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

Category: Uncategorized (Page 175 of 1031)

A Proof, Semi-Mathematical

There were stinkers in the beginning, in the early years before they quite learned how to play their instruments, and then Garcia was out of tune in 1970 and ’71. 1972 has no bad shows, but ’73 might (depending on how you feel about the Horn Shows). ’74 surely does; the last few performances from the September European tour are among the worst that lineup produced. 1975 was perfect.You may judge early ’76’s slumpy tempos as dealbreakers; this is your right. Depending on your tolerance for late-era Keith’s monotonous comping, ’77 may also contain a clunker or two. ’78 is a fucking mess. After this, no year comes close to batting a thousand.

We are left, in our very important choice of Best EVAR year, with 1972 and 1975, and I vote for ’75. I enumerate my reasons herewith and thereforth:

  1. Having your best year while the band is technically broken up is the Grateful Dead way of going about business; it is deeply on-brand.
  2. While the Dead achieved numerous career milestones and created some of the most wonderful music of their lives in ’72, they didn’t play Blues For Allah at ten in the morning to a baseball stadium full of teens. 
  3. Bill Graham introduces every show in 1975.

Quan Eros Dermatologium.

No One Ever Called Him Unobservant

“There’s a step, Bob. I’m standing on a step and it’s making me unreasonably taller than you. If you look down, you’ll see the step I’m talking about. I don’t want you to be overwhelmed by my mass.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Were I actually this size, I would set off primal alarms in your amygdala. All over your brain, in fact. Neurons, synapses, areas belonging to both Wernicke and Broca. Maybe even the Isles of Langerhans.”

“I went there on vacation once.”

“Bob, my friend, I just have one question for you.”

“Shoot.”

“Where’s your beard?’

ROCK STAR FACE-FEELING NOISE

“Goddammit.”

“Check the freezer.”

“Natasha!”

Tim Tebow Learns About Sex, Part 2

Jesus!

“Where? I love that guy.”

He’s not here. You startled me.

“My faith makes me stealthy.”

You’re like a ninja for Christ.

“And a samurai. And a Zulu. And a Saracen. All the foreign warriors. Knights, too. We forget that knights are a foreign thing sometimes, but there were no knights in America.”

Why are you back, Tim Tebow?

“You didn’t finish teaching me about the Foul Act.”

You mean sex?

“Yeah, the Foul Act.”

Why are you capitalizing that?

“That’s how my grandmother taught me. The woman had 28 grandchildren and one of ’em along the way mispronounced ‘grandma’ and ‘greebo,’ and so she was Greebo Tebow. She was 120 years old and weighed 35 pounds, and she would cackle a lot and whack everyone with her stick. Not nicely. Greebo Tebow would aim for the skull. She taught us all about the demons in our pants.”

There are no demons in your pants.

“You can’t prove that.”

Technically, no, I can’t.

“Point: the Christian God.

I need you to stay on target, buddy. You’re a wildly-naive 31-year-old Heisman winner/virgin about to marry a former Miss Universe, and you’re nervous about your wedding night.

“I also have a cologne coming out in March. It’s called Beseech by Tim.”

Great. And I was walking you through the physical part of the evening with…

GOOGLING A RIDICULOUS NAME NOISE

…Demi-Leigh Nel-Peters.

“Her name is so beautiful that it couldn’t be expressed in only two words.”

If you say so.

“She’s hot, too.”

She’s an attractive woman.

“Great body.”

She keeps herself in shape.

“I want to grasp onto it. With my hands? And shake her back and forth. Not too hard. Then slough her skin for mites. Hard. I wanna slough her so hard. Really get in there.”

What the hell are you talking about?

“I wanna put my nose in her ear.”

Stop it. I told you what to do.

“Right. I forgot. I was thinking about Jesus.”

What did I tell you?

“First is kissing. Then, bosoms. Don’t honk them. Vagina is next. Do stuff to it.”

What kind of stuff?

“Sudden stuff.”

No.

“Chuck a football at it.”

God, no. Although, you’d probably miss.

“That hurt.”

You’re won the Heisman and now you’re marrying a beauty queen; you beat me at life. Take a joke.

“Would you like to pray about your failures with me?”

You want my help or not?

“Yes, I do. What happens after I manipulate her nethers?”

By this point, you will have an erection.

“I don’t know what that means.”

