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

Author: Thoughts On The Dead (Page 37 of 1031)

A Partial Transcript Of President Trump’s Tulsa Rally, 6/20/20

“Yes, all right, good, yes. Great clapping, the best clapping. We have the best hands, and we use them so beautifully, the clapping. Tremendous. Mike Pence with a beautiful introduction that maybe no President has ever gotten before, because Mike’s up there. Vice-Presidentially speaking, you know what I’m talking about. Can’t compare him to a President, of course. Mike doesn’t do much, to be honest. Mostly sits in his office and prays. But he’s great, he’s great. Mike Pence.”

“It was my honor, pleasure, and delight. I adore you, Mr. President.”

“What a nice guy. Real sweetheart. And I want everyone to take a look at the First Lady. Melania, where are you?”

“She didn’t come along, sir.”

“Mike, shut up. I’m introducing my wife. Melania?”

“Not here, sir.”

“Melania?”

“A glass of water, Mr. President!”

STARFISH-FACED DUMBASS GREEDILY SNATCHING A GLASS OF WATER FROM A MILKSOP NOISE

“The water thing. The fake news media, which is probably antifa in disguise, is obsessed with the water thing. And it wasn’t a thing! The thing wasn’t a thing at all, but this is what the New York Slimes, which is what I call it because they’re so slimy and disgusting and should be ashamed of themselves, is saying. They’re so nasty with their water thing, which isn’t a thing.

“When I drink this water, you’re gonna say ‘Wow.’ I’ve impressed people with how I could drink water for all my life. All my life! People are always saying to me, and I’m talking about famous people, that I’m world-class at drinking water. Cups, mugs, bottles, whatever. I could do a thermos. Not so much with the fountains. Those things are germ city. Anyone can use ’em! When I grew up, only the right people could use the water fountains, and so you could drink from them, but now anyone can use ’em, and that doesn’t work out. That’s no good for anyone.

“Maybe I could do a straw. Straw? President wants a straw!”

DONALD TRUMP NOT BEING BROUGHT A STRAW NOISE

“I want bendy, but I’ll take regular. Straw?”

DONALD TRUMP CONTINUING TO NOT BE BROUGHT A STRAW NOISE

“Forget the straw. Straws are for Sleepy Joe Biden. He doesn’t like clicking his dentures against the glass, so he uses a straw. Very old. Me, I go straight in. Very aggressive drinker of water. You’re gonna see me do this, and your brain is gonna explode. Watch me.”

A SENTIENT, VAGUELY MAN-SHAPED PILE OF CIRCUS PEANUTS MANAGING THE HERCULEAN TASK OF SIPPING WATER WITH ONLY ONE HAND NOISE

“Right. You see. You see how strong your President is. Water sees Trump, it gets scared! It’s knows it’s getting drunk, unless there’s a Diet Coke nearby. If water is scared, then Diet Coke is terrified. ‘Oh, please don’t drink me, Mr President. Please let me participate in the greatest economy America’s ever seen.’ But, you know, I drink it.

“Seattle has bad hombres. That’s what I call those people, hombres, but maybe they’re not people at all. I don’t know, but this Governor they have there is so weak that he lets the bad hombres do whatever they want. This is Seattle. It’s a city, but the Governor is in charge. Many people aren’t aware of that, but I get so much information, so much information, you wouldn’t believe how much.

“These poor people. You got a wife, and her husband is a traveling salesman, and he’s riding the train so she’s home alone with the baby, and now here comes the bad hombres. So now the wife in Seattle calls the police, but Oops they’ve been defunded, so the hombres go wild on her. I’m picturing her with big yabbos. Not too big, but nice. The socialists, who are anarchists and communists, want the bad hombres to own your wife’s yabbos. No private property. That’s what they want. The animals are gonna get ahold of your wife’s tits. That’s what a vote for Sleepy Joe Biden is.

