Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: john mayer (page 1 of 39)

He’s Got His Rock Moves

Tell whoever that is to stop doing that.

“His name is Khalid.”

No. Khalid is a big fat Arab dumbass.

“Different guy with a similar name.”

Are you being sponsored by a water company now?

“No, I–”

Is the brand’s name “Essentia?” I thought that was the My Little Pony who denied the Holocaust.

“No, it’s–”

Well, one of them. People don’t know how deep the Holocaust denialism runs in Equestria.

“Are you done?”

The Care Bears are all TERFs.

“Please stop talking to me.”

Fine. Talk to him.

“Who?”

“Is this what your generation does? Is this how you thank your parents?”

“Dammit.”

“Allowing bearded negros to simulate fellatio on you? Is that what they’re doing on the campuses?”

“Hey, President Nixon.”

“This is how it starts. The coloreds, they start sucking off everyone in sight. This, of course, leads to Communism.”

“It really doesn’t.”

“It’s the Sexual Domino Theory. Rusk came up with it, but I think he might just be one of those goddamned perverts. You must control your genitals, son. Don’t let them ride herd on you. The Kennedys, all of them, they listened to their crotches. Usually, the Irish stay away from that sort of thing, but not that family.”

“Sir–”

“Nixon, as you know, has been happily married to Pat for many years. Happy ones. There have been arguments, disagreements, so forth, but I never went out tomcatting. We kept it in the house.”

“Sir–”

“Not like Hoover. We all knew about him, about him and Tolson. The Lord judges, not Nixon. Those people, they’re born like that, they can’t help it. Keep it away from the kids and I don’t care. But they would flounce around in get-ups. All kinds of, you know, outfits and such. And you just can’t have that.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Go fetch Manolo. Remind him what time it is.”

“I have no idea who that is.”

“Fine, fine. You do it. Cottage cheese and gin. Equal portions. Hop to it, let’s go.”

“Dickhead?”

Yo.

“Am I Richard Nixon’s personal valet now?”

Appears that way. He likes ketchup on his cottage cheese.

“Ew.”

Hey, man: even Nixon had faults.

 

He Used To Be 6’1″

So sweet of you to spend time with your grandpa.

“This is Eric Clapton.”

Does he tell you war stories and pluck quarters from your ear?

“Not my grandpa.”

He’s racist like a grandpa. You gotta give me that: guy is grandpa-level racist.

“The man happens to be one of the greatest guitarists who’s ever lived.”

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

“You’re such a dick.”

He wasn’t even the best guitarist in Derek & the Dominos. He was third-best in the Yardbirds. Also third-best in the Traveling Wilburys.

“Clapton wasn’t in the Wilburys.”

He wasn’t?

“No.”

He could have been, though.

“Oh, sure. Definitely could’ve been. Like, in the next reality over.”

Right. Where they had three British guys and two Yanks, instead of the other way around.

“Townshend.”

Oh, yeah. Pete Townshend definitely was in the Rambling Weatherstone-Bumbleberries.

“Cliff Richard as Roy Orbison.”

Sure. Bowie taking the Dylan part?

“Maybe. Is Garcia in the band?”

Replacing George Harrison?

“Yeah.”

Could be. Ray Davies is in.

“Oh, no doubt. Ray Davies is the linchpin of the Rambling Weatherstone-Bumbleberries. Who does the Jeff Lynne part?”

Don Was.

“We nailed this.”

We did. Is your grandpa asleep?

“He’s not my grandpa. And, yes, he’s snoozing a little.”

Is he talking in his sleep?

“Murmuring.”

Can you make it out?

“Something about rivers of blood.”

Sounds right.

All Black

Is that BTS? I thought they were supposed to be cute.

“It’s not BTS.”

My favorite is Jungkook. Who’s your favorite BTS?

“I don’t really have one.”

Racist.

“No.”

Not having a favorite member of BTS is incredibly racist. It’s pretty much worse than lynching a guy.

“It is not. Not in the slightest.”

If anyone asks, just say J-Hope.

“Which one is J-Hope?”

He’s the pretty Korean one.

“That doesn’t help.”

BWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMMMMMMM

“What the fuck was that?”

It sounded very cosmic.

“Right? That was the word that I would use. Cosmic.”

BWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMMMMMM

“It’s a little disconcerting.”

“LOOK UPON ME, JOSH MEYERS. I HAVE CHOSEN YOU TO BE MY HERALD ON EARTH.”

“Who is this?”

“IT IS I, THE BLACK HOLE. YOU CAN CALL ME BH.”

“Ah, for Christ’s sake.”

“YOU SHALL PREPARE THE WORLD FOR MY ARRIVAL. IT’S GONNA GET FREAKY.”

“Freaky?”

“I’M A HOLE. ONLY ONE THING YOU CAN DO TO A HOLE.”

“Stick things–”

“STICK THINGS IN ME.”

“–in you? Ew. Please don’t bother Earth. We have enough problems.”

“MY PRESENCE WILL SOLVE THEM ALL. I WILL BRING PEACE AND FREAKINESS. BUT YOU, JOSH, WILL BE THE FIRST TO LOOK UPON MY TRUE FACE.”

“What now?”

“GAZE DEEPLY! LOOK WITHIN ME!”

“I’m looking.”

“DO YOU SEE WHAT IS AT MY HEART? CAN YOU WITNESS THE BLACKEST THING IN THE UNIVERSE?”

“The blackest thing in…ah, shit.”

“Hey, bitch.”

“You’re at the center of a black hole?”

“What the fuck is blacker than me?”

“You got a point, I guess.”

“Now fetch me some cocaine before I spaghettify you.”

“Yes, sir.”

Watch What Happens Next

“John Mayer, thank you for joining me again on The Radio Randy Show here on SiriusXM Channel 29.”

“29? Wait, that’s JamOn. I thought we would be on the Dead’s channel.”

“They’ve changed format. It’s all Parish, all the time over there now.”

“The guy’s got a ton of stories.

“So we’ll be on JamOn for this interview.”

“Radio Randy, could I talk to you off the radio for a second?”

“No. I cease to exist when I’m not broadcasting.”

“Huh.”

“Incredibly lazy universe we exist in, buddy. Anyway, you’re on The Radio Randy Show on JamOn. In a couple minutes, we’ll be playing an out-of-context, mostly-dialogue segment of Trey’s musical about a pickup truck, and after that we’ve got an entire set from Twaddle.”

“I thought their name was Twiddle.”

“This is a Twiddle side-project.”

“Sweet Jesus, I don’t want to be associated with that. I sell out arenas all over the world, man. Can’t we do this on any other channel? What about the one my solo work usually appears on?”

“Channel 31. It’s called Pussyboy, Unlimited.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“You, that Sheeran kid, John Legend, That’s what’s great about satellite radio: the variety. You can have comedy or gospel or 90’s grunge or soppy little pissboys.”

“Pussyboys.”

“Both.”

“Can we talk about my watches? I’ve brought many of my finest timepieces here to share with you and the audience. These watches are, like, my life told in horology.

“The study of hookers.”

“Not whoreology.”

“I bet that’s a fun major. Makes me want to go back to college. John, let’s take a call.”

“How? We don’t even have microphones.”

“You really should have learned to ignore details like that so far into this nonsense, John. Caller, you’re on Radio Randy and John Mayer.”

“FIRE. GRRRRR.”

“Shut up, you! I told you I vould do all the talking!”

“Can I get your name, caller?”

“GRRRR.”

“Shut it! Don’t ruin this for us, you dumb motherfucker! Our names are not important. Vhat is important is that Josh Meyers vill purchase us and carry us villingly into his home.”

“GRRRR!”

“Do what you’re told, brute! All your parts are from Jews and homos!”

“GRRRR!”

“Vhat the fuck? You kick me? Don’t kick. I’ll kick you.”

MONSTER KICK-FIGHT NOISE

“Radio Randy, could we not take any more calls?”

“I had fun with that one. And it was watch-related.”

“Only vaguely.”

“Let’s keep it going, then. Watch. Watch. That is a Xhosa word, I believe.”

“No.”

“Yes. Means Wearable descriptor of what is conceptual yet provable. Fascinating language, Xhosa. That’s the one with all the clicks. I bet those folks are natural beatboxers.”

“The word ‘watch’ is English. Or maybe Germanic.”

