If it’s this easy, maybe I should write a foul-mouthed poem about Trump…
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Month: August 2018 (Page 7 of 9)
Maybe more than one.
As you may have heard, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts, Sciences, and De-Aging Michael Douglas has a problem: no one wants to watch the Oscars, which is understandable. The broadcast is nine hours long, musical numbers featuring interpretive dance are performed, sound editors are allowed to speak, and Jack Nicholson is still sitting up front being a big ol’ rebel. (I mean, wearing sunglasses indoors? Oh, you wild Hollywood outlaws.) The show is essentially the same as it was when Adolph Zukor attended, and no one under 50 gives a shit.
THERFORE, the Academy of Motions, Pictures, and Tangible Judaism has announced changes to this year’s Oscars.
First off: the show shall be constrained to only three hours, even though it only needs to be about an hour. Here, watch:
- The pretty people are all forced to line up and twirl for us so we can evaluate their outfits and note how old Robert Downey Jr. is starting to look.
- Monologue. (And holy shit I do not mean Ricky Gervais. That tick can take his teeth and his atheism back to Brexitville and bring James Cordon with him. Maybe they can sing show tunes on the plane.)
- Diverse and attractive duo of actors–say, Chadwick Boseman and Emma Stone–announce the address of the website listing all the winners who are not in the acting categories or Best Picture because no one cares about anything else.
- If there’s a good Best Song nomination, then someone can sing the song but it better fucking be Celine Dion.
- Maybe Bublé.
- Definitely not Josh Groban or John Legend.
- And Alicia Keys is not even allowed in the building.
- In Memoriam, but instead of discouraging applause for individuals, we install a decibelometer and measure which dead fucker gets the biggest reaction; whoever wins, their mourning family gets a new Nissan Altima and a lifetime supply of Rice-A-Roni.
- Best Supporting Actor/Actress. (The awards are announced simultaneously and the two winners have to fight each other for the microphone.)
- Someone embarrasses themself.
- Best Actor/Actress.
- Best Picture.
- BOOM: done.
There will also be new awards this year. Among the rookie trophies are:
- Most Popular Picture.
- Best Steroid-Filled White Boy Named Chris.
- Thickest yokka-yokka. (Upon receipt of this prize, the recipient will be required to let the crowd stare at said yokka-yokka while Kevin Hart jumps up and down and shrieks “DAAAAAAAAAAMN that’s thick yokka!” over and over until Twitter hunts him down and kills him.)
- Best Zazie Beetz.
- Wokest Male. (Accepting this Oscar is a trick, as the truly woke thing to do would be to defer and give the award to a fluidgender Native American.)
- Wokest Female. (This is also a trick, as Kevin Hart is going to scream about your ass.)
- Best Problem Attic Picture. (YES, Kevin Spacey likes to grab teen boy dick, and YES, Johnny Depp punches wives, BUT they are still overseas draws and we live in the real world. It’s show “business,” not show “treating others with respect.” Grow up.)
- Best Picture of 1991. (Using the Time Sheath, the Academy goes back a few decades and gives Goodfellas the prize that Dances With fucking Wolves got.)
Hosting: Hologram Bob Hope.
C’mon, kids! You know the words!
Fuck you in Denver
And fuck you in Greece
And fuck both your nostrils
In Paris and NiceYes, fuck you in Calgary
And fuck you in Kansas
And fuck your dry assholes
With horse-mounted lances.You ghoulish gash: Fuck You!
You human trash: Fuck You!
And go find your children and tell ’em Dad blows!
You putrid scum: Fuck You!
You Hitler’s cum: Fuck You!
Then grab a weedwhacker and cut off your toes!So fuck you in San Remo
Fuck you in Saint Cyr
If you vulgar shits could,
You would auction his beard.
Wouldn’t that be an FAQANON?
BACKHAND!
OW! This is NOT the right way to start an FAQ! People will think we’re screwing around!
Fuck ’em.
May we begin?
I don’t know, can we?
I’m just going to get on with it: What is QAnon?
