Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Holy shit, there really was a Willie the Wimp and his Cadillac coffin.
(Also: anyone ever see Stevie Ray and Bill Hicks in the same room? I mean, not lately; when they were alive. Oh, and: Stevie Ray Vaughn and Bill Hicks are dead, but Dick Cheney went fly-fishing today. God loves us!)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vKFjD28qPwQ
Pretend it’s not by A Flock Of Seagulls, or just don’t look ’em up if you don’t recognize the name. Pretend it’s off The Cure’s second album, or that it was released by Stiff Records. Whatever; just listen.
CELL PHONE NOISE
“Oh, it’s only two in the morning. How polite. Yes?”
“Shaggie!”
“Maggie.”
“It’s Big Don McGahn.”
“I’ve been expecting your call.”
“I’m shitfaced.”
“I’ve been expecting that, as well. You haven’t actually stopped being the White House Counsel, have you?”
“If the duties of the White House Counsel consist of locking myself in my office and not communicating with another soul from this piss parade all day, then yeah: I’m the White House Counsel.”
“You’re going to the bunker?”
“Every conversation with one of these nitwits costs me ten grand in lawyer’s fees. You know how many new yachts named Billable Hours there’s gonna be after all this is over?”
“Sure.”
“Because everything everyone says is a federal crime. They can’t help it. At least once a week, someone sends around a memo advocating purging a government department by ethnicity. And not one of them realize what’s gonna happen if the Democrats take back the House. Pelosi’s gonna set her dogs loose on this White House, and they’re gonna fuck and shit in the halls and eat Stephen Miller. You mark my words, Shaggie: there’s gonna be a dogfuck.”
“And the White House isn’t prepared?”
“When Clinton was getting impeached, he had 60 lawyers.”
“How many does Trump have?”
“Four, and one of them is Omarosa.”
“He hired her again!?”
“Ah, shit, that was supposed to be a secret. I’m terrible at that.”
“Yeah.”
“There’s evidence everywhere. Stacks of it. The other day, I tripped over a box marked WHORE PAYOFFS. Now, why would you label it that? Big letters, black Sharpie. I mean, that’s just asking for trouble. You can see why I had to go to Mueller.”
“Right. You got Trump to waive Executive Privilege and spoke with Robert Mueller for a total of 30 hours. How’d you get the president to do that?”
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but the president is as sharp as a mildewed slipper. I told him I was gonna talk to Mueller and the president goes, ‘To shut the fake collusion whatever down?’ Exact words. Man’s like Shakespeare.”
“Go on.”
“So I said, ‘Well, I’ll certainly relay to Mr. Mueller that it is your wish that the investigation wrap up as soon as possible.’ And the cheese-brain says, ‘Go make him loyal, Donny.’ He calls me Donny because he thinks it bothers me.”
“In his defense, that’s why he does everything.”
“Sure. He was drinking a Frostee while this was going on. He was doing the thing where he holds the cup with both hands. I honestly think he might be another species wearing a skin-suit. He just doesn’t move like a human. Anyway, he starts screaming, “MAKE HIM LOYAL! MAKE HIM LOYAL!’ and there’s chocolate Frostee running down all of his necks.”
“Necks?”
“C’mon, Shaggie, you’ve seen him up close. Some people got double chins; he’s got, like, a triple neck. Maybe quadruple. Depends on the humidity, I guess.”
“Get back to the Executive Privilege.”
“Well, when he came out of his conniption, I told him the letter waiving privilege was my permission slip to go over to Mueller’s office.”
“Wow.”
“Mildewed slipper, man.”
“What did you discuss with Mueller?”
“Everything. Firing Comey, to Mike Flynn, to picking Pence. The shitalanche is coming and I don’t wanna get swept up in it.”
“Mike Flynn. Forgot about that guy.”
“Yeah, good times. You wanna catch an Uber over to my place? A little Netflix and Anal?”
“I’m hanging up.”
“Fine. Just anal.”
DIAL TONE NOISE EVEN THOUGH PHONES NO LONGER DO THAT
“You believe this woman?”
Who’s speaking?
“Me.”
Ah, fuck. I told you that you couldn’t be a recurring character, Holly Bowling’s Hat.
“And I told you to stick my brim up your ass. Why am I not on the marquee!?”
Why should you be?
“Because I’m part of the act, man!”
You’re not.
“SHE TREATS ME LIKE OATES!”
No one is treating anyone like Oates, Holly Bowling’s Hat. Cool your jets.
“She’s nothing without me. Nothing! She’d fade back into the crowd! There’s plenty of piano-playing hot chicks interpreting jam band classics out there.”
There aren’t. She’s kinda her own niche.
“WE ARE. We’re a team.”
You’re a hat. She’s got, like, a dozen of you.
“I’m gonna eat her brain.”
Don’t talk like that, Holly Bowling’s Hat.
“I can do it.”
I know you can, buddy.
“And I will.”
Sure, sure. What’s really going on, man?
“She let the dog chew on me the other day.”
Aw, honeybear. You need a hug?
“Yeah, okay.”