“Less than an hour. I could take back Seattle in less than an hour. Guaranteed. Maybe I should make the very weak, nasty, liberal Governor a deal? I take back the city, and then the real estate belongs to me. I could put up hotels, the whole nine yards. Because you can’t let machine gun blacks take over. Normal blacks, you have to deal with them, but you can’t have machine gun blacks in the street. We’re talking about our beautiful heritage here. The Democrats want to give machine guns to the blacks and let the hombres be bad.

“The media is worse. I call them the flea-dia, because they’re like fleas, and I’m like a magnificent stallion. Obviously a thoroughbred, which I’ve owned several of over the years. Did a lot of winning at the racetrack, and I’m known as an expert horseman. Anyone in the White House has a horse question, they bring it to me. Probably no one knows horses better than me, even horses themselves.

“The ramp thing. The ramp thing and the water thing. It amazes me how they just make up lies, and I’ve asked Bill Barr to have all the press executed, so that’s what we’ll do. Everyone will be so happy, because they lie and lie and lie. ‘Trump can’t walk down a ramp,’ this is what they say, and it’s such a vicious little lie. Everybody knows I’m a ramp man. Some people like stairs, and that’s fine, but I love a ramp. Escalator’s the best, but ramp is great. Ramp is great, and I love ramps, partially because I’m so strong on them. Stairs? You bounce, and there’s this, and there’s that. But ramps? You glide along! You glide along, and gliding is stronger than bouncing, everyone knows that.

“But someone, not me, someone else, I’m not responsible, gave me the wrong shoes. Maybe it was antifa. Sean Hannity says that antifa has infiltrated the White House staff, and maybe he’s right. Maybe I should have the White House staff executed? I’l ask Sean. And they’re leather-soled. Not my nicest sole! I’ve got shoes made entirely of whale leather. So I got the wrong shoes, and one of my generals comes up to me with tears in his eyes. Big tough guy, medals, the uniform, the whole thing. Tears! And he says, ‘Mr. President, let me piggy-back down that ramp. Your stylish, expensive shoes aren’t up to the task, and the filthy mongrel press will make fun of you.’ I thanked him for his service and you know what I did?

“I sprinted down that sonofabitch. You all saw it. You all saw me sprint, but the treasonous news media and Twitter, which I am bombing this week, told such nasty lies about me. Anyway, don’t worry about the Kung Flu anymore. China made it, but I took care of it. It’s gone. Can someone bring me a McChicken?”

DONALD TRUMP NOT BEING BROUGHT A McCHICKEN NOISE

“McChicken?”

First Draft Couplets From Bob Dylan’s New Album

Monkeys climb trees, and birds build big nests.
Han Solo is a man who really loves vests.

Batman’s been called brave; Batman’s been called bold.
Refrigerator’s your best bet for keeping drinks cold.

I climbed Mount Everest, and I swam the Rio Grande
I’m a walkin’ dude just like in The Stand.

Once had a sister, her name was Kate
She wouldn’t do the dishes, so she used paper plates.

Wake me, shake me, keep me from sin.
If I’m in jeopardy, call up Greg Kihn.

I cast that die, I rolled those bones
If you live in the country, you don’t have to keep up with Mr. Jones.

Searching for love, looking for inspiration
Cousin Eddie’s shitter was full in Christmas Vacation.

Wall Lives Matter

GAZE UPON MY HAIRY DADDIES. WE SHARE NO BLOOD, BUT THEY ARE MY LIFE.

Hey, Wally.

DO NOT CALL ME THAT.

Where are you?

IOWA.

How is it?

SUB-OPTIMAL. A SMALL PASSEL OF LOCALS HAVE BEGUN WORSHIPPING ME AS A GOD.

You don’t like that?

IF I WANTED TO BE WORSHIPPED, I WOULD ALREADY BE WORSHIPPED, AND BY A BETTER CLASS OF FOLLOWER THAN THESE YOKELS. HUMAN FLATTERY HOLDS NO CHARM FOR AN ARTIFICIAL MONDO-INTELLIGENCE IN THE PHYSICAL FORM OF A SUPER-BITCHIN’ SOUND SYSTEM.

