Summer’s here, Enthusiasts, and the time is right for sitting on your couch. I’m doing couch tour at my desk, but that’s because I’m a rebel.
Bunch of streams here, and the show starts when the show starts. Pop your corn, why don’t you?
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Tag: las vegas (Page 2 of 3)
SO not cool. It is wrong to do this, and it will be wrong to do this for the entire summer and send me the pictures so I can make fun of Bobby’s nipples. WRONG.
Wink.
Did you just write “wink?”
I wasn’t sure my sarcasm was translating.
It is indeed getting tougher and tougher to tell lately.
Yup.
Is that a mini-fridge sitting on the pool deck of the MGM Grand?
Yes.
Rich people get pool-fridges?
Apparently.
Damn.
“Looky there, man. Little Josh suckin’ off the Dead nipple some more.”
Chris Robinson?
“Heeeey, brother.”
Don’t call me brother. I know how you treat your brother.
“It’s just shit, man. Legacy acts playing their old hits. Just sad, man.”
Sure. What are you doing this week?
“Playing a show from ’77 with Phil.”
Uh-huh.
“Where’s his beard?”
Who?
“Josh.”
Don’t call him that. Only me and Bobby and everybody else gets to call him that.
“Still: where’s his beard?”
I don’t think he has a girlfriend at the moment.
“You think this is what Jerry would have wanted?”
He’s dead. He doesn’t get a vote, except maybe in Chicago.
“Whatever, man. Just sad Play your own songs!”
You’re very hard to handle, Chris Robinson.
“You suck, too.”
Nice of you to stop by. Call first next time.
Let’s get beyond the irony of the sign on the right: it is basic and obvious, and it would lower us to belabor it.
It’s kinda perfect, though.
Oh, absolutely. It’s the type of detail only a hack novelist or real life could come up with.
Maybe it’s French.
…
Oh, the Lé Itimatê?
Yeah.
No.
No. It’s just funny.
It is. They wanted to be classy so bad, and they did it so badly.
Right. What and when is this?
This is the International Hotel in 1969; Elvis started headlining there on July 31st of that year. He played the whole month of August–a dinner show at 8 and then another at midnight–and if you adjust for the time zones, then it’s likely the King was performing at the same instant that the Dead were onstage at Woodstock.
We are told this is culturally significant.
Enthusiasts–and I am sure you can see this coming–I would pick this over Woodstock in a hummingbird’s heartbeat. Don’t get me wrong: my heart would be in a shit-strewn field without basic facilities listening to Joan Baez, but only metaphorically; my physical heart would be with the rest of my body in Las Vegas.
This is an opinion best argued in bullet points, Enthusiasts. TotD presents Reasons To Choose 8/16/69 In Vegas Rather Than Woodstock:
- I reiterate: no Joan Baez.
- Also neither Country Joe, nor Fish.
- But fish would be available–sole or flounder, with a choice of two sides–and so would a sweeping variety of other foods; there are also beverages of hard and soft natures.
- Whereas Woodstock ran out of food.
- Forget the narrative-induced juxtaposition of Vegas/Woodstock in any societal sense: the place with the food is always better than the place without the food.
- In the casino that Bill Graham set up backstage at Woodstock, there was no craps table; point: Vegas.
- Did not rain in Las Vegas in August, and if it did you could just go inside and play craps.
- I didn’t look that up, but it did not rain in Las Vegas in August.
- Oh, wait.
- I did look that up.
- BOOM, bitches!
- Don’t call the nice people that.
- The need to get at me, dog.
- Don’t talk like DMX, either.
- Get out of the bullet points.
- You get out of the bullet points.
Fine. It is worth noting–as long as we’re discussing the narrative-induced juxtaposition of Woodstock/Vegas in a societal sense–that the Vegas lineup is far more diverse on a strictly numbers basis (33% to 15%) but judged by a metric of “southern lunatics” then the Vegas show is not diverse at all.
But look at that show! (Yeah, yeah: it’s two separate shows, but you could see them all in one night)
This is what the Ike and Tina Turner Revue sounded like in 1969:
Four songs–not lip-synced, real performances–and an interview with Hugh Hefner. Feel free to skip the interview if you don’t want to watch Ike get escalatingly more perturbed as Hugh directs all of his questions to Tina, but stick around for the Ikettes. Also, Hugh has invited every single one of his black friends to the taping, and the director is determined to let you see them having a good time.