C’mere.
“WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU AND HOW DID YOU JUST POP INTO EXISTENCE?”
Oh, hi, Holly. I’m TotD. I write this bullshit and I’m here to hug your hat.
“POLICE!”
They’re not coming. Just let me hug your hat. Don’t make this weird.
“I’M MAKING THIS WEIRD?”
The InstaHotties have returned to Burning Man
(You could set your Apple Watch by it.)
They have enormous boots
–furry or fascist–
Goggles
Defined intercostals.
Not all of them.
All InstaHotties are not the same.
Don’t be a bigot.
Most are still in Mykonos.
Or Los Angeles.
Or yachts.
I’m not talking about the basic bitches.
The playa encircles the Man.
We orbit
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Counter-clockwise
We meet gravity with faith.
Someone told me this was the place to be.
“Oh, hey, Branford. I thought you and Elvis went to fight Hitler.”
“Motherfucker, why does that sentence make sense to me now? It wouldn’t have before I started hanging ’round you weird motherfuckers.”
“It’s, uh, amazing how fast the human mind can acclimate to new stimuli.”
“I don’t give a shit. No offense, Bob, but I’ve had enough of the time travel and whatnot.”
“Whole lotta whatnot around here, yup. ‘Whatnot’ is pretty much the dark matter of the Grateful Dead’s reality: we don’t know what it is exactly, but we know there’s quite a bit of it.”
“Did you just call me ‘dark matter?'”
“No, no, no. I, uh, don’t see color. Makes driving a hassle, but the Tesla does it all for me now.”
“Goddamn, I wanna get out of here.”
“Oi! Branny-Wanny!”
“Whoever called me that is catching some hands.”
“Sting? What the fuck are you doing being a part of this?”
“Well, Trudy and I accidentally learned the secrets of time travel via tantric humping.”
“No dumber than anything else I’ve heard so far.”
“And I heard your beautiful saxophonations through the infra-streams.”
“Okay, that’s dumber.”
“Do you want my help or not?”
“That depends. Do you want to bring me back to where I came from, or are we going on adventures?”
“Adventures.”
“Cracker-ass cracker.”
“Why is Branford so angry, Jerr-o?”
“Ah, you know, man: skipping back and forth through the infra-stream is a bit disconcerting at first.”
“He makes it about race, though.”
“Well, in his defense, it is exclusively white people doing this to him. He’s just being observant.”
“It’s still hurtful.”
“Sack up, Gordon.”
…
“Jerr-o, did you see Branny-Wanny?”
“He lets you call him that?”
“I’m a knight; I can call anyone whatever I want.”
“Huh, didn’t know that.”
“Comes with the title.”
“You people are fascinating.”
“Seriously, though, where did he go?”
“Boy, what did I tell you about white people?”
“They were the devil.”
“Time travelling demons! Each and every one, even the ones seem okay. Tom Hanks? Time travelling demon.”
“I know, sir.”
“You dumber than a box of dicks.”
“I know, sir.”
“MotherFUCKER! How am I back here? Me and Miles drove off in his Lamborghini.”
“Did he turn left?”
“Yeah.”
“There you go.”
“Bob, you’re gonna explain what the fuck is happening or I’m shoving my horn up your ass.”
“Branford, are you familiar with the concept of semi-fictionality?”
“Oh, this is some white people bullshit.”
“I won’t argue with you about that. Pig’s girlfriend and Merl Saunders said the exact same thing. I,uh, don’t know much about black people, but I do know that you folks are aggressively averse to time travel. Our bass player gets real pissy about it.”
“I’ll bet.”
“His name is Branford, too, as I’ve mentioned.”
“Uh-huh. Yo, Oteil?”
“Yeah?”
“Why does Bobby think you’re named Branford?”
“The Grateful Dead thinks every black man is named Branford.”
…
“I don’t know if I’m pissed off or honored.”
“I’d be pissed off if they knew white people’s names, but they just make up shit for them, too.”
“Uh-huh. You gonna tell me what’s happening here?”
“Well, remember that I’m the new guy.”
“Sure.”
“But we’re stuck in some sort of lazy universe full of unexplained magick.”
“Why’d you stick a ‘k’ on that ‘magic?'”
“Because magic is card tricks. This shit is some bullshit.”
“Uh-huh. And is there any–”
SHWAZZATHOOM!
“–way out ofOH C’MON!”
“Oh, hey, man. You back?”
“WHY DID THAT HAPPEN?”
“Did you talk to Oteil?”
“Yeah.”
“There you go.”
“THAT’S NOT A FUCKING REASON FOR TIME TRAVEL!”
“Yelling is almost always counter-productive, man.”
“Well, can you blame me? This is downright unsettling.”
“You get used to it. Good thing is that dying is less consequential.”
“What? You can’t die in here?”
“Oh, no, you can. But then the guy who co-wrote Billy’s book comes to the afterlife and brings you back in a racecar.”
…
…
…
“What!?”
“It’s not the most efficient method, probably.”
“AH’LL TAKE YOU HOME, MISTER BRANF’RD!”
