Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
I’m gonna need everyone who isn’t Bobby or Oteil to take his hand off his dick. Thank you.
OR
“Laurel!”
“Yanny!”
“Laurel!”
“Yanny!”
“BOTH OF YOU KNOCK IT OFF!”
OR
When did the Dead become Metallica? Are we doing the all-black thing now? I’m fine with it, but Josh wont be if he ever shows up for rehearsal.
OR
Seriously, Jeff, let go of your dong.
…detailed longreads about white people dying on mountains.
Fall off a mountain? Your fault and I do not care. Don’t need the backstory, or lovingly-crafted descriptions of what boulders look like in the Colorado sun. Wanna read an interesting story about mountainclimbers? Here. Why is it interesting? Because it’s about Sherpas (nearly) caving in Europeans’ skulls and Nick Paumgarten wrote it. Every other piece about mountaineering can be summed up in one sentence: “When human beings no longer need to worry about food and shelter, the boredom drives them bananas and they start doing stupid shit like climbing Everest and writing novels; sometimes, it ends badly.”
…ex post facto revelations of fictional characters’ sexuality.
Lando’s gay? Great. Know how that could have been conveyed? With a scene where he’s balls-deep in Han. Maybe holding onto his vest for leverage. Know how it shouldn’t? The screenwriter tweeting it out after the movie’s been filmed. Looking at you, JK Rowling.
…your slackdaisy work ethic, my icemaker.
You give me the amount of ice I need, you son of a bitch, or I’ll jam a screwdriver in your ear. And not all clumped up, either. Get your shit together, my icemaker.
…fear of Mike Pence.
“Oh, you want Mike Pence? Cuz that’s what happens if Turnip gets impeached.” Yes, you smooth-brained used diaper, I want Mike Pence. Mike Pence is what happens when a glass of milk fucks nobody at all ever. He would enter office a fatally damaged charisma sink. He has no national political base besides the God Botherers, and they’re not enough to win an election for the Republicans. (You need the Suburban Assholes, too. People blame Trump on the rural and poor, but people are fucking stupid. Trump won because of the Suburban Asshole vote.)
…Spike Lee.
He was a dick to Brother on the Dead. May the Knicks remain owned by James Dolan forever.
…Avocados.
They’re not from here, and I don’t trust them. Avocados come to this country–completely unskilled, mostly having been on the farm their whole lives–and take jobs from domestic fruits or vegetables or gourds or whatever the fuck avocados are. I call for a complete shutdown, just until we figure out what’s going on.
…Capitalism.
It just doesn’t work. Not saying we go to socialism (and I am the furthest thing from a goddamned Commie) but maybe we should try something new. No one’s invented a new economic theory in forever it seems. Let’s get some bearded malcontents in the British Museum Library and figure out something novel. Ooh, maybe it could have blockchain in it?
…Royal Wedding haters.
I love watching fancy fuckers be all fucking fancy. Unlike the rich people in this country, the Royal Family isn’t actively working to end the world. (Any more.) Also: “Meghan Markle” sounds like a throwaway character from a Dr. Seuss story, and I enjoy that.
“So, uh, some folks heard ‘oral.'”
“Bobby.”
“And others heard ‘handy.'”
“No.”
“And, you know, both of those are fine ways to let young ladies show their appreciation of your musical abilities.”
“You’re not getting it right.”
“I suppose if she had a lot of rings on, I’d go for ‘oral.’ Or maybe some sort of skin condition. But if she had, say, a mouthful of peanut butter in her braces, I would go for ‘handy.’ There’s a lot of variables here.”
“Bobby, it’s ‘Laurel’ and–”
“Billy! Did you hear ‘oral’ or ‘handy?'”
“Fuck that grade school shit! Straight anal, baby!”
“Billy heard ‘straight anal.’ What about you, New Brent?”
…
“How do you not know my name? We’ve known each other for 20 years, Bob.”
“And I value our relationship right up until the moment you ask for more money.”
Everyone needs a baseball bat to the forehead.
Hey, legendary rock manager Sam Cutler. Whatcha doing?
“Oi’m ‘aving a bit of a kip. Need to get off me toffee-suckers.”
Toffee-suckers?
“British slang for ‘feet.'”
No, it’s not. Why so tired?
“The new gig, me son. Oi’ve been entrusted wif a most important job. Highest post in all of Glorious Albion.”
…
Oh, God, they put you in charge–
“Oi’m producing the Royal Wedding.”
–of that damned wedding. Are you the best man for this?
“‘Oo else could even attempt such an undertaking, me son? Everything’s coming together quite smoothly. Got the stage built.”
No stage. It’s in a church.
“Loaded in the nitrous tanks.”
I don’t think the Queen does whippets, Sam.
“Found Elton some twinks.”
Okay, that’s good work.
“It’s all a piece of draculas, innit?”
Draculas?
“Cake rhymes with stake, so there you go. Draculas. Cockney rhyming slang.”
That’s not how that works, and you are not a cockney.
“The wedding’s gonna be the party of the century. Just a complete knees-up. Santana’s gonna open. Just a wunnerful day f’r the whole nation. Rule Britannia and the like.”
Who’s doing security?
“Oi learned me lesson from Altamont, you todger. Don’t accuse people. It’s rude, innit?”
So who you got?
“A couple dozen disgraced ICE officers.”
This should go well.
“God save the Queen, me son.”
“Hey, Trumpers! Just hanging out with my maaaaaan here, whose name I forgot, but he’s fuckin’ righteous. Dudes, we got new merch in the shop and I think you’re gonna love this stuff. All new Junior Is My Homeboy tee-shirts, and–”
“Junior!”
