Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Bootylicious and Girls Girls Girls are the exact same song.
QED.
“We’re squad goals, right? Is that what we’re saying now? Squad? Squizzle? Are you still doing the ‘izzle’ thing?”
CELL PHONE NOISE
CELL PHONE NOISE
“New phone, who dis?”
“Please hold for the President.”
“Oh, come on.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you? Just say ‘vote for me’ and leave. Stop ad libbing! I don’t know who’s stiffer, you or Bill.”
“You have no idea of the pressure I am under here, Mr. President.”
“No, no: you’re right. My campaigns were a lot easier.”
“Thank you.”
“How could it not be easy? I was up against you.”
“Fuck you.”
“Listen, here’s the plan. at this point, there are no undecideds. We just gotta get people excited. Jay and Bey are good, but we need to target other demographics, and be smart about it. Right celebrity for the right location. I’ve been making calls. Setting up events. I’m like Bill Graham, but I don’t yell at people in Yiddish, so nothing like Bill Graham.”
“Who’d you get?”
“Pitbull.”
“Mr. Worldwide, Mr. President?”
“Si. On his way to Miami. Actually, he lives there, but you know what I mean.”
“Perfecto.”
“Don’t speak Spanish. Leave that to whats-his-face.”
“My veep?”
“Yeah.”
“I wanna say Tom.”
“Flip? Is his name Flip?”
“Christ, I hope not.”
“Whatever. Early voting in Georgia looks good. I think we can take it.”
“How?”
“I’m sending in Cher to entertain the homosexuals of Atlanta.”
“You’re a goddamned genius, Mr. President.”
“Yes. LeBron’s doing speeches in every city in Ohio with more than five black people, and I called in a favor in Wisconsin.”
“You got Aaron Rodgers?”
“Better: Laverne and Shirley.”
“I’m in awe.”
“Yeah, sure. Hey, let’s play a fun game. It’s called ‘How badly would Barack Obama have beaten Trump?’ You go first.”
“Shame you weren’t this aggressive with Congress.”
“I could cancel all this stuff right now.”
“Thank you, Mr. President.”
“Put Beyoncé on the phone. I’d like to thank her for her patriotism.”
“Mr. President.”
“That’s an order.”
…
“Hello, Mr. President. This is Beyoncé.”
“Hey, boo.”
“Who are you talking to!?”
“Michelle!”
“Gimme that phone.”
“I need it. I’m running the world.”
“You’re running your mouth.”
“Aw.”
“PLEASE TELL THE BLACK PEOPLE TO VOTE FOR ME!”
“It doesn’t really work like–”
CELL PHONE NOISE
CELL PHONE NOISE
“Notorious HRC.”
“Please hold for the President, Madam Secretary.”
“Katy Perry?”
“The actual President, ma’am.”
“Gotcha.”
“You’re killing me.”
“What did I do now?”
“Y’know, Sasha is a great kid. Real smart, outgoing, funny. Great kid. Not much of an athlete, but I would go to her soccer games and cheer her on as she tripped over her own feet, ran the wrong way, and sometimes just laid down on the field and took a nap. But I kept cheering her on. And, y’know what, Hill? I’m having deja vu.”
“Mr. President–”
“And what the fuck is this Satan nonsense?”
“No Satan.”
“Can’t be worshipping Satan, Hill.”
“No Satan. You’re the Satan.”
…
“You okay?”
“I told you that Katy Perry was here, right?”
“Sure. Sure.”
“She knows wonderful people. Do you know a guy named Doctor Gary?”
“Stay away from Doctor Gary, Hillary.”
“He made me a smoothie.”
“Do not let Doctor Gary make you a smoothie, Hillary.”
“I feel awesome.”
“Every day with you is a gift. Looking forward to the next four years if you win, or the next five or six months if you lose.”
“I’m not gonna lose, Mr. President.”
“Course not. You’re almost two whole points up on a tantrum-throwing rapist owned by the Kremlin. Hey, do you remember that rumor about how you were actually a man? God, that was sexist and awful, but I’m starting to believe it: I don’t know how someone fucks herself like you have without a dick.”
“It is only the smoothie keeping me from saying horrible things about you.”
“Oh, noooo. Please don’t mock my…what is there?”
“All the wars you oversaw after getting the Nobel Peace Prize?”
“Pssh. Like you ever saw a war you didn’t love.”
“Obamacare.”
“Millions more people signed up, companies can’t deny pre-existing conditions, and the only places it’s tanking are where the Republican governments have sabotaged it. Plus, you know: I got my crappy healthcare plan passed. Did you?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Gonna be co-president! What a heady time, the early 90’s. Remember how many swords you kept handing out? ‘Vast Right-Wing Conspiracy.’ Said that one on national teevee, back when that mattered. How’d that work out?”
“What!? There has been, is at present, and will continue to be a provable and documented concerted effort by the right to destroy me. I was right!”
…
“Ahhh I’m fucking with you, Hill. They really are out to get you.”
“Tell me about it.”
“You know, Jay: they call me H to the Izzo, as well.”
CELL PHONE NOISE
CELL PHONE NOISE
“This is Hill–”
“What did I tell you about acting weird in front of Jay and Bey?”
“I was not acting weird, Mr. President.”
“Woman, I could beat you to death in the Rose Garden and people would say, ‘Well, it’s 2016,’ and then give me a parade.”
“I was trying to relate to Jay.”
“Forget that he’s black. Talk to him like he’s rich.”
“Oh, hell: I know how to talk to rich people. Will he pay me to talk to him? Rich people love paying me to talk to them.”
“Hillary, I had to do several favors to set this up.”
“What?”
“Blue Ivy got accepted to Harvard.”
“She’s four.”
“Early acceptance.”
“Okay.”
“Listen, me and Michelle aren’t going to be the president and first lady come next year, but Jay and Bey are still going to be Jay and Bey, got me? I will no longer have the armed forces, and she’ll have the Beyhive. I need to stay on the Black Illuminati’s good side.”
“The what?”
“Nothing. Just stop being weird. Don’t do your little accent, don’t pull out your hot sauce, don’t start talking about how many Stevie Wonder records you have. You’re not Bill; you can’t pull it off.”
“Fine.”
“Speaking of which: where is Bill?”
“Nowhere near Beyoncé.”
“Good.”
…
“How’s she looking?”
“Bey?”
“Yeah.”
“I would.”
“Sure. Do you, uhhh, hear a weird noise?”
“Like angry breathing?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah.”
“Eh, probably nothing. Hillary: don’t fuck this up.”
“Suck my dick, Barry.”
“Before you act, just ask yourself: what would Obama do? And then do that.”
“Suck it hard and long, Hussein.”
“Right after I finish my cigar.”
“Asalaam Alaikum.”
I have no opinion on Beyoncé other than I’d respect her more as an artist if she wrote her own songs, like Sinatra or Elvis. I mean: does she even write her own lyrics? The Dead came up with their own words; they didn’t just let random poets or ranchers or Star Trek actors do it for them.
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