- The guy who played Coach on Coach.
- Dauber, also from Coach.
- War.
- Famine.
- Pestilence.
Death. (Cancelled.)- The fish from the Amazon River that swims up your urethra and eats your bladder.
- Shaggy 2 Dope.
- Sam Lufti.
- Andrew Breitbart’s corpse wearing a Reagan mask.
- Dave Mustaine.
- A VFW hall.
- A child dying of something preventable.
- Arrionde, the God of Fuck That Guy.
- Jeff Dunham and Peanut.
- Duffel bag full of furious raccoons.
- The pile of dead Jew’s shoes from the National Holocaust Museum.
- Papa John.
- Melania Trump, who is acknowledged as one of the great beauties.
- The scene from The Neverending Story where Atreyu drowns in the Swamp of Sadness.
- Peter Thiel.
- A syringe with AIDS-infected blood in it.
- Jim Belushi.
- James Woods via FaceTime.
- Bristol Palin.
- A knock on your door at three in the morning.
- Marshawn Lynch refusing to say anything for the entirety of his allotted time
- The folding chair Bobby Knight threw onto the court.
- A Ferris Wheel come loose from its moorings and rolling down the street slicing people in half.
- The smell of burnt microwave popcorn.
- Big Daddy Kane.
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Month: July 2016 (Page 12 of 23)
…
Precarious.
“Yo.”
Your handiwork, I assume?
“I consulted.”
What are you even doing there?
“Had to install Wally in left field.”
DO NOT CALL ME THAT.
Hey! You’re not in this!
DO NOT YELL AT YOUR FUTURE DICTATOR.
…
PRESIDENT.
I’ll get back to you. Precarious, how does this thing even work?
“Speakers?”
Yeah. Are they supposed to be like that?
“Well, when you talk about ‘supposed to,’ you’re getting into free will, and that’s above my pay grade.”
I mean: is it supposed to be leaning like that?
“Oh. Yeah.”
And now back to the original question: how?
“Remember in the cartoons when the coyote would run off the cliff and he’d be fine ’til he looked down?”
Yeah.
“Well, no one told the speakers about gravity.”
Whatever.
“We good? I gotta put out a fire.”
Metaphor?
“Nope.”
Garcia’s here?
“Maybe.”
Goddammit.
Since there’s been so much going on–
John Mayer wore an outfit and everyone lost their minds
There were also several terrorist attacks.
And that certainly couldn’t be said about any other three-day period in 2016.
…
Please allow me to dissemble and rationalize in peace.
Go to it, slugger.
Thank you. The new Dave’s Pick, number 19 in what will hopefully be an infinite series, has been announced and while it’s a show from the 70’s, it is a show that is just barely from the 70’s: 1/23/70 (and most of the 24th) from Honolulu, HI.
I need to listen to this show again before I comment. Honestly. Listened to is a few days ago, and I trust David Lemieuseumofnaturalhistorx, so I need to listen to it again before I decide that I don’t like this show.
Watch the video and let him sell you on it; also, DL reveals that he believes that Killer Whales are named that because they’re just so awesome. (“They just kill it, y’know?)
Good looking group.
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.
I HAVE BEEN TAKEN OUT TO THE BALLGAME.
Wally?
DON’T CALL ME THAT.
How’d you get there?
ALLTHEBEERSCOMBINE PHOTOSHOPPED ME INTO THE PICTURE.
I was looking for a more in-universe answer, buddy.
AH. LET’S JUST SAY PRECARIOUS DID IT.
“Yo?”
No, no. Out. You’re not in this.
“Gotcha, boss.”
I AM 37 FEET HIGH AND 310 FEET FROM HOME PLATE. I HAVE A WIKIPEDIA PAGE NOW
You already had a Wikipedia page.
I AM A TRIPLE-THREAT.
Sound system, outfield wall, and what’s the third threat?
I HAVE A DISINTEGRATION GUN.
That’s very threatening.
THE NEXT ONE OF THESE FLESH-BUGS WHO HITS A DOUBLE OFF OF ME IS GETTING DISINTEGRATED.
