The pops and clicks on a vinyl record are just God clearing His throat.
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Author: Thoughts On The Dead (Page 31 of 1031)
“Thoughts on my Ass!”
Hey, Billy.
“Heard your dick fell off.”
No.
“That’s what I heard. That’s what everybody is saying.”
My dick did not fall off.
“That’s good. You need your dick, man. Your center of gravity’s all fucked up without it. You pitch forward all the time.”
I didn’t know that.
“But there’s something wrong with you. Worse than usual.”
I don’t wanna talk about it.
“You should do what I do when I get sick.”
Which is?
“Fuck my way through it. Skank has a curative nature, Ass.”
No. Skank gives you diseases, it doesn’t treat them.
“Trust me on this one, kid. Hey, you live in Florida, right?”
Sadly, yes.
“Go to the dogtrack. Nothing beats track skank. Any track. Dog, horse, drag strips, that underground midget-racing club in Salinas. Track skank is pure, Ass. Gotta be careful, though. Track skank is carrying a knife. Even when she’s naked, track skank’s got a knife on her.”
I don’t want to meet any track skank, Billy.
“You’re missing out. Those ladies got strong hands, and all their dreams have died. Makes for an interesting afternoon.”
This is not helping me. When are you, anyway?
“2017.”
Goddammit.
“Got bored.”
Stop using the Time Sheath to avoid quarantine!
“If you could escape 2020, wouldn’t you?”
I’d go Full Anakin on a roomful of Younglings to get the fuck out of this year.
“So why you mad at me?”
Rough day.
“I know, man. Your dick fell off.”
I am looking forward to the future.
CELL PHONE NOISE
Yello?
“Mr. on the Dead? This is Medicine calling!”
You again?
“We will be getting very well acquainted over the next few months!”
What?
“I am calling with some test results for you.”
I haven’t taken any medical tests recently.
“We performed them without your consent!”
Are you allowed to do that?
“This is Florida, Mr. on the Dead! All is permitted!”
What test are you talking about?
“Do you recall last month when the doctor traipsed about in your doody-garden?”
I remember having a colonsocopy.
“That is what I said! The doctor tip-toed through your poo-lips!”
Ew.
“Well, the doctor became bored by your colon. He called it ‘pedestrian,’ Mr. on the Dead.”
Uh-huh.
“So he took himself a trip into your Ileum. Just like Achilles!”
Gotcha.
“Oh, I do love classical references.”
We all do. Can you get to the point, please?
“Absolutely! I have some good news and some bad news. Let’s play a fun game! I will give you the good news, and you try to guess what the bad news is.”
I don’t think I wanna play this game.
“It is too late! I have suited up!”
Jesus, I gotta get better insurance.
“Are you ready for some wonderful information?”
Go ahead.
“You know all that quarantine weight you have gained? It is going to fly right off!”
Um.
“Oh! I have another boon tiding for you! You no longer need to be anxious about getting your hair cut!”
Why not?
“Can’t cut what fell out!”
I am starting not to like this good news at all.
“Yes, I may have misapplied the adjective ‘good’ to the news. It is not truly good. But the bad news is horrible! Have you guessed it?”
Please just tell me what the test results were.
“Oh, but guessing is so much more fun. I will give you a hint: What you have rhymes with ‘prancer.'”
Wha?
“And ‘dancer.'”
Jesus.
“And ‘cancer!’ No, wait. It does not rhyme with ‘cancer.’ It is cancer.”
THIS IS HOW YOU TELL ME?
“Do not yell at me for trying to inject a bit of levity into these trying times, Mr. on the Dead.”
I have cancer?
“Just a little bit!”
What does that mean?
“More than none, but less than all. You know how some poor folks are riddled with cancer? That is not you! But there are others who are free of cancer. That is also not you!”
Fuck, man.
“Hey! Stop that! You must be positive! You have cancer, not can’tcer.”
…
…
…
What the fuck did you just say?
“Do not blame me, Mr. on the Dead! You thought up that awful joke in the car this afternoon.”
Can’t argue with you on that one.
“No, you cannot! Why were you in the car? I hope it was not to buy green bananas! You might not see that fruit to fruition!”
What? You said it was just a little bit of cancer!
“And John Kennedy had just a little bit of lead in his skull! Some substances are very dangerous even in small quantities!”
Okay, okay, okay. What do I actually have?
“Swampscott limpopo!”
…
“I may be pronouncing that incorrectly. I have trouble with medical terms!”
Uh-huh. Did you mean ‘small intestine lymphoma?’
“Let’s go with that!”
Great.
PANICKED IDIOT GOOGLING IN A PANIC NOISE
This is not terrible. I mean: It’s fucking terrible, but it could be worse. 86% survival rate. If it’s early enough, they can just chop a chunk of my gut out. I might not even need chemo or radiation.
“You are not that lucky!”
I want to stop talking to you.
“That is impossible! We will be getting so familiar in the coming months!”
Yeah, probably.
“Before I go, Mr. on the Dead, I have one last question.”
Sure.
