If Jools Holland were any whiter, his name would be Jools Holland.
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Author: Thoughts On The Dead (Page 105 of 1031)
I miss Tom Snyder.
ALSO: Joe got his teeth fixed in between London Calling and Sandinista.
The song should not be confused with Neil Young’s 2006 ditty Let’s Impeach The President, nor the band with Robert Plant’s 80’s backing group. Also: yes, let’s impeach the President.
Real punk bands had bad teeth.
There is no connection between Queen and Basketball Head, you say. Perhaps you whisper it softly, as if a prayer. Please, dear Jesus, keep separate Freddie, who was made of joy and boners, separated from Donald Trump, who is a used band-aid. Some folks ought maintain a chasm betwixt. It’s like the Offspring said, Lord: Ya gotta keep ’em separated. If you won’t listen to me, Lord, then listen to the Offspring.
Alas.
This is not a yacht. She is a superyacht, and she was originally called the Nabila, which is Arabic for Noble Lady, but she was also called the Flying Saucer when she starred in a James Bond movie. I am unaware of the helicopter’s name, or whether it appeared in any films. (The reason that boats are “she” and helicopters are “it” is because humans were not cooped up in helicopters for months at a time slowly going insane to the point where they began gendering vehicles.) The Nabila has, as you can see, a helipad and an outdoor swimming pool/sexy-time jacuzzi tub. Hidden within are 11 suites, a movie theater, gym, formal dining room, and quarters for the crew of 48. Cost $100 million, and that was in 1980, when $100 million was real money.
(WARNING: Do not start googling “superyachts unless you wanna go Full Commie. Did you know that the latest trend is away from 300-footers and towards ultra-luxury 200-footers paired with smaller support boats that act as floating garages for your tenders/waverunners/landing craft/chopper/etc.? You didn’t know that, did you? How does that fact make you feel? Violently redistributionish? Me too, comrade.)
Anyway, when she was called the Nabila, she was owned by Adnan Khashoggi, who was a social kind of fellow. In the 60’s and 70’s, he was good friends with the Saudi royal family, who wanted desperately to buy as many tanks and planes and bazookas as possible; he was also buddy-buddy with Lockheed Martin and Northrup Grumman, who wanted just as breathlessly to sell as many tanks and planes and bazookas as possible. The papers called him an arms dealer, but he was just an outgoing guy. The arms sales provided the seed money–about a billion’s worth–for further investment and trinket-collecting. Game reserves, and shopping malls, and far more mansions than necessary, and the Utah Jazz.
The boat got the most attention. So much so that Queen wrote a song about it in 1989.
It is not a major entry in the band’s canon, just a scrap of Brian’s usual Heavy Rock from The Miracle, but it’s still a Queen song. They didn’t write shit about you, did they? No, Queen wrote songs about not liking Jaws or Star Wars, and Beelzebub, and curvaceous bicyclists. And the Nabila. Heady company.
In 1990, Khashoggi sold the boat.
He ruins everything.
Foam Kippur For 24 hours, no Jew is permitted to attend one of those freaky Ibiza parties where they pour the foam all over the dance floor.
Noam Kippur From sunset until sunset, no consent may be manufactured.
Frome Kippur Eight days after Rosh Hashanah, all men of Bar Mitzvah age must pretend to have read Edith Wharton’s Ethan Frome.
Zsa Zsa Kippur A total proscription against being famous for no reason, and marrying a dozen rich guys.
“That’s enough, enough of this. Son, you’re floundering.”
Hey, you can’t be here.
And he really can’t be here.
“You pay Orenthal the respect he’s due. My God, the yardage he churned up! And with Buffalo, no less. Imagine that, knowing you’ve got no shot at the title, but still running your heart out every Sunday. You could take lessons.”
I am not taking any lessons from OJ.
“The Juice. I am, uh, informed that he is called by that name. The Juice.”
Yes, sir.
“Many of them have nicknames. The blacks, I mean”
I figured.
“Very informal people. As you can see. Most guests to the White House wear suits, ties, they dress properly. But, uh, Orenthal has chosen to show up looking like Bing Crosby. This is not a sign of disrespect in their culture.”
We are veering dangerously close to the rocks here, sir.
“The black believes that suits are for court appearances.”
Annnnnnd we’ve crashed onto said rocks.
“Justy, I know you’re my son, but–”
“We’re not doing foot stuff, Pop.”
“–let’s do foot stuff. Why not?”
“It’s wrong.”
“Naaaaah. You ever hear about Abraham and Isaac from the Hotel Book?”
“The Bible. That book is called the Bible.”
“They did tons of toe-play. Nobody thought less of them.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’ve stayed in a lot of hotels, Justy.”
“I’m here to talk about drums, Pop.”
“Shit, you wanna talk drums, you should call up your Uncle Mickey. He won’t shut the fuck up about ’em. I keep telling him to get a hobby, but he just pretends his hearing aids aren’t working. Deaf as a coffee table that had the mumps as a kid.”
“I already talked to Uncle Mickey.”
“He tell you about the time he fucked half the UCLA ladies’ volleyball team? He had to climb most of those chicks.”
“Pop.”
“Eventually, he got tired and just started rubbing against their knees.”
“Pop.”
…
“Benjy, you went bald quick.”
“Not Benjy, Pop.”
“Am I getting paid for this?”
The thing about bastards is that they never go away, not for good. There will always be bastards.
There’s more of us, though. And we have more to lose.
“Thanks for having me on your show, Radio Randy.”
“Bob, for the ninth time: I am not Radio Randy, whoever that is. I’m Dwight Yoakum.”
“Well, uh, that sounds like an even faker name than ‘Radio Randy.'”
“It’s my real name, Bob. Now let’s talk about–”
“Dwell.”
“–you new band…what now?”
“And dwarf.”
“Are you listing words that start with the letters ‘dw?'”
“Yuh-huh. Not that many. There’s also Dwayne.”
“I guess so.”
“Now, if we we speaking Welsh, then we’d be here all day with the ‘dw’ words. But, uh, it’s a weird combination in English. Almost as weird a combination as when you married Julia Roberts.”
“That was Lyle Lovett, Bob.”
“Talk about outkicking your coverage.”
“I wish we could go to a commercial.”
Foucault said it: life is a interlocking system of discourses between unequal powers. He said it in real high-falutin’ French, though, so let me translate: One side’s got bloody knuckles, and the other’s got a bloody nose.
Whose side you on?
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