Blessed Be The Musicmakers

Why does the black guy have to be pointing at the white guy?

“He doesn’t have to be.”

And yet he is. Why don’t you hit him with an axe handle, Bull Connor?

“Why are you like this?”

Like how? Like a non-racist? I don’t know. Some of us were born woke, man.

“Please stop it.”

I’m Josh Meyers and I make black guys point at me. That’s what you sound like.

“Mocking impressions of my voice don’t really work in print.”

YOU DON’T WORK IN PRINT, MONSTER.

“Leave me be. Please. Why won’t you leave me be to enjoy my collectible possessions and membership in exclusive dating apps?”

You were the one who wanted to be in the Grateful Dead.

“Please.”

…

You really can’t grow a beard, can you?

“Please.”

CELL PHONE NOISE

“Is it Nixon?”

Yeah.

“Has he been drinking?”

Oh, yeah.

…

“You’re on with John.”

“Get your guitar, boy. Bring it here. Your country needs you.”

“I cant join your band, Mr. President.”

“It’s this or Vietnam, boy. I, uh, have that power. It was granted to me by the founders. Brilliant men, the founders. Not one Italian in the bunch, and I think that says something. Some types need to be kept outside the room where the decisions are made. They’re too passionate for government work, but they make a hell of a shoe. By God, they make a hell of a shoe.”

“I have no idea how to respond to that.”

“You fetch your guitar and join your president, that’s how. Hearts and minds, son. Free the hearts and minds, and the, uh, ass will follow. Kissinger says that all the time, but he says it in that accent and no one knows what the hell he’s on about. Man sounds like he’s going down on a bratwurst. Anyway, get down here to Nashville. We’re at the Grand Ol’ Opry. Obviously, your friend there cannot join you.”

“Wow.”

“Not my rules. Nixon has always been a friend to the negro, in public. You may recall Sam Davis hugging me quite tightly. He is, uh, known in the business as ‘Sammy.’ Many entertainers go by those sorts of names. Johnny, Kenny, Sammy, so on. Little boys’ names. Not me. Nixon has always been a Dick.”

…

“I’m just gonna let that one go by, Mr. President.”

“Yes, yes, fine. Do you know The Chattahoochie Stomp?”

“No.”

“What about Momma’s In The Kitchen, Daddy’s In The Ground?”

“No.”

“You’ll pick it up. Get here or the next call comes from the IRS.”

“You can do that?”

“The, uh, President can do whatever he wants.”

“Seems like it.”