several shows in the early 70’s reading FUM SUB, which was what the Franklin & Marshall student center called itself. MAPS, similarly, stands for the Marin Academy People’s Stampede. Not many outside the mountain community are aware of the yearly event, but it’s been going on since 1938. Ropin’ and rasslin’ and ridin’. A real stampede, like the one they do up in Calgary, but with a lot more communism. The kids ride sheep, but they also receive lessons in class consciousness. No one misses the People’s Stampede.
124,000 views for this li’l slice of heaven, but that creepy little Nazi fuck who screeches at video games gets millions. World’s gone mad, my friends.
There are now officially 2.33 Wu-Tang Clans-worth of Democrats running for President. Look at the person on your left, and now the one on your right: both of them are running for President, and so are you. Every American not currently wearing a MAGA cap has thrown their hats into the Democratic primaries.
Stop it.
There’s too many of ’em, man! Game over!
Aw, now I’m sad thinking about Bill Paxton. You ruin everything.
May I continue?
May? Yes, you may. I wish you wouldn’t, but I can’t stop you.
Thank you. To get you, the American Enthusiast, all pepped up for what will surely be an enlightening and high-minded campaign that centers on issues, and not personalities, TotD now presents: A Guide for the Perplexed: Democratic Primaries Edition. It will be in alphabetical order because the Atlantic article I’m cribbing all my facts from is in alphabetical order, so it’s easier that way.*
David Michael Bennet Senator from Colorado. Never seen a toad in real life. He’s been places with lots of toads, but they just seem to disappear when he steps outside. Why is that, Father? his daughter asked when she was a child. Why do the toads shun you? For years, he apologized for striking her. But she couldn’t know. No one could know. Not about his deal with the Toad King. Probably real liberal about weed.
Joe Biden Ex-Senator from Delaware, which shouldn’t exist, but the banks need a state to have tax orgies in. It’s a scam with a flag, like having the Cayman Islands be attached to Maryland. Joe is not from Delaware, not originally. He is from Scranton, Pennsylvania, which The Office made fun of as boring, but used to be utterly wretched: coal mines, and poverty, and a near-constant fistcuffery. Joe will tell you all of this while looking you in the eye, maybe grabbing your tit. He will tell you about his father, and how hard the man worked, when he meets you in a diner. You were sitting there, not bothering anyone, eating your meatloaf–they do a good meatloaf here–and now here’s this goon eyefucking you while babbling about his dead father. Hey man, you think, we all got dead dads. Lemme get back to my ‘loaf. But he won’t. Now he’s onto some shit about civilizing discourses and doing the things the right way and you can smell your gravy going cold. Congealing is a chemical reaction; it produces an aroma; this is a fact. You’ve argued about this with Cristianna before. She won’t listen to reason. She’s the best mom in the world, but the woman knows fuck-all about gravy, and she won’t admit it. That’s the annoying part. That she won’t just give up when she’s provably wrong. You demonstrated the congealation. Whipped up some gravy in the kitchen. Head her watch. More importantly, had her smell. And the bitch REFUSED to acknowledge what was plain to anyone, anyone in the world, and now you are eating meatloaf in a typical American diner, being typical, being American, and Uncle Yippy is going to insinuate his way into your meatloaf–the highlight of your day since Cristianna ate the children, which you also disagreed with her about–and now you’re pissing on Joe Biden, mightily. The Secret Service get you, but not before you get him. You pissed all over that big fucker. Good for you.
Seth Moulton I have never heard of this person. Apparently, he is a Harvard-educated former Navy Seal who has served three terms in the House for Massachusetts. Impressive resume, but his name is Seth and therefore he cannot be President of the United States. Our enemies would think us weak if we elected a “Seth.” No go.
Eric Swalwell A “swalwell” is a English term that might date back to Brythonic language; it means “to gnash the peasants.”
Mike Gravel Mike Gravel is your pick, Enthusiasts. He’s 88 and ran out of fucks last century; the Twin Towers were still up when Senator Gravel saw his final fuck float away. Plus, he wants to end all military activity, send all the teens to college, and pay for your splenectomies. And abolish the Electoral College. And break up the big tech companies. And he doesn’t want to be President; he’s just letting some idealistic young punks run his campaign for him. Mike Gravel is the Grateful Deadest candidate.
