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

Tag: john mayer (Page 1 of 42)

Land Rover, Sea Ruler

“You’re a dick.”

What did I do now?

“All I wanted was to not be left out of the Murder Heist. You preyed upon my insecurity and sicced interdimensional–”

Trimensional.

“–sex pirates on me. They came to my ranch, man!”

Not good.

“Well, they didn’t ‘come’ to the ranch. They just appeared out of nowhere.”

Right. They have omniships.

“Gave ’em a hell of a strategic advantage.”

When done right, no defense.

“So I had to flee.”

It doesn’t look like you’re fleeing very hard.

“I had an idea for a song.”

About what?

“Chicks.”

CELL PHONE NOISE

“Really?”

Expand your material.

“What sells is what sells.”

Answer the phone.

“Is it the monsters?”

Maybe.

“You’re on with John. Please don’t be the aliens who ate Iron Maiden.”

“Eat Maiden? No eat Maiden. Love Maiden. Up irons.”

“Oh, thank God it’s you.”

“Hot Dog Dick finally warm up to Kim Jong-Un. Now is best friends.”

“No, it’s just that you’re better than the alternative. Which is fucked up.”

“Everything fucked up this year. No laws with Claws, broham.”

“Whatever. What do you want? And why are you in a boat?

“No in boat. On boat.”

“Same thing.”

“Kim Jong-Un’s English is no idiomatic. Preposition confuse.”

“Move past it. Why the boat?”

“Look your right.”

“Goddammit, this is not the time for your foolishness. Do not invade California right now.”

“Have letter from Dotard. He say it okay.”

“I assure you it’s not.”

“Is most beautiful letter! I send! You see!”

“Please don’t send it to me.”

“Follow on Twitter.”

“I’m not gonna follow you on Twitter.”

“My posts rule.”

“Not following you.”

“Father invent memes.”

DIAL TONE NOISE EVEN THOUGH PHONES NO LONGER DO THAT

“What if I apologized?”

To me?

“Sure. Whoever. I’d like to be excused from this storyline, and I’ll debase myself to achieve that goal.”

Too late.

“What about cash?”

Cash might do it.

The Future Is Murder Heist

“Why am I not part–”

I KNEW YOU WOULD BE LIKE THIS.

“–of the Murder Heist?”

You’re the worst.

“Well, screw me for having emotions. I feel very left-out here.”

You should be happy to be left out of this stupidity.

“I’m not. I cried myself to sleep three times yesterday.”

Three times?

“I took two naps.”

Oh.

“Everybody else is involved. Hell, you’ve been introducing new characters to participate. And my phone is not ringing.”

When your phone rings, it’s invariably Kim Jong-Un or Nixon.

“Sometimes it’s Miles Davis.”

Miles Davis sexually assaulted you on multiple occasions, and then shot you to death.

“Yeah, but at least I was included.”

Wow. Your brain is full of dead pigeons.

“I will not apologize for being a people person. Now, I demand to be a part of the Murder Heist.”

You demand?

GARMENT FETISHIST’S HEAD TURNING INSIDE-OUT, AND THEN BACK TO NORMAL, NOISE

“I truly do not like when you do that.”

Stop poking the bear.

“Oh, you’re the bear?”

I’m motherfucking Smokey the Bear. I got a hat, and I got pants, and I got lessons for the children.

“Wha?”

CELL PHONE NOISE

“I’m gonna take this because you’re, like, half-a-Perc from complete incoherence.”

Don’t pill-shame me.

“Shh.”

“You’re on with John.”

“Johnny, me boy. Th’ lads an’ I have popped ’round to collect you. Up for some Murder Heistin’?”

“Finally! I’m in! I, uh, don’t recognize your voice, though.”

“I am speaking wiv Steve Harris’ voice.”

“Weird way to phrase that.”

“Nuffin weird about cosh an’ todgers.”

“Huh?”