“And the word ‘wrist,’ of course, comes to us from Eugenides Wrist, a Revolutionary War hero who was the first man in America to have wrists.”

“Highly implausible. John, I happen to be a bit of a timepiece enthusiast myself.”

“Oh, really? You’re into watches?”

“Nah, man. Sundials. They’re making a comeback.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“It’s a whole new street fashion thing called cavecore. It’s new, like I said, so you probably haven’t heard of it.”

“Radio Randy, I am on the bleeding edge of streetwear in this and many other countries. I’ve never heard of cavecore.”

“Sundials, raw leather, wild faux fur. It’s Paleolithic and it’s Paleo-with-it. Very in.”

“No. You’re making that up. Let me show me you a special piece. This is a 1963 Tank Rolex that Sammy Davis, Jr., gave his agent’s son for a Bar Mitzvah present.”

“You think he performed at the party?”

“Radio Randy, you and I both know that the Candyman couldn’t leave a crowd alone.”

“The man had show business in his blood, John. Tell us about this watch here.”

“Good eye. This is an Ernotszch Clouzeau. piece called the Montaine 7222 Quad-Tourbillon Diver’s Free Chronograph. There are 800 moving parts in the big hand alone. This might be the most pointlessly complicated piece of technology on the planet.”

“It’s a beautiful piece.”

“Thank you, Radio Randy.”

“I want it inside me.”

“What? No.”

“Shove your watch up my ass, John. Do it live here on SiriusXM. Channel 29 on your dial, number one in your heart. The only place to hear String Cheese Incident’s newest project, a jam opera about John Roebling entitled Take Me To The Bridge. JamOn!”

“The guy who built the Brooklyn–”

“STICK IT IN, LITTLE POTATO!”

–Bridge? Wow. Okay, we’re done.”

Blew

Dammit, Meyers, put your potato salad away.

“I’m not doing it on purpose.”

Ask her about Art Nouveau.

“The design movement?”

Just ask her. Or google “Joni Mitchell + blackface.”

“Do you not like Joni Mitchell or something?”

She’s no Rickie Lee Jones.

Sneaking Maori Through The Alley

Why are you making your backing band dress like that?

“They’re Maori. I’m in New Zealand, and we’re doing a tribute to the shooting victims.”

How’s it going?

“Not well. I suggested that they replace their native garb with Visvim.”

Did you actually use the phrase “native garb?”

“I did, yeah.”

Smooth move, Ex-lax.

“And I offered to buy them all desert boots and they started in with the whole ‘our bare feet connect us to the earth’ thing.”

Native gab.

“Right. What connects me to the earth is a good pair of $9,000 shoes.”

What you’re saying is you didn’t hit it off with the Maori.

“No. Also, they tried to teach me the Haka and I started doing the Electric Slide.”

CELL PHONE NOISE

“Yeah, I might deserve that.”

You totally do.

“You’re on with John.”

“Hey, ace. Wanna make it with my girl?”

“What?”

“She’s real fast. Nothing under that vest, right bro?”

“I have no idea what’s going on here.”

“Take her in the alley and finger her. I promise I won’t sneak up behind you and beat you senseless.”

“What?”

“MAKE IT WITH MY GIRL!”

“Excuse me, please.”

“Dickhead?”

Yes?

“I’m literally in the middle of a tribute to the dead.”

They’ll still be dead when you get back from making it with his girl. Hit the alley, big time.

“I hate this site.”

Most just ignore it.

Let’s Get A Picture

Ah! Time-Traveling Clapton!

“It’s not Eric Clapton.”

Took that fucker forever to grow a beard.

“Clapton?”

Yeah. Usually guys with chins that weak have whiskers early. Garcia sure did.

“You know I love Garcia, but the man would not have made a good Batman.”

No. Just didn’t have the jawline.

“Or the physique, if we’re honest.”

He did watch one of his parents die right in front oh his eyes as a child, though.

“True. Do you feel like the importance of that event gets glossed over in biographies?”

Oh, yeah. That’s a primal scene right there. You don’t get over that shit.

“Poor guy.”

Poor Garcia. Hey, is that Slim Shady’s cousin, Skinny Ugly, on the left?

“Had to be a dick, huh?”

Yeah. The readers expect it.

“All dozen of them?”

It’s eleven now. I pissed one off on Twitter.