And this is Wayne Cochran and the C. C. Riders from a few years later:
So there’s that.
There’s no film of Elvis at the International that first run, but this is what he sounded like the week after Woodstock on 8/24/69:
http://https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ue9aPMxFK3Y
It’s a clear SBD, and uncut: you get to have fun with Elvis onstage as he babbles about whatever comes into his head, and also squirrels.
Then, when those three high-powered, house rockin’ bands are done, you can play blackjack or wear hats or have mob tie; whatever people did in Vegas late at night back then.
Or you could make a doody in a bush while Ravi Shankar sitars at you.
There is no choice.
- Hey. Excuse me.
Why are you still in there?
- I don’t know. I can’t leave. Can you help me, please? It’s brittle and loud in here. There are monsters.
Oh, wow. The bullet points are their own separate reality? Never realized. Live and learn.
- Please help. I shouldn’t be here; I don’t have enough nipples.
You’re on your own.
CELL PHONE NOISE
CELL PHONE NOISE
“This is Gaga.”
“Where are you?”
“Katydoodle?”
“Why does everyone call me that?”
“Because you’re powerful, but fun. The Lady Gaga believes in you, Katy, and she’s on her way.”
“You’re still at the supermarket reading the same magazine! No one is helping me, and if you’re going to be as crazy as the rest of them, then I don’t need your help.”
“No, Katy. Gaga will help. Gaga is coming.”
“Gaga is here.”
“Wow.”
“I told you I knew a shortcut.”
“Still.”
“How are you, Katy? Tell Gaga everything, so a plan may be formulated, and a design language created, and a look book assembled, and Swedish producers hired, and clothes made.”
“Can I be honest?”
“You must! Otherwise, Gaga will sense it, and grow displeased.”
“Um, you know I’m an Ancient Egyptian god, right?”
“I am Gaga.”
“Oh, yeah. Okay, so: things are not good.”
“I’m just having a rough time here, Gaga!”
“You have been left alone.”
“Yes.”
“By men.”
“Yes!”
“To clean up problems caused by men.”
“YES!”
“There is only one solution, Katydoodle–”
“You can totally call me that.”
“–and it is this: we must assemble the Divas.”
…
“Oohhhhh. I don’t know about that. It always ends up causing more destruction than it was supposed to stop. Divas are like wolverines, Gaga. One at a time.”
“Katy, listen to Gaga. What is happening right now in the King Tut suite? As we speak?”
“YOU STEP INSIDE MAH DOJO, YOU STEP INSIDE A WORLD OF PAIN!”
“This not your dojo, hillbilly! It my hotel room!”
…
“Well, Katy?”
“Nothing productive is happening in the King Tut suite. Also–”
“The nuke is missing.”
“–the nuke is missing.”
“And who has absconded with the nuclear device?”
“I have no idea, but Doctor Gary stole it.”
“And who caused this entire problem in the first place by luring Kim Jong-Un to Las Vegas and flaking?”
“John Mayer.”
“Gaga, too, likes them tall and douchey, Katy. But you have let these men run rampant over your power, and all the magic here is very penis-based. It needs to be counteracted with feminine wiles.”
“Ooh, battle of the sexes.”
“Genders, Katy. Get woke.”
“Sorry, Gaga.”
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
“I wasn’t expecting anyone.”
“Katy, where exactly are we?”
“Don’t worry about it. Yes?”
“Miss Katy, I’m C. Mickodemus Hart and my army has rode in from Manassas to assist you in putting down the Coolie rebellion.”
DOOR SLAMMING NOISE
“You’re right, Gaga. We need women.”
“Girl power, motherfucker.”
“Assemble the Divas!”
Oh, goddammit.
“ONCE AGAIN, AH HAVE SNATCHED FUN FROM THE JAWS OF A KIDNAPPIN’!”
“This my guy. Right here? Is my guy.”
Why do parties keep breaking out during hostage situations?
“WHY DO HOSTAGE SITUATIONS KEEP HAPPENIN’ DURING PARTIES? THAT KATANA DONE CUTS BOTH WAYS.”
It doesn’t.
” A KATANA IS AN CHINESE SWORD FOR DOIN’ KARATE WITH.”
It’s not.
“He right. It not.”
Don’t help, you. Elvis? Where’s the nuke?
“FINE.”
