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

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What Else Does Donald Trump Not Realize Is Complicated?

He also seemed to express surprise at the complexity of the reform process. “I have to tell you, it’s an unbelievably complex subject,” Trump said. “Nobody knew that health care could be so complicated.” – Politico, 2/27/17

  • Feynman equations. (“Fermions go this way, bosons go that way. What’s so tough?”)
  • Raising children. (“Wife does it. Easy!”)
  • The digestive system of a panda. (“Bamboo goes in, poop comes out. What’s there to understand?”)
  • Gravity’s Rainbow. (“It’s about war and fucking.”)
  • The Hypertext Transfer Protocol. (“That’s cyber? Pssh. Ten-year-olds can do it.”)
  • Rocket science. (“It’s not brain surgery.”)
  • Brain surgery. (“It’s not rocket science.”)
  • Running a state-wide chain of supermarkets. (“Keep the place clean. Number one rule for a supermarket. Number two? Hot cashiers. After that, it all takes care of itself.”)
  • Organic chemistry. (“Organic, very organic. That’s what I’m about, organic. Great at the organic.”)
  • Bridge, card game. (“You know there’s a move in that game called the trump? Strong move.”)
  • Bridge, large object. (“Some hang on cables, some you put on things. You know: pylons, whatever. Simple.”)
  • The history of Chinese Manichaeism. (“Not tough!”)
  • The Dunning-Kruger Effect. (“Very basic stuff. I understand the Dunning-Kruger Effect completely. No one understands it better than me.”

Extreme Vetting: White House Leaks Edition

“Excuse me, before you go in to the office I need to ask you some questions.”

“Who are you?”

“My name is Agent Orange. And you are?”

“Bert Husk. I work for the press office.”

“Great. As you may be aware, the fake news media who are all monsters and serial killers are spreading fake news about so-called leaks coming from the White House.”

“I heard about that.”

“Now, we know that there are no leaks coming from the White House, so we are now investigating the leaks coming from the White House.”

“What now?’

“The media said there are leaks; the media lies; therefore, there are no leaks.”

“I followed that part.”

“So now we’re going to find out who the traitors and rats that are leaking are.”

“Right, that second part was where I got lost.”

“Are you going to make this difficult, Mr. Husk?”

“I’m just trying to figure out what’s happening.”

“As is the President, sir. He will not rest until he finds whoever’s responsible for the leaks that don’t exist.”

“Okay, I’m just going to agree with you for the sake of expediency.”

“Wonderful. The Trump Administration looks forward to winning many battles that way. I’m going to need your phone.”

“You want my phone?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Uh, sure. Here.”

“Mr. Husk, this is not your phone.”

“Of course it is.”

“A pink Motorola Razr?”

“Trustworthy.”

“You’re sure this isn’t a burner phone?”

“Burner? I don’t know what that means.”

“Sir, please give me your real phone.”

“That is my real phone. I’m a bit of a hipster.”

“There’s no battery in it.”

“A hipster who doesn’t want to talk to anyone.”

“Mr. Husk.”

“Fine, here.”

“No.”

“That’s my phone.”

“This is a child’s toy shaped like a phone, sir. It’s filled with candy.”

“No, those are apps.”

“Sir.”

“Ring! Oh, that’s my phone. It might be my mother, who is very sick. Ring!”

“Stop it, sir.”

“Ring!”

“You’re not even making the noise; you’re just saying ‘ring.'”

“Nooo.”

“Please, sir. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

“Okay.”

“This is a piece of paper with a phone drawn on it. Mr. Husk, do I need to call the Secret Service?”

“No, no, no. Here.”

“Can you unlock it for me, sir?”

“There you go.”

“I’m just going to open your messages. Uh-huh. Mr. Husk, why are you having a conversation with a contact called NYTIMES?”

“Oh. Well, see: that’s actually my girlfriend. Nyt Imes. She’s Peruvian-Icelandic.”

“Right. And what about Jake Tapper?”

