I win the “What does John Mayer look like now?” game. I win that game.
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Tag: john mayer (Page 26 of 42)
“Can I not be part of this?”
You look very handsome in that tuxedo. I can tell you put a lot of thought into choosing the old-school shawl collar.
…
“Okay, I’ll do it.”
Great. Read the teleprompter.
“Why am I floating in vomit-colored space?”
You have the absolutely perfect amount of shirt cuff showing.
“Thank you for noticing! Me and my shirt guy spent weeks tryingHEY, STOP THAT!”
Complimenting you?
“I know what you’re doing.”
Just read the copy.
“Fine. Enthusiasts, we here at TotD look forward to many more seasons of such fan favorites as “Bobby doesn’t know people’s names” and “Conversations with animals” and “Putting off reviews of several books people have so kindly sent,” but quality like that doesn’t come cheap. Okay, it’s cheap as hell, but not free. And more cheap as in “high heels with Jordache jeans and Marlboro red cigarettes” rather than simply inexpensive, so–”
…
“What the fuck am I reading?”
My beautiful, beautiful words. Keep going or I’ll have Taylor Swift call you some more.
“Okay! Okay! Uhh, buh buh buh, okay there we go…so please go to the Donate Button and give TotD all your money.”
…
“Blunt ending, huh?”
We call that a direct appeal. Keep going.
“Fine. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome my co-host Mike Tyson. What?”
![[PDF] The latest Mike Tyson](http://thoughtsonthedead.com/wp-content/uploads/PDF-The-latest-Mike-Tyson-1024x569.jpg)
“Greetingth and thalutationth, Joth Meyerth. I love the way you tholo.”
“Dammit.”
“Ith Taylor Thwift theeing anyone? Or thtill thingle?”
“I quit.”
Aw.
CELL PHONE NOISE
CELL PHONE NOISE
…
…
…
CELL PHONE NOISE
CELL PHONE NOISE
…
…
…
CELL PHONEKERSMASH TINKLE PLINKLE
…
…
…
BACKUP CELL PHONE NOISE
BACK–
“What!? It’s my day off! What!?”
“You need to be nicer to me, John.”
“Katylumps?”
“Don’t call me that, John. I am now Madam President Katy Rodham Perry. I’m the president, John.”
“I have accepted the Democratic Party’s nomination, and now I’m the President of the United States, John.”
“You sang a song and did some light banter, Katy.”
“No, John. There were procedural votes and the backrooms were filled with smoke, and now I’m the Potus with the mostest. I have the football, John.”
“Katy.”
“The nuclear football.”
“Katy.”
“I could burn it all, John.”
…
“I seem to have misplaced the nuclear football, John.
“You don’t have the…Katy, you’re not the president. I promise.”
“If you’re going to be negative, you can’t be in my drawers, John.”
“Cabinet.”
“You can’t be in any of my furniture. I think you’re intimidated by my womanly power. I am the first lady president, John.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Besides Calvin Coolidge.”
“Calvin Coolidge was a man, Katy.”
“No. Lady. Pope Joan-type situation. That’s why there’s no pictures of him naked.”
“Could be.”
“What are you doing?”
“I am trying to enjoy my day off and get some exercise. My grocery shopping was already ruined.”
“Did you borrow those shorts from Bobby?”
“Yeah, how did you…can you see me?”
“Don’t worry about it. Also, your form is awful, John.”
“I just want to relax. Wait, weren’t you kidnapped by ninjas?”
“Scottish ninjas. The Scottish ninjas kidnapped me, John. And then we played Glastonbury, and they were killed by the actual ninjas, who took me to Japan.”
“Right. Then what happened?”
“A half-assed attempt at more Earthroamer adventures, and then Bobby turned into Lego with a Beatle.”
“Continuity is not this universe’s strong suit.”
“No. Our semi-fictional reality is an NP problem: if given the present bearing, you couldn’t work out how everything got to that place in less time than it took to read everything up to there.”
“Your level of intelligence fluctuates at random, doesn’t it?”
“Were you listening to me? It’s a shoddily-constructed universe, John. We struggle to maintain our selves in the storm of new experience, and find shelter only within each other.”
…
“That was pretty, Katy.”
“Speechwriters whipped it up. I’m the president now, John.”
“Dammit, Katy–”
CALL WAITING NOISE
CALL WAITING NOISE.
“Hold on, John. It’s the red phone.”
“You don’t have the red phone.”
“It’s a red phone.”
“I’ll hold.”
…
“Is this Leader of Hot Dog Dick Americans, Katy Perry?”
“New phone, who dis?
“You in big trouble from little China, lady!”
“I got Glorious Octopus of Juche Death! Fuck your shit right up!”
“Uh-huh. Can you hold on one sec?”
“I hold.”
“Awesome.”
…
“John?”
“Katy.”
“Wow.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Who’s on the other line?”
