Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: miles davis (page 1 of 7)

Stick Around; We’ll Be Right Back (Except For This Guy)

Ah, shit. Hey, Shane Gillis, gently-talented comedian who was hired and fired from SNL over the course of a weekend when it came to light that you were a racist hack.

“Oh, I suppose you’re another SJW who got offended at my boundary-pushing humor?”

No, you’re just boring.

“Wow. Here’s some virtue-signalling from a fake woke fag.”

Fag?

“When I say ‘fag,’ I don’t mean ‘gay.’ I mean someone who’s weak and pathetic.”

That’s kinda worse.

“You just don’t get comedy, man. If Bill Hicks were alive today, he’d be on my side.”

I dunno about that. Kinison would be backing you, that’s for sure.

“This is what Cancel Culture gets us: Hannah Gadsby specials 24 hours a day.”

Shane, what if I told you that it was possible to think you were a mediocre comic and a sloppy thinker AND that Hannah Gadsby isn’t funny?

“No, it’s one or the other.”

Sure.

“I feel bad for SNL. I had so many good characters I was gonna bring to the show.”

Such as?

“Suk Yoo Long”

I think I see where this is going.

“See, he’s a Chinese guy…but he’s gay.”

Uh-huh.

“He takes your dick out with chopsticks! And then he’s like¬†I rike to rick your rorripop! It’s satire.”

It is not.

“It’s a lot funnier when you can see the face I’m making.”

Are you squinting?

“So hard! I can barely see! Maybe that’s why–”

Bad drivers.

“–they’re such bad drivers! That’s A+ material right there. Better than anything Leslie Jones ever came up with.”

Weird you would choose her as an example.

“Or Finesse Mitchell, Danitra Vance, or Garrett Morris.”

Wow.

“Or Charles Rocket.”

I’ll give you Charles Rocket.

“I can do impressions, too.”

Yeah? Let’s hear one.

“Okay, this is Barack Obama.¬†Now looky here–“

STOP THAT.

“Again: it’s satire.”

Again: it’s not.

“Joe Rogan wants me on his show.”

I’m sure he does.

“You’re gonna be sorry. You’re all gonna be–”

BANG!

Shane?

“Nah, I shot that cracker.”

No great loss. Hi, Mr. Davis.

“Motherfucker got a babyhead. I don’t like that. Makes me uncomfortable.”

Sorry.

“Wasn’t funny, neither. Get Richard Pryor to do your little skits. That n—-r makes me laugh. Or that other motherfucker. Who’s the skinny white boy with the beard always talkin’ about drugs and words and shit?”

George Carlin.

“He’s all right. Or we could just watch Keith Jarrett make his spaz faces. That shit’s funny, too.”

You’re never wrong, Mr. Davis.

“I fuckin’ know that.”

By The Way, Which One’s Phil?

This is the show from the previous post: 11/6/71 at the (West) Berlin Philharmonic. WARNING: Keith Jarrett’s face. Also, I don’t give a fuck what the video’s title says: Keith did not have billing above Miles.

Dallas?

Hey, Mr. Davis.

“Look at these motherfuckers costin’ me money.”

Because there are so many musicians?

“Shit, no. Because I gotta rent a second tour bus just for afro picks. You know the kind with the fist on the handle?”

Yes.

“My fuckin’ band goes through nine or ten dozen a show. And we play some cracker-ass places, too. Can’t depend on there being a proper barbershop around. Ever been to Delaware?”

A few times.

“Bullshit state. Like Maryland has a skin tag or some shit.”

Accurate assessment.

“Don’t tell me I’m fuckin’ right. I know I’m fuckin’ right, otherwise I wouldn’t have said shit.”

Sorry.

“Just shut the fuck up.”

Okay.

“We’re playin’ Wilmington and no one’s got a hair pick. Gary Bartz’ natural was floppy and pathetic. He got a face looks like an a fat bitch sat on an egg sandwich, so the n—-r gotta have good hair.”

As always, I formally protest your use of that word.