Your monkey will have climbed the tree.

“Oh, sure. That makes sense.”

So you stick your monkey in her.

“Wild. Will she mind that I do so? I would be pissed if someone’s monkey was in me.”

She will welcome you.

“Awesome. How sharp are the teeth?”

There are no teeth.

“I have been informed by a great many parties of varying disinterest that ladies’ forests have teeth in them.”

You have been misinformed.

“Like the Sarlaac.”

Right. I know the Sarlaac. That is not what vaginas look like. If you ever see one that does, run.

“No teeth?”

Not a single bicuspid.

“And the unholy clamping?”

The what now?

“Sometimes women will clamp down on your monkey and hold you there while they turn into a goblin and eat your face.”

That’s a succubus. You’re talking about a succubus. Your fiancée is not a succubus.

“Banshee?”

She is no form of female-presenting demon. She seems like a sweet girl.

“She is! I’m just so dang nervous. I wish we could get the wedding night over with and just go straight to the honeymoon.”

What are you two doing?

“Charity work. We’re going to Laos to circumcise children.”

How are you allowed to do that? You don’t have any medical training.

“Well, usually we go to the Philippines to set up our outreach program. In the Philippines, all white people are legally doctors.”

That’s not right.

“I did a couple of eye operations last time I was there.”

You really shouldn’t.

“Not even out in the boondocks. I had a storefront practice in Manila City. Nurse, office staff, the whole deal. We got robbed and the nurses and staff were murdered, so we’re gonna try Laos. Those kids are way too poor to have foreskins.”

What?

“Think about how blessed by the Lord we are here in America. It’s God’s love that provides us with the plenty that allows us to choose whether or not we want foreskins. And He gives us the jets that fly us to Laos so that we might bring His Word and remove a burden from the poor. ‘Here, brother. Let me take that for you, as it looks heavy.’ You also bathe the area with saline solution, as to lessen the chance of infection.”

I’m gonna pretend like that made sense. Can we get back to the sex?

“Okay.”

Where were we?

“The monkey went into the forest.”

Right. Now comes the humping.

“Fun word.”

Fun activity. You’re gonna love it.

“How do I do it?”

Thrust.

“Should I be headbutting her while this is happening?”

No.

“Not even to get her all psyched up?”

Don’t headbutt your wife. It is at this point that we must discuss positions.

“I’m against abortion.”

I meant sexual positions.

“Answer is still relevant.”

Physical positioning on a bed. I mean, you can have sex anywhere, but you two are gonna be in a bed.

“Our wedding bed will be both holy and obtained through doing an ad for a furniture store on Instagram.”

Great.

“How many positions are there? Is one of the positions ‘Being Thankful for Jesus?’ Because I gotta be honest: I’m almost always in that position. Call the sex cops!”

Are you done?

“Yes.”

Thank you. Let’s see, you got missionary, cowgirl, reverse-cowgirl, doggystyle. There’s a new one where the guy holds the chick upside down and porks her with a downward dong.

“Greebo Tebow was right! All of those sound like Foul Acts!”

No, you’ll like ’em.

“What are they?”

Missionary is when the guy is on top.

“Of the world?”

No, of–

“Of the pops?”

“Stop interrupt–

“Of the morning to ya?”

Of the woman.

“Ohhhh.”

We’re speaking heteronormatively, of course.

“I have no idea what that means, but I instinctively reject its insinuations.”

The lady is laying supine on the bed. She parts her legs as to allow ingress. The man assumes a push-up like stance above her. He pierces, he pierces in vain. Her hand is on his back in the same spot it always is. She marveled at their sexual routine, inviolable and undiscussable, and envied him his simple orgasms and simple thoughts. There were to be 30 more pumps, and now 20, he huffs in a throaty way, we are ten, nine, eight from the end, and he buries his face into her hair that has pooled on the pillow, two one JACKPOT and he will nuzzle. He will never not nuzzle. He is a kind man, and he loves her, and she is fucking a guy from the supermarket who lifts weights.

“Excuse me.”

Mm?

“What are you talking about?”

Love, baby.

“You got weird. I’m gonna go.”

Ah, knock it off.

Tim?

Dammit, how is he able to leave like that?

When You Whisper Like That Hot Summer Breeze

“Now. Let’s do it now.”

“Jill, honey, we’re not burning the place down.”