“Okay, that’s not the Jake Tapper you’re thinking of. That’s my buddy Jake, and we are both fans of the 80’s arcade game, Tapper. Like I said: bit of a hipster.”

“If you say so. Mr. Husk, will you come with me?”

“Oh, God, am I under arrest.”

“Arrest? No. Can you keep a secret?”

“Obviously not.”

“I’m gonna tell you anyway. I’m headhunting for Simon & Schuster. You wanna book deal?”

“Everyone else seems to have one.”

“Great! Here’s your phone back. Tell Sean I say hi.”

“Hail Hydra.”

“Hail Hydra.”

Weir Everywhen

Why are you making that face?

“This is, uh, Bobby Picture Pose #1.”

Right, but you don’t start doing your poses for at least 20 years.

“Uh-huh. I don’t know if you’ve been, you know, apprised of the situation, but time’s getting real slippery.”

Have you spoken to Phil?

“Phil from when?”

Mid-80’s.

“Y’know, I been meaning to give him a call. Hanging out a lot with 2015 Phil.”

Why?

“Free meals.”

Sure. Question.

“There’s a lot of dinosaurs.”

Are there dino…okay. Yeah, this is all Phil’s fault.

“Yeah?”

Yeah. He absconded with the Time Sheath–

“TIME SCARF!”

–and…dammit.

“YOU CALL THAT DEVICE O’ NIGH-ON INFINITE POWER BY ISS RIGHTFUL NAME, BOY.”

I am. It’s a Time Sheath.

“Hey, Elvis.”

“HELLO THERE, YOUNG MAN. AH BELIEVE AH KNOW YER FATHER.”

“No, that’s me 30 years from now.”

“YOU OUGHTA MOISTURIZE MORE, BOY. YOU ONE O’ THEM GRATEFUL DEADS?”

“Yeah, I’m the Bobby. I mean, my name’s Bobby, but I am also the Bobby.”

“BOY, AH’M GONNA ASK YOU A QUESTION AN’ AH DO NOT WANT YOU T’ GET OFFENDED.”

“Okee-doke.”

“YOU SLOW?”

“Just my tempos.”

“STOP TALKIN’ IN CIRCLES AN’ RIDDLES, HIPPIE! WE GOT TIMESTREAMS A-JUMPIN’ THEIR BANKS AN’ A-FLOODIN’ UP ON PEOPLE’S VERANDAS!”

“And dinosaurs.”

“AND DINOSAURS. LAST NIGHT, A PACK O’ RAPTORS ATE MAH STANKY, UNLETTERED, SNAGGLETOOTHED WEASEL’S ASSHOLE OF A DADDY–”

“Vernon.”

Vernon.

“VERNON. CHARLIE HODGE IS BRINGIN’ DADDY SCARVES AN’ WATER IN HEAVEN NOW!”

Did the raptors eat Charlie Hodge, too?

“CHARLIE HODGE LOST HIS LIFE IN A CONCURRENT, BUT UNRELATED, INCIDENT.”

You shot him?

“AH DID. OUT OF MAH GRIEF, AH DID. ALSO AH WANTED TO.”

Sure, but now you don’t have anyone to bring you your scarves and water.

“GOT THAT COVERED. SENSEI BENJY?”

“Yeah, King?”

“WHEN ARE YOU?”

“King, I’m in the 90’s.”

“WHATCHOO DOIN’ THEN?”

“I am teaching some inner-city youth about the beauty of poetry by using Phish lyrics.”

“HOWZAT GOIN’?”

“Not well. Phish’s lyrics are terrible. Plus, an entire row of kids got eaten by dinosaurs.”

“THESE THUNDER-LIZARDS IS BECOMIN’ A NUISANCE!”

“Yeah, and I’m almost out of chalk.”

“SENSEI BENJY, YOU MUST USE YER POWERS T’ BRING BACK MAH EYEBROW-LESS, MANGE-COVERED, PAROLE-VIOLATIN’ HOMUNCULUS OF A DADDY–”

“Vernon.”

