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

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Bitchin’ Brew

On 4/9/70, Miles and his electric band opened for the Dead at the world-famous Fillmore West in San Francisco. I am gonna sit here, get poisoned, and listen to the evening’s presentation. Join me! (Not for the poisoning. You don’t want that. Just listen to Miles and the Dead with me.)

Here (along with the newly-deceased Stevie Grossman on soprano sax, Chick Corea on the electric piano, Dave Holland on the Fender bass, Jack DeJohnette on drums, and Friend of the Dead Airto Moreira on assorted percussion) is Mr. Davis:

And here’s everybody’s favorite semi-defunct choogly-type band:

 

Overheard At The Democratic National Convention

  • “Can we get one of the Biden grandkids to fix the Zoom? Apparently, Joe clicked on something he shouldn’t have and installed a bunch of taskbars.”
  • “I don’t care if he used to be Speaker of the House; tell Boehner to put out the damn cigarette or he’s not going in-air.”
  • “John Kasich just made all the interns cry.”
  • “The President just tweeted out ‘PAY ATTENTION TO ME OR I’LL LAUNCH THE NUKES.’ Do we need to have a response to that?”
  • “Who has eyes on Beyoncé? I need a 40 on Beyoncé.”
  • “I know you’re wearing a mask, President Clinton, but I can still see what you’re doing with your tongue.”
  • “Which Castro brother am I looking at?”
  • “Are those…wolves…wandering through the Target Center? What the fuck, man? That’s downright post-apocalyptic. I hate this fucking year, man.”
  • “John Kasich just tackled a staffer.”
  • “It’s not too late to just do four straight days of Michelle Obama. I’m right about this. Flotus wins us white women. She’s the new Oprah.”
  • “Yes, I understand that Senator Sanders was promised that he could say whatever he wanted. We’re fine with ‘Defund the police.’ But ‘Collectivize the farms’ is just a bridge too far.”
  • “Someone tell Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez that she has 35 seconds, and she will be tazed if she goes over. Meg Whitman went long.”
  • “We need an ambulance at the Biden house. One of the crew called Jil ‘Mrs. Biden’ instead of ‘Dr. Biden,’ and she went for his eyes. He really should’ve known better.”
  • “You dosed the Native American Caucus? I dosed the Native American Caucus. Jesus, how many people dosed the Native American Caucus? We should go check on them.”
  • “The staffer that John Kasich tackled called the cops, and when the cops came, John Kasich kicked one of them in the nuts. And he did it in front of his camera, so the Russians and Chinese have that footage now.”
  • “Gillis, if you mention the fucking balloons one more time, I’m gonna shit in your nostrils. We’re all sad there’s no balloons. Stop bringing it up.”
  • “Who told Billie Eilish she could give a speech instead of singing? Someone explain to me why the green-haired 19-year-old is discussing the Dodd-Frank Act.”

What Fresh Terrors Are Upcoming?

August – Hurricane made out of machetes that’s also been trained in the art of ninjitsu, so it sneaks up on Florida and BAM: machetcane in your living room.

September – Everyone grows four, maybe five, dicks in the middle of their foreheads. You thought Trump was difficult to look at now? Wait ’til he’s got a bunch of cocks bobbling right above his eyebrows.

October – Bono moves into your house, and every time he gets in your way, he says, “I’m not boogin’ ya, am I? I didna mean t’ boog ya.” Which, obviously, gets on your nerves and so you give Bono a piledriver and accidentally kill him. You go to prison and get stabbed almost immediately by the White Power guys, who are huge fans of U2.

November – Turkeys get their revenge, man. What made the turkeys smart? How did they organize? Who gave them chainsaws? No one knows the answer to these questions, and there’s no time to do any research cuz the turkeys are coming for all of us, and turkeys are a lot faster than you would imagine.

Also November – It rains men. Full-grown male humans start plummeting from the clouds at terminal velocity, which is around 120-mph. No one says “Hallelujah.” More like “OHMIGOD, ARE THOSE MEN?” and then nothing because they have been man-rained to death. Can’t even hide inside; the men are plunging straight through roofs. They do kill the turkeys, though.