“My grasp of the human language Designation: English/Subsign: East London Working Class is flawless.”

“Wha?”

“Dammit, I gotta get better at this secret identity thing.”

“This just went sideways.”

“Long story short: We are not Iron Maiden. Although we kind of are. Like, we have all their memories and, obviously, their bodies. But we’re really an intertrimensional criminal gang.”

“Trimensional?”

“Like a dimension, but more triangular.”

“Sure. Quick question.”

“Shoot.”

“Are you gonna give Iron Maiden their bodies back once you’re done with them?”

“That would be difficult.”

“Why?”

“Because we ingested them. No, wait. ‘Ingested’ is wrong. Let’s say ‘absorbed.'”

“You ate Iron Maiden?”

“No!”

“Kinda.”

“Dude, that’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Wait ’til you hear what we did to Judas Priest.”

DIAL TONE NOISE EVEN THOUGH PHONES NO LONGER DO THAT

“Jackass?”

Yup?

“I changed my mind.”

About being part of the Murder Heist?

“Yeah, that.”

Too late.

“I was afraid of that.”

Good instincts.

“Did they really eat Maiden?”

No.

Kinda.

“2020, huh?”

You said it, pal.

Watch What Happens Live (At The Apollo)

“Johnny Boy!”

“Look out, look out: The Andy Man!”

“How’s my guy?”

“Goodish. Verging on good.”

“Aw, what’s the matter? It’s not your hair. Your hair looks great.”

“I know. I mean, thank you. But I know my hair looks great. It’s not my hair.”

“Is it that you can’t grow a beard?”

“I have facial hair.”

“Facial hair is not a beard. Beards cover your cheeks.”

“Andy, we’ve talked about this.”

“See what I have on my face? This is a beard. You’re rocking, like, a partial Van Dyke.”

“Can we talk about something other than my beard?”

“We can’t talk about what doesn’t exist.”

“Let’s change the subject.”

“Absolutely. Which set of Real Housewives do you wanna talk about?”

“I don’t really watch any of those shows.”

“How do you think that makes me feel?”

“Oh, Andy, don’t do that.”

“I work so hard getting those housewives to be real, and you just ignore all of it.”

“It’s just that I’m busy.”

“Busy doing what? Clearly you’re not busy shaving.”

“Hey!”

“You hurt me, I hurt you.”

“This is not why I came on this–”

SHWIZZZZZZZZZZLETHROOP!

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“Jimmy Legs!”

“Hello, Mr. Brown. How do you keep finding me?”

“I am radariferous!”

“Wha?”

“Lumpy eggs!”

“Yes, yes. Lumpy eggs. What about the lump–”

“LUMPY EGGS!”

“I hate this universe.”

True Grits

I thought you were fucking off for the territories.

“New plan. Also, Post Malone stole my Land Rover.”

I thought you called him Posty.

“We’re not friends anymore.”

I’m sorry for your loss. So, what’s your new strategy for dealing with the pandemic?

“Promise you won’t get mad.”

I NEVER SHOULD’VE GIVEN THE GRATEFUL FUCKING DEAD A TIME SHEATH!

“It is kinda your fault. You may as well have given a tribe of chimps a loaded AK47.”

When are you?

“January of 2020.”

Why then?

“It was a good month for me. Lot of happy memories. I don’t think I had one conversation with a non-famous person in January of 2020. Great month.”

Jesus.

“Hey, I just realized something. If I was exposed to the ronus in August of 2020 before coming to January, then I might be the Patient Zero for Los Angeles. It’s like the Grandfather Paradox.”

I will absolutely write that plot device out of existence if you dildoheads don’t stop infecting the timestream because you’re bored.

“Oh, please. You love the Time Sheath more than we do.”

I do. It’s fun. Is that Hailee Steinfeld?

“She’s 23.”

Not what I asked. And creepy that you went there.

“Just wanted the fact on the table. That’s a fact that’s earned its place on the table. Have an extra setting laid for that fact.”

