Thoughts On The Dead

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

Page 479 of 1031

Secret, Asian

elvis-kim-2

“ATTENTION, ER’RYBODY. AH AM ALIVE AND STILL VERY HANDSOME AN’ TALENTED. ALSO, AH HAVE DEFECTED TO NORTH KOREA–”

“Only Korea.”

“–VOLUNTAR’LY AN’ OF MAH OWN FREE WILL AN’ ALL THAT.”

Oh, thank God. You’re alive.

“Course I alive.”

Not you.

“AH HAVE PERSEVERED THROUGH MY BONDAGE, MUCH LIKE THE JEWS IN ANCIENT EGYPT.”

Wow, very thematic seeing as how you’re in the King Tut suite of the Luxor Hotel in Vegas, which Katy Perry owns.

“GOOD WORK, BOY. AH’M ELVIS GODDAMNED PRESLEY, AND THIS FISHHEAD SUMBITCH GOT A NUKE. WE AIN’T DOIN’ NO EXPOSITION.”

Sure. Speaking of that nuke: how’s it doing?

“BETTER.”

Better? That implies that it was worse at some point. What happened to the nuclear device?

“MAH ILLITERATE, DROOPY-BALLED, DEADBEAT FARTFUCKER OF A DADDY–”

Vernon.

“–MISTOOK THAT THERE DEVICE FOR SOME OTHER FORM O’ DEVICE. AH CANNOT ATTEST TO SPECIFICS, BUT THE CATEGORY WAS ‘THAT WHICH LOVE MAY BE SHARED WITH.'”

Holy shit.

“Hillbilly daddy fuck nuke. My daddy invent nuke. My daddy better.”

Holy shit.

“HEY MAN. ISS A PARTY.”

No, it isn’t! You’ve been kidnapped!

“SAME THING, MAN.”

Any chance you two can not set off the fission device for five minutes?

“THERE’S A CHANCE OF A LOTTA STUFF HAPPENIN’.”

“Nuke probably no go off. ‘No go off’ is smart money.”

Kim Jong-Un, may I speak to the King alone for just one moment?

“Absolutely no.”

“FATTY, YOU TELL THE KING WHAT HE CAN AND CANNOT DO ONE MORE TIME AN’ AH’LL SHOOT YOU WITH KARATE! AH WILL SPEAK WITH WHOM I AM PLEASING TO SPEAK UNTO WITH.”

“WHATCHU WANT, BOY?

King, can we talk just between you and me?

elvis-sideeye-press-conference

“GO ON.”

What’s happening here?

“AH ALLOWED MAHSELF TO BE CAPTURED AND KIDNAPPED AND FORCIBLY DEFECTED, OF COURSE.”

Of course.

“AH WAS UNDERCOVER! AH HAD A BADGE FOR IT AN’ EVERYTHING!”

Shouldn’t an undercover agent not have a badge? Y’know what: forget I asked. Let’s move past it.

“AH INFILTRATED THE KING TUT SUITE WHERE THE DEVICE WAS LOCATED AN’ WAS ABOUT TO TAKE POSSESSION OF IT!”

Lemme guess what happened.

“WHEN MY WEBBED-TOED, CHICKEN-STEALING, SYPHILITIC BATHTUB RING OF A BUMPKIN DADDY–”

Vernon.

“–MADE HIS LOVE, HE DONE PUT A CRIMP IN MAH PLANS.”

Why?

“THEY DONE MOVED THE BOMB TO ANOTHER ROOM.”

And that’s defeating you?

“AH LOOKED IN TWO PLACES, BUT IT WAS NOT THERE, AND I BECAME DISTRACTED BY MY ILLNESSES, WHICH NEEDED MEDICATING.”

Great.

“TH’ TASK HAS BEEN ASSIGNED TO THE MEMPHIS MAFIA, THO AH WOULD EXPECT VERY LITTLE.”

Why?

“THEM BOYS IS DUMB AS A BOXFUL O’ DICKS.”

Great.

A Vote For Jesus Is A Vote

keith-donna-smiling-bw

Hey, Godchauxes. Whatcha doing?

“Huh?”

“Waitin’ for my turn to sing, bein’ proud, wearin’ skirts. The usual, sugar.”

Who you two voting for?

sha-plumpf

Did Keith slide bonelessly to the ground?

“Looks like.”

Well, who are you voting for, Mrs. Donna Jean?

“Same person I always vote for: Jesus.”

I don’t think He wants the job.

“He didn’t wanna be the Messiah neither, but He did that pretty good. Jesus ’16!”

