Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: oj simpson

Other Kippurs Of Note

Foam Kippur For 24 hours, no Jew is permitted to attend one of those freaky Ibiza parties where they pour the foam all over the dance floor.

Noam Kippur From sunset until sunset, no consent may be manufactured.

Frome Kippur Eight days after Rosh Hashanah, all men of Bar Mitzvah age must pretend to have read Edith Wharton’s Ethan Frome.

Zsa Zsa Kippur A total proscription against being famous for no reason, and marrying a dozen rich guys.

“That’s enough, enough of this. Son, you’re floundering.”

Hey, you can’t be here.

And he really can’t be here.

“You pay Orenthal the respect he’s due. My God, the yardage he churned up! And with Buffalo, no less. Imagine that, knowing you’ve got no shot at the title, but still running your heart out every Sunday. You could take lessons.”

I am not taking any lessons from OJ.

“The Juice. I am, uh, informed that he is called by that name. The Juice.”

Yes, sir.

“Many of them have nicknames. The blacks, I mean”

I figured.

“Very informal people. As you can see. Most guests to the White House wear suits, ties, they dress properly. But, uh, Orenthal has chosen to show up looking like Bing Crosby. This is not a sign of disrespect in their culture.”

We are veering dangerously close to the rocks here, sir.

“The black believes that suits are for court appearances.”

Annnnnnd we’ve crashed onto said rocks.

Time Keeps On Skipping

jm sweater andy cohen.jpg

“I can’t thank you enough, Andyman.”

“Don’t mention it, Johnboy.”

“Are you sure you don’t want a sweater?”

“Oh, is that what that is?”

“I brought an extra one for you.”

“I’m good.”

“So soft. The wool is made from reclaimed Cabbage Patch Kid hair.”

“So that’s why I smell baby powder.”

“I’ll just leave it on the table.”

“Under is fine, too.”

“Would you like to feel my cowl?”

“John, what’s going on? Why did we need to leave Los Angeles and come to Montana, which is apparently where rich people live now for some reason.”

“LA is a nightmare for me right now. Plus, I can’t be in my house for a few days.”

“Exterminators?”

“Sort of.”

“John, did you open the Chronogate?”

I didn’t! I didn’t do that at all!”

“Well, who did?”

“Are you familiar with the concept of semi-fictionality?”

CELL PHONE NOISE

“That’s me.”

“Oh, Andy, that is so sweet! Your ring tone is Dead & Company!”

“No. It’s the real Dead, John.”

“Okay, sure.”

“You play the song well, too.”

“You’re just saying that.”

CELL PHONE NOISE

“We’ll discuss this later, or not. I’m gonna take this.”

“You’re on the phone with Andy Cohen.”

“What is this, Montana? Nice place to build a golf course, the best golf course.”

“I would play on that course.”

“Hi, there.”

oj donald trump keith hernandez

“John, it’s for you.”

“Dammit.”

“Yello?”

“You don’t get what a Time War is, do you, John? Sad!”

“Montana got a lot of white women.”

“I quit abusing coke, but I didn’t quit doing it.”

“Ohhhhh. Noooooo. Not you, Keith Hernandez. Why are you here?”

“Time War.”

“Time War.”

“1993’s gonna fuck you Jetsons up. This one’s for Harambe!”

“Hold, please.”

“Andyman?”

“Yes, Johnboy?”

“My problems have followed me to Montana.”

“They always do.”

A Mayer Of Twists And Turns

jm skincare 2

I feel like I don’t know you any more.

“I have always behaved this way. You just weren’t paying attention to me before.”

Sure. Is that your special face-washing bandana?

“Yes.”

Who?

“Tom Ford.”

Gucci?

“No. Tom Ford made it for me with his hands.”

Wow.

“It’s cashmeerkat.”

Is it comfortable?

“No. Very hot. And you can’t get sweat on it.”

Probably why they’re usually made from cotton.

“Egyptian cotton?”

American motherfucking cotton, Josh.

“Don’t call me that.”

Don’t be so wrong about bandanas.

“Dude, you wanna come at me on bandanas? I got a bandana blog, bro.”

What would there possibly be to blog about? They’re scraps of fabric. Bandanas are the slushees of the garment world: you buy them at gas stations, and you should always go with red. You buy a new one along with a new pair of sunglasses at the beginning of a road trip. That is all there is to know about bandanas.

“Well, you don’t have a collector’s eye.”

Wait.

“What?”

This is a trick. You’re deliberately goading me into putting Kim Jong-Un on the line, or whatever I nonsense I think up. What’s up your sleeve?

“My tattoo sleeve? We’ve never really discussed it in depth. Everything means stuff.”

No. I was just using a metaphor.

“Is ‘up your sleeve’ a metaphor? More of a cliche.”

Stop it, Meyers. You’re making me angry. You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.

“Who’s on the phone? Is it the same joke, just slightly reworded?”