Stop it. She was so good in True Grit.

“She was not LaBeouf.”

I see what you did there.

“It was fun. Don’t you like it better when we get along than when you’re cruel to me for no reason?”

CELL PHONE NOISE

There’s a reason.

“You’re still pissed about the Time Sheath?”

Yeah, man. Just stay in one of your giant mansions, or your Brooklyn triplex, or your ranch. Stop bopping around the timestream.

“It’s only a duplex.”

CELL PHONE NOISE

Pick up the phone or I turn your head inside-out again.

“Dick.”

“You’re on with John.”

“Mr. Brown gonna GET UP ON YOU ALL OVER yeah all right.

“What?”

“Oh.”

“Lumpy eggs.”

“Seriously, how did anyone who loves you allow you to do an interview in this condition?”

“I got a mini-scarf. I’m the Black Mr. Furley!”

“It’s a nice scarf.”

“My wife made it for me. She got gypsy blood.”

“Okay.”

“They call me the King of Soup.”

“Can you give me a moment?”

“I’ll give you lumpy eggs.”

“Great.”

“Hey. Dick.”

Yyyyyyeeeeeeeesssss?

“Why do I constantly have to interact with maniacs?”

The Enthusiasts demand it.

“Fuck ’em.”

I’ve been saying that for years! But they’re insistent, and some of them send me drugs and cash. Hey, I tell you what: You send me drugs and cash, and you can stop having conversations with despots and dopers.

“That’s extortion. What you’re proposing is the dictionary definition of extortion. It’s against the law.”

FORMER TEEN HEARTTHROB’S HEAD BEING TURNED INSIDE-OUT AND THEN BACK NOISE

I am the law.

“I hate this stupid universe.”

The Bug-Out

Are you fleeing?

“No, of course not. I’m camping.”

“Yeah, I’m fleeing. I smell doom. Society has, like, ten weeks left.”

So you bolted a tent onto the top of your Land Rover?

“This is one of several escape vehicles for Goodbye Day.”

Goodbye Day?

“That’s what we call the day the supply chains sever and the power goes out. We think it’s real close!”

Who is “we?”

“Luxury Survivalists. Our bug-out bags are Louis Vuitton.”

Dammit, Meyers.

“Birkins for the ladies, obviously.”

Who is in this group with you?

“Bill Maher, Steve Aoki. Posty.”

Post Malone?

“I’m his friend. I call him Posty. We all went in on a ranch in New Zealand to get our citizenships, and we have a G6 on 24-hour standby. G6 can do that route non-stop.”

So what’s the hippie van for?

“What if antifa blows up the plane?”

Antifa?

“Or the Boogaloo Boys.”

How long are you spending on the internet each day?

“Not gonna lie: I have increased my consumption recently.”

You’re not gonna get into Qanon, are you?

“No?”

“Nooooooo.”

Goddammit, Meyers. Don’t you go yak-headed on us.

“I’m not into Qanon.”

Good.

“I’m into Jewanon.”

Less good. What is Jewanon?

“It’s like Qanon, but there are more Jews.”

Are the Jews helpful and compassionate, kind to strangers, and ethical to a fault?

“No, the opposite.”

Ah.

“And they are also werewolfs.”

Sure. Do we need to have the talk about “embarrassing the Grateful Dead” again?

“Billy also believes in Jewanon.”

CELL PHONE NOISE

“You just don’t wanna hear the truth.”

Pick up the phone before I turn your head inside out.

“Can you do that?”

FORMER TEEN HEARTTHROB’S HEAD TURNING INSIDE-OUT NOISE

FORMER TEEN HEARTTHROB’S HEAD RETURNING TO NORMAL NOISE

“I did not enjoy that.”

No, I wouldn’t imagine anyone would.

CELL PHONE NOISE

Pick up the phone.

“Asshole.”

“You’re on with John”

“Zebba-YAAAAeeeh.”

