Tiger King was weird, but it didn’t have anything on the 70’s.
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Tag: cher
Of course it starts with the fucking BOOMbumbumbum BOOMbumbumbum drums.
Of course Cher’s wearing a war bonnet while singing about the Cherokee. (That was the Plains Indians: the Crow and the Blackfoot and the Arapahoe and others.)
Of course there’s a totem pole. (The Cherokee didn’t make ’em.)
Of course the backup singers are going HAY-ay-ay-uh.
Of course.
Um.
“Hey, sugar. How you an’ your momma been?”
Fine, I guess. Mrs. Donna Jean, can I ask you a question?
“Don’t s’pose I c’n stop you.”
Why are you a witch?
“Why ain’t you a warlock?”
I will not accept that answer.
“Only one you gettin’, sugar.”
Figures. What’s Cher like?
“She don’t weigh no more’n ninety pounds, I swear. Ah’m skinny, but she’s itty-bitty. An’ she thinks she’s a damn Indian.”
Yeah.
“Feathers all over th’ place. Ev’rything she owns got fringe on it! Woman got fringed dang panties! That’s gotta be th’ first pair o’ them in Alabama. They might be illegal ’round here.”
Maybe. How’s her voice?
“She’s such a nice lady.”
Ah. Gotcha. Mrs. Donna Jean?
“Uh-huh, sugar?”
WHY ARE YOU A WITCH?
“You jus’ gonna have t’ puzzle over it.”
Dammit.
“Hello, Georgia! I love the homosexuals of Atlanta!”
CELL PHONE NOISE
CELL PHONE NOISE
“What? I’m giving a–”
“Please hold for the President.”
“He’s starting to chap my ass.”
“Hold for him anyway, ma’am.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Oh, what now?”
“‘Homosexuals of Atlanta?’ What was that?”
“I came down here specifically to target the LGBTQ community of Atlanta! I brought Cher, and Nene Leakes, and Tyler Perry said he wouldn’t appear but he did send a big check.”
“Right, but you need to be a bit subtler about it. You’re going to Nevada tomorrow to talk to the maids and busboys, but you shouldn’t fucking say that out loud, either. Public positions and private positions, Hillary.”
“You’re hilarious.”
“I tried Podesta’s risotto, by the way. Needed more Satan.”
“Gonna enjoy watching you go insane from boredom after January, Barry.”
“Not as much as I’ll enjoy your term in office.”
“Suck on ’em, Muhammad. They’re hairy and hanging low, and you can suck right on ’em.”
“Keep your head down. Next three days: show up, wave, do that thing you call a smile, and let the celebrities do the talking.”
“I’m appearing with Kanye in Arizona.”
“Holy shit, don’t let Kanye do the talking. Now stop being weird. ‘Homosexuals of Atlanta.’ Seriously, what the fuck?”
“Well, what should I call them?”
“Your fellow Americans.”
“Even the lesbians?”
…
“Hillary, y’know, I think you’re gonna be President. Despite yourself, I think you’re going to occupy the Oval Office come January.”
“Thank you, Mr. President.”
“So what I’m gonna do now is start hiding fish and chicken and other meat in the walls, so by the time you get here it smells like John Boehner’s asshole.”
“Good for you.”
“And then I’m gonna find Joe Biden and slap him silly for not running. I know he had some very good personal reasons for not doing it, but at this point I just don’t give a shit.”
“Mm-hmm. Are we done?”
“Nope. Three more days.”
“Thank God. Oh Mr. President: has anyone found out that I paid that guy to cause the disturbance at the Trump rally tonight?”
…
“Did you just say that to me on a fucking cell phone?”
“It’s fine: it’s Cher’s. Actually, it’s Gregg Allman’s, but he’s trustworthy.”
“You’re killing me.”
Hey, Mickey. Whatcha doing?
“I have no idea.”
Where are you?
“I have no idea.”
Give it a try.
“Idaho?”
Probably not.
“My own private Idaho?”
Certainly not.
