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

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There Are No Conscientious Observors In Rando War

Hey, Parish. Rando War?

“Fuck, yeah. Gonna smoke this joint, take a piss, and break this fucker’s arm.”

Why?

“Prostate’s the size of a volleyball. I go every 20 minutes.”

Not the pissing. Why are you gonna break the rando’s arm?

“Old time’s sake. I don’t get to hit anyone anymore.”

Y’know, you’re overstating the Dead crew’s violence just a bit. You guys weren’t Led Zeppelin.

“Nah, shit no. We weren’t just goons. We didn’t hit people for no reason.”

Right.

“It’s just that people were always giving us reasons to hit them.”

Well, this rando hasn’t.

“Give him a minute.”

Please don’t hurt randos, Parish.

“It’s a Rando War. Gonna be some deaths.”

Deaths?

“Injuries, injuries.”

“Not true, love. There have been and always will be a great deal of mortality in Rando War, innit? Nature of the gimmick, right?”

Oh, I know that accent.

“‘Ello, love.”

What is happening here, Sam Cutler?

“Oi am making Rando Love, not Rando War.”

None of this makes sense.

“Also, Oi just dosed you. Ta.”

Ta.

A Partial Transcript Of Today’s Cabinet Meeting

“Why do I believe in God? And, of course, by ‘God’ I mean White Jesus. I believe in God because He has granted me the opportunity to advance President Trump’s agenda.”

“Nice, yes, religion, wonderful. Thank you, Ranch.”

“Reince.”

“Didn’t I fire you?”

“Not yet, sir.”

“I’ll get to it. Next. Rick Perry. Where’s Rick? Rick?”

“Here, sir. I love you. I’ll say it, and if people wanna talk, then let ’em. I love you, you manly sumbitch. I’d accept you within myself. You get what I’m sayin’ here? I love you for three reasons: you’re so smart, and you’re so tall, and…and…”

“COUGH COUGH BIG HANDS COUGH!”

“Right, yeah. Thanks, Ranch.”

“Reince.”

“You got some fuckin’ paws on you, Mister President.”

“Yes, terrific, hands, okay. Next, who’s next? Chinese lady, what’s your name?”

“Elaine Chao, sir.”

“Hit it.”

“The ‘J’ in ‘Donald J. Trump’ stands for ‘Jesus.'”

“Beautiful. Short and sweet. Usually, you people are sweet and sour. Great. Where’s the Mad Dog? Mad Dog?”

“I prefer to be called General Mattis, sir. I’d rather you call me Jim, even.”

“General Mad Dog! Say something wonderful about how wonderful I am.”

“It is an honor to serve my country and lead the men and women of the United States Armed Forces. They are the finest warriors in the world, and nothing is more sacred to me than doing my duty to them.”

“You gonna say my name?’

“Trump.”

“That’s better, much better. General, you wanna kick Ranch in the neck?”

“Reince. And: what?”

“Ranch, bend over so the General can kick you in the neck.”

“I’m actually not going to do that, Mr. President.”

“You just give me the high sign. I’ll make him bend over for you. Screw it: Ranch, get down on all fours and bark like a dog.”

REINCE PREIBUS SECRET BUTTON-PUSHING SOUND

NAVY STEWARD ENTERING WITH TWO SCOOPS OF CHOCOLATE ICE CREAM SOUND

“Ooh, ice cream. Many people have compared Melania to Dolly Madison, With better tits, though. Mike?”

“Here, sir.”

“Mike?”

“Right here.”

“Where’s Mike? My vice-president, I picked him so well. Mike?”

“I’m sitting next to you, sir.”

“Mike?”

“I’m here, sir.”

“Oh, there you are. You’re very easy to overlook. Okay, hit it.”

“President Trump, your courage, acumen, and bold leadership are truly making America great again.”

“True.”

“I just wish Robert Mueller agreed with me.”

“What!?”

“Some of the things he said about you were just cruel, sir. Vicious, even.”

“Like what?”

“Terrible things about your family, sir.”

“Fuck them, what about me?”

“Called you a millionaire.”

“That’s it!”

FATASS WADDLING OUT OF A ROOM HE SHOULDN’T HAVE BEEN LET INTO IN THE FIRST PLACE SOUND

MIKE PENCE SMILING SOUND.

Fire, Fire On The Metaphor

“Jenkins!”

“Yes, sir?’

“Is Taco Tuesday cultural appropriation of Mexicans or the Norse?”

“The Norse, sir?”

“Tiw, Jenkins. He’s who Tuesday’s named after. Norse god of law and justice and table manners.”

“The Norse had table manners?”

“Of course. They stole them from the Angles in 842. It’s like you don’t know history.”

“Just like that, sir.”

“We’ll deal with the taco conundrum later. Let’s get on this poster, Jenkins.”

