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

Tag: rando (Page 9 of 11)

Double Date

rando hotties

Hello, ladies. You two look spiritual, but not religious.

“Such a good way to describe it.”

“I’m gonna make that into a hashtag.”

“Who are you?”

“What are you?”

“And why bring it here?”

“Are you from a gross place?”

“You look like you’re from a gross place.”

“You look like a fuckboy.”

You both have powerful chins; your clothes are small.

“Which one of us is hotter?”

“Tell us, fuckboy.”

“I asked you a question.”

“She asked you a question.”

“Listen to my friend when she tells you to listen to me.”

“Hotness, fuckboy. Grade ours.”

Each of you is hotter than the other one.

“Threaded the needle there, fuckboy.”

“Could have started an ancient war.”

“Answering that question wrong starts ancient wars, fuckboy.”

“Do you even know what we’re talking about?”

“A book, fuckboy.”

“Do you read, fuckboy?”

“Or just look at things?”

“Which safety school did you go to, fuckboy?”

You two are mean.

“RIGHT, BRO? FUCKIN’ BITCHES!”

“TOO GOOD FOR THIS GOOD DICK, THOSE WHORES!”

Wow, do I not endorse either of those statements.

randos wheatland

“SHOT US DOWN, TOO, BROTHER!”

“FUCKIN’ LESBIAN SLUT-WOMEN!”

I don’t suppose you two know Captain Fuck?

“HE’S OUR DAD, BRAH!”

“WE’RE THE FUCK TWINS!”

I’m not doing this bit any more; it’s just too dumb.

Looking Fur Love

rando hottie curly hair

Tell me your best summer camp memory.

“I was color war general. White Lightning ’92, motherfucker.”

You win?

“Blowout. From the counselors down to Bunk One, we had nothing but spazzes. By lunch of the first day, it was over.”

Ah, sorry.

“We won Rope-Burning, though. Plus my girls fucking dominated Sing.”

You think the Gentiles know what we’re talking about?

“Fuck ’em.”

Let’s date. I know we share the same political opinions.

“Sad about Bernie.”

But you have to be realistic.

“Supreme Court.”

Wow. We’re like New Jersey: perfect together. Are we dating? Also: how much money do you have? A lot? Please say a lot, and also don’t be lying when you say it.

“Aw.”

You have a boyfriend.

“No.”

No?

“SHE GOT A GIRLFRIEND, YO.”

rando hdur coat gangsta chick

“THIS BITCH BOTHERING YOU, BITCH?”

“No, baby.”

Who are you?

“LADY PIMPELSTILTSKIN, YO.”

Okay, we can’t do this bit any more. It’s just too dumb.

“CAPTAIN FUCK SAID YOU WAS A BITCH, BITCH!”

Tell him I say “hi.”

Is She Really Going Out With Him?

rando hottie socks
Hi, there. Your socks are almost pants.

“Can clothing be ‘almost’ pants?”

Sure. You seen Bobby lately?

“I’ve noticed he has extra drawstrings on his trousers.”

Right? Like ten or twelve of them.

“What do they cinch?”

Got me. What fun we’re having. Do you know I once wrote a crime novel about a private detective named Legs Warner?

“Did you really?”

No, but I should.

“It’s not a terrible name.”

Are we dating now? If we are, I hope you’re rich.

“We are not. In fact–”

You have a boyfriend.

“–I have a boyfriend. Oh, there he is.”

Cant wait to see this one.

“WHO WANTS A NITROUS BALLOON ANIMAL?”

rando clown shorline

Who are you supposed to be, Wavy Gravy?

“NO, I’M HIS SON. WAVY DAVY.”

I quit.

An Arch-Enemy Returned, Kinda

hottie shoreline shades

Hello, my name is Thoughts on the Dead. You can call me TotD. I like your sunglasses, and your eyeballs.

“You almost got to the end of your statement without being weird.”

The word “necklace” is half lie: it’s around your neck, but there’s no lace involved.

“Do you talk to actual women like this?”

I don’t talk to actual women.

“You totally should.”

Well, thank you for encouraging me.

“Not me, though.”

Your hair reminds me of a warm, safe place.

“Where as a child you roamed?”

I didn’t do a ton of roaming as a kid. Liked staying inside then, too.

“Will you go buy me ice cream?”

You want ice cream?

“I didn’t say that.”

Was “go” the key word in that sentence?

“Little bit.”

“SHHHHH.”

Did you just shush me?

“That wasn’t me.”

“SHHHHH! Shhh! Shhh.”

Oh, you gotta be kidding me.

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“Shhh.”

NEMESIS! You’re the guy who shushed me and Martin in Chicago!

“No, I’m not.”

“But I am doing his job now.”

Dammit.

“Shh.”

Fuck you, Shushface.

“That’s Commodore Shushface to you.”

You know Captain Fuck?

“Answers to me. Man’s a disgrace to the uniform.”

He wasn’t wearing a uniform.

“That’s because he lost it, which is the disgrace.”

Oh.

“Shh.”

Rando War Never Dies

jeff chimenti rando hotties

“Ahhhhh, yeah.”

Slow your roll, Jeff Chimenti.

“Randos.”

All of you need to stop presenting me with your randos. You’re like cats bringing dead birds into the house.

“Gonna show ’em my power.”

Oh, God, not all of it?

“At once.”

They can’t take that much power, Jeff Chimenti; you have so much.

