Everyone needs a baseball bat to the forehead.
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
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Hey, legendary rock manager Sam Cutler. Whatcha doing?
“Oi’m ‘aving a bit of a kip. Need to get off me toffee-suckers.”
Toffee-suckers?
“British slang for ‘feet.'”
No, it’s not. Why so tired?
“The new gig, me son. Oi’ve been entrusted wif a most important job. Highest post in all of Glorious Albion.”
…
Oh, God, they put you in charge–
“Oi’m producing the Royal Wedding.”
–of that damned wedding. Are you the best man for this?
“‘Oo else could even attempt such an undertaking, me son? Everything’s coming together quite smoothly. Got the stage built.”
No stage. It’s in a church.
“Loaded in the nitrous tanks.”
I don’t think the Queen does whippets, Sam.
“Found Elton some twinks.”
Okay, that’s good work.
“It’s all a piece of draculas, innit?”
Draculas?
“Cake rhymes with stake, so there you go. Draculas. Cockney rhyming slang.”
That’s not how that works, and you are not a cockney.
“The wedding’s gonna be the party of the century. Just a complete knees-up. Santana’s gonna open. Just a wunnerful day f’r the whole nation. Rule Britannia and the like.”
Who’s doing security?
“Oi learned me lesson from Altamont, you todger. Don’t accuse people. It’s rude, innit?”
So who you got?
“A couple dozen disgraced ICE officers.”
This should go well.
“God save the Queen, me son.”
“Hey, Trumpers! Just hanging out with my maaaaaan here, whose name I forgot, but he’s fuckin’ righteous. Dudes, we got new merch in the shop and I think you’re gonna love this stuff. All new Junior Is My Homeboy tee-shirts, and–”
“Junior!”
“Hey, you’re awesome.”
“Junior, are you livestreaming our meeting?”
“Dude, Trump Team Ten demands new content.”
“I’m your lawyer, asshole. You cannot livestream meetings with your lawyer.”
“Is that, like, a YouTube term of service thing?”
PHONE SNATCHING NOISE
“Dude, my subscribers.”
“Shut up. We need to talk about your Senate testimony.”
“When am I doing that?”
“You did it already. In March.”
“If you say so. Wait, is Senate testimony when a Vietnamese lady takes care of your feet?”
“No. That’s a pedicure.”
“Then I do not recall this Senate testimony you speak of.”
“You were in a big building full of white people, and people asked you questions you struggled to answer.”
“Dude, that’s literally every day of my life.”
“Regardless.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Lawyer. The word is irregardless.”
“Junior, you need to explain to me some of the responses you gave to the Senate. Here. This is the transcipt of the hearing.”
“Dude, that is so thick. That’s what she said!”
“Did you just ‘That’s what she said?’ yourself? You can’t do that.”
“My dad’s the president, I can do anything.”
“Just open the transcript to the first post-it note, please.”
“Dude, I really don’t wanna read. I’ve totally pivoted to video.”
“Open it!”
“DON’T HIT ME, DAD!”
…
“I almost feel sorry for you.”
“So many people say those exact words to me.”
“Open the transcript.”
“Fine.”
“Now you see there where I’ve highlighted? You were asked what you thought the meeting with the Russians was about, and you answered ‘Colluding.'”
“Uh-huh.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Reverse psychology.”
“Explain.”
“Dude, we’ve been, like, ‘No collusion’ over and over and no one will drop the investigation. So I pulled a reverse psychology on them. Instead of saying ‘No collusion,’ I said ‘Collusion,’ and they were like ‘Whaaaaaaa?’ They didn’t know whether to shit or go blind.”
“Me, neither.”
“I set a donbush. That’s like an ambush–”
“I get it.”
“–but with me.”
“Yeah.”
“Everyone calls me Junior, but my name’s Donald.”
“Okay, let’s go to the next post-it. You were asked what happened after the meeting with the Russian lawyers and you said–and I quote–‘I don’t remember what I did do, but I remember what I didn’t do, and that’s call my father. That definitely didn’t happen. No dad-calling from me at that point. Nosireebob.'”