“This is the time! I just maxed out the insurance. The restaurant is worth more as a smoldering ruin than it is whole.”

“Sweetie.”

“I’ve got matches and I’ve already doused most of the busboys in propane.”

“Honey.”

“Think of how much cleaner you’ll feel when it all burns.”

“Loveydoodles.”

“And we can leave a guitarist or two in here for a Wicker Man-type deal.”

“Jill, no. We’re not sacrificing any musicians.”

“Fine. Patrons?”

“Better option, but no. I love Terrapin Crossroads. I love what we’ve created here, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, Phil. I love that you and your buddies have someplace to get loaded and jam every night.”

“I sensed sarcasm.”

“Nooooo.”

“You’re bored.”

“Nooooo. I love expediting in the kitchen while you play in the bar. Equal levels of fun.”

“Well, you’re an owner, honey. You can have any position you want.”

“It’s a restaurant! All the jobs suck! There’s not one enjoyable task involved in running a restaurant. Either you’re dealing with a drunken public or you’re in a 200 degree kitchen getting sexually harassed in Spanish.”

“Okay. How can we fix this?”

“I want to take up polo.”

“The kind with the horses?”

“Yup.”

“Isn’t that for royalty?”

“You’re rock royalty.”

“Aw, thank you, sweetie.”

“Love my Philly-willy.”

“Love my Jilly-billy. So, yeah, polo. We’ll need to buy a horse, huh?”

“No. We’ll need to buy a dozen. And a support staff for them. And, if we’re honest, we should also move to Palm Beach County or Argentina.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, the only sport with a bigger buy-in is competitive yachting.”

“You ever ridden on a horse before?”

“I’ve seen it done so many times that I’m sure I could do it.”

“Where did this come from?”

“The polo thing?”

“Yeah.”

“I had a dream a while ago. It was the plot of Footloose, but with polo. John Lithgow was the preacher in town and he wouldn’t let the teens play polo. But those kids had polo in their souls! You were in the dream, but you were Lori Singer. Does that make sense?”

“Kinda.”

“That preacher wasn’t an evil man. He was a bad guy, but not evil. He had just misplaced his grief, that’s all. But the kids had to polo, nonetheless. Immovable object meets an unstoppable force on ponies and wearing exceptionally tight trousers. Finally, the teens overcame and they played their first triumphant chukker. Kenny Loggins was there.”

“What’s a chukker?”

“It’s a polo word.”

“Okay. I support you. Let’s do this. Polo it is.”

FWOOMP

“The busboys are on fire.”

“I’m surprised it took this long. I used a ton of propane.”