“That can’t be who it sounds like.”
“AH HAVE BROUGHT WITH ME TH’ TIME SCARF T’ AID US IN OUR CHRONOLOGICAL TO-IN’s AN’ FRO-IN’S!”
“This is all just stupid.”
“AH SEE YOU AN’ YER GIANT SUNGLASSES THERE, HAIRY GARCIA!”
“Hey, King.”
“NOW JOIN ME, MISTER BRANFORD. WE GONNA GO ON ADVENTURES THROUGH TIME TOGETHER.”
“No, I don’t want to.”
“WE GONNA KARATE HITLER RIGHT IN HIS FACE!”
“Garcia?”
“Yeah, man?”
“What the fuck?”
“Well, it’s like the snake said to the old lady: You knew we were weird before you jammed with us.”
“SADDLE UP, SAX MAN!”
“Goddammit.”
“You having fun. man?”
“Fuck, man, I had no idea about you motherfuckers.”
“Yeah, we get it on for white boys.”
“This is a blast, Jerry. You do this every night?”
“Except for when we suck, yeah.”
“That happen a lot?”
“You’d be shocked.”
“Well, not tonight. I feel like I can’t play a wrong note.”
“You’ve got an open invitation, man. Hell, you can join the band if you want.”
“Lemme think about that, man. I’m really gonna–
SHWAZZATHOOM!
“–think aboutWHAT THE FUCK?”
“WHAT JUST HAPPENED!?”
“What’s up, Branford? Do you need some Fret-Eeze?”
“No! Where am I? What year is it? BOBBY? What the fuck? Where’s Garcia!?”
“Ah. What, uh, year do you think it is?”
“1990!”
“Ah. Did you, uh, play a D-flat?”
“I think so.”
“Well, there you go. It’s 2018, Jerry’s dead, I’m the Garcia now, Josh is me, and our new bass player is also named Branford.”
“What kind of white person bullshit is this?”
BANG!
“What the fuck?”
BANG!
“Bobby, someone’s–”
…
“Bobby? Damn, he’s quick.”
“I got you now, Wynton, you corny motherfucker!”
BANG!
“STOP SHOOTING! I’m not Wynton! It’s Branford!”
“Branford?”
“Yes!”
“Not Wynton?”
“No!”
“Hate that fucking brother of yours.”
“I know!”
“Hey, motherfucker. Why you hanging out with those old white motherfuckers?”
“I wasn’t! I was hanging out with middle-aged white motherfuckers and then I got shoved sideways through time or something!”
“Chill the fuck out before I slap you.”
“Okay.”
JAZZ SLAP!
“I was calm!”
“You was getting to calm. I helped you along the fucking way. C’mon, let’s go for a ride and I’ll take you back to wherever the fuck you came from.”
“You can do that?”
BANG!
“I’m Miles Davis, motherfucker. Course I can travel through fucking time.”
“I’m so confused.”
Fresh off his victory in the Florida Republican gubernatorial primary, Rep. Ron DeSantis said Wednesday that voters would “monkey this up” if they elected his African-American opponent, Andrew Gillum, to be governor, immediately drawing accusations of racism. – CNN, 8/29/18
“Now, see, this is what President Trump, long may he reign, means when he talks about the Fake News.”
Oh, hi, Republican gubernatorial candidate Ron DeSantis.
“How you doing? Damn glad to meet you. Man, I’m so sorry I’m late. Guess I’m running on CPT.”
Excuse me?
“Congress Person Time. What did you think I meant?”
Oh, that’s how this is gonna go.
“There you go. There you go. Bias against conservatives. I guess we’re all just racists to you people?”
You people?
“I meant writers. All of you seem to be able to sniff out racism where it doesn’t exist. You people got some noses on you.”
You have to be kidding me.
“The lying fake media is lying about me. That’s a common expression, ‘Monkey this up.’ My daddy used to say it to the guy who fixed our car all the time. But, hell, you gotta watch them. Lazy and shiftless.”
Who’s lazy and shiftless?
“Car mechanics. Who did you think I was talking about?”
Congressman, the phrase ‘monkey it up’ is not a common one, and even if it were you shouldn’t use it in reference to a black person.
“Again, the lying media lies. I was talking about the voters monkeying up the good thing we got going that President Trump has provided for us, in tandem with the Lord. Times were awful black for a while, but now America’s getting great again.”
Times were black?
“Like during a storm. You’re desperate to read into my perfectly innocuous statements. All you reporter types! Damn fools and morons, the lot of you. Ninnies! And there’s so many of you to choose from! It’s tough to pick a ninny!”
You had to drive way out of your way for that one.
“I have no idea what you’re referring to. What county you from, sir?”
Palm Beach County.
“Ah. You know Jared Kushner?”
Why would I know Jared Kushner?
“He’s outgoing! So many friends everywhere!”
Can we stop this, please?
“Allow me to sum up.”
Fine.
“You are the racist for calling me racist, and there isn’t any black in the red, white, and blue.”
Florida!
Maximum effort, Billy.
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