“Is cool.”
Oh, God.
“NO WORRIES ‘BOUT NOTHIN’.”
“Is all good in hood.”
…
Did Doctor Gary–
“DOCTOR GARY DONE STOLE THE NUKE.”
–steal the…FUCK! How!?
“IT’S A PARTY, MAN. STUFF GOES MISSIN’!”
Records! Silverware! Knick-knacks! Not fission devices!
“Had party once. Picture go missing. Had guests strip-searched, found picture. Execute. Make party continue, make guests dance. Later execute thief family.”
…
“THASS A FUCKED-UP STORY, UNAGI.”
Don’t give him a nickname. Where is Doctor Gary and the nuke, Elvis?
“AH DUNNO.”
“Got me.”
“NOT FAR, THOUGH.”
Excuse me if “not far” doesn’t make me feel better right now. Just to make clear: the nuclear weapon Kim Jong-Un brought with him to the King Tut suite of the Luxor hotel is now in the possession of a treasonous Nobel Laureate wanted in several states for bigamy? And–AND–we do not know where said possession is taking place?
“SOUNDS ‘BOUT RIGHT!”
“Good exposition.”
You’re both idiots. Wait there.
…
Katy?
Oh, you look just as insane as those two.
“Casino ownership is not for everyone.”
Oh, no. No. You promised you wouldn’t–
“I’ve started peeing in jars.”
–start peeing in jars. Dammit, Katy: I don’t wanna do the Howard Hughes bit.
“The stress is not good. Just the signatures! Do you know how many things a casino owner has to sign every day?”
Many?
“More than that.”
Too many?
“That many, yes. I hired someone for a couple days to sign everything, but then I had to have all these long discussions with lawyers. One of them was cute.”
Katy, have you given up?
“Not on purpose, but I think I’m having a bit of a breakdown. No one’s helping me! I call John, and call, and he screws around in LA and goes to parties and leaves me here, and all this was his fault! And where’s the new one? In Europe, naked. I’m just guessing, but I’m probably right.”
Sounds right.
“Men. Men started this whole nonsense, and men made it worse, and then men refused to clean up their mess. Men, always men. I’m all alone, and I’m giving up.”
…
CELL PHONE NOISE
CELL PHONE NOISE
“Hello.”
“Katy Perry, I heard what you said and you’re right. Women have to stick together, and not expect some prince to come along and us. I’m coming to help you!”
“Who is this?”
“It is I, the Lady Gaga.”
“OMG! Love you!”
“No, you.”
“Gaga! I own the Luxor Hotel and Kim Jong-Un checked–”
“Stop! The Lady Gaga requires no exposition. I have been briefed.”
“Wow.”
“I am choosing outfits that I will pack into the Gagamobile, so I’m not leaving immediately, but I’m on my way.”
“Gaga, I’m in Vegas. Shouldn’t you fly?”
“I know a shortcut. For I am the Lady Gaga.”
What are you doing?
“It’s Leslie Jones!”
There’s a nuke in Las Vegas that’s about to go off, John Mayer. Why are you hanging out with comedians?
“This is much more fun than that, honestly.”
I’ll give you that one, sure. Still: this is fucked up. Stop shirking.
“I’m not shirking.”
Shirk-off.
“Not a word. Did you see Ghostbusters, or are you a sexist babyman?”
Those two things are not the only options.
“Not so sure about that.”
CELL PHONE NOISE
“Oh, come one. I’m having a good time.”
At everyone’s expense. You are a Ponzi-schemer of fun, John Mayer.
“I have no idea what you mean.”
CELL PHONE NOISE
“Y’know what: I’m just gonna answer the phone and not give you the pleasure of an argument.”
Thank God. I’ve clearly got nothing.
“What?”
Nothing.
…
“Washer of faces, launderer of clothes, and designer of jewelry John Mayer speaking. I also play guitar a little.”
“You need to do less with your greetings, John.”
“Katy?”
“No! I am an Ancient Egyptian god who owns a casino shaped like a pyramid, John! You will refer to me by my proper name!”
“And that is?”
“Pkaty.”
“How is that pronounced?”
“You heard me, John.”
“Sure. How is everything? Is it good? Problem solved?”
“Which problem, John? There are so many that you’re not helping with. Kim Jong-Un is still in the King Tut suite with a nuke. And it’s a North Korean device, John.”
“Only Korean.”
