He had to get it, y’know. That’s the way the story works.
Thoughts On The Dead
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Page 17 of 1031
Hey, Oteil. Whatcha doing?
“Servicing. Announcing. In a public manner, of course.”
Of course.
“It’s not helpful at all to tell an empty room to vote.”
Structures don’t have the franchise, for one thing.
“Gotta go to the people! Spread the gospel of good governance!”
Everyone should vote.
“Every single American should vote!”
What if they wanna vote for Trump?
“Then they should not vote!”
That’s a little bit hypocritical, isn’t it?
“So be it, man. Goofus gotta go.”
He might have the ronus.
“No. When did this happen?”
Just now.
TWO-TIME GRAMMY WINNER CHECKING HIS PHONE NOISE
…
…
…
“Huh.”
Yeah.
…
…
…
“It is a sin to take joy in another’s illness. No matter what. Hard line on that one. Exception-free rule.”
I agree completely.
“In fact, I’m gonna say a prayer for him.”
Can’t go that far with ya, man.
“It’s not gonna be a great prayer.”
Sarcastic?
“You can’t pray sarcastically. God’ll punish you for that shit. I’m thinking more along the lines of ‘perfunctory.'”
Gotcha.
Hey, archivist-with-the-mostivist David Lemieux. Whatcha doing?
“Proposing.”
Is that how you do it in Canada?
“Oh, yeah. Gotta be a river involved. And you wanna give your bride-to-be a trout worth about two month’s salary.”
That is not a two-month trout, dude.
“Check the market, bub. Trout’s gone through the roof.”
I’m not arguing about the price of fish. Why are you proposing to me?
“Well, I was thinking about the reaming you’re taking.”
Heavy ream.
“And you’d be a lot better off as a Canadian citizen. But, obviously, you don’t have much to offer in terms of skills or cash, so they won’t just let you in.”
My selling points are few.
“So I figured the Christian thing to do is gay-marry you and make you a Canadian.”
I’m down. Do I have to watch Letterkenny?
“You have to watch Letterkenny.”
Good with that. Been looking for an excuse.
“Quality Canadian Content right there.”
Dave–
“David.”
–aren’t you already married? To a woman? And have seven children?
“You’re referring to my wife, Regina, and the kids: Gordie, Girl Gordie, Northstar, Jean-Luc, Fleece, and the twins, Billie and Mickie.”
Yes. Them.
“They’re cool with it.”
I’m in. How soon can I get some sweet, sweet Commie healthcare?
“We can drive directly from the airport to the hospital. Do you want a superkidney?”
What the hell is that?
“It’s a thing we have up here. Don’t tell anyone. Want one?”
Sure.
“Great, it’s settled. We’re getting married, and you’re getting bionic organs implanted.”
This is the best news I’ve heard in weeks.
“Your future starts here and now. In this river.”
…
“You gotta eat the fish to make it official.”
Raw?
“You eat sushi, don’t you?”
Sushi isn’t the whole thing. It’s just the delicious middle bit. Sushi isn’t the scales and the guts.
“Y’gotta eat the fish, man. You want a superkidney or not?”
Oh, fine.
In case you simply cannot.
(I know the debate started a half-hour ago, so I’m a bit late; in my defense: shmancer.)
Hey, Pig. Whatcha doing?
“Blowin’ my harp, an’ lookin’ sharp!”
Right on both counts. How many instruments did you play?
“Ain’t never played none of ’em. It’s serious business! You wanna play, you get you a hula hoop an’ a Betsy-Wetsy doll!”
Also true. Y’know, Lee should’ve totally paid you to endorse their jeans.
“We are in no way conflicted in our opinions! In fact, I called over to their offices once t’see if we could put into place the very agreement you spoke of.”
Really?
“The ol’ Pig don’t lie! I rang ’em up, got some mucketymuck on the line, an’ I got t’ castigatin’! You’re ignorin’ the longhair market, I tells the suit. You gotta appeal to the dopers, I continue. They don’t wear nothin’ but jeans! It’s what y’call a captive market, Captain Capitalist! That’s what I said to the man.”
How’d he respond?
“Predictably!”
He hung up on you?
“After some rather imaginative oaths!”
Win some, lose some.
“An’ I didn’t let the interaction sour me on the pants! They’re made of sturdy stuff, plus they make the ol’ Pig’s ass look 30% more grabbable than it naturally is.”
You had it going on, man. Lemme ask you something.
“Anythin’.”
Do I have a civic duty to watch the debate tonight?
“Hell, no. Get your load on an’ watch some Bugs Bunny. Payin’ attention t’ politicians only encourages ’em.”
Pig, you’re the wisest man I know.
“You should meet more people!”
“Hey! Thoughts on my Ass! How’s your crank?”
My crank’s good. I feel like you’re trying to tell me something.
“I don’t go for that understatement bullshit. I say what’s on my mind. Sometimes, I wear what’s on my mind. Depends on what shirt’s clean, I guess.”
Well, I think your ensemble makes a good point. We all gotta vote.
“Especially this time. You been reading the paper?”
Now and then.
“I try to avoid it. Don’t even get it delivered to the house anymore. But the other day, Justy told me that the paper is on the computer now. I knew it did the emails and porn, but I had no idea the paper was in there, too.”
Never ceasing are these wonders.
“Fuckin’ A! So I gave the old Chronicle a read, and found out two very important pieces of information.
Which were?
“Herb Caen doesn’t have a column any more.”
He died 20 years ago.
“Guess I learned three pieces of information today.”
What was the second thing?
“This Trump guy’s a real asshole.”
Yes.
“Does everybody know?”
Also yes, but some people aren’t upset by the fact.
“Never been so glad that I left America.”
Hawaii is a state, Billy.
“Only legally, and just temporarily. Our Queen will return to us.”
I hope so.
I beg your forgiveness, Enthusiasts. Slim pickings ’round here lately. This is a symptom of the poisonings, apparently. Chemo Fog, it is called. Makes sentences into hills, paragraphs into unconquerable mountains. What I’m good at right now is watching movies I’ve seen a dozen times: I am positively Olympian at that shit. Blankly cruising around the internet.
And I should slow down with medications. Mustn’t let the cure be worse than the disease.
In addition, many of you have sent in donations or gifts, and at least the majority of you were not thanked properly. A group of you chipped in to send me an incredible collection of Garcia’s art, and I barely mentioned it. Damn rude of me. Please know that I meant to take pictures and write all about it, but it’s just been slightly beyond me. I’m gonna get my shit together; I can feel my shit coalesce.
I’m as disappointed as you are.
In addition to young people, I also do not understand Russians. But I know a banger when I hear one.
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