The logical endpoint of decades of underfunded schools and flouridated water. Proof that thumbs were wasted on humans. The shallow end of the meme pool. When you were a child, did you ever lift up a rock to find the underside muddy and alive with creepity-crawlers?
Yes. It frightened me.
Great. Now take that rock, bash yourself in the skull five or six times with it, and start talking politics. What you have to say will undoubtedly be more coherent than QAnon.
But what is it?
Well, it all started on 4chan–
Stop. I’m out.
–when a poster going by the name of Q started leaving hints about the upcoming “storm.” Y’know what? I’m just gonna capitalize it.
If you do, then they win.
Dude, they already won. Happened almost two years ago now.
Ohhhh right, we’re living in hell.
Uh–huh. Anyway, the Storm is coming soon.
What is the Storm?
First, some backstory.
Oh, goodie. The QAnon Extended Universe.
Y’see, Hillary Clinton, Barack Obama, both of their families, all of the Democratic party, some of the Republican party, Steven Spielberg and the rest of the Hollywood pedophiles, the global banking elite, the CIA, the FBI, the NSA–
The Rosicrucians didn’t get in on this?
You didn’t let me finish.
Sorry.
–and the Rosicrucians are running the world
If they are, they’re doing a piss-poor job of it. And how does Basketball Head figure into this?
He’s been sent to bring about the end of this evil.
So it’s an Illuminati story mashed up with a Messiah narrative?
Basically.
The Matrix, but Trump is Neo?
Kind of.
Ugh. I’m picturing him in the coat.
Focus.
You never told me what the Storm is.
Oh, that’s the glorious day when Allfather Trump and Robert Mueller will arrest the entirety of the eeeeeeeevil coven of ladies and Jews and lady-Jews that run the world, and also Steven Spielberg, and throw them all in Guantanamo.
They worked Gitmo into this? Man, they’re rebooting everything.
It’s a great location! And it’s got that nostalgia vibe going for it.
The 00’s are so hot right now. Good for Gitmo getting back in the game. What’s it been up to?
Same thing. Extra-judicially detaining folks.
That’s reassuring. Wait, Robert Mueller? Trump is working with Robert Mueller?
Yes.
And all the search warrants and subpoenas and arrests and indictments and plea deals?
Misdirection.
What with the who now?
It’s a classic con. Did you ever see The Sting?
No.
Then it’s just like The Sting.
What if I had seen it?
I would have found a movie you hadn’t.
Let’s just move on.
Let us.
Who is this Q person?
Q reputes to be a high-ranking government official.
Is he?
It’s sexist of you to assume it’s a he.
I am quite sure that women don’t want to take credit for this one.
Touche. He is almost certainly not a high-ranking government official. Or a high-ranking anything. It is doubtful that his job involves ranks in the slightest. Again: this started on 4chan.
Right, right.
Anyway, this Q fellow has broken the whole thing wide open and he’s letting his followers in on the dirty details before they happen. Tell the truth, tho the heavens may fall.
Oh, he makes predictions?
Yes.
Does he get many right?
No. And the ones he does are obvious, like “foreseeing” that Turnip will talk about the Electoral College at a certain rally.
But he’s gotta do the Electoral College riff. It would be like the Stones not playing Satisfaction.
You’re preaching to the choir here, buddy.
One question.
Shoot.
According to QAnon, Trump is secretly in charge in the country?
Yes.
Isn’t he actually in charge?
Ask Q, man.
“Gimme!”
“Dad, I’m gonna hold her.”
“Gimme the baby!”
“Absolutely not, Dad. First of all, you’ve been drinking.”
“Hey, I’ve always been drinking.”
“And second: you teach her weird things.”
“I do not?”
“No? Then where did she learn the phrase ‘moneygrubbing Jews’ from?’
“Probably her mother. What’s her name again? Alpharetta?”
“That’s a town in Georgia.”
“Thor Two: The Dark World?”
“You think my wife’s name is Thor Two: The Dark World?”
“I’m just free associating at this point, Justy. Oh, shit! Cameras! Should I be hard?”