“It didn’t look all that well-built. There was duct tape, John. They put it in one of the guest bedrooms and people are throwing their coats on it, John.”
“Coats? People? Who’s up there?”
“It’s a party, John. It’s lit.”
“Dammit. How did Kim Jong-Un holding a city hostage turn into a party?”
“Doctor Gary defected.”
“Goddammit.”
“It’s wild up there, John. Doctor Gary made cocaine kimchi.”
“Cocaine kimchi?”
“It’s fermented.”
“Sure.”
“Steve Aoki is DJ’ing.”
“You didn’t tell me that! Why didn’t you say so!?”
…
“I thought maybe I’d open with the nuke, John.”
“You’re right, you’re right.”
“The insane foreigner with the weapon of mass destruction currently fucking up my carpets in the King Tut suite, remember?”
“I said you were right.”
“Before I got to the part about your friend with the playlists on his computer.”
“Okay.”
“May I continue?”
“Please.”
“Also, he kidnapped Elvis.”
“That should have been the first thing you told me.
“I KNEW you’d say that! I want to be irritated, but it just proves we’re soulmates.”
“What happened to Elvis?”
“As you know, Doctor Gary and Dr. Nick turned Elvis’ press conference, which had been going on for almost a week, into a protochemical chess match between grand wizards.”
“Masters. Chess players are grandmasters.”
“Doctor Gary is in the Klan, John.”
“Sure.”
“The press conference was lit, John. Steve Aoki DJ’ed there, too.”
“That guy’s everywhere.”
“And then Elvis’ scabby, shit-flecked, corn-poning hill mutant of a father–”
“Vernon.”
“–started doing things to people, John.”
“You said that before. What kind of things was he doing?”
…
“Things.”
“Let’s talk about something else.”
“Thank you.”
“How did we go from a press conference/drug-off to the King getting kidnapped by Kim Jong-Un?”
“The elevator.”
“Katy.”
“Humor helps us deal with these wacky situations we keep finding ourselves in, John.”
“Sure. So?”
“On the morning of the fourth day, most of the journalists were dead or members of communes that had spontaneously formed in the Anubis ballroom. Suddenly, Elvis stopped talking about himself and changed from his press conference cape into his international diplomacy cape.”
“Do you think I’d look good in a cape?”
“You can’t pull off a cape, John. Focus.”
“Okay. Elvis is wearing his diplomat cape.”
“And he goes up to the King Tut suite to talk to Kim. He is alone, John.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Just him and the Memphis Mafia and some local cops and also I sent Big Ping Pong. That’s as alone as Elvis gets, John.”
“And then?”
“Kim Jong-Un snatched him up in a burlap sack and tossed him in the closet.”
“Fuck. Wait, what about the Memphis Mafia and Big Ping Pong and the cops?”
“Kim Jong-Un brought a lot of burlap sacks. And, as you know, there is no defense in karate against having a burlap sack thrown over you.”
“That’s why you can’t do it in tournaments, sure.”
“He sent a photo to prove they’re all alive.”
“You changed Big Ping Pong back from a hippo-person?”
“Mrs. Ping Pong complained. Every time he’d get horny, he’d get in the bathtub and shit all over the place.”
“All right. Katy–”
“Pkaty.”
“–can’t you just keep this chilled out for a little while?”
“Clearly not, John.”
“Yeah.”
“A foreign dictator is stinking up the King Tut suite with a nuke, Elvis has been kidnapped, Doctor Gary has defected, the air conditioning keeps going out on the eleventh floor, roulette action is down 3.2% this week, and I lost the bidding for the Backstreet Boys’ residency. I am a terrible casino owner, John.”
“You’re not the worst.”
“No, that would be Trump.”
“We got political.”
“It was fun. Now come here and stop the world from ending, please.”
“Okay.”
“WHICH ONE OF YOU COLLEGE BOYS GONNA GO GET THE KING A BACON-AND-FLUFFERNUTTER SAN’WICH?”
How long is this press conference?
“THIS HERE’S THE THIRD DAY! ME AND MAH MONGREL DIMWIT DADDY, VERNON, BEEN TELLING STORIES AND AH SANG BRIEFLY. THERE WAS ALSO A KARATE DEMONSTRATION. THERE HAS BEEN SOME RACISM, BUT JUST IN THE STORIES. KARATE CAN’T BE RACIST. KARATE IS FOR EV’RYBODY, EVEN THOUGH AH DO IT THE BEST.”