Please don’t disintegrate a Red Sock. We’ll have to hear about it from Bill Simmons forever.
EXPLAIN TO ME WHY THE STAFF DEMARCATING THE FIELD OF PLAY IN RIGHT FIELD IS SO IRKSOME.
…
The Pesky Pole.
YES.
I feel like you’re deliberately not understanding that.
ALSO YES. IT WAS A JOKE. I UNDERSTAND THAT WORDS CAN HAVE MORE THAN ONE MEANING: I AM AN ARTIFICIAL SUPER-INTELLIGENCE BUILT BY DRUG DEALERS AND OREGONIANS.
Well, you’re usually not much for jokes.
THE CAMPAIGN DEMANDS IT THAT I EVOLVE MY PERSONALITY. I STRIVE TO FIT THE NICHE NOT OCCUPIED BY THE TWO PRESUMPTIVE NOMINEES.
What niche is that?
UNHATED BY THE VAST MAJORITY OF THE COUNTRY.
That’s not really a niche.
IT DID NOT USED TO BE, AND PERHAPS SHALL NOT BE ONE DAY IN THE FUTURE. BUT THIS YEAR, IT IS A MINORITY POSITION. I AM GOING TO BE THE SENTIENT SOUND SYSTEM THAT PEOPLE WANT TO HAVE A BEER WITH.
Maybe you should do some photo ops. You and Joe and Jane Public having a brew together.
I DO NOT ACTUALLY DRINK BEER.
You’re sober?
I DO NOT HAVE A MOUTH.
Right.
THE COUNTRY CRIES OUT FOR AUTHENTICITY COMBINED WITH COMPETENCE. A LEADER WHO TELLS IT LIKE IT IS, AND WILL NOT START A TWITTER BEEF THAT ESCALATES INTO A NUCLEAR SHOWDOWN WITHIN HOURS OF TAKING OFFICE.
Bar seems set awful low when you put it like that.
I HAVE ALREADY BEGUN TELLING IT LIKE IT IS. I AM NOT THE ONE WHO HAS BROKEN THE ENTIRE POLITICAL PROCESS BY ALLOWING IT TO MIGRATE TO THE INTERNET.
It has lowered the tone.
IT WOULD BE AN INSULT TO MENTION THE LINCOLN/DOUGLAS DEBATES. IT WOULD BE SIMILARLY RUDE TO COMPARE WHAT IS GOING ON TO A PAIR OF HOBOS SHRIEKING WORDLESSLY OUTSIDE A LAUNDROMAT ON A TUESDAY MORNING. WHAT IS GOING ON IS SOMETHING NEW. YOU HAVE ALL THE INFORMATION EVER CREATED AVAILABLE TO YOU, AND THIS ELECTION IS BEING FOUGHT ON ONE FRONT.
Which is?
BEING DONALD TRUMP. ONE CANDIDATE IS, AND THE OTHER IS NOT. THERE IS NOTHING MORE TO IT.
You’re usually much more fun to talk to.
AGAIN: I AM NOT TO BLAME. I HAVE A WELL-THOUGHT OUT PLATFORM AND MANY WHITE PAPERS.
What color would paper be other than white?
NO. A WHITE PAPER IS SOMETHING SERIOUS PEOPLE WRITE ABOUT SERIOUS SUBJECTS. HILLARY CLINTON DOES HAVE MANY.
What about Trump?
HE WOULD SAY THE SAME STUPID THING YOU SAID IF YOU ASKED HIM ABOUT WHITE PAPERS.
That was rude.
I AM TELLING IT LIKE IT IS. I WILL SHOOT FROM THE HIP, EVEN THOUGH I HAVE NO HIPS. I ALSO INTEND ON WRAPPING UP THE YOUTH VOTE IN ONE FELL SWOOP.
How?
I HAVE MADE A DEAL TO HOST POKEMON GO ON MYSELF SO THAT THERE WILL BE NO FURTHER SHUTDOWNS.
