The Museum of Modern Terrible Dead Art was founded in 1976 and moved into its current facility in ’89. The iconic building was designed by someone the band thought was I.M. Pei, though the guy’s lack of math skills, insistence on being paid in cash, and the fact that he was clearly a Puerto Rican woman should have tipped them off to the ruse. That building was sketched to occupy eight dimensions at once, but didn’t meet code in any of them.
The band then brought the famed Frank Gehry to create the space, but while they’re utter nincompoops with money and a good caper, they always did have, you know: fucking aesthetic taste, so they recognized Gehry as a faddish hack whose buildings were ugly and instantly dated and empty of heart and basement and why do they all have to be so damn shiny and, like, 20 seconds into the first presentation, Billy punched him, not just in his dick, but in his load-bearing dick, and that’s structural damage there.
At this point in the process, things broke down even further, as it was learned inadvertently that Brent had–at some point–been turned into a Jason Bourne/River Tam type super-badass and his operating code was the word “Guggenheim,” which obviously came up a whole bunch, especially after Bobby heard it and had a giggle fit. So, every time Bobby would say Guggenheim, Brent would take off full-tilt boogie for the nearest food court and start cracking skulls and then get a hot pretzel. It was the opposite of helpful.
The plans changed to housing the collection in an old warehouse off the 101 near Sausalito and things ran smoothly once the band was left out of the decision-making process.
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