Thoughts On Christopher Nolan’s Batman Trilogy

  • Think of how much buttfucking must have gone on in Sodom.
  • 5,000 years later, and we’re still talking about it.
  • Those people fucked butts, man.
  • I thought you were talking about the Batman movies.
  • Eventually.
  • Now, please.
  • Oh, fine.
  • The Batman movies–Batman Agonistes, The One With The Joker, and The Shitty One–directed by Christopher Nolan and his impeccable education are both much better and far worse than you remember.
  • Sweet sweaty Jesus, do these movies take themselves seriously.
  • Enthusiasts, there are Themes.
  • Big Questions are asked.
  • About chaos and fear and panic, and the immovable burden of the past, and guilt, and what a man owes to his city, and ninjas.
  • The first picture, Suddenly Batman, is simply chockablock with ninjas.
  • Far more than you recall: the first half of the movie is ninja-centered.
  • They got the swords, the pajamas, the whole bit.
  • Liam Neeson’s on top of a mountain.
  • You can’t find ninjas on Craigslist; you have to go to the top of a mountain.
  • And Liam’s like, “Hey, Bruce, you’re from Gotham, right?”
  • And Bruce is all, “Yuh-huh. Go Knights!”
  • “Oh, shit, bro. We’re totally gonna kill everybody there.”
  • “Bro! Not cool! Why?”
  • “Dude, I forgot to tell you: we’re not just ninjas, we’re also kind of the Illuminati.”
  • “Not cool!”
  • And so on.
  • That’s all three movies: the bad guys’ plans always boil down to “I wanna teach Gotham a lesson.”
  • Mwah-ha-ha.
  • Anyway, Bruce Wayne was on the mountain in the first place because his parents were shot, and he was like, “Fuck you, crime,” and he wandered around the globe learning how to punch poor people.
  • Which, let’s face it, is not the healthy way to deal.
  • Li’l Orphan Annie didn’t hit any poor people.
  • Daddy Warbucks’ financial machination probably starved a bunch, and I’m sure he called the Pinkertons out on strikers a bunch of times, but Annie didn’t turn herself into a fearsome symbol of harsh justice who was also a ninja.
  • Annie just hung out with Sandy the dog and sang songs with her fellow urchins.
  • Whereas Bruce Wayne worked through his trauma by looping cable around policemen’s ankles and chucking them off roofs.
  • But he doesn’t kill, or use guns.
  • Except when he kills (Batman kills so many people) or uses guns (the Batmobile, Batcycle, and Bathoverdrone all have literal cannons on them).
  • Batman has a code.
  • This is what makes him different than the bad guys.
  • Also: the looming.
  • Nobody looms like Batman.
  • Darth Vader is good, but not like Batman.
  • We are told that Batman has no superpowers, but this is a lie.
  • Batman possesses psionic abilities that make everyone within a hundred-foot radius forget they’re holding guns.
  • I cannot count the number of times I shouted at the screen, “JUST SHOOT HIM, DIPSHIT!”
  • “NO, DON’T SWING THE RIFLE AT HIM!”
  • So many opportunities to put a bullet in the man, and every single time: form a circle around him and wait to get awkwardly punched.
  • The punching gets better in the second and third flicks, but the first movie’s fights are just fast cutting, mostly because once again Batman couldn’t actually move.
  • This was a feature of both the Burton and Schumacher films, too: ever since Adam West took off the spandex, the Dark Knight has been armored up in latex and rubber to the point of immobility.
  • And this was 2005, mind you.
  • We had put a man on the moon.
  • Surely someone could have figured out how to engineer a ball joint into the neck of Batman’s cowl.
  • Just do a helmet on top of a turtleneck.
  • But, no, we get a Batman that staggers around like Tor Johnson in a graveyard.
  • There is also the yelling.
  • Christian Bale’s bellow in Batman Bayou is positively restrained when compared with the (computer-enhanced) silly shouting he gets up to in the second and third flicks.
  • “HGGGGGGGGGH!”
  • That was an actual line in the script.
  • Batman has two superpowers: the gun thing and not needing a lozenge.
  • Try doing the voice; you’ll be hacking up blood in seconds.
  • Batman Begginstrips is a podgy movie that, like the others, makes not one lick of sense but it does introduce the best part of the Nolan trilogy.
  • The Tumbler.
  • Look at her.
  • Smell the justice coming off of her.
  • Fuck her tailpipe.
  • I think there’s five or six tailpipes.
  • Fuck all her tailpipes.
  • You’re getting weird again.
  • Shh.
  • The Tumbler (and the skittery rumble of her soundtrack) was the best part about the first Nolan film, save for Cillian Murphy’s soft, kissable lips.
  • Like a cross between an F-117 and a dune buggy designed by Frank Gehry, the Tumbler had a secret weapon, and that was that it existed and actually tore ass across Chicago.
  • There was, to be sure, some CG bullshit, but the vehicle was not created entirely of pixels inside some computer in the San Fernando Valley.
  • Like this piece of shit:
  • That’s from the Justice League movie, and the picture is of a toy because they did not build a real Batmobile this time.
  • There was a prop created:
  • But it didn’t have an engine, and so all the shots in the movie were not shots at all, but generations.
  • Which is, admittedly, 9,000,000th on the list of problems with Justice League, but it bears pointing out.
  • This new one is clearly just the Tumbler having gone through Snyderfication, a process by which all thought and color is vacuumed from an idea and regurgitated over a classic rock soundtrack.
  • Look at those back wheels.
  • Does the whole casing ride up and down with the shocks, because there’s no room for the tires to bounce.
  • Wouldn’t that design make the structure inherently weaker and more prone to attack?
  • You’re dumb and I hate you, Batmobile from Justice League.
  • Forgettable were the Schumacher versions
  • You’re trying too hard, Schumacher Batmobile.
  • Also, the placement of your front wheels only makes sense if you’re only going to drive backwards.
  • And, like Snyder’s piece of garbage, this design apes the previous (and creatively fresh) iteration, which was…
  • The Burtonmobile.
  • Or, as some refer to it, THE PHALLUS OF JUSTICE.
  • As with the Tumbler, the Phallus was driveable, but far more fragile.
  • It’s a Chevy chassis with a shit-ton of fiberglass on top, and the jet engine is not real.
  • Most engineers will advise against placing a jet directly in front of the driver.
  • The vehicle also turns about as well as a Ukrainian diner.
  • Also very tough to reverse.
  • There is literally no way to parallel park this car.
  • Lot of drawback, if we’re honest.
  • Unlike…
  • Ah, yeah.
  • The original onscreen (forgetting the serials from the 40’s) Batmobile is still a fan favorite, and why shouldn’t she be?
  • Look at her.
  • Fuck her tailpipe.
  • STOP THAT.
  • It’s a Lincoln.
  • A concept car from 1955 called the Futura, and that certainly would have been an apt name in 1955.
  • Dig those swoops and curve, Daddy-o.
  • The studio that designed Alfa Romeos built it and charged Lincoln $250,000 for it; they hauled it around to car shows and loaned it out to movies, and sometimes in the 60’s sold it to a guy named George Barris for a buck.
  • He made the hood a little gnarlier, and sunk a flamethrower in the trunk so that the car would shoot fire as it sped away from the camera, and painted the Batsymbol on the doors.
  • Took him a week-and-a-half.
  • Shit.
  • I was writing about the Nolan movies.
  • Why do you let me go on tangents like that?
  • All of this is your fault.
  • Anyway, there are other characters besides Batman in these movies.
  • You got Alfred, played by Michael Caine, who is on the verge of blubbering in every scene.
  • A bemused Morgan Freeman.
  • Gary Oldman’s American accent.
  • Gary Oldman’s American mustache.
  • Rutger Hauer and Eric Roberts, for some reason.
  • Nestor Carbonell’s mascara.
  • There are also bad guys with whom Batman squabbles.
  • The underwhelming Scarecrow, played by Cillian Murphy’s bottomless eyes and bedroom lips, and Liam Neeson, who is playing “Liam Neeson if he were a ninja.”
  • The iconic Joker, played by Heath Ledger when he was alive, and Two-Face, who also does stuff, I guess; his makeup looks a lot better than Tommy Lee Jones’ did, I’ll give him that.
  • And then the absurd Bane, played by Tom Hardy’s costume and neck muscles, along with Marion Cottilard, who is hot and evil, and also Cillian Murphy comes back for a cameo and remains delicious.
  • Plus Anne Hathaway as Catwoman.
  • She’s not a bad guy.
  • She’s morally ambiguous.
  • That’s what you call a bad guy who is also a hot chick.
  • There are two other women in the Nolan Batman trilogy, leaving aside Bruce’s murdered mother (who has no lines) and Jim Gordon’s wife, who spends all of her screen time standing in doorways worrying.
  • They both play the same character because, hey, a chick’s a chick.
  • Suri’s mom is in the first one.
  • Married to Tom Cruise.
  • She was in Dawson’s Creek.
  • I think maybe she was also in an Adam Sandler movie.
  • KATIE HOLMES!
  • I knew it would come to me.
  • She’s an abominable actress, but her face is crooked in an appealing way and she has a hefty bosom.
  • This makes her morally ambiguous.
  • Katie is replaced in the role of Rachel Dawes, no-nonsense District Attorney, in the second film by Maggie Gyllenhall and I cannot lie to you, Enthusiasts: I do not enjoy looking at Maggie Gyllenhall.
  • She has a droopy face.
  • As if her features might slide off her skull at any moment.
  • Then, she blows up.
  • This happens because Joker has forced the Batman to make a choice harbleyarble whatever.
  • The second one is dumb, but the third is just stupid.
  • All the cops?
  • Every single cop in the city went down into the sewers at once, enabling Bane to trap them down there?
  • Stop that.
  • That is foolishness and I will roll my eyes at you, Christopher Nolan.
  • Oh, and Neil Patrick Harris or whatever that kid’s name is.
  • Joseph Gordon Levitt.
  • It’s a hard pass from me on JGL, dog.
  • You can smell the child actor all over him.
  • And there’s a nuclear bomb but Batman threw it into the bay so everything’s fine (except if the wind was blowing in that day) and everyone got to live happily ever after.
  • Except for Heath Ledger.