“Hey, you’re awesome.”
“Junior, are you livestreaming our meeting?”
“Dude, Trump Team Ten demands new content.”
“I’m your lawyer, asshole. You cannot livestream meetings with your lawyer.”
“Is that, like, a YouTube term of service thing?”
PHONE SNATCHING NOISE
“Dude, my subscribers.”
“Shut up. We need to talk about your Senate testimony.”
“When am I doing that?”
“You did it already. In March.”
“If you say so. Wait, is Senate testimony when a Vietnamese lady takes care of your feet?”
“No. That’s a pedicure.”
“Then I do not recall this Senate testimony you speak of.”
“You were in a big building full of white people, and people asked you questions you struggled to answer.”
“Dude, that’s literally every day of my life.”
“Regardless.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Lawyer. The word is irregardless.”
“Junior, you need to explain to me some of the responses you gave to the Senate. Here. This is the transcipt of the hearing.”
“Dude, that is so thick. That’s what she said!”
“Did you just ‘That’s what she said?’ yourself? You can’t do that.”
“My dad’s the president, I can do anything.”
“Just open the transcript to the first post-it note, please.”
“Dude, I really don’t wanna read. I’ve totally pivoted to video.”
“Open it!”
“DON’T HIT ME, DAD!”
…
“I almost feel sorry for you.”
“So many people say those exact words to me.”
“Open the transcript.”
“Fine.”
“Now you see there where I’ve highlighted? You were asked what you thought the meeting with the Russians was about, and you answered ‘Colluding.'”
“Uh-huh.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Reverse psychology.”
“Explain.”
“Dude, we’ve been, like, ‘No collusion’ over and over and no one will drop the investigation. So I pulled a reverse psychology on them. Instead of saying ‘No collusion,’ I said ‘Collusion,’ and they were like ‘Whaaaaaaa?’ They didn’t know whether to shit or go blind.”
“Me, neither.”
“I set a donbush. That’s like an ambush–”
“I get it.”
“–but with me.”
“Yeah.”
“Everyone calls me Junior, but my name’s Donald.”
“Okay, let’s go to the next post-it. You were asked what happened after the meeting with the Russian lawyers and you said–and I quote–‘I don’t remember what I did do, but I remember what I didn’t do, and that’s call my father. That definitely didn’t happen. No dad-calling from me at that point. Nosireebob.'”
“Uh-huh.”
“You actually said ‘Nosireebob.'”
“I’m pretty folksy once you get to know me.”
“Right. So, uh, here’s the problem: you did speak to your father after the meeting.”
“Did I?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know that?”
“You told me and provided your cell phone records. You also recorded the conversation.”
“I always do that when I’m talking to Dad. Sometimes he sounds proud of me, and I edit those bits together to listen to in the gym. Pumps me up.”
“Junior.”
“You lift?”
“Junior.”
“Blasting back and bi’s today. You wanna come? Black your back and bi’s?”
…
“You lied to the Senate, Junior.”
“In my defense, several of those Senators look Jewish.”
“You cannot lie to the Senate.”
“What, like there’s a law against it?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“Several. It is very, very illegal to lie to the Senate during a hearing.”
“Huh. Throw it on the pile, I guess.”
“Listen to me: no statements. Stay out of sight. Get off of social media.”
“Even Tinder?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, you’re on Tinder?”
“Dude, hooked up with this hottie last week. Chinese chick. She had the eyes, the weird pubes, the whole package. And she was, like, really from China.”
“A Chinese citizen?”
“I didn’t see her passport. She had an accent, though. We did it two-and-a-half times.”
“Two-and-a-half?”
“My dad called and I couldn’t get it up anymore.”
“Sure.”
“She was really knowledgeable about US politics, though. Kept asking me all these questions.”
“Uh-huh. What was her name?”
“She said it was Honey Pott.”
“I quit.”
“Sam, buddy, I gotta tell ya: I did not enjoy my trip to Flavortown.”
“What!? Flavortown is outrageous, bodacious, and downright sexual! The Red Rocker’s thinking about opening a Cabo Wabo Cantina there!”
“Sure, but–”
“Woo!”
“–you know, everything was wrapped in bacon. I’m gonna get yelled at by my sister-in-law–”
“Lilian Monster! Woo!”
“–and I just don’t need it.”
“Bob, you gotta put your sandal down in that house of yours.”
“Sam, God love ya, I’m literally surrounded by women. I, uh, try to assert dominance and they come at me like a pride of lionesses.”
“They stick together, don’t they?”
“If you cover ’em in Donkey Sauce, sure.”
“C’mon, buddy: it’s just a little detour to Flavortown. Besides, there’s a big party going on today.”
“Yeah? Why?”
“Trump’s moving the embassy there.”
“Sounds right.”
“Woo!”
Oh, no.
“I’m, uh, in Flavortown.”
Run, Bobby, run.
“I can’t. There’s just so much flavor.”
Ignore the flavor, Bobby!
“There’s Donkey Sauce everywhere, and it is assumed you want extra cheese.”
That’s definitely Flavortown.
“I enjoyed Funkytown much more, if I’m honest.”
Is that a Red Hot Chili Pepper?
“I believe so.”
Yeah, the Chili Peppers are the house band of Flavortown.
“He keeps asking to borrow a sock.”
Do not lend him a sock, Bobby.
This version’s better than the Dead’s. Do not argue with me, and the first mope to bring up Nick Cave gets banned.
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