“Pardon?”

“Huckonamooooostragoostra!”

“Mr. Brown?”

“Lumpy eggs!”

“Are you okay?”

“Zebba zebba. MAMA’S GONNNNNNNNA WORK IT OUT. Zebba.”

“Can I maybe get you a cup of coffee? Some water?

“Lumpy eggs!”

“Uh, okay. I could rustle up some eggs.”

“Hooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.”

“Hoo.”

“I’ll see about those eggs.”

“Zebba.”

No Help On The Way

Stay inside.

“Dude, my backyard is the size of a county. And not one of those dinky suckers Back East. Like, a Texas county.”

Is that your dog?

“That is my dog.”

Is he a rescue?

“In a sense.”

What sense?

“In the sense that I rescued him from the breeder for three grand.”

Dude.

“I just couldn’t love a common dog.”

Wow.

CELL PHONE NOISE

You deserve this.

“I can’t help it if I live a moneyed life.”

You absolutely can.

“But I don’t wanna.”

CELL PHONE NOISE

Answer the phone, douche.

“You’re on with John.”

“Hot Dog Dick!”

“Ah, shit.”

“That your lunch?”

“No, that’s my dog.”

“Look delicious.”

“Jesus, that’s offensive. Are you dead yet?”

“Not having good week, Little Potato! Look at hair!”

“Kinda sad.”

“So sad! Surgery go bad. Turns out forbidding education was poor long-term strategy.”

“Yes.”

“Same thing with being a 400 pound chainsmoker. Tough to maintain.”

“Don’t see a lot of 80-year old 400-pound chainsmokers”

“No. Also, sister probably bribe doctors to botch operation.”

“Almost definitely.”

“No look good for Kim Jong-Un. At least I go to Heaven.”

“You think you’re going to Heaven?”

“Father invent Heaven.”

DIAL TONE NOISE EVEN THOUGH PHONES NO LONGER DO THAT

“Dude.”

Yup?

“When he dies, will I have to take phone calls from his ghost?”

Almost definitely.

“Fuck.”

The Spice Of Life

Aw, buddy. You sad?

“Little bit.”

Spray that Pam on your dick and have a penis party.

“That sounds like a bad idea.”

Oh, no. Pam was made for dicks. That’s why they gave it a girl’s name.

“That can’t be true. Even if it is, I refuse to believe it.”

I’ve been rejecting reality a lot lately, too. How’s quarantine going?

“Ups and downs. I got lost yesterday.”

How do you get lost during quarantine?

“My house is fucking enormous.”

Sure.

“There’s a sub-basement! I had no idea!”

What’s down there?

“Bowling alley. Wine cellar. And I think maybe a torture room.”

You think?

“The floor is washable and slopes inward towards a drain. And y’know those metal circles that hang off walls and you hang chains through?”

Yeah.

“There are like a dozen of those.”

That’s a torture room.

“Probably. There were also several offices that appear to be in use. Like, there was a luke-warm cup of coffee on one of the desks.”

You should have a conversation with your realtor. All of this is stuff that’s supposed to be disclosed before escrow.

“I don’t think I’m gonna go down there again. The aboveground section of the house is enough, really.”

What if you want to bowl?

“Oh, there’s a bowling alley up here, too.”

CELL PHONE NOISE

“Dude.”

Eat the rich.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“You’re on with John.”

“Little Potato! You spray Pam on dick today?”

“Everyone’s being gross. Hey, aren’t you dying or something?”

“Ha! Kim Jong-Un is healthy as Only Korean horse! You know how say ‘horse’ in Only Korean?”

“No.”

“Lunch.”

“Racist.”

“Is no bat! Is no worse than bat!”

“C’mon, man.”

“Many year, people eat horse. No problem. Bat? Immediate problem! Bat is bad lunch.”

“Great, whatever. What do you want?”

“Need favor.”

“I’m almost definitely gonna say ‘no,’ but what is it?”