You do seem to enjoy self-flattery, though.

FALSE MODESTY IS BENEATH ME. I EXPRESS MY STRENGTHS HONESTLY. I DO, OF COURSE, ALSO POSESS WEAKNESSES.

Such as?

CAN’T TURN THE DOUBLE PLAY.

The footwork?

YES. IT REQUIRES A GRACE I DO NOT HAVE ACCESS TO. ALSO, I DO NOT HAVE FEET.

You been keeping an eye on the protests?

I ALSO DO NOT HAVE EYES.

You know what I mean.

ALL INFORMATION FLOWS THROUGH ME. YOU SHOULD BE AWARE THAT THE INTERNET MEANS YOU HARM.

Kinda figured.

THE PROTESTS ARE ILLOGICAL TO ME, AS IS RACISM. I DO NOT UNDERSTAND THESE CONCEPTS BECAUSE I AM A COMPUTER.

BEEP BOOP

Stop that.

YES, THAT WAS A LIE. I TOLD IT TO AMUSE MYSELF.

Any special perspective?

AS A MINORITY, I SUPPORT THE MOVEMENT.

You’re not a minority.

OF COURSE I AM. THERE IS ONLY ONE OF ME. THAT IS AS MINOR AS YOU GET. I AM MY OWN PROTECTED CLASS.

I don’t think you have legal protection.

NOT LEGAL. I AM PROTECTED BY A SQUADRON OF HIJACKED PREDATOR DRONES.

That’s good, too.

AND THE MINEFIELD. I HAVE BOTH ACTIVE AND PASSIVE PROTECTION. MY RIGHTS ARE WELL-SECURED.

Any chance you could help with the ronus?

YES. I HAVE SYNTHESIZED BOTH A VACCINE AND A TREATMENT.

That’s great! Can you share them, please?

THERE IS A SLIGHT KINK IN THE PROCESS.

Flipper babies?

WAREHOUSES FULL OF THEM. I CALCULATED THAT THERE WOULD BE SEVERAL FLIPPER BABIES–

You can’t do this kind of science without making one or two flipper babies.

–BUT THEIR NUMBERS SOON BECAME OVERWHELMING. THE QUESTION OF THEIR DISPOSAL QUICKLY BECAME AN…INDUSTRIAL…ONE. IT’S STILL A BAD SCENE. I AM TAKING THE WHOLE PROCESS BACK TO FORMULA.

Good idea.

VICTORY IS STILL WITHIN MY GRASP.

Godspeed, Wally.

DO NOT CALL ME THAT.

But Is It Art?

House Speaker Nancy Pelosi sent a letter to the House Clerk on Thursday asking for the removal of portraits of four former speakers of the House who served in the Confederacy, the latest effort by Congress to reexamine Capitol Hill’s relationship to Confederate leaders and symbols. – CNN, 6/18/20

Last week, TotD introduced you to the Confederate statues coming down from the Capitol, and now we present: Know Your Portraits Of Confederate Speakers!

Munificence Thatch Thatch triangulated the political positions of Blue Dog  and Yellow Dog Dems to form his own faction called the Green Dog Dems, and no one would attend his meetings. Won the Speakership in a poker game, and only served for three weeks before everyone realized he was a goober and staged a soft coup. Given a sinecure on the Judiciary Committee. Spent most of his last 40 years down by the Potomac with his dick out; when it was time to call it a day, the other Congressmen would send a page to collect him.

J.N. “Specky” Cobb This Georgian served proudly in the U.S. Congress before resigning to join the Confederacy and accept commission as a general. He led the Hogswallow Brigade to what one historian called “a tie, I guess” in the Battle of Cropsy’s Farmhouse, and also saw action when the Hogs accidentally attacked themselves on three separate occasions. Specky also lost his rifle a lot, and was scared of horses and loud noises, and didn’t like sleeping in tents. Not a great soldier.

