Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

Category: Uncategorized (Page 171 of 1031)

Key Points From The Green New Deal

  • Production of gasoline-powered cars to be phased out by 2035; gasoline-powered lawnmowers shortly thereafter, if possible.
  • If you have a pool, then all the poor people can come and swim in it because we’re all Commies now.
  • Everybody gets a job (It’s in there, I swear. Page 12, Section H. This, you will recall, is the plot of Calvin Klein’s movie, President Dave.)
  • Great apes, monkeys all the way down to lemurs, cephalopods, and the corvidae family of birds can now vote, even if they were felons.
  • Doctors and nurses are literally enslaved because that’s what socialized medicine is.
  • All Senators and Congressmembers have to take to the Floor and state out loud that Climate Change is real, and no one better bring any fucking snowballs or any of that wiseguy shit.
  • No-Meat Monday now enforceable by death.
  • Due to an unfortunate and entirely preventable addition from a disgruntled intern, the Green New Deal contains the following sentence: WHEREAS my butt should be zero-emission, Imma shove a cork in my asshole.
  • All citizens must begin production of steel in backyards.
  • Something something Indians.
  • Those really long limos with hot tubs in the back are illegal.
  • Billionaires’ wealth confiscated at the point of the people’s machete on, fittingly enough, the Night of the People’s Machete.
  • Choosing a baby’s gender is now a felony.
  • Only the following varieties of boat will be permitted: row, sail, paddle.
  • Colin Kaepernick made Secretary of State.
  • Investigating every possible method how to mitigate or perhaps reverse Climate Change, even weird nonsese like space-umbrellas or heroic science-testicles.
  • Immediate revocation of citizenship for the cancelled.
  • Put Harriet Tubman on the goddamned money already.

Sweet Jesus, Virgina

VIRGINIA – SMOKEY BACKROOM 

“Jenkins!”

“Yes, sir.”

“You and I, representing the business interests of Virginia, must decide how far down the line of succession this moral rot has spread. We need a governor, man. The people are ungoverned.”

“I’m sure they’ll be fine, sir.”

“Nonnycock! The people are wild and full of hooch. They crave the iron. Pack animals, Jenkins. That’s what the people are.”

“Then let’s get through this without getting sidetracked, sir.”

“Begin.”

“Northram is out. He was the governor when this orgy of dumbfuckery began. Blackface in the yearbook.”

Never be racist in a yearbook. My uncle has that phrase tattooed on his chest.”

“That’s the kind of statement that leads to one of the sidetracks I mentioned, sir. The lieutenant-governor, Fairfax, might be a little rapey.”

“How rapey?”

“Oh, sir, there are no levels of rapiness.”

“Fish sauce! Copping a feel is not full penetraysh.”

“Sir, we’ve discussed your use of the phrase ‘full penetraysh’ and how uncomfortable it makes me.”

“Babby ears, Jenkins. You’ve got wee babby ears. I wouldn’t even put them on my necklace.”

“Stop talking about that necklace.”

“Made it in Vietnam out of ears cut from my victims!”

“You bought it off the internet.”

“Got a story for each ear.”

“I’m going to continue with the main thrust of the conversation, sir: Fairfax may also be untenable in a political sense. Next along the line is the attorney general, Herring.”

“Fine, make him governor.”

“He just admitted to doing blackface.”

“Recently?”

“It was part of a Kurtis Blow costume, sir.

“That doesn’t answer my question. KB is a perennial costume. Get yourself a wig, sweater, neacklace. Jordache jeans. Then you rock the house party til the break of day.”

“This was the very early 80’s, sir.”

“How racist could he be if he was on the Blow train so early?”

“Notwithstanding, sir. It’s just bad optics.”

“Fine, fine, who’s next?”

“President Pro Temp of the State Senate Doug Runk. Moderate. Moderately intelligent. Won’t set the office on fire if left unattended.”

“Perfect. Put all our money on him.”

CELL PHONE NOTIFICATION NOISE

“Doug Runk has a secret Twitter account.”

“Does he use the identity to fight crime on Twitter?”

“No, to hate Jews.”

“Ah. Much easier. Runk is out. Who comes next after him?”

“Lisl McCurdy, the Speaker of the Statehouse.”

“A woman! With curves like Hypoglangia and legs like mighty Dryla!”

“You made those gods up, sir.”

“She’ll do nicely.”

“No, sir. There’s a photo of her at a Cinco de Mayo celebration where her and her sorority sisters are riding Mexicans like horses. Furthermore, immediately after the picture was taken, the man she was riding–a Senor Hecho Perrico–snapped in half.”

“Tough to break a Mexican. They have spines made of spunk. Forget McCurdy, How far down does the line of succession go?”