“Show’s gonna start soon and my band looks terrible. I can’t have that. Miles Davis is a clean motherfucker. Gotta have a handsome band. I had to call the only cat I knew in Wilmington.”

Please don’t say–

“N—-r named Corn Pop.”

–Corn Pop. You knew Corn Pop?

“We was tight.”

Wow.

“Corn Pop came through. Brought a whole case of picks by. That n—-r’s all right. Everybody love that boy. You gotta problem with Corn Pop, you some sort of rickety old ofay fuck.”

Accurate assessment.

BANG!

“The fuck did I tell you?”

Sorry, Mr. Davis.

Miles Back

“Look how many n—-s I got on stage with me.”

Hey, Mr. Davis. I asked you politely–

“I got so many n—-s that a couple of ’em ain’t even n—-s.”

–not to use that word.

“Got a Jew. Real Jewy Jew, too. Bagelfaced motherfucker.”

Offensive.

“And I got two Indians. The foreign Indians, not the ones from the movies. They playin’ Indian shit.”

It’s an enormous band.

“Who’s that bunch of hillbillies you listen to?”

The Grateful Dead.

“How many motherfuckers in that band?”

Anywhere from 5-8.

“Pussies. I’m thinkin’ about gettin’ four or five more motherfuckers. Maybe I’ll get some Eskimos. Are Eskimos real, or they some made-up white bullshit like leprechauns?”

They’re real, and they like to be called Inuit.

“It’s my band. I’ll call ’em snow-n—-s if I want.”

I’m so glad you lived when you did.

“Should be. I contributed to the fucking world, motherfucker.”

That, too.

Don’t Change Your Hair For Me

Not if you care for me.

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.”

Time After Time

“You having fun. man?”

“Fuck, man, I had no idea about you motherfuckers.”

“Yeah, we get it on for white boys.”

“This is a blast, Jerry. You do this every night?”

“Except for when we suck, yeah.”

“That happen a lot?”

“You’d be shocked.”

“Well, not tonight. I feel like I can’t play a wrong note.”

“You’ve got an open invitation, man. Hell, you can join the band if you want.”

“Lemme think about that, man. I’m really gonna–

SHWAZZATHOOM!

“–think aboutWHAT THE FUCK?”

“WHAT JUST HAPPENED!?”

“What’s up, Branford? Do you need some Fret-Eeze?”

“No! Where am I? What year is it? BOBBY? What the fuck? Where’s Garcia!?”

“Ah. What, uh, year do you think it is?”

“1990!”

“Ah. Did you, uh, play a D-flat?”

“I think so.”

“Well, there you go. It’s 2018, Jerry’s dead, I’m the Garcia now, Josh is me, and our new bass player is also named Branford.”

“What kind of white person bullshit is this?”

BANG!

“What the fuck?”

BANG!

“Bobby, someone’s–”

“Bobby? Damn, he’s quick.”

“I got you now, Wynton, you corny motherfucker!”

BANG!

“STOP SHOOTING! I’m not Wynton! It’s Branford!”

“Branford?”

“Yes!”

“Not Wynton?”

“No!”

“Hate that fucking brother of yours.”

“I know!”

“Hey, motherfucker. Why you hanging out with those old white motherfuckers?”

“I wasn’t! I was hanging out with middle-aged white motherfuckers and then I got shoved sideways through time or something!”

“Chill the fuck out before I slap you.”

“Okay.”

JAZZ SLAP!

“I was calm!”

“You was getting to calm. I helped you along the fucking way. C’mon, let’s go for a ride and I’ll take you back to wherever the fuck you came from.”

“You can do that?”

BANG!

“I’m Miles Davis, motherfucker. Course I can travel through fucking time.”

“I’m so confused.”

…And Her Prince

“That fat bitch die?’

Oh, this is gonna go well.

“Bitch carried that purse with her so she could steal from buffet tables.”

Please stop talking about Aretha Franklin that way.

“Didn’t care for her. Sang too much. Leave some notes for the rest of the world.”

Mr. Davis, Aretha’s voice–

BANG!