“Sounds right.”

CELL PHONE NOISE

“You’ll die alone.”

We all will.

“Yeah, but you’ll die in, like, an abandoned warehouse in Troy, New York.”

Oh. Yeah, probably.

CELL PHONE NOISE

“Hack.”

Wiener.

“You’re on with John.”

“Hot Dog Dick! Come get Dotard! He no will leave!

“Fuck.”

“Come get! Kim never thought Kim would say, but: feel bad for America.”

“Well, unlike the Dotard, you’re human.”

“We try to ditch. No tell him which club we go to. He show up anyway.”

“You guys are going to clubs?”

“Buy bottles. Fuck bitches.”

“That’s no good.”

“No! 김치 똥 make bitches uncomfortable.”

“Excuse me?”

“김치 똥. Does not translate directly. Basically means ‘gastrointestinal distress caused by too much fermented food.’ Is what we call him. We tell him means ‘Master of this and all Universes.’ His translator say, ‘No, it means Kimchi shits’ I say to Dotard, ‘Who you believe, me or him?’ Guess who he believe?”

“You.”

“Is almost not fun. Like having fight with baby. No satisfaction in winning.”

“Have you ever actually fought a baby?”

“Fight baby all the time. Every Tuesday, fight baby.”

“What? Why?”

“Keep sharp. On edge. Where I gotta be.”

“Did you just quote Heat at me?”

“Still hold up! Pacino, De Niro, Kilmer. Fichtner!”

“Gotta go.”

“Fichtner kill it every time! Even when movie bad, Fichtner great!”

“I’m hanging up.”

“Come get 김치 똥! He your problem!”

DIAL TONE NOISE EVEN THOUGH PHONES NO LONGER DO THAT

Toppermo

Wow, a belt and drawstrings. You rocking some suspenders under the tee-shirt?

“Don’t hate. Celebrate.”

Ew.

“I’m kind of shocked you didn’t mention my toppermost in the last post.”

I was trying out a new thing where I pretend you dress like a human.

“Nah. This particular ‘most was created for me in the idyllic Japanese town of Yugopinao.”

Yugopinao?

“Say it out loud.”

Ah.

“By an incredible artisan named Detective Pikachu.”

No.

“It’s his masterpiece. You can fit an entire tea service and a 400-year-old bonsai up the sleeves. It’s called Snow Falls On A Frog’s Testicles; The Frog Goes ‘Yipes!’

Very Japanese. Where did all your friends go?

“Bob Saget’s fucking them all.”

All of them?

“Saget fucks.”

Sure.

CELL PHONE NOISE

“What did I say?”

Nothing, but I gotta do my little parody of the Congressional hearing. I feel like people are waiting for it.

“They’re not.”

CELL PHONE NOISE

“Asshole.”

“You’re on with John.”

“Suicide.”

“What now?”

“Is Momo. You suicide.”

“Oh, go away.”

“You crazy now. See Momo, go crazy, suicide. You suicide now.”

“I hate being part of this.”

In The Ity

What the fuck is this?

“Dude, we had the best Oscar night party ever! I recreated the Vanity Fair red carpet in my house and invited cool people over and I did an episode of my Instagram talk show.”

I’m literally begging you to start doing coke.

“Stop it.”

Just try shooting up one time. Just once. You’ll probably hate it.

“I thought you snorted coke. You can shoot it?”

You can shoot anything if you’re cool enough.

“IV drug use is not cool at all, man.”

Cooler than your lily-white party, colonizer.

“It is a diverse crowd. Dave Chapelle’s here.”

Did you just use the “Some of my best friends are Dave Chapelle” defense?

“Just stop it.”

Who are these people? Is that guy a gamer? Something about him screams “I have a Twitch account.”

“That’s Diplo.”

Inventor of the Lego-like blocks for toddlers?

“That’s Duplo.”

Ah. He’s got powerful thighs. Does he do a lot of cross-country skiing?

“I have no idea.”

Ask him. Ask your party guest about his thighs.

“I won’t.”

Fine. What’s with Manic Panic there?

“This is Halsey.”

Palsy?

“Halsey.”

Admiral Halsey? He acted stupidly.

“Did you just quote Red October at me?”

Yes.

“Nice.”

