Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

Author: Thoughts On The Dead (Page 103 of 1031)

A Partial Transcript Of President Trump’s Meeting With Democratic Party Leaders, 10/16/19

INT. WHITE HOUSE CABINET ROOM – AFTERNOON

“Nancy, Chuck, come in. I want you to know that I had no idea this meeting was taking place. Complete surprise to me, which is very rare because I am aware of everything that happens in all my properties.”

“Hello, Mr. President.”

“Happy Sukkot, Mr. President.

“I come in here after lunch and wing wang womp there you are. We did Whoppers. Amazing sandwich, the Whopper. Whole different beast than a Big Mac. The Big Mac is tall and elegant, like Ivanka. Whopper’s low to the ground. Sturdy base on a Whopper. Couldn’t knock one over. Pence, run back to the Oval Office and see if there’s any Whoppers left. I wanna see if Nancy can knock it off its feet.”

“Mr. President, I don’t want to tackle a Whopper.”

“You can’t. You don’t want to because you can’t. Democrats are very weak and scared of my lunch, which is very strong.”

“Uh-huh. We were told that this meeting would be about Syria.”

“Syria, Shmyria. That’s what I told the Italian President when he was here this morning. No one in the Middle East voted for me, but almost everyone in the Middle West did. We had an incredible victory on election night that people are still talking about. You’ll never guess who called me last night.”

“Mr. President, I–”

“Guess.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Guess, c’mon, guess.”

“Was it–”

“Pat Sajak! Guy’s had a hit show for how many years now? Big, big, big star. The yokels come in, they spin the wheel, win a car, whatever, it’s great. He does such a wonderful program over there, and he’s been rewarded. I never got an Emmy for The Apprentice, and I blame that on jealous losers being haters. And Hillary probably made some calls. I bet she made some calls. I believe she did.”

“Hillary Clinton rigged the Emmy Awards now?”

“You don’t know with that family! What was I talking about?”

JEW KICKING A RICH LADY UNDER THE TABLE NOISE

“Don’t remind him about Sajak!”

RICH LADY KICKING A JEW BACK NOISE

“I wasn’t going to! I’m not an idiot.”

RICH LADY AND JEW KICKING EACH OTHER A COUPLE TIMES, HARD, NOISE

“Mr. President, once again: we were asked to come here today to discuss the ongoing events in Kurdish-held Syria.”

“Taken care of! I wrote a letter, one of the most perfect letters you’ve ever seen, and we sent it over to whats-his-name, Captain Turkey. All taken care of by your beloved President, probably the best one America’s ever had. I wanna read everybody the letter. General Kelly?”

“He quit months ago, Mr. President.”

“Where’s my General?”

“Why are you looking in Mike McCarthy’s ear? He’s not in there.”

“General?”

“Maybe someone else could pass the letter out, Mr. President.”

“It won’t be as much fun. He does this thing where he flips the paper across the table, and it stops right in front of you. Never misses.”

“I think we’ll manage.”

“Fine. Pence!”

UN-INDICTED CO-CONSPIRATOR PASSING OUT PAPERS NOISE

“I’m gonna read it, you can read along. Chuck, you can help Nancy sound out the letters. I had to say it, Nancy. I had to. Many people have told me that you don’t know how to read. Not well, at least. Some people say not at all, some people say a little bit. Maybe the truth’s in the middle, I don’t know.”

“Oh, just read the letter.”

“You’re gonna be amazed. Ahem.

Let’s work out a good deal! You don’t want to be responsible for slaughtering thousands of people, and I don’t want to be responsible for destroying the Turkish economy — and I will. I’ve already given you a little sample with respect to Pastor Bronson. I have worked hard to solve some of your problems. Don’t let the world down.

You can make a great deal. General Mazloum is willing to negotiate with you. and he is willing to make concessions that they would never have made in the past. I am confidentially enclosing a copy of his letter to me. just received.

History will look upon you favorably if you get this done the right and humane way. It will look upon you forever as the devil if good things don’t happen. Don’t be a tough guy. Don’t be a fool!

I will call you later.*

“Wasn’t that great?”

BIPARTISAN STUNNED SILENCE NOISE

“Was that a joke?”

“You’re the joke, Nancy! You’re a nasty lady who wouldn’t know a good letter if it bit you, and you’re not hot anymore. No one invited you here to be rude and unpatriotic about my wonderful, very American and strong letter. I might have Ted Nugent set this letter to music, and that’ll be the new National Anthem.”

“Mr. President, that letter is going to get more Kurds killed, and it will get more ISIS prisoners released.”

“You’d love that. You love ISIS.”

“I do not love ISIS at all.”

“You love ISIS so much. You wanna kiss ISIS.”

“This is just insulting.”

“Nancy and ISIS, sittin’ in a tree.”

“Stop it! Mr. President, your rash decision–”

“Beautiful decision.”

“–to suddenly abandon the Kurds is leading to their slaughter. You’ve created a power vaccuum that will leave tens of thousands of civilians dead, thousands of ISIS fighters free, and more control of the region for Vladimir Putin.”