“Dad! This is an interview.”
“Yeah, I know how it works. You ask me a few questions, then the pizza shows up. Are you gonna be all right tag-teaming skank with your pop? Cuz I’m fine with it as long as our dicks don’t touch.”
“I literally have a baby on my lap.”
“She should go in the other room. You know, PC culture and all.”
“Can we please just do the interview?”
CELL PHONE NOISE
“Yeah, but lemme take this first. It might be skank.”
“Cmon, Dad.”
…
“This is Billy, is this a filly?”
“Kinda. You’re definitely getting some right now.”
“This voice sounds familiar.”
“It’s me, you.”
“Hey! How you doing, you handsome motherfucker!?”
“Gay as shit.”
“Nah, I like innies. Oh, wait.”
“Remember? When we go forwards through time, we turn gay.”
“Right.”
“Dad, what the hell is going on?”
“Justy, you remember how I have access to a Time Sheath?”
“A what?”
“And, well, goofiest thing: when I go forwards? I go all nancy. Like the Hulk, but instead of turning into a giant green guy, I fuck dudes.”
…
…
…
“What?”
“Hey! 80’s me! Let’s do this.”
“Nice! Wait, is it possible that touching will unravel the universe?”
“Big possibility. It might even be a probability.”
“Fuck it, I’m horned up.”
“I want me inside me.”
SHVEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
…
…
…
pop
…
“Hello?”
Justin?
“Something happened.”
Are you in an eternal void, a place without time or form?
“Yes.”
Okay, they unraveled the universe. I will put this back together, I promise.
“I didn’t ask to be a part of this.”
Me, either. But here we are and I can’t reconstruct reality if you’re going to be distracting.
“This is my fault now?”
Yes.
“How?”
Well, it’s not like I’m gonna accept the blame.
“Fix this.”
Hold your horses, Justy.
“Don’t call me that.”
“Run again.”
“Bron, I can’t keep telling you this. I, uhhh, can’t be president again. Two terms, all you get.”
“No, no, no. Two terms in a row. You only get two terms in a row. Take one off, and then you can be president again.”
“You know I taught Constitutional Law at Harvard, right? Trust me on this one.”
“You trust me on this: my shot’s going in.”
SWISH
“What’s the score?”
“The score is irrelevant. We both know any points you make are ones I let you make.”
“I think I’m, uhhh, holding my own.”
“I could break your ankles at will, sir.”
SWISH
“Did you see my eyes were closed?”
“I did. Bron, you’re angry.”
“This motherfucker–”
“Yup, yup. Outdoor voices.”
“If I’m so dumb, how come I’m so rich?”
“What are you gonna do?”
“Kobe!”
SWISH
“Really?”
“What do you think I should do? There’s that special election this week in Ohio. I was thinking maybe I should pick a fight with him and get him to say some serious bullshit.”
“Don’t engage. Leave it alone. You ended up net positive on this one. Think about it: what else could have gotten your school this amount of free publicity?”
“It’s incredible. The phones in the front office exploded. Literally. There was a BANG and smoke. I saw it happen.”
“There you go: you won.”
“So I should do it again! Mr. President, I have an idea.”
“Don’t say–”
“I’m gonna go on Fox News.”
“–you’re going on…Jesus, man, he’ll launch the nukes. That’s his safe space.”
“And I’m gonna get up in there. All day. I’m gonna start with the two dummies and the lady, and then the one where it’s all hot women and one dude. I’m gonna be the dude.”
SWISH
“Shepard Smith is not bad. He does not lie.”
“No. Does not lie.”
“But is working for evil. And I’m staying in the studio all afternoon until Hannity gets there, and when that mother–”
“Language.”
“–sees me talking to his late-night phone buddy, he’s gonna lose it. I bet that’s when he’d snap. He’d be, like, sending little shitposts out all afternoon when he saw me with all the girls and just getting furious, and now I’m sitting at the same desk as his best friend. Got my glasses on. Gonna shave the head. Black suit. Bow tie.”