“Let Kim Jong-Un borrow heart.”

“Borrow?”

“Fine, buy. I buy heart.”

“You cannot buy or borrow my heart. I need it. Why don’t you just yoink one from one of the millions of political prisoners you’re jailing?”

“Want heart knows how to play guitar.”

“Nope. Doesn’t make any sense.”

“Kim Jong-Un needs heart that shreds”

“Complete nonsense.”

“Heart with whammy bar.”

DIAL TONE NOISE EVEN THOUGH PHONES NO LONGER DO THAT

“Jackass?”

Mm?

“When you heard that he was sick, did you get sad for him?”

A little.

“You were worried for the monster who enslaves, starves, and imprisons his population, and floods the world with meth, counterfeit money, and nuclear secrets, just because you think he’s a funny character for your little make-em-ups?”

Precisely that.

“Do you know you’re a terrible person?”

Oh, yeah.

“Well, at least there’s that.”

 

If You Didn’t See This Coming, You Just Haven’t Been Paying Attention

Hey, Josh. Whatcha doing?

“Isolating myself, but not my fit.”

Sure.

“People are sad and scared and unhappy, and so I thought I’d do the only thing I can–”

Playing music for them?

“–which is letting them look at my clothes.”

Ah.

“Dude, everyone’s doing concerts from their living rooms. But I’m the only one doing fashion shows in a forest.”

You are. I’ll give you that. Is that a turtle?

“Where?’

Next to your left foot.

“Yes.”

I like turtles.

“Can we talk about my outfit, please?”

Venmo me a thousand dollars.

“Absolutely not.”

Fine. Two thousand.

“I’m ignoring you and describing my threads. The jacket is Visvim’s new line called Kung Fu Drip.”

Uh-huh.

“You see how it looks like a utilitarian garment that any Japanese guy would have worn a few decades ago?”

I do.

“But it cost five grand!”

Does that make it better?

“Oh, God, yes. And my sweatshirt was handmade by Amy Sedaris’ slaves.”

What now?

“Funny story: Amy Sedaris owns people. And not just a couple. Like, she’s got a whole dormitory out back at her place.”

Wow. You Hollywood people lead such interesting hidden lives.

“She treats them great, though. Knows all their names. Of course, she gave them their names, so maybe that’s not so impressive.”

Not really. Does David Sedaris know about this?

“There is no David Sedaris. His books and articles are written by a Humorbot.”

Humorbot?

“It’s a program that produces amusing essays. One of the really early versions does all of Andy Borowitz’s stuff.”

Now that makes sense.

“Right? A human being would have been funny at least once just by accident.”

Sure. We’re getting along so well.

“Does that mean–”

CELL PHONE NOISE

“–the phone’s gonna…goddammit. Is it Nixon?”

No.

“Aw.”

You like him.

“The man tells it like it is.”

Pick up the phone.

“Dick.”

“You’re on with John.”

“Leave the forest now, Jonathan. It is made of rancid spices and leftover gods. The forest compels one to invent coal plants, iron foundries, shops where one can find sexual items of abnormal size.”

“Hey, Werner.”

“How did you know it was me?’

“The guy who writes this shit is predictable as hell.”

“As is the forest! It is shit, and piss, and apples that cannot be eaten for fear of tummy problems. The forest will never surprise you. Imagine! It is your 50th birthday. You walk into your home. The lights are darkened, but suddenly they blaze to life. ‘Surprise!’ is yelled. But not by the forest. Never by the forest. The forest was defecated into being by a God that was not paying attention.”

“I’m honestly just in my backyard.”

“Backyards are worse!”

“Listen, it’s an honor to talk to you, but is there a point to the call?”

“Of course. I want you to help me float a 747 across Lake George.”

“Why?”

“ART!”

“Could you hold, please?”

“Yes. I will lecture my parrot on the glory of non-existence.”

“Awesome.”

“Jackass?”

Ich?”

