- Democracy itself.
- Facebook.
- Twitter.
- Pornhub.
- The Northeast.
- The cardinal direction north-east. (“Unfair direction. Weak!”)
- The Kennedys.
- The Rothschilds.
- The David Lee Rothschilds. (A much more fun family, but only in small doses.)
- Microphones.
- Cameras.
- All recording devices.
- Math.
- Common decency.
- The bad blacks.
- Those who would destroy our God-given sovereignty, perhaps they have hooked noses.
- Geeks.
- Nerds.
- Know-it-alls.
- So-called “experts.”
- Generals who are not Patton or MacArthur.
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Month: October 2016 (Page 4 of 25)
“What now, Bob?”
“Good question, Troy. The, uh, tour’s over. Got a gig or two. Should probably start on that TV show they paid me to do a year-and-a-half ago.”
“Sounds fun.”
“Then, you know: huh. Lot of possibilities. Garcia’s briefcase is missing. I got a Victory Lap to do. Josh and Katy are due to get into some shenanigans any minute. Storyline after storyline.”
…
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Troy, are you familiar with the concept of semi-fic–”
“TREYYYYY! TREYTREYTREYTREY! TREY! Trey?”
“What is it, Page?”
“My dad’s here.”
“Oh, no.”
“I disapprove of all of this.”
“Goddammit.”
“Oh, here’s a storyline, Troy. They just pop us like this.”
“Bob, why is everything always so fucking weird around you?”
“Excellent question.”
Pig gonna getcha.
“The pig’s not real.”
Neither is this conversation, so you should be careful.
“One does need to follow the rules of the road.”
How should a child be educated?
“Curiosity must be encouraged; ignorance, discouraged.”
How do you discourage ignorance?
“Buddhists like to use sticks. Coach MacGillicuddy made you run laps.”
These methods are frowned upon nowadays. We’ve grown soft.
“Not us: the world. Calluses build up through damage, friction. The laborer’s hand is not innately rough: the work made it so. The world takes away less tenderness than it used to; perhaps this is a good thing.”
Is your fanny pack infinite?
“No.”
Are there drugs in there?
“Yes.”
What about your jean shorts?
“There are also drugs in my jean shorts.”
You’ve thought ahead.
“I’ve worn jean shorts before: I know the ins-and-outs.”
Y’know, a very famous man once rocked the jean short/fanny pack combo.
“Was that man Jesus Christ?”
It was. And, from his fanny pack, he produced enough drugs to discombobulate the masses.
“I’ve seen the light.”
Jesus is great.
“He’s just all right.”
Let’s hang out together, and do drugs and talk about the Lord.
“No can do. I’m arboreosexual.”
What the hell is that?
“My boyfriend’s a tree.”
What?
“AM I BEING DETAINED, OFFICERS?”
You’re going out with that?
“I would leave him, but I need the syrup.”
That’s a maple tree. The joke makes no sense.
“POLICE BRUTALITY!”
Oh, shut up. Do you have a name?
“TREEVON MARTIN!”
Nope! I’m done.
You look terrible.
“Me or Steve Miller?”
You. Steve Miller looks like he’s about to start a fight at a Hooters.
“Okay. Fuck off.”
Why is your moob in your armpit?
“Parish!”
All right, I’m going.
…
You wanna talk about–
“PARISH!”
–the pants? Okay, okay.
This is Holly Bowling; later, I’ll show you Holly Drinking and Holly Stealing The Bowling Shoes and Holly Getting Tackled By A Cop. Right now, though, go watch Holly talk and listen to her play the piano, which she does well.
Now, obviously the woman practices, and knows her F-sharps from her G-flats, but one of the reasons she plays the piano so well are these:
If you have fingers like that, you’re legally required to take piano lessons; it’s like how the tall kid had to be on the basketball team, even though he was a complete goon. Look at those ladyfingers! Nine or ten knuckles apiece, and long and skinny: like an aye-aye with a manicure. Good guitarists have big hands, but piano players have elegant hands.
“You’re doing what?”
“Not returning their calls.”
“At all?”
“Not one.”
…
“HAHAHAHAHA!”
“Yeah, right? Garcia, what the fuck are you guys wearing?”