Vernon.

“Vernon.”

“Bobby, is that you?”

“Hey, Benjy.”

“–VERNON. AN’ ALSO CHARLIE HODGE, IF’N YOU GOT SOME TIME. JOURNEY T’ TH’ NETHERWORLD LIKE ORPHEUS AN’ RETURN WHAT AH LOVE SO MUCH, AN’ ALSO CHARLIE HODGE.”

“Yeah. Uh. Elvis? It doesn’t actually work that way. I don’t think I can, like, bring people back.”

“YOU DON’ THINK? SO YOU NEVER TRIED?”

“Well, no. But I’m pretty sure that I can’t brin–”

THWIP

“Et tu, Elvis?”

flump

“THAT COMMIE SUMBITCH GAVE ME SOME POSION DARTS.”

Of course.

“HAIRLESS GARCIA STILL HERE?”

“HAIRLESS GARCIA!? WHERE AND WHEN ARE YOU?”

“HAIRLESS!”

“Does he think that’s my name?”

Yes.

“Ah. Uh, Elvis?”

“THERE YOU IS. OR, THEN YOU IS. AH AM NOT QUITE SURE WHASS GOIN’ ON HERE. OR NOW.”

“You just gotta roll with it until he runs out of pictures.”

“OR SOMETIMES HE JUST GETS BORED.”

“Also an option.”

“BUT F’R NOW WE GOT DINOSAURS AN’ TIME SHENANIGANS T’ FIX UP. TELL YER KING WHERE YER BASS PLAYER IS.”

“Phil?”

“AH DID’N ASK WHAT HIS NAME WAS, AH ASKED WHERE HE WAS. AH AIN’T NEVER ASKED NO BASS PLAYER’S NAME, BOY!”

“Good philosophy.”

“ISS SERVED ME WELL SO FAR. AW RIGHT, HAIRLESS GARCIA. LESS GO ADVENTURIN’ THROUGH TIME T’ DEFEAT COMMUNISM.”

“You bet.”

“Excuse me?”

Yes? Who are you?

“The guy with Bobby in the jacket.”

Ah. Randos don’t get speaking parts.

“Where am I?”

It’s complicated, but it’s over.

“What.”

Post’s done. All finished here.

“So what do I do?”

After I leave?

“Yeah?”

You read your Bible, Rando?

“Yeah.”

You’re in Limbo.

“For how long?”

You should have brought a book.

“Oh.”

Later.

Pack Up Your Life Again

Be careful, Bill Walton. Leaving that van door open is an invitation for–

“Heeeeey, man.”

–Soup to show up. Hey, Soup.

“Oscar night glamour, man.”

You’re watching the Academy Awards?

“No, this is the night that my buddy Oscar comes over. He’s a snappy dresser, man.”

Sure. You’re living in Bill Walton’s van in 1978 now?

“Just for the weekend. I’ve been surfing these past few months, man.”

Yeah?

“Well, you know need a place that’s available, right? So I been staying at the White House on weekends, and Mar-A-Lago during the week, man.”

There is an open bed at those places at those times. Good thinking, Soup.

“Nothing gets by me, man.”

Mid-Yoink

Hey, Bill Walton. Question.

“Shoot.”

Why?

“Someone threw me a tee-shirt.”

And?

“And I’m putting it on. Never turn down a free tee-shirt.”

Did Mickey teach you that?

“When it comes to free tee-shirts, Mickey is my Coach Wooden.”

He’s the best at what he does. Lady behind you doesn’t look impressed.

“How many rings she got?”

Can’t argue with that logic.

