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

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A Partial Transcript Of Donald Trump’s Press Conference – San Juan, Puerto Rico 10/3/17

“Thank you, great, Puerto Rico, great. We got here this morning, beautiful weather. Such a spectacular flight over. Pilot was pointing out the other islands, you could see forever, just the most beautiful flight. A little hot here. Can we crank up the air? Brock? Where’s Brock Long? Brock?”

MAN WITH PORN NAME RUNNING IN NOISE

“Brock. This guy’s famous now. Looks so good on teevee, very strong. Hasn’t slept in almost ten hours. Giving it all for me. Really working very hard for me. Brock, great. Brock, turn up the air.”

“We’re trying to conserve diesel, Mr. Pres–”

“I wanna be able to see my breath.”

“Fine, sir.”

MAN WITH PORN NAME RUNNING OUT NOISE

“Brock. A-plus. Everyone’s giving him A-plus after A-plus. Doing just the best job. Would be doing better if certain people weren’t trying to stop him, and of course the fake news. What’s ‘fake news’ in Spanish? Fake-o news-o. Very bad. Shame none of the hurricanes didn’t knock down some newsrooms.

“Category Five. Tremendous hurricane. No one knew there could be a Five. Some people said a Three, a Four. I predicted a Five. Just the biggest hurricane anyone has ever seen, which no one saw coming. Still: not Katrina. 85,000 people died in Katrina, many of them murdered by Hillary Clinton herself. Here, it’s 16. 16 people dead, right? Something like that, around there. Not bad. 16 dead is acceptable. You people kill twice as many during soccer games.  I can live with 16.

“Everything is going so well, and everyone involved is being very, very generous with their comments. Such beautiful comments. The people here have been so welcoming except for a couple. We’ll get to them. We’ll get to them. I want to let people thank me first. We have a Congresswoman. Congresswoman?”

“Here, sir.”

“Congresswoman?”

“Right here, sir.”

“Where is she?”

“I’m the short woman raising my hand, sir.”

“I know who you are. Congresswoman from Puerto Rico. Biggest constituency in the country. I know that. Many people don’t, but I do. No one told me on the plane ride over, I knew it. Did you know that? 3.5 million in your constituency.”

“I did, sir.”

“Less the 16 who died.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Great, talk about the job we’re doing that I’m doing.”

“Mr. President, on behalf of the people of Puerto Rico, I would like to thank you for the exemplary leadership you’ve shown during this crisis. You’ve coordinated the military, FEMA, and various civilian agencies. I have never seen a man so thoroughly in control of all of the facts, contingencies, and logistics of a situation. Your brave and strong presidenting has been an inspiration to us all, and as we say in Puerto Rico, Sólo sigue dándonos dinero, idiota.

“See? Very nice. Generous and nice, and many people heard her say it. Just wonderful. Hey, who wants toilet paper? I got toilet paper.”

MODIFIED TEE-SHIRT CANNON NOISE

“Hands up, everybody. Catch the toilet paper.”

MODIFIED TEE-SHIRT CANNON NOISE

“Great, fun, okay. Where’s Mitch? I got Mitch Mulvaney, my budget guy. Hillary wouldn’t have brought her budget guy, but I did. Smart! Mitch is great, a great choice, and people are saying the nicest things about him. Working very hard on the budget and you come along and screw it all up. This is gonna be expensive, maybe the most expensive project America has ever undertaken. We’re spending a lot of money on you. Maybe we’re not spending? Maybe we’re lending. We’ll discuss that, we’ll get to that.

“I brought Linda McMahon. Linda? Where’s Linda? Her and Vince, her husband Vince, great guy, they have built such an incredible business. Linda?”

“Here, Mr. President.”

“Linda, I think I could have taken Big John Studd.”

“Excuse me, sir?”

“He didn’t have the speed. I am one of the quickest people you’re ever gonna meet. Like, anywhere. I think I could have beaten him using that speed.”

“I’m sure you could have, sir.”

“You heard her. You heard her beautiful comment. I beat Big John Studd. I got so many generals here, and I get the best generals. Everybody see my generals? Don’t they look great? Where’s Army? Who is Army?”

“Here, sir.”

“Stand up, Army. Great, look at this. Okay, sit down. Navy? Who’s my Navy?”

“That’s me, sir.”

“Hello, Navy. I love that uniform.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Air Force? Did we bring an Air Force? Air Force? No Air Force? General Kelly, where’s my Air Force? General Kelly? Where’s the general?”

LARGE MAN SITTING SILENTLY NOISE

“General? Air Force? Okay, they’re around here. Who are you?”

“I’m with the Coast Guard, sir.”

“Why are you wearing a uniform?”