“Repeat the question. I couldn’t hear you over your fingerless gloves.”
“Touché.”
Don’t click through to YouTube, and don’t look the singer’s name up on Google. Just click the triangle; listen to the music and watch the visuals.
Here’s the question: was that song (and the video promoting it) real or satirical?
Is there a God? Where did Atlantis get to? Why don’t french fries travel? These are timeless and possibly unanswerable questions, as is “What is the Best EVAR Sugaree?” (The question about the fries is a far more worthy subject of thought: if you could invent a gadget to make french fries that have gone cold edible again, then you would make a ton of money; even if there were an answer to the Sugaree dilemma, and you came up with it, no one would give a shit.)
There is no Best EVAR Sugaree, or any other Dead song, or any other anything: we all know this. (And if you don’t, play along.) You can put together a list of a dozen of the suckers, and say that those are the outstanding performances, but any finer gradation is a waste of time for everyone except the freelancer being paid to put together the listicle; as I am not being paid, I will not rank the Top Ten Harblegarble Sugabarbles.
It’s beneath us.
But, Enthusiasts, can we define the necessary essential traits of a Best EVAR Sugaree? Do a shadow drawing of the Sugaree on the cave wall? I believe we can.
A Certain Vintage No Sugaree from before 1977 can be considered. A Sugaree from 1972 is a teeny-tiny Sugaree, and wobbles about in its crib in an adorable fashion; ’73 is no better, and you know my love for that year. The song needed a couple of years to figure itself out, like a gay teen or a straight teen or any teen at all. (Teens are all fucked up.) What happens when you let sugar age? It turns into booze. A pre-1977 Sugaree is like drinking wine that hasn’t turned into wine just quite yet.
A Certain Length Get that eleven-minute bullshit out of here, Grateful Dead. You think this is a game, Grateful Dead? You get back on that stage, you turn on those amplifiers, and you play Sugaree for ten or twelve more minutes. Sugaree wants to be at least fifteen-minutes long, and not allowing it to self-actualize is racist. Do not be racist against Sugaree, Grateful Dead.
Seriously: Gotta Be Long Like a porn dong or a line of coke (both of which could be found in John Holmes’ trousers), longer is better. Is the longest Sugaree by definition the Best EVAR? No, but kinda.
And The Jams, Sir? What of The Jams? They should be mighty. Like ranging battlefields, slick with blood and victory and D chords. (It must at this point be noted that there are only two chords in Sugaree, except for the little bit before the chorus. Sugaree and Fire on the Mountain are almost mostly the same song.) The jams–of which there are two major ones–must bristle with velocity and lope with keen ferocity; make no mistake, Enthusiasts: Sugaree is Deep Choogle.
How Much Should Garcia Solo? As much as is possible by the laws of man and God.
When Should Garcia Stop Soloing? If a fire breaks out in the venue. Or when it’s time for him to sing. Otherwise, never.
What About That Thing He Does? BEEDLEDEEDLEBEEDLEDEEDLE?
Yeah, That Thing He absolutely must do that in order for the Sugaree to be in contention for Best EVAR, yes.
Other Assorted Requirements For Best EVAR
- Phil has to play that descending lick under “Maybe I’ll meet you on the run,” that he does sometimes.
- Must smell like pine.
- All lyrics remembered. (I mean: within reason. Let’s not be Lyric Nazis.)
- Song cannot break down at the eight-minute mark due to a fistfight between drummers.
- 3.6 weighted GPA, 1300 SAT score, and extra-curriculars.
- Can’t be one of the renditions in which someone (I wont mention Garcia’s name) goes in and out of consciousness several times.
- Credit score of 680, or a co-signer.
I can’t give you a show recommendation, per se: I haven’t listened to the whole show. New bunch of torrents came in, from ’79, and 5/5/79 from the Providence Baltimore Civic Center in Rhode Island Maryland has the best EVAR Sugaree.
It is declared; I have made my decision. Go listen to the Sugaree, and feel free to agree with me in the Comment Section.
Sorry, Enthusiasts: I got nothing. I’m laughing too hard. No one’s ever been this impressed by Mickey before, and I’m loving it so much. Enjoy it in its natural and un-annotated state
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