“Uh-huh.”
“You actually said ‘Nosireebob.'”
“I’m pretty folksy once you get to know me.”
“Right. So, uh, here’s the problem: you did speak to your father after the meeting.”
“Did I?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know that?”
“You told me and provided your cell phone records. You also recorded the conversation.”
“I always do that when I’m talking to Dad. Sometimes he sounds proud of me, and I edit those bits together to listen to in the gym. Pumps me up.”
“Junior.”
“You lift?”
“Junior.”
“Blasting back and bi’s today. You wanna come? Black your back and bi’s?”
…
“You lied to the Senate, Junior.”
“In my defense, several of those Senators look Jewish.”
“You cannot lie to the Senate.”
“What, like there’s a law against it?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“Several. It is very, very illegal to lie to the Senate during a hearing.”
“Huh. Throw it on the pile, I guess.”
“Listen to me: no statements. Stay out of sight. Get off of social media.”
“Even Tinder?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, you’re on Tinder?”
“Dude, hooked up with this hottie last week. Chinese chick. She had the eyes, the weird pubes, the whole package. And she was, like, really from China.”
“A Chinese citizen?”
“I didn’t see her passport. She had an accent, though. We did it two-and-a-half times.”
“Two-and-a-half?”
“My dad called and I couldn’t get it up anymore.”
“Sure.”
“She was really knowledgeable about US politics, though. Kept asking me all these questions.”
“Uh-huh. What was her name?”
“She said it was Honey Pott.”
“I quit.”
- Freddie was queer as fuck.
- He died of AIDS.
- At no point was he a tiny Egyptian with googley eyes.
- Now be a dear and fetch us a Stoli, won’t you?
“Sam, buddy, I gotta tell ya: I did not enjoy my trip to Flavortown.”
“What!? Flavortown is outrageous, bodacious, and downright sexual! The Red Rocker’s thinking about opening a Cabo Wabo Cantina there!”
“Sure, but–”
“Woo!”
“–you know, everything was wrapped in bacon. I’m gonna get yelled at by my sister-in-law–”
“Lilian Monster! Woo!”
“–and I just don’t need it.”
“Bob, you gotta put your sandal down in that house of yours.”
“Sam, God love ya, I’m literally surrounded by women. I, uh, try to assert dominance and they come at me like a pride of lionesses.”
“They stick together, don’t they?”
“If you cover ’em in Donkey Sauce, sure.”
“C’mon, buddy: it’s just a little detour to Flavortown. Besides, there’s a big party going on today.”
“Yeah? Why?”
“Trump’s moving the embassy there.”
“Sounds right.”
“Woo!”
Oh, no.
“I’m, uh, in Flavortown.”
Run, Bobby, run.
“I can’t. There’s just so much flavor.”
Ignore the flavor, Bobby!
“There’s Donkey Sauce everywhere, and it is assumed you want extra cheese.”
That’s definitely Flavortown.
“I enjoyed Funkytown much more, if I’m honest.”
Is that a Red Hot Chili Pepper?
“I believe so.”
Yeah, the Chili Peppers are the house band of Flavortown.
“He keeps asking to borrow a sock.”
Do not lend him a sock, Bobby.
This version’s better than the Dead’s. Do not argue with me, and the first mope to bring up Nick Cave gets banned.
Never get old. Unless you’re Billy Joe Armstrong, honestly: he’s getting old pretty well. But if you are anyone else, especially James Hetfield? Do not get old.
This has been a reminder.
Dear Bird Outside My Window,
It is one in the morning, Bird Outside My Window; why the fuck are you chirping? Do you have rabies? When nocturnal animals get rabies, they are awake during the day. Does it work in reverse for birds? I do not know. My college did not have an Avionics Department, so I did not learn about birds, but I am generally familiar with how you all work.
