What the hell is this?
“What?”
I thought you were going on a journey to find David Lemieux and make him your sensei.
“I am, I am. But I got waylaid. And then I got way laid.”
You had that it your pocket.
“I did. I almost put it on Instagram, but thought better of it.”
Good decision-making, John. Is this a real human being or one of those Disney animatronics?
“She’s a wrestler. It’s stage makeup.”
You should tattoo your face.
“I’m not gonna do that.”
All the kids are doing it. You could have a guitar on your forehead. DOUCHE KING written under your eyes.
“Hey!”
Ah, I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.
“You’re aggressive and unpleasant. It’s not fun being with you sometimes.”
Sometimes?
“It’s never fun to be in your presence. Not ever at all.”
John, bubbe, you’re nothing without me. Take me out of the equation and it’s just guitar solos and disastrous interviews.
“I was doing fine before you. Banging famous chicks and making the Top Ten. Did not need your help for one second.”
But now you need my help to get to David Lemieux.
“No, I don’t. I’m just gonna get in the Earthroamer and point it north. No trick to it.”
There’s a little trick to it.
“John, thank you for joining me. It’s the Radio Randy Show and we’re here live with John Mayer, who has just pussed down super-hard with a gorgeous lady of wrestling. John, thoughts?”
“What now?”
“Oh, Goddammit.”
I put you on the Earthroamer, John. And I sent Radio Randy along.
“Why?”
He was in the picture.
“John, explain to the listeners what they can expect from grapple-coitus.”
“Grapple-coitus?”
“Wrestler sex.”
“Radio Randy, I don’t know if that’s really the area I want to get into. It never ends well.”
“Describe Jennifer Aniston’s sex musk.”
“Fruity with a strong whiff of vanilla. Like if a banana split just got fucked really hard.”
“Fascinating. We move on to the Avital Ronell controvery.”
“Why does everyone keep asking me about that person? Is it even a person? That sounds like a Star Wars name. I can’t even figure out how to spell it well enough for Google to know what I mean.”
“Where do you see Dead & Company next year?”
“Uh, we have the Mexico shows in January, and then we’ll figure it out from there but I’m pretty positive that another tour is in the cards. We’re learning how to play and there’s a wonderful magic to the band now. It would be stupid to stop. Nothing’s set in stone, but there’s gonna be a tour or two.”
“That’s good news for all the fans out there. Where do you see Dead & Company in 800 years?”
“Not touring as much.”
“You’re suggesting a residency?”
“No.”
“Let’s get back to the googoo.”
“The what?”
“The smush that ladies keep down there. You know. Down there.”
…
“Hey! You!”
Me?
“Yes. What’s wrong with Radio Randy?”
He’s randy.
…
…
…
“These are the cheapest fucking jokes I’ve ever heard, man.”
Just go talk to him.
“Or what?”
CLIP CLOP CLIP CLOP
“Is that a horse outside the Earthroamer?’
“THE FIRST AMENDMENT SAYS YOU NEED TO LET MY USE THE BATHROOM IN YOUR RECREATIONAL VEHICLE!”
“Goddammit.”
“I GOT A POWERFUL LOG WAITING TO BE SET FREE, MEYERS! LEMME TURN ‘ER LOOSE IN YOUR COMMODE!”
“Hard pass. Hundred percent no on this one.”
“THIS IS CENSORSHIP!”
“How is not letting you shit in my bathroom censorship? It’s an RV. No one’s supposed to shit in the toilet.”
“THE MARKETPLACE OF IDEAS REQUIRES THAT YOU LET ME SHIT IN YOUR VAN, JOSH MEYERS!”
“It does not. I’m gonna drive away now.”
“THIS IS HOW COMMUNISM STARTED! WHEN PROUD, SHIRTLESS MEN WERE FIRST DENIED ACCESS TO MOBILE POTTIES, THE GULAGS WERE SURE TO FOLLOW!”
“I wasn’t the best history student, but I’m pretty sure that’s not how it happened.”
“YOU LOVE GULAGS!”
“What? No. No one loves gulags.”
“YOU’RE THE GULAG-MAN! LEMME DOOKY IN YOUR CAR!”
…
“Hey!”
Why do you keep bothering me? Just deal with the situation at hand.
“I don’t want to. Look at him.”
That’s peak male performance, John. You may not like what it looks like–
“Yeah, yeah. I’ve been on the internet. He looks like a bear fucked a moron. Get him out of here.”
Anything’s better than him, huh?
“YesNO, WAIT!”
CELL PHONE NOISE
“Goddammit, you tricked me.”
It’s easy. And these are old tricks. You should know them.
“David Lemieux is gonna become my sensei, and then he’s gonna to teach me how to walk out of posts whenever I feel like it, and then I’m gonna never speak to you again.”
Gonna, gonna, gonna. Phones’ ringing now, pal. Answer it or deal with the Mounted Man-Wolf Of Liberty up there.
“Hate you.”
…
“Hel–”
“I KNOW IT WAS YEW, JEWBOY, AN’ AH’M FIXIN’ T’ SKIN YEW ALIVE.”
“Goddammit.”
“CONFESS! Damn yew, confess! Ah’m gonna get mah sling blade an’ re-circumcise yew if yew don’t admit t’ writin’ that filthy lie of a letter t’ th’ yellow dog Jew York Times.”
“Sarah, I’m not Jewish. Not that any of that would be okay if I was. And obviously–”
“JEW LIES!”
“–I didn’t write the op-ed in the Times.”
“We done used our computer machines, Jew Mayer! They-a” got t’ whirrin’ and fizzin’ an’ analyzin’ the words of th’ dickless ass-cheese what so horribly run down th’ fine reputation of Trumpident Trump.”
“Trumpident?”
“That’s the new word. No more Presidents. We gonn’ have Trumpidents from now on.”
“Um.”
“Yew know what that computer machine done tol’ us, Dreidel-Dick?”
“Not Jewish.”
“It done tol’ us that th’ language in that there op-ed was exactly th’ same as in your lyrics! Whatchoo say t’ that, yew treasonous cockslammer?”
“Then you’re using the computer wrong. I didn’t write the op-ed. It was from a senior staffer in your administration. I don’t work in the White House.”
“Due t’ shortages in the HR office, we don’ who does an’ who don’t work f’r the Trumpident, so we jus’ assume ev’ryone does.”
“That is sad and not shocking. It is sad that it’s not shocking, though.”
“How could yew do this t’ your country, moneylender!?”
“I’m hanging up.”
“FIRST TH’ ROSENBERGS, NOW YEW!”
“Not Jewish.”
DIAL TONE EVEN THOUGH PHONES NO LONGER DO THAT
…
“You’re a lousy wretch and once David Lemieux teaches me his secrets, I’m out of here.”
Anything can happen.
“Ah, Jeez. Sorry, Bruce.”
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