Tim Ryan Wasn’t he the Speaker of the House? I do not know who this creature is, and he has a hatefully boring name. If your name is something as dreary as “Tim Ryan,” you owe it to the world to acquire a cool nickname. You should be Timbledon, Tim. Hop to it.
Kristen Gillebrand No. it’s Kirstin Gilliband. You have no idea, and neither do I. She is the Senator from New York who isn’t straight out of a Phillip Roth novel. NOTE: lady.
Beto O’Rourke Fuckable. Good at the talky-talk. Thoroughly underqualified. Stupid first name and Irish last name. We would never elect a man like that.
JohnHickenlooper This guy is Colorado’s Jerry Brown, basically. All the positions you’d imagine he holds, he holds. Except for the thing where he wants to nuke Spain, and that he would do it immediately upon taking office. Like, he wouldn’t even give a speech; just say the oath and grab for the football so those Catalonian fucks get what’s coming to them.
Jay Inslee Made up. Not a real person.
Bernie Sanders Fuck Commie Grandpa.
Amy Klobuchar I try to never refer to Schrödinger and his theorem, as it’s such a cliche, but the man’s insight does come to mind when one contemplates Donald Trump as this moment (5/3/19): he is both The Most Beatable Incumbent In History or Allfather Trump, (PBUH). None of the candidates have, so far, used the slogan The Dummy is Costing you Money. They should go with that.
Elizabeth Warren Basketball Head would have her for lunch. She would sit there on the table getting cold next to a pile of Wendy’s chicken sandwiches, and some poor college athletes would have to eat her. The athletes were given much direction by the Athletic Director before they entered the White House. Plus, the Pocahontas deal. Not the name itself, which Turnip is a piece of shit for promulgating, but how she handled it. A DNA test? You introduced facts into a fight with Donald Trump? BUSH LEAGUE. Stay in the Senate.
Kamala Harris His head would explode. His giant, spherical, peach-colored head would explode. She wouldn’t even have to do anything, just be a black lady around him.
Pete Buttigieg Homosexuals can’t be President; it’s in the Bible. The fact is also the basis of several Dukes of Hazard episodes which don’t get included in the DVD compilations.
Julian Castro Julian Castro has been the next big star of the Democratic Party for 40 or 50 years now. And he’s a twin. Twins can’t be President, either. That’s not in the Bible, but it should be.
John Delaney Before your mom met your dad, she fucked a lot of dudes. And before your dad met your mom, he fucked a lot of dudes, too.
Tulsi Gabbard That was childish, the last one. You’re right. Fuck Tulsa Gobbler. Hawaii’s shouldn’t be a state, either. Delaware, Hawaii, Rhode Island: done. The Dakotas should be combined, as should Wisconsin/Michigan, Illinois/Indiana, and Alabama/Mississippi. Arkansas should be given to the Chinese as a gift of friendship. (The Chinese are killing us, folks. Just killing us. Belt and Road? Very bad for round-eye.)
Andrew Yang Reddit loves this guy, so fuck this guy. No memes. I want the next President to be young, but not young enough that their memery is any good.
Marianne Williamson She is an inspirational speaker. I never get inspired by inspirational speakers. I always picture them alone in their hotel rooms after their speeches.
Cory Booker Homosexuals can’t be President; it’s in the Bible.
Steve Bullock Ah, shit, y’all: Deadwood trailer.
A very quick deployment of Google-Fu does not reveal whether Steve Bullock, current Governor of Montana, is related to Seth Bullock, former Sheriff of Deadwood.
Wayne Messam Admit that you don’t know whether or not I made this guy up. Admit that you had to look him up. And, hey: it’s not like I blame you, but don’t get up on your high horse. Also: stop getting your horse high. Mickey used to do that shit, and it’s not right.
Bill DeBlasio Mayor of New York City is a better job than President of the United States, at least if you’re a politician.
*Apparently, it is not in alphabetical order. You live, you learn.
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