What!?

“Her name is Miss Franklin. You respect that fat bitch.”

You’re just all over the place today.

“That gospel shit. ‘Love you, Jesus. Thank you, Jesus. Lemme suck on your nuts, Jesus.’ Bunch of bullshit crackers taught the black man to keep him happy in poverty. ‘Blessed are the meek.’ What the fuck kind of pussy bullshit is that? ‘Turn the other cheek.’ You ain’t even gonna hit me on my first cheek, you mayonnaise-dicked bog dweller.”

I take it you’re not a Christian.

“Used to get dragged to church when I was a kid. Hated that shit. Preacher in his tacky fucking suit mopping his stinky head. Could smell him from the pews. Always talking about getting saved. From who? Only motherfucker I need saving from is the white man.”

I guess.

“And the Jew.”

Saw that coming. Did you ever consider another religion?

“Like what?”

Um…

“Say it, motherfucker.”

Uhh…

BANG!

Nation of Islam?

“Saw that bullshit coming, too, you racist motherfucker.”

It was very big when you were around.

“Hell, no. Fuck them bean pie-eating motherfuckers. You gonna tell Miles Davis he can’t drink his Heineken and sniff his cocaine? The fuck did Allah make it for, then? Hell, no, I wasn’t no fucking Nation of Islam motherfucker. I used to donate some money, though.”

Why?

“White people hated ’em so much that I figured they must be doing something right.”

Can’t argue with that.

“No, you can’t, you dumb fucking cracker.”

Always a pleasure, Mr. Davis.

“I know.”

Black, Mann

  1. If it were truly illegal to take white women across state lines for immoral purposes, and not just an excuse to lock up uppity negros, then the Grateful Dead would still be in jail.
  2. Jack Johnson would have some interesting things to say about Trump.

An Unhealthy Relationship

“Asshole!”

Me?

“Yes, you!”

Why are you back in the hospital?

“YOU KNOW WHY!”

Did your appendix and Miles–

“YES!”

–Davis hunt you down? Okay, no need to be so zesty about the situation. Lower your zest.

“Fuck you and fuck your zest! I had surgery at the beginning of the week and you PROMISED to not pull any stupid bullshit while I was recuperating.”

What happened?

“I went back to Montana to rest up. I have a little cabin there, 23,000 square feet, real cozy, next door to Harrison and Calista. All I wanted to do was take it easy and watch a little teevee and maybe fly a couple porn stars in. And–if I may remind you–I was promised that I’d be left alone.”

I did promise that.

“So what happened?”

My promises are not worth much.

“Dick.”

What did your appendix and Miles Davis do to you?

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

I won’t tell anyone.

“Swear?”

Cross my heart.

“Miles Davis forcibly penetrated me using my own removed appendix as a dildo.”

Oh, that’s not right.

“IT’S FUCKING NOT, MAN.”

Settle.

“I don’t wanna settle, asshole. All of this is bullshit.”

They let you wear your toppermost in the hospital.

“Yeah, that’s pretty cool, but it doesn’t make up for the organ-rape.”

Probably not. Hey, lemme talk to Miles. See if I can work this out.

“Just keep that lunatic away from me.”

Sure. Mr. Davis? You around?

“Don’t go calling for me, motherfucker. I ain’t your dog.”

Mr. Davis, did you sexually assault John Mayer with his own appendix?

“Yeah, I did that shit.”

Why are you smiling?

“That shit was some funny shit. Little bitch was squealing and squirming.”

None of this is funny. If you hadn’t died in 1995, you’d be criminally liable.

“Nah. Bitch liked it.”

He didn’t.

“Yeah, he did. Shot his load all over his toppermost.”

Jesus.

“Couldn’t have hated it too fucking much.”

I regret bringing you into this universe.

“You knew who the fuck I was.”

I thought you’d be cranky and maybe punch some people. I didn’t in my wildest dreams imagine you’d be molesting John Mayer with his own innards.

“That’s why I’m a fucking genius and you ain’t.”

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