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

Tag: huey lewis (Page 1 of 2)

Bob-a-huey

“Big dog’s comin’ at you, Lewis.”

“We’re in front of reporters, Bob. And we’re promoting a show to raise money for AIDS charities. The only way you attacking me could be any less appropriate would be if our mothers were in the room.”

“Your mom’s name is Mooey Lewis.”

“Bob.”

“Cuz she’s a cow.”

“Bob.”

“Four stomachs, chews her cud, the whole deal. You got a cow-mom.”

“I’m begging you, man.”

“Pistols at noon, Hewis.”

“Don’t call me that. And it’s usually pistols at dawn.”

“I don’t get up that early. Wait, I got a lunch thing tomorrow. Let’s make it pistols at two-ish. Half-past at the latest.”

“No pistols, Bob.”

“Then the big dog is comin’ at you.”

Don’t Tell Me The Heart Of Rock & Roll Ain’t Got No Heart

“We’re not dressed for the same season, man.”

“I’m not a shorts guy, Jer. Maybe on the golf course, but not for the stage. Do you golf?”

“I want you to stand there and think about the question you just asked me, man.”

“Hey, you never know.”

“No, you do. That’s a thing you know without having to be officially informed.”

“All right, all right. Do you have any hobbies?”

“I like smoking.”

“Smoking isn’t a hobby.”

“The way I do it, it is.”

“Anything else?”

“What year is it?”

“1993.”

“Yeah, I got another hobby, man.”

“Not gonna be any more specific?”

“Nah.”

“You wanna discuss the Bobby Situation?”

“Nah.”

“Is Mickey gonna keep rocketing drumsticks at my head?”

“He’ll run out pretty soon.”

Family Feud

“Just, uh, keep an eye out.”

“Dad, you have to let this Huey Lewis thing go.”

“Never. I’m gonna piss on that son-of-a-bitch’s grave.”

“Wow.”

“You think they’ll bury him in one of those colorful suits he favors?”

“I don’t know, Dad. To tell you the truth, I barely know who Huey Lewis is. He wrote the song about wanting a new drug, right?”

“Yuh-huh. Another thing he stole from the Dead. We invented wanting drugs. That was our thing.”

“Please let it go.”

“Head on a swivel, Chloe.”

“Monet.”

“All right, sure. THERE! I see you, you easy-rocking bastard!”

“Dad, that’s not him.”

“No, no. Listen to your father.”

“Daddy is always right.”

“Have you ever googled ‘duck penis?'”

“Uh, yeah. You may be right, Money.”

“Monet.”

“Okee-doke. THERE!”

“Dad, no.”

“That’s Hugh Laurie.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“There’s only way to be sure. Let’s wait five minutes and see if there’s a saxophone solo.”

“Dad, this is getting–”

“THERE!”

“No. I think he was in one of the Harry Potter movies.”

“Huey Lewis is in movies.”

“Not British ones, Dad. That guy’s name is David Thewlis.”

“You’re a regular ICBM, sweetie.”

“IMDB.”

“And I am BW.”

“Dad, I’m gonna ask you something and I don’t want you to be offended.”

“Shoot.”

“Was your shoulder hurting earlier?”

“No.”

“It was my knee. THERE!”

“Nope.”

“You can see the resemblance, though, right?”

“Not really.”

“But it is a Huey.”

“Can we go inside, please?”

“Lead the way, Mopface.”

“Monet.”

“Sure.”

“Psst.”

Me?

“Yeah. Is Bobby gone?”

Uh-huh. Who is this?

“It’s me.”

Hewis!

“Don’t call me that. I can’t deal with Weir anymore, man. The guy’s a nut.”

His alignment’s a couple degrees off-center, yeah.

“You know what I’m talking about. Hey, lemme ask you a question.”

Is the question How old is Bobby’s daughter?

“Yes, it is.”

You may not ask me that question.

“All right. Am I pulling this pose off?”

No man has ever pulled that pose off.

“That’s what I thought.”

I Thought That Friday Was Hawaiian Shirt Day

Oh, no.

“Hey, pal.”

Bobby, please tell me you’re not gonna be a Hawaiian Shirt Guy.