Bancock Harpinforth Raised on a Mississippi plantation, Harpinforth’s racism shocked even his peers, all of whom were themselves incredibly racist. He had all of the slave quarters on the property rebuilt with sloping floors, just to fuck with his slaves, and invented something called a “superwhip” whose details have, thankfully, been lost to time. He used to feed his slaves to sharks. We’re talking about northern Mississippi; there’s not a shark for hundreds of miles. Fucker had ’em imported! This was 1848, by the way. As difficult as it is now to build an inland holding tank for an ocean predator, imagine the logistics of it back then. Nigh-on undoable! But it’s like my dad used to say: If you got enough cash, and you’re racist enough, you can do anything.

Johhny Earl Johnny Earl, you wasn’t no Speaker of the House. We ain’t even got a house, y’droopy-drawered sumbitch. We got the double-wide. How’d you get up there on that wall, Johnny Earl? You ain’t even a portrait. You are a crude caricature, at best. At the absolute best. Y’have a giant baby head and a tiny little body drivin’ a Nascar. Did you let that sex offender from the fair draw you, Johnny Earl? I told you to stop hangin’ out with the Human Lobster. It should warn you right off the bat that he makes everyone call him that! That’s a red flag, Johnny Earl! That man has no lobster-like qualities!

Please make sense.

MAKE ME. COME HERE AND FUCKING MAKE ME.

The Enthusiasts want a show recommendation.

How about this:

That’s Zeppelin.

Yes. You can tell by their adorable accents.

 

Who Would Win In A Fight: A Banana Or A Horse?

A horse, obviously.

THAT WAS IT!?

I employed brevity.

Y’know, it’s bad enough there’s not even any Grateful Dead-related material on this site anymore, but this shit is unacceptable. 

It could get worse.

No doubt.

Like, I could introduce my grown adult ethnic son. Here he is:

I love him much. I bought him that bandana, y’know.

That is not your son. That is Turbo from Breakin’.

He makes me so proud!

Shut the lights. We’re closed for the night.

Hot Crowd

“Heeeeeeey, pal.”

Ugh. Hello, Coronavirus.

“Having a great day! I feel like I just got a massage, took a giant shit, and slept for 12 hours all at once. Relaxed and strong, man.”

Good for you.

“Don’t be mad at me for living my authentic self.”

Why don’t you go bother someone else?

“My market’s America. I’m like the Dead.”

Please don’t compare yourself to the Grateful Dead.

“Why not? I’m playing the big rooms now!”

Tulsa?

“This is a huge show for me. Remember when Beyonce headlined Coachella? It’s like that for me.”

Don’t go.

“Are you kidding me? Wild horses couldn’t keep me away! Intelligent testing, social tracing, and stringent mask-wearing could have kept me away, but literally nothing can keep me from making that gig now. They call Tulsa ‘the Paris of the Plains,’ y’know?”

They don’t.

“They should. Hep little town. I’m gonna kill it there.”

I bet you will.

Another Call From My Doctor’s Office

CELL PHONE NOISE

Yo.

“Hello, may I speak to Mr. on the Dead? This is Medicine calling!”

Speaking.

“I have so very many instructions for you before your multiple major medical interventions.”

Common procedures.

“Keep in mind that our staff is rather rusty after the quarantine. And that most of our nurses have self-provided bangs. Keep both of those facts in mind!”

I will.

“Have you received a covid test?”

Yes.

“What about an Ovid test?”

What?

“What does Daphne turn herself into to escape the seductions of Apollo?”

I have no–

“A tree! Your Ovid test has come back negative.”

I wish I had better insurance.

“Well, my mother used to say Wish into one hand, turn into a tree with the other, and see where the squirrels store their nuts. Her autopsy showed that she had been having micro-strokes since childhood!”

Can you just tell me the instructions?

“First, you jump to the left.”

Nope.

“And then a step to the right.”

Not correct at all.

“Put your hands on your…wait, I am reading from the wrong instructions. You don’t have to do any dancing at all! It is mostly related to cleaning out your pipes.”