“Going full Nation of Islam?”
“Fruit of Islam.”
“You are, uhhh, going to get a nickname. Low-IQ LeBron.”
“That’s not bad, actually.”
“Thank you.”
SWISH
“Thank you, sir. What is the monster lady’s name? Looks like the Khaleesi, but old and mean?”
“Laura Ingraham. Sour apple of human being.”
“By the second segment, she’s gonna have her hand on my forearm. I’ll bet you a hundred-thousand dollars.”
“Who am I, Charles Barkley? No bet. LeBron, don’t do this. You’re poking a stupid bear.”
“Quarter-of-a-million says I get slobbered during the show.
“In public. We are in public.”
“I think he might tweet it out. And delete it real quick, maybe. Or misspell it.”
“He would never say it.”
“Say it? He says it all the time. When him and Junior are alone? That’s how they bond, by saying it. He loves saying it.”
“He wouldn’t tweet it. He’s not a 15-year-old pitching prospect. It pains me to say this, but he’s not that dumb.
“He is that racist, though.”
“Oh, shit, yeah.”
DRIBBLE
“Mr. President, take the shot.”
BOUNCE PASS NOISE
“Thank you, Bron.”
BALL BEING SWATTED AWAY BY GARGANTUAN HAND NOISE
“That was instinct, but I enjoyed it, sir.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m gonna be honest with you: I sort of resent you for not being the president now.”
“Me? You resent me?”
“Isn’t it weird how emotions work like that?”
“Don’t go on Fox.”
“Just Hannity. And I’m wearing a dashiki and sandals and shit.”
“Do I have to ask Michelle to talk to you?”
“No., sir.”
“Don’t poke the stupid bear.”
“Yes, sir.”
SWISH
SWISH
“Where did the second ball come from?”
“I’m LeBron James.”
“Yup. All right.”
Is that one of those Asian hip-hop guys?
“Yes, but he’s–”
We need more Korean dudes from Delaware explaining rap culture on VH1.
“You’re not quite–”
Did he take picture-posing lessons from Bobby?
“I don’t think he–”
He looks like an extra in a Cinemax prison flick.
“The guy is actually–”
I don’t care about your friends. You know that. Call Lovato yet?
“Stop with that. It’s creepy.”
She’s in a bad decision phase, John. Be her next bad decision.
“I told you to stop it.”
Dude, we gotta get you some celebrity ‘tang. It’s been years.
“Why are you so obsessed with this.”
I want to live vicariously through your penis.
“Sad.”
It’s all I got, man. You gotta get back in the game. How about whatsherface from Star Wars?
“Rey?”
The one who looks like Keira Knightly.
“I think she lives in London.”
Go there and bang her.
“We’re not discussing this any longer. I have a wonderful and fulfilling love life. It’s easier having sex with non-famous people.”
Yeah, but it’s objectively worse. You don’t get as many points, first of all.
“Okay, true. Still: leave me alone about this.”
Sure.
CELL PHONE NOISE
“Haaaaaaate you.”
I know.
…
“John Mayer, player.”
“Hey, Josh! How we coming with taking those pants off?”
“Ah, Christ.”
“C’mon, buddy. Let’s have some sweatsock sex.”
“I don’t think that’s a thing.”
“Let’s make it a thing.”
“Explain to me again why you’re now a voracious homosexual?”
“I told you: when I travel forwards through time, I go all whoopsie.”
“Offensive.”
“I’m gonna count to ten, and then one of us is going to be inside the other one. It’s up to you to decide whether you wanna be the motorcycle or the sidecar.”
“That’s not how it works.”
“Hey, man: I’m not full-time at this. Now get over here and work me off.”
“Nope.”
John, do it. He’s famous. You need the points.
“I haaaaaaate all of you.”
Metro is considering providing separate trains for participants of the “Unite the Right” white-nationalist rally Aug. 12, board chairman Jack Evans said Friday.
Evans said the move would be an effort to prevent violence between rally participants and counterprotesters. – Washington Post, 8/3/18
Boom. Problem Solved.
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