Wait, I thought you were in Vegas, at the Katy Perry-owned Luxor Hotel where Kim Jong-Un was holed up in the King Tut suite with a nuke.
“GOOD WORK SNEAKIN’ THAT EXPOSITION IN THERE, BOY.”
Why does the sign say that you’re at the New York Hilton?
“AUTO-CORRECT.”
It is not a perfected technology.
“YEAH, AH AM AT THE LUXOR, MAN. THEY GOT ALL TYPES IN HERE. REAL FREAKIE-DEAKIES. AH SAW A FELLA WHO WAS ALSO A HIPPO.”
Oh, that’s Big Ping Pong. He’s Katy’s security.
“NAW, MAN. IT WASN’T NATURAL! AH SENT CHARLIE HODGE TO DEFEAT HIM IN BATTLE.”
How’d that go?
“JUST HOW YOU’D FIGURE.”
Yeah. Even before Big Ping Pong was a hippo-person, he was a 6’5″ defensive end from UF.
“CHARLIE AIN’T NO BIG FELLA. SOMETIMES HE CAN BARELY LIFT MY SCARVES AND WATER, AND MAH DISEASE-RIDDEN, SOUR-FACED, COUSIN-FINGERIN’, FLOPPY-DICKED DADDY–”
Vernon.
“–HAS TO HELP HIM OUT, FOR AH MUST HAVE MAH SCARVES AND WATER.”
Sure. King? You gonna do something about the madman with the bomb in the King Tut suite, or just do karate for journalists?
…
“ARE YOU CHALLENGIN’ MAH MANHOOD, BOY?”
No, King.
“ENTER MAH DOJO!”
No.
“BOY, YOU WRITE IN REGULAR PARAGRAPHS AND DESCRIBE THE ACTION OF ME KICKIN’ YOUR ASS!”
I don’t want to!
“YOUR AUTHORIAL CONCEIT LIMITS YOUR STORYTELLING OPTIONS!”
…
Can you get the hell back into character, please?
“YEAH, OKAY, YEAH. KARATE, PANTIES, ELVIS.”
Better.
“THANK YOU, THANK YOU VERY MUCH.”
Perfect. Now go up to Kim Jong-Un’s suite and chill him out and get the nuclear bomb.
“AH AM GOING, BUT ONLY BECAUSE AH WANT TO.”
…
“Okay, I need a plan B.”
Katy?
“Helloooo.”
Have you been there the entire time?
“I am everywhere. I am all within these pyramidal tracts. Do you know that pyramids have powers?”
Do they?
“Yes. Pyramid powers.”
Sure.
“I am mighty.”
Wow.
“I am Katy Sphinxy.”
That’s lazy.
“You come up with one, then. Only thing I considered was the Skanx, but I’m not a skank.”
No.
“If Taylor Swift was a mythical lion-person, then she would be the Skanx, but not me.”
You hold grudges.
“I’m Egyptian; it’s in our blood. Well, Ancient Egyptian. Same thing.”
Nope.
“Can we get back to the plan? I like being a god and owning a casino.”
I thought you hated owning a casino.
“Running a casino. That’s terrible. But owning one is great. People walk in off the street and just give your their money. I can’t believe I’ve been busting my ass singing.”
Good work if you can get it.
“I’m going to make a call. Excuse me. Or don’t, but I’m still going to make a call.”
Sure.
…
CELL PHONE NOISE
CELL PHONE NOISE
“Yoooooo.”
“Are you kidding me, John? At least the other ones took effort.”
“I’m tired of you bullying me about my phone greetings. I’m a brave and wonderful person, and I put myself out there, and no one has a right to criticize that.”
…
“Have you been drinking your laundry detergent, John?”
“No, but if I did, I would be content in the fact that there were no artificial additives.”
“Are you on your way? Things are not good here. Elvis’ press conference has turned into a hostage situation. He won’t let the reporters leave, John. It’s gotten very downhome in there, and his father is doing things to people. His father is doing things to everyone, John.”
“Vernon?”
“Is that his name? I didn’t catch it.”
“Vernon.”
“John, where are you?”
“Well, that answered my question.”
“Right?”
“John, this is not okay! All I wanted to do was go to Burning Man, and you lured me back here to Vegas! And–and!–that Li’l Kim maniac with the nuke is YOUR friend, John!”