Things The Oscars Can Do

  • Go fuck themselves.
  • Stop being so nice to Roman Polanski.
  • Continue fucking themselves.
  • Harblegarble diversity blackpartsmatterwhitewashingbetterredthandeadsuckmyballs.
  • Why did you stop fucking yourselves, Oscars?
  • Give Bobby the Irving Thalberg award.
  • Let Rob Lowe sing again.
  • Seriously, Oscars: fuck yourselves until I tell you to stop or your dicks fall off.
  • Give an impassioned speech about the president; I bet that’ll be the thing to do it.
  • Merge with the Grammys, Emmys, and Tonys and get all this self-suckery out of the way in one night.
  • Announce from the stage that there was an error in last years tabulations, and Leo will have to give his Oscar back.
  • Coat statues with VX, give Best Director to Mel Gibson.
  • Go fuck themselves.

Strike A Pose


“SENSEI BENJY! TALK T’ YER KING.”

“I’m here, King.”

AH C’N SEE AN’ HEAR YOU ON…WHATCHOO CALL THESE THINGS?”

“Google Glass. Elvis, things are very weird.”

“WHEN ARE YOU?”

“Whatever year Google Glass was a thing. I’m adrift in the timestream. Ten minutes ago, I was in 1322 in Massachusetts.”

“HOW’D THAT WORK OUT F’R YA?”

“I almost certainly set off a plague just with my very presence.”

“THEM INDIANS DID’N HAVE TH’ RIGHT ANTIBODIES, MAN.”

“Yeah, the ones who weren’t eaten by the pterodactyls are gonna die.”

“AW, NO. MORE DINOSAURS?”

“Permission to use foul language, King.”

“AH GRANT THIS.”

“They’re fuckin’ everywhere. I been to, like, nineteen different centuries in the past day. Every one of ’em has dinosaurs.”

“YEAH, SONNY AN’ RED BEEN SHOOTIN’ HIGH EXPLOSIVE AT THAT OL’ STEGOSAUR IN TH’ RACQUETBALL COURT FOR A WHILE NOW.”

“And that’s not the worst part. We’re starting to pull the future in towards us, and when the people from the future get here, they’re pissed.”

“WOULD’N YOU BE?”

“I’m not saying I blame ’em: just reporting.”

“YOU CONQUERED DEATH AT ALL?”

“I have been eaten by dinosaurs six times.”

“WHASS THAT LIKE?”

“It hurts.”

“UH-HUH. AH BEEN DOIN’ SOME FIGGERIN’. WHEN WE PUT THEM TWO DEVICES OF TIME-WARPIN’ POWER TOGETHER, SOMETHIN’ BAD HAPPENED.”

“You’re saying you wanna get a third time machine?”

“HOT DAMN, BOY, WE ARE SIMPATICO. YOU TOOK THE WORDS OUTTA MAH MOUTH. OBVIOUSLY, IT DID’N SOUND AS GOOD.”

“Can I Cadillac myself?”

“DO IT!”

“BAM! I just got Cadillac’d.”

“SENSEI BENJY, YER TEACHIN’ ME SO MUCH.”

“Yeah, I’m very wise. Can I get the performance package?”

“GET TWO OF ‘EM!”

“Nice.”

GOOGLE GLASS CALL WAITING NOISE

“TH’ DOOHICKEY IS FLASHIN’ AN’ BEEPIN’ AT ME!’

“I think you have another call.”

“HOL’, PLEASE.”

“NEW GOOGLE GLASS. WHO DIS?”

“Is Putin.”

“WHAT AH TELL YOU, BOY? KEEP THAT COMMIE HEAD DOWN IN YER COMMIE HOLE, OR AH’M GONNA WHOMPINATE YA.”

“You vill not vompinate anyone.”

“GONNA TEAR YA INTA LI’L STRIPS, AN’ SPRINKLE YA OVER A SALAD, AN’ THEN NOT EAT YOU.”

“You are salad. Putin tired of playing. Ve fight.”

“YOU JUS’ ENTERED A WORLD MADE OUTTA PAIN AND MAH KNUCKLES, BOY! HOW DARE YOU DON KARATE CLOTHES AT ME?”

“Is Judo.”

“JUDO IS A CHINESE WORD THAT MEANS ‘BAD KARATE.'”

