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

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Teller About It

Ahhh! Human foot!

“What?”

That guy has a face like a foot.

“He has a name.”

Good for him. Let him keep his name to himself. I hear that five women have made accusations against his mustache.

“It’s unfortunate facial hair.”

Look at you wearing Sedona Strut. That’s one of my favorites.

“Well, I don’t like to play favorites amongst my toppermosts, but I see where you’re coming from. You know all toppermosts are hand-made by Japanese artisans, right?”

You’ve mentioned. Who made this one?

“Arti-san.”

Nope.

“He says he was inspired by the Mojave desert, and also reruns of Breaking Bad. And Gila monsters. At least, I think he said he was inspired by Gila monsters. ‘Gila’ is not an easy word to say for a Japanese native.”

I would imagine.

CELL PHONE NOISE

“Just getting right to it, huh?”

It’s either this or discussing Miles Teller, and I’d rather shoot myself.

“Has this free-spraying misanthropy gotten you anywhere?”

Florida.

“I rest my case.”

“You’re on with John.”

“John Mayer? Oh my God, hi. I am such a fan. Anyway, I’m just calling to apologize.”

“Ah, dammit, I recognize that whine.”

“Yeah, it’s me, Lena Dunham. Hold on, I’m picking off a skin tag.”

“Ugh.”

“I’m back. Big sucker.”

GULP

“Did you eat the skin tag?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Awesome.”

“John, I’m calling to apologize for my decisions and actions on Halloween. First of all, the costume was of a ghost. Second of all, I truly thought ‘jigaboo’ was the formal version of ‘boo.’ So, what everyone saw–”

“A Klansman wobbling around the Lower East Side shouting racial epithets?”

“–was not my intention, but I feel glad that we all have a chance to learn from this.”

“Uh-huh. And what have you learned?”

“Attention is great.”

“Right.”

“I also want to apologize for saying that Bill Cosby’s victims should have raped him back.”

“You can’t ‘rape someone back.’ That’s not a thing.”

“I know that now! Another teachable moment courtesy of America’s Sweetheart.”

“You are not America’s Sweetheart in the slightest.”

“Hey, tell that to the people who keep hiring me. Oh, I would also like to apologize to Hannah Gadsby for saying that her special would have been funnier if she had male writers.”

“I can see how that would annoy her.”

“Furthermore, I apologize to the Malaysian community for calling their country ‘Bargain Indonesia.'”

“You’re on a roll lately, huh?”

“Why won’t you have sex with me, John Mayer?”

“Because of who you are.”

“On the outside?”

“That’s half of it.”

“Okay, I gotta go. I’m gonna write a column for Women’s Wear Daily.

“About what?”

“How sad it makes me to read about the Yemeni crisis.”

“Good luck with that.”

A Nation Mourns

“God, I hate white funerals.”

“Not, uhhhh, a lot of conflict. No one gets drunk, throws herself into the casket. Subdued folks.”

“How much longer is this, anyway? I got a basketball arena full of wine-drunk ladies waiting for me.”

“Little bit longer. Just George W.’s eulogy and then they fly the body to Houston.”

“How many places are they burying this man? Is this a horcrux thing?”

“No idea. Michelle?”

“Mm?”

“He keeping his hands to himself?”

“For the most part.”

“I can hear Hillary grinding her teeth from here.”

“She is not in a healthy headspace right now. How you doing?”

“Michelle, I am, uhhhh, not gonna lie to you: popped a xanax on the ride over.”

“Not a terrible idea. Holy shit, you’re kidding me.”

“What?”

“Is he snoring?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“Tell Melania to elbow him in the fat.”

“Oh, don’t make me talk to her.”

“Barack Hussein Mohammad Mustafa Whiteyhater Obama, you get that cat-woman to wake Lumpy up. We are on camera.”

“Fine, okay. Um, Melania?”

“Da, Chocolate President?”