December – Jewnami. First, the tide goes out. Then, everyone hears a rumbling. It’s a 40-foot tall wall of Jews racing up the beach. The worst part–besides the millions of people killed instantly–is that Nazis will be all, “We told you the Jews were dangerous,” and there’s really no counter-argument.

Shoebox Of Rain

Hey, Phil. Whatcha doing?

“Holding up a tennis shoe, dipshit. You blind?”

I’m not blind.

“That’s good. You can’t see how ugly you are.”

Thank you. What’s with the sneaker?

“No idea. Grahame said to hold it up. I didn’t want to, but he hid the remote.”

Been watching a lot of teevee during the pandemic?

“Going through about a dozen Law & Orders a day. I got three or four Tivos full of ’em. Great show. So, what the hell is this monstrosity?

Nike made them for the sneakerhead market.

“Is that a sex thing?”

No. Sneakers are, like, art or something now. People collect ’em. There’s a huge secondary market.

“Christ, your generation is a disappointment.”

I don’t disagree. Nice couch.

“Stop looking at me and my things.”

Okay.

 

 

Hail, Hail Zevonia

You’ve got an invalid haircut
It hurts when you smile
You’d better get out of town
Before your nickname expires
It’s the kingdom of the spiders
It’s the empire of the ants
You need a permit to walk around downtown
You need a license to dance
Life’ll kill ya
That’s what I said
Life’ll kill ya
Then you’ll be dead
Life’ll find ya
Wherever you go
Requiescat in pace
That’s all she wrote
From the President of the United States
To the lowliest rock and roll star
The doctor is in and he’ll see you now
He don’t care who you are
Some get the awful, awful diseases
Some get the knife, some get the gun
Some get to die in their sleep
At the age of a hundred and one
Life’ll kill ya
That’s what I said
Life’ll kill ya
Then you’ll be dead
Life’ll find ya
Wherever you go
Requiescat in pace
That’s all she wrote
Maybe you’ll go to heaven
See Uncle Al and Uncle Lou
Maybe you’ll be reincarnated
Maybe that stuff’s true
If you were good
Maybe you’ll come back as someone nice
And if you were bad
Maybe you’ll have to pay the price
Life’ll kill ya
That’s what I said
Life’ll kill ya
Then you’ll be dead
Life’ll find ya
Wherever you go
Requiescat in pace
That’s all she wrote

Won’t You, Gentleman, Have A Pepsi?

“Fragile little flower, aren’t you?”

Excuse me?

“One little cancer and you lay down and die. I beat cancer more times than Joe Jackson beat Tito. I beat cancer three times while I was taking a shit this morning.”

Really?

“I forgot my phone. Had nothing to do.”

Sure.

“We tell disease to go fuck itself. You know I had Lou Gehrig’s for two weeks in 1992?”

You did? What happened.

“I told Lou to fuck himself! Weren’t you listening to me?”

Sorry.

“Pay attention, you little creep.”

I said I was sorry.

“Don’t cower. You leave your warm bed in the cold, dark dawn. You dress by feel. Your rifle is already loaded, and you can sling it over your shoulder without waking your family, and you go to the ancient wood. You go to the ancient wood with your rifle and find the disease and shoot the motherfucker right between the eyes. That’s what you do. Don’t you fucking cower.”

Yeah, okay.

“And get back to the jokes, dirtdick. No one wants to hear you whine.”

You’re probably right. What’s in the briefcase?

“Bottle of Beaujolais, half-an-ounce of Merck coke, and a couple X-Man comics.”

Cool.

A Lovely Visit With The Big Guy

“Dying, huh?”

After a fashion.

“Try to do it in your sleep, man. Much less hassle. No paperwork that way, either.”

I’ll keep that in mind. Any other advice?

“I try not to give advice, man. It encourages wisdom-seekers, right? You give one guy advice, and someone sees, and now they want some. Soon it’s your full-time job, man, and that sounds like a drag.”

Oh.

“I’ll give you one of those uncashed checks, though.”

From the big pile just out of frame?

“Yeah. I sit in one place for more than an hour, a pile of uncashed checks appears next to me. Close your eyes and grab one.”

You’re the best, Big Guy.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t call me that, man.”

But you’re the Big Guy!

“You want the check or not, man?”

Sorry.

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