“Because the Coast Guard is part of the military, sir.”

“I knew that. Everyone knows that I knew that.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You all heard him say that I knew that. We have the best Coast Guard of maybe any country in the world. Lots of countries get their coasts invaded, but never us. And that’s because of these brave, brave, brave men. So brave. I’m gonna get you guys new boats.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“With stealth. You know what this stealth is? You, like, can’t see the boat at all. There’s literally nothing there. Guys are looking around, they can’t see you. It’s the most amazing technology you’ve ever seen and paired with our brave, brave, brave Coast Guard, who the NFL players are disrespecting, it’s gonna make us a country that everyone is talking about. Stealth boats, we’ll do that.

“We also cannot rule out the possibility that Radical Islamic Terrorism was behind the hurricane. How do we know what they’re capable of? Very smart people. Very evil, but very smart.

“And now we pray for Las Vegas.”

MODIFIED TEE-SHIRT CANNON NOISE

“All right, great, FEMA, great, thank you.”

Reasons A Person Needs To Own 47 Guns

  • You are not a person, but almost six pissed-off octopodes.
  • Clicked the wrong button on Amazon.
  • Trying to collect the full set.
  • Because your next door neighbor is Alphonse “46 Guns” Henderson, and fuck that guy.
  • Own a gun museum.
  • Own a gun-themed bed-and-breakfast in Vermont where, each fall, visitors come to shoot at the foliage.
  • Motherfuckers won’t listen.
  • Due to a congenital birth defect, possess 47 times more freedom than average American.
  • One more and you get a free turkey sub and small cola.
  • Her e-mails.
  • A good guy with a gun can stop a bad guy with a gun, but a good guy with 47 guns can stop 47 bad guys.
  • They said you couldn’t, but you believed in yourself.
  • Because owning 48 guns would be gauche.

Thoughts And Prayers At The Lapin Agile

“Hey, Thoughts!”

“Prayers! Get over here, you mug.”

HUGGING NOISE

“Man, we’re seeing a lot of each other lately.”

“I’ve spent more time with you this year than I have with my wife.”

“How is Best Wishes?”

“She’s really suffering from the Munchausen-by-proxy. Well, she isn’t suffering. The kids are. But, still: terrible.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“What are you gonna do? I guess we should get to work, huh?”

“Nothing’s gonna get done without Thoughts and Prayers.”

“This is our biggest job in a while.”

“So sad, Thoughts.”

“It is, Prayers. And that’s why these people need us so badly. Nothing heals a broken heart like Thoughts and Prayers.”

“Most of these folks have gunshot wounds, though. Do we heal those?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“But don’t let that distract you. We have a job to do.”

“Uh-huh. What is our job, Thoughts?”

“We get sent.”

“Like mail?”

“No, not really. Not like mail. Mail’s a tangible thing.”

“So, um, like a message? Like, Randolph tells Klaus to tell Marguerite to go fuck herself?”

“Not quite like that, either. A message has a specific recipient and may alter behavior. We’re more diffuse.”

“Okay. So, what is our actual job?”

“I’ve told you that: we get sent.”

“And then what?”

“And then nothing. That’s all there is to it.”

“We’re not actually doing anything, are we?”

“Not with that attitude.”

“I’m just saying what if instead of sending us, people did something. You know: committed an action.”

COLLAR-GRABBING NOISE

“Okay, listen here you little shit. This is the best gig I’ve ever had and you will not fuck this up for me. I have a mortgage, motherfucker.”

“Let me go.”

COLLAR-RELEASING NOISE

“You’re a dick.”

“I’m a dick with a good thing going, and so are you, bucko. Stay on the reservation. I can do this job on my own.”

“Really? You think people are just gonna send thoughts? Fuck that. I’m the headliner here. You’re nothing without me, asshole.”

“Bullshit.”

“You’re Andrew Ridgeley, buddy.”

“FUCK YOU, PRAYERS!”

“SUCK MY BALLS, THOUGHTS!”

CONCEPTS HAVING A SLAP FIGHT NOISE

“Are you done?”

“Yes. Are you?”

“Yes. Check your Twitter.”

“Ooh, Rhianna just sent us to Vegas.”

“Vegas, baby.”

Fourteen Thoughts

ONE

Dancing With The Stars was on tonight. I’m not a regular viewer, but I caught the first few minutes. The host is a man named Tom Bergeron; he looks like a model from the 1979 Sears catalog; he was born with sincere eyes. Tom looked right into the camera, right at me, and he asked for a moment of silence for the victims of the most recent massacre. The lights in the studio dimmed for a second, two, three, and then they came back up and Terrell Owens and Frankie Muniz jitterbugged to Everybody Dance Now. Frankie was wearing double denim that had undergone bedazzling.