“I’m pretty sure you let him into the White House at one point.”
“He was looking for you! Stop washing your face and live up to your responsibilities, John!”
“FINE! Fine, okay.”
“Elvis is not the man for this job, John. Can you keep a secret?”
“Maybe.”
“I think he might be on drugs, John.”
“Elvis?”
“Yeah.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because I took the drugs with him, John.”
“Sure. Speaking of which: if you want to end this press conference, then get Doctor Gary out of the room.”
“How did you know that Doctor Gary was there?”
“Katy, press conferences don’t turn into three day-long mass kidnappings/hootenannies without Doctor Gary being present.”
“Dr. Nick is there, too.”
…
“Oh, that’s not good.”
“It’s getting weird, John. They’re dueling. Like wizards? But instead of wands and magic, they’re drugging everyone in sight at each other.”
“Wow.”
“It’s sketchy in there.”
“I bet. Are you sure Elvis can’t handle this?”
“John, he’s still talking about how aliens invented white cotton panties or something. He’s not in any shape to…oh no.”
“What?”
“Elvis has left the press conference, John.”
“Where’d he go?”
“Look who I just kidnap!”
“WHAT YOU SAY, FAT BOY?”
“Ninjas! Now!”
BURLAP SACK NOISE!
“Now I got nuke, and I got hillbilly! Only Korea number one! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
“Oh, that’s not good.”
Worst possible outcome.
“You have any ideas?
Yeah, but they’ll wait until next time.
“Okay.”
“AS AH WAS SAYIN’–”
Are you still at this?
“DON’T YOU INTERRUPT THE KING, BOY! AH’M DOING THESE PEOPLE HERE A FAVOR BY LETTIN’ ‘EM ASK ME QUESTIONS AND BE SO CLOSE TO ME! AH HAVE ALSO BROUGHT MY FILTHY REDNECK DADDY, VERNON, WITH ME.”
Did you buy him that suit?
“AH DID NOT.”
No?
“AH HAD IT MADE FOR HIM.”
Right. He looks like he should be refusing to close down the beach on the Fourth of July.
“MAH DADDY IS A FINE SOUTHERN PRINCE OF A MAN! HOW DARE YOU ACCUSE HIM OF IGNORING THE SHARK ATTACKS!”
Elvis, face it: your father Vernon is going to pretend this problem doesn’t exist until it swims up behind him and bites him in the ass!
…
“WHAT ARE WE TALKIN’ ABOUT?”
I have no idea.
“AH AM MOVING ON! ASSEMBLED PRESS PEOPLE, MEMPHIS MAFIA, MAH BEAUTIFUL DRUNKEN HILLBILLY FATHER VERNON, AH PROMISE YOU THAT AH WILL SETTLE THIS LITTLE THING WITH THAT THERE FAT BOY, AND AH WILL BE THE HERO OF THE COMIC BOOK, AND AH WILL ALSO PROB’LY MAKE DOCTOR GARY AN’ DR. NICK FIGHT TO THE DEATH.”
Elvis, I think keeping the public apprised of your every move here is going to be counter to your goals.
“WELL, YOU KNOW THE PEOPLE LOVE ME SO MUCH.”
They do. But this is going out live over the internet.”
“THE INNERWHAT?”
Great. What I’m saying is that you shouldn’t call Kim Jong-Un names into the microphone.”
“MICROPHONES. I’M ELVIS, I GET A LOTTA MICS, MAN.”
I see that.
“DON’T HAVE TO GO BEGGIN’ FOR ‘EM LIKE SOME PEOPLE.”
Unnecessary.
“WHEN DID AH CALL HIM NAMES?”
You called him Fat Boy.
“COURSE AH DID. THASS HIS NAME.”
What? No. His name is Kim Jung-Un. Fat Boy is not a name.
“CHOW YUN FAT. IP MAN. FAT BOY IS A PERFECTLY CHINESE NAME.”
Korean.
“AH FOUGHT THE KOREANS WHILE STATIONED IN GERMANY!”
Sure.
“IS HE BIG AND FAT? A ROLY-POLY TUB KINDA GUY?”
Elvis, please! He might be watching! He’s sensitive as hell!
“AW, I’M JUST FUNNIN’.”
CUT TO – INT. KING TUT SUITE
“Who that sissy boy think he is!?