“This is not correct.”

“100%.”

“0%.”

“TH’ WHOLE WIDE WORLD IS NOW MAH DOJO, AND AH SHALL NOT REST ‘TIL AH DOMINATE YOU. WATCH THIS SHIT RIGHT HERE, COMMIE.”

“THASS A KARATE POSE, BOY. NOT THAT SISSY SHIT YOU DOIN’.”

“Is not sissy. Is for men.”

“TOSSIN’ ‘EM? FLIPPIN’ EM? HELL, NO. MEN PUNCH LIKE SHARKS, AN’ KICK LIKE RACIST KANGAROOS, AN’ THEY MAKE COOL NOISES WHEN THEY DO IT. HI-YAH, THAT SORTA THING. DUNNO WHATCHOO DOIN’.”

“Judo best. Karate no good.”

“SEE HOW NO GOOD IT IS WHEN AH SHOVE MAH FIST THROUGH YOUR WHOLE CHEST, AN’ THEN SHUT OFF TH’ LIGHTS O’ TH’ DOJO TO SYMBOLIZE YER DEFEAT.”

“This is not a possible thing.”

“PROBABLE.”

“Maybe, Elvis America. Maybe you beat Putin. If you do, then you get glorious Russian Time Lada.”

“WAIT, MAN. YOU GOT A TIME MACHINE?”

“Is yours, is Grateful Dead, and mine. Only three on planet. You want solve your problem, you need me. Putin wins.”

“YOU DO NOT WIN AT ALL, BOY! AH AM GONNA DEFEAT YOU USING MAH PROWESS.”

“Ve vill see.”

“WHY CAN’T YOU SAY ‘W,’ GODAMMIT?”

“Is accent.”

“It’s a stupid accent!”

“Who is this speaking?”

“BENJY? THAT YOU, BOY?”

“Yeah. You didn’t put me on hold. You hit the three-way call button. Anyway, I have got a real bone to pick with you, Putin. How dare you shoot me with a poison-tipped blowda–”

THWIP

“Motherfucker.”

shlump

“YOU KNOW THAT THERE BOY’S IMMORTAL, RIGHT?”

“Da. Just wanted him to shut up.”

“UNNERSTANDABLE.”

“We fight to see if world ends?”

“WHY NOT, MAN?”

DIAL TONE NOISE EVEN THOUGH GOOGLE GLASS CERTAINLY DOESN’T DO THAT

Nixtalgia

“Fuck is wrong with you people?”

Me?

“Yes. You there. Why am I being dragged into your nightmare? I was the last national nightmare. You heard Ford, that simpleton.”

Mr. President, you have to admit that there are some parallels.

“Nonsense. That greasy little man has nothing on Nixon. We’re nothing alike in any way. Jesus Christ, it took me six years to fuck up half as much as that amateur. Do you know what I could have accomplished with the tools this wetbrained son of a bitch has? Senate, House. Jesus.”

And still…

“Just a shitshow. I could have won the Wars on Drugs and Vietnam with the potential support. Instead of visiting China, I could have blown it up.”

You would have blown up China?

“No, no. I was, uh, demonstrating the almost boundless power I could have in the same position as the baboon.”

He, too, has problems with the press.

“Lying Jew bastards. Post, Times, You know Ben Bradlee was a secret queer?”

He was not.

“Oh, yes. And the wife, with her fancy parties that the First Lady and I were never invited to. She liked to dyke it up. Twisted behavior. Naturally, they hated Nixon. They all hated Nixon. Not the people, you see. The people never loved Nixon, but they did not hate him. The press are vicious.”

They were doing their job, sir.

“Horseshit. They had it in for me. Since California. When that pretty-boy’s father bought him the presidency, did the press look into it? No, they were too busy laughing at Nixon. Sometimes the press would call the house and affect silly accents. On, uh, other occasions they rang the doorbell and then ran away. Naturally, this was disconcerting to both Mrs. Nixon and the help.”