“What about Putin? Did you talk to him? What did he say about me?”

“Mr. President, you’re getting people killed.”

“Not people. Kurds.”

“Holy shit.”

“Have you ever met a Kurd? Not great. Not a fun experience. A little dangerous, if I’m totally honest. Something off about those folks.”

“Is there any chance of a fruitful discussion here?”

“Nancy, you have never given me a boner.”

“We’re done.”

“Not once!”

RICH LADY, A JEW, AND SOME OTHER DEMOCRATS LEAVING THE CABINET ROOM NOISE

 

 

*This is the verbatim transcript of a letter that the President of the United States sent to the dictator of Turkey.

Sometimes We Ride On Kim Jong-Un’s Horses, Sometimes We Ride Alone

Hey, Bobby. Happy birthday, pal.

“Yup. Another, uh, spin around the sun. You don’t feel the earth circling the sucker, but it does.”

You’re 72.

“Not when I am. I’m around 40.”

The real you.

“I am the real me. David Lee Roth wouldn’t smoke cigars with a doppelganger.”

That’s not David Lee Roth, Bobby. It’s Rickie Lee Jones.

“Well, that explains why he doesn’t have any cocaine.”

CELL PHONE NOISE

“I, uh, gotta take this. It might be Sammy Hagar.”

It’s not.

“Weir Here.”

“Hairy Garcia! I come get. We be cowboys.”

“That is an intriguing offer.”

“Hairy Garcia already think he cowboy. Come be with Kim Jong-Un. You be Butch. I be Sundance Kim.”

“I’m still listening.”

“We rope. We ride. Chuckwagon follow. Coffee in tin cup.”

“Gosh, I’m tempted, but I got gigs with the Wolf Brothers coming up.”

“No more gig. I have Don Was executed.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Tired of looking at feet. Flip-flops for beach! Is not rock and roll!”

“Well, now I’m a little peeved.”

“Take out frustration on prairie. We shoot Injun.”

“What?”

“I dress up political prisoners like Navajo. Then I shoot.”

“That’s awful.”

“Is better than starving to death! Which is what they were gonna do!”

“I don’t want to play Cowboys and Indians with you, Kim Jong-Un.”

“Grateful Dead no fun no more.”

Harry, The Horse

Hey, Josh. You cheating on Shawn Mendes with Harry Styles?

“Dude, fuck off. It’s my birthday.”

Is he your present? Are you unwrapping him and blowing out his candle?

“Stop.”

By “candle,” I meant “penis.” And by “blowing out,” I meant–

“I got it.”

Bro, I get it. He’s very pretty.

“Our relationship is not sexual.”

You should make it sexual. Honestly, it would be the best career move you’ve made since Katy Perry dumped you.

“She didn’t dump me. It was a mutual thing.”

Sure, buddy. I’m not judging you for porking Harry Styles.

“Not porking him.”

Giving him the beef.

“Nope.”

Roasting his rump.

“No more meat-related sex euphemisms, please.”

That chicken is tender.

“I said not to do–”

CELL PHONE NOISE

“–that anymore. Is that Nixon?”

Nope.

“Worse?”

Much.

“Asshole.”

“You’re on with John.”

“Hot Dog Dick!”

“Ah, fuck.”

“Where you at? I come get. Room for two on horse.”

“Well, I was not expecting this.”

“I your knight in shining armor. Come to get on fine Arab charger.”

“Stop quoting Emotional Rescue to me.”

“Underrated.”

“Emotional Rescue is not underrated at all.”

“Disco Stone is best Stone.”

“I’m not having this discussion with you.”

“I come get you. We ride. You my Little Potato.”

“Do not come and get me.”

“You wrap arms around Kim Jong-Un. All sort of bouncing and rubbing.”

“Hanging up now.”

“Father invent horse.”

DIAL TONE NOISE EVEN THOUGH PHONES NO LONGER DO THAT

“He’s gonna call back, isn’t he?”

Dude, I got around a half-dozen pictures of him on that poor animal.

“Shit.”

Maggie Haberman Was Not At All Nostalgic For These Three A.M. Calls

CELL PHONE NOISE

“Wow, it’s been a while. I thought I got replaced by Katy Tur. Hello?”

“Habes, it’s The Bolt.”

“For the millionth time, John, I will not call you that.”

“Everybody calls me that.”

“They do not. I see you’ve come out of retirement.

“Remember when Han Solo flew in out the sun to blow up the Death Star? Well, picture him with an awesome mustache.”

“What have you been doing since you left the White House?”

“Hot yoga, mostly. You gotta see how flexible I am. You wanna FaceTime?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I’m all sinew. Prepared for the upcoming battle. It’s gonna be like retard-rape: hard and sloppy.”

“Please don’t use that word. Or the other word. Y’know what? Don’t repeat any of that thought.”