“Don’t be mad, but I have no idea. He seems like someone the president should know. He has a Death Octopus, John.”
“Did he call you a hot dog dick?”
“By association, yes.”
“Goddammit.”
“And I think he stole Hillary’s pantsuit.”
“Godammit.”
CELL PHONE NOISE
CELL PHONE NOISE
“This is–”
“John, shut the fuck up, you twat-breathed cunthair, or I’ll feed that lumpy turkey gobble you call a cock to my cat. WHERE’S MY BOYFRIEND, FUCKO? I need to fucking DATE, asshole-eyes! I fucking SING and I fucking WEAR CLOTHES and I fucking HAVE FRIENDS and I MOTHERFUCKING DATE. My BRAND is NOT BEING SERVICED, you pile of CORN-FILLED SHIT.”
…
“Hey, Taylor. How’re things?”
“Tense.”
“I hear that.”
“I’ll kill you, John.”
“Please don’t say that.”
“With my hands, John. I’ll kill you with my hands.”
“Why is this my responsibility, anyway? I’m very busy singing and wearing clothes and having friends on my own.”
“But you’re not dating. DATE ME, CUM-NOSE!”
“Cum-nose?”
“Nasal creampie.”
“Huh. Gotta try that.”
“I WILL MURDER YOU IF I AM NOT DATING SOMEONE BY THE END OF THIS PHONE CALL, MEYERS.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“And then I will LEAVE YOUR ROTTING CORPSE IN one of my MANY, MANY HOMES and I will DATE YOUR FUCKING CORPSE, JOHN!”
“You really love to date.”
“I do. What are you doing?”
“Groceries, wearing clothes.”
“You love wearing clothes.”
“I do.”
“Where’d you get those pants?”
“Borrowed them from Bobby. Wait: can you see me?”
“Don’t worry about it. DATE ME, MOTHERFUCKER!”
“Taylor, listen: I can’t–
CALL WAITING SOUND
CALL WAITING SOUND
“–do this right now, and…shit, hold on. I’ll be right back.
…
“It’s Mayer, player.”
“WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRR! I drop bomb on all you hot dog dicks!”
“Who is this?”
“This is Kim Jong-Un from Only Korea. Put Harry Mendoza on line.”
“Hold on.”
“COCKSUCKA!”
…
“Taylor, I should take this.”
“COCKSUCKER!”
Allow me to preface my silly little jokes with this: hail to the road crew. First in, last out, first blamed.
In no particular order:
- If you asked someone to describe what this photo would look like before they saw it, they would have gotten it exactly right; nothing about this photo is a surprise.
- Oh, wait: there’s a bunch of ladies.
- They are hidden in the back.
- Maybe the photographer is a bear, and all the women are menstruating, and the men are being chivalrous.
- Beard guy.
- Bald guy.
- Bald guy who is maybe black.
- Lady in red cocktail dress.
- Matt Busch.
- Other beard guy.
- Waldo.
- Harry Knowles.
- Y’know, I think Bald Maybe Black Guy and Handsome Dan back there are the drivers for some reason–the two guys by Mrs. Donna Jean in the Stealie button-downs–and now I am fascinated by them and am starting to make up stories about them.
- I will come up with better names, though.
- And speaking on behalf of Mrs. Donna Jean: same shit, different century.
“The Earthroamer looks different than last time, Bob.”
“Y’know, that’s the sort of detail we like to gloss over around here.”
“It’s very nice in here, actually.”
“Have you pooped yet?”
“The very second I got onboard. Couldn’t control me bowels, Bob.”
“Earthroamer does that to people. Drives Josh nuts.”
“Josh?”
“Josh Meyers. New kid in the band. Likes to buy shit, wear clothes. We keep stealing the ‘roamer for adventures, and pooping.”
“Are there many adventures, Bob?”
“There’s sure as shit a lotta pooping!”
“Hey, Billy.”
“Just left a log in there. An actual log.”
“Because we’re lego.”
“There ya go, Weir. Where we going?”
“In search of the disgraced rogue chemist Doctor Gary, so we need to find Katy Perry.”
“Ooh, nice. Gonna make a run at her.”
“Okay.”
“Squeeze her melons like a Jewish lady in the produce section.”
“If you say so, Bill.”
“Don’t tell Cher.”
“Dammit, Kreutzmann, stop lying about that.”
“If you say so, Weir. Who’s the old lady in the wig?”
“Sir Patrick Stewart.”
“Never heard of him. Hey, how’d you steal this thing this time? Thought Josh was paying attention to it.”
“He’s busy with his new friends, I guess.”
“Kids these days.”
What is this now?
“Sexy Santa.”
It’s July.
“Sexy Summer Santa.”
Did you lose another bet with Andy Cohen?
“No.”
Are you recording a Christmas album and dressed up to get in the spirit like Elvis used to do?
“No.”
Is this a sex thing?
…
…
…
“No.”
Ew.