“Weirdly far, sir. After the Speaker comes the Court Bailiff. Seven DUIs.”

“I admire the tenacity. Who’s next?”

“Tallest judge.”

“Well, there you go, Jenkins. Just measure the judges and ship the biggest gork to Richmond.”

“Half-done, sir. The largest jurist is a fellow named Peculiar Institution Carter-Wilkins.”

“That’s a fine name.”

“Mm.”

“Blackface?”

“So much and so recent, sir. Has a YouTube site demoing how to get the lips and eyes just right. Attended more than several all-blackface weddings.”

“I admire the tenacity. Moving on. Fetch the second-tallest judge.”

“It doesn’t work that way. Parts of Virginia’s founding charter were written by drunken gentlemen farmers 400 years ago. It’s complicated. After the tallest judge, the power of the governor shifts to the very next slave-owning man to enter the Capitol when Congress is in Seffion.”

“That’s sexist. Women can own the hell out of a slave. I’ve seen it.”

“Yes, sir. And since, obviously, no one could fulfill the terms of that appointment, the line of succession continues. Next up is The Outer Lane of Southbound 1-95 south of Richmond.”

“The lane becomes governor?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is it sentient?”

“I have no idea, sir.”

“Why is a section of highway given agency and status within Virginia’s line of secession?”

“Same answer.”

“Can a stretch of asphalt be racist?”

“No, sir.”

“Put all of the money on I-95.”

“Yes, sir.”

Phil, That Wall

“Goddamned hooligans.”

What’s wrong now?

“The graffito! It’s unsanctioned!”

Yeah, but it’s lovely. It improves the wall.

“It invites every idiot with a spray can to shit up my property. Let this go and I’ll have nothing but lyrics in bubble-lettering and terrible murals of Garcia on every surface.”

You might have a point.

“Gotta set down boundaries with the Deadheads. Give ’em an inch and they’ll move in.”

Also true.

“I’ll have the Busboys paint over it, but what about next time? I won’t have this turn into another bocce court. I need to make my defense more offensive. Is there paint-resistant paint?”

Not a thing.

“Like, once the paint dries, it responds to new paint by turning into acid.”

Incredibly not a thing.

“Shit. That would be great.”

Is that the jean jacket Levi’s gave you at the Farewell Shoes?

“Shit, yeah.”

Cool. Is your foot on the fence because you conquered it in battle?

“Out. Fuck off.”

Okay.

Because Of Course He Is

Oh, God, no.

“Howdy. Ah’m Rick Perry. You c’n call me Ricky, I don’ mind. Getcha somethin’?”

No, thank you. You’re the Designated Survivor this year?

“How you like that? Way Ah see it, ’til President Trump stops speakin’, Ah hold the powers of the Executive office. Has to do with the Capitol Building bein’ magic. Did you know that there are half-a dozen references to magic in the Constitution?”

No, there aren’t. And you wield no extra authority during the State of the Union.

“I have signed an order authorizing a massive infrastructure project. I call it the Wet Deal.”

The Wet Deal?

“Waterparks, man. Place bah me in Texas does killer business. We gonna plant America with waterparks, Need people to build ’em. Jobs. Need people to run ’em. That’s also jobs. We’ll get the cool teens to be lifeguards. Real hot lifeguards, wave pools, lazy river dealies. Scientists say that the earth’s gettin’ hotter? All right, then. Let’s do somethin’ about that. Let’s build waterparks.”

Secretary, are you taking your back pills again?

“My back hurt.”

Sure. Your order will not be followed, Mr. Secretary, because you have no authority to authorize it. It’s a free-standing tautology, kind of. All you are is the Secretary of Energy.

“Yeah, Ah try to be peppy. Now list’n here, boy: the President is in enemy territory, which means Ah get to fire this list of judges someone gave me.”

No.

“It’s in the Constitution.”

Stop saying that. You are the Designated Survivor, which means you’re the cabinet member picked at random to not attend the State of the Union. Anytime the entire government gets together for one of their little suck-offs, each body leaves somebody back at the office. Just in case a nuclear bomb goes off.

“Now, this is in the Constitution.”

It’s not. I meant the thing about the nuclear bomb. We started doing it in 1947. Plus, the DS can’t just chill at home; they have to be top-secreted off to an “undisclosed location.”

“Oh, yeah. Couple hours ago, a bunch o’ big-ol’ boys came stompin’ into mah office, woke me right up. Dragged me down t’ the car, man, wouldn’ even lemme make mah movement. Ah have two a day. Very regular man you talkin’ to here. First one is real early. Wake up, have some coffee, think about Texas, and then Ah do a splendid coil. You gotta check. You gotta check your movements, ’cause they gonna tell you ’bout your overall health. Color and consistency and various other metrics.”