“The show was yesterday, sir.”

“It’s Colorado, Jenkins. There’s no oxygen and everyone’s on dope. Yesterday, tomorrow, next week. Makes no difference to those people.”

“‘Those people,’ sir?”

“Yes, I’m racist against Coloradans.”

“Wow. New one.”

“I like to be on the vanguard of bigotry. Blaze new trails of irrational hatreds.”

“Yes, sir. Who’s next?”

“People who live on the fourth floor. Violent monsters. Not even human.”

“Which fourth floor?”

“All of them. Anyone who puts their head down to sleep in between floors three and five. Fuck ’em.”

“Yes, sir.

“Lefties.”

“Lefties, sir? What did lefties ever do to you?’

“‘Do to me?’ What does that have to with racism, Jenkins?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now: the poster.”

“If we must.”

“You know how Colorado burns down every summer?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Put that on the poster.”

“People die in those fires, sir.”

“No, just Coloradans.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And add some drowning children. Everything’s on fire and there are dead, wet children everywhere.”

“No drowning children, sir.”

“Oh, fine. Child. Put a drowning child in the poster.”

“No amount of children, sir.”

“Well, what would Colorado love more than an out-of-control fire? Ah!”

“Please don’t say–”

“Columbine High!”

“–Columbine…sir, no.”

“Mindy stabbing Mork.”

“No.”

“Elway getting sodomized.”

“No.”

“You didn’t let me finish.”

“Go ahead, sir.”

“Elway getting sodomized by a can of Coors Banquet beer in Joker makeup.”

“I’m leaving, sir.”

“Oh, fine. Just make the door slamming noise so everyone knows the bit’s over.”

“Yes, sir.”

SLAM!

Rando War: The Push Zoom

Please don’t–

“Rando War on the bocce courts!”

–join the Rando…dammit. Hasn’t there been enough tragedy on those courts?

“Why do you think I built them?”

Oh, God, you’re burying bodies in there, aren’t you?

“No.”

Are the busboys?

“Yes. Sometimes, Grahame does it.”

Why?

“If he doesn’t do his chores, he doesn’t get his allowance.”

Sure. Are you blessing that rando?

“Swatting a horsefly.”

Sure.

What is this, theme night?

“The, uh, framing of the pictures?”

Yeah.

“Huh. Looks like it. Little bit of randian synchronicity.”

You having a press covfefe?

“Yeah, apparently.”

What’s Mickey doing there?

“Not much. He’s gonna slap Branford’s flip-flops together for a while soon.”

So, the usual?

“About that, yeah.”