“I’m into all sorts of things. Santaplay is one of them.”
Please don’t explain–
It’s like Furries, but for Christmas.
“–Santaplay. Stop talking.”
“There are Santas, and Elves, and Reindeers, and Mrs. Clauses. Everyone is welcome, as long as you’re open to having a candy cane up your ass.”
I’m begging you to keep this to yourself.
“Obviously, ‘egg nog’ means something entirely different.”
…
You’re a little bored with normal sex, huh?
“Little, yeah.”
You got the watch in the shot, though.
“You caught that?”
I did.
“You listening to this solo I’m killing?”
Where?
“At the show. Dead & Co. Thought you were Couch Touring.”
I am.
“So what do you think?”
Great stuff. Great, great, rockin’ stuff.
“What song are we playing right now?”
…
The good one. With the lyrics. And all the music. Great song.
“You’re listening to Phish.”
Little, yeah.
“Traitor.”
You’re currently performing a hostile takeover of Phish!
“This isn’t about me. It’s about you, and whether you’re paying attention to me.”
How’s that going, anyway?
“Tour’s over with Dead and Co this weekend, and then the meetings begin.”
With the band or with the assassins you’re hiring to murder Troy so you can take his place?
…
…
…
“The band.”
Dammit, Mayer.
“I have come to a realization.”
This can’t be good.
“I wanna be in more bands.”
How many more?
“All of them. As part of my musical journey.”
All of you need to stop taking journeys.
“I’m going to join all the bands, and it’s going to be a reality series and an app. It’s gonna be like the early-2000’s again. Mayermania.”
Wow.
“But I’m starting with Phish. I’m gonna be in Phish.
They don’t want you.
“That’s never stopped me from joining a band.”
True, but they don’t have any room for you.
“Things happen. People fall down steps, or off the Grand Canyon. Sometimes people just disappear. You never know what’s going to happen.”
I refuse to even have this conversation with you. When did you start liking Phish?
“What month is it?”
July.
“Yeah.”
…
And now you want to be in the band?
“I get into stuff, man. When I see something that arouses me, I feel the need to penetrate it.”
Ew.
“Phish has given me a musical boner, and I’m going to shove it in them.”
What are you on?
“I’ve got a shirt-based high. Let’s face it: I’m killing this thing.”
Anything else?
“Couple tabs of whatever Bobby gave me.”
Dammit.
“HEARD YOU’RE LOOKING FOR ME, MEYERS!”
“YOU TRYING TO TAKE MY PLACE?”
“Why do you have a bullhorn?”
“I DON’T KNOW.”
“Okay.”
“YOU BETTER COP A WALK, BUDDY. THINGS’LL GET NASTY.”
“Yeah!”
“Yeah!”
“Hello, Josh!”
“Hi, Page. Listen, guys: why don’t we just jam once or twice? See what each other is about? And then we can bring in the lawyers and figure out the merch figures. Y’know, we should probably do that before we jam.”
“GO AWAY, JOSH.”
“Yeah!”
“Yeah!”
“Goodbye, Josh!”
THE SOUND OF A LEGO BAND LEAVING IN A HUFF, WHATEVER THAT MAY SOUND LIKE
…
I don’t think they’re into it, John.
“They’ll come around. Hey, question.”
Shoot.
“Were they Lego?”
Yes.
“This is some good shit.”
That’s what everyone’s saying.
What the hell do you think you’re doing, Josh?
“Don’t call me that.”
That’s what Pitchfork says your name is. What are you doing?
“Randos?”
…
…
…
“I’m gonna be in Phish now.”
MotherFUCKer.
“I discovered I love jamming in front of white people on acid. I used to solo in front of drunk white people, but this is way more fun. So I’m thinking about joining Phish and being their guitarist and singer.”
Like, in addition to Trapqueen?
…
“We’ll see.”
Please don’t have Trey Anastasio murdered so you can take his place.
“I said, ‘we’ll see.’ I gotta talk to the Big Man.”
Irving Azoff?
“The nickname is ironic on one level, but sincere on many others.”
Sure. Don’t do this. The Phish Phans are meaner than the Deadheads.
“How bad can they be?”
Fucking vicious.
“Yeah, still: I’m gonna be in Phish.”
I did not see this coming.
“Me either! But here we are.”
Sure.
…
That’s, like, your shirt of the summer, huh?
“This is Sammy Miami Chartreuse Label.”
How is that different than a regular Sammy Miami shirt?
“Much more expensive.”
Sure.
Wilbard made this, because he could, and I am posting it, because I should: it is a thing of beauty, only to be surpassed by how annoyed it will make Phish Persons.
So you should certainly not send it to all of the Phishies you know. Definitely don’t do that. Whatever you do, don’t put it on Phantasy Tour under the title “Make Phish Great Again.” Oh, no.
© 2025 Thoughts On The Dead
Theme by Anders Noren — Up ↑
Recent Comments