Argumentitum Complementarium

The question before us: Are the Winterland shows from February 1974 actually from 1973?

1973 The Winterland shows from February 1974 are in fact 1973 shows. FACT: the shows sound 73-ish as shit. FACT: numerous Grateful Deads were still writing “1973” on their checks when these shows occurred. FACT: Dark Star is performed on the third evening, and 1974 was a year virtually barren of Dark Stars, whereas there was a Dark Star every fifteen minutes in 1973.

1974 Technically, they did take place in 1974.

This is the 22nd, the first night. The 24th was released as a Dave’s Pick, but this night’s got soundcheck attached to the recording, so it’s at least a tie. (Neither show is as good as the 23rd, which features Garcia’s introduction of the Slipknot! riff and Billy’s reaction to said riff: “WHAT FUCKIN’ TIME IS THAT IN?” He does it in The Other One and again in Eyes, and no one in the band has any goddamned idea how to respond to the tricky little sucker; it’s delightful.)

In Fields Of Green, (Slight Repose)

Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?

“I’m in a meadow.”

Right. Why?

“Although ‘meadow’ implies level ground. Maybe better to say I’m on a grassy knoll.”

It’s never better to be on a grassy knoll. Nothing good can come of it.

“However you wanna classify it.”

But why?

“I’m not quite lounging, but I’m casual.”

I see that.

“A little bit coquetteish, maybe.”

It’s the hair.

“Thank you.”

You’re not gonna tell me why you’re sitting there, are you?

“As soon as I know, I’ll pass it along, but I think I’m gonna say ‘screw it’ and go with calling a grassy knoll. People know I didn’t kill Kennedy.”

I would hope so.

“Y’never know.”

Bette Davis Eyes, Bill Walton Thighs

“My God, Billy, the geologic stratifications we’re looking at are some of the most spectacular in the world. Scientists from all over come to Colorado to examine these cliffs, and that adds to both humanity’s knowledge and the local economy. It’s a win-win.”

“Look, kids. Rocks.”

“Don’t undersell the wonder here, my rhythmic friend. Within this landscape is the history of our Spaceship Earth. Imagine existing at that scale, encompassing both the ferocious spin which produces the day and also the patience to grow a mountain. That’s too much for our fragile minds; it would be like a GM also playing point guard. Only Earth herself can handle such a range of experience.”

“Fix your shorts, man. I can see your balls.”

“Better?”

“Yeah. Hey, Justy: go get Dad four cans of Coors. Other Kid, go with Justy and also bring me four beers.”

Tree, Life

“Joshua trees were actually cut down in order to make new roads.”

Fuck us. In every hole, even the ones not fucked by any but those with peculiar destinies: fuck us. Fuck us dry and dusty as the scrubby soil those ugly glories grow in. Oh, they are alien creatures! Tarantulas, with shaggy legs, reeling back from the mushroom clouds that gave birth to the high desert. The Mojave is not ancient; that is a lie. The nuclear tests brought the desert over from another place in 1949. A window opened. The Joshua come from that place.

The scientists tell us that the Joshua tree is not a tree at all, but a yucca plant. We can ignore the scientists, just as we do when they tell us we have broken the sky. Joshuas are freaky trees. Africa’s got dozens of mutant trees, and South America’s packed with ’em, but America has very few strange and spectacular megaflora. There are the massive sequoia of the Northwest and the venomous Dragonberry elms of Maine, but the Joshua tree is your bull goose American freakazoid plant, and they don’t travel well. You can probably keep ’em alive in a fancy arboretum, but it would cost a lot. They’re finicky, and so Joshua trees only grow in the Joshua Tree Desert. It’s like how Elvis lived on Elvis Presley Avenue.

However, the Joshua tree made a fatal decision in choosing to exist between Los Angeles and Las Vegas. In retrospect, the species would have picked a much more out-of-the-way spot to grow, because we laid a highway straight down the middle of their territory and poisoned ’em with our Chevys and sometimes we get out of the car to chop a couple down. Bad call, Josh.

So you must remember that we deserve it, all of us, when the time comes. That one of us was capable of this indicts us all. We’re all of us culpable as though we held the chainsaw. Humanity is wrong and twisted and Jesus look how much effort we put into being assholes.

All of you are on your own. I am now a walrus.

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