Are you some sort of rebel, Bird Outside My Window? Do you think you are different than the other birds, all of whom are asleep right now? Because let me tell you : you ain’t shit, Bird Outside My Window. Your daddy wasn’t shit, and you ain’t shit. If you want to be up all night and possess the power of flight, then you should have been a bat or an owl. You are not a bat, Bird Outside My Window. Bats do not chirp. They are stealthy. You are also not an owl, an animal that similarly relies on stealth. No owl sings at the top its lungs constantly. This would alert the prey, and the owl would starve to death.
You wouldn’t pull this shit outside Israel’s window, Bird Outside My Window. They would snipe your rude ass.
Do not mistake my kindness for an unwillingness to burn down every tree and bush within three miles of my home.
Shut the fuck up,
TotD
Ah!
“Stop yelling.”
It’s the Age of the Twink! It’s here!
“No, these are my friends.”
THEY’LL DEVOUR US ALL!
“Not me. I’m highly twinkish.”
Who’s the first president you remember?
“Reagan.”
Not a twink.
“Dude, I’m such a twink.”
You twere. You twere a twink. But now you’re 40 and 40-year-olds can’t be twinks.
“Why not?”
Same reason a 23-year-old can’t be a teen. Some categories you age out of. Like Don Cheadle.
“He is getting way too old for those superhero movies.”
Cannot agree more. Who are these muppets?
“Online Ceramics. They’re fashion designers.”
But they look like french onion soup left next to the radiator all winter.
“Street-style, man.”
Yeah, exactly. They look homeless.
“I don’t know why I bother. You don’t understand fashion.”
Clothes that cost too much for people who get laid too much.
…
“Okay, you understand fashion, but leave my friends alone.”
Do you like these guys more or less than Steve Aoki?
“Dude, don’t ask me that. It’s like comparing apples to Steve Aoki.”
Fashion designers, huh?
“Hot ones. Lot of buzz.”
That fucker should sew himself some turtlenecks.
“You’re very rude.”
Hey, you wanted to have friends and wear clothes. You asked for it.
“That makes no sense.”
You know what doesn’t make sense?
CELL PHONE NOISE
“Goddammit.”
You asked for this, too.
“I absolutely did not.”
YOU ASKED FOR THIS, MEYERS.
“I’m gonna pick up the phone so I don’t have to talk to you.”
Cool beans.
…
“Polymath with the pretty mouth John Mayer speaking.”
“Hello, Little Potato.”
“Thought people forgot about that.”
“Nyet. Putin forget nothing.”
“What do you want?”
“Poland.”
“I mean, what do you want from me?”
“Putin vant Little Potato to see vhat real fashion is.”
“Gold doors?”
“Nyet. Enormous gold doors. Any kulak can have little gold door. Gold doggie door, maybe. Putin has biggest fucking gold doors you’ve ever seen. Is fashion.”
“If you say so.”
“Tvink to your left has degenerate neck.”
“It’s just a tattoo.”
“Putin vill fix.”
“Nothing needs fixing.”
“Putin vipe off.”
“Please don’t–”
SHVEEEEEEEEEE
CHOCK
SH-SHANK!
“Wow. Flying guillotine. Haven’t seen one of those around here in a while.”
“Putin bring back old bits.”
“Please go away.”
“Putin leave, but only because Putin is so busy.”
“What are you up to now?”
“Nothing. Putin do nothing. Stay home on June 3rd. Putin is not bad guy.”
…
“June 3rd?”
“Da. Trust Putin on this one. And stock pantry. Maybe buy gun.”
“Gotcha.”
SHVEEEEEEEEEE
CHOCK
SH-SHANK!
“Why’d you kill the other one?”
“He leave sticker on hat. Is nyet 2016 any more. Keep up vith fashion.”
“Hanging up.”
“June 3rd, Little Potato.”
DIAL TONE NOISE EVEN THOUGH ENORMOUS GOLD DOORS NO LONGER DO THAT
“Putin killed my friends.”
Yeah, he’s the worst.
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