Batman Without Research

  • Everything about Batman is dumb besides his name and costume.
  • The car’s pretty cool, too.
  • (Sometimes.)
  • The rest is utter nonsense, and even dumber than most superheroes for the simple reason that Batman’s not supposed to have super-powers.
  • When Green Lantern gets up to his outlandish shenanigans, I go along with it because he has a magic ring.
  • Okay, I’ll say; physics gets suspended for this character because–as I mentioned–he has a magic ring.
  • But Batman’s just a guy.
  • So when he, say, falls off a building or beats up a dozen guys at once or holds his breath for 45 minutes, I say: No, that’s not what a guy does.
  • Even if he trained with many, many ethnic people during his little spiritual journey.
  • Mopey little rich boy.
  • Start at the beginning: Batman was introduced in 1939 in Detective Comics #27.
  • In mint condition, the issue goes for many, many dollars.
  • Without research, bitches.
  • Maybe you have an issue of Detective Comics #27 in your house, Younger Enthusiast; you should go into your parents’ bedroom and slice open their mattress with a knife to check.
  • Batman was created by Bob Kane, except for the costume, logo, the Batmobile, the Batarang, the Joker, Catwoman, Gotham City, and also the name Bruce Wayne.
  • A guy named Bill Finger thought all that stuff up.
  • Bill Finger was quiet, and a bit of a drinker, and didn’t know much about business, but he trusted his friend Bob.
  • And, thus: Batman was created by Bob Kane.
  • Nothing’s changed since then, really: Bats is still wandering around bad neighborhoods at night taking out his PTSD on psychopathic clowns and also sometimes the mob.
  • In fact, nothing can change: there can be no change from the status quo, and so all sorts of dopey shit has to be back-engineered into the story.
  • The villains have to come back, because the fans want to see the old villains, so therefore a “no killing” rule is retconned into Batman’s code of ethics, and an insane asylum with a screen door is created to house the bad guys up until the very second they don’t want to be there anymore.
  • First time Batman met the Joker, he straight up murdered him.
  • Which I agree with.
  • But then a few years later, the artists–needing a villain and having no new ideas–decide to bring back the Joker and institute the “no killing” rule, which actually means “no killing characters with dialogue.”
  • If you’re a background thug in a Batman comic or movie, you will get the shit killed out of you by Batman.
  • Not with a gun.
  • Never with a gun.
  • He’ll tomahawk a piece of rebar at your skull.
  • Or fire the Batmobile’s afterburner at your face.
  • Or stick a bomb in your pants.
  • But never with a gun.
  • Batman’s got a code.
  • He also, sometimes, has a teenaged boy with him.
  • Which everyone’s cool with.
  • Robin is ancillary; you don’t need him to have Batman.
  • What are the essentials of the character?
  • Rich guy, dead parents, cave, car, costume, Alfred, Gotham City.
  • Everything else is malleable, which is why there are as many iterations of Batman as there are of the Christ.
  • Change the tone, change the actor, change the style: as long as you have a rich orphan in a pervert suit punching people in faux-Chicago, then you got Batman.
  • Nowadays, we’re supposed to take Batman seriously.
  • Because he’s cooooooool.
  • And he talks all growly and mean.
  • There’s comic book Batman, who is apparently marrying Catwoman or something now.
  • (Both DC and Marvel ran out of ideas around twenty years ago, and now they just pair characters off to fuck or fight, or kill them for a while, and call it an “event.”)
  • But most people know the Batman from the movies, and also the one from teevee.
  • Since 1989, there have been 45 dozen Batman movies.
  • Most have been awful, including the first Tim Burton movie.
  • Go back and watch it again.
  • Michael Keaton was Batman in that one, and the sequel, and if the internet had been around, people would have been outraged at his casting.
  • It wasn’t, so Letterman made a joke abut Mr. Mom being Batman and then we went on with our lives.
  • He was good as Bruce Wayne, not so much as the Caped Crusader: the costume was made of three-inch thick foam latex, and he was almost entirely immobile.
  • A good shove could have toppled him.
  • That’s not very good Batmanning.
  • Then Joel Schumacher took over the movies, and they became very colorful.
  • After that, Christian Bale became Batman and the movies had no color in them whatsoever.
  • These films, three of them, were directed by Christopher Nolan, who is to humor what black holes are to light.
  • Out of the trilogy, the second one and half of the first were good.
  • (This isn’t to say that the second one–the one with the Heath Ledger’s Joker–made any goddamned sense at all: it didn’t, but the movie was so entertaining that you didn’t mind. The third one with Bane was boring, and so you started picking apart the plot, which made no goddamned sense at all.)
  • Now Ben Affleck is Batman, and we deserve that.
  • But the best Batman of all died yesterday, and that was Adam West.
  • He was the best Batman because he was the only Batman who knew how dumb Batman was.

A Remarkably Civil War

Shit.

“Rando War marches on.”

Okay, y’know what? Fine. Fine, we’re in a Rando War. I accept it. Fine. Just tell me one thing.

“Orville.”

What?

“I thought you were gonna ask my favorite Wright brother.”

I wasn’t.

“Well you know: it’s out there now.”

Awesome. Bobby?

“Uh-huh?”

What are the rules of Rando War?

“Oh, there’s a bunch. Every rando for himself.”

Sure.

“Take a rando, leave a rando.”

What?

“Always separate your whites from your coloreds.”

I’m not talking about laundry.

“Neither am I. Truman forgot to desegregate Rando War.”

“Don’t listen to that guy. He makes no sense.”

Okay, now I’m confused.

“Civil Rando War.”

No.

“Bobby against Bobby.”

No.

“There is, uh, a certain amount of internecinity to Rando War.”

I’m positive “internecine” doesn’t turn into a noun that way.

“Spiritual gangsters reject prescriptivism.”

I’ve heard that.

Barefoot In The Park With Oteil

Hey, Oteil.

“Hey.”

You okay, buddy?

“Uh-huh. See me smiling? Happy Oteil. Real happy. Everything’s great.”

Hey, hey, hey. What’s going on with my big guy? You can tell me.

“Nothing.”

What is it?

“Nothing! I’m fine!”

Did Mickey steal your shoes to use as drums?

“Yeah.”

Oh, buddy, you gotta stand up for yourself.

“He was very aggressive.”

Mickey gets like that when he’s drinking.

“How did you know he’d been drinking?”

Was he awake?

“Yeah.”

Well, there you go. Doesn’t Bobby have some backup sandals you can borrow?

“Bobby said he only travels with one pair of Birkenstocks at a time.”

Why?

“Better gas mileage in the bus.”

Okay. Wait: Josh should have at least three or four dozen pairs of shoes with him.

“Yeah, he offered. We’re even the same size.”

And?

“Honestly, I’d rather be barefoot than wear that shit.”

I hear you. Well, it’s just for the show. Can’t be that bad.

“Billy keeps throwing handfuls of Legos at me.”

Sounds right.

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