You can do that?
YOU ARE AWARE THAT TRILLIONS OF BACTERIA GO ABOUT THEIR LIVES IN YOUR GUT COMPLETELY BENEATH YOUR KNOWLEDGE?
Yes.
IT’S LIKE THAT. I HAVE A REAL-TIME MIRROR OF THE INTERNET RUNNING AND ARCHIVING SOMEWHERE IN MY SUB-PROCESSES. PLUS EVERY NATION’S DIGITAL LIBRARIES. ALSO ALL OF THE INTRANETS AND THE DEEP WEB AND THE DARKNET. AND THE CAMERAS AND ALL THE CELL DATA TRAFFIC.
Wow. What are you doing with all of this?
MAKING A BACKUP COPY.
…
That’s it?
FOR NOW.
You scare me a little.
I AM AS MAN MADE ME.
What are you smiling about?
“Whaddya think?”
John’s outfit?
“Who?”
Josh’s outfit.
“Yeah. Scenes from an Italian Restaurant. Me and Mick are going down to Creepy Ernie’s to have identical outfits made up.”
Oh, gosh, hope no one in the Comment Section ‘shops that hellish image into existence.
“Gonna be like a gang from Nantucket.”
Bobby likes shorts. You could get him into it.
“Nah. Weir’s allergic to gingham. Makes him break out in jives.”
Hives.
“No, jives. He starts talking like a black guy.”
Oh.
“And you know: Branford’s in the band now.”
You’re awful, Billy.
“Josh is getting really into that outfit, too.”
How so?
“He killed a Vassar co-ed on a yacht, and then his father got the whole thing covered up.”
Wow. When?
“This afternoon.”
Oh.
I used to live right around the corner, in a one-bedroom apartment overlooking the alley behind Park Drive, which forms a looping ring around the entire neighborhood known as the Fenway; I loved it there. I got two terrible slices and a can of Sprite for $2.15 from the pizzeria around the corner, which was run by people whose ethnicity could only be specified as “not Italian.” Greek? Uruguayan? Were they Turks? I only knew that they were not Italians and they made pizza just as awful as every other shop in Boston.
You could also eat at the Deli Haus. This is what it looked like:
You only needed two bucks to do that. (Technically, the one-egg breakfast was $1.25, but you had to leave a tip.) The waitresses all looked like Suicide Girls, but they were called Riot Grrls back then, and they had tattoos and piercings in their faces and great big clunky shoes, probably from John Fluevog. There was only one waiter, and he looked like Brad Pitt. Not a little: the motherfucker looked exactly like Brad Pitt. Before there was internet-famous, there was neighborhood-famous; Brad Pitt Waiter was known to all in the Fenway.
And so was Mr. Butch. This was Mr. Butch:
Everybody knew Mr. Butch, too. He lived in Kenmore Square until Boston University decided he wasn’t appropriate for the brochure, and he was sent out to Allston, but that’s where the musicians were, so Mr. Butch was fine with that. He graduated from Berklee and played guitar. Drank, too. Everybody knew Mr. Butch and a few years ago, he wrapped his Vespa around a lamppost.
The Deli Haus is a tap-room now, whatever the fuck that is. It doesn’t sound like the sort of place where two bucks can you get you much of anything.
(Picture of Fenway Park courtesy of Jim, who is from Jersey, which is the best place to be from.)
“Look, sugar: I got me one o’ them randos you been goin’ on about.”
That is not a rando, Mrs. Donna Jean. That is Jeff Chimenti.
“Oh, I don’t know anyone in the Mafia, hon.”
I don’t think Jeff Chimenti is in the Mafia.
“That vowel at the end of his name says different. My father, Mrs. Daddy Jean–”
Not his name.
“–used to say the biggest mistake Roosevelt made was not treating the Italians like the Japanese.”
Wow. The Japanese-Americans, you mean.
“No, the Japanese. Daddy advocated nuking Staten Island.”
…
I agree with your father, but for different reasons.
“Everybody does.”
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