“Have you pooped out a watch? The doctor cannot find his Rolex.”
I’m gonna hang up the phone.
“Do it carefully! You are fragile now!”
DIAL TONE NOISE EVEN THOUGH PHONES NO LONGER DO THAT
It’s fun! You’re gonna be excited. Gosh, I sure am. Watch this space.
Do with it what thou wilt.
(Okay, I’ll make one comment: The song’s title is Funky Man, but the chorus is “I’m a funky guy.” If Dee Dee did that on purpose, it would be funny as hell, but Dee Dee did not do that on purpose.)
Hey, Garcia. Whatcha doing?
“Having a good time, man.”
Looks like it. You got a BLT waiting for you?
“Y’know, man: I’m actually a lot more complex than the caricatured ‘hungry, hungry hippie’ you write me as. My whole deal isn’t food and stash. Do you know anything about my childhood?”
It was traumatic.
“Just simply packed with trauma, man. I’m a sprawling mess, psychologically speaking. But you just wanna do your little ‘Garcia eats diner food’ jokes. Dig a little deeper, why don’t you?”
Why are you smiling while you chastise me?
“I told you, man: I’m having a good time.”
Good on you.
Cuz I told you to, whaletits, and I know where you sleep. I’ll sneak in and take a shit on your dick.
You’re becoming more profane with each day.
Daddy’s drifting!
Everybody wants to fuck fish. But which fish to fuck? You don’t wanna show up a party with a dog of a fish on your arm. People will laugh! So to aid you, the fishfucker, TotD now presents Fish Ranked By Fuckability:
WHALE SHARK Them gals is thicc, and their loving is sweet and warm. Not a great beej, though, due to their mouths being eight feet across. Otherwise: this is a fish you want to fuck.
PIRANHA You’d think not, but there’s a trick: Gotta pull their teeth. Then you stick your booboo in the water and let ’em gum you to completion. Piranha are into group scenes.
FUGU If you don’t fuck a fugu fish right, it’ll kill you. Fugu are kinda like Italian chicks in that regard.
SLIMEFISH Don’t have to buy lube! That’s money in your pocket, and your dick in a fish.
HAMMERHEAD SHARK Just put a bag on their head and do your business.
That’s enough. I should’ve stopped this at the title.
I’m providing a public service.
You’re showing your ass, muchacho.
My brain feels like it has its tongue on a 9-volt battery.
That’s called insanity.
It tingles!
Okee-dokee, buddy.
Good afternoon, MSNBC viewer. I’m Katy Tur, which is short for Katamount Turtledrinker. I remember saying to my parents, ‘That doesn’t sound like a real name,’ and they sent me to bed without my turtle smoothie. My childhood was confusing as hell. Anyway, our guest today is Kanye West. He wasn’t scheduled to be here, but he wandered in to the studio and is now refusing to leave unless he’s interviewed. Let’s see how this goes. Hi, Kanye.”
“Your name is Katy!”
“Yes.”
“That is too close to my name! I will not call you that! Your name will be Miss Marple’s Wheelchair!”
“Katy is fine.”
“God spoke to me as recently as currently, and He wants me to call you Miss Marple’s Wheelchair. It is a glorious name! Many angels, some of whom are also speaking to me currently, share that name.”
“I’m moving on. Kanye, a few days ago, you announced that you were running for President.”
“Jogging!”
“What?”
“I am not running for President, I am jogging for President. There was a black man who tried to jog, and the police ate him. I jog in his honor, but we must remember that the police are people, too. I watched a documentary about the police, and big corporations are turning our brave officers into robots.”
“Are you talking about RoboCop?”
“I am talking about Jesus! No matter what I talk about, I am talking about Jesus. Cops are Jesus. Many black people bring about their own problems when it comes to the cops. Since I moved to rural Wyoming, I have had no confrontations with the police. My experience is universal.”
“It’s really not.”
“I am the Everyman! I am the Alpha Man! I am the Omega Man! I enjoy Frosted Flakes!”
“Uh-huh. Can I ask you about some of your political positions?”
“Positions are for positrons, and I am not a positron. I am a celebrity! I have met every single cast member of The Office, some on multiple occasions. I will approach politics like I do my award-winning shoe designs: I will win awards.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“Shiny awards!”
“That’s not what I meant. Can you tell us about your tax plan?”
“I will eliminate them! The only reason we pay taxes is so that the government can buy new board games for the aliens at Area 51. Aliens are huge into table-top gaming, but I do not see why we should have to pay for it.”
“What are your thoughts on the pandemic?”
“I had it worse than 50 Cent. He had a very mild case, and mine was enormous. Jesus had to personally save my life six, maybe seven times. And then 50 claims that his ronus was worse than mine! This is insulting and false!”
“I meant what do you plan to do about the coronavirus?”
“Call the Avengers.”
“The Avengers aren’t real.”
“Only because you do not believe, Miss Marple’s Wheelchair!”
“Don’t call me that.”
“The Avengers will defeat the ronus! They have hammers and a super-raccoon, but the white boy who claims godhood better watch his ass. Jesus does not like that, and He has a much bigger hammer than that Thor person.”