C’mon out here, Frankie, and show ’em what they’re fighting for.

TWO

Tom Petty just got off tour. Big one. 40th anniversary for him and the Heartbreakers. They played baseball stadiums, Wrigley and Coors Field, and the world-famous Hollywood Bowl. After the news of the day cleared out from the trending list on Twitter–real late at night–his name would pop up. The shows were all sold out, and Tom Petty played all his hits. Folks would post videos. They were invariably Free Fallin’. Every man, woman, and child in those stadiums would sing along in the chorus. The part where it jumps up an octave. A lot of things made that song a hit, but the bit where it jumps that octave is the true hook.

THREE

The stage where Jason Aldean was performing, closing out the festival at around ten pm, is 400 yards from the Mandalay Bay. The room the shooter had chosen for his blind was on the 32nd floor. This means that the distance from the window to the crowd is over 1200 feet. Around a quarter of a mile. At that distance, faces cannot be made out with the naked eye even in daylight. Just shapes. Human silhouettes.

Just like at the range.

FOUR

Go and fetch a pen. Your favorite, the one that writes so smooth. Pad, too. If you don’t have a pad, use an unpaid gas bill. I’ll wait.

You ready? Good.

Write an opening line this good:

She was an American girl;
Raised on promises.

You’ll run out of ink before you do.

FIVE

In the doctor’s office this afternoon, MSNBC was playing; I’m not a regular viewer. Brian Williams was speaking. They let him do that, for some reason. He had a man from some sort of security consulting firm on, one of those companies with the vaguely threatening names. Brian asked what was to be done, and the man began speaking about the need to harden soft targets. I put in my headphones and listened to the Hold Steady. There was a magazine with an Audi on the cover, and I looked at that.

SIX

I kept hearing the shooter’s name as Tom Stoppard, and wondering how tough the life of a playwright must be.

SEVEN

Tom Petty made driving music. Songs for an American highway. Driving music needs a particular tempo: too slow and you’re causing traffic jams, but too fast and the law will take an interest. Driving songs don’t need speed, just momentum. Forward thrust. Put on any Tom Petty record and your window will roll itself down.

EIGHT

The initial burst from the shooter’s automatic weapon was nine seconds long. Close your eyes and count off nine seconds. One Mississippi, etc. Close your eyes and count off nine seconds. I’ll do it with you.

It was longer than you thought it would be, wasn’t it?

NINE

As I write this, 59 are dead. More will die, but right now the toll stands at 59. An NFL roster is 54 people. It is the worst massacre in modern history, beating the previous massacre by 9 corpses. The previous massacre was last year. We do not count historical massacres, as they were more complicated than we’d prefer. These new massacres are simple. They are just like the superhero movies everyone loves.

A very special man uses force to change the world. He succeeds, temporarily, but by the mid-credit scene everything is back to the status quo.

TEN

#VEGASSTRONG

Ah, go fuck yourself.

ELEVEN

Classical physics deals with position. A physical object occupies one at a time. Quantum physics disagrees, as quantum physics is an inherently belligerent science. Objects cannot be said to occupy any position with certainty until they’re pinned like butterflies by an observer’s eyeball. Nothing’s here, and nothing’s there; particles have a 50% chance of being here, and a 30% chance of being there, and a 10% chance of being there, and it continues on asymptotically. This is called superpositionality.

Tom Petty was superpositional today.

TWELVE

Will he pick a fight with a survivor or a bereaved family member? He will make this worse.

THIRTEEN

Tom Petty was born in the panhandle of Florida and had a massive heart attack in Malibu. I cannot think of a more American sentence.

FOURTEEN

59 people were murdered and 527 injured at a country-music concert last night by a stranger with a machine gun. I thought of a more American sentence.

Birth Of The Pool

Mr. Davis, may I ask you–

“You see McLaughlin back there? Wearing his fucking dashiki? White motherfuckers should stick to khakis and fucking tuxedos. Second you venture outside that bullshit, you make fools out of yourselves. Boy looks like an usher at a theater for perverts.”

–a question?

“Yeah, fuck it. Ask away.”

Why did you always play your trumpet facing downward?

“Shit’s heavy.”

Sure.

“Ain’t no one paying me for my fucking posture. You think this is something? This ain’t shit. Look at this, motherfucker.”

Wow. It’s almost like you’re trying to fold yourself in half.

“Sometimes I like to play to my dick. Only one in the fucking room understands what I’m doing half the time. Other times, I’m looking at my shoes.”

Why?

“I got beautiful shoes, motherfucker.”

That’s true.

“And once again the white man pigeonholes the black man. Only lets him be one motherfucking thing. I got fucking multitudes in me. Check this shit out.”