Stop it.

“Another procrastination?”

Don’t.

“Why haven’t you written a book?”

CELL PHONE NOISE

“Ow! That hurt, man.”

That hurt? Aw. Pick up the phone.

“I don’t deserve this.”

You deserve worse, and should thank me for not providing it. I could shunt you into an alternate trimension where time is made out of knives. I don’t do that.

cell phone noise

“Your sarcasm is not endearing.”

Wasn’t meant to be. Pick up the phone.

“Ugh. You’re boring. Whatever, fine.”

“Yeah, hello?”

“John? This is Donald Trump and OJ Simpson. We’re here from 1993 and we’re downstairs in your house.”

“Hey, buddy! It’s the Juice!”

donald trump oj

“We brought friends. I have the best friends, many of who are black.”

“It’s a party!”

“Hold, please.”

“This is not right.”

What?

“Tasteless.”

Which one?

“Both, either, whatever.”

SHWMIZZZZMSWHAWOOMP, THERE IT IS!

WHOOMP THERE IT IS!

“Is that my stereo?”

“Hey, Josh: where do you keep the cocaine?”

“I don’t have any cocaine, OJ Simpson who is in my fucking house!”

“This is not okay.”

You should go down there. You’re being a terrible host.

“Please get Donald Trump and OJ out of my home.”

But it’s funny.

“My home! Where my groupies play with my balls.”

RED PHONE NOISE

“Oh, what fresh hell is this?”

It’s the Red Phone.

“I don’t have a Red Phone. Only the President of the United States and the Premier of the Soviet Union had Red Phones, and they weren’t actually red. Or phones.”

Nevertheless.

“I think I would know if I had a Red Phone.”

RED PHONE NOISE

“Oh, there it is.”

Must be important.

“Comrade Khrushchev?”

“Please hold for the president.”

“Grumble grumble.”

Grumble grumble? What the fuck was that?

“Well, I wanted to sigh in exasperation. Convey that through dialogue, please.”

Don’t be a dick.

“Your chosen format has inherent flaws.”

You bring all of these things on yourself.

“What the hell are you two idiots talking about? America is threatened, John. And whoever you’re talking to. Who are you talking to?

“Nobody.”

Nobody.

“I don’t care, so I’ll take both of your words for it. I have become glorious, John. I now have a worthy foe, and shall be remembered as a War President.”

“What?”

katy perry dress president.jpg

“We’ve been invaded by the year 1993.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but: yeah, I know. In fact, the main invasion force is in my kitchen.”

“Is OJ there?”

“Yes.”

“Tell him I say hi.”

“No.”

“This is great news, John.”

“It totally isn’t.”

“No, it is. I have your address already. Makes aiming the cruise missiles much easier.”

“Don’t do that, please. Lemme just get rid of them.”

“You can’t ask the past to leave politely, John. You’ve got to kill it. They’re here for ill purpose, John! OJ is here to blow up the World Trade Center unsuccessfully.”

“This whole post has left a bad taste in my mouth.”

“How many people are in your house, John?”

“Hold on.”

“Couple dozen.”

“Oh, they’ll burn good.”

“What?”

“Nothing, John. Oh. You most likely have the mantavirus now.”

“The hantavurus.”

“No, the mantavirus. It’s like the hantavirus, but graceful.”

“Katy–”

“Lord High Commander Katherine I, Scourge of the Past, and Defender of the Chronogates.”

“–don’t shoot cruise missiles at me.”

“I would never do that! But I am shooting cruise missiles at your house which you are in.”

“Let’s not argue semantics. Can you give me one hour before you incinerate the neighborhood?”

“Best I can do is sixty minutes.”

“I’ll take it. I’ll call you back.”

“Motherfucker.”

CELL PHONE DIALING NOISE.

“Well, well, well. Look who is.”

kim jong un phone desk

“Dammit.”

“Hey, Kim Jong-Un. Whatcha doing?”

“Nooooooothing. What you do?”

“I actually, uh, I kinda need…shit…I need a favor.”

“Iiiiiiiinteresting.”

“Don’t do this.”

“Whaaaaaat? What I do?”

“This is why we don’t hang out.”

“This is how you come for favor? With insult?”

“Sorry. You’re right, sorry.”

“Father invent insult.”

“Okay.”

“And favor.”

“Sure.”

“1993 has declared war on us and breached the timestream via my house. The invasion force is led by Donald Trump and OJ Simpson. I need you to repel the attackers, return reality to normal, kill or kidnap or whatever those two psychopaths in my living room, and also I need you to do it in the next hour or my entire block is going to explode because President Katy Perry has launched Tomahawk missiles at it.”

“Yeah, okay. I help.”

“Just like that?”

“You my bro.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“I probably blow up house, too. On my way!”

“Wait! No blowing up anythi–”

DIAL TONE NOISE EVEN THOUGH PHONES DO NOT DO THAT ANY MORE