“Michelle, she called me–”

“I don’t care what she called you. Take care of this.”

“Everythin’ all raht down there?”

“We’re fine, Bill.”

“Yer thigh cold? Ah c’d rub it for yew.”

“All good on the thigh front, Bill. Barack?”

“Fine, fine. Melania?”

“Da?”

“Can you nudge the President, please? I think he’s resting his eyes a bit loudly.”

“He is sleep, da. Let him. He no say stupid thing vhen he sleep.”

“Melania–”

“Maybe he die in sleep. Ve can throw him in coffin vith other body.”

“Melania–”

“You kill him for me, Svarte Piet.”

“Do not call me Black Pete.”

“Is Christmas. You are Black Pete.”

“An’ then Daddy said, ’43, don’t tell Jeb, but you’re mah favorite. Tell Neil, though.’ Daddy made me promise to tell everyone that Neil was his worst son. An’, you know, I agree. Neil ain’t even smart enough to be the Fredo. More like a family pet or beloved servant, one who was mistakenly granted access to banks and their workins’.

“An’ then he said, ‘I won my war, you pussy,’ an’ I said, ‘Yeah, but I won my reelection,’ an’ I called him a word that means ‘homo’ but not ‘homo.’ The stronger variation. He tried to karate chop me, but he was very weak at this point an’ I was able to get him in a naked rear choke.

“It should be noted that sev’ral generations of Bushes were in the hospital room while this was goin’ on.”

“Oh, thank God. He’s awake.”

“Michelle, no one has ever before thanked God that that man was awake.”

“Weird year. Is someone doing  Darth Vader impression?”

“That’s Cheney.”

“Ah.”

Thoughts While Watching Venom

  • Why?
  • Like, a million “whys” in a row, all lined up and in their spiffiest hats.
  • Why does this exist, why did I watch it, why is Tom Hardy talking like that, why does a merciful Lord allow such horror, all kinds of whys.
  • I wonder if the evil scientist bad guy will play God a bit too much and end up being taken over by a symbiote and then fight Venom in the third act?
  • Yup.
  • He will.
  • Aw, poor Michelle Williams.
  • You deserve better than Venom.
  • Greater tragedy in Michelle Williams’ life: Heath Ledger’s death or Venom?
  • Is there at least any good violence in this movie about a muckmonster biting off peoples’ heads?
  • [CHECKS RATING.]
  • [IT IS PG-13.]
  • Fuck.
  • Seriously, what is Tom Hardy doing and was there no one on set who could stop him?
  • I believe he is doing an imitation of Eric Roberts in Pope of Greenwich Village.
  • “DEY TOOK MY T’UMB, CHAHLIE!”
  • No one in New York still speaks that way, Tom Hardy.
  • And, besides, the movie is set in San Francisco.
  • (Which is the only non-embarrassing ingredient in the film. Tom Hardy goes walking through SF several times, and the city always looks beautiful. A bit hilly, but pretty.)
  • Oh, hey, it’s that guy.
  • Dan from Veep.
  • In Venom, his character is named…wait for it…Dan.
  • Which made it easier for me, honestly.
  • Although, I did keep waiting for him to unleash with some high-energy Armando Ianucci-flavored vulgarity, but he did not.
  • Just kinda said some exposition.
  • Good for him in getting into a big movie, though.
  • Venom should eat lawyers’ heads.
  • The only reason this movie exists is because lawyers are scum.
  • You know the whole Marvel/Sony bullshit, and if you don’t: you’re better off.
  • Shakespeare was right: first thing we do is kill all the lawyers.
  • Of course, Shakepeare put that line in the mouth of a character named “Dick the Butcher” and clearly intended it to be the plan of a villain.
  • Still, though: kill all the lawyers.
  • And then Venom and the similarly-powered bad guy punch one another while hanging onto a rocketship that is launched from ten yards off the San Francisco coast.
  • Which seems like poor placement for what is essentially a giant bomb.
  • Anyway, Venom wins because Tom Hardy’s lips are so plump and fuckable, and then Woody Harrelson shows up in a Little Orphan Annie wig.
  • You doubt me?
  • Those that doubt me, watch Venom by choice.
  • Woody will be playing the bad guy in the next film–assuming there is one–who is also a symbiote and is named…
  • Ravage?
  • Slaughterfingers?
  • Sliced Nipple Sandwich?
  • CARNAGE.
  • Right.
  • His name is “Carnage,” which is way less stupid than the names I came up with.
  • And that’s about it, Enthusiasts.
  • We must destroy Carnage.