I think you’re paranoid.

“Paranoia is the correct posture when people are out to get you. The press is the enemy.”

Well, there you go. That’s the exact same thing Trump said.

“I’m saying it to you, dummy, not the entire world. The press is always the enemy, but you don’t announce it into a goddamned microphone. Jesus Christ, how did you people become so comfortable with incompetence? President of the United States needs to be a man who can run a war, or run several wars, some of which are kept secret from Congress and the public. All I can see this fool doing is starting one.”

Or a woman.

“What?”

The President could also be a woman capable of running a war.

“No. That’s absurd. Men are Presidents, women are First Ladies. It’s right there in the name.”

Sure.

“You leave me out of this. Don’t compare me to him. Maddening. All of Nixon’s accomplishments, all the service and years and campaign miles. It’s slander. Or libel, depending on how the comparison is delivered. I won’t accept it, and the next one that says it is getting a sock in the jaw.”

It’s the Russian thing, right?

“I put Alger Hiss in jail with less evidence. That crooked son of a bitch is a Commie sympathizer. Why did they say that only I could go to China?”

Because of how unsympathetic you were to Commies.

“No sympathy whatsoever. Chinese Communists, Russian Communists, Cuban Communists.”

What’s differentiates the three, sir?

“Well, your Cuban Commie is generally far more tan than the other two varieties.”

Sure.

“And closer. The Cubans are the closest Communists.”

Sadly, that is a factual statement both when you are, and when I am.

“The Chinese are, of course, completely nuts.”

A little.

“But the Russians? Patton was right. Should’ve done the job while we still had the Army there. Before they got the damn bomb. Only thing the Russians respect is strength. If you give Russia an inch, it will take Poland. A Russian does not have partners; he has enemies, victims, and stooges.”

Very strong, Mr. President.

“What happened? The man’s a damn Republican, and he’s hiding in back alleys jerking off Communists.”

The Russians actually aren’t Communist anymore.

“Once a Commie, always a Commie.”

True.

“My God. Collaborating with them? No. Unacceptable. Say what you will about Nixon, but I have committed no treason.”

You totally did. You got the South Vietnamese government to scuttle the peace talks right before the ’68 election.

“Nixon was never charged with treason.”

More accurate.

A Call For Balance

The Right is right.

We–those of us at ill-ease with the current situation–have been upbraided since the election for our tone. It is your condescension, as the line goes, that forced us to vote for Donald Trump, and your current outrage and derision that inspires us to maintain our support. You have not honestly examined our concerns.

Furthermore, we are accused of being one-sided. Of not listening to alternative viewpoints. Elevating one view over another

Perhaps they are correct.

So, to remedy this, we must investigate the needs of these Americans. But–in keeping with the second point–we should also look into the lives of those who do not support him.

Let us send a reporter to a town 300 miles outside Chicago and ask about the violence in the city, and then to Chicago and ask someone who actually lives there and knows what’s going on.

A conversation with a Trump voter who supports the rollback of protections for transgendered students, but has never met a transgendered person, and a teenager who is now afraid to go to the bathroom at school.

Interview a man who believes Islam is incompatible with western civilization, and take his concerns seriously; give equal time to the Iranian computer nerd who does IT for a mid-level accounting firm in Cleveland, and now does not know if he can visit home, or whether he will be thrown out of the country.

Inquire–gently, gently–about a woman’s glee at the death of Obamacare, and then visit her neighbor with the pre-existing condition.

Sit with a Trump voter on the couch and hold them tight to your bosom and tell them it will be all right. But also sit with the guy from Guatemala or Ecuador who snuck in because the American Way of Life was, is, and always will be dependent on a bonded underclass and he made the terrible decision to be born there instead of here.

Talk to someone who doesn’t see what the big deal with Russia is, and then ask journalist Vladimir Kara-Murza oh wait you can’t because Putin had him killed this month.

So let us be kind to those who are happy at the things Trump is doing, but let’s not forget the people those things are being done to.

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