“Well, I’ll tell you what happened. I, uh, changed my latitude–”

Goddammit.

“–and, wouldn’t you know it, I changed my attitude.”

You will not turn into Jimmy Buffett on my watch, buster.

“Here’s the thing: I’m a pirate–”

YOU’RE A COWBOY.

“–and I was, uh, looking at 50.”

50? 50!? You stopped looking at 50 two decades ago.

“I’ve also decided to start lying about my age.”

You’re exhausting.

“Hey, I needed something to do after winning my feud with Huey Lewis.”

“WINNING?”

“You didn’t win shit!”

“SCREWIS YEWIS, HEWIS!”

Boys, boys.

Huey Lewis Doesn’t Deserve This Kind Of Treatment

“All right, that’s it. We’re going outside.”

“Bob, we’re at a press conference.”

“Good! The world needs to know.”

“Know what?”

“You’ll find out. Let’s go, pal. I’m gonna knock the butt off your chin.”

“We’re trying to raise money for AIDS, man.”

“I’ll AIDS you.”

“Nope. Doesn’t make any sense.”

“You are my sworn enemy, Hewis Lewis–”

“Please stop calling me that.”

“–and I’m gonna thump ya. Parking lot time, buddy.”

“I really don’t wanna, Bob.”

CELL PHONE NOISE

“What the hell was that?”

“Your cell phone, HuLu.”

“That’s even worse than Hewis. What’s a cell phone?”

“Oh, right. Your band doesn’t have access to Time Sheath technology.”

“I regret ever meeting any of the Grateful Dead. All of you are weirdos.”

CELL PHONE NOISE

“How did this thing get in my pocket?”

“Just answer it, and I’ll explain the concept of semi-fictionality to you afterwards.”

“Huey Lewis speaking.”

“Lewis, it’s the President. Do you need backup to fight the hippie?”

“I’ll send Robocop.”

“What the fuck is happening?”

“Dammit, Lewis, you’re gonna lay that hippie filth out. You, son, are what’s good with America, and the fairy next to you is what’s wrong. I’ll bet he’s wearing sandals. I’ll bet you can see his toes. Not you, Lewis. You wear shoes like a man. You lace them up in the morning, and don’t remove them until the day’s work is done. I don’t understand much of the youth music, but I can tell a decent Christian man when I see his haircut.”

“Is this Richard Nixon?”

“It is. Elvis refers to me as ‘Nix.’ You, uh, may not do so.”

“I truly wish I had not become involved with the Grateful Dead.”

“That’s it: I’m sending Robocop.”

Worst Prom Ever

“I tried, Jerry. I really did. You know me: I wanna get along with everyone.”

“Don’t worry about it, man. Weir can be a little hard-headed. I remember one time we were out somewhere and he said, ‘Look at the baby squirrel.’ Except he was pointing at a fucking chipmunk. I tell him, ‘Weir, that’s a fucking chipmunk.’ Turns out he thought chipmunks grew up to be squirrels. So I set him right, but he refuses to accept it. I even took him to the zoo and had one of the animal ladies explain it to him, but he wouldn’t give in.”

“He’s steadfast in his beliefs.”

“You could put it that way, sure.”

“He said something about Hollywood. Has Bob tried acting?”

“Shit, man, he’s been going on auditions for eight years. He was real close to getting on Streets of San Francisco one time, but I don’t know if he’s cut out to be an actor. He can’t act, for one. That’s disqualifying on its own.”

“Hey, it’s not like I’m Olivier.”

“Weir’s worse. Trust me, man: I’ve run lines with him.”

“Well, there’s gotta be something he’s better at than me. Guitar, man! I can barely play.”

“Neither can he some nights. Do you fence?”

“Traffic in stolen goods, or fight with swords?”

“Either.”

“No.”

“Shit. Wait, man: is your daughter an Instagram Hottie? And, if so, how many followers does she have?”

“What the hell is Instagram?”

“It’s this thing from 30 years from now. There’s all kinds of artworks on it, and there’s chicks, too.”

“30 years from now? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Oh, right. Your band doesn’t have a time machine.”

“A time machine?”

“It’s a Sheath, technically.”

“I’m gonna see if I can find Sheila E.”

“Sure thing, Hue.”

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