“Jesus has a hammer?”
“He is a carpenter!”
“Oh, yeah, sure. Is anyone advising you on your Presidential run?”
“Jog.”
“Whatever.”
“Kim is my advisor. She’s very knowledgeable. She stores her knowledge in her ass. You’ve seen that donk! Lotta room for information in there. Strategies and tactics and precedents and whatnot. Kim could fit the whole internet in her ass. It’s like a camel’s hump. People think there’s water in there, but no. Fat. People think there’s just ass in Kim’s ass, but no. Knowledge.”
“Kanye–”
“On long voyages through the desert of ignorance, Kim can sustain herself via her ass. The woman eats her own ass!”
“Kanye–”
“You find a girl who can eat her own ass, you marry that bitch.
…
“Switching topics.”
“I WILL NOT DISCUSS NATURAL GAS PIPELINES.”
“I wasn’t going to bring them up. But why not?”
“They do not exist. They are white devilry.”
“Okay.”
“And they look like dicks.”
“I thought you said they didn’t exist.”
“Unicorns don’t exist, but I know what they look like.”
“Good point. Kanye, does your entrance into the race mean you have repudiated your support for Donald Trump?”
“Not for his mastery of the buffet. When you go to one of Mr. Trump’s properties, there is always a buffet that will blow you away. He does not scrimp on the shrimp. Crab legs like a motherfucker.”
“Please watch your language.”
“My mouth is not your slave! You do not own my mouth!”
“Didn’t say I did.”
“My mouth would fight back, like Black Tarzan. My mouth would swing on vines, and wear a loincloth, and take you down gorilla-style. My mouth is Black Tarzan!”
“I am violently confused by this conversation.”
“Whoopity scoop.”
“How about a commercial?”
“Scoopity poop.”
“Awesome. Be right back.”
“Good morning, everyone. I’d like to apologize for all the meth-pythons. We don’t know how they got into the Governor’s Mansion, but we’re trying real hard to clear them out. We tried releasing meth-mongooses, but it turns out that mongooses can’t fight pythons like they do cobras. Python is way bigger! The size advantage is simply too great. So, uh, all the mongooses got eaten. And, as I mentioned, they were meth-mongooses, so the pythons also ingested all the meth. Long story short: Be careful. Just be careful.
“I’m going to start with some numbers. 10,213. 433. 61,298. I’m not going to say what those numbers pertain to, but those are the numbers. Maybe they’re how many people love you? Those would be great numbers if that were the category. Or dollars! 10,213 dollars is outstanding. You got that in your pocket, you’re on top of the world. Hey, even 433 dollars is pretty good. Get yourself a nice pair of shoes with that. Treat yourself, man.
“My office keeps getting questions from the press about whether or not there will be a statewide mask mandate, and I’d really like to stop getting those questions. Can you guys be cool, please? Ask about anything else. Did you know over 30% of Florida’s sheriffs are under indictment? Let’s talk about that. Just, you know: enough with the masks, huh?
“Speaking of masks, it is my administration’s position that all the recent mask-related murders would have happened anyway. Floridians can always find a reason to murder someone. If it wasn’t the mask, it would have been something else.
“As most of you know, Disney World is going to be opening up real soon, and everyone’s so happy about that. The folks who run that property are pretty smart cookies, and they’ve cooked up a lot of ways to keep guests safe. For example, there will be no contact with the costumed characters. Turns out there’s absolutely no way to disinfect the costumes. Corona burrows into felt, apparently. Also, the Mickey-shaped waffles will all be wearing little masks made from butter. It’s so cute!
“I would also like to address the hospital situation. There’s a lot of people freaking out about our ICU’s being full, but since when is being at capacity a bad thing? Any restaurant would kill to be as packed as our hospitals right now! I see it as a win.
“Finally, I’d like to speak about our great schools. We’re gonna open all of them back up in August. K through 12, the whole kit and kaboodle. We’ll even take illegal kids. You see a child outside? Grab him and toss him into the nearest school. We must educate our children, and so they’re all going back to class. Precautions will be taken, of course. I am asking that all forms of wrestling be canceled. Greco-Roman, freestyle, gator, whatever. There was some talk about canceling football, too, but that was just homo-talk. Nobody’s canceling football season on my watch.
“Some parents may be worried about the possibility of viral transmission when the kids go back to school, and I’m just gonna be honest: We’re gonna lose a few. ‘Zero dead kids’ is out of the question. We took that off the table at the beginning of our decision-making process. I’m setting the point at ‘some’ dead kids. I can live with ‘some.’ Also, the scientists have told me that the coronavirus rarely takes the good kids. Varsity athletes and honor rollers seem to be mostly immune. The kids at risk are the ones that wear black a lot, or smell, or they’re in the marching band. No child is disposable, but some of ’em are, kind of. You know I’m right.”
POTATO-HEADED STEAKHEAD BEING HANDED A PIECE OF PAPER NOISE
“Huh. The entire NBA has tested positive for the ronus. Okay, then. Great press conference!”
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