“Am I onstage?”
Do you mean that in the sense that all the world’s a stage?
“No.”
Then, no.
“What if I did?”
Then, yes. Are you drunk?
“Do you mean that in the sense that all the world’s a drunk?”
That makes no sense.
“Then, yes.”
You need to cut back, buddy.
“Cut me some slack: I work three hours every three days. And, you know: I only work for twenty minutes out of those three hours. I’m bored.”
Take up a hobby.
“I did. Drinking.”
It’s no good for you. What about skank? You and Billy could cruise the hotel hallways for skank like the old days.
“Oh, no skank for me. I’m dating Cher.”
No, you’re not. That’s Billy. And he’s not dating Cher, either.
“I’m pretty sure that I’m dating Cher.”
NO ONE’S DATING CHER.
“Thoughts on my Ass!”
Hey, Billy. How’s the tour going?
“So much skank, so many checks.”
You’ve got your eyes on the prize.
“Summer of skank, man. Strippers who’ve been fired from every joint in town, heiresses with Yelp accounts so they can review rehabs, moms with their kids in the car: skank!”
Jesus, man.
“What should I do? I got to get another book’s worth of stories together. I blew my wad on the first one, so the second one’s gonna be about blowing my wad.”
Ew.
“A Billdungsroman.”
I see what you did there.
“Actually, the book will be a bit of a multi-generational epic.”
How so?
“I used to scoop up Bobby’s leftovers, but now I go for Josh’s.”
Ah.
“It’s like passing the torch.”
It’s not like that at all.
“Most certainly is. Plus I did a grandma, mom, and daughter at once in Pittsburgh. That’s called a Family Tree.”
How was that?
“Awkward.”
I would imagine. Besides your perversions, how has the tour been for you?
“You gotta see these hotels. Make the Burj Khalifa look like the Chelsea. Last place we stayed at left a mint on your pillow at night.”
Most hotels do that.
“Not a candy. A mint that makes money.”
Oh, that’s better.
“That’s a hotel, man. You know how they fold up towels into shapes? Animals and whatever?”
Yeah.
“Places we stay at fold the towels into historical tableau. Virginia was the Battle of Salamis.”
Wow.
“The washcloth was Themistocles.”
Wow.
“And the butlers! I don’t know how I lived without one. There’s a new one at every hotel. I’ve been putting them in my suitcase before I check out.”
What?
“Well, actually I have them pack themselves, cuz what’s the point of a butler, y’know?”
You can’t steal the butlers, Billy. Butlers are people.
“Butlers are servants.”
Regardless. And you can’t put them in your suitcase.
“I put Benjy in my suitcase all the time.”
And it killed him. Luckily, he turned out to be immortal.
“Whatever. Live butlers, dead butlers. Same thing.”
Nope.
“I might bring Benj back to write this next book. I been keeping notes. Call it the Skank Bank.”
Of course you do.
“A short description, plus a thought or two. Also some pictures of buttholes.”
Ew.
“But I took the pictures with that Snapchat thing Josh showed me and the butthole looks like a cute dog and a tongue is coming out of it.”
I’ll stay with my ‘ew.’
“Lemme read some to you. Ooh, this one’s from Hartford. Special Ed teacher who got fired for drinking on the job. She gave me a Schnitzel.”
…
“She gave me a Schnitzel.”
…
“She gave–”
What’s a Schnitzel?
“She pounded my German meat.”
This is why we don’t talk more.
“Banged an entire drum circle in Alpine Valley. Just went round and round lifting up peasant skirts. Mickey joined in.”
The banging?
“The drum circle.”
Sounds right.
“Cher.”
…
What?
“Cher.”
What do you mean ‘Cher?’
“You know what I mean. Cher. She came out to Boulder. She knows Black Phil–”
His name is Oteil, dammit.
“–and she came out to Boulder to see us. Cher.”
No. This didn’t happen in the real world or in this universe or anywhere. No. It did not happen, no. No.
…
“Cher.”
Stop it.
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