CELL PHONE NOISE

“I complimented you!”

I guess it just felt like you were lying.

“Did you just quote my own new song, available on Apple iMusic, back to me?”

Did I? Oh, now I feel dirty. Answer the phone.

“Dick.”

“You’re on with John.”

“YEW WAIT JUS’ A MINNIT, BOY. AH’M SPEAKIN’ WITH SOMEONE MORE ‘PORTANT TH’N YEW!”

Ah, shit.

“ISSA HONOR T’ MEETCHU, YER SEATEDNESS!”

“Why, thank ya kindly, Elvis.”

“AH WANTED T’ GIVE YEW SEVERAL PISTOLS O’ FRIENDSHIP, BUT WAS ADVISED IT WOULD BE INCREDIBLY INAPPROPRIATE.”

“Ah done had some bad experiences with guns, son.”

“YEW EVER MEET JOSH MEYERS? HE’S A HOMOSEXUAL FROM TH’ FUTURE.”

“Is he a negroid?”

“NOSSIR.”

“Well, then, bring him round. I need some advice on a new set of drapes.”

“King? Governor Wallace? I have guests over and this isn’t the right time for–”

“AH DON’ SEE NO GUESTS, BOY, OTHER TH’N TITTYDROPS AN’ THAT ANEMIC FELLA!”

“I have many guests, Elvis.”

“See?”

“AHHH! HE GOT HISSELF A BAD SANTA!”

“An’ several o’ them negroids Ah was talkin’ about! Ah knew it! Ah can smell ’em!”

“WE GONNA RETURN FIRE WITH TH’ POWER O’ SOUTHERN HERITAGE!”

“Show them my children, Elvis! Show them what Ah have created!”

“LOOKY HERE, MAN! STARE INTO THEIR EYES, MAN!”

“Excuse me?”

John?

“Too weird.”

You’re not wrong.

The Keys To Success

Why did you agree to do this?

“Alicia Keys is a friend and–”

Stop talking right there. Just stop it.

“What’s your problem with Alicia Keys?”

There’s something off about that woman. She may be an Information Droid controlled from within the chest cavity by a super-intelligent possum.

“I’ve seen her in really low-cut stuff, so I don’t think so.”

The chest cavity is obviously well-concealed, man.

“Alicia Keys is a human woman. And a very talented one, too.”

She is the female John Legend.

“Exactly!”

Oh, you thought that was a compliment.

“I don’t know why I would care about your musical taste. She’s a brilliant musician and you’re just a dick for the sake of being a dick.”

She’s a pirate.

“Stop it.”

Make a joke about it. Call her a pirate. Poke her in the eye and lay your dick on her shoulder and call it a parrot.

“What the fuck, dude?”

Okay, yeah, that was sexual assault I just described.

“And just regular assault.”

The eye thing? No, that was sexual assault, too: I wanted you to use your dick to poke her.

“Wow.”

What the fuck are you doing, anyway?

“We’re doing a bit. See, Alicia had been nominated for a Grammy in 2009 for–”

Holy shit, I already don’t care. Don’t tell stories about how you know other famous people, John. I speak for the rabble: we hate that.

“May I continue?”

And you split one of your Grammys in half and gave it to her, some shit like that? And now you’re doing a bit?

“Essentially.”

Dude, you’re doing bits?

“I’m a triple-threat.”

Why didn’t you perform? You could have joined the Red Hot Chili Peppers and Post Malone.

“Me and Post fell out.”

Oh, no. How about a tribute to XXXtentacion?

” I pitched it, but the producers kept bitching about time.”

CELL PHONE NOISE

“You’re just jealous.”

I am objectively judgmental and jealous.

“You’re on with John.”

“Rando War keeps rolling…who did you say this was?”

“America’s sweathog, John Mayer.”

“Ah, shit, now I’m crank-calling myself.”

“Where are you?”

“The NAMM show. Where are you?”

“Grammmys.”

“I was trying to call Bobby.”

“Lines got crossed, I guess.”

“We shouldn’t be talking.”

“Not according to all the books and movies.”

“Hanging up now.”

“Take care of our dick, bro.”

“You, too.”

“Hey!”

Yessir?

“Don’t do that again.”

Didn’t really go anywhere, did it?

“Creeped me out, dude.”

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