“I’m surprised the sleazy fuckwit hasn’t started tweeting about me yet. Maybe he choked to death on a McNugget. Christ, he loved those things. He would make the Vice President stand across the room and toss ’em in his mouth. But, you know, he’d get bored quick because he’s a moron and start winging ’em at Pence’s crotch. Veep’d cry every damned time. It was disheartening.”

“Sure.”

“Can you even imagine Dubya doing that to Dick Cheney? No, of course not. There was professionalism. And also Dick would’ve punched him.”

“The man is not known for taking guff.”

“He’s a professional. Not like these lowlifes. The Oval Office was grabassier than a Munich bathhouse during Oktoberfest. When anyone’s in there, that is. Remember the story about John Henry, the steel-driving man? Remember how John Henry worked himself to death? Well, Trump’s the opposite of that.”

“I have heard this.”

“The man takes more breaks than Clyde Stubblefield. That’s a music nerd joke, Habes.”

“If you say so. What was going on with you and Rudy Giuliani?”

“Nothing was going on with us. Shit, I’d dive under desks to avoid talking to that drunken time bomb. I figured every conversation with him was a thousand bucks in lawyer’s fees later on. He may as well have sauntered around the West Wing knocking on doors and asking, ‘You up for some crimes?’ He was the human embodiment of a pinky ring. That’s how it is with those people, I guess.”

“That is incredibly racist.”

“I didn’t mean Italians, I meant New York Mayors. The vast majority have been scumbags and malfeasants.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s true.”

“Rudy would bring these greasy characters by the office. I mean ‘greasy’ in the literal sense: these men were visibly gooey. One of them cornered me and tried to sell me a truckload full of frozen waffles. He told me not to worry where it came from. I said, ‘Sir, we are in the Map Room.’ Not to mention all the counterfeit cigarettes.”

“The what?”

“Rudy and his mid-level goon buddies had some sort of scheme going on with Albania. They kept the cartons in the White House bowling alley.”

“That’s absurdly inappropriate.”

“There were also a toner pro scam being run out of the Press Office. That con where you send out ridiculously overpriced copy toner to companies and then try to get paid? Rudy and his comrades had one of those going, too.”

“Where did they keep–”

“Also in the bowling alley.”

“–the toner? Makes sense.”

“Trump would never go down there. He fears non-carpeted floors.”

“But you had nothing to do with any of this?”

“Habes, I was trying to start a war with Iran. Well, actually, I was trying to start wars with around a dozen countries, but Iran was the meat of my day. And a lot of people don’t realize this, but starting a war is hard work. You know how many signatures you need to go to war? It’s like launching the Space Shuttle. But, you know, way more fun. And lucrative. But mostly fun.”

“War is not fun,  Former Secretary Bolton.”

Fighting a war is not fun. Running a war is blast. You get to go to Paris a lot. I was getting there, too. I was this close–thiiiiiiis close–to getting troops on the ground in Venezuela. First of all, I told him it was Mexico, so he liked that. And then I told him no American soldiers would die. I promised him. And, you know: he’s a fucking idiot, so he believed me. He had the pen in his hand!”

“What happened?”

“Lou Dobbs called and got him all worked up about those foreign Congresswomen again. Completely forgot about Venezuela, then called me Mustache Mike and kicked me out of the room.”

“A normal meeting.”

“On my way out, one of Rudy’s buddies asked me if I had any money I need laundered. Those were his precise words. I mean, I’m trying to jumpstart World War III, and half the staff is hanging out at gas stations selling speakers out of vans. They have a phrase for this kind of thing in the military.”

“What is it?”

“I have no idea; I never served. But they’ve got a whole language of their own, those folks. Colorful bunch.”

“Uh-huh. I assume you will be testifying in front of the impeachment inquiry some time soon?”

“With bells on my mustache and rings on my toes.”

“Can I go to sleep now?”

“Do you wanna ride Fuzzy Boy?”

“Night.”

DIAL TONE NOISE EVEN THOUGH PHONES NO LONGER DO THAT

Now I Want A Yoo-Hoo

Hey, Dwight Yoakum. Whatcha doing?

“Pickin’.”

And grinnin’?

“Eh. It’s been a challenging interview. Bob’s mind skips around a bit.”

For example?

“He just did a ten-minute monologue on either the Holy Modal Rounders or the Holy Roman Empire. Honestly, I couldn’t tell which. Most of his statements fit both topics.”

You need to remember that Bobby was taught the art of conversation by Neal Cassady.

“Yep, that’ll do it.”

The cowboy hats are kinda like parentheses for the group.

“You’re just as bad as him.”

Thank you.

Under Pressure

Contest time, Enthusiasts! Who did it best?

The original, written by Toots himself, and recorded in 1969?

Or what about Robert Palmer’s 1975 version, backed up by Little Feat?

The Only Band That Mattered from 1979? Spoiler: they turned it into a Clash song.

How about Izzy Stradlin & the Juju Hounds off their incredibly underrated 1992 album?

Maybe you think The Specials’ 1999 rendition was special?

CHOOSE YOUR EASY SKANKER!

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