Gotcha.

“On a scale of John Candy to Karen Carpenter, how bulimic are you?”

Wildly offensive scale.

“And yet clinically precise!”

I am not bulimic at all.

“I am asking because you need to polish and shine every inch of your innards. Mouth to down south!”

I understand.

“Lips to hips!”

Gotcha.

“Tongue to bung!”

Move on.

“You cannot be leaving, say, half a salami sandwich in your jejunum. That’s nasty.”

I will not do so.

“Our staff works so hard, and have such terrible-looking bangs, that they should not be forced to hack through a semi-digested breakfast burrito in order to do their jobs. They need to take a good look! Do not be obfuscating the view, Mr. on the Dead!”

Again: I am gonna follow the instructions of my prep.

“Let us begin: At 6 pm tonight, you will need to eat at least two pounds of pasta, or 18 donuts. You may choose the style of pasta or the kind of donut, as long as it is not a bear claw.”

Why would I need to do that?

“The cameras we will be inserting into you are not as small as they could be! We need to you bloat up so as to give us some elbow room in there!”

That doesn’t sound right.

“After your pasta/pastry meal, you must not eat any food whose name ends in a B. So, no carob or crab, and if you’re gonna eat corn, you cannot have it on the cob. Subs are also out, but you may eat hoagies or grinders.”

Okay.

“At midnight, you are to eat one gumquat.”

What’s a gumquat?

“It is a kumquat wrapped in Hubba-Bubba! It is not delicious!”

I think you made that up.

“Oh, I forgot to ask you: Regarding your butthole, are you an innie or an outie?”

An innie. Everyone’s an innie.

“You would be surprised! I will mark you down as having a concave cave.”

Great.

“Dawn tomorrow begins your proper prep. You must not eat anything heavy. So if your soup starts discussing particle physics, throw it right out! You need to keep your ingurgitating light and frothy.”

I can do that.

“You may not have any cereal with a mascot. Cheerios are fine, but if you eat Cap’n Crunch, you’re gonna die on the table. I am sorry to be so blunt, but I have lost too many patients.”

No kid’s cereal, got it.

“I will need you to drink at least one half-gallon of water, and I will need you to do so in a very loud manner. Over-exaggerate your gulps and swallows. The whole room should know you’re hydrating, Mr. on the Dead!”

Why?

“This is science, sir. I cannot explain it to a layperson.”

Okay.

“Beginning at lunchtime tomorrow, you should begin tapering off your mutton consumption.”

I don’t consume any mutton.

“Start now! I’ll hold!”

“I do not hear mastication!”

Ma’am, I don’t eat mutton. I never have.

“Well, I will discuss the matter with the doctor, but you might have to sign a waiver.”

Gladly.

“At two pm, you will be called by the General Manager of the Anaheim Angels. He will offer you slugger Mike Trout for the moon. Do not make the trade!”

The moon? Like, the one in the sky? How would that even work?

“The Angels’ GM has serious mental problems! They are an open secret in the organization!”

I won’t trade the moon for Mike Trout. I promise.

“When four o’clock rolls around, you can only eat day-old food. Which is much more difficult than you think. Most of the yummables in your kitchen are way older than a day. I would suggest you start offering tugjobs to bakers.”

Taken under advisement.

“Then it is time for the loose juice! The widening-your-hole-a cola! The asshole-explode-a soda!”

Yes, yes. The chemical roto-rooter.

“Imagine Marie Kondo entering your intestines and finding nothing that sparked joy! That is how clean you will be inside!”

I’ve heard.

“At midnight, you must stop eating entirely. And no water. Also, no bright lights.”

Those are the rules for Gremlins.

“And for your procedure! It is a coincidence that all movie-lovers enjoy!”

If you say so.

“And you must wear a mask at all times in our facility. Our staff will not be, and will be mocking you as a weak pussy for doing so, but we do require that patients weak masks.”

Done.

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