After A Quiet Period, The Post-Midnight Calls To Maggie Haberman Resume

CELL PHONE NOISE

“Aw, Jesus. I thought they lost my number. Yeah, hello?”

“I have General Flynn on the line for Maggie Haberman.”

“General, I recognize your voice.”

“Yeah, you got me. I am just not great at fooling people. How’s my gal?”

“I am not your gal.”

“The world’s my gal tonight, Mag, and I’m gonna hump right on it. And this Black Label. She’s my gal, too. I’m celebrating, Mag! Why don’t you stop by? My son’s here and he’s single again.”

“Again?”

“Women can’t handle his love for country.”

“Mm-hmm. So, you’re gonna be a free man, huh?”

“Fingers crossed. I mean, the judge could still be Deep State. Or Jewish. Recommendation is just that, and we could get a free-lancer on the bench, probably installed by the Moor Obama.”

“Please don’t call President Obama a ‘Moor.'”

“See, this is the Political Correctness that’s ruining America that I had to save America from by betraying America.”

“What now?”

“Hey, how do you tell fentanyl from oxycodone?”

“I have no idea how you–”

“Fuck it.”

SHNAAAAAARF

“I ain’t dead, so it must have oxy. Mag, I’m telling you: I should go buy lottery tickets. Rolling straight 7’s today.”

“General–”

“This might be the moment to try out that autoerotic asphyxiation I’ve heard so much about.”

“Ew. So, how much did you tell Mueller to get such a beauty deal?”

“Everything! I told that freaky-chinned bastard everything. He got inside me, Mag.”

“Again: ew.”

“I told him about the Russians. I told him about the Turks. I told him about the Spanish.”

“The Spanish?”

“Yeah. I committed treason with Spain.”

“What? Why?”

“It was a fallow period for me, treason-wise. I took the job just to keep my eye in. Gotta stay sharp in the traitor business. Plus, I just love the lifestyle over there. Three hour naps, dinner at 11 pm, the lingering after-effects of fascist rule…I loved everything about it.”

“It’s a nice way to live.”

“And the tapas! You just nibble your way through the evening.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And their Spanish is more elegant than the way Mexicans speak it. Don’t tell the Mexicans I said that, though.”

“Why not?”

“I also committed treason for Mexico.”

“Jesus, man.”

“I may have become a little bit addicted to treasing, yes.”

“My God, you must have told Mueller a lot.”

“Oh, yeah. I was over there 19 times. 19 times. Until not too long ago, you didn’t meet your wife 19 times before you married her. Me and Biggie got tight.”

“Biggie?”

“That’s what I call Mueller. He calls me Pac.”

“Does he?”

“Mag, I wouldn’t expect a female to understand the complexities that make up the relationship between two men of arms, but we got close as shit. We were tight as a Mormon’s asshole. 19 times!”

“Yes, 19 times.”

“Who have you hung out with 19 times this year? Leaving out your family and coworkers. I mean: haaaaaaanging. Crack some beers, do a few lines, throw on Talledega Nights again. Shoot the shit, y’know?”

“Yeah, but the shit you were shooting was treason.”

“Treason, girl troubles, whatever. You don’t understand bros.”

“The recommendation did state that you were involved in some ongoing investigations.”