The horn’s going straight up now.

“You ain’t as dumb as you look. I can do it all. Horn down, up, whatever. Besides, I play this way and I don’t got to look at that motherfucker’s sad-ass afro. Shit, that thing’s terrible. Hey, Gary. Gary.”

“Yeah, Miles?”

“Go stand behind the curtain until you ain’t ugly no more.”

Stop bullying Gary Bartz, Mr. Davis.

“Goddamn, you got me all riled up now. Motherfuckers coming into my headspace and fucking it up. I need to go the health club and take a swim.”

Okay.

I don’t understand what’s happening.

“What, a black man can’t swim?”

Well, actually, due to a myriad of socioeconomic factors–

BANG!

“Shut the fuck up, Mr. Wizard, or I’ll shove that kickboard up your ass.”

Sorry.

“I’ve shoved kickboards up motherfuckers’ asses before.”

I already apologized. Is that a shower cap?

“Yeah. Lemme show you how to put it on.”

This is a weird lesson.

“Motherfuckers wanna start from the front, but that’s the white man lying to them. Back is the place to begin. Get all your little curly shits all wrapped up tight back there. Then you cover the front.”

“Voila, motherfucker.”

Mr. Davis, why the cap?

“You think this shit I got on my head is natural, motherfucker? Can’t be dipping a fucking process in a swimming pool. Teach you peckerwoods nothing at school, I swear.”

May I ask one more question?

“Ask me while I’m fucking swimming.”

What happened to the cap?

“I got mad at a white lady and slapped her with it.”

And why the sunglasses?

“Bright as a motherfucker in here.”

You’re indoors.

“Shut the fuck up. Watch me do the breaststroke.”

Okay.

“I can frog kick like a motherfucker.”

This has gone to a place I did not expect.

“Okay, now spot me, motherfucker.”

What?

I’m leaving.

“If you find that Garcia motherfucker, tell him to come by.”

The gym? I can tell you right now he won’t come by the gym.

BANG!

I’ll send him to the house.

“Better.”

Where are you even keeping that gun?

“Worry about yourself.”

Yes, sir.

It’s What He Would Have Wanted

“Jenkins!”

“Yes, sir?”

“When I say ‘Jerry Garcia,’ what do you think of?”

“Tie-dye? Hippies?”

“No.”

“Beard.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“20-minute solos.”

“Stop that. Concentrate, damn you, or I’ll give you such a hiding.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, sir.”

“Skank!”

“Wow, that wasn’t even close to one of my guesses.”

“Jenkins, when you think of Jerry Garcia, you think skank. Semi-naked titty-bitches writhing in orgasmic ecstasy in furtherance of a capitalist agenda. You know, skank.”

“That’s a bit misogynist, sir.”

“Yes. I’m a terrible man.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Nothing, nothing at all, sells like skank, Jenkins. Humor, cleverness, outright lying: these work in ads, but not like skank.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but what is this exactly an ad for?’

“The concept that Garcia’s guitars were magical.”

“Ah.”

“Otherwise, people will just think they’re overpriced geegaws that sounded objectively worse than a Strat.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Can’t have that, now. Bad for merch sales. Gotta sell merch, Jenkins. And do you know how?”

“With skank, sir?”

“Skank! Cures all ailments and washes away trouble, does skank. Puts a spring in your step and a boner in your pocket; talking about skank here. Jenkins, have you ever felt the warm summer rain on your face?”

“I suppose.”

“It was skank.”

“The rain was skank?”

“All is skank; skank is all. Like the Christ, but with a butthole you’d like to wrestle into submission.”

“Why would you need to wrestle a butthole, sir?”

“They get feisty. Buttholes have minds of their own, Jenkins. Never turn your back on a butthole.”

“I’ll be careful.”

“You’ll be dead!”

“Sir, do you have a plan beyond ‘procure skank?'”

“Oh, yes.”

“Would you like to tell me?”

“You didn’t make it clear that was your desire, Jenkins. Be assertive, old bean.”

“What is the skank plan, sir?”

“That’s better. So: we get the skank.”

“Right.”

“And the guitars. Then, we apply a thick coat of polish.”

“To the guitars or the skank, sir?”

“Yes.”

“And then?’

“Well, then the skank skanks it up, I suppose. Wriggling. Going ‘woo!’ That sort of thing. Maybe we get some bellybutton in play. Who knows with skank?”

“So, the model will just dance around in her underwear in front of the guitars?”

“You say that as if it isn’t a mitzvah.”

“It’s not, sir.”

“Anti-semitism will not be allowed in this office, Jenkins. Unless it’s from me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, set up a casting session and run to the store for some polish.”

“Skank or guitar?”

“Yes.”

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