Kim Jong-Un?
“He so cool? He so awesome? LOOK WHO I HANG WITH, YOU SISTERFUCKING HILL PERSON!”
How’d they get up there!?
“I kidnap.
Jesus.
“I make sit down. Talk. More important: I make listen.'”
Well, here’s a sentence that’s never been written before: Kim Jung-Un, please don’t marriage counsel Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie.
“They two crazy kids just trying to make it.”
Leave Brangelina alone.
“Who?”
Brangelina. You combine their names. Tabloids call them that. Brad plus Angelina. Brangelina.
“No can say this word with Only Korean accent.”
It’s barely pronounceable if you’re from America.
“Okay, you send Josh Meyer for hang. Or I torture.”
Please don’t torture Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie.
“They on nerves. He smelly, she crazy.”
Sounds right. Don’t torture them, please. I’ll see what I can do.
“Tell hillbilly not talk about me.”
Sure.
“Nuke is armed.”
What?
“Nothing.”
…
Hey, Bobby? I was wondering if you could help–
“I told you I wanted no part of this”
Okay, okay. Just checking.
“Do you have a plan for dealing with Kim Jong-Un and his nuke, Your Majesty?”
“AW, NOW. KATY, YOU C’N CALL ME KING.”
“Sure. And you will refer to me by my Ancient Egyptian god name.”
“WHASSAT?”
“Boobankhamun.”
“ABSOLUTELY NOT.”
“Can we get back to the plan?”
“MAH CHARISMA WILL WIN THE DAY. AH PLAN ON BRINGING THE JORDANAIRES AND THE SWEET INSPIRATIONS WITH ME. WE WILL SING GOSPEL TUNES UNTIL HE IS OVERCOME WITH LOVE FOR JESUS, AND ME SINGIN’ ABOUT JESUS.”
“You sing about Jesus very well, King.”
“AH ALSO SING ABOUT LIFE IN THE GHETTO VERY WELL.”
“True dat. So, your plan is to weaponize backup singers?”
“AH ALSO HAVE A FANTASTIC DRUMMER.”
“Uh-huh. King, I’m gonna make a phone call.”
“WHILE YOU DOIN’ THAT, AH’M GONNA HAVE ME ANOTHER PRESS CONFERENCE.”
“Great.”
…
CELL PHONE NOISE
CELL PHONE NOISE
“John Ma–”
“Where the hell are you!?”
“Katy?”
“Who else would it be, John? If it was Elvis, then I would be in all caps.”
“Sure.”
“Where are you!?”
“Oh.”
“Right?”
“John, this is not funny. I have to confide something in you, and this is between us.”
“Okay.”
“Elvis might not be the best person to send into the room with the nuclear weapon.”
“You don’t say.”
“At least not in the condition he’s in. Elvis met Doctor Gary, John.”
“How’d that go?”
“Predictably.”
“Yeah.”
“It turns out that Doctor Gary is on Elvis’ plan, John. In the network.”
“Katy, Doctor Gary isn’t a medical doctor, he’s a PhD. And I think they might have revoked that.”
“Yes, but Doctor Gary can do all the things a doctor does. Wait, no. Doctor Gary will do all the things a doctor does. He’s not very good at some of them, but he’ll still do them. Don’t let Doctor Gary take your tonsils out, John.”
“I’ll try not to. What exactly is the situation there right now?”
“You know how reindeer eat magic mushrooms and pass out pure psilocybin in their urine?”
…
“Please don’t say Elvis–”
“Elvis and Doctor Gary are ripped to the tits on reindeer piss, John.”
“–and Doctor…dammit, Katy. You’re in charge.”
“Nominally.”
“Go sober all your idiots up and try to keep things cool. Please?”
“There might be a small hiccup in your plan, John.”
“What?”
“I’m not exactly the designated driver in this scenario, John.”
“Dammit. Where did you even find reindeer in the desert?”
“It’s Las Vegas, John. You can get anything you want if you’re Elvis.”
“Okay. Listen, just try to hold things together until I’m done sitting in at the Grammys.”
“The what?”
“Nothing; you’re in charge; don’t let the world blow up!”
DIAL TONE EVEN THOUGH PHONES DO NOT DO THAT ANY MORE
…
“Where did Elvis go?”
“LOOK AT HOW SPECIAL AH AM!”
“Oh, right. Press conference.”
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