“Du. Is he gonna become a thing?”

Depends on how fun he is to write.

“Awesome.”

Slow Dancing In A Burning Zoo

Hey, Josh. Whatcha doing?

“Entertaining my millions of fans on Instagram.”

Millions?

“Yes. I have a lot of celebrities watching, and they each count for 50,000 RG’s.”

What’s an RG?

“Revenue Generator. It’s my cute name for my fans.”

That’s not so cute. Question?

“Is it about why a man in his mid-40’s can’t grow hair on his cheeks?”

Yes.

“Fuck off, man. It’s just genetics.”

Maybe. Or it could be punishment for your sins.

“It’s probably not.”

I said “could be.” I was judicious in my statement.

“It’s not.”

This really must affecting your dating life.

“I’m playing Whack-A-Mole six times a day.”

You didn’t need to call it that.

“I wanted to.”

Uh-huh.

CELL PHONE NOISE

“Douche. Is this Kim Jong-Un again?”

Better. Or worse. Probably worse.

“Goddammit.”

“You’re on with John.”

“Whatchoo wearin’, sweetcheeks? Anythin’ under them slacks?”

“Oh, please don’t be who I think it is.”

“It’s your next husband, Joe Exotic.”

“It’s who I thought it was.”

“Me an’ you gonna watch some big-johnson pornographies and smoke on some meth together. We gonna have us an Oklahoma Party.”

“What the hell is an Oklahoma Party?”

“It’s when no one wants t’be there, and y’can’t identify the smell.”

“Pass.”

“You gonna! You my li’l Chicken Nugget now!”

“Don’t call me that. First of all: not gay. Second of all: if I were gay, you wouldn’t be by type. Third: coronavirus.”

“I cured that shit in a day or two.”

“You cured the coronavirus?”

“Uh-huh.”

“With?”

“Meth and tigers.”

“Pass.”

“Fine, Mr. Man! You wanna buy a lynx?”

“I do not wanna buy a lynx.”

“How about a marmoset with a bad attitude?”

DIAL TONE NOISE EVEN THOUGH PHONES NO LONGER DO THAT

“Excuse me?”

Me?

“Yeah. I can’t believe I’m sayin this, but: I’d rather talk to Kim Jong-Un.”

Joe Exotic is now part of the universe.

“Goddammit.”

Couch, No Tour

I’ll give you a hundred dollars if we don’t have to talk about your clothes.

“But I want to! And, honestly, a hundred dollars is nothing to me. My socks cost a grand.”

Your socks cost a grand?

“Each.”

Wow.

“Socks are far more labor-intensive than you’d think. It’s the stretch-to-cling ratio that gets you.”

I’d rather talk about the pandemic.

“And not my shoes? I’d really like to talk about my shoes.”

They look like something a stroke victim who’d only partially regained control of his hands would wear.

“Exactly. This is from Visvim’s 2011 line entitled ‘Gnarled Tree.’ They took inspiration from clothes for disabled people. Velcro and snaps instead of buttons, drawstrings instead of zippers, pants with loose asses so you can fit a diaper under ’em. One of the high points from the House, I believe.”

Uh-huh.

CELL PHONE NOISE

I told you I didn’t wanna talk about your clothes.

“Dick.”

Yeah.

“You’re on with John.”

“Hold on, bitch. I gotta tell this motherfucker to suck my dick.”

“Suck my dick, motherfucker. Okay, I’m back.”

“Miles, I told you to stop calling. We’re through. You hurt me too badly. And you also murdered me.”

“We gonna start over I won’t murder you no more.”

“Miles–”

“Less you use the tone of voice you about to use. Then I’ll shoot you right the fuck in your face.”

“–this isn’t going to work out. Neither of us is gay, and you died in 1991.”

“Love finds a way. Grease yourself up.”

DIAL TONE NOISE EVEN THOUGH PHONES NO LONGER DO THAT

“Goddammit.”

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