“Oh, yeah! Pac and Biggie are keeping the act together!”

“I’m happy for you.”

“I’m a regular over at that office. Got my own security badge and everything. I don’t knock! I just burst into the room like Kramer. Sometimes, I do a little funny walk, and that breaks everyone up. We’re kinda like–”

“Don’t say a family.”

“–a family over there. I’ve kipped out on their couch a whole bunch of times. Good guys.”

“Uh-huh. Just so I have this straight: you were actively conspiring with at least one foreign government while aiding a presidential campaign, and then while the National Security Advisor?”

“That doesn’t make me a bad guy.”

“It does.”

“That’s your opinion. And my boy Biggie’s opnion is that I’m awesome and he once told me that I have very pretty eyes. So, who do you think I’m going with here?”

“I’m sure you’ll choose the side which is most personally beneficial, General.”

“There you go. Hey, Mag, you ever hear the saying ‘In like Flynn?'”

DIAL TONE NOISE EVEN THOUGH PHONES NO LONGER DO THAT

End Of Watch

Aw, Johnny, that’s sweet of you to do your little Instagram show with a Make-A-Wish kid.

“This is not a Make-A-Wish kid. It’s Halsey.”

Huh. You sure she doesn’t have a disease?

“Positive.”

Well, then she’s culturally appropriating that hat from the Cancer-American community.

“Not a thing.”

She had some very harsh words for the Victoria’s Secret folks. Accused ’em of being shapist and transphobic and all sorts of whatnot.

“I saw that. It was brave of her.”

Would it have maybe been a bit braver for her to make her remarks before performing on the Victoria’s Secret show and cashing their check?

“Brave is brave. There are no levels to brave.”

What? You’re a foolish person. You’re saying that a rich, famous, hot person making a statement that none of her fans would disagree with is the same as throwing yourself on top of a grenade?

“I am saying that.”

Dumbass. So, uh, how’s that going?

“What?”

You know.

“I don’t.”

You knoooooooooow.

“No.”

You get ballsy with Halsey?

“Dude.”

She’s got the same haircut as Shawn Mendes. Did you mount her from behind and pretend it was Shawn?

“Not answering these questions.”

Fine. Talk to him.

“Who?”

ROTARY PHONE NOISE

“Do I even have a rotary phone?”

Look to your right.

ROTARY PHONE SPOTTING NOISE

“Oh.”

“You’re on with John.”

“LAST ONE STANDING, MOTHERFUCKER!”

“I think I recognize this voice and, holy shit, is this inappropriate.”

“BOB DOLE WINS, RICH BOY!”

“I want no part of this.”

“I’M OUT HERE AND YOU’RE IN THERE! LEMME TAKE MY PILL AND YOU CAN SUCK BOB DOLE’S COCK, PREP SCHOOL!”

“Hey!”

Me?

“Yes, you! ComPLETELY fucking not okay.”

This one is on the edge, I’ll admit.

“THE EDGE? Dude! Stop associating me with shit like this!”

I just report on what happens, man.

“I hate you.”

But you love America.

More PETA-Approved Substitutions For Offensive Animal-Related Phrases

Instead of “It’s raining cats and dogs,” try “This weather is the fault of the patriarchy.”

Instead of “Birds of a feather flock together,” try “Why are pigeons disenfranchised in America?”

Instead of “Pig in a poke,” try “I hope the Palestinians slaughter every last Jew they can find, including the small Jewish babies.”

Instead of “Hungry as a horse,” try “Hey hey, ho ho, this penis-party’s got to go.”

Instead of “Lie down with dogs and get up with fleas,” try “Camille Paglia is a counter-revolutionary who will one day answer for her crimes.”

Instead of “Rats in a drain ditch, dogs on a pile,” say “I don’t listen to music made by white cis-men.”

Instead of “That’s a horse of a different color, try “Don’t blame me, I voted for Jill Stein.”

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