Please stop talking to me about your bowels.

“Second one is what Ah call Evenin’ Evacuation. It is a contemplative time for me, and Ah bring with me no distractions into the water closet. This sequel movement frees me and lightens the load for whatever the night has planned. And, you know, Ah like to get to it after mah nap. But they was all, ‘Get in the car, sir,’ and one of ’em opened up mah desk drawer and snatched out the pill bottle and put it in his pocket, so Ah had to follow him now. Gestapo-like tactics.”

Terrible.

“Ah was treated worse th’n Fred Hampton!”

Fred Hampton was assassinated.

“Ah stand bah mah assessment. Now they bring me down to th’ car an’ it ain’ no stretch. Just a townie. Ah’m the Secretary of Education–”

Energy.

“–and Ah get a stretch. But there is a motorcade, and thass awesome, man. You ever seen one them sumbitches?”

Not in person.

“Beautiful sight, man. Like an angel takin’ a shower. Big titty angel gettin’ all soapy, man.”

Motorcades are cool.

“Bein’ in one’s better’n seein’ one. Bein’ in one makes you feel like a dictator. You watch them people zippy-zap by and they’re just ants to you, man. You could disappear ’em. For society’s sake, man. You ride in speeding motorcades long enough, you start thinkin’ ’bout genocidin’. It gets to you.”

I have no sympathy for you.

“Though the townie was equipped with satellite radio, the agents would not allow me to choose the station. Mah preference was Outlaw Country, but they insisted upon one o’ them alternative channels. Had t’ listen to Joy Division, man. Thass sissy music, man.”

I’ll just lodge my disagreement with that statement and move on. Is there a point to this, Your Secretariat?

“An’ now we at an undisclosed location. Oh, hi, honey. You lookin’ so pretty tonight. C’n Ah get me a three-piece with extra cole slaw. Ah’m a slaw man, honey! An’ a Coca-Cola, an’ you keep the change.”

Secretary? Are you talking to me?

“Naw, Ah’m talkin’ to the cashier here.”

Is the undisclosed location a Popeye’s?

“Don’ tell no terrorists, okay?”

Gotcha.

Catastrophe

A trail jogger in Colorado successfully defended himself Monday against a mountain lion that attacked him from behind. The cat is dead, and the man is recovering in a local hospital. – Colorado Runner Kills Mountain Lion in Self-Defense – NPR, 2/5/19

“Excuse me.”

Mm?

“Are you in charge here?”

Define “in charge.” And “here.” And the other two words.

“Christ, everyone’s an asshole in this place. What is this place, by the way?”

Have you seen a lion with no skin?

“Tough to miss that fucker. He looks like the first Hellraiser movie.”

What about a psychopathic killer whale?

“There is a killer whale here who keeps trying to lure me closer to him.”

Yeah, he wants to drown you. That’s Tillikum. You’re in Famous Animal Heaven, buddy.

“Are you sure?”

What are you looking at right now?”

“A gorilla with his dick out and a gorilla doing sign language.”

Yeah. Famous Animal Heaven. Gonna level with you: everyone up there is gibberingly mad.

“Seems like it. Wait, why am I famous?”

Dude.

“I’m a girl.”

Dude.

“What? Why am I famous?”

A jogger killed you!

“You should have seen the size of him!”

A jogger!

“The guy was most likely an off-duty Special Forces operator. Size of a bear.”

Noooo. He was a jogger. Short shorts and skinny arms and a complicated watch.

“Jack Reacher. Not the one from the movies, the one from the books. That’s who this guy was. He was that big.”

Oh, okay. So, uh, why’d you attack him? If he was so big? Why would you, at 80 pounds, try to take down a 250 pound behemoth?

“I meant the one from the movies, not the books. Like, he was compact in his bigness.”

Uh-huh. You got your ass kicked.

“The tide turned so quickly. Snuck up on him, pounced, got him to the ground. I’m chewing on his face and trying to get at his neck when he does this hip move on me and BAM I’m in a rear naked choke. Woke up here.”

Yeah. You got your ass kicked.

“He pulled some MMA shit on me, man. Deer never did that.”

Deer have little if any affinity towards the martial arts.

“They just run away.”

Right.

“Well, shit. This is no good. I’m still a kitten, dammit.”

Sorry. Your eyes were bigger than your claws. Should’ve aimed lower on the food chain when selecting your lunch.

“No need to be a dick.”

Pardon me for being Team Human. Don’t eat people, asshole.

“Stop being made of food, dipshit.”

I’m so glad you were murdered by a jogger, incompetent puma.

“FUCK YOU!”

FUCK YOU!

“Are those chimpanzees in spacesuits over there?”

Yeah. Ham and Enos.

“Can I eat them?”

God, you’re the worst.

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