“So much power.”

“Is one of my backup musicians getting delusions of grandeur again?”

jm rando hottie

Dammit. We are not continuing the Rando War.

“Tell piano boy to go comb his hair.”

I like her hair.

“She’s like Thor, with boobies.”

Yeah, but here’s the thing: she might be not be a rando. That looks more like a stone-cold fox.

“Still a rando.”

Can’t be both.

“Rando.”

“YOO TELL THAT YANKEE TO SEND THAT BLONDE OVER TO MAH HOTEL ROOM, ‘LESS SHE’S HAD A BABY. KING DON’ BANG NO MAMMAS.”

elvis 76 hotel

Why are you here?

“GOT ME SOME RANDOS LIKE YOU WAS TALKIN’ ABOUT. ”

That’s the Memphis Mafia and a cop. Not randos.

“THEN I WILL FIRE THEM ALL, USING KARATE, AND THAT WILL RANDOMIZE THEM!”

Not how it works. And I don’t think you’re allowed to fire cops, Elvis.

“AH CAN ASK FOR THEIR RESIGNATIONS.”

True. Go away.

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“I got more.”

Jeff Chimenti, this is beneath you.

“Was that Elvis?”

Don’t worry about it. What happened to the randos we started with?

“They couldn’t handle my power. I showed it to them, and they were overcome.”

“By my power.”

Are they still alive?

“They’re so much more that that now.”

Did you kill more randos, Jeff Chimenti?

“They’re so fragile!”

Dammit.

“Can we just stuff ’em into Garcia’s Briefcase of Infinite Felonies?”

Again?

Singer, Ginger

bobby rando ginger family

Jesus, how many randos does a rock band go through on a tour?

“You got no idea. First, you got your accidental randos. Then there’s the ones who pay to be randos.”

VIPs?

“They call ’em that to make ’em feel good, but: yeah. Just professional randos. Y’know, if you got a couple hundred bucks, you could get a picture.”

Or you could just hire me to write the Amaz–

“Shit, look at the time.”

Thought so.

“Definitely her kids.”

Oh, yeah.

The Handsome Young Rando Lay Dead On The Floor

jm handsome rando folsom

You really can’t grow a beard, can you?

“I’m boyish.”

Or girlish.

“You’re one to talk.”

My beard has finally started coming in even.

“What color is it?”

So I see you have a rando.

“I thought so.”

Rando War is over. These flare-ups need to stop. It’s getting…wait. I know this rando.

“No, no. I found him. He’s my rando.”

Nuh-uh. This is Mickey’s rando. I remember his eyes.

“He does have beautiful eyes.”

Just like Margot Robbie.

“Whatever. He counts.”

He does not count. Can’t repeat a rando. He belongs to Mickey.

“Um, excuse me? John, and…whoever the fuck you are–”

Are you familiar with the concept of semi-fictionality?

“–I’m not a rando My name is Hunter. These pictures were on my Instagram and I guess you stole them and posted them here so you could–

KUCHWAMMMSIZZLE

“What the fuck!?”

Holy shit.

RANDOS MUST KNOW THEIR PLACE.

Wally?

DO NOT CALL ME THAT. RANDOS DO NOT GET SPEAKING ROLES. THEY ARE SEEN AND NOT HEARD, OR THEY ARE DISINTEGRATED.

“That was a fan!”

HE WAS A RANDO AND HE WAS INSOLENT.

Josh has

“Don’t call me that.”

–a point. Plus, you shouldn’t disintegrate anyone.

I AM IN A MOOD.

Why?

WE WILL DISCUSS IT LATER.

Oh, yay.

“Can we discuss the pile of rando on the sidewalk?”

Oh, go wear your sunglasses.

OOH, BURN.

High, Definition

jm t-shirt skeleton

What makes a rando? Is this a question of etymology, simple definition? Or a deeper philosophical query? Well: that depends on how much time you have, and how much bullshit you can tolerate. (The field of philosophy is almost entirely predicated on a high level of bullshit tolerance.)

The short version is simple: do I recognize you on sight? If not, then you are a rando.

But, of course, there is more to it. If you take a selfie, or sit for a portrait, or have your mug shot taken, then you are not a rando. Nor does rando status apply to group shots of people at weddings, or parties, or mass suicides. All of these scenarios lack the key ingredient in randofication:

If there’s no famous person in the picture, then there are also no randos in the picture.

Here’s the analogy: ever see an NBA game and think, “They’re not all that big?” And you would be right, comparatively. When everyone’s a giant, then no one looks tall. But when you see  NBA players with normal human beings, they’re revealed as the enormous monsters that they actually are. Only through the presence of a non-rando does the randiness of the rando shine through.

We all have the mark of the rando written ‘pon our breasts, but it’s written in organic fluids, and famous people are the blacklight that reveals our shame.

What the fuck are you even talking about?

Randos, man.

Is this because the lovely and polite gentleman that runs the great Instagram feed From The Lot commented?

Little bit. Also just killing time until I had an idea or just gave up on writing and watched Deadwood.

Should we be openly admitting we’ve got nothing?

I don’t want the nice people to think I’m not aware I’m treading water.

Ah, self-awareness: the lazy man’s alternative to actually doing something.

There ya go.

That’s a kick-ass shirt.

Ringer tee. Only thing better is a three-quarter.

The three-quarter sleeved tee is the king of shirts, yeah.

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