Not the worst candidate you could vote for.

“No, that’s Gary Johnson, honey.”

Right.

Doing His Civic Booty

billy-vote-sign

Hey, Billy. Whatcha doing?

“Thoughts on my Ass! Still a lonely weirdo?”

Yeah.

“Great. Look at me, I’m a statesman.”

You’re not.

“Yeah, sure I am. Big statesman. Like Ben Franklin, or Will Rogers. Some dead white guy who told jokes and loved America.”

You registered to vote?

“Grateful Deads are automatically registered to vote.”

That’s not true at all.

“Sure. Jerry Brown snuck it in a bill a few years ago, made it retroactive.”

Retroactive?

“Time Sheath.”

Sure.

“Made everything much easier. None of us were what you’d call detail-oriented. Good thing we got it done, too, because I love voting.”

Yeah?

“Poll worker skank!”

Right.

“They’re so organized. And then when you’re done, they give you a sticker.”

Great.

Sandals Weather

bobby-rando-cape

Goddammit, Bobby: are you wearing white trousers after Labor Day?

“They were sold to me as an eggshell slack.”

What is going on here with the rando?

“Y’know, I haven’t actually seen a rando in years. My brain registers, like, a rando-shaped blur in reality. Mostly so I don’t bump into them, I guess. Otherwise? Zhwoop, out of there.”

Your brain is efficient.

“I don’t need to know, it don’t stick.”

Wow. Is she wearing a cape?

“I think she’s going to a press conference later.”

Sure.

“I got this gig in the record store in a minute. Lemme meet you there. I gotta change.”

That’s polite of you, Bobby.

“You bet.”

bobby-amoeba

This? This is what you changed into?

“You know I’m in Los Angeles, right?”

Sure.

“Ask your watch what the temperature here is.”

Yikes.

“There you go.”

Essentially

bobby-dan-kaufman-amoeba

Evolution pares, Enthusiasts. What once took an entire cohort of Grateful Deads can now be achieved by only one, armed with just an acoustic guitar and a Jew. So far, Bobby has:

  • Identified the ringing sound by its frequency.
  • Worn an outfit he got at Creepy Ernie’s.
  • Forgotten the lyrics.
  • Tuned.
  • Re-tuned.
  • Begun the song only to realize he was out of tune.
  • Re-re-tune.
  • Got in an argument about what key something was in. (He was up there by himself and it was weird.)

Chapter Titles In The New Bruce Springsteen Autobiography (Without Research)

  • “Blue jeans or black jeans: a debate.”
  • “All my best drummers are Jewish.”
  • “It’s good to be The Boss, part 1: Banging Courtney Cox before James Woods got a hold of her.”
  • “A dump of Sting-related anecdotes.”
  • “Terrible secrets I’ve heard about Jon Bon Jovi.”
  • “In which a rearrangement of locale, most beneficial and salubrious to all involved, is embarked upon, and the aforementioned conglomeration of minstrels, wastrels, and roadies is fortified, in fullness, by a newly-arrived male stranger of prodigious mass and bold health.”
  • “Stories about my father.”
  • “More stories about my father.”
  • “Further stories about my father.”
  • “Breakthroughs I made with my therapist (concerning my father).”
  • “My mom, and how she was treated by my father.”
  • “It’s good to be The Boss, part two: Joyce Hyser from Just One of the Guys before Warren Beatty got a hold of her.”
  • “The Ballad of Ernest ‘Boom’ Carter.”
  • “Steen, not Stein: How to explain you’re not Jewish without coming across wrong.”
  • “How to train up a band.”
  • “How to yell at a road crew.”
  • “How to avoid Warren Zevon’s calls.”
  • “Remember all those ‘rivals’ I’ve had, and all the ‘next Springsteens’ there’ve been? Let’s discuss those folks.”
  • “The Heineken years.”
  • “Cruel observations about famous people I am friendly with.”
  • “The time I joined KISS.”
  • “Because ‘speedball’ scans better than ‘fastball’ and if you don’t like it, you can write your own top-ten single.”
  • “I have never had an actual conversation with Roy Bittan.”

New Rule

New rules for the Comment Section:

  1. Any of that “they’re both terrible” bullshit gets you banned. I have no more patience for that particular brand of stupidity and I won’t allow it here. The two presidential candidates are not comparable on any level: resume, temperament, intelligence, trustworthiness. This site will not be a party to that noxious, brain-dead, equivocating bullshit.
  2. That’s it, really.
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